The Slippery Slope [Worm AU]

The Slippery Slope

Part Nineteen: Means to an End



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

[A/N 2: Celestial Wars is a novel in the process of being written by my beta. Text from it included with her kind permission.]



Commander Thomas Calvert
PRT Building
Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Deputy Director Renick tapped the white-board with his pointer. “As you can see, the Empire Eighty-Eight has actually been keeping their heads down since the Panacea incident. Race-related crimes are down across the board, and they haven't tried capitalising on the hit that the ABB took in their last clash.”

Calvert took notes, but his mind wasn't entirely focused on the briefing. While the Ferguson brat was responding to the regime of pain and psychotropic drugs, getting answers out of him was like pulling teeth. Harder, actually; most of the boy's teeth had already been extracted without the benefit of anaesthetic, and it hadn't improved the quality of his answers much.

The Director cleared her throat. “Where are we on locating the Heberts, or even ascertaining their status?”

“Not very far, I'm afraid.” Renick shook his head. “There's no unusual traffic to or from any of the Empire's suspected safe houses, and none of the hospitals or private clinics have reported a patient of Daniel Hebert's description being dropped off anonymously.”

That's because they're in the damn Medhall building, Calvert wanted to say, but could not. Not least because there was no way he could justify having that knowledge. Medhall had a private clinic on the ground floor; they did treat members of the public but charged more than most, so their patient list was generally fairly short. Which would make it an ideal cover for treating their wounded soldiers. Using medical equipment obtained by Kaiser's own company. If he didn't know it for a fact, he wouldn't have believed it; as one of Brockton Bay's richest men, Max Anders regularly rubbed shoulders with all manner of high society. He was as high-profile as they came. But then, who would have expected a millionaire entrepreneur to be the leader of a white-supremacist gang? It was the perfect cover.

“The ABB's also been quiet, thank God,” Renick reported. “Rumour has it that Lung's regrowing his arm, and nobody's seen Oni Lee since the fight.” He grimaced. “It's too much to hope that he's dead, but even if he's injured, that's a good thing.”

More notes went on to Calvert's pad, but the majority of his attention was on the other timeline. So far, Coil had been told about the Hebert girl's middle name, her flowing hair, her food preferences and how ticklish she was. Ferguson had admitted that she had powers and had alluded to their general capabilities, but was remaining remarkably tight-lipped about her actual limits and ranges.

He tried a different tack, demanding to know about the Empire's future plans as far as she was concerned. Despite all of his efforts to resist, Ferguson let slip two words: 'Friday' and 'Merchants'.

That was interesting data, but Coil wanted to know more. He directed that more drugs be administered; while these lowered his victim's mental defences, they also made it harder to focus on the answers which Coil needed. That was where the pain came in. Inflicting pain was a very effective way to force someone to focus, as well as being quite cathartic in its own right.

“And what about the Merchants?” Calvert asked Renick, just in case there was something he had missed. “I can't imagine that with all this going on, they're sitting on their thumbs.”

Piggot glanced around at him with an appraising stare, which he returned blandly. At the whiteboard, Renick nodded. “You've got a point,” he said. “The Merchants have moved people into a couple of areas where ABB used to be stronger. There's been no fighting yet; they're just taking advantage of the ABB being on the back foot. As soon as the ABB are back up to speed, no doubt they'll kick the Merchants in the teeth again.”

“Is there any indication that the Empire Eighty-Eight is doing the same?” asked Piggot. “They've got the numbers, and they're not the ones who suffered a humiliating defeat recently.” She tapped her pen on her pad. “In fact, given that they've recently acquired a powerful new cape, I'm surprised they haven't already gone out to put on a show for the rest of us.”

That must be what 'Friday' and 'Merchants' means. Calvert suppressed the savage grin of triumph. Her official debut. He restrained himself to a polite nod and smile. “I think you might have something there, Director.”

In the other timeline, he demanded two things from the Ferguson boy; the first was 'when', the second 'where'. Given the amount of drugs in the teenager's system, it was impossible not to answer; however, the trouble lay in picking out the useful answer from the meandering.

And then everything went wrong at once. Gunfire erupted throughout the base, audible even through his closed office door. With it came screams, but both were swiftly drowned out by three different alarms going off at once. Not that he paying attention when the heavy clasp-knife he was holding suddenly and inexplicably snapped shut on his fingers, neatly severing them. He stared at his right hand as the knife, unheeded, dropped to the floor.

Even as he tried to make sense of what had just happened – Is Taylor Hebert here? How did she find me? How did she make my knife shut on my fingers like that? - there was a sharp pain to the back of his head, followed by another in his sinuses. After a second or so, he realised that he had just been stabbed ... through ... the ... brain ...

“Commander Calvert, are you all right?” He became aware that the others in the room were looking at him oddly. Normally he didn't react to anything that happened in the other timeline, but the sheer brutal surprise of the assault must have wrung some sort of sound out of him, even as that timeline was wrenched away from him.

He immediately split the timeline once more. With a shake of his head, he composed his expression and answered Renick's question. “Sorry, a touch of indigestion, I think. I'm fine now.” In the other one, he put a hand to his stomach and claimed illness. This allowed him to get up and leave the room while remaining for the rest of the briefing.

Well, that was relatively fucking terrifying, he admitted to himself as he reached his office/listened to Renick drone on. Nobody said anything about her being able to teleport. And it's not just guns and cars she can affect, but knives as well. What do they have in common? Moving parts? Closing his office door behind him, he gave himself over to the shakes. Okay, note to self. Until I know exactly how to neutralise her power, I don't kidnap the Ferguson boy for real.

He had died many times since he got his power. Usually he dropped the timeline before the moment of truth, but sometimes he had let it run out from morbid curiosity. His many deaths had been bloody, sometimes quite painful, and occasionally surprising. But he had to admit, to have a metal spike punched through the brain from behind was new, especially since he'd had no idea that it was coming. It was very much a once in a lifetime experience.

Seating himself at his desk, he opened his laptop and booted it up. Once it was up and running, he opened a file and conscientiously transcribed the notes for the briefing into a text file. Then he went into the encrypted file where he kept his notes on the Hebert girl, and began to enter what he'd learned about her. When he got the chance, he'd transfer the file to his base computer, but he didn't want to chance forgetting anything.

And in the meantime, he'd be very careful about making any sort of contact with Taylor Hebert.

<><> ​

Medhall Building

“Hey, Dad.” I squeezed my father's hand as I settled myself into the chair. “How are you feeling today?” I felt the faint squeeze in return and blinked back the tears in my eyes. Soon, Dad. Soon. “Hey, guess what. Peter loaned me a book I've never read before. It's the first part of a fantasy trilogy. I think you'll like it.”

I had actually fallen asleep the previous night reading it, which I hadn't done in years. It was obvious that a lot of work had gone into it; each of the characters was fully realised, even the more-than-a-little-bratty Cora. They were more than just background characters; even this early in the plot, I felt certain that I would be learning more about them as I read on. However, I couldn't just read it to myself. That wouldn't be fair to Dad.

As per Kaiser's suggestion, I was still dipping into my power every few minutes. My mental map of the building was fairly comprehensive, but it was a good idea to keep it updated. On the next go-around, I made the book-stand walk over to where I was sitting. I removed the volume of Wind in the Willows and set it aside, making sure that a bookmark was in place. Then I put the copy of Right of Blood in its place and dropped the powers once more.

“All right, then. Celestial Wars. Part One: Right of Blood. Chapter One.” I took a deep breath and began to read.

I paused at a knock on the door that connected with the outer room of the apartment. “'Scuse me a moment, Dad,” I murmured, then raised my voice. “Yes?”

“It's us.” I recognised Victor's voice. “May we come in?”

“Of course,” I said, using my power to turn the handle and open the door. “Come on in.”

Victor strolled on in, with Othala on his arm. I stood up from the chair and shared a hug with Othala. “Hi, how are you guys? I didn't see you at breakfast.” Tammi had been there, but she'd had to go off to school. I didn't envy her the school aspect, but it sucked not being able to hang with my friends all day.

“We had it before you woke up.” Othala raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You don't normally sleep in. Stay out a little later than normal last night?”

“More to the point,” Victor put in, “are we going to have to have a word with Ed Ferguson about what his son's been up to with our newest cape?” He mimed throwing a punch into his palm. I was reasonably sure that he was only joking, but I shook my head anyway.

“No, no, Peter dropped me off on time,” I told them hurriedly. “But he loaned me a book and I lost track of time, reading it. It was way late before I fell asleep. He was a …” I paused, rethinking my words. While I would've liked to say that he was a perfect gentleman, those words didn't quite fit all of what we'd done. And my behaviour hadn't been ladylike at all; at the memory, I found myself blushing. “Uh, he didn't do anything he shouldn't,” I temporised rapidly.

“Your voice says one thing, but your face says another,” Victor murmured, sounding somewhat amused. “I'm inclined to suspect that something went on that you're not telling us.”

“Honey, you're embarrassing her,” Othala chided, throwing an elbow into his ribs. “I'm sure everything was totally above board. And even if it wasn't, she's not about to talk about it in front of you. Or her father.” She bent a beaming smile upon me. “Though I do expect details later. Lots of details.”

“Sure,” I agreed, though I privately decided that certain details were not going to be aired, ever. The only ones who needed to know them were Peter and myself. “Have you come to sit with us? This book's pretty good.”

Victor looked interested. “Yeah? What's it about?” He leaned over to glance at where the book sat in the stand.

I tried to think of a concise way to describe the plot, and came up short. “Uh … well, it's about a god who's sentenced to Hell for mistreating the Lord of Hell's daughter, and what he does once he gets let out again. But that's not all of it. Not by a long, long way.”

“Sounds intense,” he said. “I might borrow it, once you've finished it. Any kickass fight scenes?”

I refrained from rolling my eyes. Typical guy. “Well, there's a scene where this demonic thing called Innis decides to attack Avis – that's the main character – because Avis got let out of Hell before Innis had his turn at torturing him. Innis slashes Avis' face. But Avis is a mind bender, see? Like the Simurgh, only times a hundred.”

Victor nodded. “So what's he do? Mind control him?”

“Heh, no.” I grinned. “He's a lot nastier. He wipes out the last ten years of Innis's memory. Bam, amnesia central.” I had to admit, I had grinned with satisfaction when I read that bit. That power had so many potential uses.

Othala got it first. “So this Innis guy wouldn't even remember why he was upset with Avis?” She grinned. “I like it. You could screw with peoples' heads so hard with that ability.”

“So what happens next -” Victor's words were brought up short by Othala's nudge. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Othala shrugged. “We actually did come in here for a reason. Victor wants your opinion on the new armour he's been working on. I'll sit with your father while you're out. And I might sneak a peek at your book too, if you don't mind.” Her grin turned impish.

“Sure thing,” I said at once. “Just don't lose my place. If you wanted to read out loud, I'm sure Dad wouldn't mind.”

“Hey!” protested Victor. “She always tells me spoilers.” He turned to his wife. “No spoilers.”

She gave him an angelic smile and batted her eyes. “No promises.”

I hugged her again. “Thank you for this. I really, seriously appreciate it. And thanks for the dating advice that you gave to Peter. It was the best night ever. Seriously.” I couldn't wait for Peter to get the photos printed out. I was going to have the candlelit one framed.

Her eyes lit with mischief. “Now I really want to know the details. But you have to go to Victor's lab first, or he'll go all sadface on me, and I can't handle Victor being sad. He's like the world's biggest disappointed puppy.”

“Hey!”

I couldn't resist. “What sort of puppy?”

“Beagle or basset or something like that.” She waved her hands vaguely. “Something soft and fluffy and helpless.”

“Hey!”

I was snickering now. “Okay, when I get back I'll tell you most of what happened.”

She smirked. “Ooh, 'most'? I sense juicy gossip.” She patted Dad's hand as it lay on the sheet. “I'll see you when you get back.”

<><> ​

I was still grinning as Victor led the way to the elevator. He was armed, as were quite a few other people in the building; while I couldn't see them directly, the guns bobbing along at hip level were a dead giveaway.

As he pressed the button to fetch the elevator, he muttered something under his breath. “Sorry,” I said, dropping my powers so I could concentrate on him. “I didn't get that.”

“Why couldn't she say it was a Dobermann or Rottweiler puppy?” he grumped. “At least those are badass.” I couldn't quite tell if he was upset or just playing along.

“But still cute,” I pointed out. “She was complimenting you.” But I had to draw on my powers again to prevent the grin from stealing across my face. Just to see if I could, I concentrated on the lab, and the armour within it. Even at this range, I could make out quite a few details. More, I suspected, than if I had been looking at it without my powers over the same distance.

He didn't say anything reply to my observation. A few moments later, the doors opened. As I stepped in, I looked at him. “The armour's very impressive.”

Observation: sincere compliments improve relations with allies.

He glanced sharply at me. “You can tell from this distance?”

Tone and expression: surprise.

“I can detect it from a much greater distance,” I told him truthfully. “Some details are still too small to make out, but I can understand most of it, I believe.” All around us, business in the Medhall building went on as we descended via the hidden elevator shaft.

“I think you'll like it,” he said as I dropped my powers once more. “It'll make you look taller and more imposing. And I've been working on the chain.”

“Excellent.” I grinned, eager to see what he'd done.

The Merchants had never done anything to me personally, although they'd hurt a lot of people with their drugs, and probably killed a few as well. It was long since time that they got cleaned out once and for all. I was actually at a loss as to why the PRT hadn't done it. Or the Protectorate. From what I knew of the Wards, they could do it on a lazy Sunday afternoon. For God's sake, New Wave could put them all behind bars with a minimum of effort. The fact that none of the heroes in Brockton Bay had ever bothered to exert themselves to clean up a gang that actually revolved around selling drugs said more about them, and about Brockton Bay, than it did about the Merchants.

Which made our upcoming raid all the more satisfying; on the one hand, I'd be breaking in the armour and finding out what needed to be improved. On the other, I would be ridding the city of a legitimate problem that didn't even have the dubious cover of racial unity to hide behind. Though I supposed that someone should fill Lung in on the historical relationships between Korea, Japan and China. And ask him exactly what a 'typical Asian' looked like. I snorted with laughter.

“What's funny?” asked Victor as we stepped into the lab. Ahead was the armour; trying to keep my eagerness from showing too much, I made toward it.

“I was just thinking about Lung,” I said as I circled the armour, admiring it. It was certainly taller, standing about seven and a half feet tall. Imposing, it could do. I was also willing to bet on 'terrifying'. “You know how he basically pulls everyone with Asian heritage into the ABB?”

“Yeah?” he asked, leaning against a pillar and crossing his arms. “What's funny about that?”

I smirked at him. “What if he just calls them all 'Asian' because he can't tell them apart?” Drawing on my power, I looked at the deeper details of the armour. There were layered metal plates, as well as extendible rods on the forearms. The latter looked like they could telescope out, with needle-sharp spikes right at the core. And on the back were two separate drums, each holding a mechanism involving magnets and copper windings …

I looked over to where Victor was leaning against the pillar, shaking with laughter. “You built electricity generators. They look good.”

“ … can't tell them apart … oh, god. I'm gonna have to tell Othala that one.” He straightened up and faced me, though I noted a persistent amused expression on his face. “Yeah, it looks good on the drawing board, but I'll be interested to see how it goes in the field.”

“I could test it now,” I suggested.

Assume positive control: armour.

Open armour front.

Turning around, I stepped backward on to the foot-plates inside the armour, a good twelve inches above the ground. However, while my legs fit into the armour's legs, there was no place for my arms to go inside the armour's limbs. There was space inside the torso for them, of course, as well as a pair of grab-bars I could hold on to. This allowed the arms to be longer than my own, and the hands to be much larger than any kind of gauntlet that I'd be able to use. They still looked realistic, but now they supplied serious levels of crushing power, if I ever needed to pop someone's skull like a grape. The layout led to the armour's thighs being proportionately shorter than normal, having to accommodate to my real femur length, but while this could have been a problem, Victor had obviously designed the armour to draw attention away from this aspect.

I had already noted that my head would not protrude into the armour's helmet, which had been designed to look like the helmet of a medieval knight. As the armour closed, a pair of goggles slid over my face; a few seconds later, I realised that it was the bottom end of a periscope that had its viewpoint within the helmet itself. The mirrors were made of some sort of polished metal, and I was able to turn the helmet to attain the same field of view that I would have had normally.

“How's the fit?” At Victor's question, I turned to look at him. When I tilted my head forward, the helmet inclined as well, bringing him into view.

“Comfortable,” I stated. I took a step, then another. The 'boots' were wide and had soles of jointed metal that could be flexed for extra traction. “It is … intuitive. And very stable.” All the internal surfaces seemed to be lined with silicone gel. “Insulated?”

“Of course.” He drew himself up stiffly. “I'm not about to let you electrocute yourself, after all.”

Posture: offended.

Expression: smile.

Analysis: offended posture is exaggerated for humorous effect.

“That's appreciated,” I said, then my attention moved on to something else of interest. “You've stored the chain within the forearms.”

“Correct,” he said. “Have you figured out how to use it?”

By way of answer, I snapped my left forearm out straight and raised the palm to face the far wall. Under my direction, an aperture opened at the base of the palm and the chain emerged at speed, unwinding from the reel within the forearm. I halted the outrush when thirty feet had come out, then turned and lashed the chain at a pillar. It hummed through the air and smashed into the concrete before wrapping around the barrier with almost unstoppable force.

“Christ.” Victor hadn't moved. “You'll terrify those drug-dealing fuckers.”

“That is the idea.” I unwound the chain and retracted it. “Do you have a broom?”

“Storage closet, just over there.” He gestured, but I had already detected the closet. “Want me to get it?”

“No need.” Assume positive control: closet door. The door swung open, and the chain darted past Victor to enter the closet. He jumped back out of the way, even though I had calculated the necessary clearances. I wrapped the end of the chain around the broom handle and brought it back out of the closet. Then I brought the chain out from the right forearm of the suit. The rotary blades within the links were turned so that they would not cut anything or be dulled while in storage; with no effort at all, I brought them to bear and spun them up.

Wrapping the chain with the spinning blades around the top few inches of the broom handle caused that section of wood to disintegrate into a shower of sawdust. I tried again, more carefully, and found that even a casual brush of the chain against the broomstick would slice it through in seconds. By the time I ceased experimenting, the broom handle was two feet shorter, and several short sections of broomstick were lying on the floor.

“Well,” Victor remarked as I fetched a dustpan from the closet – still using the chains, but without the blades – and cleaned up the mess I had made. “They're effective, I'll give them that.”

“What are they made of?” I asked. While using them, I had determined that they were composed of a denser, heavier metal than the steel used in the links, but I didn't know what it was.

“Tungsten carbide,” he informed me. “It's not cheap, but it's heavier than lead and a lot harder. I talked to Kaiser and we think it should be able to cut guns in half.”

“That shouldn't be too much of a problem to find out,” I said practically. “There is a damaged firearm on the workbench over there. May I use it to test the blades?” I had little doubt that I would be allowed to do just that, but I decided to wait for permission, so as to maintain good relations with my allies.

Victor glanced at the non-functioning pistol, as if he had forgotten that it was there. “Oh, uh, sure,” he said. “Just let me get some protective gear first. I want to observe this.”

It took him only a few moments to do so; while he was thus occupied, I positioned the frame of the pistol in a vice so that we could observe the effect of the blade on the metal of the gun. By the time he came over, I was experimenting with running up the blades in a ripple effect. This required me to concentrate more closely on using my powers, which I understood to be quite important.

“Okay,” he said, aiming a camera at the gun. “Do your thing.”

Spinning up the blades once more, I swiped the chain across the gun. The noise was quite distressing, far louder than when I had been subdividing the broomstick. Nor was I prepared for the shower of sparks, although I should have been. When we examined the gun, it had not been cut in half, although a sliver had been taken off the end of the barrel and the rest of the gun had sustained several deep slices, most of which would have rendered the weapon useless for any purpose more meaningful than a paperweight.

“Impressive,” Victor decided. He gestured at the gun, careful to keep his hands clear of my chains, despite the fact that the blades were no longer spinning. “Can you wreck it faster by wrapping the chain around it?”

“I believe so.” I waited until he had stepped back, then brought the chain in again. As it wrapped around the vice-trapped gun, the sparks flew everywhere in counterpoint to the screeching of tungsten carbide on steel. It took only a few seconds to destroy the gun this time; by the time I withdrew the chains, the only part of the pistol not in pieces on the bench or floor was the section enclosed by the jaws of the vice.

“Well, that's not scary as fuck at all,” Victor declared.

Tone: sarcasm.

Analysis: opposite of statement is what is actually meant.

Conclusion: chainblades will frighten Merchants.

“Do you believe that Kaiser will approve?” I asked, fetching the dustpan and brush to sweep up the remains of the pistol. I had destroyed it so thoroughly that it was no longer registering as a machine on my senses.

Sound: laughter.

Analysis: amused.

“Taylor, I can guarantee that Kaiser will be thrilled by the results of the testing. Your power, backed by appropriate engineering, makes you one of our most formidable and versatile capes. And that's not even counting your area-denial capability.” He slapped my armour on the shoulder as I retracted the chains back into the suit's forearms. “I am so looking forward to watching you kick ass on Friday night.”

“It will be a good preliminary test for the armour,” I admitted, locking the joints into place and opening the front of the armour. Stepping out of it, I dropped my powers as I stretched my arms and worked my shoulders. “Oh, that's better. It gets a bit cramped in there. Sorry.”

He chuckled and shook his head in wry amusement. “The next model will have more room in it, but this one should be adequate for dealing with the Merchants.” Then he paused. “Wait, 'preliminary' test?”

“Well, I do want to take Lung all the way down for what he did to Peter and Dad. And Oni Lee, for Bronson and Jenna,” I explained. “In fact, so long as the ABB is around, they're a constant threat to my life. I had no beef with them before all this, but they had to keep pushing.” I lowered my eyes and rubbed my knuckles, pushing my thumb down between each joint. “Am I a bad person for wanting to see Lung dead? Or wanting to hurt the ABB?”

“Hey. Taylor.” I looked up, just in time for Victor to hug me. His arms were strong, although he didn't hold me as closely as Peter did. He smelled of grease and oil and burned metal. “No, you're not a bad person. All you want to do is protect your friends and loved ones. It's not pointless revenge if it sends the right message. If someone hurt Othala, I'd be getting pretty medieval on their asses too.”

I smiled into his shoulder. “Thanks. I really appreciate your help. Othala, too. Everyone's, really.”

“Hey, that's okay.” A little awkwardly, he patted me on the back then let me go. “We're all behind you on this, you know. You're our new rising star. Kaiser's incredibly proud of you. We all are.”

The flush rose in my face to match the warm feeling in my chest, and I turned away to pretend to inspect the armour before Victor could see my confusion. I admired and respected him a lot, and I desperately wanted to live up to the praise and not be seen as just another silly teenage girl. If only I knew how to do that.

For a few moments, he didn't say anything; the silence stretched on, becoming more awkward by the second. “Oh, hey,” he said suddenly. “Check this out. Something I was working on. Auxiliary units.”

His words broke the spell; almost before I knew I was doing it, I had turned to see what he was talking about. He was over at another workbench, talking over his shoulder as he fiddled with a bunch of parts that I had only gotten the most basic of machine readings from.

“Auxiliary units?” I stepped up beside him, embarrassment forgotten for the moment, though the warmth in my chest lingered. Mr Anders is proud of me! But now I was distracting myself; a deep breath and a quick dip into my powers dispelled most of the surplus emotions, and I was able to observe with a level head. “How does that work?”

He had almost finished assembling one item; to an uncharitable observer, it would have resembled a toy helicopter with most of the important bits missing. Which, I figured, it kind of was. There was no engine and no control mechanism, just the rotors and stuff. Which is all I need. A smile spread across my face. “Is that what I think it is?”

“If you think it's a drone that nobody can hijack or jam the controls of, you're absolutely correct.” He tightened the last screw and put the drone on the bench. “Go ahead, see how well you can control it.”

I pulled up my powers and let them loose on the device before me. Its capabilities unfolded in my mind.

Assume positive control: 'auxiliary unit'.

Set rotor-blades to deliver downward thrust.

Spin up rotor-blades.

Problem: Torque is causing 'auxiliary unit' to revolve on the spot.

Solution: Spin up tail-rotor to counter torque.

Adjust rotor-blades to deliver positive lift.

Balancing the turning speed of the main rotor and the tail rotor, I piloted the auxiliary unit from the benchtop. Carefully at first, then with greater and greater ease, I piloted it about the workshop, getting a feel for its reactions and manoeuvring capability.

“Damn.” Victor watched as I brought it in for a landing on the bench. “You picked that up almost as fast as I would've, and I know how to fly choppers.”

“My power makes it almost intuitive,” I said. “Are these intended to deliver payloads to the enemy?” I had taken note that there seemed to be an empty space beneath the 'body' of the drone, but I wasn't sure what was supposed to go there.

“Well, it could actually do that,” he said. “Huh. Gonna have to explore that one. But the main idea is to put a camera there with a wireless link to a heads-up display inside your armour. This would let you scout out places where your armour can't go.”

I dropped my powers. “Could it carry a gun?” I asked. Picking up the device, I looked it over. It didn't look very sturdy. “Or would that be too heavy?”

He grinned, looking remarkably pleased with himself. “Not a gun. But something that's even better. Check this out.” Leading the way to the bench closest to the door, he pointed out a tray holding an aluminum bar and what looked like a pile of dull-grey darts of some sort. I picked up one of the 'darts' and looked it over with interest. Pointed at one end, it had three short silvery fins at the other. I figured it to be two inches long and maybe a sixteenth of an inch in diameter, though I could've been wrong about that last number.

“Okay,” I confessed. “I give up. What is it?” As I asked the question, I noticed something else weird; if I wasn't totally mistaken, it felt heavier than it really should have.

“Tungsten flechette, with aluminum fins,” Victor said cheerfully, answering the question that I probably would've asked next. “It goes in here.” He picked up the aluminum bar; at a guess, it was about four inches by two by one.

Now that I was looking properly at it, I could see a lot of tiny holes in a lattice pattern in the four-by-one side. Each hole was circular, but had three tiny slots radiating out from it. After a long moment, my brain went duh! and I inserted the 'flechette' point-first into one of the holes. It fitted perfectly, the fins fitting into the slots as if they'd been designed that way. Which, of course, they had. Dipping into my powers for a second confirmed that yes, the dart – or rather, flechette – inside the block now counted as a machine. Specifically, a machine that would allow me to launch the flechette from the block at a very high speed. That is, a gun.

Which, I realised a second later, had a backplate, meaning that the only way to launch the flechette I'd just put into it was backwards. I rolled my eyes at my own idiocy and exerted my power to make the offending projectile pop out of the hole again. Turning it around, I pushed it into place, feeling the point against my fingertip as I did so.

This was more than just a gun. Judging from the very large number of holes in the block, it consisted of lots and lots of one-shot guns. For a few seconds, I tried to count them by eye, then gave up. “Okay, fine. How many can this shoot at once? And how are we supposed to load these things before the end of the week?”

He grinned smugly at me. “To answer your first question, that block can shoot a hundred and fifty flechettes before reloading. As for the other question, I've got a machine to do it for me.” He took the bar from me and tapped the backing plate. “And it doesn't even put them in backward.”

I stuck my tongue out at him as he tried to extract the flechette once more; after a few seconds, I exerted my power and pushed it out an inch. Pulling it the rest of the way, he dropped it into the hopper of a device attached to the same bench. I'd ignored it before, because I didn't know what it did. Now I was getting an idea.

I watched as he picked up the tray of flechettes and dumped them into the hopper. Flicking a switch on the side of the machine, he observed it carefully as it started shuddering from side to side. There was a slot underneath that he slid the aluminum bar into, making sure it was solidly in place with the holes uppermost. A few moments later, the machine shut off by itself; when Victor removed the bar from the slot, every hole had the pointed tip of a flechette visible within. Keeping it so that the flechettes pointed upward, he handed it to me. I took it, noting the extra weight of the projectiles; together, they made the lightweight bar feel as heavy as steel.

“Care to try it out?” he asked lightly. “Use the corkboard as a target if you want. It won't be hurt by a few more holes.” He indicated the battered board, twenty feet away. It had several pieces of paper tacked in place.

“Sure.” I held the bar in both hands, being extra careful not to have any part of my fingers in front of those holes, then drew on my power.

Assume positive control: flechette launcher.

Aim at target.

Launch single flechette.

With a startling crack and a solid jolt, one of the flechettes left the bar; at the same time, I saw a tiny puff of dust from the corkboard. I looked at Victor. “Do you want me to shoot more?”

“No, that'll be good for now. Let's go see what we did.” Locating a pair of pliers, he hurried over to the corkboard. I put the bar on the bench and released my powers, then followed him.

“Did that flechette just break the sound barrier?” I asked as we inspected the board for the projectile. It wasn't sticking out, which made me wonder where it had gotten to; while it had been travelling very fast, the wall behind was made of concrete. While I believed that I had seen a puff of dust, it may have been my imagination. I began to wonder if I'd even hit the board. Had the flechette simply disintegrated on launch?

“You know, I think it did,” he said happily. “The Merchants are going to be pissed as hell on Friday night. I can almost guarantee it.” He paused and dug at a spot on the board with a screwdriver. “Damn,” he muttered. “I thought I saw it.”

“I think it might have gone in there,” I said, pointing at a dimple in the board. It was where I thought I'd seen the puff.

“Okay, let's check it out.” He dug away at the cork with the screwdriver, but came up empty, the tip scraping against the wooden backboard. “Nope.” He paused, and dug deeper. “Wait.”

“What?” I asked, leaning closer.

“Supersonic tungsten darts are more armour-piercing than I'd thought.” He dug a little more, then showed me what he'd found; a neat hole in the backboard as well.

In the end, we had to remove the corkboard. As we did so, small pieces of concrete from the wall behind fell to the floor. Now it was easy to see the impact point; the hole was a couple of inches across and an inch deep. Within, it was just possible to see the dull grey metal of the base of the flechette. It looked like the fins had been stripped off when they hit the concrete.

“Well.” Victor eyed the tiny grey spot in the middle of the small crater. “That's gonna be a cast-iron son of a bitch to get out.” Using the screwdriver, he dug a small pit around the shaft of the flechette, then got a grip on it with the pliers.

Which did absolutely nothing. No matter how he grunted, heaved, twisted and did his best not to swear, the tiny dart remained stubbornly in the wall. An incautious jerk pulled the pliers free and he yelped in pain as he skinned his knuckles. I hastily dipped into my powers to avoid laughing. Suspiciously, he looked at me; dropping my powers again, I gazed back innocently.

“Look, why don't you go back upstairs again?” he said. Quite plainly, I heard go back upstairs so I can swear and kick things. “The armour's definitely workable, and so are the drones and the flechette-guns. I'll let you know when I've got something else for you to test.”

That made sense. “Okay,” I said. “Do you want me to send Othala down?” As impersonally as I could, I nodded toward his hand, where blood oozed from the scrape.

His lips tightened. “If you could, yes, please.” An appreciation of the humour of the situation crept into his eyes. “Thanks for not laughing.”

“Laugh?” I asked as I did my best to hold back a smile. “Me? I'd never do such a thing.” Heading for the lift, I turned my head away so that he couldn't see the broad grin now on my face.

At least, I thought he hadn't seen the grin; as the lift doors began to shut behind me, a screwed-up paper ball bounced off the back of my head. “Nothing wrong with my aim either, wiseass,” I heard him say as the lift doors finished closing. On the way up, I let myself giggle a little, but composed my expression as I came to the top. Victor was my friend, after all.

<><> ​

“Hi.” I waved to Othala as I opened the door into the apartment. “How's he doing?”

She looked up from the book. “Oh, hi, Taylor. You're back already?”

I raised an eyebrow. “I've been down there for a little bit. I destroyed a broomstick and a gun, after all. What page are you up to?”

She looked down at the book again. “Oh. Wow. I just got carried away. I love the way the gods are portrayed. For an angel, Uriel's a real asshole, isn't he?”

I had to chuckle. “Hello? He is the crown prince of Hell. And the archangel of Vengeance, as well.”

“Oh. Right. Good point.” She got up and placed the book back in the book-stand. “So do they meet any other gods? I mean, so far it's only been Hell and a mention of Heaven, or at least angels.”

I nodded as I sat down. “Yeah, they meet a few. I've gotten as far as where they have a bit of a standoff with the Norse gods. Loki and Thor are very unhappy with them.” Taking Dad's hand, I squeezed it. It may have been my imagination, but the return squeeze felt a fraction stronger.

“Because of what Avis has been up to,” she guessed. “I can't wait to read that bit.” She touched the page. “I'd just got to there when you came in, where Uriel's making Avis crawl.”

I took her hand and squeezed it as well. “Thanks again. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your help in all this.”

Leaning over, she kissed me on the forehead. “You're one of us. We help each other because that's what we do.”

When Peter first told me about that, I thought he was full of shit. Boy, was I wrong. I couldn't stop the smile from spreading across my face. Not that I really wanted to. “Oh, yeah. Talking about helping. Victor's skinned his knuckles, trying to pull a supersonic tungsten dart out of a concrete wall with a pair of pliers. He might need you to go and kiss it better.” One corner of my mouth twitched as I tried not to laugh at that image.

She snorted. “Okay, now this I have to see. Talk to you later, Taylor.” With a beaming smile and a wave, she left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

My sigh of contentment was heartfelt. I had love and support from all sides. Peter and Tammi, Victor and Othala, and even Kaiser himself; they were all there for me. Even Dad was still alive, and getting better every day. Once he woke up, my life would be complete again.

Raising my eyes to the book, I began to read out loud.

<><> ​

Later That Afternoon
ABB Territory

The nondescript vehicle stopped near the ABB drug house. As the guards took notice, three men climbed from the car. They were armed, but their hands were empty. Their clothing was identical; dark jackets over dark clothing. They may have been wearing body armour, or they might just have been that bulky. While their hair was cut close to the scalp, they didn't have the look of Empire skinheads. Two stayed by the car, while the third approached the front steps of the drug house. The two guards raised their guns and aimed them at him. “Hold it, white boy,” snapped one of them. “Turn around and walk away, right the fuck now.”

The man stopped. “Got a message for your boss,” he said plainly. “Something he'll want to hear.”

After sharing a glance with his partner, the guard stared at the newcomer. “What, Jin?” he asked blankly.

“No, your boss,” the man said patiently. “The guy who's in charge of the ABB. You know. Lung.”

“Oh.” The guard blinked a couple of times. “You want to talk to him? Because he probably doesn't want to talk to you.”

“No. I've got a letter for him to read.” Moving carefully, the newcomer held his jacket open to show the letter in question, in an inside pocket. “I'm gonna take it out now.”

Both guns were trained on him now, fingers on triggers. “You be real careful about that.”

Ignoring the admonition, the man hooked the letter out with two fingers, then let it fall to the asphalt at his feet. He nodded to them, then turned and began to walk away.

“Wait!” called the guard. “Who are you working for?”

“He'll figure it out.” The man was back at the car by now. All three of them climbed back in; moments later, the vehicle was out of sight.

After looking around carefully, the guard trotted down the steps and retrieved the letter, holding it carefully. On the front was written Lung in careful script. “It's for him, all right” he said.

“What do we do with it?” asked his colleague.

The answer was obvious. “We make fucking sure he gets it.”

Neither one even considered opening the letter.

<><> ​

PRT Building
Wards Base
That Night

Sophia stared at the rectangular white object on her bed. It hadn't been there when she went out to go to the cafeteria, but now it was. Someone had come into her personal, private area – about the only private area she had any more – and left a letter on her fucking bed. Snatching it up, she prepared to storm into the common area and find out whoever had left it there, so she could shove it up their ass … then stopped.

Wait. Mail doesn't get delivered here.

That one fact got her attention. The other thing that caused her to stop and think was the fact that there was something small and bulky inside the envelope. Ripping open the letter, she tipped it, and a small key fell into her palm. The type of key, to be precise, that could be used to remove and deactivate her ankle bracelet without setting off alarms.

What. The. Fuck.

There was a note in the envelope; grabbing it, she unfolded it and read the careful writing.

There was a number appended. Carefully, Sophia tore that number away from the rest of the letter. For the next five minutes, she ripped the letter and envelope into small pieces; later, she would visit the bathroom and flush them all away.

In the meantime, she was content to sit on her bed and plan out her revenge. At fucking last. Things are going my way.

She couldn't wait.



End of Part Nineteen

Part Twenty

 

The Slippery Slope

Part Twenty: The Gathering Storm



[A/N: This chapter has been beta-read, and considerably improved upon, by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



Wednesday
February 16, 2011

I relaxed in the anteroom to the little apartment I shared with Dad, a bowl of ice cream in my hand. Othala lounged in the armchair next to me, holding a similar bowl. Within the apartment, Dad was being bathed by Mary; as this would necessarily take some time, Othala and I had retired to the anteroom for ice cream.

“Dad opened his eyes today,” I told her, trying to keep my voice casual. I'd been holding on to the news all morning, but I had to tell someone.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “He woke up? Why didn't you tell me sooner?”

I shook my head. “I don't think he actually woke up. You know when someone's asleep and they open their eyes, look around then go back to sleep but never remember it later on? That's what happened. He just opened his eyes, blinked a few times, then closed them again.” I'd been wildly excited at the time, of course. For about the next ten minutes, I'd tried to wake him up again, but all I got was a few squeezes of the hand.

“Well, that's really good news anyway.” She reached over and took my hand for a moment. “I'm so pleased for you. I know how much your dad means to you.”

“Until I met you guys, he was my only family.” I stared at the watercolour on the opposite wall, trying to think of the right words. “I mean, you and Victor and Tammi mean a lot to me, and Peter's just wonderful, but Dad's my dad, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” she said, her tone as gentle as her expression. “And I'm gonna keep giving him my healing. It's a slow process, but it's really working. To be honest, I wasn't really sure if it would.”

I put my bowl down and got up to give her a hug. “I owe you guys so much. I don't even know where I'd be if I hadn't met Peter.”

“Hey,” she said, putting one arm around my back. “Friends support friends, yeah? You're a sister. You're one of us.”

“Yeah.” I smiled as I sat down again. “And you have no idea how good that makes me feel.” I took another spoonful of ice cream. “Though it sucks that I can only see Peter in the evenings, once he drives over here from school.”

She smiled slyly. “Well, you know that I've got my driving license. And I've got my own car.”

It took me a few seconds to get it. “You'd take me to meet him at school?”

“Well, duh.” She rolled her eyes. “You and Peter remind me so much of me and Victor. You're so goddamn happy when he's around.”

“Well, are you surprised?” I chuckled. “He's Peter.”

“Which reminds me,” she said. “You never filled me in on how your date went. Details, girlfriend.”

I smiled to myself, recalling that wonderful evening. There were some details, of course, that were going to stay between me and Peter. But Othala had done her bit to make sure the evening was a success, so I guess I owed her something. “Well, he managed to totally take me by surprise with the candlelight dinner …”

As I talked, Othala ignored her melting ice-cream and listened with rapt attention.

<><> ​

Later, Outside Winslow High

“Thank you so much for this,” I said feelingly. “It's nice to get out, and even nicer to go see Peter.”

Othala reached across from the driver's seat and squeezed my shoulder. “Well, you go have fun. And hey, how about we go down to the Boardwalk on the weekend, after we've dealt with the Merchants? We'll make it a double date. You, me, Victor and Peter. We can go to Fugly Bob's.”

“Sure thing,” I replied with a grin. “But only if you make me invulnerable so I can try out the Challenger.”

“I dunno.” She looked doubtful. “My power's good, but it won't work miracles.”

I smirked. “So you can give me kickass powers, but you can't give me the ability to eat that heart-stopping mass of grease and salt?”

“Be real, Taylor.” She pushed down her sunglasses and looked at me over them. “You weigh about the same as a Challenger as it is.”

I had to admit that she wasn't far wrong. “Fine,” I agreed, wrinkling my nose. “We'll hit the Market and make the boys carry what they buy for us.”

“Now that's more like it,” she said with a laugh. “Sisterhood forever!” She held up her hand; I high-fived her, then got out of the car.

As I did so, I flashed my powers on and off again, getting a count of firearms and vehicles moving in suspicious patterns. There was a bunch of Jeeps in a nearby side-street, with armed men inside, but nothing closer that I could spot. Moving casually, I leaned back into the car. “Does the boss have anyone watching the school? An emergency team or something like that?”

“Not that I know of,” she said.

Knuckles tightening on the gear shift. Sign of tension.

“Why?” she asked. “Do you see something?”

At that moment, all six vehicles started up and began to move. “There's a group of four wheel drive vehicles with men in them. They just started moving. If they come this way, should I immobilise them, or let them get close enough so we can capture one?”

“Let them get close,” she said immediately. “If there's someone making a move on us, the boss will want to know who and how.”

“Understood.” I closed the door and took a few steps away from the car. The four wheel drive vehicles exited the side street and turned left. Away from the school. I turned to catch Othala's eye through the windshield, and shook my head slightly. She nodded just as minutely, and started the car. I moved toward the front steps of the school, still intermittently watching the unknown vehicles.

This was the first time I had been back to Winslow since the ABB had nearly killed George. So much had happened over the last … two weeks? Three? Whatever; my life had changed utterly beyond recognition in that time. While Winslow still wasn't a place I really wanted to be, it had gone from an institution of slow torture to a place where I could see Peter and my Empire friends and be relatively safe. Now, it meant virtually nothing to me. It was a building, a collection of meaningless nobodies. Not one of them had done a thing to help me while I was Taylor Hebert, bullied loner. They probably didn't know or care that Bronson had died saving my life, or that Jenna's last act had been to try to put me out of the way of danger.

The last of the contingent of vehicles moved out of the range of my power, but I didn't relax. I had learned the hard way that enemies would attack at the worst possible time, from the worst possible angle. Every car within my range only needed my will to become a weapon of war. Idly, I wondered if Victor could design me an exoskeleton light enough to be worn under clothing without using my power. To appear to be powerless, yet be able to jump on top of a building or punch someone's heart out through their back could be very useful in a pinch.

I was aware that my thoughts were darker than normal, and I wondered why. Then I realised that I was looking at the patch of concrete where I'd been standing when the ABB guys had jumped out at me. Barely even thinking, I moved sideways to peer around toward the corner where we had found George. I wondered what the police had thought of the body we had left behind. Not that I cared. Just another fucking Asian criminal. I barely even noticed how I ran the last three words together in my head.

“Taylor? Is that you?” I spun around, my hands coming up in a defensive stance, ready to kick, punch or bring a car into action … then relaxed slightly as I recognised the boy who had come up behind me. My sudden action startled him, so that he stumbled backward and tripped, landing on his butt.

“Greg? What the hell are you doing out of class?” I demanded. Dipping into my powers, I checked my watch – Peter had given me a mechanical one, which meant that I could read the hands without looking – and noted that it was still two minutes short of the bell.

“I've got gym class,” he mumbled, scrambling to his feet. “They always play dodge-ball in the last period, and they always pick on me, and they throw the ball hard.”

I could almost sympathise, but that sort of thing wasn't my problem any more. On the other hand, Greg Veder was kind of my problem. “Greg, you didn't see me here.”

“Uh …” His brain seemed to kick into gear. “Taylor, you've changed. Where've you been? I heard the ABB killed the guy you were with, and chased you off down the street. I heard they killed you, too, for being … uhhh …” All too late, he stumbled to a halt.

“In the Empire?” I raised my eyebrows. “Is that what you meant to ask? You can say it, you know. As you can see, I'm alive and well. Answer your question?”

If human brains had silicon chips in them, I would've been able to smell his frying from where I was. The look on his face could have gone into the dictionary, under 'confusion'. Or perhaps 'befuddlement'. “Uh, but … I … were you actually in the Empire?”

“It's a little late to be asking that, isn't it?” I asked, just a shade sarcastically. “But to answer your question, yeah. I joined the Empire. Mainly because they were the only ones to offer the slightest bit of help against the bitches and assholes who thought I was Winslow's punching-bag. Got a problem with that?”

He swallowed convulsively. “Uh, no … I just … well, I wanted to help, but … uh …”

“But you were too piss-scared that they'd turn on you as well?” I tilted my head slightly. “Actually, I gotta say you were probably right. Still doesn't make it any better that you never even tried, though.”

He wilted in on himself. I was reminded of a spider I saw in the bathtub once when I turned the water on. It had rolled on its back and pulled all its legs in as it drowned. “I'm sorry, Taylor. I … we were friends, weren't we?”

“Well, in your favour, you never actually joined in,” I conceded. “Though you sometimes made things worse from sheer stupidity, so there's that.” I raised my chin slightly as a thought occurred to me. “You get beaten up much?”

“Now and then,” he mumbled, looking down and away. Which meant at least once a week, if I was translating 'boy' correctly. “Probably get it tomorrow for skipping out on gym class today.”

“What if I told you I could fix all that?” I asked. “Make sure you never got beaten up by the assholes at Winslow ever again?”

His eyes widened. “What, you'd tell the Empire guys to ease off on me?”

“Not … exactly.” Though it didn't surprise me that they'd been smacking Greg around. The boy did manage to almost invite it on a regular basis. I'd wanted to smack him more than once myself. “I was thinking you could join.”

“Wh-what?” He stared at me as though I'd just pulled a gun on him. “The Empire? But they're a bunch of racist pricks!”

Well, his foot is still lodged firmly in his mouth. I didn't say a word, but my stare finally got through to him; when he eventually realised what he'd said to me, he nearly fell over again in his hurry to get out of my arm's reach. If I wanted to hurt you, you'd already be on the ground. While I wasn't yet a match for Peter, I was pretty sure I could put a world of hurt on Greg Veder.

“Shit – I'm sorry, I didn't mean, uh, I know you're not a racist, uh, I didn't mean to call you that,” he babbled.

“Racism is just another name for a particular point of view,” I told him firmly. I'd been doing a lot of thinking about this. “Is it racist to point out that the ABB targets everyone, including their own kind, for their violent crimes? Which include kidnapping teenage girls for their brothels? Or that the leader of the Merchants is a black man?” I put my hands to my face and made my voice high-pitched. “Oh, no, a drug-dealing African-American! How goddamn stereotypical!” When I took a step forward, he cringed back from me. “You don't have to hate other races to join the Empire. All you've gotta do is be ready to back your brothers and sisters up. Because they'll be backing you up. No matter what.”

Greg stared at me, possibly wondering at the certainty in my voice. “But … they'd take me? And I wouldn't get beaten up any more?”

I wasn't so sure about the latter. The stories I'd heard from Bronson did mention a certain amount of 'attitude adjustment' amongst the lower ranks now and again, but that was mainly for those recruits who mouthed off in the hearing of the wrong person. Of course, Greg wasn't the type to mouth off … on purpose, anyway. But they'd certainly toughen him up, and maybe give him a crash course in how to associate with people. God knows he needs it.

I tilted my head, just as the bell rang. “Sure they'd take you. You just gotta be dedicated. Be loyal to them, they'll be loyal to you.” He didn't seem to notice that I'd left off any mention of being beaten up. If he decided to join, they'd get to that part eventually. And nobody else would be beating on him, which had to be a bonus. “Now, you never saw me. You never talked to me. Got it?”

“I, uh, yeah, got it,” he said. “If I, uh, joined, would we …”

I didn't show him the smile I felt like showing, as it might have given him entirely the wrong idea. “Oh, you'd see me around.” Turning my back on him, I strode toward the steps just as the doors opened. A flood of students stampeded out; just to be careful, I dipped into my power and tracked all the switchblades and pistols on the move. Peter's pistol was a bit different to the ones I usually saw, which let me track his movements through the school. All this time, and I never knew he was carrying at Winslow.

Nobody seemed to recognise me as the school emptied out. I stood with my hands in my jacket pockets, watching the students stream past me; while I did attract a few glances, they seemed to be of the who are you? variety rather than hey, I know you. To be fair, I didn't have much in common with the hoodie-wearing shoulder-slumped bullying victim who'd walked out of Winslow three weeks previously. Now I stood straight and tall, wearing a leather jacket that had spent a couple years languishing at the back of the closet before Peter gave it to me. I didn't care that it was old, or that it was second-hand. I did care that it was something that Peter had owned and cherished, and now he was passing it on to me. Under the jacket was a black t-shirt and skinny jeans that Tammi had picked out. I supposed it wasn't that much of a surprise that Greg had seemed more than usually intimidated by me.

“Taylor!” Peter's eyes lit up, though he sounded surprised to see me.

I grinned at him and slid my arm around his waist before planting a peck on his lips. “Hey, good looking,” I greeted him. Then I turned to the Empire guys who had accompanied Peter down the stairs. “Hey, guys. Gonna steal Peter now. Sorry.” My tone indicated that I wasn't sorry at all, but they already knew that.

Except one who stared at me, then turned to Kelly. “Who the hell does she think -?” I didn't recognise his face; he might've been new, or just someone I hadn't met before.

Kelly silenced him with four words: “Shut. The fuck. Up.” Then he nodded to me. “Taylor, nice to see you again.” His posture and tone were both deferential; either he knew I was Remote, or he was just showing respect to me as Peter's girlfriend. Either way was good with me.

“Nice to see you again, Kelly,” I said, affording him a smile. “How've you been?”

“Oh, you know. So-so.” He tilted his head. “Sucks what happened to Bronson and Jenna.”

“I know.” I lowered my voice slightly. “I was -” I paused minutely as I changed my mind on what I was going to say. I was there might be saying too much in front of the others. “- at the service,” I concluded.

“Yeah, I was too,” he said. “I didn't …” As his voice trailed off, I saw the understanding cross his face. The look in his eyes went from respect to something not far from worship. “I, uh, thought it was very moving,” he ad-libbed, just a little clumsily. I was willing to forgive him for that. He just figured it out. I caught the look he shot the guy who had mouthed off, and mentally winced. There'll probably be some attitude adjustment later on. Oh well, not my problem.

“It was,” I agreed. I tilted my head toward Peter. “But we gotta run now. See you around, Kelly.” Just because I was now a cape, and technically outranked even Peter, didn't mean I had to be impolite to Kelly. He'd always been nice to me while I was a Friend of the Empire, and had stood between me and Sophia more than once.

I had gone for far too long without any friends at all. Now that I had some, I wasn't going to be discarding any of them just because I found my situation changed.

“See you around,” he replied, then paused. Relief showed in his face as I nodded very slightly. “...uh, Taylor.”

Peter said his goodbyes, then headed across the carpark with me; as we walked, I held his hand. Dipping into my powers, I noted Othala's car heading for the carpark exit. She probably thought that I hadn't noted her hanging about until Peter came out, but I figured I'd let her think she'd gotten away with it. Besides, I was pleased that she had chosen to stay. As I'd told Greg, the Empire backed one another up. It was what we did.

“I didn't know you'd be coming in to meet me at school,” Peter observed. “Not that I'm unhappy, mind. But please tell me that you didn't take the bus here.” His hand tightened slightly on mine; I could tell that he didn't like that idea. Then again, I didn't much like it myself..

“Nope.” I squeezed back. “Got a lift.” With my free hand, I indicated Othala's car, just now turning on to the road. I grinned as I saw a hand raised in a wave from the driver's side window. Othala can be such a sweetie sometimes.

“Ah, of course.” He smiled. “So, did you get the chance to dissect our date with her?” His tone was more curious than apprehensive. I was pretty sure that he knew I wouldn't tell her anything really juicy. Well, not without swearing her to secrecy.

“Oh, once or twice.” I grinned back at him. “She said good things about it. Oh, and we're going on a double date with her and Victor on Saturday. To Fugly Bob's.” Moving a little closer to him, I hugged his arm with mine. Even through the jacket, I thought I could feel the warmth of his arm. It might have just been my imagination, but I still enjoyed the closeness.

“Really?” His tone was intrigued. “So when was I going to be informed of this?” He eyed me with a certain level of curiosity, but I refused to feel self-conscious.

“You just were,” I pointed out. “By me.” I treated him to a cheeky grin that morphed of its own accord to a smirk. It was fun playing this game with him. He knew how to lose so gracefully.

“This wasn't something I was going to win, was it?” But his voice was more amused than otherwise as he pulled out the electronic fob. We both knew that if he chose to dig in his heels, I'd get nowhere. He was just complaining for the sake of appearances.

I tilted my head. “Did you want to do something else on Saturday?” Now I was curious; if he had a better idea, I'd be happy to change my mind.

“Well … no.” He opened my door and handed me in. “I'd just thought we'd be just hanging out, not going anywhere in particular.” Which had been my idea before Othala had made her suggestion, but I liked the double date better.

I pulled the door closed and waited for him to get around to his side. “But this way's more fun. We get to look forward to doing stuff.” I did my best to look sly, though I was pretty sure I wasn't pulling it off. “Like browsing the Market.” With a grin, I waited to see how he responded to my springing the clever trap. Such as it was.

“Oh, now I see your nefarious plan,” he remarked in tones of great revelation as he climbed in. “You want to go shopping.” My grin widened at his tone; he'd managed to put a pitch and spin on the word 'shopping' that I would personally put on the name 'Winslow High'.

“Well, duh,” I said with a smirk. “Have you seen how many zeroes I've got on my card these days? I wanna see how many of those I can make go away before Dad wakes up and makes me save for college.” With growing amusement, I waited to see what he would say to this.

He pretended to heave a long-suffering sigh. “I don't have a choice in that either, do I?” Ah; immediate surrender. A wise decision. This worked for me.

I put on a faux-thoughtful look. “Mmm … nope. I'm playing the girlfriend card. Of course, there is the upside.” Bait is trailed. Let's see how quickly he bites.

“Upside?” He started the truck. I was impressed; he hadn't taken any time at all to zero in on the important aspect.

I batted my eyes at him. Now to sink the hook. “We'll be trying on clothes. Like those skinny jeans you like on me so much.” Three … two … one ...

He brightened so much that it must have been an act from the beginning. “Well why didn't you say so in the first place? To the Market we shall go!” He pumped his fist in the air before putting the truck into drive.

I burst into giggles as we moved off. Peter could be such an idiot, but he was my idiot. And it didn't matter that we were going there today; after all, there would be more stuff to buy on Saturday.

<><> ​

Coil's Base

The screams of dying men filled the headphones. Calvert clenched his fists at the sides of his head. Two dozen men, and she eliminated them just like that. She was either watching them from the beginning, or she keeps checking to see what's happening. This is getting aggravating.

“Sir, is everything all right?” One of his mercenaries approached him cautiously. “Is there anything that we can do?”

Irritably, he pulled his pistol and shot the man three times in the chest and once in the head. Before the stricken mercenary had crumpled all the way to the floor, he dropped that timeline. In the other, he was also sitting in his base, with the singular difference that there was no dead mercenary on the floor. Nor were twenty-four of his men dead, dying, or captured by the Empire's latest cape.

With a sigh, he stood up from the chair and stretched. If I don't get some good news soon, I'm going to be seriously annoyed.

As if on cue, there was a ping from his computer, indicating an incoming email. Twisting to the side, he felt the vertebrae pop then did it again the other way. He didn't know what the email portended, but there was only one way to find out. Reaching out, he took hold of the mouse and clicked the mail open.

<><> ​

PRT Building
Shadow Stalker

“Aegis, you've got a bogey to your two o'clock. Rooftop. Yeah, you got him.” Chris leaned back in the chair as he casually manipulated the joystick to zoom in the security camera feed. It was kind of grainy, but there was no mistaking Aegis' armoured form as he closed in on the ABB thug. The resultant fight was very short and to the point; seconds later, Aegis descended to street level once more, holding the thug by his collar. Chris grinned under his visor. “Damn, I love this job.”

Sophia wanted to punch him. No, she reconsidered. She wanted to grab him by the back of the head and smash his head through the monitor screen. See if he loved the job that much then. In her opinion, monitor duty was hellishly boring and painful to sit through. If it wasn't bad enough watching the Wards prance through every encounter without ever inflicting enough pain to leave an impression, she also had to endure Chris' faltering attempts at conversation, which basically began and ended with Tinkering.

“Gotta hit the head.” Chris got up from the chair. “Watch the screens for me, Stalker?”

“Where else am I gonna be?” she sneered. My name is Shadow Stalker, dammit.

“Oh, yeah, good point.” As far as she could tell, he had taken it as a joke rather than an expression of pure frustration. “Back in a bit.”

Off he sauntered, humming some tune off-key, leaving her to nurse her anger. And who says 'hit the head' anyway? Just say 'going to the bathroom' like a normal person.

Nothing else was happening by the time he got back; almost immediately, she stood up. “Gonna go hit the gym.”

“What?” He stared up at her. “You're supposed to be on monitor duty with me.”

“Screw monitor duty and screw you.” Sophia headed for the door. “What are they gonna do, put me on suspended duty while a goddamn court case hangs over my head? Oh, wait. They already did.”

Ignoring his sputtered protests, she hit the button beside the doors; a moment later, they hissed aside, allowing her out into the metal-lined hallway. She knew that her ankle-bracelet allowed her access to various areas of the PRT building, and that the gym was one of these areas. Fortunately, it wasn't so sophisticated as to have timers for certain areas, so she was able to go to the gym at any time. Such as now.

She made it up four floors and along the corridor without the bracelet screaming at her; despite her confidence, she still felt a surge of relief when she pushed open the doors to the gym proper. At the time, she had argued that if she couldn't go out and keep her fitness up the old-fashioned way, she needed access to the exercise facilities. And as the Wards' 'gym' consisted of a decrepit treadmill and a few sets of barbells for Aegis, Piggot had granted her leave to use the upstairs gym. Piggot might have lost a step or three, but Sophia had to grudgingly admit the old hag understood the importance of keeping fit and strong. Even if she'd let herself balloon out since she landed behind that desk.

Sophia went into the changing rooms and came out wearing sweats and a domino mask. Picking a treadmill in the far corner, she set it to medium speed and started to jog, gradually clicking the speed upward as she warmed up. With a glance to either side, she made sure that nobody was watching her. Then she took her phone from the pocket of her sweats. They had confiscated her Wards phone, but she'd managed to hide the presence of this one from them for the time being.

Keeping up the steady jog, she turned the phone on and dialled in the number from the scrap of paper that she had saved from the previous night. One more double-check and she popped the paper into her mouth; a few seconds of chewing reduced it to pulp. Then she tapped in a message. I'm in.

As soon as she got the 'message sent' notification, she shut the phone down and pulled the battery out, dropping each into a pocket of her sweats. With a grimace, she swallowed the rough fibrous pulp of the scrap of paper, then clicked the treadmill all the way up to running speed. She didn't know if they were tracking all texts in and out of the building, but she didn't intend to make it easy for them.

<><> ​

Coil's Base

Hi, read the email.

Just got a text from you-know-who. Says she's in.

Send the instructions?

C

He smiled under his mask. At last. Something's going right.

Flexing his fingers, he savoured the moment, then split the timelines. In both worlds, he began to type. The message only consisted of two words, but he took great pleasure in clicking the 'send' icon.

In one world, the words were Affirmative. Proceed.

In the other, they were Negative. Abort.

<><> ​

Thursday Morning
Winslow High

“Hey, Veder.”

Greg looked around from where he was changing into his gym clothes. “Uh, hi, Kelly,” he said nervously. He didn't like the smile on Kelly's face. It promised bruises in his near future.

“Heard you skipped out on gym yesterday,” Kelly said conversationally. “We were lookin' for you in dodge-ball. You make comments about the Empire, you gotta pay. You know that, right?”

Greg gulped. “Um, I didn't mean it, not really?” He could see he wasn't being very convincing.

“So you ran your mouth without really meaning it, huh?” Kelly shook his head. “Ain't gonna fly.”

Panic almost overcame Greg's brain, but then he recalled his conversation with Taylor the day before. “Uh, um, I wanted to talk to you anyway.”

Now Kelly's expression became a frown. “What the fuck do you want to talk to me about? The exact size and shape of your bruises? 'Cause we can talk about that.”

“N-no.” Greg shook his head. “About – about joining. The Empire.”

Kelly took a step closer. “The fuck?”

Greg took a deep breath and faced him. “If I join you guys, you'll stop everyone else from beating on me, right?”

After a long moment, Kelly's eyebrows rose toward his hairline. “You want to join the Empire?”

“Y-yeah.” Greg tried not to let his voice shake. “I – I was talking to Taylor, and she said I should.”

Kelly's expression changed utterly. “Taylor told you to join.” The flat contempt was gone; he was now regarding Greg with a certain amount of curiosity.

Greg nodded, not trusting his voice.

“Huh. You know it's not a club you can just join then leave again? There's a commitment, yeah?”

“I – I can commit.” Greg tried to make his voice stronger. “I can. I promise.”

“Hm.” Kelly looked him over thoughtfully. “I'll get back to you on that.”

Abruptly, he turned and left. Greg leaned against his locker, shaking.

I really, really hope this works.

<><> ​

Late Thursday Night
PRT Building

Sophia's phone buzzed next to her head. Groggily, she opened her eyes and picked it up to focus on the screen. It showed the time as 11:30 PM. Time to move. Pulling the covers off, she sat up, revealing the fact that she was already dressed to leave. Because of the damn ankle-bracelet, she'd had to wear sneakers instead of her boots for the last few weeks, but tonight was going to be different. Getting off the bed, she lifted the closest leg and worked off the rubber cap on the end. Nestling in the cap was the key she'd gotten in the letter. Putting the cap back on the leg – no sense in showing the morons how she'd done it – she put her foot up on the bed and regarded the key.

This was the moment of truth. She hadn't even tried the key in the cuff yet. It either worked or it didn't. If it worked, she was out of there. If it didn't, if the PRT was just waiting outside her door to burst in and entrap her in even more bullshit … well, that would happen too. All she had to do was find out was use the actual key. Whatever happens, I tried.

Despite her internal bravado, she hesitated before inserting the tiny piece of metal. If this was a trap, they could add 'attempted escape' on to whatever sentence they finally hung on her. That would mean even more possibility of her juvey sentence rolling over into an adult sentence. Her lawyer was generally a piece of useless crap, but he'd impressed that on her. Attempting to escape lawful custody made things so much worse.

I pull this off, I'm back here and in bed by the time they even think to look. Fuck 'em. If the key was genuine, she could deal with the assholes who were piling up their bogus charges, and just walk when the trial date came. Starting with Hebert. Couldn't stand on her own two feet, so she ran to the fucking racists when push came to shove.

Taking a deep breath, she leaned over her leg and gently pushed the key into the lock. It fitted perfectly, and no alarms broke out. Then she tried to turn it. It didn't move. Even when she applied more force than she really thought she should, nothing happened. Fuck, it's a bogus key. This was all one big hoax. Her heart-rate quickened. All this for fucking nothing … wait. She forced herself to calm down and reversed her grip on the key.

All her life she'd been conditioned to turn things left to right, which was why she'd automatically tried to turn the key that way. But now she turned it the other way … and it moved smoothly. With an almost inaudible click, the ankle-bracelet unlocked, the green light on it still pulsing strongly. She watched it fall off on to the bed with something approaching disbelief. Holy shit, it came off.

After a moment, she spurred herself into action. The bracelet went under the covers; she made no attempt to make an approximation of herself in the bed, because if they came into her room, they'd be checking everything anyway. The key went into her bra; she did not want to lose that. Her clothing consisted of dark-coloured sweats and a domino mask, such as she'd been wearing to exercise over the last couple of weeks. Not her ideal ass-kicking outfit, but she wasn't going out to kick ass. Not tonight, anyway.

Triumph was at the monitor console when she eased out of her room. It would've made things easier if he'd been wearing his helmet – did he have any idea how much that thing screwed with his peripheral vision? - but apparently he'd decided that late nights didn't count. She made the snap decision to bluff it out, and stepped into the main area.

He turned his head toward her. “Oh, hey, Stalker. Didn't know you were up.”

“Can't sleep. Gonna hit the gym.” She made her voice as non-committal as possible. “Might be an hour or so.”

One corner of his mouth quirked. “Okay. Don't hurt yourself by pushing too hard.”

“Try not to.” Already pissed at herself – should've brought the bracelet, what if they check where it is when Rory says I'm in the gym – Sophia stepped forward, knowing that the absolute only way of getting through this was pretending that everything was absolutely normal. Fortuitously, she'd already built up the reputation of being a gym rat over the last few weeks. Rory wouldn't think twice about her going to the gym at this hour. She hoped.

The doors opened at her touch and she exited the Wards area. Now she was on borrowed time. She dashed down the corridor and hit the button for the elevator. As soon as the doors interleaved open, she hit the button for the gym floor. It zipped upward at its usual pace, but to Sophia it wasn't fast enough. The next bit of the plan depended on two factors. Either one going wrong could screw her.

It stopped on the correct floor and the doors opened. There was nobody waiting for the lift, which was the first danger averted. Slapping the panel for a lower floor, she stepped out before the doors could close again. A flicker of movement to her left alerted her, and she jammed herself back into the lift alcove again. The doors were set back into the wall a little, which was a bonus; sucking in a breath, she kept her back pressed to them.

Now she could hear voices; to her trained ear, it sounded like two of the guards, faceplates open, chatting about some TV show. On the upside, neither one seemed to have seen her. On the downside, they were coming her way, and the lift alcove was only so deep. While she'd used her mask on the elevator doors more than once, confirming that they had no electricity moving through them, she would have much preferred to step through them forwards. Unfortunately, turning around to do so would expose her to the oncoming guards. Fuck it. Taking a deep breath, she cleared her mind and turned to shadow, falling backward through the doors.

She hadn't anticipated that the lift shaft would be so dark. If there was any light anywhere, she couldn't see it. For a long moment, she nearly lost herself to panic, but then she clamped down on it. I'm stronger than this! Waving her immaterial arms out to the side, she felt a brief discontinuity with her left one; snapping back to solidity, she lunged both arms in that direction. Her left hand brushed something, and her right hand grabbed it. It was the cable; but she'd already started falling, and the jerk nearly dislocated her shoulder. However, she had enough experience in climbing in the dark and quickly brought her left hand around. Next, her booted feet closed on the cable, stopping her downward slide.

Grimacing at the feel of the caked-on grease, she wiped her hand on her pants as best she could and dug out her phone. It took all her concentration to turn it on without dropping it, but she managed it, and waved the weak light around her surroundings. Ladder. There. The rungs disappeared upward and downward, away from her sphere of illumination. Fixing the location in her head, she tucked the phone away again, turned shadow, and leaped. A moment later, she turned solid once more, gripping the rungs. Satisfaction twisted her lips into a feral grin. I don't lose.

She couldn't recall if she'd had a more tiresome climb before, but it was just the tedium talking. In reality, only a few minutes had passed before she encountered the hatch opening out on to the upper surface of the lift enclosure. Going to shadow, she ghosted through it, then turned solid again in the cool night air. She crouched there for a few seconds, just breathing deeply, enjoying air that hadn't been recycled and conditioned a thousand times over. Then she skulked to the edge of the roof and launched herself into the air, turning to shadow a moment later.

<><> ​

Nineteen minutes later, she was several blocks away, waiting in the shadow of an air-conditioning unit. It had taken her a few extra minutes to get there, as she had stopped by one of her illicit caches, but she'd spent the time wisely. Again she scanned the city skyline, then checked the time on her phone. Irritably, she tapped out a text. S here. Where r u?

“Right here,” murmured a voice from behind her. She didn't hesitated for a moment; throwing herself to the side, she brought a crossbow up, the razor-edged arrow trained on the figure crouched atop the boxy metal structure. For a long moment, her finger trembled on the trigger, then she relaxed as the person raised their hands.

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded, only just barely remembering to keep her voice down.

“Relax, honey,” the girl – the pose was feminine, as was the tone – replied, not seeming at all concerned that she was looking at a quick death if Sophia decided to pull the trigger. “I'm your contact. The letter you got? It had the key to your ankle-bracelet in it.”

“Contact?” Sophia got to her feet, keeping the crossbow on target. “Who's your boss?”

Moving as fluidly as anyone Sophia had ever seen, the girl – maybe five or six years older than Sophia – leaped down from the unit, landing without a sound on the rough gravel. “The boss prefers to stay under the radar for the moment, hon. But trust me when I tell you that he wants to see Taylor Hebert out of the picture just as badly as you do.”

Sophia blinked; now she could see the girl better, she could make out details of the costume. It seemed to be a subdued harlequin's outfit, in non-reflective blacks and dark reds; while there were bells attached, a tiny red ribbon tied around each one rendered them silent. There was only one cape in Brockton Bay who used the jester motif …. “You're Circus.”

Circus' hand came up in a mime's exaggerated movement, her eyes going wide and the fingertips pressing against her pursed lips. “Guilty as charged, hon. You got a problem with that?” Her voice was smooth and sweet, like maple syrup.

For a moment, Sophia wondered if she was being deliberately mocked. Circus, she recalled, made a habit of doing her best to puncture the ego of every hero she faced. Had this encounter happened before all the shit with Hebert, she would almost certainly be loosing an arrow into this smug bitch's face right about now. But the situation had changed. How much more it was likely to change was something she'd have to discover for herself. “Not right now,” she conceded grudgingly. Lowering the crossbow, she took her finger off the trigger. “So, what's the plan?”

Circus had somehow acquired a knife from somewhere and was flicking it through her fingers, the city lights glinting off of the blade. “You know about the Empire's little planned jaunt on Friday night?”

“Just that they'd be busy,” Sophia answered cautiously.

Another knife joined the first one. Without looking, Circus was spinning both of them around the fingers of the same hand, the two pieces of glittering metal seeming to almost intersect on occasion. “Word is that they're going to stomp the Merchants but good. The Hebert girl's their new big hitter, so I guess she's going out to prove it by stepping on some cockroaches. So in the meantime, their home base is low on protection.”

“The Medhall building.” Sophia couldn't really figure that part out. “You're saying Medhall is being used as a safehouse by the Empire?”

Circus chuckled. One of the knives disappeared, and reappeared in her other hand. Sophia could've sworn that it hadn't crossed the gap. “Honey, they are the goddamn Empire. Who do you think Max Anders is? Big hint: he's never been seen in the same room as Kaiser.”

Despite herself, Sophia's eyes opened wide. “You're shitting me. No way is Max Anders Kaiser.”

“Wanna put money on it?” Circus' teeth were very white in the darkness. “I'll bet you half your pay from the job.”

Sophia could tell a sucker bet when she saw one. “No dice. Okay, so Anders is Kaiser. Medhall is Empire. So Hebert and her father are in that building?”

“Correct.” Both the knives disappeared at once. “She goes out with the other capes. We go in. We find her dad, and we extract him.”

This was the other part that she'd been having trouble with. “The letter said that certain interests wanted to get their hands on the father. Who?”

Circus shrugged, and a small ball appeared in her hand. It was black with a red skull and crossbones on it, with a tiny sputtering fuse appended to the top. Casually, she began to toss it into the air and catch it. “People with deep pockets. I don't ask questions. That way, I get paid more. You wanna ask questions or get paid?”

After a moment of reflection, Sophia decided names weren't all that important. “But this'll screw up Hebert?”

With a snap of the fingers, Circus was holding a second ball, with identical markings and fuse. This joined the other one in the air as she fell into an obviously rehearsed juggling routine. “Count on it, honey. She wants her dad alive and well, she'll have to dance to their tune.”

It wasn't precisely what Sophia wanted – preferably, the chance to put an arrow through the back of Hebert's racist skull from about ten feet away – but she decided that it would do. “Like telling her to take a dive at my trial?”

“That's definitely something we can work into the agreement,” Circus said cheerfully. Somehow, a third ball had joined the other two, merrily sparking fuse and all. “Any other questions?”

“What's the deal with the father, anyway?” asked Sophia. “Why hasn't he come out and made a statement telling everyone how great the Empire is?”

“He's in a coma,” Circus told her. “Brain damage. Panacea couldn't heal it, but Othala might be able to. Last I heard, he was still doing a damn good imitation of a store dummy.”

“Ah.” Sophia considered this. It would make the extraction both easier and harder. “Are we gonna be having backup for this?”

“Only once we're outside,” Circus informed her. “The boss doesn't want Kaiser figuring out who pulled this stunt on him. So while we're inside, we're on our own.”

“Right.” For a moment, Sophia had a mental image of Circus careening down the swastika-encrusted hallways of the Nazi stronghold, pushing a comatose guy in a chair while Sophia laid down covering fire. “Okay, do we know what floor he's on?”

“Not exactly, but we know what floors he's not on, so that'll cut down the search time.” Circus's voice was bright and chirpy. “Or we can just find some asshole and ask him a few pointed questions.”

On the word 'pointed', one of the 'bombs' disappeared, to be replaced by a knife arcing through the air from Circus' hand.

“We can definitely do that,” agreed Sophia. She reflexively checked her phone. “Shit, I should be getting back. So, what time Friday night?”

“I'll text you when we're ready to roll,” Circus told her. “Be ready to go after dark. It'll basically be once the Empire goes out after the Merchants.”

“Gotcha. See you -” One of the 'bombs' hit the ground and cracked open, spewing thick smoke everywhere. Sophia backed up rapidly, crossbow coming up and aiming, but by the time the smoke cleared, Circus was nowhere to be seen. “- then,” she finished lamely. Bitch. They really were smoke bombs.

She held herself back from any more irritation. Gotta get back before Triumph comes looking. Taking a running leap, she dived off the roof and turned to shadow.

<><> ​

PRT Building
Wards Base

The 'mask-up' buzzer sounded, and Rory reflexively put his helmet on. A click of the mouse showed the view just outside the door; it was Shadow Stalker, back from the gym. When the door hissed open, she strode in like she owned the place, ignoring him utterly as she walked past. He thought of asking her something like did you enjoy the gym but decided not to; not only was it a remarkably stupid question, but Shadow Stalker wasn't the easiest person to get along with at the best of times.

Pulling his helmet off, he sniffed curiously at the air. The scent of soap that she'd left behind was pretty powerful. She must've been really working up a sweat in there. Though he didn't think an hour-long exercise regimen really needed that much soap to wash off all the sweat.

Her door closed behind her, cutting off his window for starting any conversations. With a shrug, he turned back to the console and reactivated his game of Solitaire. Monitor duty only had to be boring if you let it be boring.

<><> ​

Sophia eased the rubber cap back on to the leg of the bed, concealing the key once more. On her ankle, the bracelet flashed its signal to the world, telling everyone that she was still in her quarters. With a sigh of pent-up tension, she collapsed on to the bed. She'd had to spend far too long scrubbing the grease off of her skin and clothing; if Rory had taken too much of an interest, he might've noticed that she wasn't wearing the ankle-bracelet. The damp sweats, wrung out as best she could, hung over the end of her bed.

But she'd proved it could be done; she'd snuck out, right under their noses, then gotten back in without anyone being the wiser. The return had been, ironically, much easier than the exit. There'd been no reason to climb all the way to the top of the building; a running leap from a nearby building had allowed her to glide straight in through the window of the gym. Mentally, she gave herself a slap upside the head for making the whole thing more complicated than it needed to be. I could've just walked past those damn troopers. For all they knew, I was allowed to be there.

Flopping back on to the pillow, she focused on the positives. Tomorrow night, I go out and fuck up Hebert's life once and for all.

It was a good thought. She went to sleep with a smile on her face.



End of Part Twenty

Part Twenty-One

 

Slippery Slope

Part Twenty-One: Point of No Return



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

[A/N 2: Due to the recent political unrest in the United States, I feel it necessary to explain that this fic is not intended to glorify Nazism or white supremacy in any way. It is, and always has been, an exploration of how ordinary people can fall victim to the ideology and be sucked into it.]



Thursday Evening
February 17, 2011
Lung

Kenta leaned back in the chair, wondering if it would rob him of his dignity to get a more comfortable one. He'd seen an advertisement for a La-Z-Boy that looked downright luxurious, but if word got out about it, there would almost certainly be jokes. He would hold off for now, he decided.

Jin, one of his more reliable men, entered the office with an envelope in his hand. “Sir,” he said. “This … came for you.”

“A letter?” Kenta sat up again, with a frown. “Who is it from?” The number of people who would resort to an actual letter in the mail in order to contact him was vanishingly small. Within the ABB, people came and spoke to him directly, while everyone else relied on electronic communications. It struck him that if all electronics within Brockton Bay were wiped out, gang activity would grind to a halt.

Jin stopped on the other side of the desk. “It doesn't say,” he replied. “The men it was handed to say that a bunch of white men gave it to them. They would have gotten it to you sooner, but they were guarding a safe-house, and they wanted to make sure it wasn't a ploy to lure them away.”

Kenta nodded slowly. While he would've preferred to get the letter sooner, the explanation made sense. After all, his operations were more important than the whim of some guy with a letter. “Have you read it?”

“No, sir.” Jin shook his head. “It's still sealed. Nobody's opened it yet.” He placed it on the desk and slid it across.

“Good.” For a moment, Kenta wondered if this were some kind of elaborate assassination plot, perhaps with a powdered disease vector in the letter. He'd heard of things like this before, but mainly as the storyline of a spy movie. In any case, he was Lung. If there was any such powder, he would burn it to ash. He took up the envelope and tore off the end, then reached inside for the letter itself. The paper was folded once, and looked cheap, as if it had been torn from a notepad.

Lung, he read. The Empire will be making a move on the Merchants on Friday night.

He paused and read that line through again. This was interesting on several levels. Someone had more information about the Empire than they really should, and they were sharing it with him, almost certainly so he would do something about it. He read on.

Taylor Hebert will be with them, as their newest cape. She can control machinery. This will be a test of her capabilities, so they will be standing back and letting her do her thing.

Which meant that she'd be alone, exposed. Kenta smiled, letting his lips draw back from his teeth. There was no signature, but he didn't expect one. It had been two weeks since the humiliating defeat and loss of his arm. Oni Lee was still injured from the beating the Hebert girl had handed him within the car. He himself had only finished growing back his arm a few days ago. Every single day of those two weeks, he had vowed and declared bloody vengeance on the teenage girl who had so thoroughly bested him.

And now she was being handed to him on a platter. He didn't know for a fact who had sent the letter, but he could hazard a guess. It was almost certainly not Kaiser, unless the whole letter was a trick to draw him out. No, he decided. They know that an open challenge would do the same thing. It's not the Empire. Which only left Coil. What does that snake want with the girl? Nothing good, he imagined, but that wasn't his problem. His problem was the hit that his image had taken from the loss he had taken at Taylor Hebert's hands. She'd gone into that fight without powers, without any sort of leverage at all. But she'd walked away after having faced both him and Oni Lee, while Lung had to crawl away with his upper chest and shoulder blasted to ruin.

He still remembered the way the car had reversed up to him. He'd been angry, ripping into the other vehicles and on the verge of turning the tide. The explosion had taken him by surprise, thrown him across the street and torn his arm off almost as an afterthought. Had they gone after him then, they could have ended him, and that thought was intolerable.

Taylor Hebert had to die.

<><> ​

Friday, 18 February
Medhall Building

“An exoskeleton light enough to go under your clothes, huh?” Victor rubbed his chin, stubble rasping under his fingertips. “That'll be an interesting balance. Light enough to be hidden, strong enough to be worth it.” He looked speculatively at me, then at his own forearm. “You wouldn't be able to punch any harder because it'll be your knuckles on the line. You don't want to be breaking your hand.”

“Not necessarily,” I said, holding up my own forearm. “Say there's an extending piece back here under my sleeve. I extend it, and a metal plate flips forward over my knuckles. If I've already got one on my elbow, and a bar down the outside of my forearm, I'll be able to use it in close combat. With the exoskeleton giving me extra power, I'll be the equivalent of a Brute. Definitely enough to break free and run like hell if anyone tries to grab me.”

If anyone had suggested such a scenario to me before February, I would've laughed in their faces. Even in Winslow, I'd been there as a punching bag, an object of ridicule. Not someone to be grabbed off the street. But now I had powers, which made me valuable to a great many people. This also gave me a certain amount of flexibility in how I responded. The last people who had tried were the ABB gangsters who had caused Dad's injuries, and Lung himself.

Of course, the gangsters were now dead, and Lung had learned why he shouldn't try to fuck with me. A lesson I'd be willing to repeat, with added extras, once Victor designed sufficiently tough armour for the purpose. I'd had dealings with that sort of person before; rightly or wrongly, they never gave up. The only way to stop them from trying to get at me was to put them down once and for all. It was the only way Dad would be safe.

“Well, it's something I can certainly work on,” he said. “But in the meantime, I figure I've made all the adjustments on your armour that I can.” He gestured toward the imposing metal figure supported on the rack in the middle of the workshop. “Care to put it on and see how it runs?”

I submerged myself in my power and absorbed the details of the armour before me. “You've increased the flexibility of the joints.”

Assume positive control: armour.

He nodded as I stepped up to the armour and turned around. “Yes. It was a tradeoff between that and more power, but you're already able to bench-press a Mack truck, so I figured you could probably do with more agility.”

Behind me, the front plates of the armour slid apart. I stepped back into it, then closed the armour up once more. The periscope eyepieces dropped into place and I could see once more, from a viewpoint two feet higher. Flexible metal straps hung limp inside the armour; at a thought, I brought them around myself and clicked them into place. Finally, I took note of an electronic panel in front of me, which included a screen the size of a paperback book. “What does the panel do?”

Victor's voice came through speakers attached to the periscope eyepieces. “I've got cameras set up to be transported via your auxiliary units. They'll feed to the screen. I've adapted as many of the controls for your power as I can, but some things you'll have to use your hands for.”

“Understood. That could be useful.” The exterior microphones picked up the sound of my voice; or rather, what Victor's voice modulator had done to my voice. It now had a lot more bass, and was unrecognisable as my own. However, it still sounded natural and not electronic. Any foes we faced would almost certainly assume that it was a grown man and not a teenage girl within the armour.

I turned my attention to the 'shoulder-pads'. As the armour was the size of a (very) large man and I wasn't, there was quite a bit of spare volume that Victor had made use of. Part of it was taken up with the auxiliary units. As far as I could tell via my power, the only alteration he'd made was to make the rotors foldable, so that more could fit in the same space. In a separate compartment, he had stacked blocks of aluminium complete with embedded tungsten darts. With one of these, I could turn any of the auxiliary units into a tiny gunship able to shred human targets at will.

The armour had more weaponry to play with, of course. Victor had not been idle. I was familiar with nearly all of it, and what little I hadn't seen before was easy enough to figure out with my power. The chains were especially impressive, or would have been if I were capable of being impressed. However, I had not come down to Victor's workshop to merely admire the armour. Today was the day I was going to take it out for the first time.

I stepped down from the rack, the armour moving smoothly and easily. “I have a suggestion.”

Victor picked up something from a workbench; at first glance, it looked like a folded metal umbrella. “I'm listening.”

“With remote visual capability, I could pilot this armour from a distance in perfect safety. Is that worth working on?” I turned my power on to the item he was holding. It only took a few seconds to figure out what it was and how it was supposed to work. “Is that for this armour?”

“What?” He looked down at the thing he was holding. “Oh … right, yes. It should snap into the socket on your back. Um, remote sets of armour? Like Dragon uses? That could work, but how many screens can you pay close attention to at once? With your eyes, I mean.”

His point was valid. While my power let me control virtually all machines in my range simultaneously, I only had one pair of eyes. Flying several drones at once was one thing; so long as there was nothing in their way, I could manoeuvre them all over the map. But if I wasn't in the armour, it could easily trip over or stumble into allies. One would be awkward, while the other could be catastrophic. Worse, if the armour tripped over while I was remotely controlling it, I wasn't sure if I'd have the same ease of getting up.

Taking the item from him, I reached over behind the suit's back—my arms weren't inside the armour's arms, of course—and clicked it into place. “The extra flexibility is very useful.”

“Thank you,” he said. I read his slight smile and bow as an expression of courtesy. “Shall we go? After all, the Merchants aren't going to beat themselves up.”

I stepped into the elevator. “I understand that's a joke, but they may very well be doing exactly that. After all, these are the Merchants.”

Stepping in as well, he pressed the button for the upper floor. “And the sad thing is, you're totally serious … and possibly correct.” With a smile on his face that I could not decipher, he looked up at me. “Just do me a favour. Be careful and don't get hurt. Quite apart from you being our brand new cape, Tammi's getting pretty attached to you.”

I suspected there was more to his statement than he was saying. He had not mentioned Peter, with whom I held a much more significant relationship than Tammi, which meant he was understating the situation deliberately. However, while I was wearing the armour, I could not relax out of my power in order to analyse his words properly. “Thank you,” I said. “I do not intend to get hurt.”

“Well, good.” I heard a faint thump against my side. “You've got at least an inch of steel plate around you in all directions. It's actually difficult for you to get hurt. Don't make it easy for them.”

I looked down at him; he was rubbing his elbow.

Supposition: Victor elbowed me in the side.

Analysis: An expression of camaraderie.

“I will not make it easy for anyone to hurt me,” I assured him. “You have built safeguards into this armour to counteract anything that the Merchants could do to harm it. And their heaviest hitter is a Tinker specialising in heavy vehicles.” Which meant that, once one of Squealer's creations came within my ambit, I would not be the one in danger from it.

The elevator stopped, and the doors slid open. I allowed Victor to precede me, so that I knew where he was. Accidentally stepping on his foot at this juncture would be both embarrassing—once I dropped my powers—and a detriment to the entire team.

Kaiser was awaiting us along with the Biermann sisters—I had gotten to know them a little, but not too well—and the other members of the Empire who were coming along. Everyone but Kaiser and Othala leaned backward slightly as I stepped forward. This was not unexpected, as I towered over everyone present by a good two feet. While Menja and Fenja would easily overtop me in their fully-grown forms, this was not the case at the moment.

Crusader was the first to speak; or rather, whistle. I judged the sound to be one of admiration. “Well, damn,” he said, in tones that I decided were respectful. “You guys said it was impressive. But you left out scary as fuck. Now I feel just a little inadequate.”

“You have capabilities that I do not,” I assured him. “We are all members of the same team. I will support you, and I know that you will support me.” This was the simple truth. Justin and I had spent an afternoon tearing down his car and repairing all the minor problems I had spotted in it. He had decided to call me 'T-bird' after that, so I retaliated with 'Jaybird'. I liked him, in a 'smartass older brother' way. His car was also very nice, if a little garish.

When I spoke, their eyes widened slightly. Of course. The voice modulator. It appeared to be a success, gauging from their reactions.

“Well stated,” Kaiser said. His face was uncovered so that I could see his smile. It was the one that I judged to mean I am pleased with what is going on. “So, Remote. Are you ready to do this?”

Even with my emotions suppressed, I understood his meaning. This was a rhetorical question, intended to elicit a specific answer. In response, I had the armour make a fist, which I pumped once in the air. “I'm ready. Let's do this thing.”

Crusader whooped. “Oh, man. Those assholes are not gonna know what hit 'em.” He moved forward, holding his hand up. “High-five, T-bird!” Carefully, I slapped his upraised palm.

“High-five, Jaybird,” I replied, recalling the nickname which I had devised for him. Our armoured hands met with a clang of metal and he stepped back again.

Expression: grin.

Analysis: self-satisfaction.

I did not have time to dwell on it. Rune came up to me with her hood pushed back. She stared up at my armour. “Taylor? Is that really you in there?”

Moving easily—Victor had really done a good job with my armour joints—I dropped to one knee next to her and switched off the voice modulator. “It's me, Rune,” I said in my ordinary voice.

“Oh, right. Cool.” She tried to put her arms around me, but I knew that they would barely make it halfway. I kept my arms where they were; with insufficient sensory feedback, I could accidentally crush her in a hug. “Good luck.”

Luck was merely a matter of rearranging the odds so that they suited a particular endeavour, but I did not say that to Rune. “Good luck,” I repeated. When she released me, I carefully stood up again and looked at Kaiser. “I'm ready. Let's go.”

He nodded to me, once. “Let's go take out the trash.”

<><> ​

The truck needed heavier suspension. As I sat in the back, I could both feel and 'see' it wallowing under the weight of my armour while one of Kaiser's minions drove it down the road. It could have been claustrophobic but it really wasn't. Inside the armour, it wasn't very cramped; in addition, I had an awareness of what was around me that mere human senses could not encompass.

“Victor, I have an idea.” I spoke quietly, knowing that Victor would be able to hear me perfectly clearly, with the radio link established.

“I'm listening,” he replied immediately. “What's on your mind?”

“If each of my allies wore an item which was mechanical in nature on each arm and leg, and something on or near the head, I would be able to keep track of them in a combat situation.” I paused. “Crusader and Kaiser are, of course, already covered.”

For some reason, he chuckled. “Heh, covered, yeah. Good point. That should be easy to do. And you'd be able to keep track of everyone?”

“As easily as you are able to keep track of your own hands and feet,” I said simply. “I was concerned about crushing Rune, earlier. If I am near an ally in combat, such a system should keep them safe from accidental injury.”

“I'm totally on board with not being accidentally stepped on in combat,” Victor replied. “It's a little late for it right now, but you're not going to have any friendlies nearby anyway. I will definitely start work on it as soon as we get back. Your own personal IFF system. I like it.”

“Thank you.” I was careful to say the words. While I felt no emotional attachment toward Victor when my powers were engaged, I was fully aware of his importance to me as an ally. Thus, I had no issue with expending a few polite words to maintain team cohesion.

“No problem. It's a workable idea.” He paused. “Heads up. We're nearly there. Any last-minute doubts?”

“I have no doubts.” It was true. While my powers were active, it was impossible to feel doubt, or any other emotion. Everything was laid starkly out to me in black and white. I knew my own capabilities, and I knew the capabilities of the armour that Victor had made for me. The exercise required me to engage with the Merchants without direct assistance, this did not mean that I would be going in alone or without backup. This was a test and a training run, as much for the armour as for myself; in order for it to serve its purpose, my actions had to be observed and judged.

With Peter's assistance, I had studied the known capabilities of the Merchants. I was confident that between my powers and my armour, I faced no untoward danger from any of their capes. Against the rank and file, I faced even less in the way of peril; not that I expected any but the most drug-addled to attempt to physically assault my armoured form.

“Good. It's go time.” With his words, the rear doors of the truck opened. I took control of the clamps holding my armour in place and popped them open, then carefully climbed out on to broken concrete. The driver shut the doors, gave me a nod that was probably somewhere between respectful and terrified, then climbed back into the truck. I watched as he started it moving, steering between the potholes that seemed to make up the majority of the street.

I looked around. Deserted buildings lined the street, some with gaping windows, others with boards over them. I saw none with intact glass. Graffiti, some of it so overlayered that it was hard to read, coated every available surface. However, I did not see any of my Empire allies. “Where are you?”

“Your seven o'clock high.” Thus clued in, I turned to my left and looked up, to see the ten foot wide metal plate that Victor had prepared for the occasion. It sported a safety rail around the edge, which was a good idea for something that was currently floating about fifty feet in the air. Rune stood at the front, her hands gripping the rail. She'd told me that once she had something 'marked' with her power, she didn't need to touch it to maintain her control, but it was a good habit to have. Standing beside her, his armour impressive in the scattered light from streetlamps, Kaiser looked impassively down at me. Also on the plate were Victor, Othala, Crusader and Fenja—I thought. I could never tell which of the Biermann sisters was which. This was the one with the spear.

“I see you,” I said, and waved to make it more obvious. Turning my attention from the hovering plate, I looked up and down the street. No clue immediately presented itself for which way to go. “Should I go left or right?”

“Try left,” Victor suggested. “I'm pretty sure they've got a flophouse or three in that direction. Make enough noise and their capes will come out to play. Or not, and we try again tomorrow night.”

“Maybe I should have had you install a spraypaint dispenser in the armour,” I said. “I understand that the Merchants take their tagging very seriously.” I heard a snort over the radio. Analysis: amusement. Victor believes that to be a joke.

“We might have to do that,” he agreed, then chuckled. “Tonight, you're just going to have to make do with what you have.”

“I believe I can do that.” I ran the armour and all of its accessories through a brief self-test, more to assure myself that all joints and pivot points were in full working order. They were. I set off down the street, the sound of my heavy tread echoing off of nearby buildings. It was time for me to prove my worth to the Empire.

<><> ​

Sophia

The vibration of Sophia's phone alerted her to an incoming text. There was no noise, however, so Clockblocker remained in his natural state of cluelessness. Pushing back her chair from the console, Sophia spun it in a circle. “I am so fucking bored,” she pretended to groan. “There's nothing happening anywhere. Even the Empire's not out causing problems.”

“Well, that's actually a good thing,” Clockblocker pointed out. “I'm actually a fan of nobody being beaten up or killed because of the colour of their skin, you know?” He shrugged. “I mean, there's a rumour getting around PHO that something's gonna go down in Merchant territory tonight but nobody knows what, so it's probably nothing.”

“Well, good luck finding out what it is,” Sophia said as she stood up. “I'm gonna go hit the gym for an hour or two.” She stretched elaborately, knowing without looking that Clockblocker was watching her. Part of her wanted to smack him for ogling her body, but the time for that would be later. Right now, she needed to not have him object too strenuously to her leaving him alone on console.

“You know we're supposed to be two-up except for when someone's in the bathroom, right?” His objection sounded weak, and she rolled her eyes behind her mask.

“Yeah, like you've never covered for Kid Win even once when he wandered off to do some Tinkering while you two were on console duty together.” Her voice was sharply sarcastic. “And he's never covered for you when you decided to do some console gaming because you were bored.” If he'd been wearing the full helmet, she would never have seen the shift in his gaze, but the white domino mask let her see his downcast expression perfectly. “Yeah, I thought so.” She tilted her head toward her room. “Gonna go get changed. Unless you've got any other problems with me hitting the gym?”

“No,” he mumbled.

“Damn right,” she said, and headed off to her room. As soon as she had the door closed behind her, she yanked her phone out of its belt-pouch and turned it on.

T minus thirty minutes, the text said. Same place. C.

OK, she sent in reply, then shut her phone down again. She'd delete both texts from her phone once she got back, but she didn't have time to figure out how to do that right now. Sitting down on her bed she pulled the key out of her bra and removed the cuff so she could take her boots off more easily. Her costume followed, all but the body-stocking she wore under the armour. And the underwear beneath that, of course. The costume went into a gym bag she kept under her bed. On top of the costume went a towel, with one end artistically hanging out of the zipper. Then the mask went back on, because not even the Wards got to see her uncovered face. Especially not the Wards. Lastly, she pulled on sneakers.

“What's the bag for?” Clockblocker asked as she came out into the main living area, obviously having grown back some of his smartassery. “It's not like you're moving out any time soon.”

“Unlike some people I know,” she said bluntly, “I actually sweat when I go to the gym. And I'm going to have a shower after I finish exercising. And I don't like wearing sweaty clothes around once I've had a shower. So I've got fresh clothes to change into. In other words: fuck you.”

“I was just …” He trailed off as she stomped past him toward the exit door. “ … asking,” he ended lamely as she slapped the button.

For a second, she considered telling him to think before he asked anything in future, but she was pretty sure Clockblocker considered thinking to be strenuous exercise. The door slid open and she exited, then headed straight down the corridor toward the lift. Checking her phone told her that she was five minutes into the thirty that Circus had specified. Gonna need to hustle.

Of course, this time she wasn't going to have to pull the elaborate escape-from-Alacatraz bullshit she'd put herself through the last time. The lift went to the floor with the gym on it and she marched down the corridor as if she owned the place, barely even bothering to step aside for a pair of PRT troopers who lumbered past.

As soon as she was in the gym, she glanced around and grinned. Everyone was either on shift or in bed, just as she'd planned. The lights weren't even on. Darting into the minuscule locker room, she rapidly began to change back into her costume. The ankle-monitor came off and she stashed it under one of the changing benches. She hid the bag itself, with the towel and sweats, in an empty locker. If anyone asked Clockblocker where she was, he'd say the gym, and if they checked the whereabouts of the electronic bracelet it would say the same thing. Only if they specifically came looking for her would they discover her absence. And to be honest, if she managed to fuck up Hebert's entire year, it would still be worth it.

Stepping out of the locker room, she glanced around. The gym was still deserted, so she headed for the windows. Breaking into a run, she dived at the armour-glass barrier, going to shadow just before she made impact. In her shadow state it barely impeded her at all; a moment later, she was gliding through the cool night air.

She touched down on a rooftop across the street and started running. It had taken her nineteen minutes to reach the rendezvous point the last time, and she was determined not to hold this operation up by even one minute. So she pushed herself, jumping farther and gliding longer between buildings to reach her goal faster. She could've gotten there faster by passing up her stash of broadhead arrows, but that wasn't something she was willing to do. Fortunately, the detour wasn't too far out of the way, and she didn't bother thinking too hard about how many to take; she just grabbed all she could carry.

Still, this took more time than she liked. As she closed in on the anonymous street corner and the rooftop above it, she couldn't be sure that she wasn't late. Angering or disappointing Circus and her mysterious boss was less concerning to her than than losing the chance to strike a blow against that weak, wimpy racist whore Hebert.

There was nobody there. She stopped and looked around, suddenly unsure. This is the right place, isn't it? It seemed to be familiar, but at night things could get confused. Fuck. I'm late.

And then her phone vibrated in its pouch. She grabbed it out, fumbling at it in her haste to check the message. Finally, she got it turned on and open to the right screen. The message simply read: Took your time.

At the same time as she scanned the words, an amused voice came from the air-conditioning unit above her. “Took your time.”

Her head jerked up and she saw Circus lounging on the unit as if she had all day, a phone in her hand. “Bitch!” she whispered. “You did that on purpose!”

“No, not Bitch. Circus. Learn your supervillain identifications.” Circus smirked. Today's costume was another red-and-black harlequin outfit, but this time she was going with a playing-card motif, with hearts, spades, diamonds and clubs here and there. Her domino mask had a heart to the left and a diamond to the right, while her face—covered in theatrical whiteface makeup—bore a spade down on one side of her jaw and a club on the other. She flipped lithely off of the air-conditioning unit and landed on her feet with barely a sound. Somewhere along the way, the phone vanished from her hand. “So if you're done fiddling with your phone, we can maybe get this mission started.”

Clenching her teeth behind the mask, Sophia shut her phone down and shoved it back in the belt pouch. “Fuck you. Let's get this done.”

“Oh, no, honey. I do enjoy hate-sex with heroes, but you're far too young for me. Come back in a few years and I'll think about it.” With a mocking smile, Circus let her fingertips trail across Sophia's mask, then she took a run-up and leaped over to the next rooftop.

Did she just fucking make a pass at me, or did she reject me for making a pass at her? Sophia wasn't sure which it was, but either way she was sure she'd been insulted. That's it. When this is over, me and this bitch are going to have words. And by 'words', she meant she was gonna beat the living goddamn shit out of Circus. Seething with anger, she leaped off the rooftop and glided after the supervillain.

<><> ​

Taylor

“I have not seen anything yet,” I reported. “I am going to send up an auxiliary unit with a camera.”

“Sure thing,” Victor replied. “I've been interested in seeing how those things work, anyway.”

I assumed positive control over one of the several auxiliary units I had stored in the armour, then reached out with its graspers and locked on to a remote camera, also stored in the same location. The controls for the cameras were simple enough for me to operate. As I powered it up, I switched on the screen in front of me. Connectivity only took a few seconds to establish, and then I was looking through the screen at the darkened interior of the storage module. I opened the top and activated the auxiliary unit, sending it in a high-speed climb into the night air. I knew exactly where the unit was, of course, but the view on the screen gave me a chance of seeing anything non-mechanical approaching it. Briefly, I considered sending up a second unit with an attack payload, but I wanted to see how well I could handle one on its own first. Besides, I didn't want to kill any Merchants we encountered, whether they were capes or normals. The entire aim of this mission was to demoralise and humiliate them so that when we walked into what they called their territory and took it over, they wouldn't even consider fighting back.

The auxiliary unit buzzed up to where Rune was still piloting the metal platform five storeys up, and made a quick circuit of my fellow Empire capes. I found that I could maintain reasonable control of the unit even when it was flying sideways or backward. This was useful data; it meant I could get footage of something without needing to head directly toward it or hover in place. Crusader gave the camera a broad grin and a thumbs-up gesture, which I interpreted to mean that he was pleased with my progress. Victor did neither, but he studied the unit's progress intently as it flew by.

As I continued down the street, I sent the unit zipping ahead of me. There were alleyways where the armour would have issues travelling quickly or quietly, but for which the auxiliary units were perfectly suited. Of course, the light level in these places was far below acceptable, but the cameras were designed to flip over to low-light when necessary.

Up ahead, I saw the first proper Merchant tag of the area. A good three feet high, it actually boasted a certain amount of artistry, given that it symbolised a degenerate herd of drug-addicted subhumans. Sending the auxiliary unit scouting through the nearest alleyway, I extended the chain from my left arm then lashed it against the wall, scraping down to remove the paint. The first pass didn't do much good, but on the next try I activated the tungsten carbide cutting blades. These screeched against the brickwork, but tore the tag clean off the wall in a matter of seconds. I stepped back out of the cloud of brick dust and studied my handiwork as I retracted the chain. A quarter of an inch of brick had been gouged off of the outer surface, looking almost as if someone had dragged a giant grater down it.

“Huh. Nicely done,” Victor said. “A little loud, but it's not like that armour's built—heads up! People coming out of the building!”

“On it,” I said, turning toward the front entrance of the building. Sure enough, two men and a woman—as far as I could tell—were standing in the doorway, staring across at me. Neither wore recognisable gang colours, but they had the unmistakable air of long-term drug users. One of the men had a phone to his ear. I brought the auxiliary unit up out of the alley and moved it to scan the rear and sides of the building.

“Hey!” yelled one of the men, pointing at me. “Who the fuck're you? Fuck off, asshole!”

His absolute lack of any self-preservation instinct indicated to me that he was almost certainly under the influence of some mind-altering substance or other. This was underlined when he reached into his waistband and pulled out a pistol. Even taking into account that it was dark out, his aim was execrable, to the point that I was mildly concerned for the well-being of the other two. The pistol went off three times. Two shots pinged off the wall, nowhere near me, and I had no idea where the last one went.

Assume positive control: chain.

Extending my arm, I sent the chain whipping out toward the idiot with the gun. He yelled out in shock as the flexible links wrapped around the barrel of the weapon and wrenched it from his grip. Hoisting it several yards into the air, I activated the cutting blades. Sparks flew, amid the screeching of metal on metal. This time I was more successful than I had been in the lab, and the pistol dropped to the ground in several pieces. As the Merchants stared in stunned disbelief—or perhaps a drug-addled daze—I retracted the chain back into the armour. Then I started walking toward them.

Victor had coached me in how to do a menacing stride, and the armour made it easy. Cutting the gun into pieces had probably raised my intimidation factor considerably, so it was no surprise at all when the two guys lurched back inside the building and slammed the door behind them. The woman yelled profanities at them and beat on the door with her fists, then took one look at me and ran off down the street.

“Well, that was kind of impressive,” Victor observed. “I have to say, I'm less impressed by the way they look out for each other.” He paused. “Kaiser wants to see how you go with clearing the building out. It's your choice. I know we haven't done building clearing techniques yet.”

“I cannot see a difficulty,” I replied. I walked the armour up to the front door and pushed at it. It gave a little, then stopped. Drawing back my fist, I punched it in the same way that Peter had trained me. The door shattered into a great many pieces, and the sofa that had been pushed against it skidded away across the floor. “Entry achieved.”

“Nicely done. For the record, Menja is jealous.”

I did not know what to say to that. Menja could probably achieve greater strength than my armour while fully-grown, but I was stronger than her at this height. Of course, my strength was due to Victor's engineering interacting with my power, but I did not want to make her feel inadequate. It was as I had said to Rune: we all had our strengths and our parts to play. We were all Empire.

Ducking the head of the armour, I stepped through the doorway into the building. When I straightened up, I found I was facing five men, all holding firearms. Three had pistols, one a double-barreled shotgun and the last was pointing an assault rifle at me.

<><> ​

Lung

Kenta stood on the rooftop, looking out over the street. Oni Lee appeared beside him, the fearsome appearance of the Kabuki mask somewhat undermined by the fact that his arm was in a sling. Lee wanted a piece of Taylor Hebert just as badly as Lung did, but two weeks had not been nearly enough time to recover from the damage she'd done to him with that fucking car. As it was, he still couldn't use his left arm at all, and his right wrist was still painful to bend. The first few days after the fight, he'd barely been able to walk, given that he had a broken kneecap and severe abdominal bruising. He would probably have had fewer problems if he'd been in an actual car accident.

“That way.” Lee pointed as he spoke. “Kaiser and some others on a large flying metal plate. The girl is in an armour suit, attacking a Merchant building.”

“An … armour suit?” Kenta frowned. Was she a Tinker as well as a controller of cars? That made for a level of power that would be frightening to anyone else. But he was Lung. He feared nobody and nothing.

“It's very tall and very strong, and has some sort of tentacle coming out of the arm. I didn't get a good look.” Lee shrugged, carefully. “It's no match for you at full strength, of course.”

“Well, of course.” That went without saying. Lung had gone up against an Endbringer. The number of capes that could equal him in sheer strength and ferocity could be counted on the fingers of one hand. “How high up are the other Empire capes? Can you bring them down?”

“I would have trouble fighting them,” admitted Lee. “But fortunately, I do not need to fight to bring them down.”

“Good,” said Kenta, drawing back his lips from his teeth in a smile that owed nothing to pleasantry and everything to cruelty. “Lead me to them. The Empire loses its head tonight, and then I will have my revenge on Taylor Hebert.”

As Oni Lee teleported to the next roof and Lung moved to follow, he began to grow. The superiority of his dragon form notwithstanding, he knew he was going to need all the strength he could muster for the fight ahead. Fortunately, his power was able to oblige.

<><> ​

Skidmark

“So what the sweaty camel nutsack are we facing this time?” Adam Mustain yelled over the noise of the racing engine. “Tell me it's not that flying glowstick!” Purity was as vulnerable to damage as anyone, but she could hand it out in city-block amounts.

“No idea!” Squealer yelled back at him, while she did incomprehensible adjustments to the control panel of her latest monstrosity. “They just said it's some guy in a big-ass suit of powered armour!” Despite the seriousness of the situation, she flashed him puppy-dog eyes. “Can I have it once we're done? I never get to look at anyone else's Tinkertech!”

“Once we've got the crotch-sniffing dingleberry out of the control seat, you can do what you want with it!” he assured her. “Fuckin' marry it, for all I give a shit!”

“You say the nicest things!” she shouted into sudden silence.

Adam realised that the tank had fallen silent and was rolling to a halt. “Hey, the fuck?” he blurted. “Did you forget to feed the hamster, or whatever it is you got running this thing?”

Sherrel shook her head, an expression of confusion crossing her face. “Cold fusion plant, and no. It should have fuel for the next year or so.” She scanned the makeshift dials and gauges that made up most of the control panel. “No, it's running at full capacity. But nothing's getting through to the drivetrain.”

“How the diseased anal pusbag is that happening?” he demanded. “Something break?”

“No!” she denied hotly. “I'm not L33t, for fuck's sake! It's just stopped, and until I get a chance to pull it apart I won't know why.” She looked out through the minimal windshield. “Or you could ask that guy out there.”

Adam stared out through the thick glass at the eight foot tall armoured suit striding toward the stalled tank. “What the …? Fuckin' shoot that testicular tumour!”

“I'm trying!” Squealer jabbed buttons and pulled levers, but exactly nothing happened. “I keep telling you, we're shut down!”

“Well, I'm not shut down.” Adam unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up. “Time to go out there and give that asshole the royal butt-fucking he's begging for.”



End of Part Twenty-One