Chapter 7.5.4: Alexandria
(Thanks to @Ridtom for the original Omake!)
***
Wednesday, February 23rd, 2011.
8:47 PM PST.
***
"Door me."
Even with her abilities, the change was almost instantaneous to the eyes. One second she sat staring at a blank wall, and the next there was a rift in space, wide and tall enough for her to cross. A pale white hallway was visible just beyond the dimensional doorway's threshold.
Alexandria crossed through the portal and it snapped shut behind her immediately without a sound.
Too clean. Those were the words that aptly described Cauldron's base. No color, no decorations, just white, sterile-looking walls. In contrast, the PRT's shade of white was mixed with the occasional purple and black, but even alone the white lacquer the PRT used had been specifically focus-grouped to ensure it gave off impressions of "futuristic," "reassuring," and "vibrant." Cauldron's white was like a hospital, only a thousand times worse - a side-effect of the Custodian's scouring, bleaching out all life and color.
She shivered, memories of her youth rising at the comparison. She had made a conscious effort to avoid hospitals if at all possible since then, but there was no running from Cauldron.
Clenching the book in hand she fought back the discomforting feeling. There was work to be done, after all.
Alexandria strode through the hallway with an almost-supernatural sense of pride and authority. While she preferred to float around as her means of travel, circumstance had ingrained it upon her to do so only while necessary; the Chief Director of the PRT being caught floating on camera would raise too many questions.
She smiled at that. Not that she hadn't done so before, she was just smart enough to not be caught.
By the time she passed the first cell her smile was gone, her expression forced into it's blank state. Most of the people confined in here didn't take it well whenever they saw someone smiling as they walked by. It was both interesting and annoying: interesting in the sense that it piqued her curiosity at how different cultures from other universes reacted to body language and annoying in that she had to focus to keep herself as neutral looking at all times to avoid offending one of them.
It wasn't hard really, but she never felt comfortable with masking her body language like that. She had always been a vocal person, willing to say what came to mind if she felt she had to. To do otherwise felt wrong.
"Angel."
She paused in mid-stride, glancing at the cell where the voice had come from. A vaguely Hispanic-looking teen stood by the cell entrance. The cell had no door or outward wall, but those imprisoned in such quarters quickly learned not to cross the thin, black line etched on the white floor.
Alexandria gave the teen a once-over. He wore a grey and black short-sleeve shirt and matching pants, the standard uniform for those whose powers hadn't completely overtaken them. Where his skin was showing, glowing blue veins would randomly appear on the skin, creating a strange pattern that didn't match any circulatory system in the human body. His eyes glowed the same light-aqua as his veins, with no visible iris or sclera.
"Gabriel," she replied evenly, nodding. He was from an alternate Earth where Canada had been covered in Spanish colonies. She recalled that his Earth was recently going through it's Fifth World War despite only just getting into a near World War II technological phase. He had been a civilian casualty during the bombing of Madrid at the end of the Fourth.
Almost a casualty, actually.
"You are not going to admonish me for stating your title?"
She smiled at that, a small one, "I have long since learned that no matter what I say, you will always call me that. No matter how grating it is."
He laughed at that, a loud, boisterous sound. He was infatuated with her, she knew, but there was nothing she could do about it. She didn't have the heart to shut him down when he only opened up to her.
"You're in a good mood today. Have you been drawing lately?"
His smile widened as he nodded, "Yes! I have finally found my muse!" He waved his hand in the hallways general direction, "My fellow companions! Though I cannot see many of them, it is such an interesting exercise in creating names and faces to the sounds of their voices. I only wish I could show them what I have created!"
Alexandria quickly took in her surroundings. The other cell-mates were becoming agitated at her presence and Gabriel's exuberance. The truly monstrous ones stalked back and forth along their confines, curious as to what all the commotion was - especially since many could not understand what she and Gabriel were saying.
It took her only four seconds, but she had already memorized the expressions and patterns of those around her. They didn't like being disturbed for too long.
"I'll be more than happy to give them a look Gabriel," he gave a whoop of excitement, "but I have other business I have to attend to." She showed him the book and smiled apologetically.
He wasn't disappointed though and merely nodded in acceptance. "Until another time, Angel."
Alexandria was already walking away, her face once more neutral. He wouldn't remember a thing that happened come tomorrow. Something about his power gave him some form of Alzheimer's. That had been the same conversation she had with him the day before that and the day before that and so on; a lesson in just how predictable human behavior could be.
Unfortunate. He gave the place some much-needed life and personality.
Eventually she stopped outside one of the larger cells, one of the few with an enclosing wall - but of glass, not concrete or tile. Beyond the glass there was no floor, only a vast reservoir of water nearly one-hundred feet deep, and cold enough that the cell required a tinkertech-sodium mix to keep it from freezing over.
She floated, up and over the wall, book held properly as to prevent any unfortunate accidents. The water's surface was still enough that she could see her reflection clearly as she continued her slow flight. Once she was near the center of the great pool, she spoke slowly yet powerfully.
"I am here, Oracle."
Nothing. Or so it seemed.
She was already backing away and shielding the book before the first ripple had formed. Within seconds a truly massive creature burst forth from the depths. Tentacles speared up from the water, diamond ridges poking out at random sections of flesh.
More than a few made attempts to strike at the Triumvirate member, but she was too fast and too small for the meaty appendages. They couldn't hurt her, but it was annoying having to walk around the base with only scraps for clothing and reinforced underwear.
It took only a few more seconds of dodging before the Oracle herself appeared. A thin woman covered in glittering scales rose from beneath the thrashing waves, uncaring for the myriad of tentacles or the occasional wave that splashed down upon her.
Hairless and limbless, her body consisted of an upper torso that lead down, down, down into a mountain of deadly tentacles. In place of ears were two faces that were barely human in design, their fanged mouths open constantly and their beady black eyes darting to focus on sights unseen.
Her original face was downcast, lips drawn into a frown. Ashamed.
"I'm not mad at you, Oracle," Alexandria sighed as she tilted to the side to avoid a sneak attack from behind, "I know it takes some time to get them under control."
Her face scrunched up. Guilt?
"The voices told me you were going to kill me today," she whispered in a voice that echoed everywhere at once, "that you were going to dive into the waters to get me in my safe-place and drag me to land. No? The desert I mean. They said you'd sit there and watch as I dried up underneath the burning sun. I've never seen a desert, Alexandria, but I knew that I couldn't let you do that."
A false message? They were becoming more and more common with her. She claimed that the two faces next to her could speak within her mind and describe in vivid detail what was going to happen in the future. A useful ability, but it had soon become apparent that the voices or whatever she heard were anything but benign.
Her current cell was a result of the first of these false prophecies; the voices told had begun foretelling she'd soon be crushed without the extra space. Killing her would, at best, result in a large deal of damage to the surrounding cells, and dumping her was a horrible idea; the Simurgh's fondness for pulling Case 53s to Earth-Bet had been a large reason why Cauldron had given up simply ditching the more monstrous creations on Earths without human populations. She'd even done so while Eidolon had been in the middle of killing one on a desert-Earth, dumping the first Blasphemy somewhere deep in the Congo.
The Simurgh had never used her ability to breach dimensions openly or without Tinkertech to mask the effect, so Alexandria and Eidolon couldn't afford to warn anyone else about it; too many questions would be raised about how either of them knew.
Even without an easy solution, Alexandria had still firmly blocked any attempt at disposing of young woman. She had been the one to save the young girl, after all.
"Oracle," she tried again, her voice as comforting as she could make it, "I'm not here to hurt you. You asked if I could bring a book the next time I visited, remember? The one with the Mermaid and the Tree-Man?"
"I-I... Yes, I remember. The voices said you'd come sooner." She sounded indignant, but she still didn't meet Alexandria's eyes. Embarrassment. But the tentacles stopped their thrashing, slowly receding back beneath the water's surface.
The voices lie all the time, now.
"I'm sorry. Work has been getting in my way for awhile now and I'm just getting caught up in everything."
She lowered herself to the point that the tips of her boots were just barely touching the rippling waters. Oracle was only a few feet away from the hero, her limbless form looking fragile and weak when coupled with her uncomfortable expression.
It was hard to believe that this was the same woman she had freed from the torture camps of the Obsidian Dragons. The European-Parahuman terrorist group had a focus on bringing down every single major political infrastructure, and then reveling in the chaos they wrought. It was by chance that Alexandria had come across Oracle, strapped to a medical table with most of her organs removed while still being kept alive for experiments - an apparent investigation into the correlation between pain and trigger events.
Oracle had been one of the many unlucky subjects who had not triggered. She was also the only one who had been still alive when Alexandria found the torture ring.
"Anyways," Alexandria lifted up the book she had been guarding, "I brought the book like I said I would. It took some digging through my old stuff, but this was definitely the one that had Green Eyes appear. Would you like me to read from the beginning or just the parts with her in them?"
Oracle's abyssal eyes met Alexandria's helmet, a deep void of black that seemed to go on forever, before nodding slowly. Smiling lightly in return, Alexandria quickly flipped through the pages, only taking second to find the relevant page. Clearing her throat she began,"The eyes rose up, and I could hear the sound of water falling free, as though someone were rising from a bath."
It was odd for Alexandria. Not many of the deviants responded well to her attempts at connecting with them, or took an interest in something that she enjoyed. There were others besides Oracle and Gabriel that she spent some time with, trying to make their existences just a bit easier for them, though those shared moments were far and few between with her schedule - only made possible at all by the fact that she did not need to sleep.
It was the least she could do for them, given the sacrifices they had made to further Cauldron's cause.
They had just gotten to the part where Green Eyes was going to say goodbye to Blake when Oracle spoke up, "I-I have questions, Alexandria."
Oracle paused, and so did Alexandria. Then the heroine nodded, closing the book before turning to face the young woman, "Is this a question you have or the voices?"
A flinch. "Yes."
Ah, the mathematician's answer. She was nervous but determined, her dark eyes staring at Alexandria like as if they were trying to see through her. Body language was a little more difficult when the person didn't have limbs or human expressions, but Oracle was close enough to count.
It was evident the younger woman had been thinking about this for a long time.
"You know I probably can't answer everything that you ask of me," Alexandria clarified in the silence that hung over the pool. "There are some things that can't be shared."
Oracle nodded. "I know. The voices told me you'd say that. I-I'm just trying to help."
Alexandria felt an eyebrow raise at that, "Help whom?"
"Um, a-a lot of people. There's... things that I'm being told but I'm not sure I believe. And then there's things that I can't understand at all no matter how hard I try to listen to them. I-It's frustrating to separate without knowing what to believe and what not to believe."
Her precognition was on the fritz? She knew that the young woman's range was impressive but could she actually be able to detect Weaver and… whatever happened to Marrow… from here? Or was there another player making their move, now that the Endbringers were dormant?
Too many questions, too few answers.
Alexandria made a polite, offering gesture to encourage the young woman to continue, which prompted Oracle to take an unneeded breath. "The voices tell me... that there are thousands of monsters like me-"
"You're not a monster, Oracle."
"...people like me that have... this happen to them. A-And that you... ugh, it's confusing... you deliver them from their fates? Except they keep using different words for 'fates' and their tone of voice is… angry..."
Alexandria sighed, having expected this question years ago.
"Oracle, it's no secret that there are more people within this facility that have a similar predicament to you. You've seen and even met some of them before, remember?"
Oracle nodded, which Alexandria took that as a sign to continue, "and I know you remember at least parts of how you got here and came to be."
"You saved me from the monsters," a few tentacles shivered beneath her, "the voices say that you bring others and turn them into monsters."
"No."
Oracle flinched back, the tentacles going still in fear. Alexandria blinked. When had she moved so close to her? Floating back a few feet to give the aquatic parahuman some space, she took her time thinking about what she had to say.
"There was once a girl who was dying. A prisoner inside her own body as a horrible disease rotted it away. Doctors and nurses tried everything in their power to keep her alive just a few months longer. They'd tell the girl that she only needed to stay strong and live and she'd have hope. She never really believed it. Not then. And one day, when the disease was especially bad, she overheard that she was dying and that nothing they did could help her."
Oracle was paying rapt attention, minus the occasional flinch from whatever voice she heard.
"She broke down, sobbing for hours. A part of her was relieved that all the pain would be over, but an even greater part was terrified at the thought of dying. Then the Doctor arrived, but not a normal one. Yes, that's right, that same one you see occasionally walk down this hallway. She told the girl that though the chances were slim, she could possibly save her life but at the cost that she'd be turned into... well it'd be a less than pleasant experience if she didn't."
Even now, if someone were offering to save my life, but in doing so make me one of these monsters? I'd still accept.
Oracle cut in, her voice low, "It worked on you. You weren't changed."
Alexandria smiled sadly and nodded. "It was then that the girl realized something life changing. That so long as you live, you can have hope. Living and the hope it gives you is all that matters."
"The voices... you take those dead and dying and turn them into these." Confirmation. Oracle had known but hadn't accepted it till then it seemed.
She nodded, "Not all are changed... but all get a second chance at life, Oracle. It's what everyone deserves."
Oracle frowned, silent in contemplation for several moments. Finally, she winced and took another unsteady breath. "Too many… they keep saying different things. Poisons. Horror. Redemption. Do you... have people you want to kill?"
Her hand in Hero's chest, nearly ripping him in half as she tore out his organs before snapping his spine. The screaming victims that tried to escape from the monster as she rampaged through the streets. Punches, thrown objects, blasts of energy… then pain like she hadn't known in years as half the world went dark.
Alexandria clenched her fists.
"Yes."
Tentacles rose around Oracle, wrapping themselves together in a way that obscured her from sight. Sinking, Alexandria realized, withdrawing herself to the depths. Her safe place as she said.
"Something big.... the Voices are all screaming. A woman covered in blood and stripes... there are others, another monster, a laughing child, but.... s-something big is making the Voices all scream..." More tentacles rose and grouped together, sinking faster and faster.
Alexandria felt her heart racing as the last words from the woman reached her ears, "S-So very small in the end... don't forget those closest.... a-all about the people...."
Silence as she sunk beneath the water. Alexandria stood there hovering for a time, before calmly leaving the cell. She'd get nothing out of waiting for Oracle to reappear and she'd best cross-reference what she'd heard with the other precogs on-hand within Cauldron.
...don't forget those closest.... a-all about the people....
But first things first.
Flipping out her cell-phone, Alexandria stopped for a moment. She was in one of the many corridors designed to confuse any possible intruders, but that didn't matter to her. It just so happened to be the best location for the time being.
Pressing the needed numbers, she only had to wait for two rings before it answered.
"Hello? Rebecca?"
"Hey Mom," replied Chief Director Costa-Brown, a wistful smile growing on her face. "I'm sorry for bothering you this late at night. I was wondering if you had time to talk?"
"Oh please," her soft voice laughed, "I'll always have time for my little girl. What is it you wanted to talk about? Finally getting hitched, hmm?"
"You know that I'm already married to my job Mom."
Deborah Brown sighed, "You have to retire someday, Becca, and the good boys won't be on the market forever! But- but that's besides the point! What did you wanna talk about?"
Alexandria blinked under her helmeted visor, traitorous emotions bubbling under the surface.
That things are moving too quickly now. That decades of planning and thousands of sacrifices may have been for nothing. That we don't have a clue when everything's going to end.
That I'm not sure I'll ever see you again.
Rebecca Costa Brown managed a light, unconcerned laugh. "Nothing in particular, but... are you still planning that family reunion you mentioned a while back?"
Chapter 7.5.5: Geode
(Thanks to @Ridtom for the original Omake!)
***
Thursday, December 9th, 2004.
1:22 AM PST.
***
"Daddy, I-I'm scared!"
She felt his hand pat the top of her head and she stopped shivering for the moment. Her father's hand was so big and comforting just like his soothing voice, "It's okay baby girl, I'm here. You're safe now. The bad men won't scare you anymore."
Smooth. Almost like all those Jazz songs he listened to at night, but it seemed strained now. Was he as scared as she had been? Impossible! Daddy was never scared! Other people were scared of Daddy though, but that was also silly! He was like a great big fuzzy teddy-bear - a teddy-bear who gave the best hugs in the whole world!
Turning to smile up at her Daddy - to show she was alright - Kinzey Robinson flinched back. Her Daddy's smiling face was covered in red stuff.
Blood? Kinzey thought with a whimper, as more of it dripped into her Daddy's beard and mustache from somewhere in his hairline.
Her Daddy blinked at the sudden change in demeanor before quickly rubbing his face. Grimacing at the blood he wiped off, he pulled his daughter closer in a bear-hug she loved so much as the poor girl started to shiver again.
"I'm sorry you had to see that baby-girl. Daddy.... Daddy messed up."
She tried to stop shivering, but the blood on her Daddy's face brought back to mind all the violence and fear. Fear. She had never, ever been so afraid in her entire life. Even watching all those scary movies with Penny didn't compare to what she had just seen.
Oh, her Daddy was still talking!
"Try...try not to think about things for a little bit okay baby girl? When the nice men and women ask you questions, don't think too hard about it. It helps, I... I promise."
Yes, Kinzey decided, that could work. If I don't think about things, they can't hurt me! They won't make me afraid any more.I'll think about nice things all the time... like Penny! Or Daddy and - the blood rolling down his cheek - Mommy! Those are nice things!
Why, she could already feel herself getting better!
She hugged her Daddy even tighter, a tight smile on her face. "Okay, Daddy. I won't think about... things. I love you."
Kinzey couldn't see it, but her Daddy didn't return the good feeling with a smile of his own, "I... I'm so sorry baby-girl. I love you too."
Stonewall, leader of the Boulder Builders gang, stared out at the destruction before him while cradling his young daughter in his arms. His best leadership, gathered for another Poker Night in his own home. He'd known them all personally; friends and family from all walks of life, looking for an opportunity for something more, something that he said he'd provide.
All dead now. The Riot Act was going to pay for breaking the unwritten rules.
Crystal spikes were all over the room of his safe-house, many of them smashing through the floor and covered in blood and debris. That was all that was left of the low-level Riot Act thugs, but neither he nor his men had done it.
But it was easy to see the similarities between these new powers and his own.
"I love you so much," he whispered gently through his tears, kissing the top of his now-parahuman daughter's head.
***
Thursday, December 16th, 2004.
10:03 AM PST.
***
Kinzey stared at the big man in armor. He looked like a knight from one of the stories Daddy used to tell to her at night. He carried a big sword, bigger than him even, so he must have been super strong too - he was carrying it in one hand!
The big man had a name that she'd heard on the radio and TV and being talked about by Daddy's friends, but… ohhh she couldn't remember!
The Knight knelt in front of Kinzey as she nodded to herself, planting the big sword into the ground next to him with a really neat 'shhiiiuunk' sound. He moved the little mask thing on the front of his helmet, showing pretty blue eyes that sparkled when the light hit them.
Pretty!
"Hello Kinzey," the Knight greeted, his echoing voice relaxed, almost jovial in tone. "Are you ready to be a Ward?"
"Um," Kinzey felt herself at a loss for words. Thoughts suddenly started racing through her mind at hundreds of miles per hour. Did she curtsy? Did she shake his hand? Or maybe a hug like Daddy would do?
"Don't think about it."
Oh. Yeah! Thank you, Daddy!
"You have pretty eyes! Do you wear contacts? How do you carry such a big sword?! Is it hard going to the bathroom in that? It definitely looks hard! Is that your power? How big are your muscles?"
The Knight blinked at the sudden rush of questions. Ah, Kinzey thought to herself with a blush, maybe too many questions?
"Heh," The Knight chuckled before ruffling her hair. "Most kids just freeze up when I talk to them."
Kinzey blushed even harder and looked down shyly, "I-I like talking to people."
"Ms. Robinson is not like most children, as you already know," spoke the Lady that stood behind her. Kinzey didn't like her. She actually liked the Knight more than her, even if she'd just met him. At least he spoke normally and liked the way she talked!
The Lady had come after the police and paramedics had finished talking to her and dropped Kinzey off at her friend Penny's house. She barely had time to finish up her story with Penny before the Lady knocked on the door and told her that Daddy had put her in charge, and that she'd be staying with the Lady for a little while while they fixed the house.
That was what got her here, days later, standing on the island where all the heroes lived! The excitement she had for the trip was spoiled by the Lady going on and on about a bunch of legal stuff that Daddy was doing and how she got some things while she was staying with the Lady. But… the Lady was talking about it like it'd be a long time?
Kinzey didn't care. She tried not to think about it all that much anymore. Daddy would be back to take her home soon!
The Knight looked up at the Lady and seemed to frown behind his helmet. Kinzey wasn't really sure though since, well, helmet. He stood up and faced the Lady and his voice wasn't as relaxed.
"You the caretaker we spoke to on the phone, then?"
"Indeed," was the curt answer. Kinzey hated that about the Lady too.
The Knight nodded, "Alright, let's get a room and discuss... the arrangements you've made."
"With pleasure."
The Knight nodded to both of them this time and turned and walked down the hall. The Lady soon followed, snapping her fingers at Kinzey when she hesitated. Kinzey frowned but followed while trying to also look at everything at once. Just one more thing to not like about the Lady - she didn't know how to have any fun.
But was she going to be working with the heroes? She'd wanted to help out with Daddy's friends, especially since she had all these cool things she could do now, but the Lady said Daddy said she'd like it better with the heroes. Then again, it was the Lady who said it and not Daddy.
"Don't think about it."
Kinzey smiled as they entered an empty office room. Daddy's advice never steered her wrong before!
Besides, she hummed to herself, I wonder if the Knight is as pretty as his eyes?
***
Thursday, July 23rd, 2009.
3:51 PM PST.
***
"W-Wow Kinzey, you look beat."
Kinzey groaned as she flopped onto her best friend's bed. "Don't remind me Penny. This is my first weekend off in a month! Stupid villains, I even had to cancel a photo shoot yesterday, just to go clean up a robbery..."
It was true. The local gangs had been fighting non-stop, there had been a staggering increase in petty crimes being committed, and her training schedule was running her ragged! Still, Kinzey couldn't deny that most of the fun stuff about being a hero was the best fun stuff she'd ever done.
Talking to all the other Wards, meeting Legend or Armsmaster or other big-name heroes whenever they stopped by, being taught by the older heroes, all of it was a blast! Mr. Chambers had even convinced her to model, which was turning out to be so much more fun than she had thought it would be. The poses were so like fighting, positioning the body in just the right way... and all that beautiful clothing! She even got to keep most of it! Even the shoes!
"Hey Penny."
"Yeah?"
"You should come model with me!"
There was silence for a moment before the glasses-wearing girl broke out into laughter, holding her sides as she leaned against the floral-patterned wall of her bedroom for support. Tears were actually running down her face as she slid down to the floor, still laughing like Kinzey just told the funniest joke in the world.
Kinzey pouted, which she knew was totally cute because all the boys told her so. "I'm serious Penny! You'd be a great model!"
Penny raised her hand in a 'Wait' gesture, wiping her tears. She was still giggling a bit as she spoke. "I don't know if you noticed, but I don't exactly have your, uh, figure for modeling. Or looks," she admitted, her laugh trailing into a sigh, "or, well, anything really."
"But looks don't matter when it comes to modeling!" the beautiful teen spoke, grasping at a way to not make her best-friend-forever sad. "What it needs is... someone with personality! Yeah! And you have tons of personality!"
Penny just rolled her eyes which, was totally not nice. But Kinzey knew just the right way to counter that: a pillow to the face! This soon escalated into a pillow fight that would last for ages!
Or until Kinzey cramped her back, which was what really happened.
"Oh jeez, Kinzey are you okay?" Penny gasped, stalling in mid-swing as she eyed Kinzey's collapsed form on her bed.
Kinzey raised her head enough so that she could speak, though just that motion sent a spike of pain through her neck. "Noooooo. Ow, ow, ow. I hate cramps! Penny can you rub my back? Pretty please? It hurts a lot!"
Penny started sputtering like she usually did when panicked. Kinzey normally thought it was a funny habit she had, but right now her back was in serious pain. A loud moan was all it took for Penny to steel herself and begin the back rub.
Kinzey melted onto the mattress as Penny's hands began kneading, ignoring the whispers in her mind of what each material in the bed would crystalize into if she used her power through it; the whispers couldn't compare to the relief coursing through her body.
Maybe I should ask Bladedancer to take it easy on next session? I think she might have bruised that rib… again. Ugh, I totally dodged that hit! No fai- ooooooh...
She practically purred when Penny went a bit lower, which got a giggle from her friend. Kinzey turned and looked at her best-friend-for-life as she worked - tongue stuck out as she concentrated only on making Kinzey feel better. Such a good friend, and her anchor to normal stuff; Penny was the only thing that kept her from being swallowed up by all the superhero garbage that totally went over her head sometimes.
She didn't like to think about what she'd do without Penny. So she didn't think about it!
"Hey Penny?"
"Hm?"
"We're going to stick together forever, right?"
Out of the corner of her eye, Kinzey noticed Penny blink and meet her eyes, though she kept up the massage. Penny's face was getting red and whenever she would look Kinzey in the eye for too long - like right now! - she'd get redder.
"Don't think about it."
Penny smiled, then looked back to focus on her hands. "O-of course dummy. That's what friends are for!"
Kinzey felt her smile beaming back up at her friend, the comforting feeling that went with it relaxing her even further as Penny returned to work with a gusto. She'd have to return the favor for Penny, but how?
Maybe hook her up with Ernest? Penny always had ideas, and so did Ernest! They'd make a great couple!
***
Thursday, October 14th, 2010.
5:16 PM PST.
***
Pain.
Kinzey whimpered as she held her side, warm blood dripping down and slipping through her fingers. Her head was spinning and the world was a blur. Thoughts of bloody crystals around Daddy's home-
"Don't think about it."
-blood dripping down, seeping into his beard. His face was a tight grimace-
"Don't think about it."
She was shivering and she couldn't stop. Her crystal's didn't help her, the whispers - so loud now, were they always this loud? - didn't help her, they didn't stop the pain that racked her body, they did nothing to stop the FEAR-
"Don't think about it."
It was no use. For the first time since that night in her father's home, Kinzey Robinson felt genuine fear for her life. She couldn't think straight, couldn't get the pain and fear out of her mind. It was all-consuming. She might as well have tried to forget how to breathe.
Even that was getting painful to do, as more and more blood seeped through her fingers.
The thugs were different (SoH? Had they followed Daddy yesterday when he visited?) the place was different (her house with Ms. "Bossy Lady" Grouder) but it was still an attack on her home. There were rules against this!
And Penny was here… yes, under the bed. She'd told Penny to run, but she didn't and now they were in Kinzey's room but they were breaking through the crystals…
She didn't know what to do anymore.
The pain and fear and whispers wouldn't let her think about it.
The SoH thugs were close now, just on the other side of the crystal barrier. The whispers chanted a dozen plans of action through her mind, but she couldn't focus on any one to use - her focus was shot and she could barely even muster the energy to stand. She just wanted the pain and fear to go away-
"Leave her alone!"
Kinzey turned just as Penny thrust her hands out at the attackers - when had they broken through? - and she felt a fear even greater than before seize her heart: Penny couldn't stand up to guns and sledgehammers, Penny was normal. She couldn't let Penny get hurt…
But the cry of warning died on her lips as a cool wave of something echoed out from Penny's hands, only to begin reverberating in all the crystals scattered around them. It was a song, a harmony in the whispers that Kinzey never knew existed, but was so obvious in hindsight.
The attackers fell, their screams barely audible to Kinzey over the entrancing melodies blasting forth from her crystals. Blood oozing from their ears and leaking out their eyes, before those standing immediately next to the wall-high crystal formations suddenly lost their heads in a gelatinous pop. There were a few retreating shouts of alarm, panicked yells as a few tried to scramble for safety, but it was eventually drowned about by the sounds of shimmering crystals.
Kinzey didn't care.
She half-sprinted, half-staggered over to her best friend, who was on her knees crying openly. The fear that tugged at Kinzey's heart faded away after a quick check didn't reveal any injuries, replaced by a crashing sense of relief and pride.
Penny squeaked as Kinzey gave her the biggest damn bear hug she could physically give, engulfing her crying best friend and totally ruining that designer dress Kinzey had given her.
A memory faded into her eyes of a big, burly man giving her a bear hug as she shivered in fear, telling her words that would comfort her.
"Don't think about it."
But Kinzey couldn't bring herself to say the same thing.
***
Thursday, January 6th, 2011.
3:51 PM PST.
***
"Hey, Kinzey! Looking pretty as usual! Mind if we had a chat?"
Kinzey blinked, then looked up from the Cosmo magazine she was reading as she walked. Erasmus stood in front of her, a cocky smile on his face, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Still in costume, which was weird since his patrol had ended hours ago. It wasn't weird enough to distract her from the fact that he was perving on her - sure her boobs were great, but it wasn't nice to stare.
Kinzey crossed her arms over her chest in effort to cover up slightly, and gave him a strained smile, "I don't know... I kinda promised Penny we'd meet up downstairs in a few minutes..."
Erasmus's handsome face softened a bit, his eyes moving to meet her own for a moment, then off to the side awkwardly. "Oh I understand. I know I'm not the most popular guy around here and I don't blame you for being wary around me. I just..." His smile faltered further, giving a pained expression that plucked on Kinzey's heart-strings, "...nevermind. I'll... I'll be out of your way, then."
The dejected look, the sad tone of defeat... she couldn't do it. The man wanted - no - needed someone to talk to. How could she believe the horrible rumors about him but never actually give the man a chance? She'd be going against everything she stood for: peace, acceptance, and totally awesome clothes! Well, ok, maybe not that last part.
"W-Wait, Erasmus!" She grabbed the hero by the shoulder stopping his leaving, closing the Cosmo magazine with her other hand. "I'm- I'm, like, so sorry for doing that to you. I'm always open to talk with anyone, no matter what. Do you wanna, like, start over?"
The hero gave her a shy smile, the light reflecting off his baby-blue eyes in a way that made her blush. "Well, if you don't mind..."
The rest of the conversation seemed to just... blur together and Kinzey found herself nodding along with all the good ideas he had. It wasn't that she wasn't paying attention, just that everything he said was completely right and that she totally saw where she'd been wrong on a few things.
How have I not noticed how defined he is in costume? she thought with a mental gasp, ogling the way his business-like suit accentuated his form while still somehow paying attention to everything he was saying. On top of his great body, his confidence was amazing, his charisma swept her off her feet, and the way he lifted up her chin with his fingers was tantalizing.
To think she had almost blew him off on some unfound rumor-
"- get away from that rather creepy friend of yours. Always following you around. How about you and I-"
Creepy friend? I don't have any creepy friends- wait… Penny?
He was talking badly about Penny! Worse, she had almost nodded in agreement that Penny was creepy! He was trying to get rid of her friend, trying to get rid of her anchor, make her think bad things about Penny!
"Don't think about it."
Erasmus didn't even have time to process what went wrong before Kinzey's knee slammed firmly into his crotch. A high pitched squeak was his only response before he stumbled one step back and then crumpled to the floor in a pained gasp.
The whispers sang of ways that his costume could crystalize into formations that would make sure he would never try bothering her again, but she pushed them out of her mind; she'd already used violence in anger once, and she wasn't about to do it again.
"I can't believe you're a hero!"
She turned and stormed off, tears in her eyes at her near betrayal of her best friend.
Penny was waiting for her.
Penny would never hurt her.
***
Thursday, February 24th, 2011.
7:46 PM PST.
***
"Whoooaaa."
Broadcast whistled in agreement with Geode's observation as their group observed the scene. A call about green fire tearing apart some old apartment complexes and people screaming for help had come in over the Wards dispatch; as there was only one cape in Philadelphia who had powers that were both green and used fire, it didn't take a genius to connect it with Inferno.
An A-Class threat, at the least. The Wards would never have gotten involved with such a threat without major assistance, and the dispatch had been a warning to avoid the area, but Broadcast had felt that they were too close to just ignore it. Geode had been uncomfortable with the idea; it was only her, Broadcast, and Mjolnir after all, and they'd need the entire team if they hoped to drive off the villain.
She didn't want her friends getting hurt doing something stupid. That was how Light Brite died.
But like usual, Broadcast had swayed her with a compromise - they'd focus on civilian rescue and property management, refusing to engage Inferno unless he deliberately pursued them. While still unsure, Geode had started to see a hint of a green glow on some of the buildings in the distance and had consented.
It took some hassling to get permission from Chevalier, but luckily Gust had been nearby and offered to keep things "chill" until more backup arrived.
Now here they were at the scene of the crime, but instead of a raging Inferno they found a new group of themed capes surrounding a huge, gooey ball of containment foam.
Gust was quick to take charge, landing dramatically with a harmless blast of wind surrounding him… only to pause as if his train of thought suddenly derailed.
"Sooo... uh, I'm thinking..." he began awkwardly, glancing between the teens and the ball of foam uncertainly, "...I'm thinking... that you guys... totally kicked Inferno's ass?"
The new cape group glanced at each other, though since all their faces were hidden by masks Kinzey couldn't see if they were smiling like she was. The guy in all white - which Geode had to admit looked really good on him with that wispy-black effect to accentuate his figure - spoke up, black trails of smoke emanating from his body.
"It was lucky we caught him, really. Our contact told us that he doesn't usually stay that long in one spot."
"Contact?"
At that, the pretty girl in the silver-and-purple dress (that was made of leaves!) smiled and dialed a number on her phone. It only rang once before a familiar, synthesized voice echoed from the built-in speaker.
"Inquisition, Dragon speaking. What seems to be the problem?"
"Oh nothing major," The purple girl - Inquisition - said in a sing-song voice, that sounded to Geode like someone around her age. "Just chatting with your pal Gust and his sidekicks."
Geode blinked behind her visor. Dragon? Their Dragon? Ignoring the sidekick comment (she was too pretty to be a sidekick!), she heard Broadcast clear his throat and speak up.
"Dragon, this is Broadcast. You never told us you had a teen superhero team."
"Ah," the synthetic voice replied, sounding embarrassed, "I went over it with the higher-ups in the Protectorate and PRT. This was supposed to be a surprise for joint operations with the Guild next week after we had some trial by fire... so to speak."
Everyone turned to look at Gust. Said hero coughed in his hand and looked the other way.
The girl in the old-fashioned military gear started giggling, which caused the super-sexy plant girl (Inquisition was only very pretty) to start chuckling, which somehow domino-ed to everyone sharing a laugh at the joke. It didn't help that Dragon only started groaning once she realized what she had said.
Most of what happened after was rather quick: all of the Wards and Gust introduced themselves despite the Guild team already knowing about them, the Guild team - named The Wyld Hunt - introduced themselves as well. Inquisition was the pretty purple-and-silver-leafed girl who had called Dragon, Wyld was the super-sexy girl in the green flower dress (who was also the leader apparently), Skein was the pretty girl in Victorian-style military outfit, Feral was the dude dressed as a werewolf, and Meister or Mastro or whatever he... she... it was the bug-plant hybrid (but he didn't talk, just like Mjolnir!)
The last - but most certainly not least - was Slate, the only guy-guy of the group. He was big. Not in the powered sense, but like a guy who really worked out and had lots of yummy muscles. She idly wondered how he compared to the times she had seen Chevalier shirtless.
As they all waited for the arriving PRT containment vans, the groups decided to mingle. Geode couldn't help but smile as Broadcast immediately started to flirt with Inquisition and how she sounded like she was totally blushing up a storm.
Aww! They'd make a cute couple! she mentally cheered. Broadcast deserves a nice girl! Or boy! But she's a girl, so she probably likes boys and Broadcast is, like, totally a boy.
Mjolnir was trying to do that silent-talk stuff he did with the bug-plant hybrid guy, which seemed to be working somehow, while Gust conversed with the two remaining pretty girls and Dragon. Who was probably pretty, too, but she was on the phone.
That just left Slate by himself.
"Don't think about it."
Geode stepped closer to the white-suited hero, a smile on her visor-covered face. "Hi! I'm Geode, but you knew that already since we just told you!"
He jumped a little at the abrupt greeting, cocking his head to the side, "Er, yeah. Slate, uh, but we already told you too."
She giggled, "Sorry, I get nervous when I talk to new people. I hope we get to spend more time together!"
Slate nodded, "No problem, I've been there before. And I agree, it'll be good to work together - we won't always be in town with the Guild sending us to track down fugitives, but since our base is over in Camden we'll probably be working together fairly often..." he paused for a moment, before hastily adding, "... if Wyld feels comfortable with that, of course."
Geode smiled, "That'd be really nice." She leaned closer to the hero, whispering conspiratorially, "We might have to watch out for Mastro though. We have a teammate back at base, Weaver. Nicest girl in, like, the world. But she loves bugs! She might kidnap the poor guy and use him as a butler! Or use him to carry Who around so she stops pranking us!"
She giggled at the joke, but Slate tensed, immediately catching Geode's attention. Worried, she grabbed his arm with a comforting squeeze, "Is everything okay? I was just joking about-"
*SQUEEZE*
Geode blinked.
*SQUEEZE*
Another blink.
*SQUEEZE SQUEEZE SQUEEZE SQUEEZE SQUEEZE SQUEEZE*
"Uh-"
"Wow! You are sooo ripped!" Geode gushed as she continued to squeeze the hero's bicep, "It's like a pillow! Filled with muscle! You must be as big as Chevalier!"
"Wha-"
"Oh! Quick, quick! Lift me up!" She wrapped her arms around his bicep, unintentionally trapping it to her chest. "I wanna see if you can get my feet off the floor!"
Slate sputtered for a several seconds before finally sighing in defeat - the usual reaction she got from guys, really. Still, with a bit of effort, he brought his bicep up to his head, slightly straining himself but managing to lift her about an inch off the street.
"This definitely wasn't how I was seeing this day going," Slate muttered under his breath, which only caused Geode to giggle even harder.
Slate eventually had to put her down, much to her disappointment, but she kept her grip on the muscular appendage in her giddiness.
"That was awesome! Are you, like, a professional body-builder on your down time?"
Slate just chuckled uncomfortably, "Heh, no, just you know, normal workouts and... stuff." A pause, "So... are you-"
"Slate time to go!" Shouted Inquisition as she half walked/half ran from a smiling Broadcast, "PRT vans are here so it's time we get a move on!"
"What's wrong, Inquisition?" Wyld spoke, her light voice teasing as Skein giggled by her side. "You seem a little flustered after talking to Broadcast."
"Oh, fearless leader and trusted sidekick," Inquisition ground out in a too-cheery tone, "it'd be such a shame if all those magazines with her in them just happened to disappear."
The giggling pair froze, suddenly awkwardly silent.
"Yeah that's what I thought. Let's go Slate, I've got a major headache coming on."
"Gotcha." Slate nodded at her before turning to a still clinging Geode, "Uh, I'm going to need that back now."
"Oh. Okay." Geode reluctantly let go of the beefy limb, but as she reached out to give it a last goodbye squeeze, a lone, dangerous thought popped into her head.
"You wanna go out sometime?"
Oh, no! I didn't mean to say that out loud! But… but no guy has ever asked me out!
"Don't think about it."
Right, I just have to ask them instead!
At the silence that followed her question, Geode wondered if she had maybe asked a little too loudly. The rest of Wyld Hunt had all turned to look at Slate, and she thought she could hear the start of some giggling from all three of the girls this time - and from Broadcast and Gust, too.
Slate shifted awkwardly for a moment before looking down at where Geode's hand was still squeezing his bicep. After a few more silent seconds, he looked back up and gave an easy shrug that made Geode blush at his confidence.
"Sure. Next week good?"
Geode's mouth formed a small 'o' in shock at the acceptance, which quickly exploded into a wide, joyous smile.
"Yes! Yes! Next week! Oh, oh! Here's my phone number!"
Exchanging contact information took only a minute more, during which she completely ignored the smothered snickering from everyone else because she finally had a date with a total hunk - or at least he sounded and felt like a total hunk, and a quick full-body hug confirmed that Slate was as solid as she hoped all over. Besides, Dragon only picked really cool heroes to help her so Geode guessed it was also the case here.
With quick farewells, he and the rest of the Wyld Hunt jumped on Feral's dog monsters and leapt away from the group to a nearby building, the monsters easily scaling the building in seconds.
Only then did Broadcast and Gust break out into full-bodied laughter. Even Mjolnir was giving her a playful grin as he patted her on the shoulder.
"I should try feeling guys up like that before I ask them out, Geode," Broadcast managed to get out in between gasps for air, "but I'm pretty sure Inquisition would have slapped me if I tried that on her."
Geode smiled at their laughter, joining them with her own excited giggle.
Chapter 7.5.6: Assault
(Thanks to @Ridtom for the original Omake!)
***
Sunday, February 27th, 2011.
8:13 PM PST.
***
He took a deep breath.
How long had it been since he felt this nervous? No, stupid question; tomorrow was even the one-month anniversary of Behemoth, even though no one wanted to talk about it with Marrow's return.
But he couldn't deny that this was a different kind of paralyzing tension. It wasn't the exciting twitch he got when fighting Kaiser, or Coil's mercenaries, or kicking around a few punks for doing something stupid. It wasn't the building tension of his younger years, smashing through cell walls and guarded prisoner convoys as one of the most pursued mercenaries in the Cape world. And it sure as hell wasn't the all-consuming, knee-locking terror of facing down fifty feet of pure destruction that he had felt less than thirty days ago.
It clicked, then.
This was the same nervousness he had felt as he stood at that tiny, flower-covered altar, when the music had begun to play. He remembered Dauntless standing at his side - Kevin in his civilian clothes - the best man a guy could ask for, a broad smile that easily revealed how much the smug bastard had been drinking up Ethan's equally-obvious discomfort. Robin and Colin lined up behind Kevin, Robin looking very out of place in a tux that seemed to be actively trying to strangle its wearer - which served him right for trying to rent a tux the day before the event. Colin, meanwhile, had such a surprisingly genuine smile on his face that it had almost been enough to break Ethan out of his own paralyzation to prod the Tinker about it.
A Kodak moment if there ever had been one.
All gone, now. The photo album had been lost in the blast, along with the house… and the whole damn city.
Ethan shook his head, shoving those thoughts back into the dark recesses of his mind. He didn't want to deal with that right now.
Still, he thought as he looked at the door to Sarah's room and raised his fist, dealing with that baggage would almost be preferable to this next bit.
The feeling of nervousness only got worse as he rapped his knuckles against the door… and waited. And waited.
As silence reigned in the near-empty house, he eyed the boxes that surrounded him in the hallway: six in total, none much larger than the smallest three-foot cardboard cube. Years of making memories in that apartment by the Bay and all they had to show for it was six boxes, two of them clothes and the rest random trinkets. He had tried to laugh about how depressing it was, but couldn't find the energy for it.
Neither Sarah nor he had felt like unpacking for the entire two weeks they'd had the place.
"Go away," came a muffled voice from behind the door, more than a little strained to his ears.
"It's me, Puppy."
"Don't call me puppy you... you asshole!"
Oh damn it, this isn't good, he grimaced, but was cut off before he could muster a response.
"I don't want to see you, or hear you, or have you stand outside my door! So... s-so just leave!"
Ethan rubbed his eyes as he leaned his forehead against the door with a solid, wooden clunk. "Sarah. This is your husband. No jokes."
A pause, long enough to make him wonder if she'd heard him at all.
"....Are you serious?"
"Dead serious," he managed with more conviction than he realized he had. It helped that this was such a rarity; despite how they bantered, he and Sarah never really got into serious fights. In fact, there had only been two major times that they'd came to verbal blows: the first time he met her father and made a crack about his job or something, and way later when they were discussing their respective Trigger Events. The flub with her dad had been worked out quickly enough, but the trigger event fight… that had been a nasty couple of days of couchsurfing with Kevin.
Silence reigned for well over a minute, a dread building in Ethan's gut at the thought that she hadn't believed him… only for a heavy sigh of relief to escape his lips as the door handle jittered and freed the door to swung open with a slow, wooden creak. Staring into the darkened bedroom, however, it dawned on him that he might have screwed up worse than he had previously thought possible.
The door slid closed behind him as he made his way into the room. It didn't take long for him to spot her: she was sitting on the bed, back turned to him and facing the wall, evidently having used her power to zip to the door and back.
Yeah, she's pissed alright.
He didn't say anything, not trusting his mouth to do anything but make things worse as anxious thoughts tumbled through his head. Silently he crossed the few intervening feet between the door and the bed, only to sit as close as he felt she'd let him be without getting up and moving.
Silence reigned again. Almost unbearable for both, but Ethan was willing to hold out for her.
When she finally spoke it was with a pain in her voice that cut him twice as deep.
"You're still that asshole that broke monsters out of the Birdcage."
He ran his hand through his hair and closed his eyes. "Some part of me is still that guy, yeah. I told you I had a bit of a sadistic streak, remember?"
"I'm not fucking around here, Ethan." He flinched at the deadened tone in which she spat his name. The ex-villain most definitely preferred being yelled at than this - at least yelling showed more emotion than cold disdain.
"Me either, Sarah," he tried again, slowly, quietly. "You know how I am. Whenever something happens that I'm not ready for, I joke about it. Play it off as no big deal. It's what I do to- what's the word I'm looking for..."
"To distance yourself?" She turned to him, lines of tears glistening in the low light of the room. Her eyes were puffy and red, filled with anger and fear. Ethan had to fight to meet those eyes.
"Yeah. Distance myself. When I'm scared-"
"You're scared?!" She scoffed, wiping one her tears on her sleeve, "Ethan, I'm pregnant! I have a kid in me! I-I'm not ready this! I was getting on the pill, but with everything going on I forgot to get my prescription..."
Ethan blinked at that bit of news, but decided to focus on the first part of her concern instead of getting into the contraceptive blame game - they'd never find his body.
"Well, it's not like we didn't plan for something like this in the future, right? You even had the tests done to make sure your power wouldn't be a problem in case of... this."
"That was then!" she pleaded, turning fully to face him and bringing both her knees onto the bed. "We had a home in Brockton Bay! Not-" she paused to wave her hands around the nearly-empty and plain room, "this! Our friends were alive and we a semblance of a back-up plan! I still planned on doing patrols and active engagements!"
Ethan copied her, moving both knees to mirror her position as he edged closer. "You can still do that! We'll get new things, make new memories here! Hannah and Colin should be here in a few weeks, and Robert, Kali, Marrow-"
"That's not the point!" she finally shouted, twisting her head away from him again while clenching her fists in futile frustration.
With a worried frown, Ethan placed a hand on her shoulder as she broke into sobs again - his heart tightening with each tear that trickled down her cheeks. She still wasn't looking at him anymore, too busy using one hand to wipe at her eyes.
"Puppy," he croaked, "please tell me what's really bothering you. I'll... I'll try my best to fix it. I don't think it was my stupid joke that hurt you. I'll keep my mouth shut forever if I have to, just tell me what's wrong."
She nodded but didn't immediately respond. He was fine with that, since he was just as lost as she was on what to say.
Eventually, Sarah looked him in the eyes again, but there was no disdain or anger behind them. Only fear.
"I d-didn't really believe that we'd get this far. It seemed like a fantasy. One of us would get... hurt... while on the job or get tired of the other and leave. Even getting married was- was like some big dream."
Ethan strangled his laugh at the shared sensation, turning it into what he hoped was a knowing sigh.
"I still get goosebumps thinking of you walking down that aisle, even in that huge dress."
She half-laughed, half-coughed at that, which sent a spike of relief through his chest.
"Still," she confessed, once her throat was clear again, "I could handle that. Everything I did - everything I've always done was scheduled, safe, planned… except for whenever you got involved. I loved you then and I still love you now, but," she sighed in a mixture of frustration and defeat, "damn if you didn't make it hard sometimes."
He didn't know what to say that wouldn't prove her point even further, so he just nodded.
"Even after we got married, things eventually went back to normal... for our definition of normal, I guess. But it was routine and everyone and everything was familiar. Safe. On a real level, I never really thought that we'd actually have kids! I-I..."
She floundered for a moment, lost, before she finally blurted it out, spinning to face him again.
"I've made so many mistakes, Ethan. I tried to make up for them by pushing myself harder and harder, but they're still mistakes. I'm going to be a horrible mother, Ethan, and I don't know what to do."
His heart broke.
"Oh, Sarah."
Ethan engulfed her in a hug, tears flowing down his face, while his wife broke into sobs on his chest. "You're perfect, Puppy. Don't you ever think differently. Please."
Husband and wife sat there for a long time, weeping tears of fear and frustration.
He didn't ask what mistakes she had made, knowing he'd made his fair share along the way, choosing instead to support her in his arms while supported him in hers. He'd remain silent until she needed him to say something again - hopefully something pleasantly sarcastic. He wasn't very good at anything else.
So when her lips touched his, Ethan returned it with relief.
***
"You know what I'm scared of the most?"
Sarah just hummed into his shoulder as he continued musing aloud at the plain, white ceiling.
"That our kid may get powers. All the egg-heads say things like how most cape kids get a power related to their parents, like New Wave, but all I can think of is how horrible my trigger was. I don't know what I'd do if our kid suffered something as bad your kidnapping or my plane-crash."
He felt her face twitch and body tense at the mention of her trigger event, so he held his tongue for a few minutes. Eventually she shifted underneath the covers, curling closer to her strangely-contemplative husband.
"I hear second-generation triggers aren't as... traumatic," she replied, slowly. "Didn't Glory Girl trigger from a foul in a basketball game?"
Ethan snorted a laugh. "C'mon, Sarah, there had to have been more going on there. Dean and Vicky were breaking up left-and-right before then - that was how the running joke started! The leap from being kidnapped like you to what? Getting an 'F' on a math test or something?"
"No," he sighed, shaking his head, "what we went through was horrible enough I'd never wish it on our kid. Hell, even if he - or she - did get powers, I wouldn't want them going through what the Wards do. Hannah and Robert are pretty much the only two I've seen that made it out sane, and they were the first Wards."
He could feel Sarah gnawing on her lip, obviously fretting over something.
"...Ethan?"
"Yeah?"
"I... I..." she trailed off, sighing and closing her eyes as she rested her head against his bare chest again. "Never mind. Let's... just focus on the now part okay? How did everyone handle the news once I left?"
He yawned as he thought back, which spilled into a light chuckle at the memory. "They laughed pretty hard when you decked me with that pie, so full points there. Kali was in stitches, as usual, didn't really see what Marrow was doing, and Robert read me the riot act. Might as well have reached over the table and slapped the stupid out of me."
"Not enough, obviously."
"Obviously," he smirked, kissing the top of her head. "Taylor, though... I don't know, really. She looked like a little... man I am messing up on words today. That pie must have done a number on me."
The small puff of breath from Sarah's nose was enough to tell him she was rolling her eyes.
"But seriously, something clicked with her once she pointed out you had something in the oven. She got all fidgety in that way that makes her freaky black swiss-army-hands-of-death shift into all kinds of crazy torture devices. You might want to talk about it to her."
He scratched his cheek, as if in idle thought. "You know... if only to get the best damn baby-sitter in the world. No misbehaving when we got the world's prettiest Simurgh-bot on speed-dial."
Sarah tweaked the skin along his ribs, just where she knew he was ticklish.
"Be nice to her!" she hissed at him, causing him to snicker lightly and flinch at her applied torture. Eventually, she sighed and nodded lightly into his chest. "You're probably right. I'll try to see what's going on with her, though the poor girl is almost as good as you at avoiding talking about anything she doesn't want to - she's way too smart for her own good. But… let's not worry about it for now. I just want to enjoy this."
He smiled down at her. "Love you."
She returned it. "Love you more."
Ethan and Sarah embraced each other one last time before sleep took them both.
The feeling of their powers fading did not wake them.
Chapter 7.5.7: Slate
(Thanks to @Ridtom and @Slamu for the original Omakes!)
***
Monday, February 28th, 2011.
6:21 PM PST.
***
His knuckles burned from the pain, but he didn't stop. Jab, cross, hook, jab, jab, finish with a body shot that sends the bag spinning in it's chains.
Shift towards where the bag will be in a half-second. Rinse, repeat.
Only when his step faltered for a bare moment and he was forced to catch the bag as it swung back at him did Brian break from the rhythm. His lungs burned and sweat poured off his forehead... how long had he been doing this? 10 minutes? 20?
A quick look at the nearby clock told him he'd been working for a solid two hours now, causing Brian to blink a few times as his mind halted to catch up with that fact. Too long again. Lisa would be giving him hell right now if she wasn't so busy catching up with all the stuff Dragon had given her. Her little 'Crystal Ball', as the dark-haired teen called it, had caught her hook-line-and-sinker the moment Dragon had given them a tour of their new home.
Home? Brian scoffed to himself as he steadied the still twirling sand-bag. Unlike his eccentric... friends, he didn't feel as comfortable with the move to a new base. Sure, it was a nice, out-of-the-way place appearance-wise, settled in a tree-locked part of northeast Camden to keep the underground entrance away from prying eyes. They were even accommodated with all the right necessities - a stocked kitchen, bedrooms to spare, workshop, underground greenhouse, gym, garage - but it all tasted bitter in his mouth. A base like this didn't pop-up overnight, even if Dragon mentioned that it had been "easy to repurpose."
The base, or the Undersiders?
Shaking his head, he unwrapped his knuckles and hissed under his breath as a few flakes of skin peeled off with the tape. Damn. Lisa would notice it immediately and then give him 'the speech', if he didn't get to Amelia first.
"Brian you're too hard on yourself," "Brian you don't have to worry so much," "Brian Aisha is in good hands." What did she know?
What right did she have to pry into someone's life like that? Did she dedicate her whole life to saving a sister who didn't seem to appreciate what he'd done for her? Did she lead a super-villain team in one of the most violent cape cities in America, hinged on the promise of a better life for her family? Only for it to turn out that it was all for nothing?! And then have said sister sacrifice herself while he ran away like a coward?! Did she-
Brian lifted a hand to his head and let out a steadying breath, cutting off that recurring train of thought before it went to the dark places it usually did.
Blaming others only made things worse. A memory came to mind of a flinching, red-eyed Lisa, barely able to meet his own gaze after he cornered her alone and demanded where his sister was. He had never seen her so strung-out, so panicked - not even when she came to after being eaten by that... flesh monster. It shook him to his core when she started babbling out apologies: not only to him, but to Alec, Rachel, the Hebert girl, dozens of names he didn't recognize, and someone named Rex that made her finally break down completely.
It had only lasted a few minutes, after which she give him a soft hug and practically begged that he didn't tell anyone about what had happened. Barely out of shock, Brian could only say yes.
He kept his promises.
The masks don't really come off out of costume, Brian thought as he applied the neosporin to his cuts, they just take a different form.
He had his own masks, of course. He liked being the nice guy, the big brother, the guy who gave out helpful hints or advice. But that didn't necessarily make him a good person; he'd lost track of the bones he'd broken as an enforcer, or the civilians they'd used as hostages, or the other crimes the Undersiders had committed under his lead. Most of it was for Aisha, that was true, but he'd be lying if some part of him didn't enjoy the rush. That feeling of domination, of power, as everyone looked at him in fear. The awe and respect that his skin would never have afforded him in the eyes of the often-racist public.
Now, he'd have to learn how to deal with abandoning that intimidating persona and adopting a new mask. A white, heroic mask this time, and a new start. A new, clean Slate.
Not for the first time, Brian Laborn wondered if this was what he should have done all along.
Having moved to the small restroom attached to the gym, Brian stared into his reflection in the sink's mirror as he finished wrapping his new bandages. A teen with harrowed eyes stared back at him with the kind of look that would have matched a few scars and scratches… if he still had them. He'd have to thank Amelia again, even though he knew it was trivial for her to restore him to better health than he'd ever had. It was still hard to think that such an awkward, reclusive girl would be willing to lead a team of villains-turned-hero.
Even harder to think she could wipe out Humanity with a bad thought.
Then again, Lisa could be damn persuasive. Sabah certainly was a good influence, as well, though the sometimes-Rogue likely helped ground Amelia when Lisa got a little too ahead of herself. Or maybe Amelia wanted to pay respects to her sister's memory? He'd heard her talking with Lisa and Sabah about Victoria, and how her sister had dreamed of leading New Wave or a new hero team. Brian could respect that kind of devotion to someone's memory.
Or, a small part of him thought as he exited the bathroom, it's one of her masks as well.
He could admit that it was possible. Amelia Lavere - Amy Dallon's 'real' name, apparently, and what she was using for The Guild - could be pretty damn sadistic when she wanted to be, if what Lisa had told him was true: threatening others with diseases that came from nightmares, rearranging their senses to coincide with their brain feeling pleasure or pain, transforming people into paralyzed husks that could see but never speak.
Despite Lisa's past dislike of Glory Girl - that he'd never seen her admit to Amelia, thankfully - he couldn't help but wonder who was holding who back in that friendship.
"Looking good, Bulldozer."
Brian jumped a little at the sudden sound, causing Alec to laugh at his startled reaction while he grumbled. He hated it when people just spoke out when he was in deep thought - it sent his instincts into over-drive.
So, of course, Alec had to do it as much as possible.
"Jesus, Alec. Nearly gave me a heart attack," Brian mock-glared at the scrawny teen. Alec just leaned against the doorway in response, arms crossed and a smug grin spreading on his face.
"Just calling it how I see it boss- whoops! Can't call you that now can I?" He shook his head and made a 'tut tut' sound. "Oh how the mighty have fallen! Now only a disposable minion like the rest of us without world-ending powers."
Brian barked out a laugh, "Amelia can keep the position as far as I'm concerned. She knows more about this super-hero stuff than any of us after all. Speaking of, how is she settling in?"
"Oh you know," Alec rolled his eyes, "Smooching with Sabah-Daba-Doo and creating more crimes against nature. Though, when I left they were back to ogling pictures of Weaver on the internet."
"Don't call her that. Please." Brian shuddered at the thought Alec calling Sabah that to her face. Or worse, Amelia's. "And I thought you'd be all over those pictures too? Weaver's not exactly bad-looking."
"Oh I totally would," Alec wearily admitted, flipping a lock of his curly, brown hair to the side, "10 outta 10 all across the board. But I got kicked out." He seemed to chuckle at the memory, "They said I was too 'invasive' and 'descriptive' and-"
Brian held up a hand, groaning. "I'm sorry I asked."
Alec just gave Brian one of those winning smiles that probably made girls putty in his hands. And more than a few guys, now that he thought of it.
Shaking his head, Brian got to work on getting everything back in his gym bag. He didn't know what to think of Alec now. They'd been cool with each other for awhile when they first met, probably because they were the relative normals when dealing with Rachel and Lisa at their worst.
Finding out he was Heartbreaker's kid when Narwhal was interviewing them... sort of put a damper on that. Kind of hard when your closest guy friend might have been a serial rapist or worse. That he hadn't shown much remorse for the hundreds of thousands of people that died in Brockton Bay hadn't helped, either.
It was sort of the same grey area where he found himself with his dad... before Behemoth. There was some sort of friendship there, but it was tempered by uncertainty and bad experiences. He couldn't even begin to imagine what Alec thought of the whole situation.
Alec let out a long-suffering sigh. "Okay, Broody. What's wrong?"
Brian blinked and turned the teen, who was still leaning against the door-frame that Brian had just walked past. Despite the question, Alec's expression reminded Brian of someone who wanted to be anywhere else but there.
Brian raised an eyebrow, at the incongruity. "What?"
"You know," Alec rolled his eyes again, waving a hand absently. "You got something on your mind that's bugging you, but you can't put it too words so you just shoulder everything yourself and spend two-hours pouting about it. Ugh, you are such a chick you know that?"
Brian blinked.
"Alec, not only was that insensitive, offensive, and a sure-fire way to get the rest of our team to gang up on you…" he groused, shaking his head, "I have no idea what you are talking about. I'm fine."
Alec just gave him the most bored once-over Brian had ever seen, "Really? You call punching a bag till your knuckles bleed for two hours straight… fine?" He ran his fingers through his curled hair, "I had an older brother who did that too. Just lost himself in violent physical labor that got on everyone's nerves. Ended up chopping off the head of a few cops before blowing up a gas-station with him still inside." He pouted, tsk-ing lightly in admonishment of the wasteful act. "He gave out the best birthday presents, too."
Brian, feeling sick and a bit pissed off at being compared to... whatever the hell that was, looked back at his sand-bag. Sure enough, there red marks dotted across its surface from where they had splattered off the punching bag. He let out a sigh.
"It's Aisha."
Alec turned his gaze to meet Brian's, blue eyes lidded in an eternally-unimpressed expression.
"What a shocker."
"I'm serious, Alec. It's only a matter of time before we meet up with all the PRT like Dragon planned, and that includes the old Brockton Bay Wards. Besides them probably not having the fondest memories of all the times we made them look bad, we're going to have to talk to Weaver face-to-face."
Alec chuckled a bit, smiling wryly at a memory. "Yeah, Lisa looks like she's about to meet the guillotine or something. You think Weaver would kick our asses before or after she throws us in an oven?"
Brian frowned and shrugged, "I wouldn't blame her. We did kidnap her father after all - for Coil as it turns out. But that's besides the point," he shook his head, "I just... I'm worried about what Aisha will think of us after that. Family is a big thing for us. It's all we got. Will she still see me as her brother if she learns that I helped trash Weaver's own family? From what I've heard, they practically act like sisters now."
Alec cupped his chin in thought, eyes narrowing for several silent moments. Finally, in a spark of inspiration, he looked up brightly and his finger in triumph.
"I have no clue!"
Brian wasn't surprised, and couldn't even bring himself to find humor in Alec's antics this time. Instead, he sagged against the polished steel wall and shook his head.
"I'd be more shocked if you did. Ugh, and of course we still haven't mentioned it to Amelia or Sabah either. Or maybe Lisa did and never told us? Or-"
Alec moved from his perch on the door-frame and clapped the muscled teen across the back before slinging his arm around the taller, broader teen's shoulders. The close gesture surprised Brian so much that he didn't fight it when Alec started pulling him off the wall and towards the central recreational room.
Alec spoke calmly, in a strangely-paternal tone. "Look, Brian, I'm not good with..." he trailed off, gesturing flippantly in the air at the two of them, "this bonding stuff. My family doesn't have a stellar track record with comforting others. I think I get what you mean though, being afraid of something you can't control. Did I ever tell you my trigger?"
"No."
Alec's face twitched, smile a little darker and eyes a little harder.
"And I never will."
Before Brian could blink, it faded - the easy-going, patronizing smile returning like it had never left.
"It's information I can control. I feel comfortable mentioning it, but I'll never tell anyone about it, because you lose control doing so. You have things that you can't control that involve you and you're scared about what they might do. You know what you do when that happens?"
Brian honestly had no idea, barely mustering the motor functions to keep his legs from tripping over each other. That Alec was giving a pep-talk sort-of blind-sided him.
Alec's smile ratcheted up, the casual sociopath having taken Brian's silence for acceptance.
"Nothing! Just sit back, relax, and try not to make too many waves. It's how I was able to make it to Brockton Bay and it's done me good so far. Besides, isn't that how you got that date scheduled with the ditz?"
Reflexively clenching his fists at the insult to the seemingly-nice girl, Brian winced as he felt his hand curl open painfully, aggravating his cuts. He sent a glare at Alec, who just kept smirking, before inspecting the appendage. Blood was beginning to show through the white bandage, but not enough to be blatant.
Maybe...
"Alright, Alec," Brian sighed, "Your sappy speech has kinda-sorta convinced me. I'll relax for a bit... and she's not a ditz."
Alec gave him the evil eye, "Who you calling 'sappy'? To think I was going to ask you to play Primordial Warfare now that we got over your sister issues."
Brian's mouth twisted into a smile that would have fit on Lisa's face. "Oh. So you were just lonely then. I should have known know you were such a big-softy, deep down."
"Ugh," Alec looked physically sick, "You are definitely getting the crappy remote now."
Brian clapped the scrawny teen on the back, easing his grin back into a winning smile. "Wouldn't have it any other way, pal."
Alec grimaced over-dramatically, shaking his head. "My god, what have I done?"
Brian laughed and let himself relax.
He felt better than he did for a long, long, time.
Then the screams started.
***
He knew he should be calling out for Lisa, for the rest of the team to come and watch what was happening, but he couldn't. The shock of the horrific scenes being displayed on the crystal-clear TV had been arresting at first, sending his mind whirling and shutting even Alec up. He didn't recognize where this was happening, but it looked like a PRT office building judging by the uniforms of the people being slaughtered on-screen and the logos on the walls that had crushed fleeting civilians.
Then the camera had cut to Chevalier and his sister, and Brian's heart leapt into his throat.
Shooting to his feet - having fallen back into the recreation room's couch at some point - Brian felt a mixture of urges. He wanted to scream at the TV, to shout for Aisha to get out of there. He wanted to grab the expensive screen and shake it, an instinctive hope that it would communicate something to the little girl shown inside.
But he just stood there, numb, wisps of his power flowing freely from his body, as Chevalier let the massive gorilla-looking robot hurtle past him and visibly crush Aisha's limbs to paste.
Her scream would haunt him for the rest of his life.
"What the fuck are you doing?! No! TURN AROUND! SHE'S RIGHT THERE! HELP HER!"
Almost as if reacting to Brian's choked shout, the Chevalier on the wide-screen TV startled and spun around to look at the mangled form of Aisha's costume form pinned against the white-ceramic hallway wall. The platemail-armored hero gasped something in shock, but the camera and microphone didn't pick it up enough for it to translate well through the TV. In a smooth motion Chevalier resized his blade and started prying the fallen robot-gorilla away from the baseball-themed Ward, but a cry - heard only weakly through the television's speakers - suddenly caused the Protectorate leader to halt in his motion as Aisha fell into a boneless heap.
Brian kept yelling, futilely, as Chevalier stepped away from the crumpled form of his sister and looked around cluelessly.
A loud, blaring warning echoed through the TV, the massive doorway slammed shut behind Chevalier, Taylor Hebert - wearing a grey hoodie, grey sweat pants, and back in her graphite-like skin - crashed onto the floor past the door, and the screen began to shake.
Not long after, the rest of the world around Brian began to shake with it.
Hanging on to the couch, Alec snorted a laugh through the sound of the earthquake.
"Well, I'd say it was nice knowing you, but I figure my last words shouldn't be a lie."
Blinking at the sheer absurdity of the remark, Brian's brain reflexively spat out a hoarse response as he gripped the shoulder of the couch for support. "Pretty sure you're going to hell no matter what, Alec!"
As the world slowly stopped shaking, Alec gave a casual, helpless shrug of indifference.
"Not like I believe in any of that crap. But now that the world isn't ending anymore-" the effeminate teen coughed, then shifted into a comfortable position on the couch again. "You want me to go make some popcorn?"
With agonizing slowness, Brian turned fully towards the relaxed teen, reached out with his left hand, and wrapped it around Alec's right arm. A flicker a pain flashed across Brian's mind at the fresh memory of Aisha being grappled in the same way, but he pushed it aside to focus on his anger.
"Get. Everyone."
There was a flash of something across Alec's eyes, a hint of a smirk as if he was about to respond with some witty quip, but it died in response to Brian's continued glare.
"So melodramatic," he sighed, heaving himself off the couch at the same time as Brian yanked him up and released his grip. "Even though you're not the boss anymore, I'll cut you some slack since I'm such a nice guy. Do you want any tissues while I'm up?"
"Alec…"
At Brian's growl, the irreverent teen held his hands up defensively and backed away. "Ok, ok, I'm going, I'm go- oh, look! Field surgery!"
Spinning in his seat, Brian ignored the retreating sound of Alec's footsteps as he watched Weaver - hands morphed into vicious hacksaws, needles, and other bizarre medical implements - began… amputating Aisha's limbs.
He felt bile rise up in his throat, but Brian shoved it down reflexively, unable to tear his eyes from the screen as Weaver finished removing Aisha's pancake-flat right leg with a jet of blood that spurted up onto her face. Ignoring the crimson splash, Weaver paused momentarily to…
The camera was too far away to see exactly, but it looked like the crushed, amputated limb folded up like some futuristic cartoon before disappearing into Weaver's transformed hand.
The absurd, impossible action completely halted Brian's thought process, leaving him blinking dumbly at the screen as Weaver moved onto Aisha's left leg and then repeated the mind-jarring effect. A light film of blood was everywhere now, his mind registered absently, staining Weaver's and Aisha's clothes completely - but where Weaver had cut, the wounds themselves no longer appeared to leak.
A series of strangled gasps and grunts from behind Brian broke his reverie, causing him to turn his upper body to glimpse Amelia, Sabah, and Lisa standing at the entrance of the rec room. While the two pajama-clad girls had paled dramatically at the sight of the TV screen, Lisa - still in her jeans and black tank-top from earlier - had winced harshly and put a hand to her head.
"Oh my god! Is that-?!"
"Brian! What's going-?!"
"Shhhh!" Lisa hissed, cutting off the rush of questions from the other two girls. After a moment of silence filled only with the soft sounds of buzzsaws rending flesh and bone, Lisa took a long breath and met Brian's eyes with a mixture of pain and understanding.
"I… think… she's going to make it. Weaver wouldn't be working on her, otherwise. Would have just hoovered her up… like she just did to her arm."
Lisa waved a hand at the screen, causing Brian to turn back to see Weaver finish removing Aisha's right arm, absorb it, and then swiftly move on to sawing open his sister's crushed right side.
Brian turned back, preferring Lisa's pained explanations to what was being shown on the TV.
"I've already tried to contact Dragon, but she's been non-responsive for almost an hour now. I also tried calling the PRT, but phone lines are being jammed right now," Lisa admits with another wince, a sign of either having already overtaxed her power today or from another fresh round of static from trying to look at Weaver. "This is big, and it's more than just Protectorate Island, it's- no, wait, this is what the Dragon had talked about when she said something was coming? But… that's why she's not available? No, something else did tha-argh!"
As Lisa groaned and pitched forward, Amelia broke her stare at the TV screen and put a hand on Lisa's neck.
"Slow down, Lisa," came her soft voice, though it was tinged with a heavy tone of worry. "It's ok, don't try to push yourself."
Lisa's eyes shot open in response, straightening up and taking a deep, relaxing breath as a smile spread across her face. The smile grew to a grin, and she gave Amelia a wink.
"Ah, what did I ever do without you, Ames? Still..." the smile faded in intensity, and Amelia's hand fell back to hold Sabah's own for comfort, "... you're right. Ok, I'm going to go check the feeds for what I can on this. I'll be back when I have more, but I'll keep my door open so yell if you need me. Alec should be here with Rachel soon."
As Lisa turned to go, however, Amelia quirked her head enough to catch the blonde Thinker's attention but also kept her eyes on Brian.
"Suit up, Lisa, and keep trying to get through to the PRT, too. If we can get their permission to help, then that should be enough to convince Narwhal."
Lisa's eye twitched slightly, but she eventually managed a light smile and waved a small salute.
"R-right. Will do."
Lisa scuttled off towards her room, while Amelia turned to exchange a meaningful glance with Sabah. The tan seamstress wavered a bit as they shared a silent moment, but eventually nodded firmly and gave Amelia quick peck on the cheek before departing for her own room.
"Are you going to suit up, Brian?" she asked, watching Sabah's retreating form with a mixture of emotions flitting across her face.
Brian turned back, just in time to see Chevalier shoot out the last remaining camera in the hallway. The image flickered to black for barely a moment, then was replaced with scenes of PRT soldiers being scythed apart by a pack of lightning-quick, cyberized dogs and cats.
He turned back, meeting Amelia's hard brown eyes and nodding.
"Just gimme a sec."
***
It took Brian barely three minutes to dash into his room and throw on his new outfit, not bothering with a shower despite the cold sweat still clinging to his form. The mesh armor that went on under his pure-white spider silk suit stuck awkwardly to his skin as a result, but his mind was focused more on cycling through the various medical and emergency trinkets stashed into the hidden 'suit jacket' pockets and belt.
He'd still be bringing the larger medical kit to sling over his shoulder, but he didn't want to leave anything to chance.
Keeping the blank, white helmet off for now, Brian hustled back into the rec room well before anyone else had arrived. The massacre was mostly over, now, though the camera seemed to focus on a lone Chevalier as he made his way through dangerous hallways filled with containment foam and PRT 'stunner' turrets and animal-robots of various shapes and sizes. Only the abrupt attempts by the walls to smash him into paste seemed to slow him down, but whatever his armor was made from appeared to weather the crushing forces with ease.
When it became clear that not much was stopping the Protectorate leader, Brian turned most of his attention to double-checking the contents of the medical kit. All the important bits were still hermetically sealed in plastic wrappers, but the list on the inside of the lid made the job significantly easier.
One-by-one everyone but Lisa trailed in with varying degrees of urgency, Rachel trailing her pack of ten recovered dogs from the ruins of Brockton Bay. Brutus the bulldog was at her side, as usual, though all the canines looked distinctly more "wolf-like" after Amelia had tuned them up to work more smoothly with Rachel's power. The beige corgi, Pepper, gravitated to Brian on the couch as she normally did, but he held off on giving her a tension-relieving (for both of them) scratch until he had finished with the medical kit review.
Lisa popped in briefly to warn everyone that Narwhal had warned them off from interfering for now, as the PRT already had a plan in motion to take back the base. While Brian still itched to get to Aisha's side as quickly as possible, he was partly relieved that they weren't being called to action just yet; the Island's defenses had taken down the two closest bridges from Philadelphia to Camden in addition to the bridges to the Island itself, so they would have had to cross the river on Rachel's dogs.
His new suit was good, but he didn't think it was rated against railgun- and laser-turret emplacements.
The entrance of Bladedancer and a new, blue-crystal, aura-lit cape was a bit of a shock - especially when the camera cut to them right before they kissed. The whistle from Alec and warm 'awww' from Sabah was cut off by a loud stream of cursing from Lisa's room, but just as Briant was about to turn to look towards the source of the invectives, the image resized to the bottom-left corner and Vox's grinning visage filled the rest of the screen.
"Ooho! Now that's quality entertainment! And with it's own backlighting too!"
Lisa came storming into the room as Bladedancer and Vox began bantering back and forth, the teen Thinker holding a leaf-gloved hand to her forehead while growling something under her breath.
"There's another one, now," she ground out, wincing as she tried to keep her eyes from the TV screen in the center of the room. "Fuck."
Amelia turned swiftly from her spot on the couch, careful not to disrupt Dagger, the dark-brown shiba inu on her lap. "What's going on, Lisa?"
"That blue… thing... hurts to look at, just like Weaver does when she's in robo-mode." Lisa groaned, quickly making her way to her personal bean-bag chair. She kept her eyes screwed shut, but was clearly keeping an ear pointed towards the TV. "It's not exactly the same - this one's like I have a million crystal wind chimes rattling in my brain instead of a death-metal concert filled with diesel engines - but… I think Vox was right. That's- no, was Marrow."
Sabah, Amelia and Brian shared looks of concern, while Rachel and Alec didn't bother turning from the TV. Amelia, now looking considerably more attractive in her engineered plant armor, focused back on the main question at-hand.
"That's why this is happening? Because of Marrow?"
Lisa opened her mouth at the question, but her face contorted again and she clapped both hands to her temples.
"Urgh, no, just-," she gasped, "ok, please don't ask me about either Weaver or Marrow right now. My power is acting like Weaver doesn't even exist, and even just thinking about Marrow is giving me absolutely batshit answers like she's an inquisitor-priest for a fucking apocalypse cult - in between the windchime skullfuckery, that is."
"Wait, so Big Blue is gonna go Torquemada on us? Kinky."
Alec - who was in his own conductor's tux-styled suit in case he needed to be physically present at the scene - received the usual slaps from Sabah and Amelia before Lisa kicked him in the shins. He snorted a few pained laughs at the blows, but held his tongue when Amelia followed up her blow with a serious look.
Brian didn't get the reference and he suspected some of the others didn't either. It sounded bad, whatever it was, so that was enough.
"Vox didn't plan this," Lisa eventually admits after Amelia gives her a quick pain-relief boost. "His tone of voice is all wrong, and he doesn't have what it takes to pull all this off. Totally against his MO, too - he's all about the cops-and-robbers game, not this… slau-"
Lisa's eyes shoot open in shock, blood draining from her face, and her hands fall from where she was massaging her temples.
"Slaughterhouse. The Nine. They're here."
***
The room was quiet, save for the sounds of battle echoing from the TV. Some of the dogs whimpered or growled occasionally at the dread that had suffused the room and set everyone on edge, but otherwise everyone was lost in their own thoughts.
Lisa had been quick to flee back to her room to get in contact with The Guild, but that was easily ten minutes ago. Sabah and Amelia had huddled a bit closer together, though it was clear that their ostensible leader was keeping up a brave face for the rest of them.
Then Vox blew off his own head and Jack Slash was on the screen.
Brian and Alec cursed, while Rachel just grunted. From the new litany of swear words emanating from Lisa's room, it sounded like she wasn't taking too kindly to the maniac's lunacy about some kind of machine cult, either.
The rows of young kids with obvious wiring and tubing surgically grafted to their heads was only chilling Brian's blood by the second. He hadn't seen Weaver or Aisha for a while now, though from Vox's comment about the trick with the door it sounded like Weaver was there somewhere? Had she left Aisha somewhere safe while she followed Chevalier invisibly?
Was anywhere safe with the Slaughterhouse 9 in the city?
Brian didn't have an answer for that, and it only troubled him more. If the Nine had managed to overtake even Protectorate Island and its defenses, they could probably waltz right through the hidden entrances that protected the Wyld Hunt's own base.
The younger dogs had started to whine more loudly as time went on, but now even the older dogs had started to growl and whine - enough that it was setting Brian's nerves on edge. He was about to say something to their socially-awkward trainer, but an unusually biting remark from Alec beat him to it.
"Fuck, Rachel. Shut them up, will you?"
Convincing Rachel to adapt a new cape name had been significantly harder than getting her to wear a costume, but Narwhal and Dragon had offered enough incentives - chances to counsel the PRT's and local police' K-9 units, priority oversight over local dog shelters, and some others that Brian didn't pay much attention to - for her to switch to a different, more PR-neutral name than "Bitch." For her costume, however, Amelia had modified a bear-skin rug to cover some kind of biological power-armor; Lisa had helped, as usual, but Rachel had seemed oddly pleased enough with the end result that Brian often caught her in the outfit during the few casual hours they'd had as a team.
That she could now go toe-to-toe with a few of Amelia's creations for Alec was probably a large part of it, Brian figured.
Which made her threatening growl and step towards Alec far more menacing than she had been as Bitch.
"Don't. Fucking. Order. My. Dogs."
"Alec! Rachel!" Amelia barked out, shooting to her feet while the leafy-green helmet of her botanical armor grew up and wrapped around her head. Brilliant-green, bio-luminescent eyes blazed to life on the otherwise-featureless helmet, and the scent of something wafted through the air, giving her next command a reverberating tone. "STOP."
Rachel and her dogs flinched at the display, though Rachel didn't move from where she had stepped away from the smooth steel wall. Alec, for his part, remained silent and considering for a moment before blowing a sigh through his nose and holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender.
On the TV screen, Jack Slash kept talking.
"Now, let us ring in this glorious holiday with a song! Shatterbird, will you-"
"BRIAN!" came Lisa's desperate scream, the blonde Thinker sprinting into the room as a warning, blaring tone began to echo from the TV. "Fill the room! Sabah, we need cover! Everyone get behind the couch!"
Brian pushed the thick, roiling soup of his power out as fast as he could make it, scrambling to tug his helmet with one hand while scooping up Pepper with his other and rolling over the couch to get away from the three different TVs in the room.
The others stumbled blindly in his darkness, but everyone except Rachel - who had thrown herself over the pack of dogs at her feet - huddled and covered by a blanket Sabah had taken control over.
Brian heard the sound of exploding electronics and glass all through the base, but it was distant; nothing was striking their cover, so he guessed that his power had somehow saved what was in the room from becoming weaponized by Shatterbird's Scream. The lights had gone off for a split-second, however, and the light he could see through the bottom of the blanket was the deep red that signaled the base had shifted to the emergency generator.
After waiting for another full minute after the last sound of destruction had faded, Brian took a deep, mental breath to pull his power back into himself. Everyone under the blanket-shield shifted as the black smoke receded, and Sabah carefully guided the ends of their cover up to gather anything that might have fallen on top of it before folding it up completely.
Standing, Brian confirmed his suspicions: the TVs and glassware in the rec room and attached kitchenette appeared intact. The room itself was now lit by red LEDs along the top and bottom corners of the walls - the halogen bulbs sitting dark and blank in their sockets - while static from the TVs cast wavering shadows and filled the air with a synthetic hiss.
"I-Is everyone alright?" Amelia stammered, her voice regaining some of its authority by the end of the question. A quick round of affirmative responses and grunts helped settle Brian's nerves, but something was nagging at his mind as he tried to gather his wits.
The attempt at composure was shattered by a new, rising growl of pain from Lisa.
"Nnnngggrrfffffuck! Get-get it out! Argh!"
"Lisa?" Amelia bent down to lay a hand on the curled-up Tinker's contorted face. "Lisa! What's wrong?!"
Unlike before, however, Lisa did not not instantly recover.
"M-Mastered! She fuckinnnnggg MASTERED us through the fucking TV and I can't… get it out!"
Mastered? Who would have done that? Brian thought to himself. Bladedancer? Surely not Autochthon, and neither would have Chevalier. Did Vox or Jack Slash have a Master power?
Brian blinked, his train of thought stopping at the feeling of something amiss. Furrowing his brow, he tried to go over the events of the last few minutes in his mind.
Right, Jack was talking about Autochthon… but Autochthon was in the base, saving everyone? That doesn't make sense. Was Jack trying to discredit him?
A whimper from Lisa brought him out of his thoughts.
"You-you guys can't even see it. It was Marrow! Not Au-argh!"
Amelia's leafy helm had folded down reveal short, curly hair framing a frowning expression. She shared a look with Sabah, Alec, and Brian, who all shrugged.
"Marrow? The Case 53 with the bone armor?" Amelia tried again, in a lighter tone this time. "You said she was dead."
"No! NO! Fight it! Marrowwwnng... was there! Just… urhg, just knock me out!"
Amelia gave a quick sigh and a shake of her head, then Lisa simply passed out. Brian heard Alec make a snide comment and Rachel was busy calling her dogs to order, but he tuned them out. Lisa hadn't acted this strangely in a while, not since last Saturday when she'd started spouting off about how Weaver had gone off the deep-end and Marrow had gotten herself killed somehow.
He set aside the thought as Amelia stood back up and looked around, clearly gathering her mettle to take charge of the situation.
Something to worry about later, he supposed. Maybe Lisa talking with Autochthon will get things sorted out?
***
Beyond the electronics within the rec room, a cursory check through the rest of the base revealed that practically everything electronic was obliterated. Thankfully, The Guild had supplied them with satellite phones - practically requirement, if they were going to be hunting down criminals off the grid - so Brian, Sabah, and Amelia shouldered open the manual controls for the best-hidden entrance so their team leader could make a call to Narwhal.
Alec had brought up his Brute and Mover suits from the greenhouse, though they and Rachel were keeping watch over Lisa in the rec room while Alec himself worked to wrap up all the electronics still in one piece in case of a repeat Scream.
From the sound of it, the call was more involved than he was expecting - Amelia tossing out ideas for how she could use some of her new plants to help speed up emergency treatments - when she abruptly cuts off mid-sentence and remains silent for a few moments.
"Here?" Wyld blurts out, her voice more resonant through her helmet. "Are you sure-"
Silence again for a few seconds, then she shakes her head.
"O-ok, Dragon. We'll be ready."
Brian cast a quick, helmeted glance towards Sabah - Skein, with her own full-cover headpiece on as well - who gave a quick shrug before Wyld turned to the two of them and tapped the base of her rose-tipped lance on the packed dirt.
"Weaver and Marrow are coming, and they're bringing Who and Chevalier for emergency treatment."
Brian's heart leapt into his throat, but Wyld made a cutting gesture with her free hand before he could speak up.
"Who's power is still on, so we have to rely on Marrow's healing ability to get her conscious before I can do anything. And Lisa was right - Marrow somehow Mastered everyone watching the broadcast into thinking that Autochthon was there instead of her. It's hard to believe, but I trust Dragon - she said even she had to go back over the recording to confirm it."
Brian rocked back slightly at that news. Dragon got mastered by Marrow? The bone-armor Case 53? And the thought that the...
… shining figure, radiating hope, strength, and authority...
He winced, gritting his teeth as he balked at the idea of doubting something like that. There was something playing at the edge of his memory that was starting to nag at him, and it unnerved him on a fundamental level that his mind could be twisted like that.
The similarity to Aisha's power was not lost on him, further muddying his feelings.
He pushed the churning in his gut down, focusing on the now. "When should we expect them?"
The growing roar of a jetpack answered his question for him, though with the tree-cover he couldn't see the approaching figures until they were kicking up a small tempest through the canopy.
A hulking armored figure of lightning-cerulean blue crystals slammed into the ground and skidded to a halt a few yards away from the entrance, a brilliant aura of white and purple streamers hugging her - and it was definitely a her - form. Drops of her crystalline armor rained down as she settled, almost as if the armor was sweating, and he could see that the woman left tracks of the material in her footprints as she stood and began striding towards his team.
Comparatively, Weaver's descent was nearly silent as she followed in the wake of the newcomer's entrance. The deep-blue trail her armor's extended anti-gravity wings left cut off just as she reached the ground, allowing Chevalier unhook his arm from her neck and drop away from their mutually-awkward grip.
Only then did Brian notice just how bloody and thrashed the Protectorate leader's armor was - making the entire situation that he had just watched on the TV hit home. But if Chevalier was here...
"Wait," Brian demanded, striding forward towards the new trio. "Where's Aisha?"
Weaver stepped around the staggered Chevalier, gripping his shoulder with her right hand while she raised her left and leveled an inscrutable gaze at Brian through her stylized helmet.
"Even though the area seems clear and all of Bezalel's drones are down, our escape wasn't quiet. Wyld?"
Brian turned at the sound of Wyld clearing her throat behind him, just in time to see her nod in agreement.
"Dragon told me that we wouldn't have any problems, Weaver. Can you keep to that?"
Weaver was silent for a moment, but didn't appear to react to the comment. The large blue crystal-woman cast a glance at the two, but remained silent as well. When the Ward spoke again, Brian thought he could hear a growing buzzing around the group that made her level voice take on a worrying tone.
"People are dying right now, and a Truce is in effect. I have my priorities in order, as long as she doesn't try running again."
Brian took a step back and put a hand on Wyld's shoulder, cutting off anything she was about to say to that. They'd earned it, true, but he had a feeling that Amelia wasn't going to let that implied threat to Lisa go without a remark.
But that could wait.
"I need answers, Wyld," he ground out under his breath, hopefully quietly enough so only she could hear. "Please. Let's just get this over with."
Wyld was silent for several long moments, during which Skein put her own hand on Wyld's other shoulder in silent support. Brian thought he heard a sigh, but the plant-encased Striker didn't twitch until she finally nodded and began striding towards the heavily-armored trio.
"I can fix Chevalier right now," she intoned, closing the distance between her and the Protectorate leader with deliberate smoothness, raising a hand in greeting as she did so. Only when she was within a few feet did he react at all, startling slightly before giving a tentative wave and a grunt of acknowledgement. Wyld made a pointing motion towards his right glove, then mimicked removing it on her own arm - Chevalier caught on quickly, and within a few seconds of Wyld's leaf-covered hand touching his exposed, bloody wrist his slouched posture straightened up considerably.
"P-" Chevalier began, though he quickly choked on the word with a hacking cough. He quickly lifted the bottom of his helmet so he could spit out some bloody phlegm into the nearby underbrush, then slapped the golden plate down. "It's Wyld, isn't it now? Thank you. It's been a while since I've been that banged-up... outside of an Endbringer fight."
Wyld simply nodded while Chevalier re-equipped his gauntlet. "Yes, it is. You'll need some protein and iron to replace the blood you lost, and you're running low on fat stores so I recommend eating large meals for the next few days if you can manage it. Another round of injuries and I'll have to start cannibalizing things if I don't have biomass on-hand."
Chevalier just grunted an "Understood," then turned to Weaver and… Marrow? "We need to get to downtown immediately, if that really was a Shatterbird Scream. Still - what happened, with that bomb and all the glass? How are we alive?"
"Perfect Parry," Weaver quipped evenly, "and it does exactly what it sounds like. Parries everything, even bombs. Does that sound right, Marrow?"
"Yes," came a resonant tone from the crystalline woman, sounding like a harmony of goblets being played to form a singular voice. Brian blinked, then fought down his blush.
Damn that's a beautiful voice.
Chevalier remained silent for a handful of moments, likely processing that absurd explanation that raised more questions than it answered, before shaking his head and waving off the subject.
"Anyway, we need to get back. Should I ride with you, Weaver, or…?"
The two tall, armored women shared a silent glance, then Weaver took a step and… lifted something from Marrow's blood-soaked arms.
Wait, where did all that blood come from?
"I will take you. Weaver must remain to tend to Who, and I have healed her enough."
Brian clamped down his mouth before he could shout out a question about the whereabouts of his sister, but he could feel his power leaking from his body with every strained breath. The PRT-affiliated trio appeared not to notice, however, and within a few seconds Marrow and Chevalier had taken off at a run towards the nearby abandoned buildings - likely to avoid drawing attention to the secret entrance in the woods when Marrow activated her jetpack again.
"Inside?"
Weaver's pointed question broke Brian from where he had watched the crystalline figure retreat into the woods, and he looked at Wyld and Skein for confirmation.
This time, he did hear her sigh.
"This way, Weaver."
***
The Garden was, by Lisa's unofficial decree, off-limits to anyone who wasn't Amelia unless she specifically invited them in. So far, the only ones who'd gotten an invite were Sabah and Lisa, so Brian had only gotten cursory glances through closing doors ever since 'Wyld' had taken it over.
Gone, now, was the basic greenhouse-slash-nursery that had been here when they moved in last week; the interior's floor slithered like some alien rainforest, dimly lit by glowing bulbs and luminescent vines that twitched in time to some unseen heartbeat. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied massive, human-sized pods that looked like they could be used to replace people.
The lizard hindbrain of Brian Laborn told him that this was not a safe place, and the rest of him didn't care to disagree. Walking behind his ostensible leader, he tried not to think about what it said of Amelia Lavere that this is where she felt the most comfortable spending her time.
He tried very, very hard.
"This is incredible, Wyld. I don't understand even half of what I'm seeing at first-glance here."
Apparently Weaver didn't share his reservations, but it had provided something of an icebreaker when the Ward had started gushing with questions as they walked to the back of the greenhouse. Lisa - now awake again and trailing the group warily - looked torn: pleased at seeing Wyld bask in the praise for her creativity, and terrified every time her eyes fell on Weaver's back.
Weaver hadn't said a word to 'Inquisition', merely nodding to her as their group had marched through the rec room and collected the slumbering Thinker. Wyld had passed along that Feral should start working on getting her pack ready to move and serve as medical transport, so she and Maestro were likely now moving towards the garage in preparation for their departure.
Brian tuned out the biology babble, focused more on trying to remember why they were here instead of doing something for his sister, but Weaver had just said that she'd be able to say more when Wyld was ready to perform major repairs. Once again he felt something just on the edge of his memory, like trying to grasp for a just-forgotten word, but his sister had trusted Weaver so he was giving her the benefit of the doubt right now.
Finally, they made it to a series of massive, white platforms - likely the remnants of the tables that had been inside the greenhouse at the start - each a dozen feet long and six feet wide. They were covered in all sorts of bizarre foodstuff-plants, like a tomato bush that looked to be ripe with spherical bananas, or a rose bush that was blooming with upside-down apples.
He said a silent prayer of thanks that his helmet had a filtration system in it, because some of the items looked far too good to his hungry stomach; he'd meant to eat after his workout, but it was looking more and more like he wasn't going to get a sit-down meal for a while.
Wyld pointed towards a slanted table that looked more like something out of a Frankenstein movie - which was probably where she had built Alec's 'bodysuits', now that he thought of it - and Weaver swiftly stepped over to it and did... something near it that caused a gasp from some unknown voice.
"Ffffuck… where am I?"
Everyone except Weaver tensed and looked around for the source of the voice, and Brian was suddenly very aware of the menacing vines and plants that filled the area around him. The tension was broken by a 'eureka'-style shout from Inquisition behind him.
"That's Aisha! She's around here, somewhere!"
Brian whipped around, trying to locate his wayward sister while his heart hammered in his chest. Last he could recall seeing her she had been…
"You need to suppress your power, Aisha. Amy Dallon is here, and she can heal you."
"Amelia Lavere. But yes, I can heal… whoever's hurt," Wyld said, flatly, though she stepped up to stand beside the table and next to Weaver.
Brian blinked. Someone was hurt? He looked around, trying to get his bearings and remember what he was doing in... The Garden?
"I… it hurts… Taylor," came a hoarse voice that made Brian's stomach seize up in blind terror for some unknown reason. "What… what happened to my… oh god-"
"You have to focus, Aisha."
Brian staggered, completely losing his sense of time and location. At one point he was leaning against a table, and then Inquisition was standing next to him and shaking him.
Then Inquisition was sagged against him, and he had barely managed to stop the two of them from collapsing completely on the floor. He heard a hysterical stream of cursing, something pleading to 'convert', and then it was forgotten again.
Through it all, he kept hearing Weaver's steady voice, saying his sister's name before the memory was ripped from his mind and he was looking around in confusion again.
At last, Brian blinked away a fading headache that reminded him of when his father had insisted he, "learn what to expect," and got Brian black-out drunk. He didn't feel like throwing up, thankfully, but the nagging sensation of not being able to remember anything about what he had been doing just a few moments prior was a profoundly unsettling.
Picking himself off the twitching, vine-laden floor, Brian re-oriented himself: he appeared to be in his costume, and in Amelia's greenhouse, but the reasoning for all of that escaped him at first.
I was following… Weaver?
Turning around, he noticed the Ward was indeed here as well, along with-
"Aisha!"
Brian bolted across the intervening space, nearly bulldozing Skein as she was getting off the floor, striding up to where his sister was laid-up on a slightly-slanted, vine-reinforced white slab. Her legs were whole again, though it looked like the blood-soaked pants had been shorn off halfway up her thighs to allow them to crumple down at her shins. Her right arm was restored as well, though the un-masked teen was now picking idly at the strands where the sleeve had been cut off at the shoulder.
"Hey, big bro," Aisha sniffed, messy tears and snot still dripping down her face. She met his masked gaze with bloodshot eyes and cracked a smile. "Ready to kill some psycho-oof!"
Whatever she was saying, Brian didn't care.
His sister was here. His sister was safe.
That was all that mattered, and that was never going to change.
Say Hello To My Little Friend
[X] Exceptional Bonuses: +1 to Rate, +2 to Speed
[X] Cool Thing: Quantum Beacon, fires a 100-range, damage-less Tracer that teleports the next shot to wherever it hit, automatically awarding it the same to-hit successes achieved on the Tracer shot and Infinite Range. Tracer can be used as a GPS Tracking device until next shot is fired or 1 hour has passed.
[X] Cool Thing: Auto-Winch, automatically pulls back bow and gives a +2 to Rate.
The First Casualty
[X] More Like Guidelines: Keep up-to-date with the PRT's actions, but bend/break protocol if Taylor feels the need arise, including working more closely with non-PRT capes/villains than the PRT plans. (This may interfere with PRT plans, which would incite PRT sanctions if it does!)
- [x] Stunt: Your swarm updates the map in the war room according to reports from runners and tinkertech equipped recon squads dispatched to high priority locations, such as known centers of Parahuman activity. As one swarm churns furiously behind Chevalier at Holmesburg and your swarm-clones issue orders for defense of your base, you ponder Director Uriel's words: "Granted unusual breadth of discretion."
Prioritization for Urgency of Need-for Services
[X] SATCOM: Working with PRT command in planning and coordination of forces, which may keep Taylor far away from the action.
- [x] Stunt: You grant IEU to Inquisition for investigations and FPoP for combat before being briefed by the Comms. Officer, "Weaver, Dragon has granted us use of Non-Silicon Comm. Units." "Excellent," you stand within the PRT's Sound-proof Safe House, covering three entire blocks in insects, "Sergeant Tomkins? Have we gotten those radios to anyone, yet?" "Breakdown, Ma'am." "Good work. Patch me through."
Autochthon Wants YOU!: Part Deux
[X] Holding Out For A Hero: Time is critical right now and you need everyone you have. (Stunt details what situation might cause Taylor to offer Exaltation, emergency or otherwise, to someone.)
- [x] Stunt: STOP SCENE if a candidate is otherwise going to die, and Wyld is unable to safely help. STOP SCENE if any of the captured Wards are recovered, whether or not Wyld is available to assist. Candidates are Who, Vista, UzuTatsu, Chevalier, Miss Miitia, Bladedancer, Accord.
Free Action:
[X] Free Action: Cerulean lightning crashes into a mechanical hound, hurling it away from the beleaguered police to shatter upon the hospital wall. A burst of gunfire follows, as Miss Militia carves a path through the drones and a crackle cripples bomb electronics as Armsmaster slams his Halberd into the ground. Safe zone cleared, the wounded begin arriving in brilliant flashes of light.
XP Expenditures:
[X] EOA - 4 XP - Dodge ●●●○○
[X] EOA - 4 XP - Medicine ●●○○○
[X] FPoP - 4 XP - Craft ●○○○○
[X] EOA - 2 XP - War (Parahumans ●●○)
[X] EOA - 2 XP - Presence (Swarms ●●●)
[X] EOA - 3 XP - Equipment (Bezalel's Insect Drones) ●○○○○
[X] EOA - 2 XP - Craft (Drones ●○○)
[X] EOA - 2 XP - Archery/Firearms (Sniping ●○○)
***
You are now Enduring Order Administrator.
***
While you were able to see some of Panacea's work in the Brockton Bay Refugee Camp, most of those that needed her attention were relatively 'simple' cases of internal bleeding, burns, cuts, and crushed limbs. You were aware that she had restored Armsmaster's lost arm as well, but from what you heard it was another healer - Scapegoat - who had done most of the heavy lifting there. It took Wyld barely ten seconds to re-attach Aisha's crushed limbs, then restore them to working order - draining several handfuls of goo-filled orbs (plucked from a nearby bush) to provide the necessary biomass the restoration process had required.
Indeed, the dazzling array of flora surrounding you in this underground greenhouse is a testament to just how little Amy Dallon actually used her power during her time with New Wave… as well as a reminder of Director Piggot's fears regarding her potential threat level. The Guild has little-to-no PRT oversight, originally having formed as an independent, Canadian version of America's Protectorate, which may be why this greenhouse is even allowed to exist; assuming that her work would fall under the same PRT regulations as biological Tinkertech, you can think of fourteen different reasons for this entire base to be quarantined. That doesn't even get into the bizarre biological armor that Feral, Wyld, and Inquisition are wearing, the obvious genetic tweaks to Feral's dogs, or the humanoid, insect/plant hybrid creations that your swarm sees in the base's garage.
Considering those humanoid creations, a number of your minds eagerly wonder if Wyld would be able to create larger 'insects' that you could incorporate into your swarm. You allow one train of thought to follow that idea and start considering possible creations, as you need to remain focused on your mission.
Specifically, a pressing thought that had occurred to you as you entered the partially-concealed, underground base.
"Dragon," you inquire, having disabled your suit's external speakers, "who else was informed of The Wyld Hunt? You said you had been in talk with Camden's PRT, but did they know the location of this base?"
The miniature wireframe avatar looks considering in the bottom-right of your suit's HUD, but recognition dawns upon her face in short order before she nods and her eyes close - a sign you've begun to interpret as her focusing her attention elsewhere, likely directing PRT rescue and reinforcement efforts.
You're going to need to talk to her about what the Dragonsuit in your Elsewhere pocket has told you of her programmed limitations and vulnerabilities, but now is not the time. The best you can hope for is that the extra-dimensional interference you felt while trying to absorb the Dragonsuit didn't cause her any lasting damage; if your guess about what the interference was is correct, you'd hate to have destroyed her connection to her parahuman power.
You feel a twinge from your Technomorphic Integration Engine again, a sign that your recognition of Dragon's personhood only after having absorbed her is still causing issues with the charm. You push the distraction aside, along with the disquieting questions of what might happen if you keep pushing your charms beyond their designed limits, and re-focus your minds on the task at-hand.
"The Slaughterhouse 9 know about this base," you call out in your best commanding tone, turning slightly to ensure that the Wyld Hunt members hear you clearly. "Whatever defenses you have won't help. We need to get out of here. Now."
From the limited swarm you have in the area and your own vision-augmenting charms, the chilling effect your words have is obvious. Inquisition - still avoiding looking at you directly - startles visibly a moment later.
"You- shit, you're right. Wyld, we need to run. If they're going to hit this base, now would be the perfect time."
Almost as if on-cue, the swarm you've collected from the undeveloped lot above the base notices movement north of your position. Since all the cars on the road are inoperable and the surrounding area is either abandoned houses, factories and condo towers, even slight movement stands out in the darkness now.
But making out the details is difficult at first-glance; there weren't many streetlights around the area to begin with, and Shatterbird's glass-shattering "Scream" put an end to the few the remained. Even the moonlight outside is mostly covered by the smoke and clouds stirred up by Gust's attack on the base just over half an hour ago, resulting in a smothering darkness rarely seen in a developed city. Still, judging by the speed at which the the lone figure leapt out of the nearby condo tower and its ability to be unfazed by the seven-storey drop, there's only one Slaughterhouse 9 member it could be.
"We have Siberian incoming," you call out, already scooping up Who in your arms from the Frankenstein-like operating table. "There's something hanging on her back, too. Likely Bonesaw, given their known behaviors."
To their credit, the rest of the Wyld Hunt react quickly as you activate your thrusters and tear off towards the entrance you took into the base. You leave a few dozen fliers on each of their costumes to allow for tracking and rough communication, but in no way do you want to be caught underground with the Siberian. Bonesaw will pose little threat to you in your Alchemical form and in your power armor, but Aisha is still recovering from the emotional turmoil she just went through. Beyond even that, while her power would likely protect her from being directly targeted by Bonesaw, the bio-tinker's reported tendencies of aerial toxins could still be dangerous to Aisha's mortal form.
"W-wait, where the fuck are we going? We're not leaving them to die!"
You shake your head, ignoring the panic creeping into Aisha's tone. "The Siberian has never shown the ability to fly, so I'm going to try to stick above base and help with my swarm. You may be fully healed, but you don't know how to work with your brother's team or whether the Siberian can ignore your power as well."
That quiets her down as you take anti-gravity-aided flying leaps through the hidden base's corridor, easily backtracking your path by way of your swarm. Idly, while the base's automated defenses are down, you've managed to get a fairly detailed mental map... and it's surprisingly well-equipped: seven bedrooms, a basketball-court-sized gym that may actually double as a court, a large greenhouse that Wyld took over, and a well-equipped common room with a kitchen attached. Your first thought was that it was a converted Endbringer shelter, but that doesn't match up with it being hidden so well. Since the vegetation filling the large plot of land above it has clearly been undisturbed for years, perhaps this was an old villain base that Dragon managed uncovered a while ago? Something to ask her later, when the Slaughterhouse situation is settled.
Streaking out of the base's entrance and upwards into the night sky, your own eyes zoom in on the rapidly-approaching blur to give you a clear view of the two Slaughterhouse 9 members.
Dashing at an olympic sprinter's pace without any visible sign of exhaustion, Siberian's naked, zebra-striped form is just as unsettling in real life as it was on the videos you watched. Her manic grin would fit well on a starving wolf, which is only accentuated by her orange irises, yellow sclera, and ankle-length, white-and-black-streaked hair. But all of that isn't what causes your collective consciousnesses to halt in confusion.
"I… can't get a reading on the Siberian," you mumble in a low tone. "Nothing beyond her surface details, at least."
"What the fuck? You mean she's immune to even your bullshit?" Aisha whispers back.
"I don't… think so? I mean, I was able to get a reading on Behemoth, though I couldn't understand most of what my charm was telling me. This is different, it's like she's just… blank?"
Saying it out loud makes it obvious, in retrospect. Her legendary invulnerability, ability to casually ignore physics - even gravity - on a whim, and how she comes and goes without a trace if she so desires. You aren't the first to consider this possibility, but with what your charm is telling you there can only be one answer.
"She's a projection," you whisper softly, somehow feeling like declaring such out loud might attract her - his? Its? - attention and give up all pretense of having physical limitations. Aisha's growing confusion is nowhere near as subtle, but with her power active she may be able to get away with it… if your guess is true.
"Huh? Don't Masters gotta be nearby?" she grunts, putting a hand to her mouth in thought as shifts in your arms. "How come no-one's ever seen her controller, then? And wouldn't someone have figured that out already? She's been around for, what, ten years?"
Scowling at the questions - you already considered them, obviously - you decide confirm your theory using another of your Optical Enhancement's sub-modules. The pop of sparks on your soulgem tingles slightly as you activate Mass-Penetrating Scan, only to find-
"No," you say again, this time opening your suit's communication channel to include Dragon. "The Siberian is a projection. She's hollow, like a woman-shaped forcefield."
Unfortunately, looking completely through the Siberian allows you to see Bonesaw's innocent glee and what - no, who - the young bio-tinker has strapped to her own arms and neck.
"Oh, Maker. Bonesaw…" you struggle to say, violently shoving down the bile rising in your throat and squashing the urge to assault the bio-tinker for defiling another one of your friends.
"Bonesaw has Sakura."
***
"Siberian is standing above your base. Bonesaw is with her, along with Uzu - one of the teleporting sisters."
The gathered members of the Wyld Hunt flinch at the sound of your swarm's voice, the droning sound filling the underground, car-less garage where they have assembled to wait for their transportation.
Feral is in the finishing stages of 'boosting' her dogs into the massive monstrosities that Hellhound famously used, but the bone and muscle of these dogs is considerably more streamlined and sleek than the erratic bone spurs and spikes that were typically seen in Brockton Bay. Perhaps she learned how to control her power better since then?
After Inquisition finishes her gasping expletives, she shakes her head and looks to Wyld.
"Bonesaw's here for you, Wyld. Probably going to try to talk you into joining first, but if she's got one of those teleporting twins with her it means anyone she can just 'port out with anyone she gets her hands on. Weaver, does she- no, fuck, it's Bonesaw. Uzu's rigged up like some kind of luggage, isn't she?"
You manage to keep your emotions out of the swarm's response.
"A backpack, yes. My scans indicate remote-control mechanisms implanted into Uzu's brain, numerous eyes grafted to her head to help get around the line-of-sight limitation, and numerous surgical implants to prevent unconsciousness."
The Wyld Hunt is silent for a long moment, only disturbed by the sounds of sliding bone and sinew as Feral continues to enhance her dogs with her power. Skein shuffles in her frilly, tasseled, Victorian-era military costume, putting an arm around their leader's shoulders before giving Wyld a squeeze.
"We'll save her, Weaver," Wyld finally speaks up, her voice steady and reverberating through her botanical armor. "And everyone else she's hurt. But we have to get out of here, first. Can you distract them for us?"
"My insects are dying in a large radius around Bonesaw, but I am coalescing a body outside the radius talk with her. Do you wish to listen in?"
"Listen-? Aahh, fuck!" Inquisition tries, before clutching her head and cursing the headache caused by trying to figure out your capabilities. You hear a light chuckle from Maestro at her pain, but only from the bugs you've placed on his back. Wyld, wondering the same thing, asks in Inquisition's stead.
"How, Weaver?"
You pull your swarm in the garage and in the hallway leading up to it into two bodies, one larger and somewhat close to your unarmored appearance, and one smaller, mimicking the shape of Bonesaw's blue dress and white apron. Beyond your growing skill at creating convincing silhouettes, you've had some time to practice modulating your voice through the swarm in the past week; you didn't think you'd get a chance to show it off so soon, but this will serve as a good field test as anything you had planned.
"Bonesaw, Siberian," your larger swarm clone in the garage intones, just as the one merely two stories above does. For the smaller clone, you're not quite able to get the genuine cheer of Bonesaw's voice through your swarm, but the shuddering of the Wyld Hunt members indicates the effect is at least equally disturbing.
"Ooh! Weaver! Your power is so interesting! Do you- no, no, you're trying to trick me, aren't you? Well, don't worry, we'll have lots of fun later when we get you and Marrow! I can't wait to see what your brain looks like!"
You decide not to mimic Bonesaw's excited waving and clapping with your swarm clone.
"I wanted to talk to Panacea without anyone interrupting, but if you saw us then they've gotta know we're here already. Double-darn! Oh well, time for Plan B!"
Instead of mimicking your top-side clone's attempt distract Bonesaw by rattling off the many, many surgical implants the young bio-tinker has installed (ranging from mesh wiring around her vital organs and blood vessels, to finger-tip darts filled with different poisons, to a prehensile spine) your garage-based clones turn to the Wyld Hunt and relay the more immediate concern in a shared command.
"They are headed towards the garage entrance, get away-!"
The screaming peal of foot-thick armor plating being torn like wet tissue paper drowns out your swarm's generated voice, as the Siberian plunges her right arm through the garage door with zero resistance. The female-like projection immediately begins tearing a hole wide enough for her and Bonesaw to fit through - a concession for the young bio-tinker, as Siberian herself could likely walk right through it. As she does so, however, both you and Inquisition share the same thought: getting trapped with the Siberian is certain death.
"Open the door!" "Open the garage!"
The smaller of the two Wyld creations that Maestro is controlling streaks back towards the interior door of the garage, the alacrity and gait of the lizard-bug hybrid calling to mind the videos you've watched of the Endbringer, Leviathan. With a chitin-armored fist it punches one of the buttons on the wall, immediately causing an even louder scream of tearing armor and grinding machinery; the Siberian still remains planted on the ground as she tears the garage door apart apart, her impaled arms keeping it from rising.
"Cover Siberian and Bonesaw with your power, Slate. Harassing with my swarm."
Outside, the pre-teen psychopath squawks indignantly as you dump thousands upon thousands of condensed bugs on top of the Slaughterhouse 9 group. The bugs die as they enter the small field around Bonesaw, but the sheer volume of your onslaught is akin to upending a dumpster filled with bugs onto her.
Slate hesitates for barely a moment before sending a roiling, light-absorbing cloud of smoke into the widening hole Siberian is creating in the garage door. As he does so, both he and the rest of the Wyld Hunt quickly take to the largest dogs that Feral has enlarged in preparation for when the door is open enough for them to flee - they have no chance of fleeing on foot and Feral's dogs are too big to fit through the interior doorway now, so the only way out is through.
Curiously, the instant Slate's cloud engulfs Bonesaw the insect-killing effect rapidly begins to fade. This gives you a chance to fully engulf the two Slaughterhouse 9 members - avoiding Sakura, of course - but a small radius around the small of Bonesaw's back still kills any bugs that you blindly send in that direction. You drop dozens of venomous insects and arachnids on Bonesaw and have them bite and sting as hard as they can, but she doesn't even appear to notice beyond her swatting at the bugs you are trying to burrow into her eyes, ears, and nose.
Beyond the distractionary insects, you withhold using deadly venoms or filling her lungs with insects, even on the off-chance that it would affect her; you were able to spot dozens of vials and mechanisms for releasing toxins into the air when you scanned her, and the PRT files on the Slaughterhouse 9 make clear that she is to be taken alive.
Then, like a light-switch being turned on, your insects suddenly find themselves completely unable to pierce the child's skin, or even find purchase upon her form. From the outline of bugs still covering her, however, you detect a shrugging sigh of relief before wrapping her arms around the Siberian's neck and giving the striped psychopath a warm, grateful hug.
***
"Bonesaw is being shielded by Siberian."
"Wait, what?" Aisha stammered, broken out of her fuming at being carried bridal-style in your arms. "She can do that?"
You nod, and are about to manipulate your swarm to make directional arrows for the Wyld Hunt members in the garage when Siberian dispenses with the pretense and simply dives through the remaining metal shielding the Guild members from her - Bonesaw and Sakura kept safe from the shearing metal by the application of her power. Once through, the garage door quickly slides up… until it jams from the torn metal only six feet off the ground.
Worse, the leap forward brings the Slaughterhouse 9 members out of range of Slate's cloud, and Bonesaw quickly zeroes in on her target.
"Tactical Hugging Time!" she cheers, throwing her hands out to the side at the same time. Siberian's face splits into a wild grin at the exclamation, and in one smooth motion reaches back with her right arm, pulls Bonesaw out of her harness by the front of her apron, and heaves the blonde pre-teen directly at Wyld.
The motion is too quick for your swarm to intercept, but with Wyld already understanding Bonesaw's intent she manages a quick, diving dodge while jerking at the bone spurs of the mutated dog she was riding. The motion startles her ride enough to cause it to rear back-
A loud, meaty thud is followed by a rush of swirling air, as Bonesaw hits the large, mutated dog and abruptly teleports away with it - a high-pitched cry of, "Noo! No fair!" echoing through the garage as the young bio-tinker disappears into the vortex of twisted space.
Unfortunately, while the split-second reaction saved her from being scooped up into the Twins' pocket dimension, it's now left Wyld on the floor only a few feet away from a murderously-disappointed Siberian. But just as the striped projection prepares to leap on her downed prey, a whistle from Feral cuts through the air and startles the striped woman.
"Attack!" comes the growling follow-up command, Feral's clawed hand pointing at the Siberian. "Kill!"
The six other mutated dogs in her pack - ranging from size of shopping carts to small cars - react instantly, pouncing onto the Siberian with dagger-like teeth and claws the size of steak knives. The feral Slaughterhouse 9 member is, literally, dog-piled for a moment, but a shrieking yelp from the pile reveals it won't last.
"Run! GO!" you scream out with your swarm, which startles all of the Wyld Hunt into action. The larger of the two monstrous creations controlled by Maestro takes two strides and scoops Wyld up off the ground before diving under the partially-opened garage door, only to be quickly followed by the rest of the Guild team... save Feral.
Still astride the largest mutant dog, the werewolf-looking houndmaster hasn't moved - though from her flexing arms and hands she looks ready to join the rest of her pack in their failing attempts to maul the Siberian.
"Feral! Get your dogs and get out of there! NOW!"
"Fuck you!" she snarls, still not looking away from the pile of snapping jaws and splattering blood. "She hurt my dogs! She dies!"
"Not even the Triumvirate can hurt her! Pull your dogs back before she kills them all!"
Feral flicks her animalistic gaze at the general direction of your massed swarm, her massive claws flexing for a few more moments in barely-restrained fury. Finally, after a particularly loud yelp from the frantic dogpile, she twists her head back towards the mess and issues another loud whistle.
"Stop! Heel!"
Barely a second after issuing the order, just as the dogs have stilled and started to scramble away from the pile, one of the smaller dogs gives a heart-rending yelp as it is lifted up and ripped completely in half - a burst of muscle, bone, and gore splattering the rest of the dogs like a popped balloon. The rest of the dogs desperately try to flee from the entangled mess, but the Siberian has clearly finished toying around with the injured animals.
With a wet, menacing growl from the predatory Slaughterhouse 9 member, she begins tearing into the retreating dogs with unstoppable force - plunging an arm directly through the ones that look nimble enough to flee, and viciously tearing through the ones too maimed to retreat.
Feral's voice is a mixture of fury and sobbing frustration as she tries to call out to her dwindling pack, barely able to restrain herself from leaping to their defense. "No! NO! Heel! HEEL!"
"Run, Rachel! GO! RUN OR YOU'RE NEXT!"
Nearly howling in rage and sorrow, Feral turns her monstrous ride and barely manages to slide under the jammed garage door, just as the final dog in the pile behind her is torn to shreds. As her ride scrambles to its feet and takes off towards the rest of the Wyld Hunt, the awaiting group turns south towards the nearby highway before kicking their mounts into high gear.
In a thunderous crash of metal, the Siberian dives through the top of the garage door in a careless, destructive pounce, only to land on all fours on the hard-packed dirt outside. Still wild-eyed and dripping gore and blood in equal parts, her head snaps towards the retreating forms of the Wyld Hunt.
With a breathless, silent cackle and a leaping stride, the Siberian gives chase.
***
With the vast majority of cars disabled, the streets and highways of Camden are dark, silent graveyards of abandoned cars. As you push your anti-gravity jets to keep up with the manic pace set by the Wyld Hunt's monstrous dogs, you mumble directions and warnings to each of the Guild members below as you play overwatch in the sky above. The Ben Franklin and Betsy Ross bridges down, so the only remaining bridge - according to Dragon - is the Walt Whitman Bridge.
You're not certain anything that Philadelphia's forces can muster right now would be able to drive off a determined Siberian, given that the combined forces of the Triumvirate have failed more than once to do so in the past. But while you've already relayed your findings to Dragon in the hopes that this time may be different, so far her attempts to call for aid from the local PRT forces have only been met with silence; due to Shatterbird's Scream, you may currently possess the only functional satellite phone in the greater Philadelphia/Camden area.
In the meantime, the Wyld Hunt barely makes it a few hundred yards from their base before the Siberian catches up to them, bounding along with predatory glee as she flagrantly violates the laws of physics in her reckless pursuit. With your bird's-eye view and nearly-instantaneous communication through your swarm, you manage to give the Wyld Hunt members enough warning, as she streaks through their numbers, to prevent any of the mounts being taken out from under them - a loss that would spell their immediate end. Inquisition catches on to the few times that the Siberian tries to herd the group off the highway and down a side-street, but by the third time your combined directions manage to save the group it is clear she has begun to tire of the game.
Upping her speed and the size of her lunges, it only takes a few dozen more momentum-defying turns and flailing strikes, before she manages a diving series of slashes that shears Inquisition's right arm and Slate's left leg off with the ease of threshing blade.
In a desperate gamble to distract her before she manages a fatal strike, you swoop down into the group's midst just as the Siberian falls away in a missed grab. As her eyes lock on to your form, you shove a mote of essence through your anima to flare to totemic levels.
A light-devouring thundercloud of smoke explodes from your armored body, black and blue lightning crackling through it as a storm of liquid soulsteel begins to coalesce from it - the rain quickly coating the surroundings in wailing obsidian droplets. The harrowing wails of tortured souls reverberate through your armor, but are drowned out by the booming, metallic screech of the Design Weaver towering high into the sky above you.
For perhaps the first time since the she appeared on the world stage, the Siberian halts in her steps with a look of genuine fear etched into her features.
You hold there for a long moment, your swarm whispering to the Wyld Hunt members to keep up their pace. Seconds tick by as you stare down the monster that tore apart Hero, the original Tinker, and eventually the Wyld Hunt passes out of your swarm's range.
Slowly, her fists balling in concentration, the Siberian's face shifts. Gone is the feral zeal that lit her eyes and the wicked grin that has graced every photo and video taken of her. There is no longer a hint of careless glee, that she is only indulging herself now for lack of something better to do.
All that is left is cold, menacing rage.
"For that, machine, you will die."
It is barely a whisper, but uttered with the surety one would use to proclaim that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Some of your minds are shocked by the speech, while others are confused by the implication that the (presumed) projection can even speak.
Almost faster than you can track, the Siberian blazes through the distance between the two of you and lunges - reaching your accelerating form in barely a second. You ignite your Dynamic Reaction Enhancement System and make a twisting pull up and to the left, only narrowly escaping her clawing grab.
As she falls past you, the Siberian whips her head around, sending her wild, ankle-length mane shredding through your right leg with the ease of monofilament wire.
Biting back a scream, you try to keep from spiraling into one of the tall trees on the side of the interstate while simultaneously shielding Aisha from the errant branches whipping past - your suit's flight systems not immediately able to compensate for the balance disruption that losing most of your right leg has imposed.
Willing your wound closed takes a momentary thought from one of your minds, though the rest are somewhat distracted by the sight of your leg's fragments scattering onto the darkened highway and foliage below.
The Siberian is still hot on your trail, however, her striped skin splashed with your silver blood and soulsteel anima droplets. As you struggle with your flight suit's controls to avoid splattering yourself and Aisha against a tree trunk, the Siberian leaps from the highway, touches down on the side of the tree next to you, and then propels herself off it like a zebra-striped missile. Aisha screams an unnecessary warning in your arms as you twist out of the way again - this time managing to avoid the hair-whip follow-up as the Siberian streaks past you and into the night sky.
Watching her fly past you, you manage a sigh of relief; with her now stuck in her projectile course, it takes only a few slight corrections in your own path to soar up and away to a safe altitude. Once high enough, to opt to simply continue high into the darkened clouds to hide your intended path towards the PRT headquarters downtown.
Smoke and dust quickly obstruct your view of her as you ascend, but the Siberian's burning orange-and-yellow eyes track you until she disappears from your sight.
"Holy fuck that was close," Aisha exclaims in a whoosh of held breath, nearly panting from the adrenaline coursing through her system. "And yea, thanks for saving my bro's bacon, but let's not ever try that again."
You grunt in agreement, your various minds focused more on working through the pain to figure out the implications of everything you've learned tonight.
But just as you open your mouth to make another call to Dragon to check on her progress, a series of thundering explosions catches both your and Aisha's attention.
High above southern Camden, you push another mote of essence into your eyes to pierce the thick smoke between you and the direction of the sound. The haze drops away entirely, revealing a scene of pyrotechnical devastation nearly two miles downriver:
The remains of the Walt Whitman suspension bridge, melting into slag over a river of flame.
***
EOA - Wounds: 3 Lethal (-1 Wound Penalties) EOA - Ailments: Missing Right Leg (Crippling)
EOA - Clarity Gain: +2 EOA - Clarity Loss: -1 (Virtue Channel [1]) EOA - Current Clarity: 2 (No effect)
So, we have a number of destroyed Bezalel Drones (including all the insect drones that Shatterbird's Scream broke) in TIE storage, schloorped up as Taylor invisibly followed Chevalier's path of destruction: dozens of birds, dozens of rodents, eight dogs, fourteen cats, five (various types of) monkeys, a gorilla, two octopi, an alligator, three deer, a bull, five human-sized spiders with scorpion tails (that didn't register to SoPA, but may with tweaking), and seven large snakes. Because of our newfound understanding of these drones as being somewhat 'alive' due to Bezalel's conversion process (as that allows us to control the insects with SoPA), TIE will not be able to repair these to full functionality - we'd need to extrude them and repair them ourselves, though we'd probably also want to spend the time to reprogram them so that they can't be taken over by Bezalel again. Doing this will take several hours of time for each different type, if we want to go that path, but the alternative is to use some/all of these as scrap for getting local computers and communications equipment running as quickly as possible - or to provide as materials for Armsmaster, Kid Win, Dragon, and the other Tinker brought in with the reinforcements.
After this initial flustercluck at the bridge, we will have roughly twelve hours of downtime to plot and plan - chaos starts again at sunrise. Since we voted for Taylor to stick to being in the command center as much as possible, she will default to that for all hours that we do not direct her to do something else in the Vote.
There are a number of reinforcements piling into Philadelphia to help with the S-Class event. More will trickle in as the week progresses, but notable names that will be around/arrive some time tonight:
- Alexandria
- Legend
- Armsmaster
- Miss Militia
- Narwhal
- Dragon (a combat suit and multiple transport crafts)
- Strider
- Weld
- Gully
- Bulldozer
- Willow
- <Other Case 53s Stunted in with a Free Action>
- <Other non-PRT capes Stunted in through a Free Action>
REMINDER: TAYLOR WILL NOT SLEEP UNLESS WE DIRECT HER TO. Current sleep deprivation penalties are at -1, and will go to -2 if we do not get 8 uninterrupted hours of sleep tonight. As well, Taylor will automatically sleep for 8 hours if she puts her head down to rest at all - she has to be physically jostled out of it to wake up any earlier, and our friends may want to let us sleep.
Finally, First Prayer of Perfection will follow the PRT's orders unless we direct her with a Free Action to do otherwise.
Elsewhere Scrapyard: (Choose one, ONE Stunt allowed!)
[ ] Elsewhere Ark: Keep all the drones in storage for our own use later/now.
[ ] It's Raining Drones: Extrude some/most/all of the drones for the other Tinkers to use. (Stunt dictate what drones are extruded, can suggest Tinker or mundane projects.)
On the First Day of Slaughter: (Number of choices varies, ONE Stunt per choice!)
[ ] Rest for the Weary: Sleep for 8 hours, getting rid of all sleep deprivation penalties.
[ ] Tinker, Taylor: Work on Tinker projects. This takes 4 hours. (Can be slected multiple times, Stunt dictates Tinker project - each project takes at least 4 hours.)
[ ] Healing Hands: Spend time in the nearby hospital, which is overflowing with patients dying of wounds we could fix in seconds. (Stunt dictates who goes with and number of hours spent.)
[ ] Getting To Know You: Sit down and chat with someone, one-on-one. This takes 2 hours. (Can be selected multiple times, Stunt dictates with whom we speak.)
[ ] SATCOM: This is the 'none of the above' action, and will make Taylor do nothing but work in the PRT command center. (Stunt can detail some cool stuff going on there.)
Please remember to format Free Actions properly: (Only TWO Free Actions allowed!)
Free Actions should be phrased as stand-alone Stunts, so they must be 60 words or less (not counting "Free Action"), be descriptive about what you're hoping to accomplish, and set the scene.
[X] Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that could be performed during other votes.]
XP Expenditures should be formatted as such for EOA and FPoP:
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item ●●●○○
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item (Specialization ●●○)
Spending more XP than a character has in their own bank will automatically draw from the Assembly bank, and Named XP will be spent before Assembly XP is used.
Elsewhere Scrapyard:
[X] It's Raining Drones: Extrude some/most/all of the drones for the other Tinkers to use. (Stunt dictate what drones are extruded, can suggest Tinker or mundane projects.)
- [x] Stunt: The matter replicator of WCM's hoverthrone hums merrily in the background as you direct support staff to their assigned Tinkers. Dragon and Armsmaster are hunched over a large workbench discussing vulnerabilities in the drone AI, Chris focusing on utilizing them as modular dimensional disturbance detector/comm relays. Smoke accompanies Strider's arrival, another set of teleportation and bomb jammers.
On the First Day of Slaughter:
[X] Rest for the Weary: Sleep for 8 hours, getting rid of all sleep deprivation penalties.
- [x] Stunt: You compose yourself as Amelia works upon your fleshly form. As she finally looks up from concentration, you pass her the information on Bonesaw's work gathered during the fight, "You seem much better, can I have your opinion on dealing with these?" You continue as she reads, "And inform your worried teammates. The past only matters for anticipating the future."
[X] Getting To Know You: Sit down and chat with someone, one-on-one. This takes 2 hours. (Can be selected multiple times, Stunt dictates with whom we speak.)
- [x] Stunt: "Inquisition…" You allow her a moment as she is lost in the coffee/decaf (your own brew) delivered with the stack of documents by her assistant "We must be prepared for tomorrow, make sure things are running smoothly here. But I also require your input in determining and establishing alternate rally locations before we both rest."
[X] Getting To Know You (2nd Vote): Sit down and chat with someone, one-on-one. This takes 2 hours. (Can be selected multiple times, Stunt dictates with whom we speak.)
- [x] Stunt: You hiss in pain as Wyld molds another wasp. "Alright," she says confidently, "I modified the venom so it serves as a potent tranquilizer, it should also have the proper redundancies to combat Bonesaw." You can feel the changes. Better. Faster. Stronger. Your smile is not a nice one. "They're wonderful. Have you considered applying your talents towards enhancing humans?"
Free Actions:
[X] Free Action: You artfully manage to avoid stumbling as you land outside the PRTs Emergency Response Center. A disturbingly chipper woman is there to greet you, "Hi there, Weaver! I'm Lt. Kelly and I'm your assigned LNO." LNO? Uriel, you magnificent… "Kelly, first thing is make sure that these key individuals have the support staff and minders they need." "Right away."
[X] Free Action: "Ready to begin? Would you like me to put you under or…" "One sec." It takes mere moments to retrieve your IEU activations from Armsmaster, Inquisition, Strider, and the others; you nod in satisfaction as they wearily retreat to the snug embrace of their beds. Except Colin. He needs a motivational nip from one of your wasps to get moving.
XP Expenditures:
[X] EOA - 6 XP - Equipment (Orange Drones) ●●○○○
[X] EOA - 6 XP - Dexterity ●●●○○
[X] EOA - 4 XP - Athletics ●●●●●
***
You keep your gaze focused towards the blazing wreck of the Walt Whitman Bridge as you tear through the night sky, having dropped back down just below the cloudcover to give yourself an unimpeded view of the growing inferno two miles away. Still, your Ultraperipherial Awareness sub-module also allows a clear view of Who's petulant form, cradled bridal-style in your suit's arms.
"So… what's going on, Weavs? I thought you were a better flyer than that? And what's with this weird rain?"
"Siberian's hair took my right leg off at the thigh," you manage to grit out, your other consciousnesses scanning the fiery wreck of the bridge.
Who stops trying to brush off the drops of liquid soulsteel raining down on her from your billowing anima, startling at your growled admission.
"Holy shit! How-" she yelps, trying to crane her neck around to see the damage, but you clench your right arm around her shoulders.
"Stop moving."
"Fuck! Aren't you gonna bleed out?!"
"No. I can stop my own bleeding."
"Ooo...kay," she draws out, wilting slightly. "I'm guessing that's a robo-thing?"
"Yes."
Who snorts, then crosses her arms over her blood-soaked, armored chest and settles back into your grip. "Whatever. I'm pretty sure Poison Ivy can't fix robots, so what are you gonna do about it? And what about your armor?"
It takes you a second to get the reference, but you don't bother rising to the bait. "Wyld was able to heal my disguised form after the sniper attack, as well as my Alchemical form after Behemoth... though neither were as major as this. I'm going to see if she can repeat what she did with your limbs with my disguised form, but I'm not sure if that will carry over."
You can feel the young Stranger's stare through her opaque baseball helmet-and-visor, but eventually she just waves a hand dismissively.
"I'll pretend that makes sense, but what about your armor? Are you going to go back to the Island to get parts to fix it?"
You shake your head. "My storage charm can fix it without the need of spare parts."
"Wait, but… where does it get the spare metal and shit? The other random crap you've sucked up?"
"No. The charm creates mass and energy on its own," you admit, your shoulders twitching as you suppress the instinct to shrug - a movement that would throw off your flight pattern. "Once I get a moment to rest, I need to start refilling an antimatter battery for a device I picked up earlier, actually. It's a power supply for a mobile command center, which should help us coordinate with Dragon and the PRT outside of Philly."
Who is quiet for a moment, though the roar of the passing wind is starting to echo the roar of the massive gouts of flame still melting the bridge in the distance.
Your zoomed-in vision is just now starting to pick out more details on the melting bridge, which now mostly lacks anything like a 'road' in the section between the two suspension towers. However, judging by the way the loose suspensions cables are swaying and the flickers of dark shapes on them, there may be people stranded above the slagged bridge and flame-covered waters.
"So will I be able to do all this bullshit too when I get a robo-body?"
Even with the bridge growing closer, this new conversation thread is important enough to warrant a train of thought - specifically, recalling Aisha's pain-laced begging less than an hour ago.
"I am still not sure you are ready-"
"Oh, bullshit!" Who barks back, twisting in your grip slightly to give you a masked glare. "Then what the fuck was that 'will of a champion' shit you made me agree to?"
"You were delirious with pain and needed something to focus on," you mumble, barely keeping the grimace out of your voice - both at the pain still flaring from the air whipping past your exposed, amputated leg and at the admission of manipulation. You had needed to get Aisha to focus on suppressing her power long enough to allow Wyld to heal her, and in your defense, the tactic had worked. "Willpower is only one part of what's needed."
"Well, what the hell else-"
"I think I see your brother and his team on the bridge up ahead," you blurt out, forcefully derailing the conversation for some time when you are not wounded, tired, and flying into a steel-melting inferno that is still dumping survivors into a freezing river.
"Wait, what?" Who sputters, craning her neck around to look towards the growing glare. "Why the- don't fireballs usually explode? Not… y'know, sit in the air and burn shit?"
Indeed, over the few minutes you've been barreling towards the melting bridge it appears that the three explosions you were studying are, in fact, miniature suns - two melting through the massive support towers, and one floating the middle of the air where the bridge used to span the Delaware river. Each appears to be roughly one hundred feet in diameter, so while the bridge's roadway has melted and fallen into the ice-cold river, the towering support structures look like candles melting from the bottom.
"Bakuda. Tinker with a bomb specialty."
"The fucking Slaughterhouse Nine have a bomb tinker now, too? On top of those fucking drones? What the hell am I supposed to do, then?"
Veering right, you keep an eye on the struggling forms of the Wyld Hunt and dozens of civilians scrambling along the sinking portions of the bridge - the two primary support cables still keeping the fallen sections from being carried away by the river. From what you can see, you suspect the Wyld Hunt had kept to the sides as they crossed, which allowed them to leap to the supports when the middle of the bridge turned into a miniature sun.
The large mutant dogs they were riding appear to be more than capable of treading the rushing water as it consumes the fallen pieces of the bridge, but the two bodies Maestro was controlling are nowhere to be seen. Otherwise, all the Wyld Hunt members are accounted-for, though it looks like they are attempting to save as many civilians from the river as they can.
As you near the water's edge, your awareness once again lights up as more and more insects come into range... immediately bringing into view dozens of motionless bodies in the buildings nearby, the blood-drained corpses attracting flies and other scavenging insects. Pushing the images out of your mind is not easy, the scaling multi-tasking abilities of your Shard of Perfect Administration never quite allowing you to completely ignore the insects within your range. Instead, you start pulling the flying members of your swarm out and away from the corpses to direct survivors of Shatterbird's Scream to safety.
Thankfully, the firebombs were mostly kept to the over-water portions of the mile-long bridge, and you are slightly surprised that no additional bombs were placed to cut off where the long suspension cables anchor into the raised Interstate-76 highway. The concrete structure that serves as the interstate-bridge connection point also possesses the only stairwells for foot traffic to get down from the raised roadway, so you drop down amidst the crowd of civilians that are both desperately trying to flee the raging fireballs on the bridge and gawk at the slow-motion destruction of a Philadelphia landmark.
Almost everyone is cut up in some way, mostly light gashes on the faces and hands, but the dozens of bloodied bodies lying motionless in the rows of parked cars all around you reveal that these are the lucky ones - those fortunate enough to avoid being torn to shreds by the exploding glass of their windshields and side windows.
You don't turn your anti-gravity thrusters off as you carefully let Who slide out of your grip, however; while you could certainly balance on one leg even in your armor, it's not something you'd like to try in front of two-dozen panicking civilians.
"Everyone! Calm down and stop pushing!" you announce clearly, boosting your suit's speakers to their highest setting to make up for your lack of a swarm to echo your voice. Those who had not noticed your approach snap their heads to look in your direction, and on both sides of the highway you can detect a palpable sense of relief wash over the crowds as they realize a hero is here to help them - even though you do notice some wary glances at the light-devouring aura surrounding your form. A rush of desperate pleas begins, so you raise your voice again to cut through the noise.
"Yes, the Slaughterhouse Nine are in Philadelphia," you announce, forcing your voice to be steady despite the wails such a proclamation generates. "They are responsible for the glass in your cars exploding and the firebombs along the bridge. But right now, they are not here! I know many of you are hurt and afraid, but we have to be strong together. The Ward by my side is named 'Who', and she's going to help everyone get down from this bridge quickly and safely. I saw survivors on the bridge, so I need to go try and save them before the bridge towers collapse. I will be right back!"
"What the f-heck are you doing, Weaver?" Who hisses at you through a clenched smile, all while raising her hand to draw the attention of the desperate crowd to her. "Don't leave me in charge of this sh-stuff! Coordinatin' is your job!"
Rising higher into the air, you scale your vocalizer back down so that hopefully only she hears you. "Be visible, keep people moving, and point people to PRT Downtown if they need help. Remember that practice demonstration with Chevalier and the PRT squad?"
Her shoulders sag slightly at the memory of trying (and mostly failing) to boss around a few dozen PRT officers a few weeks ago, all while the officers gleefuly pretended to act like scared civilians. You hear a grunting sigh of admission before she strides to the middle of the road and hops up on top of a stalled pickup truck so that both sides of the road can see her - twitching slightly as she ignores the gory remains of the driver and passenger.
Tearing off towards the bridge, you absently keep track of Who gesticulating at the crowds to try to get them to form the crushing mobs into orderly lines, her body language already conveying impatience at the lack of immediate progress.
Yes, you have considered Aisha as a stronger and stronger candidate for exaltation - her quick wit and penchant for deceptively-clever schemes makes her one of the few candidates for the Moonsilver caste - but her young age and mental immaturity still give you cause to doubt whether her expressed desire for conversion is just a childish need for a quick solution to her problems.
Judging from your email inbox this morning, you already have a deluge of Case 53s clamoring for the same thing.
You were afraid of that happening when you chose Marrow, but now you're even more concerned about what their reaction would be if the next Assembly member isn't selected from the much-maligned Case 53 community. Especially since many of the emails were borderline threats.
None of that had mattered while you were carrying Aisha's mutilated body through the murderous hallways of Protectorate Island - the possibility that only Conversion would be enough to save Aisha having crept into your mind more than once during that nightmare. If Dragon hadn't given you the location of the Wyld Hunt, it's quite possible that you would have gone directly to the Cradle... which would have left that group vulnerable to the Siberian and Bonesaw…
That train of thought causes a cascade of mental images through your other consciousnesses: the vision of Missy, with wires and tubes grafted into her skull and her mouth stapled into a rictus smile. The warped body of Sakura, her head shaved and covered in grafted eyeballs and other electronic implements. Possible ways that Saki, and the other Wards, could be mutilated to serve the Slaughterhouse Nine.
Shuddering under the mental strain to force the images from your mind - and to keep your lunch from wallpapering the inside of your helmet - you shake your head and grit your teeth. Dwelling on those horrors is a waste, right now, when you need to keep it together for the people in the waters below.
You can already tell this is going to be a long night.
***
Compared to the hellish flames and blasts of lightning from Behemoth, the steel-melting miniature suns are a walk in the brightly-lit park. Even if your Industrial Survival Frame wasn't casually dismissing the heat with all the consideration of an absent-minded shrug, you had initially designed your armor to withstand blasts of flame from a powered-up Lung and the laser rifles used by Coil's mercenary minions - both of which were capable of temperatures on-par to those caused by Bakuda's bizarre firebombs.
The three floating suns light up the Delaware river almost as well as a cloudless afternoon, though the flames' reddish glow give the waters the tint of dark blood. Despite the lighting, those in the water are quickly losing hope; the Delaware River moves at just over a jogging pace at this time of year, which is more than fast enough to have already carried many unfortunate civilians hundreds of feet downstream.
While Feral's monstrous dogs are quick swimmers, you manage to make each trip - from the docks just south of the melting bridge to the center of the river - in just over three minutes, even if you grab two people. The Wyld Hunt keeps busy on the concrete loading docks where you and the dogs are dropping off survivors: Wyld healing the wounded while the other members search the surrounding warehouse and parking lot to make sure the area is secure.
By your twelfth trip, a streak of blue and white zips by to lend a hand.
"Weaver," Legend greets you as he slows to a halt, grimacing at your lost leg. "Are you alri-"
"There's four more downstream, right over there," you interrupt, pointing with your left hand as you lower yourself down to pick up the forty-something woman begging for help below. You turn your head back to give her the impression that you are paying attention to her quails. "M'am, please, take my hand but don't pull down. I'll lift you out slowly, don't worry."
You nod at the usual thanks from the civilian, paying more attention to Legend as he offers some reassurances to the woman while floating down to help secure her grip on your right arm.
"Don't worry, m'am, Weaver here will have you safe and sound in no time."
The woman gives a bleary, shivering groan of relief as you haul her slowly out of the river, and then Legend is off in a blink towards where you pointed. By the time you make it back to the dock, the Protectorate's leader has already made all four trips necessary to fish those survivors out of the water.
Just as you arrive, however, a booming groan from the Philadelphia-side suspension tower signals the end of the bridge. All thirty-eight heads in your assembled group turn towards the sound, watching as the narrow, rectangular 'U' shape buckles and folds in on itself - thousands of tons of steel being carried down by the remnants of the bridge it was designed to support. After a thunderous crash of steel, concrete, and churning river, the only remnants of the support tower are the two stocky legs sticking up out of the water and the miniature sun hanging above.
As everyone turns away from the destruction, you keep to the air to avoid having to hobble around awkwardly, allowing Wyld and her group to herd the survivors into the nearest warehouse for temporary shelter. Zooming in your sight towards where you left Who, it appears most of the civilians there have managed to make their way down the long stairwell that criss-crosses the concrete support structure. Before you can fly off to go pick up the young Stranger, however, Legend floats over to your side with his jaw set in a way that makes you think that you won't be able to easily distract him this time.
"Weaver," he tries again, his voice low despite the fact that you two are floating over fifty feet in the air. "Are you alright? Chevalier didn't mention you lost your leg."
Not wanting to stay idle, you wave at him to follow you while you begin to float towards where Who is guiding the last civilians down the fence-lined stairways.
"The Siberian and Bonesaw attacked the Wyld Hunt's base when I was there. Siberian's hair cut through my armor when I tried to distract… it."
"Ah," Legend sighs, nodding with a frown. "That was brave, but you should count yourself lucky. Not many have faced her and lived."
You turn to face Legend fully, the both of you now almost eighty feet in the air and away from where anyone might be able to hear you. Still, you keep your voice low to match Legend's.
"I was able to look through the Siberian with my enhanced sight, sir. She's a projection, just an air-filled forcefield."
Legend visibly stills at your comment and explanation, motionless in the air save for some wisps of his dark brown hair waving in the breeze. His silence is punctuated by the crackling flames generated by the miniature sun only a few hundred feet away - the Triumvirate member making no motion to indicate that he is bothered by the light or heat.
"You're certain of this."
You nod. "I didn't see the Master controlling it, but it's likely their range is large if they've managed to stay hidden for so long. I've been trying to scan everyone I see for a Corona Gemma, but it takes around five seconds for each person - I can scan six at a time right now, but still..."
Legend crosses his arms over his chest and nods in return. "We've considered the possibility that the Siberian was a projection, but it didn't match up with her behavior patterns…" he trails off, turning his head to look off into the distance absently. "If you're correct, it just means we've been played for fools for a decade."
"The controller is smart," you admit, going over what one of your minds has been considering. "I've been thinking about it, and it's likely they know how the PRT operates well enough to focus all the attention on the projection and avoid drawing attention to themselves. In the worst-case, they might be able to recall the projection back to themselves instantly and to take care of anyone that did discover them."
"And it would just look like another one of her 'random' hunting sprees," Legend sighs. "I hope you're right about this, because it'd be the first break we've had on the Siberian since she appeared. Does anyone else-?"
"Only you, Dragon, and Who - since she was with me when I figured it out. I don't want to make it public yet, because that might make the controller go to ground or act differently."
Legend nods again at your reasoning, but otherwise remains silent as he stares off into the distance for a few moments. His reverie is broken by Marrow's voice crackling through the Endbringer armband you noticed on his right forearm.
"Crawler and Burnscar sighted at Holmesburg Prison. Requesting assistance."
Legend's left hand whips to the armband and he raises it to his mouth. Just as he is about to speak, you see him turn his head slightly towards you, but you shake your head. With a slight nod, he speaks clearly into the armband, "Legend en route."
"I need to make sure Who and the Wyld Hunt make it to Headquarters," you explain, motioning to where Who is guiding the last of the stragglers down the southernmost stairwell. "I probably wouldn't make it in time to help, anyway."
Legend appears to stall, but a ghost of a smile passes across his face. "No, it's just that I forgot you were a Ward for a moment. Still, your plans are good. Be safe, Weaver."
Before you can utter a reply, Legend blurs up, away, and into the clouds in a blast of displaced air - a low rumble following his departure as the Triumvirate member casually breaks the sound barrier.
Turning back, you float down to where Who is waiting for you atop a grey SUV - this one without any dead occupants. She greets your arrival with a mock salute and a tired smirk, though you notice her hands and arms are covered in blood.
"Mission fuckin' accomplished, Commander Robo. Can we grab my bro and get the hell outta here?"
"Where did the blood come from?" you ask evenly, pointing towards her arms.
"Ehh… two guys were cut up pretty bad so I had to use my med kit to slap those anti-bleeding bandages on 'em. Didn't really have anything to wipe my hands on, 'cause, well…" she trails off, motioning her still-blood-soaked costume.
Nodding, you sweep down and pick her up in a bridal carry again, earning the usual petulant squawk at the act before she grumbles to herself and settles in for the ride. You rattle off your status - as well as the Wyld Hunt's - to Dragon, but her small avatar in your HUD barely nods to give you the indication that the message is received; from what you know of Dragon's limitations, she is likely still focusing her attention on coordinating the planned relief efforts.
During your week-long "imprisonment", you had gone over with Dragon just what the PRT did when they were able to predict an upcoming S-Class event. As it turned out, the PRT long-ago discovered that actually trying to prevent or "hunker down" for a predicted S-Class event either incited the event itself, or flat-out made things worse - a bitter example of all those ancient myths about the folly of attempting to fight one's own destiny. Instead, the PRT now prepares outside of the expected event area, with the goal of making response and relief efforts as streamlined and immediate as possible; in this case, Director Uriel called for PRT jurisdictions outside of Philadelphia and Camden to begin stockpiling emergency combat supplies and civilian relief.
Which, you suspect, explains the functional Endbringer armband that Legend was wearing. You had cribbed some of the armband's reinforcements for your suit when you were building it, so you know that at least three critical components would have been damaged by Shatterbird's Scream - that Legend's was functional means that a shipment of new armbands and other communication devices has likely already arrived.
While you consider all this, your other trains of thought focus on guiding your body around the perimeter of the shipping terminal in a sweep for survivors, bombs, possible traces of the Slaughterhouse Nine, and to gather up a large swarm. Who remains silent for the ten minutes it takes to patrol the four-mile-long perimeter, but a quick exam shows that she is both healthier than you've ever seen her and still brimming with energy - left-over side-effects of Wyld's "tune up," you suspect. For the mouthy Stranger to be silent for so long is slightly worrying, but you have more pressing matters to consider.
Finishing your circuit, you rest most of your million-strong swarm on top of the warehouse in which the Wyld Hunt and civilians are holed-up, while having the remainders circle through your range and sweep through the warehouse itself. Overall, the city block-sized warehouse is fairly empty save for an abandoned office on the top floor, some forklifts, and empty shipping containers.
Gliding through the open door facing the waterside, you float over to where Wyld, Inquisition, Skein, and Slate have gathered - Maestro still roving through the warehouse on one of the forklifts while Feral re-grows her monstrous dogs off to the side. From what you have picked up with your swarm, they are discussing their next plan of action while Wyld rebuilds Slate's and Inquisitions limbs from the sloughed-off meat and bone from Feral's dogs.
"We need to get to the PRT Downtown headquarters," you declare, causing their heads to turn as you float down just outside their gathered ring. "Shipments of new communication devices should have arrived already, and the PRT will be coordinating relief and combat efforts."
Your proclamation garners only silence for a few moments, with Inquisition twitching in a way that makes you think she is actively avoiding saying something in response. Wyld turns to give a masked glance to both Skein and Slate, then looks back to you - the glowing green eyes on her smooth, leafy helmet narrowed in concern.
"We're willing to help the PRT," she begins, her voice strained, "but we're still talking with Dragon and Narwhal right now. If you don't mind."
You can feel Who bristle in your arms at Wyld's tone, but you reply before the young Stranger can make a scene.
"You have working radios?"
Wyld nods her head to Slate, who is still flexing his new left leg absently. You squash the errant train of thought that appreciates the way his dark skin ripples with toned leg muscles, refocusing that mind on what repairs and improvements need to be made to Who's costume.
"Slate's power blocks Shatterbird's, so we were mostly safe from the Scream."
You hum in acknowledgement and refocus the mind working on anti-S9 strategies to ways that Slate's power could be used to lock down Shatterbird - which might only require hitting her with his cloud of darkness once, if timed right.
After a moment of silence, Wyld's stand-offish posture droops a bit and you can almost hear her sigh of resignation through the helmet. "Do you want me to fix your leg? We're waiting on Narwhal to confer with Dragon and the PRT, so I have time."
At her mention of your leg a flare of pain shoots through the amputated limb, causing it to twitch slightly and flick a few drops of silvery, luminescent blood on the ground - your consciousness dedicated to controlling your suit's flight patterns quickly compensating for the twitch so as not to send you sprawling to the side.
"I'm not sure it would work with my Alchemical form, actually," you sigh, "The materials used in my body's construction are probably beyond what your power can make. It might work if I switch to my disguise first, but I can't do that right now with my current anima level."
Skein and Slate shuffle a bit, clearly not understanding anything of what you just said, though Wyld's glowing eyes blink in a way that makes you think she only got half of it. Inquisition has stilled, but you hear a slight groan from her before she puts both hands to her helmeted head and mumbles some curses under her breath. Still, the way Wyld deflates a bit makes you think she was looking for something to occupy her time besides leadership duties.
"Actually," you muse aloud, bringing the mind that's been working on new bug ideas for Wyld to the forefront, "do you think you could try modifying some insects for me? I've been thinking of a few things ever since I saw what you were doing with your plants."
This gets nervous glances from everyone, even Who. Still, Wyld comes around after getting a nod from Skein - her voice tinged with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.
"What… kind of modifications?"
***
The first few experiments revolve mainly around altering a few insects to possess superior sensory organs - sight, sound, scent, etc. - both to get Wyld used to modifying insects and to confirm that your Diagnostic Overlay sub-module will serve as a good way to double-check her work. You do note that she sterilizes all the insects she works on, but you decide not to comment on the lack of trust that implies.
From there, the two of you moved on to something you had desperately hoped would work: a bug that could imitate Iris' function as a range-extension mechanism. After a few minutes of study, Wyld was unable to figure out exactly how your Shard of Perfect Administration controlled members of your swarm, though she did notice a slight tingling through her power that reminded her of when she operated on you in the past; without an understanding of how your power worked, neither of you were able to determine a method for amplifying your charm's range.
Then you gave her Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade, and things rapidly accelerated from there.
Fifty PRT-white wasps possessing similar knock-out power as a full-sized tranquilizer dart. One-hundred blue, flying spiders capable of pumping out silk stronger than even Darwin's Bark Spider silk at triple the rate. Twenty-five flying red ants with saw-like jaws and powerful enough to tear through even your new spider silk, with a venom in their bite similar to a Bullet Ant's. Two-hundred houseflies modified to have nearly-human levels of eyesight and hearing, as well as limited camouflaging capabilities. Each of these new species were also made more durable, stronger, and capable of flying longer than their natural brethren. These improvements were not without cost, however, as the new breeds require anywhere from five to twenty times more food to compensate for their improvements.
Of course, they all pale to what Wyld finished making for Who only a few moments ago. The entire idea spawned from Slate asking if Wyld could design something to watch over his sister, but by the end even Wyld was starting to visibly have doubts about just how much power she had effectively dropped into Who's - and your - hands.
"Hahaha! Fuck yeah! Bug calvary, bitches!"
Guiding the flying, motorcycle-sized creation is an enlightening experience, especially after the few tweaks Wyld made at the end to give the massive beetle-mantis hybrid sufficient instincts to be able to operate outside of your charm's range: rudimentary learning abilities for how to better utilize its quad wings and four-foot-long, scything front arms. You can almost feel the creature recognizing how you're guiding its flight to allow it to swoop around through the rafters, hover in place, and even slowly fly backwards.
What is more curious are the puppy-like feelings of joy you are getting from the creature, which - like other insects and animals - seems immune to Who's Stranger power. Wyld's familiarity with working on Feral's dogs clearly had an impact on its behavior patterns, but you had noted earlier that any attempts to make the creature's brain resemble an actual canine's had caused it drop out of your charm's control. In the end, you and Wyld agreed with a "smart" bug that was about as intelligent as the dumbest dog ever, but operated more on instincts than reasoning powers; you could force the creature to remember individual scents as "master", "friendly", and "hostile", with all other scents defaulting to "indifferent" for safety's sake.
For now, Aisha's scent is the only one it recognizes as "master", as you can simply take control of it within your Shard of Perfect Administration's range if you need it to follow orders. Still, it should serve well as a guardian in the case the young Stranger finds herself in trouble again. Better still, the creature is covered by her power when she isn't suppressing it - as shown by the lack of reactions when you have the creature fly just above the group of civilian refugees that Skein is attending to now. Honeycomb-like compartments in the creature's abdomen also allow for you to store your new, smaller insects within the larger creation, though that was a feature Wyld only agreed to because Who backed up your request.
You didn't miss the look Inquisition shot you after that argument with Wyld, but the Thinker remained mostly silent during the entire brainstorming session - only occasionally suggesting something for Wyld to change to ensure that the new bug breeds wouldn't be too powerful, or subtle flaws that Wyld could invoke should the insects need to be neutralized. You in turn held your own tongue, as you simply didn't want to deal with the blatant hostility radiating off the silver-and-purple-clad teen.
According to your HUD's clock, the entire process from start to finish took barely over half an hour - longer than you had wanted to spend away from the PRT's coordination efforts, but an alert from Dragon had relayed that PRT forces would be on the way soon to set up temporary shelters and medical tents at the shipping terminal. Not only were the local hospitals beyond capacity, but with most cars disabled and the streets seeded with exotic bombs, Director Uriel was urging people to seek out the shelters being constructed around the city and to stay off the roads.
Just as you start to wonder when that might happen, your outermost swarm detects movement coming from the main dock entrance. It's barely a blur in the firebomb-lit night, but you know better than to suspect anything but the worst with the Slaughterhouse Nine in town.
"We've got company," you declare, taking a breath as you hop up from your seated position on the floor and extrude your armor again. The short break was enough time to get some repair work done on your suit, so now you get to enjoy the bizarre sensation of your armor's empty right leg wobbling about with no easy way to control it. Maybe you can fill it with bugs for now, just to give it some mass?
Moving quickly in response to your warning, Wyld looks up from the Brute-body she is rebuilding and begins directing her team to spread out and scan the area for hostiles. While their various members gear up and move out, you focus on getting your new insect breeds into the air and ready for whatever might be coming your way - especially Aisha's new guardian-bug.
"Let's go," you mumble, floating up beside Who as she weaves through the rafters. "I'm taking control of your bug, just in case this isn't the PRT."
Who straightens up from her forward-leaning seat and crosses her arms. "What."
"I said, I'm taking control-"
"No," she cuts in, a smirk evident in her voice as she points to the massive beetle-mantis hybrid below her. "That's her name. 'What.'"
While one of your minds appreciates the humor, the rest of your consciousnesses aren't willing to deal with this kind of nonsense right now.
"It doesn't have a gender, but fine, call it a 'she'. I'm vetoing that name, though - you're already enough of a problem."
"Ugh, killjoy. Fine, how about 'Mothra'?"
"No."
"Suzy?"
You blink and turn back to Who, just as the two of you touch down on the floor near where Wyld is finishing Maesto's new combat-body - the young Stranger suppressing her power again to get a startle out of the other two heroes.
"Suzy?" you clarify, incidentally drawing the attention of Wyld and Maestro.
"Y'know. Like those old 'Suzuki' bikes the ABB had. Tried to steal one once, but…" she shrugs, "I sorta crashed it before I got down the street."
Maestro and Wyld, the only two of their group still left in the warehouse, share a snort of laughter at that - the tux-wearing Master pointing to the large insect after finishing his sardonic chuckle.
"Monster Bug might get pissed if you ram him into a telephone pole, dork."
"Fuck you, dickless. Don't make me sic Suzy on you."
From his lazy recline on the ground, Maestro lifts one arm and gives a half-hearted wave of dismissal.
"Yeah, not gonna call that thing anything other than 'Abomination' or 'Terrifying'. Pretty sure the PRT's gonna shoot it on sight, anyway."
"No," you clarify, putting weight into your voice. "They won't."
As a response, Maestro just shrugs, holding his free hand up in a weak 'what can you do' gesture.
Thankfully, Wyld coughs and stands up from where she was kneeling over the seven-foot, insectoid-humanoid coming together under her power. It looks passingly similar to the plant-insect Brute-body you saw Maestro controlling earlier, but where plant material was used in the other creation this one was fashioned from the remaining blood, bone, and muscle that Feral's dogs sloughed off earlier when they shrunk down to normal size.
"Finished, Maestro. I tried to keep the nervous system the same from before, but I couldn't remember everything I did with the last one. Try it out."
Sitting up from his reclining position, Maestro tilts his head a bit to analyze the creature - which you can tell is breathing, now, judging by the hissing rush of air you hear from pores all along its body. With a flick of his wrist, the creature's own limb twitches in a slight imitation of the movement.
"Not the same. Gonna take me a while."
Your swarm is still noticing the barest hints of movement at the dock entrance, but your new sight-enhanced bugs are able to make out some specifics.
"Looks like a crowd near the dock's front gate," you call out, getting the attention of the heroes around you. "No PRT trucks yet, so it's either scared civilians or Bonesaw zombies." You ignore the glances from the other three at this statement, instead turning your head to look towards the teenaged Master. "Maestro, I'm going to give you a boost - let's see if we can speed this up."
"Boost? Wha-aaooohhh," he begins, before trailing off in a daze as you push a new instance of Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade into his mind. Maestro leans forward to clasp both hands to his head, remaining in that position for a few silent moments - punctuated only by the cries of tortured souls your anima broadcasts - before he slides to his feet in a series of smooth, mechanical motions.
"Huh."
"It's amazing, isn't it?" Wyld cheers, nodding once before turning back to Suzy to do a few final alterations.
"Kinda crowded in my head now but... whatever," he sighs, though the affected slump almost seems too mechanical to be natural now.
Turning his attention back to the task before him, when he raises his gloved hand at the large body before him, this time the body follows the motion smoothly. Maestro doesn't say anything more, instead appearing focused on the creature - which is now making numerous twitches and movements - simultaneously - all through its body. In less than a minute the creature is slowly climbing to its feet, though it's clear Maestro is still improving his control as he goes.
"Ok, yeah, this is pretty bullshit," he snorts, a hint of a wry smile in his clipped tone. "Can I keep it? Probably could… eh, nevermind. Too much work."
"Don't make me regret this, Maestro," you say evenly, quickly deducing what he was implying based on his criminal record. "I pulled up your file last week, so I know what to look for."
Wyld shuffles a bit behind you at the acusation, while Maestro himself just gives a quick shrug of indifference. Who, however, takes a few seconds of looking between you, Maestro, and the Brute-body he's controlling before finally making the connection with a startled jerk.
"Holy shit, you can hijack pe-?"
"Later," you cut in, holding your arm out as your swarm catches sight of something new near the front of the gate - and something high-up, approaching from the east. "New contacts, by the gate and in the air. They're… Oh, thank the Maker."
Wyld looks up, her glowing green eyes slanted in confusion. "They're the refugees?"
"Better," you grin behind your mask, noting Miss Militia and Armsmaster leading the convoy of flat-bed trucks, while Alexandria flies alongside the incoming Dragon-shaped aircraft.
"Reinforcements."
***
With a nod from Alexandria, Legend steps up to the clearing made at the far end of the room. His audience, filling the central office inside the dock's main warehouse, is mostly comprised of the Wards, Protectorate, and PRT agents, with a few noticeable exceptions.
Overmind, a bald man suspended by a hover-belt and dressed in a business suit-looking costume, represents the independent hero group, Overleague. Frown, an androgynous figure in a stereotypical fool's motely, represents the Jesters gang that controls most of East Philadelphia. Void King, an imposing man in spiked, black armor with a wicked silver-and-black crown atop his helmet to signify his leadership of the Street Kings - now mostly operating out of Camden after the gang war last week.
Stonewall's absence is worrying, as the Boulder Builders have recently reclaimed the top billing as the most powerful gang in the city. Worse, Geode and Xylophone are missing as well.
The tall horn atop Narwhal's seven-foot form nearly hits the ceiling of the office, but you noted the world's premier forcefield user modified it to allow her to stand straight without tearing up the roof. The Wyld Hunt is gathered around her, though your swarm sees Feral's monstrous dogs still keeping watch outside the warehouse.
Filling out the back of the room, you note Marrow's armored form alongside a number of Case 53s: Weld, Bulldozer (a minotaur), Gully (a teenaged-girl that looks like a hunchbacked linebacker with an overbite), and a tree-like young new Case 53 by the name of Willow. An idle examination of Willow revealed that she possesses the impossible anatomy of a tree, yet still moves, breathes, and talks without any of the organs that would allow such feats. Not terribly surprising given Weld's existence as a hunk-shaped block of metal, of course.
You do wish he'd put a shirt on, as you're tired of having to re-focus idle trains of thought from ogling Weld's adonis-like form. Though, given his frequent glances in your direction, you are most likely the target audience for his fantastic appearance.
It's enough to make you tempted to dip into Clarity, just so you don't have to deal with that right now.
Strider, the man responsible for pulling together so many people from around the city and around the country, is still busy popping in and out of existence as he ferries supplies, PRT workers, and civilians into and out of the warehouse-turned-PRT command center.
"Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I'll try to be brief as I know many of us want to get back out there as quickly as possible, but it's worth making this clear: we've never been more prepared for a Slaughterhouse Nine attack, but the Slaughterhouse Nine have never before had such mobility and firepower."
Legend's voice is firm and even, despite the dread building from his words. You wonder if this was what his rallying speech was like when the forces at Brockton Bay were being organized against Behemoth.
After pushing a button on a small remote in his hand, Legend motions to the images now projected on the wall behind him: a list of names, and nine portraits.
"Before I go over the core of the Slaughterhouse Nine, be aware that these individuals are either missing and presumed captured, or have already been captured and suborned by the Nine: Uzu and Tatsu, the two teleporting Wards with access to a pocket dimension. Vista, the space-warping shaker. Transfusion, can pass regeneration effects through application of his blood. Mr. Feel Good, can pass regeneration effects through music. Bezalel, Tinker with a speciality in robotic drones."
There are some murmurs and shuffling in the audience, but it dies down quickly when Legend waves a hand for silence.
"There may - and likely will be - more to add to that list later, but for now it should be obvious: the Slaughterhouse Nine can teleport and shift their bases with relative impunity, and will likely possess means to heal anything but immediately-fatal wounds within hours. The one limitation of the teleporters is that they must have been to a location before; this is why are meeting here, instead of in the PRT headquarters downtown. Dragon, Armsmaster, and our other Tinkers are already working on ways to possibly block these teleports, but for now assume that the three major PRT headquarters are compromised."
Frown rings their small wand with dangling bells on it briefly, then cocks their head before speaking in a light, almost whimsical tone of voice.
"The girls may Move across the world, yes? What chance have we to stop the Nefarious Nine, before they flee to pastures green?"
There's a murmur through the audience again, and you notice Gallant, Clockblocker, and Kid Win share a glance with each other. Before Legend can respond, Alexandria cuts through the din with a voice like an iceberg.
"The teleporters have been turned into remote-controlled backpacks by Bonesaw. Consider them already dead."
Frown stills for a moment, then quickly swaps their mask for a face with a morose expression on it before nodding sadly. Beyond the tinkling of Frown's bells, the room is silent in horrified shock.
Who, sitting by your side with her power in effect, curses floridly under her breath for several seconds before turning to you with a hiss. "You're not letting that fuckin' happen, right?"
Slowly, you shake your head, your minds awhirl trying to think of new ways to save Sakura and Saki before Alexandria's proclamation seals their fate. Who merely nods in agreement with you, then sits back in her folding metal chair.
Regaining his momentum, Legend motions back to the images behind him with a solemn tone.
"The Slaughterhouse Nine may have a revolving membership, but these are the members we have confirmed are in the area right now: Jack Slash, Shatterbird, Bonesaw, Siberian, Burnscar, Crawler, Mannequin, Hatchet Face, and Bakuda."
With a push of a button, the projector focuses on the face of an attractive, 30-something woman of middle-eastern descent.
"Shatterbird has already used her signature 'Scream' to destroy anything made of silica - glass, computer parts, etc. - so as long as her pattern holds she won't repeat the attack again. In combat she manipulates razor-sharp shards of glass to control the battlefield, but can unleash a smaller Scream without needing build-up like her city-wide effect requires. We expect that she will try to fight near downtown, where she will have a nearly unlimited amount of glass at her disposal, but be mindful of any and all glass in your respective shelters. Finally, the new radios and Endbringer armbands we're distributing to you and your groups are silicon-free, so they should be reliable for the rest of this engagement."
A click, and the image re-focuses on a morose-looking college-age woman with dark hair and a row of cigarette burns running underneath each eye.
"Burnscar can create and manipulate fire, appears to be immune to heat altogether, and can teleport through flames within a mile radius of her position. History shows that she tends to grow more reckless - but more aggressive and powerful - as fights drag on. She will usually set a fire to serve as an escape method before engaging, so keep an eye out for smoke in the area if she flees a fight."
The image shifts to a surly man in his late forties, bald and with a large, sharp nose dominating his face. Dozens of scrapes and scars cover his countenance, giving him a visage only a mother could love.
"Hatchet Face is a mid-level brute with super-strength and regeneration, but it is his two-hundred-foot power-canceling aura that makes him so deadly. We suspect that he was responsible for the capture of the Uzu, Tatsu, Vista, and Transfusion, but his aura means that he will be unable to make use of their abilities to quickly move around the city. He is known for hunting solo, but will work with the rest of the Nine to set traps. Complete destruction may be necessary, as even a bullet to the brain hasn't kept him down for long, but if it's possible to capture him we may be able to use him against Crawler."
At the mention of the infamous Changer, Legend switches the display over to a truly nightmarish image - not a headshot, but rather a picture taken of a six-legged, alien abomination the size of an eighteen-passenger van as it tears through a brick wall.
"This is the most recent image of Crawler, taken two months ago in Wichita, Kansas. He can regenerate his entire body-mass in seconds, and each time he regenerates he mutates, growing stronger against whatever just hurt him. By now he is immune to anything short of an artillery round, and his fluids are some of the most potent acids in the world. He lives only for trying to find new ways to hurt himself, so do not try to fight him; distract, delay, or run. We've also seen him burrow at running-speeds, so don't expect him to always be visible, either."
You note Void King shaking his head and growling slightly under his breath, but Legend continues on, switching the image to a ceramic-white doll. Its head has an impression of a face, with only shallow curves where eyes would be. The design of the rest of the body obviously emphasizes flexibility, with large ball-joints and chain-linked appendages.
"Mannequin, formerly the Tinker known as Sphere... before the Simurgh drove him mad. We suspect it was he who was behind the security breaches on Protectorate Island and the abduction of Bezalel, as his Tinker specialty is Closed Systems. Despite his unassuming appearance he is exceedingly tough and deadly as a combatant, having replaced his entire body with artificial components; we suspect his brain and organs are stashed in one of his legs or in a small compartment in his torso. He is the master of stealth for the Nine, however, so do not trust security cameras and other surveillance equipment to protect against him."
On your right, Who snorts and cracks her knuckles. Unaware of the noise, Legend switches images to a scowling college-age woman of japanese ethnicity.
"Bakuda, theorized to be a Tinker specializing in bombs, is the Nine's newest member. This is a break in their standard methodology, as Jack Slash has gone on record to claim that bombs are 'unartistic'. Judging from the glass bomb on Protectorate Island, the sun-creating bombs on Walt Whitman Bridge, and the dozens of other effects that have destroyed roads across Philadelphia and Camden, his stance has clearly changed. Do not try to defuse, disarm, or smother a bomb if you encounter one. Evacuate the area and alert everyone of its location. Finally, Bakuda will likely not yet possess the physical enhancements Bonesaw gives Slaughterhouse Nine members, but she will undoubtedly have deadman-triggers on her body; do everything you can to knock her out, disarm, and restrain her."
Idly, you have a mind check through your new tranquilizer-wasps. You may need to talk with Wyld to boost their numbers, but for now you're going to keep them in reserve until you get a shot at Bakuda. You weren't quite able to figure out a way with Wyld to get around all the various redundancies Bonesaw has built into her system, as at least one of Bonesaw's implants allowed her to completely turn off blood flow to specific parts of her body.
As if thinking along the same lines, Legend's next click brings up the megawatt-smiling blonde herself. Both Triumvirate members grimace at her cheery expression, Legend shaking his head ruefully before continuing.
"Bonesaw. At twelve years old, she is arguably the world's best biological Tinker, and is the reason why anyone captured by the Slaughterhouse Nine should be considered unrecoverable and a potential new member of their group. She has demonstrated the ability to completely control people with surgically-implanted remotes, concoct delayed-acting plagues, and design implants for the other Slaughterhouse Nine members that give them minor Brute ratings. Yes, she has a Kill Order, but beyond the fact that her own implants require nothing short of complete brain destruction to actually put her down, her body is filled with methods of releasing any number of viruses and plagues. Smother and contain her, if you can, as the only other safe option is to turn the entire block to glass"
The click of a button brings a regrettably-familiar face to the fore, yellow scelera and orange irises standing out starkly on an otherwise pure-black-and-white-streaked face. Legend's voice is much harder now, though Alexandria herself shows no trace of emotion.
"The Siberian. The definition of Unstoppable Force, seemingly driven only by predatory zeal. Nothing we have tried against her in ten years has harmed or even slowed her, and a wave of her hand will go through any amount of armor or forcefields. If you see her, the best you can do is to try to avoid her attention or to fly away; she can run faster than most cars, but can't change course when she jumps. Worst of all, she is able to extend her power - immunity and unstoppability - to anything or anyone she touches, which has saved other Slaughterhouse Nine members dozens of times over. And yes, she even appears to be immune to Hatchet Face's aura, as the two have been known to hunt together. The only up-side is that she will likely be immune to space-warping powers like Hatchet Face, so she will be unable to warp around with the other Slaughterhouse Nine members."
You are both surprised and somewhat pleased that Legend has kept your revelation regarding the Siberian a secret for now, but you had not heard of Hatchet Face and Siberian working together before - if anything, that should serve as further proof of your findings.
"Finally," Legend intones, clicking with his remote to bring up the smiling, handsome face that you have burned into your mind, "we have Jack Slash.
"Jack Slash is, by all accounts, the weakest member in raw power, 'only' possessing the ability to lengthen the cutting edge of and blade he touches up to nearly a mile away. He does not increase its sharpness or the strength of the blow, but he has demonstrated an uncanny ability to find the weak points in a person's armor. If you haven't already, I encourage you to reinforce your costumes around vital areas - many have fallen from a slashed jugular before they even saw him. Beyond that, Jack Slash has somehow corralled the most lethal band of psychotic murderers for nearly twenty years. Do. Not. Underestimate him. He is never alone, and is most commonly seen in the company of Bonesaw and the Siberian. He undoubtedly has similar surgical implants as Bonesaw, so expect only the complete annihilation of his brain to put him down for good. Everything points to the Slaughterhouse Nine falling apart if Jack Slash dies, so if you have to pick a target, aim for him."
Very little of this is new to you, having researched the existing S-Class threats last week during your imprisonment. You've noted Inquisition leaning over to whisper something to Wyld occasionally during the presentation so far, but you've kept from spying on their group after Inquisition pointedly stared at a few of the bugs you had near them when everyone was getting settled. You're not quite sure what you've done to earn the blonde Thinker's ire, as by all rights she should be counting her blessings that you are not murderously angry with her for turning your father against you.
A part of you is sad for having lost your father like that, yes, but your mission is so much greater than that emotional connection that you've been able to set it aside for the greater good. You had hoped to at least find common ground with Lisa while the Slaughterhouse Nine are tearing the city apart, but that's looking less and less likely.
As Legend begins to go into details regarding the PRT's plans for dispensing aid to the neighborhoods hit hardest by Shatterbird's Scream, Dragon's avatar in your HUD blinks to life again.
"Taylor, you said you wanted to talk to me?"
"Yes," you nod, shuffling your consciousnesses to bring forth the mind that has been working on this next proposal. "How are we on Tinker supplies?"
The wireframe avatar raises an eyebrow, then frowns after a moment. "The loss of Protectorate Island means we don't have anything on-hand right now, and I'm waiting on some requests to pull materials from New York and Boston. Why?"
You grin.
***
Kid Win, Armsmaster, and a screen projecting Dragon's wireframe head look on as you disgorge the severed parts of the drones you absorbed earlier while following Chevalier's rampage: four birds, two cats, two dogs, an octopus, and three chunks of a massive robotic bull that had nearly tagged your invisible form with its laser eyes. The mangled robots clatter loudly to the floor of the large Dragon-craft, which has a fully-stocked Tinker workshop in its cargo bay just for situations like this.
Enjoying their expressions - well, Kid Win's at least, as Armsmaster is just as focused as ever - you extrude the item that should hopefully make things easier for the Tinker group. You had only grabbed it on impulse as you fled the Tinkertech Labs, but your instincts have paid off once again.
Dragon hums in recognition, but Armsmaster finally breaks down after a few seconds and snorts in disbelief.
"A wicker patio chair, Weaver?"
"Not just any wicker patio chair. Do you remember WCM?"
His head tilts up, and from his silence you gather he's interacting with his own helmet's HUD. After a few seconds, he nods. "Villain from Atlanta. Technopath that commissioned Toybox projects. Died to Behemoth in Brockton Bay. This was the throne her records mention?"
You nod, sitting down in it - a tight fit with your suit, but the chair only groans lightly at your armored weight of over six-hundred pounds. With a few taps on the armrests, they both slide down to reveal fantastically-complicated bits of Tinkertech.
"On the left," you begin, watching the two grown boys in front of you twitch in curiosity and eagerness, "a holographic workstation, with wireless and satellite connections as well as extendible universal connectors."
With a few hand gestures, you cycle the multiple holographic displays and keyboards to life, disable WCM's security features - which you know perfectly now, thanks to Technomorphic Integration Engine - and then put the system to sleep again. Tapping the right armrest, a box the size of a small microwave extends up from the armrest and dings with the sound of a toaster oven finishing. You slide down the faceplate of the device, then take out its contents: a platter of warm tea and biscuits.
Armsmaster sighs, Dragon giggles lightly, and Kid Win covers his faceplate with his glove.
"Really, Taylor?" the younger Tinker groans, "a tea dispenser?"
You absorb your helmet, drain the tea in one gulp, and then wolf down the biscuit before extruding your helmet again. You're pleasantly surprised by the quality, but coffee is more efficient as an energizing drink. The biscuit wasn't half-bad, at least.
As your HUD re-initializes, Dragon's wireframe face gives you a put-upon stare. "Be glad no one from PR saw you, Taylor. You would no longer be welcome in England for drinking tea like that."
Rolling your eyes, you stand up and have the two boys follow you around to the back of the chair, where pressing a hidden series of keys causes a large panel to slide open in the wicker facade. Inside is a device that looks akin to a kitchen garbage compactor - which you pull open to reveal a multi-colored mush of material. You drop the platter and teacup into the mush, then let the lid snap closed. Armsmaster is first on the pick-up, though Dragon obviously knows all about the device already.
"A replicator? I thought Rubix didn't sell those to villains."
You shrug, not aware of that history but filing it away for later. "It's not perfect, and WCM only programmed in a few food and drinks into it. You can add more designs by putting things in the armrest dispenser, but it drains the reactor quickly if you put something complicated in there. Still, it should serve as a good stand-in for me if you need to replicate a bunch of parts quickly - just be sure to put in the necessary materials into this bank here."
Armsmaster harumphs while Kid Win seems to be contemplating something, but the older Tinker finally shakes his head and waves a hand the chair - its form clearly offending his minimalist sensibilities.
"Is it still capable of flight and projecting a shield? Those were the main features on her PRT report."
Kid Win perks up at the question, but Armsmaster shoots him a glance that makes the younger Tinker sigh in admission. You raise a hidden eyebrow at the byplay, but you suppose the two have worked together long enough before the transfer to Philadelphia to still have each others' numbers. As Armsmaster turns back to you, you nod in agreement.
"All controlled by the computers in the left armrest. It's not too complicated, but I haven't actually flown it myself."
"Alright, then," Armsmaster begins, turning back towards the pile of parts you dumped on the aircraft bay floor earlier. "We need to get to work on-"
Dragon cuts in through the aircraft's PA, though her voice is heavy with trepidation. "Weaver, I've been told you need to check in with Chevalier. He's waiting for you in the warehouse office."
You see a line of tension run across Armsmaster's jaw for a moment as he stops in his tracks, but then the moment is gone and he's pacing away from you. Kid Win shoots a worried glance at his back, then looks to you.
"Are you going to be coming back, Taylor?"
You open your mouth to reply, but only end up yawning. Dragon's avatar in your HUD gives you a stern look, but you ignore it.
"Hopefully. I still need to get Wyld to rebuild my leg, but I'll try to be back before long."
"Your leg?" he asks, tiling his head, looking at your dangling limbs as you float just off the ground. "Is it… your right one? What's wrong with it?"
You sigh, figuring that any excuse you give him means he'll just ask Dragon for the truth after you leave. "The Siberian cut it off with her hair. I already fixed the armor, but there's no leg inside."
You punctuate the statement by knocking on where your thigh should be, though your suit's construction doesn't give you the hollow ringing you were hoping to evoke with the action. Kid Win still freaks out, though, babbling and condolences and fidgeting uncomfortably.
Sighing, you shake your head while letting his words roll over you. You don't have time for this.
Shoving a new application of Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade into his head via one of the bugs you've placed on his armor, your anima explodes into full totemic majesty - filling the space behind you with lightning-infused smoke and the menacing Design Weaver.
"I'm fine," you grind out in a mechanical growl, "but Chris, you need to focus. You're the only Tinker that's been in the Twins' dimension, so you're our best hope for getting their signature right for the dimensional anchor. We need that if we want to have any hope of saving Sakura and Saki."
Kid Win jerks back - half because of your anima and half because of the sudden application of your charm - but otherwise remains silent in shock. Armsmaster has turned back to watch you, frowning in thought, but you ignore him for now.
After a few seconds, the Design Weaver in your anima disperses and the severity of your anima fades slightly. Kid Win remains silent for several seconds more, but eventually sighs and nods in agreement.
"I'll see what I can do."
"No, Chris," you growl, floating forward and grabbing his shoulders, "you can do this. You will do this. We cannot fail them, so we won't. Do you understand?"
"I-I-" he stammers mechanically, before you hear his mouth click shut behind his helmet and he stills. After a few heartbeats, you feel his shoulders square under your armored grip and he nods again - this time with the finality you are looking for.
"You can count on me."
***
You made sure to leave Armsmaster with his own application of Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade, which was finally enough to get a ghost of a smile out of the determined Tinker. You keep enough insects in the aircraft's bay to monitor their progress, but so far the three Tinkers appear to be making headway into a device that can lock down an area and prevent the Twins from teleporting in or out; the hope being that enough of the devices can be made to cover the PRT headquarters, hospitals, and shelters going up around the city, as well as prevent the Slaughterhouse Nine from fleeing a fight with your friends in tow.
Who catches back up to you as you leave the Dragon-craft, having spent the time learning how to fly around with Suzy - specifically, how to buzz over people's heads while her power is active. You had to take control the first few times to prevent some collisions, but both of them are quick learners.
As you float into the office where you are to meet Chevalier - Who riding Suzy behind you silently - Miss Militia and Inquisition are also waiting for you. Rounding out the group is a moderately-attractive, college-aged woman with died blue hair and a hopeful - if somewhat tired - smile.
"Weaver," Chevalier greets with a raised hand, raising his voice to speak over the sound of tortured wails echoing from your armor, "thank you for coming. I know you want to help out the other Tinkers, but Director Uriel, Narwhal and I feel that you and Inquisition can be of more use here trying to pinpoint Slaughterhouse Nine strategies, tactics, and ways to better organize our relief efforts."
Inquisition has not moved a muscle since you floated in, though from her posture and the slant of her mask's glowing purple eyes she appears to be looking… down? Maybe at the droplets of soulsteel leaking from your armo- oh. This might be bad.
"We understand the two of you have history," Chevalier continues, glancing at Miss Militia who nods in response, "but you were able to work together for Behemoth, and this situation is no less serious. I trust this is not going to be an issue?"
"No, sir," you respond quickly, shaking your head. Inquisition is silent for a long moment, drawing the group's attention to her, before she jerks with a pained hiss and holds a hand up to her silver-leaf helmet.
"Just…" the teen Thinker grinds out, sighing away the pain while her glowing eyes wince shut, "don't leave me alone with her, alright? It hurts just to even look in her direction when she's like this."
Miss Militia scowls at Inquisition's attitude, but Chevalier audibly sighs and looks back to you.
"Why don't you have your disguise active, Weaver?"
"I've been extruding the drones I absorbed for the Tinkers to use as raw materials, as well as handing out applications of my Thinker boost. My anima is going to take at least an hour to disperse to a level where I can activate my disguise."
He hums in thought for a moment, then casts a glance at Inquisition.
"Will Weaver's Thinker boost help your headaches?"
"No!" she yelps, jerking away like she'd been shot and holding her hands up defensively. "No, that's alright! I'll be fine, just- just have Chambers here work as our go-between, alright?"
It doesn't take your HUD pinging 'Lie' to know that reaction is anything but a sign that the teen Thinker is fine, and your eyes narrow in suspicion. There's clearly a story going on here, as Tattletale seemed to relish your Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade when you gave it to her during the Behemoth attack, so what changed between then and now?
"You're the first person to ever turn Weaver's Thinker boost down, Inquisition," Miss Militia replies evenly, an eyebrow arched in curiosity. "Is there something we should know?"
Inquisition growls in a way that makes you think she is only barely holding her tongue back, then grips her head again and turns away from the group completely. "Fuck! Look, if you want my help then just keep the soulsteel from screwing with my head any more. Chambers, I'll be over here in this cubicle when you're ready to start being useful."
The college girl wilts slightly, though still manages to keep a semblance of a smile on her face while she offers a nervous giggle. Turning back from the departing Thinker, she holds the thick reams of paper in her arms to her PRT uniform's chest to allow her a free hand - which she uses to offer for a hand-shake.
"A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Weaver. I'm Kaylee Chambers, and Director Uriel assigned me to be your Liason Officer for now. It's not standard protocol for a Ward to receive one, but the Director told me you had been authorized for Protectorate-level clearance as long as the Slaughterhouse Nine are in the area."
You take Kaylee's hand and give it a polite shake with your armored gauntlet, your other minds re-evaluating Director Uriel's competency.
"Thank you, Kaylee. Actually," you wonder aloud, turning your head to address Chevalier and Miss Militia as well, "where is Director Uriel?"
Chevalier shakes his head, his voice somber as he crosses his arms over his armored chest.
"The PRT still has to maintain the appearance of control over the situation, so Director Uriel is going to remain in the Downtown headquarters. He's already made a few public appearences to the crowd that's constantly there, but… well, he knows that most PRT Directors don't survive Slaughterhouse Nine attacks. Director Samson is already proof of that."
Your minds take a few moments to process that, allowing an awkward silence to hang over your group. Finally, you turn back to Kaylee and let your handshake drop.
"Kaylee, let's get started. We're going to make sure Uriel beats the odds."
***
By the time ten o'clock rolls around, a number of facts about your situation have become clear:
First, the Slaughterhouse Nine are still conforming to most of their standard behaviors thus far. With little-to-no way to stop teleportation or space-warped incursions, there is very little that can be done to stop them at the moment… but yet they have kept to their usual pattern of allowing the defenders in a city time to rest after each attack. Inquisition expects that they won't resume activity until at least daybreak, so for the moment tension levels in the command shelter are at a low simmer.
Second, the PRT is resolved to pour more resources towards this fight against the Nine than ever before, due in no small part to the threat posed by a Slaughterhouse Nine with the potential to teleport around the world at will. As a result, both Legend and Alexandria will be in the area for the duration of the Nine's stay, with Eidolon possibly joining as well if he is able to deal with the Three Blasphemies rampage that is on-going in Africa.
Third, the city is largely in chaos. Residential and commercial streets all across both cities are mined at random points (with bombs that completely obliterate the road in some exotic fashion), power and water are out in most residential areas, and every local cell tower and internet hub needs some form of repair after Shatterbird's Scream. Thankfully, tonight is a balmy fifty-five degrees with only light humidity, but the weather is expected to take a turn for the worse tomorrow when a light rainstorm rolls.
Fourth, Inquisition is terrified of you to the point of wrapping all the way around again to anger. While she refuses to talk to you directly during your two hours of collaboration, the insects you have monitoring her pick up her scribbled notes on the side letting you know she "wants nothing to do with your dark god." Worse, when Who tries to get her to lay off of you, Inquisition freaks out and tries to convince Who not to let you "kill her." Who quickly wipes the conversation by asserting her power again, but Who is clearly shaken up by the desperate plea and leaves to go spend some time flying around with Suzy.
Fifth, Kaylee Chambers is Glenn Chambers' daughter, by way of an accident in college. She prefers the Human Resources and administrative side of the PRT, but she transferred to Philadelphia on Friday; Director Uriel was going to assign her to you after your imprisonment, but things haven't gone according to plan lately.
Also, Kaylee talks far, far too much.
"Inquisition said she's at her limit and is going to go find a place to-"
"Yes," you sigh, for what feels like the hundredth time. "I heard her as she walked out. Thank you, Kaylee." You're not quite sure how she can maintain a positive attitude when you and Inquisition are passing notes about plagues, bombs, ambushes, and casualty statistics in the tens of thousands, but she hasn't flagged so far. Perhaps you can get Wyld to scan her, to see if she can boost other people with that kind of boundless energy?
Unperturbed, Kaylee nods in satisfaction.
"Well, I've received a message from Director Uriel stating in no uncertain terms that you are to sleep tonight. Both Dragon and Legend have also sent me messages telling me the same thing."
You level an exasperated glare at the wireframe avatar on your HUD, which only causes it to roll its eyes.
"I know you didn't sleep last night, Taylor," Dragon quips in your helmet. "And after what you've been through today, you need it. In fact, I've already called Wyld to make sure she helps knock you out - just in case you have trouble sleeping after…"
Dragon trails off, her gaze drooping at the reminder of what you've witnessed in the past twenty-four hours.
"Fine," you say aloud to both Dragon and Kaylee, generating smiles on both of their faces. "Is Wyld still in the medical tents?"
Kaylee opens her mouth, but Dragon's voice crackles through her tablet computer before she can say anything.
"Yes, Weaver, Wyld should be in the medical tents right now. Ms. Chambers, I recommend you make use of the time to get some sleep as well."
The blue-haired LNO purses her lips for a second, then nods. "After I drop off these notes to Chevalier and Legend, Ms. Dragon. Will there be anything else, Ms. Weaver?"
Extruding your armor - having kept your helmet out while you worked in the comfort of one of the plush office chairs - you float a foot off the ground before turning back and nodding.
"I'm glad Assault and Battery transferred over to the Brockton Bay refugee camp, but the timing feels… too coincidental. Could you ask Director Uriel about that tomorrow morning, since he would have had to approve the transfer?"
"Of course, Ms. Weaver," Kaylee smiles, tapping away with her right hand while cradling the tablet in her left arm. "Anything else?"
"No, that's it, Kaylee. Thanks again for taking the plans to Chevalier."
"No problem! Good luck with your leg!"
You nod at Kaylee's enthusiastic farewell, then glide out the door, over the railway, and down to the warehouse floor. The central warehouse is now filling up with PRT vans and officers, as well as dozens of cars and trucks being worked on to serve as civilian transportation. Clusters of refugees are also being scanned and processed before being admitted to the medical tents - a precaution you and Inquisition insisted upon despite the clamor it's causing. No one has been found to have any implants or bombs, but you suspect that trend will be broken some time this week.
As you float out and then accelerate towards the medical tents, you observe how Alexandria and the other Brutes have piled up the shipping containers that were previously stacked in the area; instead of rows of containers up to five tall, they are instead assembled in boxed-off sections with only one pathway between each of the six large tents. The outer perimeter surrounding the complex is four trailers wide, allowing for plenty of PRT officers to patrol the improvised battlements while not making it nearly impossible for anyone to sneak over the edge without being noticed. There is still plenty of room for expansion, as more and more civilians are expected to pour in over the week, but right now the shelter is already housing over a thousand civilians - most of that overflow from the downtown hospital.
Flying over the tops of the tents, Who and Suzy briefly come into your range high above you but then pass back out. Accelerating, you catch the two of them again and take control of Suzy to bring her down closer to the ground.
Who greets you with a wave of a hand and a casual air, but you can see some hesitation in the movement.
"What's up?"
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah," she shrugs, "just working on getting used to Suzy. Needed to get away before I cut that bitch."
Your HUD pings the statement as a lie, but you let it slide for now.
"It's alright. We managed to get some work done on strategies for each of the Nine, which areas of the city they're most likely to hit next, and what the teams should be for when we move out."
"I'm with you, right?" she asks, a little too quickly.
You pause, trying to figure out a delicate way to put this.
"Actually, the Wards are being kept here at the shelter to make sure we have firepower in reserve. Besides, as long as they still have Hatchet Face and Bezalel's drones, there's too great a chance for them to get through your power."
"Oh. Well, that sucks," she grouses, "fuck those drones."
You shrug, opting not to mention the fact that you technically don't count as a Ward at the moment and will be leading the search against the Siberian tomorrow.
"Suzy's getting hungry," you point out, motioning to the motorcycle-sized bug. "Go ahead and land, and I'll gather up a swarm to feed her. I'm going to bed soon, anyway, and you should too - the Nine are probably going to do something tomorrow morning, so it's best to get some rest."
Who rubs the slick black carapace near Suzy's head, patting the space between the two horns that double as handlebars. "Awww, what's a hungry bug? You're a hungry bug, aren't you?"
Rolling your eyes and sparing a chuckle, you wave goodbye and pilot Suzy down to a clearing outside one of the tents where the other Wards are staying. You feel bad about not speaking to them after what you experienced today, but your swarm has seen how busy they've been kept since they arrived in the shelter - moving supplies, helping civilians reunite with family members, doing all the public outreach tasks that Wards are supposed to do.
Better that you're being treated like a Protectorate member now. You never really were a Ward, anyway.
Floating down into the medical tent, it takes you a few seconds to reach Wyld as she strides through the tent - three vine-like tentacles unfurled from each outstretched arm, each resting on a sleeping patient for a few moments before lifting off and moving to another. Hanging off her shoulders is a leafy, backpack-like sack of fluid that twitches slightly each time she touches someone.
"You're not asking for their permission?"
Wyld halts mid-step, her six vines finishing on their current patients before shrinking back to disappear into the tracings of her plant armor. That done, she turns slowly to face your floating form.
"Everyone that's admitted signs a release form," the bio-Striker admits casually, though you detect an undercurrent of… disdain? "Unless they are unconscious, of course. Either way, I don't have to wait around."
You hum in consideration, then motion with a hand at her backpack.
"Have you thought about extending a vine and let anyone who wants to just grab it for healing?"
Wyld perks up slightly, crossing her arms and narrowing her glowing eyes in thought.
"I can do that with lower-form organisms, but the bigger and more complex bodies get the harder it is to keep track of all the information without switching things around. Your boosting power is amazing for helping with that, but even with it I don't think I could handle more than six people at once."
"What about those pods with the goo in them?"
"Oh! I was just trying to copy those healing tanks from sci-fi movies, but I only ended up giving a bunch of rats cancer if I didn't customize the broth to each one individually. At that point, it's easier just to do what I'm doing now."
You remain silent in contemplation of her experimentation, but Wyld quickly brings up her hand to dismiss the thought.
"Oh, no, I fixed the rats. Well, I mean, until I- uh…" she trails off, suddenly looking nervous about her surroundings. "Can we talk somewhere else?"
"Actually, I was wondering if you had the time to heal my leg now. Is there somewhere we can-"
"Yes!" she agrees, with enough enthusiasm. "There are private beds set up for capes. Do you want to go now?"
"S-sure," you mumble, letting her take you by the hand and lead you over to the cape-reserved tent. It's not yet secure as the ones in the Brockton Bay refugee camp, so you've had dozens of insects placed strategically throughout the tent for a while now, but there's no one else in the tent at the moment.
You opt to take the middle-most bed, with its back in the direction of the other tents - just to be on the safe side - though you don't say as much to Wyld as you drop down to the floor within the curtained-off area.
The skip in Wyld's step is making your heart beat a little faster than normal, and your minds are starting to plot out escape routes and ways to take down the bio-Striker should things get a little too Penny. Should you get Skein over here?
Resigning yourself to the rollercoaster that is your life, you extrude a set of spidersilk shorts and t-shirt - made last week through your spiders, so not quite as good as your hand-crafted works - and then absorb your armor. As it folds up into compartments all across your body, you plop down on the bed with your leg and stump hanging off.
"Oh, my," Wyld gasps, not yet touching your Alchemical form's skin but instead leaning down to examine your amputated leg - and all the exposed networks of magical materials that make up your skin, muscles, bones, and charms. "I didn't get a good look at it before, but… I'm sorry, it's just so different than anything-"
"It's fine."
"Does- does it hurt?"
"Well, now that you've reminded me about it," you grit out, feeling the spike of associated pain that you had previously pushed out of your head and causing your eyes to blur. "Yes, it stings a bit."
Wyld's left hand reaches out, and you see the plant-armor gauntlet pull away to expose her lightly-tanned skin. Just before she touches your thigh above where the leg was amputated, her eyes dart up to meet yours.
"M-may I?"
Your eyes are closed and teeth gritted, so you just nod, deactivating Industrial Survival Frame in the same motion.
Her hand is warm on your skin, but you don't feel anything beyond that for several long, quiet moments. Wyld herself is stock-still, her glowing green eyes wide since the moment of contact, but eventually you hear her sigh in confusion.
"It's just… I can't… what are-? AH!"
With a scalding yell, Wyld yanks her hand back as if burned. The motion causes her to fall backward from her awkward forward-lean, resulting in her landing hard on her rear with a dull thud on the sanitized mat.
"Wyld?" you ask, trying to keep some surprise in your voice, even though there are a number of things in your body that could cause that kind of reaction.
"Wh-what was that?!"
"What was what?"
"I don't know!" she exclaims, waving her arms in exasperation towards your stump of a leg. "I was trying to figure out what you are made of, to see if I could replicate it! I was starting with your skin, which I think is some sort of clay-metal hybrid mesh, but then I just… it hurt me!"
You do your best to not let your worry show about Wyld trying to deduce the workings of soulsteel, opting instead to take a different route.
"What did you do when you healed me after Behemoth?"
"I-" she starts, before forcefully taking a long, deep breath to stop her hyperventilation. "All I did then was reconnect the pieces. That normally shouldn't work, but I can't- there's too much information in… whatever you're built out of."
You open your eyes, as the pain has mostly subsided for now, and cock an eyebrow as Wyld gathers her thoughts.
"It's the feeling you get when you're walking into the water on the beach. At a certain point, the water starts to get up near your neck and your head, and you can't see the bottom anymore. It feels like there should be ground when you take your next step, but then all of a sudden… it's like I stepped over a ledge."
"Ah," you say, eloquently. "Yeah."
Wyld's glowing green eyes blink owlishly as she tries to parse your detailed response. You hear her start to take a breath to respond, but hold up a hand before she can speak.
"It's ok. I didn't think this would work. Let me… try something."
Closing your eyes, you begin working through some breath exercises to prepare yourself mentally for this next step - not that the act will be strenuous, but rather you will be placing yourself at more risk than you would normally allow.
You'll just have to trust in your allies.
One by one you deactivate all your applications of Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade. Wyld gasps in shock as you save hers for last, but then you feel the sparking current of electricity near the base of your skull finally subside. With that done, you gather up your will and struggle mentally for a few moments with your Shard of Perfect Administration, letting out your breath in a woosh of air as it finally slams closed - and then nearly fall over as your world narrows down to just your tiny, miniscule perspective.
How long had it been since you last turned it off? Weeks? A month? You're not sure if you ever felt so… incomplete without it active before, even though you consciously recognize that as an unhealthy train of thought.
"Taylor! Are you alright? What happened?"
"Ah-" you try, struggling to get used to being in only one brain with only one consciousness again. "I'm fine, sorry. I just deactivated everything, since I think you were picking up on some of my active charms. I'm going to switch to my disguise now, then let's try that again."
Wyld simply nods, then slowly picks herself off the floor and brushes her armor off while you close your eyes and enable Integrated Artifact Transmogrifier and the Loom-Server Migration sub-module. You feel your body shift and hum as your body transforms into a perfect simulacrum of a human being, the sensation never quite growing old despite how many times you've done it before.
"Alright, try again."
Wyld doesn't move, and from her posture it seems she was watching your stump during the transition. Without your insects around you weren't able to see it happen, but it must have looked suitably bizarre as your metallic, crystalline, and clay components transformed to bone, sinew, blood, and flesh.
"O-ok. If you say so."
Once again Wyld places her hand on your thigh, but this time you see her glowing eyes blink in surprise. You hear her breathing even out over the next few moments, until you finally hear her mumble to herself.
"Alive... "
You remain quiet, giving her all the time she needs for now - you don't feel any changes happening, so for now you're content to let Wyld have her moment of universal understanding.
After what feels like five minutes of Wyld simply standing still and breathing lightly, she twitches and blinks her eyes rapidly.
"T-Taylor! You're alive!"
You nod your head slowly, hoping you didn't just fry Wyld's brain.
"Yes. I am alive. Are you alive, Amelia?"
Still keeping her left hand on your leg, Wyld gestures at the rest of your body with frantic excitement while trying to give you an eager stare through her helmet.
"No! I mean, yes, I'm alive, but not like you! You're not like everyone else, just a bag of meat and bones and chemicals bumping around! You're… real! You look like you're made of what everyone else is made of, but then I keep trying to dive deeper and deeper and it's… there's just so much potential!"
By now Wyld is practically jumping around, her left hand locked to your thigh in a way that is now growing distinctly painful.
"Uh, Wyld?"
"That's what I was getting from your bugs, and why they didn't feel the same as the ones I used in my Garden! Somehow you're passing… no, I was seeing you!"
"Wyld!"
The manic bio-Striker jerks to halt, the act nearly bringing tears to your eyes as you try to grit through a smile.
"You-uh?"
"That… really hurts."
"Ohmygosh I'm so sorry!" she gasps, sliding back so that she is up against the bed where you are now laying down in pain. "Here, I'm going to try to heal you now! Let me know how that feels?"
You just nod, not trusting your voice any longer, and watch as a much thicker, hose-like vine grows from the pack of goo on her back and slithers down to meet where her hand is on your thigh. Almost instantly you feel the pain disappear, only to be replaced with a light tingling sensation that reminds you of the times your foot or leg fell asleep. It's not the painful, but rather it's almost as if your leg is there but also… not there. A phantom limb inside your actual limb.
The process takes all of ten seconds, but as Wyld releases her grip on your leg and pulls away, the sensation doesn't fade. Frowning, you test your new leg by flexing it and wiggling your toes.
"Is everything alright?" Wyld asks tentatively, "I tried to build it using the template from your other leg, but I don't know how to make it… whatever you are."
"It's good, just… it's weird. Like it's not really a part of me. It's somewhat like what I expected to happen, but not exactly."
The verdant, glowing eyes of Wyld's mask narrow in what must be a frown of concern or thought. "Not exactly? What do you mean?"
"Well, when I figured one of a few things would happen. Either you wouldn't be able to heal me at all, this would happen, or it'd work perfectly. The first possibility was low, since you were able to heal my jaw, my burns, and my broken bones, but as you said before, those were just putting things back together. The third option would have been great, and we'd be having a much different conversation right now if that had happened, but it didn't. As for the second… well, I figured it would be like what happens when I eat."
At Wyld's blank, luminescent stare, you motion to your leg and nod.
"I'm not just made of different stuff, I actually run on completely different physics than normal matter and energy. I think what you're seeing is part of that when you start diving in the deep end with your power, but I'm not sure. Either way, I'm still able to eat and drink normal food and convert it to my type of physics and matter, so I think I'll be able to do the same thing here. Just… probably a little slower than when I eat."
Wyld blinks a few times as you go through your theory, but remains quiet when you finish. Eventually, she looks back to your leg and pokes it with her left index finger.
"I… think I get it? I mean, I could probably just sit here all night trying to figure this out, but I think I'm starting to get a headache now."
You nod, having expected as much, but you manage to remember one of your thoughts from before just as Wyld is looking like she might be ready to leave you be.
"Actually, Wyld, I was wondering something. Have you ever thought about improving someone beyond the small tune-ups you do? Build muscle, reinforce bones, something like that."
The plant-armored bio-Striker slowly pulls her finger back from your leg, then clasps her hands together in a way you saw her do as Panacea during the attack.
"I'm… not really sure I'm comfortable with that yet. It's one thing for me to experiment on those bodies I build for Maestro or on smaller animals, but…"
She huffs and starts to pace a bit, her gaze focused on the floor.
"It's not like you're the first person to ask. My si-Vicky did a few times, and occasionally people I healed."
"But you never did?"
"No!" Wyld blurts out, but then immediately starts to fidget again. "I-I mean, not intentionally. I-I think I may have done it to Vicky on accident over the years. It's just… it's so hard not to."
You blink, the statement triggering a thought you had last night about the nature of parahuman powers, if yours and Marrow's Shard-based charms are any indication: that powers might, in fact, be large, interdimensional, and sentient.
It's not something you're going to be talking to anyone about right now, but Wyld just may have added more evidence to your pile.
"I only understand what I see, not what came before, and even just reading DNA for instructions doesn't get the same results! I could start changing you or someone else and not know how to get back!"
"That makes sense," you agree, nodding. "From everything my diagnostic sight tells me, I think you might even be rewriting DNA when you make changes - my sight would pick up if something was different than what it should be."
"W-wait, really?" Wyld balks, causing you to raise an eyebrow in curiosity.
"You didn't notice that?"
"No! Of course not! I-" she holds a hand to her head, lost in thought, "I would have seen if I was changing Vicky or not!"
"Can you make changes without rewriting DNA?"
"Yes? I mean, that's what I'm doing when I'm healing people."
Both of you are silent for a moment, your own lips pursed as you make the connection several seconds before Wyld does. Unfortunately, the realization is a crippling one.
"O-oh no. No," she mutters, shrinking in on herself. "I-I can't even-"
"Amelia! Stop!" you bark out, turning on the bed and grabbing her shoulder - desperate to stop this train of thought before Wyld collapses completely. "I watched you heal with my own sight. It was perfect. Have you ever heard of anyone having any problems from your healing?"
The question makes Wyld blink a few times, the glowing green eyes of her plant-based helmet flickering as she tries to dredge up the memories.
"I-I don't… I don't think so… but I-"
"No! Shut up!"
You pray to the Maker that Bladedancer's brand of pep-talks will work here, because you're not coming up with anything else.
So far so good, if the stunned, wide-eyes of Wyld's helmet are any indication.
"Are you human?"
"I-wha-?"
You grab her other shoulder, nearly shaking her with the act.
"I said, are you human?"
"Y-yes! Why-"
"Because if you're human, you are not perfect. Nobody is perfect. You have made mistakes. You will make more mistakes. But remember: you haven't hurt anyone."
You take your right hand off her shoulder and point it square in her face.
"Trust me, the PRT would have been on your case instantly if people started complaining about side-effects of your healing, and that didn't happen. So yes, there's a new quirk to your amazing, world-changing power. Who knows, maybe now that you know what to look for, you can even get around it! That's what being human means - figuring things out where things went wrong, then making things better!"
Your breath is heavy and hard after your tirade, while Wyld is still a deer-in-headlights under your firm grip. Eventually, you lower your finger but keep your glare going until you feel her twitch.
"I-"
"No," you lean back in her face, finger now jammed against her mask with your best glare going, "the next thing I better hear out of your mouth is, 'Yes, Taylor!'"
"Wh-"
"'YES. TAYLOR.'"
"YES, TAYLOR!" she finally squeaks, but you don't let up.
"'I am amazing, Taylor!'"
"I am amazing, Taylor!"
"'I am making the world a better place, Taylor!'"
"I am making the world a better place, Taylor!"
"'I am going to stop collecting pictures of you in swimsuits, Taylor!'"
"I am going to-eeep!"
You keep your eyes narrowed, despite the shrill squeal of embarrassment Wyld just made while locking up under your grip.
"Yes, I saw those magazines, Amelia," you growl, trying to sound menacing without actually being truly angry, "though the ones in Sabah room can be excused since it's her job. What were all those pictures and magazines doing in your Garden, then?"
You're sorely tempted to activate Mass-Penetrating Scan to see through her helmet, but doing so would break your disguise at this point. Still, you have a good enough imagination to figure out that she's probably the color of a tomato at this point.
You lean back, eyeing her imperiously for a few more moments before releasing your grip and relaxing with a snort of amusement - falling back into the bed as you do so.
"Oh, whatever," you sigh, managing a weary smile. "It's not like I shouldn't have expected anything less than being pinned up to every teenaged boy's bedroom wall. Serves me right for agreeing to those photo shoots."
A distinctly un-ladylike snort of laughter from Wyld is the start of a gradual escalation to full-blown laughter, which is contagious enough that you get swept up into giggling as well. After a minute or so of it, you slide your legs a bit to the side to give enough room for Wyld to sit up on the bed as well, which she manages with zero grace.
"Thanks, Taylor," she eventually sighs, the giggles finally having died down.
"I'm just glad that I didn't have to start slapping you," you admit, rolling your eyes, "since I'm pretty sure that would have ended poorly for everyone."
That just starts Wyld giggling again, so you close your eyes and relax.
"I'm sorry about asking you about modifications, anyway. I'm just a bit nervous about tomorrow. I think I know what to expect from the Siberian now, but she's out for my blood after I screwed her up with my anima."
"O-oh. Is that how you stopped her from chasing us?"
"Yeah. She even talked to me, called me a machine. Which is right, I guess, but not really the same."
"Y-you're not a machine, Taylor. You're a human."
You crack one eye open to see Wyld fidgeting with her hands in her lap on the side of the bed. Her helmet is down now, revealing her bushy, curly hair and freckled, mousy face as she gazes off to the side.
"Thank you, Amelia. But… I'm really not. Not anymore, at least. I am, quite literally, a machine. Case in point," you sigh, gesturing with your right hand to your bicep as you flex it, "no matter how much I work out or train, I will never gain an ounce of physical power. My body is locked until I can get to a complex that can rebuild my muscles to be… I'm not going to say it."
"Huh?"
"It's an old TV show from before Scion-"
"No-" Amelia frowns, concentrating on a thought, "a TV show? What does… nevermind, you mean all that training the Wards have to do won't help you at all?"
You bob your head from side to side for a bit, weighing the question before wincing. "Not really. I can train my skills - my mind, really - but I won't get stronger or more dextrous. Software yes, hardware no."
From her incredulous expression, Amelia isn't believing this one bit. She turns, bringing her right knee up on the bed as she fixes you with a skeptical gaze. "But brains are hardware. It's just neuron pathways being reinforced each time the brain processes an action or sensation."
"I… think I've heard of that, but no, that's not-" you begin warily, before sighing and shaking your head. "Look, do you remember how I said I run on different physics and matter?"
She nods, still not quite where this is going.
"Well, I actually have this… well, let's call it a phased organ that regulates my consciousness and sense of self. It's like another brain, really, except it actually keeps logs of my past states so that it can compare and contrast to detect changes that are both good and bad. My actual, physical brain in my normal body acts more like a tool for raw processing power, where the phased organ regulates my actual identity."
"O-oh," Amelia blinks, looking away for a moment to process that. After nearly half a minute, she finally turns back with a more thoughtful expression. "Do you know what the organ's called? Maybe there's a way I can try to replicate one if I could figure out how to identify it."
Your eyes widen at that very dangerous line of thought, so you hold your hands up to ward it off. Still, you're pretty sure of what her reaction is going to be to your next answer.
"W-Well, it's got a few different names, actually, but…" you try to smile, but it comes out more like a wince, "I guess you could call it a 'soul'?"
Her face drops into a blank, flat stare fast enough to make you think it'll stick that way.
"A soul? Really, Taylor?"
"Ah!" you counter, pointing a finger with rising indignation, "don't give me that. I'll have you know that where this body comes from, souls are actually tangible things. It's actually what in this big diamond in my head," you proclaim, pointing to the soulgem you've extruded from your forehead, "see?"
Amelia closes her eyes, takes a deep, long breath, then lets it out through her mouth - slowly - as she pinches the bridge of her nose. After finishing her world-weary sigh, she shakes her head.
"And just when I was starting to think you were normal. Honestly."
You just cross your arms and fall back to the tilted bed, pouting with mock-seriousness. "Hmph. Heathen."
This elicits a snort of laughter from Amelia, eventually leading to a short round of giggles between the two of you.
The tent grows quiet afterwards, Amelia looking off into space while you start to feel sleep overtake you. Just as you feel the black creeping into your vision, she turns back with a pensive expression.
"Do you really want me to try?"
You almost lose consciousness, but the effort of parsing the question manages to rescue you. Blinking away the drowsiness, you nod. "If you're up for it. Even the littlest bit may make the difference."
"I'm not going to make you into Marrow, you know," she sighs through pursed lips. "Since you need speed against the Siberian, I'll just try to reinforce the nerve connections to your fast-twitch muscle groups, and…"
You smile, not quite grasping her terminology as she goes into more detail, but you try to memorize it for future research.
"... and I'll work one part of your body at a time, so that I know what I've changed and how to go back if I mess up."
"Good idea. Do you want me to scan while you work?"
Amelia purses her lips again in thought, then shakes her head.
"No, if I'm working on your nerves then I need you to be out - too much chance that when I'm changing things you flex on instinct and I lose track. This is going to take me a while, too, and I'm pretty sure I saw you passing out back there."
"I don't know what you're talking about," you try to say, but unconsciousness has already claimed you.
***
A sudden, loud explosion rips the cobwebs from your mind as you jolt up out of bed...
… and nearly crush your own rib cage with your knees in the process.
You let out a hard, adrenaline-hastened breath as your mind finishes bringing you to the waking world, then hop out of bed with more spring in your step than you've ever had before. Were it not for the thunderous bang you just heard, you be jumping for joy right now.
Discarding your mortal disguise you reactivate your full suite of standard charms in a massive deluge of essence from your periperal reserve. As smoke blasts out from your shoulders and the Design Weaver of your anima screams in challenge, you feel your body shimmer from Industrial Survival Frame, your mind multiply from Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade, and expand beyond your single form through Shard of Perfect Administration - the latter of which reveals the scene around you in the morning daylight.
It takes you less than a second to process what you're seeing, but the sensation that hits your nose at the same time is faster than that.
Your eyes burn with liquid silver, your sinuses explode in pain, and you - like everyone else in you can see - collapse to the ground while trying to throw up everything you've ever eaten.
***
EOA - Wounds: None EOA - Ailments: None EOA - Current Clarity: 1 (No effect)
EOA - Intimacy: Wyld/Amelia (Working Friendship) [1/4] EOA - Intimacy: Inquisition/Lisa (Restrained Frustration) [1/4] FPoP - Intimacy: Willow (Sympathetic Respect) [1/3]
EOA - Athletics ●●●●● GAINED! EOA - Investigation (Reading People ●●○) NOW AVAILABLE! EOA - Integrity +1 Training Interval (2/6 Intervals) EOA - Medicine +1 Training Interval (1/6 Intervals) EOA - Survival +1 Training Interval (2/6 Intervals) EOA - Survival (Swarms ●●○) NOW AVAILABLE! FPoP - Craft +1 Training Interval (1/6 Intervals) FPoP - Dodge +1 Training Interval (5/6 Intervals) FPoP - Occult +1 Training Interval (2/6 Intervals)
Hard to think it's been a year, really. A little over 460,000 words written for this quest just in the story updates, not counting all the work done for the Index and all the out-of-update clarifications, rules, and voting tallies - easily over 600k when counting those. I'm not sure I'll be able to match that for this next year, but I'm not giving up yet! I wanna see this thing through as much as you folk do!
The day after your tenth birthday, your mother and father took you to an animal shelter after relenting to your month-long declarations that you needed a kitten. Your father checked around with the other Dockworkers and heard that one of the shelters near the Market offered much lower rates than other pounds and shelters - low enough that it wouldn't break your parents' dwindling bank account. Upon your family's arrival, however, it became clear why the rates were so low.
Decaying meat. Diseased urine and feces. Acidic vomit. Pungent sweat and dander from dozens of breeds and species.
You hadn't even made it ten steps inside the lobby before the wall of horrific odors had made your younger self vomit and weep in misery, forcing your parents to hustle back to the car with apologies to both you and the irate shelter attendant. You hadn't quite been able to comprehend the magnitude of abuse and neglect those odors had implied, so your developing mind had suppressed the experience... along with any desire for a kitten, after your mind associated that kind of smell with pet ownership.
Here and now, the weaponized stench that just overtook your nose makes that old, half-remembered odor seem like a bouquet of freshly-cut roses.
The bland, PRT-provided MRE bars that you snacked on last night are already long-digested, otherwise they'd be splattered on the tarp-covered floor at your feet. Though your minds are all dizzy from the sensory shock, your swarm can see the hundreds of civilians and PRT agents around the shelter are similarly disabled - even the PRT officers wearing full-coverage helmets.
Off on the far side of the refugee tent collection, your swarm notices an explosion of white light, streaked with hints of purple, erupt into the morning skyline. A crystalline moon backlit by a sea of geometrically-spaced stars manifests from the lightshow, but the image fades back into the brilliant colored streamers after a few seconds.
Well, First Prayer of Perfection is certainly awake now, at least.
Judging by her essence expenditure, as well as a lack of anything exploding in that general direction, the lightshow is most likely due to the reactivation of some of her charms. Perhaps her healing one? She did say it felt like having tiny spiders crawling under her skin while it was on… which is probably accurate, if the charm continuously operates like it did during yesterday's demonstration. Still, the rate at which it healed her wounds effectively makes her a high-level regenerator, so the two of you had agreed that it would be wise to keep it running during combat situations; better to have it on and not need it, rather than need it and lack the essence to activate it.
Back at your body, your armor finally finishes extruding - four seconds feeling like an eternity right now - but even as the suit's airtight seals lock into place and the air scrubbers kick in, the force of the stench doesn't abate. With your deactivation of your Integrated Artifact Transmogrifier charm you shouldn't even need to breathe in your Alchemical form, so it's becoming clear that the odor behaves more like radiation than any normal, air-delivered particulate.
Grinding your teeth hard enough to generate a creaking noise in your jaw, you push your minds out - out to the carrion insects that find this overpowering stench appetizing. You've never quite been able to fully disconnect your mind(s) from your body's senses, as your Shard of Perfect Administration's multi-tasking abilities make it all too easy to keep track of everything, but after several seconds of wallowing in the way the insects are enjoying the "heady" aroma, you finally find the strength to get up off your knees - just as your suit's HUD finally finishes booting up completely.
Engaging your most basic flight mode so as to avoid straining your trembling legs, it only takes you a few moments to float out of the medical tent and into the chaos: civilians, PRT workers, PRT officers, even Clockblocker in his airtight suit, are all groaning, wailing, and clawing at their faces as they roll on the ground. If the Slaughterhouse Nine wanted an opening, you can't think of a better-
"Jamming cleared, resuming tactical announcements," murmurs the red wireframe female avatar in your helmet's HUD, your chosen representation for low-complexity AI Dragon uses to monitor the Endbringer Armband network. Dragon's own avatar, which you've moved to sit below, still has her eyes closed; a sure sign that Dragon has uploaded herself to the humanoid Dragonsuit deployed to Philadelphia.
At the same time as the announcement, the transparent minimap of Philadelphia across the right side of your HUD bursts to life; the mix of blue (PRT) and green (allied gang) dots suddenly drowned out by clusters of red dots.
Privy as you are to the admin-level of the Armband network, your radio similarly explodes with the chaos of dozens of requests and announcements - a deluge that Dragon and the Armband AI would normally pare down to something manageable by human minds...
***
Bulldozer's gravelly baritone, laced with disgust and contempt.
"-ilians are swarming the hospital. I repeat, dozens of infected civilians are swarming the hospit-"
Inquisition's clipped mezzo-soprano, all traces of her snark replaced by a kind of distracted frustration.
"-saw and Burnscar, with at least three dozen - no, forty-six - modified civilians that are infected with-"
Narwhal's no-nonsense contralto, clipped and breathless indicating she is on the move.
"-ing Castle compromised, explosions inside. Shatterbird and Breakdown engaged, no sign of Jack-"
Director Uriel's bored monotone replaced by a determined growl.
"-nnequin is inside the building, Dragon and Armsmaster enga-"
***
For several long minutes you let your minds piece through the scattered reports from capes and PRT agents alike, collecting the dozens of snippets and exclamations to stitch together what's going on across the city. So far, things are going mostly how you and Inquisition expected and planned for:
Boulder Builder mountain being targeted by Bonesaw and a horde of captured civilians? Check. The reports that the Mountain itself is on fire and melting were not expected; one of your plans did account for Burnscar wielding exotic firebombs at some point in the week, but this may become a problem if the fire spreads to the surrounding forests of Northwest Philadelphia, as the local emergency responders aren't equipped to deal with Tinker Bullshit-fire. For now, the Wyld Hunt, Weld, and Kid Win are moving to aid the Boulder Builders trapped within the burning fortress/monument, while also trying to maneuver Bonesaw (and her Uzu-backpack) into range of Kid Win's teleportation-jammer - which should hopefully prove easier if she behaves according to plan and tries to go for Geode and Xylophone.
Fffwack.
Thomas Jefferson University and its attached hospital under siege? Check. By Bonesaw-plague zombie-civilians? Sad, but Check. There's been no sign of Hatchet Face there yet, but Bulldozer and Gallant - along with the two detachments of PRT soldiers - are sticking to the plan: corralling the zombified civilians before they can start spreading whatever plague Bonesaw's cooked up.
Fffwack.
Fffwack.
The latest announcement of "Dragon down, AC-79" - followed by her avatar blinking out from your HUD - means the fight at the PRT Downtown headquarters isn't going well. Neither you nor Inquisition expected any encounter involving Bakuda to be easy, but with Mannequin keeping Armsmaster busy inside the building while Bakuda rampages outside, you just hope that Gully and Willow can hold their own against the mad bomber. It sounds like the Director Uriel has helped rally the PRT troopers still trapped inside the building, however, so it's possible the tide will turn back in your favor soon.
Fffwack.
Fffwack.
Fffwack.
Reports indicate the Street Kings Castle was a slaughter from the inside via drones and explosives, but from the minimap it looks as though the five members of Overleague broke and fled the fight entirely - which you suspect is what got the Street Kings killed to a man. Worse, Breakdown is there, rapidly turning the surrounding area into some kind of mist-covered horror film. The last you heard from Narwhal - before all their armbands broke - was that their equipment was turning to rust and things were striking out from the shadows. Thankfully Who is still sticking to your orders, and her eye-in-the-sky reports have at least confirmed that Bladedancer and Narwhal are still up and uninjured.
Fffwack.
As you piece together what's going on around the city through sporadic radio transmissions, your body is not idle. Floating two-dozen feet above the main cluster of civilian tents, your first foray into the wide world of Tinker weaponry rapidly obliterates Bezalel animal-drones as quickly as they come into range of your swarm.
You call it a "crossbow" because Glenn wouldn't have approved it otherwise, but it's like calling battleship-mounted artillery a "gun." Which is an apt comparison, because at the crossbow's highest setting - which you are using now, of course - there are artillery shells that can hit with less stopping power than your sixteen-inch, carbon-fiber bolts. Worse, the influences of the Tinker-made railguns and particle-beam weapons you cannibalized to craft it last week have left no room for the standard shapes of a medieval stick-thrower; the weapon is a brick with arms tacked onto the front.
The most functionally-elegant, aesthetically-entrancing brick-with-arms that has ever graced Earth-Bet, that is, even if the two-handed monstrosity is nearly quadruple the size of standard Wards-issue crossbows. It is a fusion of fourteen different Tinker creations, can fire nearly as quickly as a semi-automatic rifle, reloads and draws automatically, teleports ammunition from its quiver to its hopper, and can fire small homing beacon-pellets that will teleport your next full shot to the beacon. You even matched its colors with your armor, because Glenn informed you that doing so would increase your merchandising revenue by thirteen percent.
Despite all this, the Youth Guard threw a fit when they learned you were building a "potentially-lethal" weapon and that Glenn was actually going to allow it. To "curtail abuse," they mandated that the PRT and Youth Guard both be notified whenever a "lethal" power setting is engaged and you pull the trigger.
Fffwack.
You feel exactly zero remorse for the email spam you are generating right now.
Fffwack.
Fffwack.
Fffwack.
The watermelon-sized quiver strapped to your small of your armor's back hums as it tears open a portal into your crossbow's ammo feeder, then shunts in more frog crotch bolts. The PRT-provided carbon-fiber bolts practically disintegrate when they hit their targets, you've discovered, so retrieving your bolts for re-use isn't in the picture… but the drones you hit don't fare much better, so you're not too worried at the moment.
You haven't even dipped into your small reserve of more creative bolts yet.
Fffwack.
Fffwack.
Prayer, Alexandria, and Legend are helping with drone disposal, of course, though the Triumvirate members are still visibly impaired from the ambient stench; it was a bit of shock to see Legend and Alexandria both lose their composure and their breakfasts several hundred feet in the air, though they are faring far better now than the still-incapacitated Clockblocker, PRT troopers, and civilian refugees. Gust is still working in the upper atmosphere trying to figure out a way to disperse the bomb's effect, but so far you haven't noticed a change here on the ground. Still, as long as you only have to deal with these drones, you should-
Your other minds flinch and scrabble uselessly to stop that doom-inducing train of thought, but the damage is already done.
The insects in your swarm closest to the river spot a massive, clawed foot as it rises from the waterline at the northeast corner of the dock terminal - near where the Wyld Hunt helped rescue civilians from the collapsed bridge last night. It is followed by another, the both of them grabbing the concrete edge with enough force to crack it. Slowly, they help pull a creature out of the water that looks like it was ripped straight from a geneticist's drug-addled nightmares.
The beast looks different than the image Legend showed last night at his presentation, but Prayer and he had given you a run-down of the changes they had witnessed last night when they fought him in the burning ruins of Holmesburg Prison. Their testimony, however, does not do the sight justice.
Easily eight feet tall and twenty feet long, the six-legged monstrosity is bulkier than any images you've seen of him, due mostly to the brown-and-white, chitin-and-bone armor encasing most of his body. As the plates glide along each other your swarm catches glimpses of massive strands of sinew and muscle, but even those are clearly wrapped in a purple, leathery skin that could undoubtedly shrug off anti-materiel rifle rounds. The front legs still - disturbingly enough - have human-like arms coming out of the kneecaps, though these look like they too have received an armor and strength upgrade from previous images. The other four legs have bundles of whip-cord tentacles protruding from the kneecaps instead, while dozens of alien and animalistic eyes litter the top of the creature's head and back.
But the most radical departure from the out-dated image is the beast's mouth. Where before it was an elongated, alligator-like maw filled with rows upon rows of needle-like teeth, now it is a shorter and boxier - reminding you more of a hyena's snout - brimming with obsidian teeth large enough to make a Tyrannosaurus Rex envious.
You are already keying open your microphone to the Endbringer Armband network when Crawler opens up his maw and rattles the shelter with a roar, concrete-melting spittle flecked from his mouth by the force of his voice.
"AUTOCHTHON!" Crawler demands, his voice like a rockslide crashing into an ocean of acid, "FACE ME!"
"Crawler sighted at docks shelter, AE-86," murmurs the red wireframe female avatar in your HUD, just after you hear Legend murmur the same thing across the Armband channel.
You open another channel - this time to the radio channel for the docks shelter - and struggle to keep the groan out of your voice.
"Marrow," you cough out, your eyes, nose, and mouth still burning from the armor-piercing stench. "I think he means you."
Your Assembly's newest member grunts with slight exertion from tearing a robotic dog in half, then clears her throat in the channel - her resonant voice betraying only minimal discomfort from the pervasive odor. "Understood. Engage?"
"Not yet. I need to scan him for Bakuda-"
"DON'T MAKE ME TEAR THIS PLACE APART TO FIND YOU!"
You bite back a curse while snapping off another shot to your left - taking out a dive-bombing robotic eagle - and activate your Diagnostic Overlay. Immediately your minds are flooded with predictably-bizarre readings as Crawler's alien biology completely eclipses your understanding of mundane medicine, but you keep pushing the scans deeper - scanning the van-sized monstrosity for potential Bakuda booby-trap bombs.
"Starting scan," you cough out, but as the next few seconds tick by Crawler quickly loses his patience and bounds towards the nearest warehouse - which is still filled with PRT troopers trying to recover from the stink bomb.
In a blur of black and grey, Alexandria's hoarse snarl coincides with her dive towards the beast below.
"No time, Weaver," you hear after her mutter through the radio. "Skipping to Phase Two."
Eyes widening, you pour essence into your Dynamic Reaction Enhancement System to speed up the analysis, but - like Bonesaw - his anatomy is so far beyond anything your medical studies have covered that it will take you several scans to get a clear picture of his internals. It's not that you're worried that Alexandria will get hurt, but the plan was to throw him into the ocean after he scanned clean.
"No! Wait! Just hold him-"
Below, Crawler easily spots the descending Triumvirate members and begins laughing in masochistic glee - his many eyes all swirling to track Legend hovering above and Alexandria plummeting towards him. You give a mixed cough-slash-sigh of relief when, instead of slamming into the massive Changer and possibly triggering any traps he may have secreted within him, she comes to a halt just above his back and plunges her hands through his armored hide. Crawler's various tentacles lash out at her as he struggles to turn his maw on her, but Alexandria only smirks at his futile efforts and begins to haul his massive bulk upwards.
Then a striped arm snakes out from the armored monster's back, spearing Alexandria in the chest.
***
Truthfully, you never were much for strategy or tactics before your exaltation - at least, not in any grand, battle-scale tactics manner. You hadn't even heard of Sun Tzu before January, but ever since you emerged from the Cradle there's always been a tiny bit of your mind (or minds) analyzing the world around you in terms of battlefields and troop movements.
Deep in the furthest recesses of your soul, it remains one of the few remaining source of doubts about whether you really are the same girl that went into the Locker.
Regardless, when faced with countering the plans of the Slaughterhouse Nine, your first instinct was to learn everything you could about their past battles and the full histories of their members. You had already read up on what was publicly available on their group during your confinement last week, but last night Director Uriel gave you and Inquisition full access to the PRT's databases on their activities.
Over twenty years of atrocities, ranging from a handful of high-profile murders before they left town, to completely depopulating small suburbs, to protracted sieges in large cities - like what you are experiencing now. So far this is shaping up to be one of their worst attacks, certainly, but even still there was a pattern there that became obvious once you looked at it…
The Slaughterhouse Nine always retained the element of surprise. Even against some of the greatest Thinkers and precogs in the world, or against parahumans whose powers revolved around tracking and discovery, the Slaughterhouse Nine never failed to come and go on their own terms.
Their membership has changed over the course of the last two decades, of course, but one member has remained throughout. Jack Slash was not always the leader, the PRT reports had detailed, but the group's first leader - King - had supposedly died at his hands.
Jack Slash, whose parahuman power allows him to extend the cutting edge of a blade? Even counting his ridiculous charisma as a kind of pseudo-Master power, allowing him to keep his band of murderers from slaughtering each other at the slightest provocation? That still wouldn't explain his ability to elude even Dragon - whose nature as an AI would make her immune to any mental- or emotion-based parahuman powers.
Only two other individuals in the world have confounded precogs and Thinkers alike to the degree that Jack Slash has.
The first: Scion. The Golden Man. The world's first parahuman, who flits around the world 24/7, giving as much priority to saving a kitten from a tree as he does to stop an Endbringer attack. Apparently he had spent the entirety of last month's Behemoth fight putting out a housefire in eastern China.
The second: Ziz. The Simurgh. The "youngest" Endbringer, a twenty-foot alabaster woman covered in randomly-placed wings of various sizes, known for her atomic-scale telekinesis and psychic "Scream" that turns anyone who spends at least ten minutes within a mile of her into Manchurian candidates for some future world-shaking atrocity.
When Behemoth had fired Iris into the stratosphere, it had been in the direction of the Simurgh.
Jack Slash showed up in your city with Iris in tow.
The Slaughterhouse Nine had attacked immediately after the Simurgh had "woken up" from whatever had caused the Endbringers to go dormant for a month.
When you made these observations to Inquisition last night, she lost her voice and her color for a few long moments. You had also pointed out - while she muttered to herself in disbelief - that the Simurgh had appeared only in December of 2002, years after the Slaughterhouse Nine had been formed. She didn't react to the comment, which only worried you more.
For the next few minutes she appeared to wage a silent argument with her own Thinker power, eventually terminating when her train of thought collapsed under the weight of a massive Thinker-headache. After a quick housecall from Wyld to make her functional again, Inquisition had remained silent in thought for several long minutes - casting you a number of confused and terrified looks when you tried to press her for what her power had deduced. Ultimately, she had answered your increasingly-aggressive questions by throwing out all your work up to that point in order to start again from scratch.
"Just keep any bright ideas to yourself, if you catch my drift."
For the rest of the night the two of you had compiled the best plans you could for today's battles, each dealing with the most likely theaters of conflict, strategies for handling each member, and how best to keep the Slaughterhouse Nine from dictating the terms of the engagements.
Before dispensing them to everyone, you had brought these plans to Legend and Alexandria, and shared your concerns about potential outsider interference. You were a bit surprised to hear Legend curse under his breath, but Alexandria was quick with the grim declaration: keep the theory to yourself, for now, as spreading such a belief would irreparably damage morale.
"Or us keeping this a secret could be part of her plan," the black-costumed heroine ground out past her grimace. "It's not like we ever really see what the Simurgh wants until it's too late."
***
Time seems to slow to a crawl, your scans of Crawler's anatomy forgotten as your various minds halt in paralyzed horror. Legend, too, has come to a halt high above the situation, though from his angle you don't think he can see what's happening just yet - just that Alexandria has gone stiff and stopped pulling Crawler away from the shelter.
Bizarrely, even Crawler has stilled at this new development - his various eyes either wide in surprise or narrowed in confusion. "HEY! YOU WEREN'T SUPP- URK-"
As Crawler's indignant protest echoes through the air, many things happen very quickly.
Perhaps realizing that even if her current wound is fatal there is no way that remaining in the Siberian's grasp will improve her odds of survival, Alexandria throws both of her arms towards the striped appendage spearing her chest.
A second black-and-white arm spikes out of Crawler's back, carving clean through Alexandria's right arm and shoulder in a wild flail. As the severed limb slowly arcs away, there is no blood, and there is no scream of pain.
Even with only one arm, Alexandria showcases her Endbringer-toppling strength; she grabs the appendage spearing her and shoves.
There is a thunderous crack as the black-and-grey costumed heroine is propelled away - away from the white-and-black fist still gripping a hunk of matte-white vertebrae.
A beat. A pause as Alexandria's body tumbles to a stop a few hundred feet away.
Legend screams a denial, then lights up the sky with a barrage that blinds your swarm.
Through your Flash Shutters you see Crawler flung back into the river like a rag-doll by the barrage, while the Siberian seems to float in place - untouched by physics itself.
The lightshow stops for barely a moment, allowing the Siberian to be reminded that she needs to be affected by Gravity. She falls into the crater now below her, then leaps back out - her head swiveling towards where Alexandria's body lies.
The Siberian blurs into a sprint - heedless of Legend's second round of energy blasts annihilating the world around her. Forty feet away from her target, she lunges.
First Prayer of Perfection lands atop Alexandria's crumpled form, blazing with the full glory of her totemic anima, then throws her hands out to the sides. A protective dome of crackling, bluish-white energy flares to life in the same motion - almost like it had always been there, a permanent fixture of the world despite what reality believed only a moment prior.
Streaking through the air, the Siberian's predatory zeal only increases with the addition of more targets between her and her prey; for ten years heroes and villains alike have tried to stand in her way, and none have so much as slowed her down. She reaches out-
There is no explosion of light, no earth-shattering blast.
The Unstoppable Force of Earth-Bet hits the energy shield and pops like a soap bubble.
***
Confirmation of the Siberian's nature is a victory, to be certain, but the much more pressing matter now is the survival of a Triumvirate member; the loss of Alexandria would not only be a devastating blow to worldwide morale, but she has played a critical part in nearly every Endbringer encounter to date.
You won't let them win, not like this.
"Marrow!" you call out across the local radio channel, all while pushing your anti-gravity thrusters to their limit. "Try to use your healing charm on her! Legend, handle Crawler and the drones for a few minutes!"
As you near the scene of Alexandria's fall, you see First Prayer of Perfection nod silently and reach down with one arm to gently flip Alexandria over on her back. To everyone's surprise, Alexandria's remaining arm lashes out and grabs Prayer's for a moment before relaxing slightly.
Legend, hovering just above the two heroines, twitches visibly at your command and you see his hands clench in visible frustration. He casts a quick glance towards your approaching form then floats down to Alexandria's side for a brief moment - just long enough to whisper something to her that you and your swarm don't quite catch - before shooting up into the air to resume blasting the sporadic drone attacks still threatening the shelter.
A few hundred feet away, Crawler launches himself out of the river and onto the concrete again, but Legend freezes him - literally - in his tracks with a series of ice-blue laser beams. You know they won't hold him for long, so you have to work quickly.
Landing in a skidding halt next to Prayer and Alexandria, your Diagnostic Overlay finishes its assessment of the damage: 7th through 11th thoracic vertebrae torn out, diaphragm, liver, and stomach shredded, inferior vena cava and descending aorta severed, most of the right clavicle and shoulder blade gone along with the right arm…
Now that you're truly focusing on it, it's clear that Alexandria's biology is not actually organic. Statuesque describes more than her appearance; she's more like an animated diorama than a living human. She has a functioning heart, but the circulatory system is completely solid - comprised of the same inorganic, superdense material that comprises every other part of her... so her beating heart seems entirely superfluous, as there's no blood to move around her body, but beat it does. You've heard reports that she also needs to breathe and eat, but your Diagnostic Overlay yields no answers as to why that would be the case - her body isn't powered by mitochondria or other organic reactions - but yet your charm is still telling you that her brain's neural processes are dwindling in a way similar to what would be caused by suffocation.
Worse, the swarm of miniature crystal spiders swarming out from Prayer's armored hand doesn't appear to be doing anything to repair the damage. The two of you watch for a few more seconds as they skitter around and into the wound in apparent confusion before eventually scurrying back to Prayer's hand to meld seamlessly into her blue-crystal armor in apparent resignation.
Pointing to Alexandria's face, you allow the cool embrace of Clarity to shut down any niggling embarrassment over your next order.
"CPR. She won't bleed out, but she can't breathe right now."
For First Prayer of Perfection there is no hesitation, merely the shattering crack of tearing off her crystal helmet before quickly kneeling over Alexandria's head to begin the assisted-breathing maneuvers. Alexandria relents briefly, but interrupts Prayer's attempts to tear off her own visor with her remaining hand. Prayer blinks once at this development, but with deft fingers is still able to pinch Alexandria's hidden nose with one hand before treating the legendary heroine like an unconscious drowning victim.
Absorbing your armor's gauntlets, your totemic anima flares to life again as you activate your Omnitool Implants and shove your hands into the fist-sized cavity made by the Siberian. Burning more essence to push your sight through Alexandria's top layers of "skin", your tool-laden digits whir into the appropriate surgical implements to sew up a punctured organ as you set to work…
… only for your Omnitool Implants to whir and buzz uselessly, straining against the impossibly-dense material that comprises Alexandria's "organs." You cycle through implement after implement, tool after tool, but even shifting to implements that would normally be able to burn through Tinkertech alloys yields only fractionally-better results - perhaps enough to fix some of the damage after months of dedicated work, but nowhere near what you need right now.
As you struggle, however, your continued Diagnostic Overlay scans reveal something that gives your minds pause: Alexandria's body isn't showing even the most microscopic sign of healing or regeneration. All known full-transformation powers possess at least marginal recuperative capabilities - even Case 53 capes, which constantly revert back to their monstrous form despite any attempts to alter or "fix" them.
Disabling her power isn't an answer, unfortunately. With the completely inorganic nature of her body, she would undoubtedly run into the same problem that Inquisition believes Weld might suffer from if he faced off against Hatchet Face: becoming a solid, unmoving statue. Even Inquisition didn't know if that would kill Weld or just paralyze him temporarily, so you're not sure if it's worth taking that risk right now - not that you have a power-nullifier just laying around for such an occasion.
A few hundred feet away, Crawler has begun to visibly glow red in response to Legend's freezing beams - which is forcing Legend to dedicate more and more of his attention to the Slaughterhouse Nine member instead of the drones still trying to sneak into the shelter and attack civilians. With a surge of essence you focus on one of the gnats you have on his costume and shove an application of Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade into the Triumvirate Blaster, but even with his firepower multiplied six-fold you know it's only delaying the inevitable - and you don't want to deal with Crawler if he can somehow grow strong enough to shrug off an IEU-upgraded Legend.
You need more time…
Looking back up to Prayer, you retract your hands from Alexandria's wound and reactivate your anti-gravity thrusters.
"Keep at it. I'm getting Clockblocker."
***
A scarce few seconds later, you swoop down to one of the PRT administration tents. The only other remaining Ward in the area is kneeling, wearily trying to clean out the inside of his white, full-faced helmet. The billowing smoke and tortured wails of your anima would normally be enough to announce your presence at the tent's mouth, but the cacophony of Legend's lasers nearby conceals your approach.
"Clockblocker!" you call out, kicking up your suit's external speakers to be heard over the din. "Can you fight?"
The white-suited Ward stumbles to his feet in surprise, spinning around to face you on weak legs. The bottom of his mask is split down the middle and retracted to the sides, revealing what's left of the his ration-filled breakfast smeared on his face and suit. He holds up a hand to stall, his mouth set in a tight struggle to contain another upheaval for a few seconds before nodding.
It says something that he's still doing better than almost all the other humans in the shelter, nearly fifteen minutes after Bakuda's stink-bomb first struck - even Legend is still visibly spasming and gagging sporadically. Only you and Prayer seem to have mostly shrugged off the effects by now, though there is still a fog over your senses that you can't quite push away completely.
"Y-yeah, Weaver," he agrees, though you only hear his voice due to your suit's noise-canceling microphones. "Gimme a sec."
Clockblocker takes a few laborious breaths through his mouths, before slowly standing up straight and shaking out his shoulders. With both hands he reaches up and slides the bottom of his mask together and fiddles with the helmet for a second to seal the headgear closed. After a short pause, you hear his voice crackling over the docks shelter radio channel.
"Ok, I'm…" a cough, "... good to go, Weaver. Are we still going with your freeze-trap plan?"
"Yes, but Crawler's already heating up. Get ready."
Clockblocker raises his arms and you float over to grab him around his armored chestplate, then kick off at full speed out of the tent and towards where Crawler is being kept stationary. It's been less than two minutes since you left Alexandria's side, but your swarm can see that the nearly-incandescent Crawler is melting through the ice as quickly as Legend is layering it on top of him.
As the fight comes into view of your body and Clockblocker, you feel him tense in your arms then breathe out a strained, resigned sigh. Ignoring the sentiment, you open your mic to the local radio channel again.
"Legend! Freeze-Trap Stage Two in twenty seconds!"
A grunt is all you hear in response, as Legend visibly turns his body fully to face Crawler and switch his lasers to the opposite side of the spectrum: crimson beams that punch through the ice surrounding the beast below and disintegrate massive chunks of flesh and bone before continuing on to slag the concrete beneath.
You think you can hear Crawler laughing, but that might just be explosive bursts of air from his six lungs as cubic meters of flesh and bone spontaneously regenerate as quickly as Legend can vaporize them. Still, the swap has served his purpose - no longer is Crawler heating up, instead each melted section re-grows with a smoother, mirror-like surface across his armored hide.
Looping around and around, dozens of feet in the air, you count down the last seconds across the radio channel.
"Five… four… three… two… one… now!"
At the signal, the air around Legend crystallizes as dozens of brilliant blue beams erupt from his arms and spear down into melted crater below - where the glossy form of Crawler is now entirely adapted towards absorbing heat instead of generating it.
Not waiting a moment longer you surge downwards, following the burst of azure beams down into the crater... where Crawler's massive bulk is frozen completely solid, a look of confusion and surprise visible in some of his many eyes.
You slow halt barely two feet away from the impromptu ice sculpture, allowing Clockblocker to reach out and slap it with his right hand.
An abrupt silence descends upon the scene, as Crawler and his cage of ice are summarily frozen in time.
"Well," he coughs, his voice still rough from the vile stench in the air, "that was easy."
***
You leave Clockblocker sitting atop the frozen - both in time and in temperature - hulk of Crawler, along with an application of Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade to help him minimize the time between when his power randomly deactivates and his next re-application of the effect.
The thought had occurred to you that you might be able to use your Optical Enhancement's Diagnostic Overlay to help determine the duration of the effect, but no such luck; when you turn it upon the time-frozen Crawler, your sub-module only returns the equivalent of a mental shrug before deactivating. Not entirely surprising as Diagnostic Overlay relies entirely upon your own skills and knowledges, and time-stop effects make absolutely zero sense.
Ironic that the Ward who most frequently decries your own abilities as "magical bullshit" has a power that operates on an even higher level of absurdity.
With Crawler dealt with for the time being - though you still have a number of other plans to hopefully make him no longer a problem at all - you volunteer for drone-overwatch so that Legend can be by Alexandria's side for a moment. You gather a swarm-clone at the edge of your range to explain to the two of them what your diagnostic scans have discovered, but otherwise most of your minds are either keeping track of the radio chatter from the other fights or destroying the few remaining drones trying to sneak into the shelter.
The explanation takes a little over a minute, and by the end you can see the shift in Legend's body language from barely-restrained panic to exhausted helplessness. Alexandria's limited expression - when Prayer isn't giving her mouth-to-mouth - is also one of resignation.
"We're getting careless in our old age, Alex," Legend murmurs with a weary smile. "Though you're still as headstrong as you were at sixteen."
Alexandria, paragon of heroism and stoic bastion of strength and indomitability, extends her remaining hand and raises her middle finger towards Legend.
Legend's laugh is more genuine, but it trails off quickly. He looks off towards the waterline, but keeps his voice soft. "At least we know that there's a way to stop her, now, but who knows how long before she shows up again."
Turning his head to your swarm clone, his lantern jaw sets in determination - just missing the flinch from Alexandria.
"If I move quickly, will she be alright?"
"Should be," your swarm clone buzzes, in a manner much closer to human speech than your first attempts last month, "she'll have to hold her nose shut manually to keep air from leaking out, but otherwise she's still as tough as she was before. She will also need something to hold her stomach together when she next eats."
Legend nods, but just as he begins to move to scoop her up in his arms, he pauses and looks back to your bug-clone.
"She knows about your conversion process, Weaver. Eidolon does, too. I'm surprised you haven't brought it up - wouldn't this be the time to propose it?"
Your clone mirrors your own body's uncomfortable shift at being called out on the elephant in the room. When you don't respond immediately, however, Prayer gives voice to the thought that's stayed your tongue (or wings, in the case of your swarm-clone).
"When it mattered," First Prayer of Perfection intones, looking first at Legend, then directly into Alexandria's eyes, "she did not listen."
The fallen Triumvirate member averts her eyes, but otherwise remains still.
"You expect blind obedience from your…" Legend trails off, his mouth set in a line as he stares at your buzzing clone, "...recruits?"
But it is Prayer again who answers for you.
"Objections do not belong in the heat of battle," she replies evenly, her gaze firm for a long moment before she gives Alexandria a final, deep breath of air. After she finishes, Alexandria pinches her own nose shut and jerks her head to Legend as a signal to get moving.
Legend lets out a sigh through his nose, then nods to both your clone and Prayer as he gathers up Alexandria in a closely-held bridal carry - her flight capabilities apparently tied to her lower body in some way.
"I'll be back a quickly as I can to help with the other fights. Will you be able to handle Crawler on your own?"
Your clone and Prayer share a look.
"I have a few plans to handle him, yes."
Legend nods.
"For now, it'll be best if we keep what happened here to ourselves. If anyone asks, we're hunting the Siberian's controller."
Your clone gives a quick nod in response, and then Legend is gone in a blur.
After a moment of silence, Prayer turns to your bug-clone while simultaneously bending down to retrieve her crystalline helmet.
"She would still be a strong addition to the Assembly, Administrator."
You have many conflicting thoughts regarding Alexandria, but you can't deny that point.
"I know, but… ugh. We can deal with that later."
"Yes," she intones, snapping the helmet back onto her head. "Your plan for Crawler?"
Closing your eyes for a moment, your minds sift through the myriad of contingencies you've devised to handle the nigh-unstoppable regenerator. With Legend and Alexandria gone for an unknowable amount of time, and the chatter from the other fights intensifying, it's time to start breaking out the plans you kept to yourself last night.
"Let me go get Gallant."
***
Full access to the PRT records on the various Slaughterhouse Nine members had proven both helpful and frustrating in equal measure; some members, such as Shatterbird and Siberian, had spotty or completely blank histories while others, such as Bonesaw and Mannequin, had enough on them to write complete biographies.
Crawler's dossier was one of the latter cases, and it had sparked a crazy idea - something so ludicrous on its face that even the Simurgh wouldn't expect it.
Hopefully.
You complete your preparations not a moment before the Slaughterhouse Nine member in question - well, his front half - comes crashing through a nearby storefront, propelled by First Prayer of Perfection's fist as she "leads" him into your trap. The biggest risk up to this point was Clockblocker's time-stop effect wearing off early when you swapped him for Gallant at the hospital, but it looks like Prayer was able to keep him busy for the ten minutes it took to set everything up just a few blocks away from the shelter.
A short distance from where you are standing, one of Bakuda's exotic landmines continues to churn the two-lane side-street into a twisting, writhing mass of randomly-stretching and compacting space. The effect is familiar, and for good reason: many of the bombs littering the roadways are clearly imitations of Philadelphia Ward and Protectorate powers. There's even one in Southwest Philadelphia that's drawn every living being - insect, animal, and human - in the two-block area into a single massive, seething ball of pestilence and death. You haven't had a chance to check that one out for yourself, but you're not looking forward to it.
While there's a small chance that this Vista-like space-warping effect will actually kill Crawler, most of your preparation will have been wasted if it actually does.
Crawler's massive hide and armor plating look somewhat again like when he first emerged from the waterline less than half an hour ago, which isn't completely unsurprising given that he went toe-to-toe with Prayer last night at the prison. His evolutions are never exactly the same, the records had noted, but they still maintain some predictability: increased durability against previous types of damage. So far, however, it looks like his mutations are having trouble devising anything that can mitigate the damage Prayer is dealing out.
Still, even with most of his back half having been obliterated by Prayer's latest punch, the injury is almost completely healed in the three seconds it takes for him to find his feet again. A few of his eyes notice your armored form, but most of his attention is still on Prayer's anima-backlit form.
"YES! YES! I REMEMBER NOW!" he bellows in a cacophonous laugh, "THIS IS WHAT I FELT AT THE PRISON! MORE! MORE!"
As Prayer sprints forward and resumes dancing around Crawler's bulk, you raise your arms and pull in the massive swarm you've gathered in preparation for this event. Millions of insects take to the air to converge in a dome, blocking out the early-morning sky above and the shops on either side of the street - save for one small hole on the furthest side from you.
"Crawler!"
Your armor's speakers are drowned out by the avalanche of noise that is your combined swarm-voice, but you feel it's worth speaking through your body as well just to drive the point home.
Dozens of eyes lock onto you, some slit like a reptile's, some oblong like a frog's, some with bizarre patterns never found in nature. Crawler shifts slightly so that he is facing both towards you and Prayer, which is just what you need him to do. Still, his eyes and body language give you the impression of incredulity rather than fear or apprehension.
"WEAVER? YOU THINK YOU CAN HURT ME WITH BUGS?"
Lowering your right arm slightly, you point with your left towards the spatial anomaly that is sometimes thirty feet away, sometimes five.
"Marrow promised you a chance to test yourself against one of Bakuda's most potent bombs. Not even the Triumvirate would want to stand within this effect you see here."
Though a few eyes still stay on you and Prayer, most of them swivel to examine the chaos to which you are pointing. The jagged edges of Crawler's maw tilt upward in an approximation of a smile, revealing even more serrated obsidian teeth and his long, acid-coated tongue.
"JACK DOESN'T LET HER TEST ALL OF HER BOMBS ON ME, AND I DON'T REMEMBER THAT ONE!"
You and Inquisition had suspected that Crawler wouldn't have been able to to resist being a guinea pig for Bakuda, given his penchant for seeking out ways to hurt himself, but one particular part of that admission should play to your upcoming gambit.
Ignoring Prayer for this new brand of self-destruction, Crawler takes a bounding leap into the effect and is summarily turned into biological taffy; parts of him are shredded into bloody viscera, while other sections are crushed into chunks smaller than your fist.
But defying all logic and reason, somehow Crawler's regeneration manages to keep up with the damage - a mixed blessing, if his howls of pain and peels of deranged laughter are any indication of what it must feel like to survive such an experience. You were being truthful in your earlier admission; Alexandria herself might not be able to survive extended exposure to the spatial-warping effect, and Industrial Survival Frame is the only reason you're willingly this close to it.
As the seconds tick by, you keep your Diagnostic Overlay active on him to confirm what is starting to become visible to the naked eye: ever-so-slowly, Crawler is losing his color and excess weight, growing darker and darker, while being affected less and less by the spatial distortions. Though there was a high chance the effect would destroy his "core" faster than it could regenerate, it's still awe-inspiring to observe Crawler's power as it cycles through hundreds - if not thousands - of impossible mutations until it finally hits upon something that can withstand even space itself being turned against him.
Barely five minutes after he leapt into the chaotic, eye-gouging zone of twisted space, Crawler deliberately strides out of Bakuda-created effect like it isn't even there. Looking at him now, your Diagnostic Overlay reports that he still possesses passingly-similar physical features to when he entered - a six-legged body, multitudes of alien eyes, a tooth-filled maw, roughly the size of a large van - but it is his new color that both reveals the depth of his new mutations and makes it difficult to actually see him.
Every inch of his sleeker, almost skeletal form is a deep, light-drinking black. The same black as the bones you had glimpsed through the tears and holes in Behemoth's outer layers. Judging from the way his feet plough through the pavement underneath him, he may be even nearly as massive in weight; your Diagnostic Overlay had failed before you reached Behemoth's innermost layers, but so far your scans show Crawler as a close runner-up.
With no reflective surfaces across his body save for his eyes, he now appears as nothing more than a massive, Crawler-shaped void, pock-marked by alien eyes of varying size, shape, and color.
Marrow's wariness is evident across the private radio channel you have set up for this plan.
"Administrator?"
"Phase Two, everyone," you reply with more confidence than you feel, because while the current plan needed him to scale up his physical defenses significantly, this was a bit more than you expected. Even the Light-Intensification Filters of your Optical Enhancement charm aren't helping, but a quick switch to Thermal Vision at least picks up the breath coming from his six-foot-wide maw.
Next to you, Prayer takes a step forward and raises a hand to forestall the eagerness you see lighting up Crawler's gazes as he looks down upon your much smaller forms. The motion arrests him, though with only his multi-colored eyes breaking up his black silhouette it's difficult to get a good read on his expression or body language.
At the same time, you shift the thick dome of buzzing insects to move up directly behind all three of you - except for behind Crawler's massive left foot, where there is a small hole barely the size of a fist running along the ground to outside the bug-curtain. Both yourself and Prayer are still radiating your anima banners - your lightning-filled black smoke clashing with Prayer's white-and-purple streamers - so even within the enclosed space there is more than enough light to "see" everyone.
And then, according to plan, both you and Prayer remove your helmets.
"Ned Evett Dunham," First Prayer of Perfection intones, staring directly into the abyss, "what is your purpose?"
For a few long moments, there is no movement from anyone, nor sound beyond the droning of the surrounding swarm. Then, slowly, all the eyes peppered through Crawler's silhouette blink once.
When he speaks, it's with a deep, echoing reverberation that you can feel even through your armor. His tone is less a question, and more a statement of temporarily forestalled savagery.
"WHAT."
"Purpose. It defines who we are. What we are. Why we are. I know you crave battle, Ned Evett Dunham, and I will give it to you, but only if you can tell me your true purpose."
Bap.
A pencil-thin beam of golden light spears through the small, open hole in the bug-curtain, striking Crawler's left foot with less physical force than a preschooler throws a water balloon. The swarm above the beam blocks its light and sound entirely, and Crawler's skin is now too thick to even register the physical impact.
Across the many eyes staring out of the lightless void, the mixture of confusion that was giving way to disdain instead begins to shift to tentative interest.
"EXPLAIN. AND STOP CALLING ME THAT."
Prayer maintains her stoic expression, but tilts her head slightly in a way to denote confusion that she likely doesn't even realize she is doing.
"Is that not your name?"
Bap.
The indignant anger sparking in his eyes dies just as quickly as it appeared, instead slowly morphing into shameful, averted glances.
"N-NO," comes the echoing stammer, betraying more genuine hurt there than you had initially expected, "NOT ANYMORE."
You cast a quick glance to Prayer, silently giving her the signal to avoid pushing that button too quickly right now; you're not quite sure if Crawler will develop an immunity to Gallant's emotion-inducing beams of energy, so while you may be running on limited time you also know that focusing on only one subject may clue him in that he's being manipulated.
Prayer has to be the one to do this, however, as Crawler has historically only shown respect to those heroes that could stand toe-to-toe with him and actually do him harm. You even had her present the idea of bringing the fight here when Clockblocker's stasis effect wore off in the Docks shelter, just to give her words more weight in his eyes.
First Prayer of Perfection nods slightly, then turns her gaze back into the towering, eye-strewn void barely ten feet away.
"Purpose is many things. For those like us, it is a reason to fight."
As excited comprehension dawns in Crawler's many gazes, a collection of your swarm just over one-hundred feet away buzzes lightly.
"Hold."
Gallant, hidden in the wreckage of the nearby clothing store under a ghillie suit fashioned of winter dresses, nods his helmet slightly in acknowledgement.
Back within the bug-dome, Crawler's silhouette shifts slightly as he nods in recognition of Prayer's statement.
"I FIGHT TO FEEL PAIN! THAT'S HOW I KNOW I'M GETTING STRONGER!"
Again, the barely-perceptible head tilt from Prayer, but Crawler's eyesight is undoubtedly good enough to pick it up.
"Strength is a tool, not a purpose. Why do you need strength?"
"Confusion, guilt."
Bap.
Bap.
The eyes across the void begin blinking and shifting erratically - mental disarray writ clear as day.
"I.. I… WHAT?" Crawler tries, his echoing boom sounding all the more hollow now, tinged as it is with existential confusion. After a moment of silence following his stall, there is a thundering series of cracks as his silhouette shifts downward - Crawler having apparently collapsed to a seated position in his introspection.
"For the last eighteen years," Prayer begins slowly, her steady tone softening slightly as she looks through Crawler's lightless form, "my every waking moment was pain."
Crawler's eyes fasten back on Prayer, interest clear across them without any additional prodding from Gallant.
"A forgotten past. My very body turned a monstrous prison of bone, searing my mind with every splinter shed. Pointless, meaningless pain. So I thought."
Crawler shifts, the act loudly cracking the pavement, but otherwise he remains silent in rapt attention. For her part, Prayer raises her right arm again and sheds a layer of her adamant crystal armor from her gauntlet.
Glittering blue crystal shards fall to the ground, reflecting the white and purple light of her anima and the ominous black-and-blue lightning from your own.
"I awoke with three others like myself. Each of us our own prisons, with our own pain. The Slaughterhouse Nine were in town at the time, and Jack Slash found us all."
This is news to you as well, but you manage to smother your surprise and keep a stoic facade for the performance. Crawler himself appears to be eating this up, and one of your minds can't help but imagine that if he had a tail it would be wagging in anticipation.
"Monsters in a monstrous world, he said, should never pretend to be anything but what we are. For that is what the rest of the world would always see in us, treating our prisons as zoos."
You suppress a groan while Crawler narrows his eyes in confusion; the PRT records indicated that Crawler was once reasonably intelligent, but now is not the time for Marrow's typical enigmatic phrasing. Thankfully, the enormous Changer manages to puzzle out what Prayer meant on his own after a few moments of rumbling to himself.
"ERR… RIGHT. HEROES ARE PRETTY, VILLAINS ARE UGLY," he grouses with long-weathered resignation, "NEVER GONNA CHANGE."
Another head-tilt.
"Is that what you believe, or what Jack Slash wants you to believe?"
"Shame, guilt."
Bap.
Bap.
After the double-strike of Gallant's golden, emotion-altering beams, Crawler is silent for almost a minute - even his rumbling breath slowing enough to be overtaken by the droning of your massive curtain of insects. His many eyes flit about, no two focusing on the same target as he averts his gaze while attempting to come to come to grip the true answer.
You cast a quick, wordless glance at Prayer, and your slight head-turn is met with an equally-quick nod.
"Two of us joined, or attempted to join, the Nine at Jack Slash's prompting," Prayer continues, holding up a hand again to forestall Crawler's current train of thought. "But as he tossed a broken man before me, to show that I could share my pain with others, I saw instead the purpose for my strength. Each day afterwards, I made my vision realized."
"Eagerness."
Bap.
Crawler's eyes widen slightly, and his breath stops as Prayer raises a fist upwards - adamant crystal cracking and snapping as she clenches her hand tighter and tighter.
"If we are to be stronger than the pain that would destroy a thousand, our purpose is to ensure a thousand never feel it. "
"Wonder."
Bap.
***
You had worried that Crawler would see through your blatant attempt at subversion, and called you out on trying to do the same thing that Jack Slash has been doing to him for nearly eight years. Most of your contingencies at that point had focused on trying to get him to either leave for a while and think on things, or at least to agree to avoid Jack Slash and the rest of the Nine for a while.
If it came down to fighting, Prayer would keep him from fleeing while you gathered up the rest of the heroes to contain him long enough to either throw him into the ocean or into space; the latter likely to prove more difficult if the Simurgh is still in low-Earth orbit above you.
You did not account for just how potent and finely-tuned Gallant's emotion-manipulating blasts can be when boosted by your Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade charm.
Which is why the van-sized abyssal monstrosity is now openly weeping and sprawled out in front of you, and why both you and Prayer are kneeling and offering reassurance in the form of awkward pats on his shoulders.
Perhaps the worst part of this entire affair is that you do actually feel genuine compassion for the bawling psychopath. Though the PRT records had a reasonable amount of information on his pre-trigger life, and Inquisition had helped piece together much more, it's another thing to hear someone confess to being physically abused at school, then physically and emotionally abused at home for years. No friends, no parents - only his drunken grandfather that was worshiped in town for having played professional football.
And so, senior year of high school, his grandfather had ordered him to try out for the football team, or else face even worse punishment for failing the family name.
He hadn't even made it out of the locker room the first day.
"THEY SAID THAT SINCE I WAS WEARING PADS, THEY COULD USE BATS."
Three months ago, such a story would have been hard to swallow. Kids your age can be shallow, cruel, and downright vicious, but to drive the pranking and teasing to the point of potential murder?
After the Locker, you are not so naive. If anything, it sounds like it took Ned's tormentor's three times as long to reach the level of Sophia, Emma, and Madison. But would you have been able to survive as long if even worse terrors awaited you at home each night?
Would you have lashed out like Ned did? If you had survived, with "bug control" as your parahuman power, would you have been able to hold back from drowning the Trio in bugs the next day in school?
"You killed them."
Crawler - Ned - doesn't need prodding from Gallant to be visibly remorseful at your statement, but you decide an extra burst of the emotion will drive it home. It triggers another round of tears and gut-shaking moans of sorrow, but eventually you notice him manage a weak nod.
"IT WAS... OVER... SO FAST… THERE WAS BLOOD EVERYWHERE. AND I… HAD SCALES AND PLATES BY THE END. I COULDN'T..."
Even with your nearly comprehensive understanding of parahuman law - a side effect of studying PRT regulations and looking for Youth Guard loopholes - you would have been hard pressed to get Ned acquitted after that. Killing the local high school football team in a small Alabama town, a state known for its harsh regulations against parahumans?
The judicial system might have been able to figure out a way to deliver a death sentence back then, before Ned had really started to grow into his power, but the only other option would have been the Birdcage - which is a death sentence in all but name.
You allow Prayer to play the more supportive voice now, as your dark complexion and ominous anima effects are considerably less endearing than Prayer's glistening blue crystal and billowing white streamers.
"But you spared everyone else, all the heroes that hunted you."
"I JUST... WANTED TO GET AWAY. I TRIED TO EXPLAIN, BUT… BUT THEY HAD TO TAKE ME IN. TAKE ME HOME. I COULDN'T GO HOME."
With all that's been said so far, you think it's safe to bring this conversation back around to your main intent.
"So you went to the Slaughterhouse Nine."
You keep the accusation out of your voice, and you make sure to add in an extra heaping of Guilt and Shame into the mix by way of Gallant's beams, which causes Ned to flinch hard enough to cracks the concrete remaining beneath him. It takes a few moments for Crawler to finally respond to your words, but when he does his voice is only a low shout - likely as soft as he is physically able to speak.
"THEY'RE THE BEST AT KILLING… SO I THOUGHT THEY COULD… FIGURE OUT A WAY…"
"You were young, confused, and in pain," Prayer offers, nodding when most of his eyes focus back on her. "Have Jack Slash's words changed any of those?"
After nearly a minute of silence, a long, suffering sigh is how Crawler responds. You turn to look at Prayer, and she nods in turn. The two of you look back at Crawler and rise up from where you are kneeling, then take a step back.
"This is why I spoke to you of purpose, Ned Evett Dunham. No matter your strength, a life without purpose is hollow, empty, and brittle. You did not have purpose when you faced the Slaughterhouse Nine before, and Jack Slash broke you."
With Gallant's help, you make sure to temper the perceived insult into something you can use; instead of righteous indignance, you see righteous interest light up Crawler's eyes as he climbs to his feet again.
"SO WHAT? EVEN IF I KILL JACK, THEY'LL JUST THROW ME IN THE BIRDCAGE. I DIDN'T WANT THAT THEN, AND I DON'T WANT THAT NOW."
Silently spending a single mote of peripheral essence, you flare your anima to its highest point. The glory of your totemic anima washes out around and above you, the design weaver peering down at Crawler's abyssal form as a hint of fear creeps into his eyes.
"The Slaughterhouse Nine will only be the first to fall," you declare, the voice of your swarm thundering through the dome and out across the empty city streets.
First Prayer of Perfection mimics your display, and the glow of her crystal moon and backdrop of stars provides the yang to your yin. Her voice is not amplified by the swarm around you, but the chorus of chimes that is her voice rings out clearly through the noise.
"The point of no return is a myth. You have found no purpose in the battle against heroes, so find it against the true monsters of the world."
Despite your reliance upon it thus far, you decide to forgo Gallant's aid in this final pitch.
Judging from the look of awe and hope in Crawler's eyes, you don't even need it.
"There are sixteen other S-Class parahuman threats in the world. Nilbog, Ent, Sleeper, Three Blasphemies, Charybdis, Moord Nag, Ash Beast, Collective, Silent Father, Taotie, Kujata, Madremonte, Deep Silver. Behemoth, Leviathan, the Simurgh. We're going to fight them all."
With your swarm's all-encompassing sight and the light given off by the two totemic anima displays, you make out the beginnings of a wide grin on Crawler's face.
"I LIKE THIS PLAN."
***
After donning your helmet again you catch up on how the other fights around the city have fared while you busy suborning one of the Slaughterhouse Nine.
Your trill from victory is quenched quickly by the casualty and clean-up reports coming in. While the other fights have all ended by now - all in at least marginal victories - nearly everyone still standing is reeling with injuries. Those no longer standing…
Bulldozer somehow contracted Bonesaw's rage-zombie plague while defending the hospital with Clockblocker. He killed a few PRT officers in his rampage, but burnt himself out just as quickly as the infected civilians.
Bladedancer and Narwhal are in intensive care, with Bladedancer comatose after one of the razor blades she was wielding pierced her skull. From the rough update you receive, both heroines were downed after driving off Jack Slash, Shatterbird, and Breakdown; they slammed full-force into a building after racing towards a PRT officer's distress call… which was revealed to be Hatchet Face in disguise. Who and Suzy were heavily injured preventing the Slaughterhouse Nine member from finishing the two off, but ultimately held out long enough for the other PRT squads in the area to arrive.
Wyld was already shuttled by Dragoncraft to New York for immediate life-saving care, having been burned to a crisp by Burnscar before the Slaughterhouse Nine member was killed by Weld. The rest of the Wyld Hunt went with her, most of them having received grievous injuries of their own in the fight against Bonesaw and Burnscar.
While the capes fighting Mannequin and Bakuda managed to hold their own, a number of PRT officers at the downtown headquarters were subjected to all kinds of exotic ordinance before Gully and Willow managed to trap Bakuda in her own time-stop bomb - right in the center of the headquarters' public entrance. No "dead-man's switch" explosions have been reported so far, but Inquisition was certain last night that there are at least a dozen seeded around the city. Dragon is already back online after sacrificing her remote suit to contain Bakuda's opening salvo, and she mentions to you that a newer, more combat-oriented suit should be arriving in a few hours.
But perhaps the greatest victories so far - even greater than suborning Crawler - are what Kid Win and Narwhal managed to pull off on their respective battlefields: the rescue of Sakura and Saki from Bonesaw and Jack Slash.
You quickly direct Prayer to don her own helmet and tell her to stealthily grab Gallant and get back to the hospital where the Twins are being kept in a quarantine zone, which in turn is being covered by several heroes and Kid Win's teleportation jammer. It was a lucky hunch earlier that Prayer's healing charm could be shared with others, but even though it didn't work on Alexandria it's possible that it might keep the Twins stabilized until you can attend to them.
There have been no signs of the Siberian since her earlier defeat, but it's too much to believe that you've seen the last of the crazed projection.
Outside of your helmet, however, a much different conversation is taking place as you walk back towards the docks shelter.
"THE ENTIRE LOCKER?"
"Yes," you admit with the voice of your now-diminished swarm, hopefully conveying the appropriate amount of disgust. "And then they shoved me in and locked it."
Ned simply grunts, but from the shifting of his pace you can tell that even he is bothered by this.
"HOW DID YOU KILL THEM AFTER?"
"I did not kill them, Ned."
This halts the massive Changer in his tracks, and causes him to swing most of his body - and eyes - towards your smaller form.
"HOW? WHY? AND DON'T SAY SOMETHING LIKE 'FORGIVENESS-'"
"No," you say through the synchronized chittering of a million insects, swiveling your body so that you face him in turn. "I didn't forgive them. Not really. I just… forgot them."
Most of his eyes narrowing in a mixture of disbelief and confusion, the black spot where his head should be shakes side to side. From the tone of his voice, however, his question isn't aimed just at you.
"HOW DO YOU… YOU CAN'T JUST HAVE FORGOTTEN THEM. DIDN'T ONLY THAT HAPPEN A FEW WEEKS AGO?"
It's a legitimate question, but you know the answer without even having truly thought about it before.
"Since then, I was nearly assassinated by a supervillain during my Wards reveal speech, I built one of the best suits of Tinker armor in the world, I helped organize the Behemoth fight with the lowest cape casualty count ever, I've become a world-class model, I apparently became the most popular Ward in the world, I helped Marrow shed her bone prison and gave hope to Case 53s everywhere, and I just helped show a Slaughterhouse Nine member that he's better off killing Endbringers than civilians. I had no social life then, and now a day doesn't go by that I haven't filled with interesting people. Does it sound like I have time to even think about what three stupid high school girls did two months ago?
Slowly, Crawler's various uncoordinated eyes manage to blink after a long bout of stunned silence. As his gazes slowly start to drift away, you audibly sigh through your swarm voice and adopt a more casual tone.
"It didn't just happen overnight," you begin, crossing your arms over your armor's chestplate and tilting your head to the side. "I thought about it a lot at first, yes, but then I realized I could do so much more. I could be - I am - greater than those girls… so why even give them the time of day?"
Ned snorts apparent humor, then turns back and resumes walking - his heavy gait leaving four-clawed footprints in the solid concrete. Still, he remains silent long enough for you to finish what he likely wants to hear.
"It might work for you, too. You certainly are already the bigger man."
Crawler's surprised bark of genuine good humor is akin to a fog horn gasping out a laugh, the force of it blasting away flying insects over thirty feet away. It quickly tapers off as he shakes his head like a dog.
"THE SCARY LITTLE GIRL CAN MAKE JOKES. MAYBE YOU SHOULD TICKLE SLEEPER TO DEATH WITH YOUR BUGS."
You opt not to give him a friendly tap on the shoulder in response to his own joke, if only because he might respond in kind should anyone ever make another joke around him again. Instead, you wave a dismissive left hand and muse aloud through your swarm while you continue to receive and give radio updates through your helmet.
"We're not going to be fighting one hundred percent of the time, and there's bound to be some downtime, so do you have any… hobbies?"
At his flinch and uncertain muttering that sounds like "hunt," you clarify the thought.
"Safe ones? Hobbies from… before?"
For a long minute, Ned is silent as he trods along. You're going to need to work with him on finding a way to move around without tearing up the street, but… that's a discussion for another day.
"I…" he begins, his voice a cautious-sounding thundercloud.
You tilt your head towards him as you float along just to his side, then nod to continue.
"...COLLECTED…"
You nod again, giving an approving buzz through your nearby swarm.
"... STAMPS?"
The nod you give is much slower, this time. You've picked up a good deal of trivial information in your rapid absorption of knowledge from the books you stored in your Technomorphic Integration Engine pocket dimension, but stamp collecting only received a passing mention. Because who even uses stamps these days?
But that's not a question you should be asking a hopeful psychopath on the road to semi-rehabilitation. A better question would be:
"If you were to start collecting stamps again, what would you want to look for?"
Crawler halts in his tracks, blinking quickly as he processes the thought, and you see the spindly human-like arms attached to his front legs fidget awkwardly for a moment before springing up in an 'aha'-like gesture.
"WELL, ANY GOOD COLLECTION STARTS WITH THE BASIC FOURS…"
***
It's nearly ten o'clock in the morning - two hours after you were rudely awoken from your restful slumber by a stink-nuke. The stench is still everywhere, and continues to spread despite Gust's best efforts to curtail it, but from what your swarm can make out on the approach to the docks shelter there aren't any more people laid out on the ground from the odor.
The only person who may not be affected by it in the slightest is, perhaps, right next to you. You haven't asked him about it, but what your Diagnostic Overlay discovered of his olfactory glands was so far beyond your medical understanding that he could be smelling daffodils and roses right now for all you know.
What you do know, however, is that Ned Evett Dunham was really into stamp collecting. To the point where you only got him to shut up about it by saying that Legend was inbound and he needed to stick to the plan.
Which was a bit of an embellishment; Legend was inbound… from New York...
... so it only took an additional thirty seconds for the Triumvirate Blaster to appear above your heads in a streak of blue light. While you had given a very vague explanation of what he was to expect, you at least stressed one fact: not to attack without talking first.
Visibly tense and hands glowing, Legend slowly floats down from above so that he is just barely touching the grass. Only a few feet away, you and Ned are (somewhat) hidden amongst the large copse of trees that comprise the small forest to the southwest of the docks.
"Weaver…" Legend begins cooly, keeping his eyes and body focused towards the massive shadow of Ned's new form. "There was something you wanted to discuss? Good news?"
With your helmet off and your swarm kept subdued for now, you try to inject all the air of 'you know what I'm talking about so just roll with it' into your voice as you can - both for Legend's plausible deniability and so that Ned remembers to stick to the script.
You note a small startle of surprise from Legend, followed by a long, awkward pause as his face quickly shifts first to disbelief, then to disgust, then to a poker-face wearing a thin smile.
"Ah. I see. That is indeed amazing news. Since we last spoke I thought of eight ways I might be able to kill him, in hopes of avenging my maimed friend."
You manage to contain most of your grimace, but your minds are mostly focused on whispering words of encouragement and caution to Ned through the small clumps of insects you have stuck to his underside.
The massive shadow shifts slightly at first, but the eyes within look down and away in shame. Even if he had been operating under the belief that the Siberian's target was you and Prayer, hoping for his first-ever shot at the Triumvirate, you had made sure Gallant had hammered him with guilt at being complicit with the attack in the first place.
Legend lets out a slight bit of held breath through his nose at the lack of a response to his deliberate challenge, but otherwise maintains his poker face.
"We, and by that I mean everyone here, are very sad about what happened to Alexandria. There is still some hope that we can heal her, but it is still a very awful, terrible thing. So it is a good thing that Crawler is dead."
You think you can hear Legends eyes rolling into the back of his head, but his opaque visor prevents you from actually seeing it.
"Yes, Weaver," he agrees with more ice in his tone than you've ever heard him direct at you. "Was there anything else that you wanted to discuss?"
"Yes, Legend!" you start again, allowing some of your cheer about this victory into your voice. "After the battle, we heard about a new trigger in the area. He wants to be an independent hero for now, and we agree that the Protectorate might be a tough sell for him. Come on out, big guy!"
As Ned carefully extracts his massive, light-drinking bulk from the treeline, the ground trembles from even such smoothly-directed movements. All seventy-eight eyes in the lightless abyss are now fixated on the two of you, though he is doing his best to keep low to the ground - the better to at least appear slightly less terrifying.
"HEY," comes Ned's cautious greeting, mixed with a concussive wave of subsonic rumbling.
You momentarily regret not having your helmet on right now, as it means there is no camera to take a picture of Legend's face. Still, he has the excuse of still weathering the stomach-churning smell that remains in the air.
"Weaver…"
"Yes, this new, independenthero looks like quite the force for good, doesn't he? He's even very eager to sign up for every S-Class fight the PRT is willing to throw him into. Including the one going on right now in this city!"
Legend, veteran of over fifty Endbringer battles and twice that number of S-Class events, remains still for a long moment before letting out a long, weary sigh. Turning his head slightly towards you - though his eyes undoubtedly remain fixed on the monstrous shape ten feet away - he gestures towards individual of contention with a disbelieving wave.
"This isn't… I can't…"
Turning your face so that you are looking directly at Legend, school your features and level your most determined gaze at the Protectorate's leader.
"This is the first time he's ever had the chance to do good. He understands this is his only chance. I trust him to do the right thing, even if it's going to be extremely hard at first."
"Weaver…" Legend tries again, this time squaring his shoulders in determination, "... this is going to be on your head, you realize? I'm not going to be able to shield you from the fallout if he-"
"He won't," you interject with a cutting motion, first looking at Legend, then back at Ned. "I know the risk, but it will work out. He'll make a difference."
You don't miss the mixture of astonishment and honest surprise in the myriad eyes directed your way, only responding to the unasked question with silent nod. At that, you make out the hint of a smirk across his enormous maw.
"THEY WON'T KNOW WHAT HIT 'EM…" comes the thundering, eager growl, before trailing off into a slightly awkward, "... SIR."
Shoulders drooping for a bare moment in resignation, Legend quickly rallies his poker face again and squares his jaw at the declaration.
"As thanks for your help earlier, Weaver, I'll trust your judgement for now and we can work on a suitable way to smooth out introductions later. For now, though," he grinds out, turning fully back towards the mass of shadows pitted with dozens of blinking, alien eyes, "have you chosen a cape name yet?"
The two of you had tossed around a few names on your walk to the shelter, veering him away from anything dark or even vaguely sinister. Still, when you started reading off from the list of pre-approved hero names that the PRT keeps on file, Ned had mulled over one name more than the rest.
"CALL ME… DEFIANT."
***
EOA - Wounds: None EOA - Ailments:Partially-Resisted StinkNuke (-1 Internal Penalty while in AoE) EOA - Current Clarity: 1 (No effect) FPoP - Wounds: None FPoP - Ailments:Partially-Resisted StinkNuke (-1 Internal Penalty while in AoE) FPoP - Current Clarity: 0 (No effect)
Lots of exciting things happened in and during this update! The update itself was mostly focused on what Taylor was doing, so a bunch of the stuff in the background hasn't been seen quite yet, but I stopped the update where I did so that we could control how we react to the aftermath of the major battles. While the full details will be explained in Chapter 8.4, here's a summary of how things shook out in 8.3 and some bits that will happen during 8.4:
The Guild
Wyld Hunt - Amelia was "killed" (saved by Ally and War Bonus Points from last update), and resuscitated by Inquisition in the field. Shuttled to NYC for emergency treatment, along with the other Wyld Hunt members (except Feral and Maestro) whom all took heavy damage as well. The group will be gone for at least 24 hours, more if we don't combat Inquisition's attempts to keep them away. Dragon - Took a Bakuda-grenade for her Husbando, and a new, beefier Dragonsuit will arrive later tonight. Narwhal - Hit the second story wall of a brick building whilst going 30+ mph, naked. The building won. Incapacitated but stable.
Protectorate
Chevalier - Fought Bakuda, took a Pain Bomb to the face but Willow got him back up. Concussion, not in a happy place, but able to fight. Waiting for everyone else to get healing first before he asks for any. Miss Militia - Fine, kept Drones from being a problem at PRT Downtown HQ. Armsmaster - Fought Mannequin hand-to-hand briefly, but spent most of his time trying to chase him down as Mannequin stealthed all around the building. Was made to feel like a fool, especially after Dragon had to sacrifice her remote suit to save him. Bladedancer - Hit the second story wall of a brick building whilst going 30+ mph, then impaled by own blade cloud, then took a sword to the brain from Hatchet Face while downed. Will be the first to be healed by FPoP, but it'll take the rest of the day to get her back up. Lockstep - Finally reports back in the evening after getting several groups of Rogues and Independents out of the city before S9 could nab them, working under Loom's direct orders under radio silence.
Wards
Kid Win, Gallant, Clockblocker - Light damage, if any. All three fought rage-zombies, and KW watched full-power Burnscar torch up the Wyld Hunt, so plenty of PTSD fodder all around. Who - Covered Bladedancer and Narwhal with containment foam grenades when Hatchet Face went for them, stalled for time with Suzy. Tried to suicide-foam-grenade Hatchet Face as well after that failed, but he cut off his arm to escape. Stable, but intensive care with massive wounds. RIP Suzy, you served valiantly. Xylophone, Geode - Recovered from Boulder Builder Mountain. Xylo got major injuries taking hits for Geode, who was taking hits for her downed father (who is alive, and up now). Uzu, Tatsu - Tatsu was nearly bisected by Narwhal as she went for Jack Slash, which forced him to drop her. Bonesaw got treated as a chew toy by Feral's dogs, which mangled Uzu enough to shake her loose. Both were kept from bleeding out in the field, but the jumble of hastily-assembled Tinkertech from Bonesaw, Bakuda, Mannequin, and Bezalel in their heads and chest cavities didn't take the abuse too well. Will need hours of dedicated surgery and supernatural healing to have a hope of physical recovery, while mental issues will be immense - they won't be vegetables or infants after we fix them, but they won't be the same people as before.
Independents/Villains
Boulder Builders - Mountain melted, gang pretty much wiped out. Just Stonewall and a few lackeys left, all 4 other capes got melted or zombified. Overleague - Bailed when Jack, Shatterbird, and Breakdown teleported into the Street King base. Going to help civilian evacuations from here on out. Street Kings - All gone, but their Castle is still standing! Just fix some of the walls and get all that blood out of the carpet! No one liked them, anyway. Ambassadors - Accord and some of his crew show up in the evening shipment of reinforcements.
Case 53s
Bulldozer - Brain fried by rage-zombie virus, body still intact. Gully, Willow, Weld - Each took some light damage, but still in good shape (esp. Weld, har har). Sanguine, Matroyshka - Reinforcements arriving in the evening. Sanguine is a T-1000 made of blood, is a healer.
PRT
Director Uriel - Got stabbed by Mannequin, then shot him with shotgun and got reinforcements. Still up and about. PRT Troopers - Out of ~100 that faced direct combat today, 17 died (most at Hospital via Zombie!Bulldozer), rest are up and combat-capable. Civilians - Minor casualties, but extremely minimal (beyond the Zombies that were initially let loose). Recognition for Weaver's work is made, but S9 still around and StinkNuke is spreading across city, so celebration is tabled.
Slaughterhouse 9
Jack Slash - Narwhal cut off his Tatsu backpack while aiming to skewer him, escaped via teleport grenade with Shatterbird. Shatterbird - lost an arm and leg to Narwhal, fled with Jack. Hatchet Face - Posed as PRT reinforcements that were under attack by Jack, drawing in Narwhal and Bladedancer. Suzy diced him up while Who tried to use containment foam grenades to trap him, but nearly killed both for their efforts. Escaped just as PRT backup arrived by cutting off own trapped arm. Burnscar - Was in full pyro-psycho mode by time heroes arrived, targeted Wyld specifically because "plants burn". Tried to go after Kid Win and teleport-jammer when the Bonesaw trap activated, but Weld put a spike through her head from behind. Bakuda - Grenade launchers full of exotic effect-grenades, but eventually Gully and Willow rebounded a grenade at her, blowing her back into the time-stop bomb that had gone off earlier in the fight. Mannequin - Played hide-and-go-seek in the PRT HQ building with the heroes and deposited Bakuda bombs. Fought Armsmaster for a bit just to mock him, then teased him for the rest of the fight before disappearing after Bakuda got taken out. Bonesaw - Played hell on Boulder Builder mountain trying to get to Xylophone and Geode, used zombies and spiderbots to combat heroes until Feral's dog nabbed her. Escaped the teleport jammer effect field after losing Uzu, then used a teleport-bomb to escape. Crawler - Totes dead. For real. There was a $650k bounty on him, though it requires proof of death... Siberian - Still hasn't shown up again...
Now, folks, it's time to figure out how we want the rest of this Arc to play out. We have insider information from Crawler, but it's spotty - he generally didn't care what everyone else was doing around him 90% of the time. Despite that, if acted upon IMMEDIATELY it has the potential to swing things drastically in our favor... at the risk of causing the S9 to drop all their restraints and unleash everything they've been keeping in reserve all at once. On the other hand, we have the opportunity to marshall our forces and get everyone healed up, then take the fight to the S9 in a more methodical and cautious manner, which will allow for more contingency plans should/when things go sideways.
And yes, all four of the Ned votes will work... to varying degrees, but nothing too bad yet.
It Followed Me Home: (Choose ONE, NO Stunts!)
- [ ] Team Black (Taylor keeps close to Ned for the rest of the day.)
- [ ] Team Bruiser (FPoP keeps close to Ned for the rest of the day.)
- [ ] Team Delegated (Kaylee Chambers keeps close to Ned for the rest of the day.)
- [ ] Trust Lesson (Keep an eye on Ned, but otherwise allow him to mind himself.)
Autochthon Wants YOU!: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt allowed!)
- [ ] Convert Sakura and Saki Kurosawa. (Both of their consciousnesses will be preserved, and Cradle will remain busy for an in-game week. (Stunt to influence Caste, what primary role they will have in the assembly.)
- [ ] Convert Aisha Laborn. (She'll stop bugging us about it, and the Cradle will remain busy for an in-game week. Stunt to influence Caste, what primary role they will have in the assembly.)
- [ ] Convert no one right now. (Saki and Sakura will never again be Conversion candidates in this Quest, but the Cradle will be open for use later should we want to choose someone else. Stunt explains to Aisha why you didn't choose her, as the Twins won't be conscious.)
Changing the Tempo: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt allowed!)
- [ ] I Will Find You, I Will Kill You (Using what Crawler can remember, grab Prayer and whoever's still standing and go after the Slaughterhouse 9 RIGHT NOW. This will get most of the remaining S9 members dead, but there will be consequences elsewhere. Stunt chooses the five [not counting FPoP] that are willing and able to help, at least one will die.)
- [ ] Inexorable Tide of War (The S9 will be reeling for a while longer, and that gives you time to stack the odds in your favor again - heal up, get reinforcements, arm yourselves, and ensure that the S9's contingencies are covered by your own. Stunt chooses which S9 member [not Jack] gets killed or captured next.)
Please remember to format Free Actions properly: (Only ONE Free Action per Assembly member allowed!)
Free Actions should be phrased as stand-alone Stunts, so they must be 60 words or less (not counting "Free Action"), be descriptive about what you're hoping to accomplish, and set the scene.
[X] EOA - Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that could be performed during other votes.]
[X] FPoP - Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that could be performed during other votes.]
XP Expenditures should be formatted as such for EOA and FPoP:
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item ●●●○○
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item (Specialization ●●○)
Spending more XP than a character has in their own bank will automatically draw from the Assembly bank, and Named XP will be spent before Assembly XP is used.
VOTING WILL REMAIN OPEN FOR AT LEAST 48 HOURS, SO PLEASE DISCUSS THE VOTE FIRST BEFORE STARTING ANY BANDWAGONS!
It Followed Me Home:
[X] Team Black (Taylor keeps close to Ned for the rest of the day.)
Autochthon Wants YOU!:
[X] Convert Sakura and Saki Kurosawa (Both of their consciousnesses will be preserved, and Cradle will remain busy for an in-game week. Stunt to influence Caste, what primary role they will have in the assembly.)
- [x] Stunt: "It's unusual, true, but there is precedent. Familiars. Primordials." You pause as Strider returns bearing a stapled-together manuscript. "Even you?" He nods sheepishly. "Those two. Helping others right under my nose and I didn't even notice." You inspect the manuscript more closely. "Kirk/Spock? Did Uzu..?" He shakes his head, Tatsu. Kirk/Khan OTP. Keikaku Dohri.
Changing the Tempo:
[X] Inexorable Tide of War (The S9 will be reeling for a while longer, and that gives you time to stack the odds in your favor again - heal up, get reinforcements, arm yourselves, and ensure that the S9's contingencies are covered by your own. Stunt chooses which S9 member[not Jack] gets killed or captured next.)
- [x] Stunt: You review the Nine's current base, an unassuming condominium, the inhabitants unaware of the killers in their midst. Armsmaster stomps up, visibly frustrated. "When do we strike?" "When they relocate, they will disperse in stealth and disguise. We need to catch some bait for the Siberian. Is Dragon's Stranger profiler ready?" You slide Bonesaw's image forward. "They're due teenage rebellion."
I've Got Something In My Pocket:
[X] That Old, Familiar Feeling (A single 3-Dot Familiar of Autochthon's design.)
Free Actions:
[X] EOA - Free Action: With action in abeyance, you turn your attention to your increasingly restive teammates. Colin, Dennis and Chris alike can barely sit still after seeing what had been done to Saki and Sakura. You have a few hours, you can act. "How quickly can you make a stasis pod? It only needs to last a week from activation."
[X] FPoP - Free Action: A swarm clone disperses as Marrow sits on the ground in front of Defiant, cradling her helmet. "Do you remember me, young Edward?" He shakes his head, eyes intent. "The Maker's gift blinds watching eyes when I go to war." "THAT WAS YOU, YESTERDAY? TODAY?" "Yes. Sit with me, that I may remind you of what you have forgotten."
XP Expenditures:
[X] EOA - 6 XP - Ally (Crawler/Defiant/Ned) ●●○○○
[X] EOA - 3 XP - Ally (Legend) ●○○○○
***
Even with Legend's tentative approval of your charade, you are still faced with the task of keeping Ned - Defiant, now - under control. You have no delusions that he's going to be anything but a powder keg just waiting to go off, and it would take Jack Slash a matter of mere minutes to undo your work. Worse, utilizing Gallant again (regardless of your teammate's feelings on the matter) to keep Defiant from relapsing is unfeasible; isolating the massive Changer once was one thing, but doing so again to such a degree would be suspicious enough that Defiant would undoubtedly catch on.
This is compounded by the fact that your medical abilities are now desperately needed by the many heroes - parahuman, PRT, and a few surprising civilians - who participated in today's battles across the city, on top of the already-dire need for more medical staff to attend to the unending tide of injuries still streaming in from Shatterbird's Scream last night. You certainly can't leave Defiant unattended, not with the Slaughterhouse Nine still at large and so few other people aware that the hulking, abyssal monster is now on your side.
Looking at him, his massive form drinking in the near-noon sunlight as he awkwardly tries to cloak himself again in what remains of nearby copse of trees (most didn't survive his previous stealth attempt), you shake your head and allow a sigh trickle through your external speakers.
"We're headed to the hospital next, Defiant. I'm needed for surgery, and this will give you a chance to publicly show you're one of the good guys."
The many-eyed, blinking stare you receive in return would certainly qualify as a bowel-loosening sight for most humans, but you've learned enough of Ned's mannerisms now that it merely registers as slightly humorous to you - it's been one of his more common expressions today, as he has been thrust into more bewildering situations in the last few hours than he's likely experienced in the last few years combined.
"A HOSPITAL?" he rumbles, still trying to keep his voice down to a manageable, teeth-rattling resonance. From the way some of his eyes are shifting around, you suspect he's turning his head around to double-check his own appearance. "I… WILL I EVEN FIT INSIDE?"
You shake your head then lift off the ground to glide towards the nearest road to the north, motioning for him to follow. "You'll be guarding the hospital from outside, but since you'll be within my range I'll have a swarm clone with you to keep you company. There's still a quarantine because of Bonesaw's zombies, but you should be fine."
A blast of air from the shadowed monstrosity, generating a sound like someone trying to force-feed a fog horn to a cement mixer. You suspect it was a snort of amusement. "THE ONLY ONE THAT EVER WORKED FOR MORE THAN A FEW SECONDS ON ME WAS THAT LAUGHING GAS SHE MADE A FEW YEARS AGO. IT TICKLED."
Your swarm-echoed voice is arctic with disapproval.
"April Fool's Day. Detroit. Two-hundred, seventy-four people dead."
Ned's twisted, van-sized form stops rumbling in amusement, a spark of comprehension flitting through most of his eyes before they wince in guilt and shame.
Besides the cracking of pavement from Defiant's steps and the ambient buzz of your swarm, the rest of your trip is done in silence.
***
You make sure to relay over the PRT radio that you and a "new, scary-looking hero" are inbound to the hospital well before you arrive, but decide to fly just slightly above Defiant's loping form as he thunders down the abandoned street. You were tempted to ask if you could ride him, as that would have a greater chance of decreasing observer wariness, but ultimately decided not to press your luck with his (forced) change of heart.
Dragon - who has been preoccupied with other matters around the city and beyond - chimes in through your HUD to alert you about Director Uriel's inquiry into Defiant. You match the apprehensive look on her avatar when she mentions that he "needs to talk to you about your decisions in the field." Legend's assurance that the matter isn't more important than the dozens of other pressing matters on the Director's plate at least should give you some time to prepare for that conversation. It might also help that he's about to enter surgery for the wounds Mannequin gave him, but you wouldn't be surprised if Uriel forwent general anesthetic just so that he'd be back on his feet more quickly.
The mixed police/PRT barrier greets the two of you at the corner of 9th and Locust Street, but they warily move aside the barricades for Defiant to pass; you've been gathering swarm-clones ahead of your path to prep the rightfully-paranoid PRT soldiers and police officers for your approach. Even still, practically every face is one of apprehension, shock, and terror. Though Defiant doesn't appear to be ruffled by this, you get a sense that he is still trying to make up his mind about whether it is a good thing or not that people are no longer fleeing his presence in single-minded panic.
Either way, you get him to slow down his pavement-crushing stride to something resembling a smooth, six-legged jog as you take in how Shatterbird's attack and subsequent zombie swarm ravaged the surrounding Thomas Jefferson University campus. The campus itself is roughly three-by-three square city blocks, filled with multi-storey dorms, study centers, research centers, and hospital wings. most of them painted an off-putting orange-beige. With all the windows and glass blown out from Shatterbird's earlier Scream, and the campus itself mostly evacuated, all that's left is empty buildings filled with destroyed livelyhoods and bloodless corpses still yet to be claimed by the city's morgues.
All except the central, five-storey hospital that takes up the entire northwest block of the campus. The blown-out windows are now covered by blue or white tarps, while the hospital itself is packed to the gills with patients in varying states of critical condition; through your swarm you can see how most are being stabilized as quickly as possible, then ushered out the doors to seek further care at either the Pennsylvania Hospital four blocks to the southeast, or at Rittenhouse Hospital ten blocks to the southwest. Callous, yes, but hundreds of people gathered at each of the three hospital entrances still waiting for treatment make the treatment understandable.
The existence of a crowd is somewhat surprising given the zombie attack only a few hours prior, but from the bloodstains, mounds of containment foam, piles of burning bodies, and PRT quarantine barriers, these must be those that either couldn't or didn't flee immediately and instead became trapped by ravenous plague victims and subsequent containment lockdown. No one is currently being let into the quarantine zone, but the growing number of people trying to pass out through the two screening tents already set up - to either get treatment elsewhere or to simply escape the former battlezone - reinforces the sense of desperation and simmering terror filling the air.
Unfortunately, the crowd of civilians is not nearly as disciplined as the police and PRT soldiers you've encountered so far, and a number of panicked shrieks cut through the restless din as the two of you make the final approach to the hospital. You tell Defiant to slow to a stop in the middle of the intersection - a little over two-hundred feet away from the nearest crowd - while you guide your swarm to keep higher in the sky.
"Everyone!" you call out primarily through your armor's external speakers, so as to draw attention to your actual body. You hold your hands up high in a surrender-like gesture, while below you Defiant catches on and huddles down slightly, casting (most of) his gaze to ground. "I am Weaver, one of the Philadelphia Wards! Please do not be afraid!"
At hearing your name, you catch a number of signs of recognition amongst the faces in the crowd, while the screams quickly cut off - only to be replaced by either apprehensive murmurs or shocked whispers. The dozen police officers and PRT troopers guarding the crowd also visibly relax slightly, most of them quietly confirming to nearby civilians that yes, you are indeed who you say you are.
Waiting a moment to let your words sink in fully, you then do a floating approximation of a side-step to gesture with both hands to Defiant's abyssal form below you.
"The cape below me is Defiant, a new hero that has come to help fight against the Slaughterhouse Nine! I know he looks… intimidating… but he has my trust, and is here to help guard against any further attacks! Say 'Hello', Defiant!"
There is a pause while pavement cracks and crumbles underneath Defiant's apprehensive shifting, then a sound like an gravel pit collapsing rumbles across the open space.
"HEY."
Most of the onlooking expressions have morphed to a blank look of shock or disbelief, and you hastily zip a dragonfly into the faceplate of PRT trooper that was about to audibly remark that wait, doesn't that look a lot like...
"I am needed inside the hospital," you add, a smile in your voice like nothing is out of the ordinary, while you gather enough insects from your swarm to form three swarm-clones on the ground in front of you. "But don't worry! I will leave a few clones of myself - see, these three I am making right here - with DEFIANT to keep watch! I'm sorry I can't stay longer to answer your questions, but time is short, so please talk to a PRT or police officer if you have an urgent concern!"
As you fly up and towards the central entrance, keeping one of the clones standing next to Defiant while the other two move to take up positions closer to the crowd - completely superfluous from a tactical perspective, but as they are immediately approached by fawning members of the crowd they are at least serving as suitable distractions from Defiant's presence. The clone next to your new responsibility quietly mutters some reassurances that you're still there for him if he wants to talk, which gets a few glances from him and a shuffling shrug before he casually turns and orients himself so that he's facing out towards any possible approaching threats… and then creates an echoing shockwave as he gracelessly collapses to a prone position.
You let your clones mimic your sigh.
***
The inside of the hospital is a raucous hive of groans, blaring alerts, PA announcements, and desperate medical professionals yelling at each other just to be heard over the noise. As you stride swiftly through the packed corridors (since there isn't enough room for consistent flight), you absently work to purge the hospital of as many insectoid pets as you can while still keeping the more harmless flying insects around for surveillance purposes.
But pest control is only the newest task you've added to your current projects. You've deployed your Orange Drone to float up and around the outside of the building and secure all the loose window-covering tarps, your left ear is monitoring the PRT dispatch radio, your right ear is monitoring the Armband network radio, your eyes are busy scanning everyone around you as quickly as possible for any type of Bonesaw-esque implants or modifications, and you're having four different conversations through your swarm-clones: you're explaining how you made it out of Protectorate Island to Defiant (because he was curious), the two clones with the civilians outside are explaining which shelters to head to if they feel their current neighborhoods are unsafe, and the clone at main lobby is pointing out ways for Gallant, Kid Win, Weld, and Willow to help incoming and departing civilians in order to keep the flow of patients moving as smoothly as possible.
The hospital staff had protested briefly when you gathered the clone in the lobby, but so far you've kept it to a side corner and made clear that the insects aren't going to be touching patients. It's obvious that they still don't like it, but at this point they have so many other emergencies that they'll take any help they can get.
The only other time you've pushed your multitasking capabilities this far was during the Behemoth fight, but that was when your Exaltation and charms were still not working at full capacity. Right now, with Shard of Perfect Administration and Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade thrumming along, you suspect that you're only feeling the beginnings of your true potential.
It would be enough to make you smile, if you weren't entering the room filled with your mortally-injured friends.
It is a long, stereotypically-sterile room, stationed in the middle of the second floor among the other multi-bed ward, with the only departure being the squad of four full-uniform PRT officers standing guard at the door. Inside, each on a bed shielded by a lavender privacy curtain, lies Bladedancer, Who, Narwhal, Xylophone, while the mangled bodies of Uzu and Tatsu share a large double bed in the far right corner. Armsmaster - standing at attention with his halberd resting against his left shoulder - turns his head slightly and nods to you from his post just inside the room, and you nod in turn as you absorb your power armor and extrude your standard costume - the transparent visor's HUD springing to life and quickly syncing up with the various wireless and radio networks.
First Prayer of Perfection is currently attending to Bladedancer, her crystalline armor discarded or absorbed sometime since you last saw her an hour ago. The green scrubs that she appropriated from somewhere is visibly straining against her amazonian frame, but you suspect someone must have made her put the outfit rather than allow her to walk around the hospital without clothes. Mouth drawn in a tight line, her eyes flicker up in recognition of your entrance, then focus back down on where her hands are placed gently upon Bladedancer's forehead and abdomen - a thick swarm of pinhead-sized crystalline spiders flowing out from her hands, across Bladedancer's broken and bloody form, before disappearing into the massive wounds littering the heroine's body.
A cursory scan of Bladedancer's form - her black bodysuit now in deep-crimson tatters, on top of deeply tanned skin made deathly pale from blood loss - with Diagnostic Overlay reveals nearly two-dozen major fractures and puncture wounds up and down her body, with the worst wound obvious even to the naked eye: a jagged, blood-splattered shard of adamant impaled into her temple and going deep into her brain. The spiders of Prayer's Body-Reweaving Matrix charm flowing out of her left hand have mostly congregated around the shard, and look to be in the process of gently removing the broken blade without causing any further damage. Thankfully, all forms of bleeding - internal and external - appear to have healed already, but that is a small relief compared to the damage that still remains.
"How?" the question leaves your lips without conscious thought, your body halting at the foot of Bladedancer's bed.
Prayer's eyes dart to the traitorous shard of adamant being swarmed by her charm, then closes her eyes and shakes her head.
"Hatchet Face, young Who explained. A false call of distress, hastened to with all speed, only for their flight to terminate against the building's side."
You're not sure you've ever heard Prayer's speech pattern drop so deeply into this style, but the stress in her voice you suspect she even doesn't realize she's doing it. Regardless, you're able to piece together what she means just as Armsmaster elaborates - his voice a dull monotone as if reading from a report - from his position at the door.
"After Narwhal landed a strike that carved Tatsu from Jack Slash's back, he used an explosive teleportation device to retreat with Shatterbird. When a call came up from one of the PRT sniper nests that Jack had re-appeared there, both Narwhal and Bladedancer moved to assist."
Here, his mouth slowly gains a hint of a snarl. "The call was made by Hatchetface, who had already killed the sniper team, so when Narwhal and Bladedancer approached the building their powers cut out mid-flight. Hatchet Face jumped down to finish Bladedancer off first, but Who was able to intervene with the help of Wyld's insect before he could do the same to Narwhal."
You blink in surprise, then turn your head towards where Who's bed is barely visible behind its privacy curtain. Armsmaster's snarl is now more of a frown, but he nods at your surprise.
"I'm surprised she's alive, too - Hatchet Face is known for targeting Brutes. The initial report from the other PRT officers mentioned the insect was guarding Who when they arrived to drive Hatchet Face off, but it collapsed before they could corral it into one of the vans," he admits, pausing slightly. "That I can remember her at all right now means she must be awake again."
You expect some kind of sarcastic response at that comment from Armsmaster, but all you hear is a soft grunt of confirmation from behind the young Stranger's privacy curtain. Armsmaster's lips twitch down slightly again, but quickly resumes his dampened scowl.
"Marrow stabilized everyone already with her healing power, except for Uzu and Tatsu - Clockblocker is keeping them frozen until you arrived. Wyld was critically injured in her fight with Burnscar, and the Wyld Hunt followed her on Dragon's transport to New York, so for now you two are our only healers until Director Uriel can secure more reinforcements."
Nodding at his explanation, you absently do a quick Diagnostic Overlay scan of him - just in case - but he stiffens in a way that indicates he noticed it. You only pick up some light bruising and muscle fatigue before the strained grip on his halberd warns you off.
"I am fine, Weaver," he spits out, as if the fact is an insult. "Scan Uzu and Tatsu if you want to be helpful."
The reports you heard over the radio indicated that he, Dragon, and even Director Uriel had fought Mannequin at the PRT Downtown headquarters, but while Dragon had lost her suit and Uriel had escaped with only some light stab wounds, the lack of any major battle damage on Armsmaster's armor or person is unusual. Knowing Mannequin's penchant for targeting heroic Tinkers, the only explanation that explains Armsmaster's disgruntled attitude would be if Mannequin purposefully avoided or toyed with him.
Considering how, in all the time you knew him in Brockton Bay, he spent nearly every waking moment dedicated towards proving that he was the best and the bravest? And just got off a month-long detail as menial guard at a refugee camp, only to now be demoted from regional leader of the Protectorate ENE to second in-command under Chevalier?
You pull your application of Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade from Gallant (which makes him stumble slightly, but he shakes his head and appears to get over it quickly) and then pass it to Armsmaster via the fly you have on the back of his visored helmet. The taciturn Tinker somehow straightens up even further, his head turning to look straight ahead, and his mouth shifts between different gradients of frowns for a few seconds. Finally, after watching him stand unnaturally tall and still for a moment, his head rotates smoothly towards you.
The two of you remain silent for a moment, but just as you turn to move towards where Uzu and Tatsu are being kept you hear him clear his throat awkwardly.
"Thank you," he manages, a mixture of reluctance, chagrin, and genuine appreciation coloring his normal monotone.
Still walking, you turn your head slightly and give him a quick grin and a wave, giving no indication that you heard Dragon's coaching admonishments in Armsmaster's helmet.
***
When you pull aside the curtain surrounding Uzu and Tatsu's beds, any mirth you may have had left from your interaction with Armsmaster shrivels and dies in your chest.
Dennis looks up from where is seated on a stool between the two metal stretchers, helmet discarded on the floor, blood-splattered arms outstretched to maintain contact with the two piles of mangled, time-frozen flesh. Though he can't have been doing this for more than an hour, his haggard expression and bloodshot eyes takes nearly five seconds to shift in recognition of your entrance.
You share a wordless stare of understanding for a long moment, then he casts his eyes down to his two charges.
"Thanks for letting me keep your Thinker boost," he mumbles, his eyes still downcast. "I'd've probably missed when my power cuts out once or twice without it."
You had left him with his application of Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade after dropping him off at the hospital to switch with Gallant, primarily because you still had applications to spare and no one else needed it urgently. Still, you're glad that your hunch that he could use it to help stabilize critical-care patients panned out.
"You've helped save their lives," you say, because he looks like he needs to hear it. "Without you-"
"I know!" he blurts out, his gaze shifting past you for a long moment, and from the angle you suspect it's towards the curtain hiding Aisha. Wearily, he shakes his head and sighs. "I know. Thanks. Let's… let's just…" he closes his eyes and takes another long breath. "What do you need me to do?"
You motion to the closest form, a pale-yellowed torso missing everything below the pelvis, both arms cut off at the bicep, with its shaved head a bloody smear of stitches - revealing dozens of surgically-implanted eyes, each locked in a thousand-yard stare of pain and horror.
The other body isn't much better, but you want to get the worst out of the way first.
"How long ago did you freeze Saki?"
Dennis blinks, then looks down to the small clock resting in his lap. "Two minutes and a few seconds ago. Could unfreeze anytime now."
Sparks arc from the diamond soulgem in your forehead, cascading down your head and arms and into your hands and forearms, causing the graphite-grey, clay-like flesh to melt away and reveal the flared soulsteel vambraces and skeletal hands of your Omnitool Implants. Your pitch-black skeleton hands retract into the vambraces, only to be replaced by dozens of black, nightmarish surgical tools.
Stepping to the side of the bed, you keep your tool-laden hands hovering over Saki's form while Dennis warily pulls his hand back to let you prepare. All the while, you keep your Diagnostic Overlay running, using the constant stream of errors from it as a way of immediately detecting when the time-stop effect cuts out.
"And now," you breathe out, hands twitching in strained anticipation, "we wait."
***
You're not certain what it says about the state of the hospital or the PRT's standard operating procedures at the moment, but you are certain that normally there should be far more caution going into the operation you are performing at the moment. Just off the top of your head, you should be operating in a hermetically-sealed room with all other attendees in full hazmat gear (because Bonesaw), the operating room should be far away from any critical locations or structures (because Bakuda), actual doctors who have been trained for this should be helping you (because you are not a doctor, nor have you had any formal medical training), and you know both the PRT and the Youth Guard should have some sort of oversight over this entire situation.
But none of those safeguards, precautions, or legal oversights are in place.
Which is bad, because three seconds after the time-stop effect ends, your Diagnostic Overlay reveals a bomb the size of a grapefruit in Saki's chest.
Pouring essence into your 2nd Perception Augmentation and Dynamic Reaction Enhancement System, time slows to a crawl. Fingers morphed into cutting and sawing implements, droplets of blood seem almost lazily suspended in air as you plunge your hands into Saki's abdomen and reach-
The instant the scalpel manifested from your right hand's ring finger brushes against the buzzing metal sphere nestled between Saki's lungs, you trigger your Technomorphic Integration Engine.
The next four seconds feel like an eternity, but with a faint sound of whirring and clicking you feel the bomb folding in on itself in impossible ways as it neatly compacts down to the size of a toothpick before sliding into the small hole that has opened up on the side of scalpel - that then neatly slides closed, leaving no trace of it ever existing.
You look back up at Dennis, meeting his wide-eyed gaze as your anima begins to billow smoke and light inverts all around you.
"W-wha-" he stammers out, after watching you explode into a blur of motion and then stop just as abruptly.
Behind your eyes, schematics flitter by for a bomb designed to spread a virus that would target a person's Corona Gemma, making it mutate and consume the rest of their brain.
Silently, you say a prayer to the Maker that your face can't pale in horror.
"I-" you cough, managing a weak smile. "I told you. I got this."
***
After the initial bomb scare - which you keep to yourself despite Dennis' questioning gaze - attending to Saki's dozens of other mortal wounds is considerably less stressful, though still an anguishing experience. You are tempted to call over Prayer to have her lend assistance with her healing charm, but with her charms still not functioning at their full capacity and its full capabilities still unknown, you'd rather get both of the Twins stable before you start experimenting with it more than she is currently doing with Bladedancer's current damage.
After twenty minutes of nonstop sawing, suturing, severing, and securing, you are left with one final obstacle that you have no comfortable way to deal with.
The cold, clear wash of Clarity floods into your mind and down through your body, helping wash away the tears forming in your eyes.
Clockblocker gives you a hopeful look once he notices you've finished with the first Twin, having averted his own gaze when you were removing the extra eyes implanted all over Saki's head, but you do not meet his stare. Instead, you step away from the bed and make your way around to the left side of Sakura's bed - your body slipping easily into the space between the wall and the stretcher. You hold your hands - each a constantly-shifting array of wicked-looking surgical implements - out over Sakura's mangled form.
Barely a dozen seconds later, your Optical Enhancement's Diagnostic Overlay sub-module stops spitting garbage across your mind and your hands burst into action. Your anima flares to life again as you pour more and more essence into your charms, giving you the speed and reaction capabilities you need…
… because there are three bombs this time.
The first one is, cleverly, a decoy, but removing it triggers the activation of the second and third bombs' detonation timers. Thanks to your experimentation during your week in solitary confinement, however, you have determined that some sort of stasis effect kicks in across mundane objects when your Technomorphic Integration Engine begins its absorption process - the second bomb doesn't even have a chance to begin its countdown before you seize it.
But you don't have four seconds to wait for the third bomb.
Technomorphic Integration Engine's secondary sub-module - Endodiagnostic Analytical Routines - blazes to life in your mind, feeding you a comprehensive understanding of the Bakuda bombs you've already absorbed, as well as the dozens of other explosive-related Tinker artifacts you've absorbed since you woke up in The Locker. Guiding that ocean of data with your intellect and skills in crafting, you are moving before you even make the conscious decision to do so.
It was, as usual, the red wire.
Which would be amusing, if you weren't wrist-deep in the chest and abdomen of a seventeen-year-old girl, who is only in this position because you brought an Endbringer down upon her hometown.
But you have no time for emotions right now, the mechanical surety of the Great Maker keeping your hands steady and swift.
With a light tap, you absorb the third bomb - despite it having been rendered inert - and move on to the next-most pressing mortal wound.
***
"I am unable to save her."
Dennis starts abruptly, turning from where he was studying your work on Saki's time-frozen body. Almost without thinking, he taps Sakura's body with his right index finger and you feel your Diagnostic Overlay abruptly shift to spouting garbage results again.
"What? After all that…" he hisses, gesturing with with his left hand, "...bullshit you just did?! What the hell?"
"Numerous mechanical and chemical alterations were made to both of their brains, including remote systems to control the operation of their Corona Gemmas. The work was likely rushed and utilized suboptimal equipment, resulting in systems not robust enough to endure combat conditions without constant maintenance. Loss of blood and other trauma induced significant additional damage to their frontal, temporal, and occipital lobes when the implants failed."
Your words echo cleanly through the room, the only other sound the heart monitor at Who's bedside - the only functional one in the hospital, which you suspect Armsmaster repaired personally in order to keep track of the young Stranger's health should she fall unconscious.
"It is possible that Wyld could contain and repair the damage," you continue, looking down at Sakura's similarly-traumatized form. "...If she felt willing to go against her long-standing rule against operating on functional human brains. But she is hospitalized herself, and in New York, and thus will not be available in time."
Dennis' eyes have fallen to the floor, though you see him still poking Saki's form to ensure a continual application of his power.
"Saki is currently in the early stages of total brain death; even more than two or three minutes outside of your power and degradation will accelerate at a geometric rate."
Dennis just nods.
Just as he is about to pull his hand away from Sakura, so that you can begin the process all over again, you hear a slurred expletive from the other side of the room.
"Bluu...shhhit."
The gangly redhead pops up from his seat at the sound of Aisha's voice, but immediately winces and glances back at Saki and Sakura. You pay him no mind, instead contemplating whether she is suggesting what you think she is suggesting. There is no follow-up explanation, however, though you suppose it should be surprising enough that she was able to follow your speech - or speak up at all - given that she is undoubtedly swimming in sedatives and painkillers.
The silence that follows is instead broken by a calm, even tone of harmonized crystals.
"Is neither worthy, Administrator?"
Though you only have a handful of flies and spiders in the room, you are able to get a reasonably-clear view of First Prayer of Perfection, still at Bladedancer's beside. You can't quite make out the details of her expression from the angles you have now, but she still appears to be gazing at her long-time friend while her charm continues to work - the shard of adamant now gone, and the wound now close to being mended.
Is she aware that Bladedancer's condition is only slightly better than Saki's? The damage your Diagnostic Overlay observed in Bladedancer's head was catastrophic, but you have a feeling she too could be saved by Conversion.
Or, rather, instead.
Though your eyes are directed towards where Prayer is sitting, you still notice Dennis growing more confused by the second, tilting his head back and forth as if trying to follow the conversation being held through privacy curtains.
"I considered her. Them. But…" you trail off, trying to put your own hesitation to words. "... they did not stand out."
There is a click of teeth as the redheaded Striker's mouth snaps closed, and the look he turns on you is a mixture of comprehension, shock, and disdain.
"Wait, wait?" he blurts out. "You're talking about that conversion thing you told us about, right? Same thing that happened with Marrow and you? You think that will save them but you don't feel like they're worth it?!"
Dennis stands, still keeping hands on both Saki and Sakura but letting his helmet fall to the ground with a jarring clatter of ceramic armor on ceramic tiling.
"What the fuck, Taylor?! They fucking worship you!"
There's a mumbled grunt of ascension from Aisha's area and a stirring moan from Geode's seated, slumbering form next to Xylophone's bed, but they are both quickly cut off by a rap of metal on tile from Armsmaster rapping the butt of his halberd against the floor.
"Quiet, Clockblocker," he grunts in his usual tone of controlled authority. After a brief, awkward pause - during which Dennis looks ready to either punch you or him in the face - you hear Armsmaster clear his throat and follow-up with, "Weaver. Explain yourself."
There is a brief moment of hesitation at being ordered to divulge such… personal? Private? Mission-critical?... information, but then one of your six minds recalls that all signs point to the Slaughterhouse Nine having obtained a copy of the explanation you gave to the PRT higher-ups. So while Armsmaster has been a tentative candidate for Exaltation for a while now, you'll be damned if you'll let him be less informed about these matters than Jack Slash.
In the most level and matter-of-fact tone you can muster, you try to condense a three-hour-long presentation down to something resembling an 'elevator pitch.'
"The extra-dimensional entity that converted me from a parahuman to an Alchemical Exalt is dying, and needs the help of me and five others like me to bring him to our universe before his death causes a potential cascade failure of the multiverse. There are four more slots left, and each slot needs a candidate with specific qualities or it will fail."
Armsmaster is stock-still for several seconds, and even Dennis - who has already heard your full presentation before - is working his mouth in a way that makes you think he's seriously considering that you've been pulling his leg this whole time.
The silence is awkward… until you realize that there shouldn't be silence at all.
"That's a fascinating way to phrase it, Enduring Order Administrator," comes the voice of Jack Slash through Aisha's heart monitor. "But please, do continue."
***
A four-wheeled stand holding up single flat-screen display. On the display, three green lines across a black background, each for a different measurement: heart rate, respiratory rate, and blood pressure. The top and bottom lines have flattened out, which would normally be cause for alarm and distress.
You are more focused on the middle line, which has morphed into a mockery of a smiling, toothy grin.
You can see this clearly, because at the sound of Jack Slash's voice Armsmaster leapt from his position at the door and tore away the privacy curtain around Aisha's bed - giving you a clear line-of-sight to the scene at-hand. At the same time, you step away from the wall, placing yourself between the compromised heart monitor and the Twins - First Prayer of Perfection mirroring your sentiment by assuming a combat-ready stance at the base of Bladedancer's bed.
Behind you, Dennis fumbles with trying to put on his helmet while maintaining contact with both of the Twins. Geode, somehow, is still grumbling from her passed-out position at Xylophone's bedside.
Armsmaster's halberd is pointed at the grinning heart monitor, but from the way his stance is set it's clear that he's also considering Aisha's barely-conscious, hospital-gown-clad form a potential threat as well. His voice is tight with fury, mouth contorted into a disgusted snarl.
"Jack Slash."
"Shush, now, Colin," the green grin sighs, a bemused eye-roll evident in the synthesized voice. "Only important people are allowed to talk."
There is a scraping, creaking sound from Armsmaster's gauntlets as his grip threatens to crush the handle of his halberd in his hands, but he manages to restrain himself before any damage becomes apparent. Instead, the former Protectorate leader whips his head around towards you - still keeping the heart monitor in his peripheral vision.
A brief moment of silence follows as you wait for your armor to finish extruding and your helmet's HUD to come back online, long enough for Armsmaster to reign in his temper enough to manage a coherent - if somewhat mechanical - response.
"No games, scum. Explain yourself."
There is a long-suffering sigh, and then Aisha spasms and coughs - just as your Diagnostic Overlay scan reveals the finger-long, squid-like robot that has wire-thin tentacles wrapped around her heart and impaling her spine.
"Is that clear enough for you, Colin? I'm sure the good Administrator caught on instantly, but I suppose youth and talent trumps plain experience. Now, where were we?"
You make a mental note to order all local hospitals to stop using privacy curtains for the duration of the Slaughterhouse Nine's attacks, while at the same time quickly moving to tear away the curtains around Xylophone's bed so that you can scan her as well. As you move, you also put up a hand to motion for Armsmaster to hold - then point to Aisha, then to your own (armored) chest and make a circular motion.
Armsmaster's mouth twitches in suppressed fury as he watches, but makes a slight nod of understanding. In the background, Jack Slash makes a cheerful sound of remembrance.
"Of course, yes! The bombs!"
The moment Jack mentions the word "bomb" there is a collective intake of breath and widening of eyes, with the every conscious occupant a split-second from diving for cover.
"Administrator, I must confess that this has been the most fun I've had in decades! I was sure that at least one of the bombs would slip through your magic fingers," and here he makes an amused trill that gives you the impression he's waggling his fingers at the same time, "but it sounds like you're all in one piece! Except for Sakura and Saki, of course, but they're not really people anymore so they don't count."
A heartbeat passes as the room processes Jack's declaration, after which the room's attention suddenly diverts towards you. Another moment of quiet follows as you wait for your scan of Xylophone and Geode to finish - both coming up clean in a reasonably-comprehensive, five-second scan - before you begin moving towards Narwhal's area to scan her.
Unfortunately, the tension in the room is too thick for you to maintain your silence any longer. From the PRT's dossiers on him to the playful mannerisms he tries to effect, the usual understanding is that Jack Slash never engages a conversation with heroes unless he has multiple methods of leverage to keep people listening. He is a man that loves to hear himself talk, yes, but his ultimate goal is clearly to leave people more confused and off-balance than before.
Two can play at that game.
"You're pathetic," you growl out, pouring essence directly into your anima to flare it to totemic levels. The world around you seems to collapse into a lightless, smoke-choked vortex, lit only by the Design Weaver's baleful gaze. "You think I'm afraid of you? You're just a bump on the road, a bug on the windshield compared to the real enemies I'm facing. In fifty years, no one will even remember your name."
There is a strangled, warbling grunt from the heart monitor, the toothy grin disappearing as all three lines fluctuate wildly... long enough for you to dart across the room, tear aside the aquamarine curtain concealing Narwhal's gown-covered form, and complete a quick Diagnostic Overlay scan.
"Everyone else is clean," you say low enough that it might not be picked up by the drone in Aisha's chest. Armsmaster - who only slightly shuffled his stance in response to your anima spectacle - nods and then looks back towards the monitor.
"Well!" comes Jack Slash's voice, sounding slightly more distorted than before even though the tooth-filled smile is back in full. "How bracing! I imagine that looked ever-so-frightening, too, but there's rarely ever a camera around when you want one. Is that the ominous mechanical spider you used to terrify your friends and all those bystanders in New York? Poor Missy reacted so violently to Bonesaw's spiders, I think you scarred her for life."
"We stopped everything you tried today," you spit out, Clarity allowing you to power through whatever rage and vitriol would be inspired by his mention of Missy, "and you had more than a week to plan it. We killed Burnscar, we killed Bakuda, we killed Crawler. And now that we have Uzu and Tatsu back, there's nowhere you can hide. But when I find you, Jacob, I'm not going to kill you - I'm going to erase you."
For a tense moment there is nothing. The grin disappears to become a solid line again, and the room quiet enough to hear the whine of your suit's servos. But then it starts: a light, wavering, synthetic warble. As it grows longer and steadier, the line rippling once more, the sound becomes clear even through the limited sound hardware.
Jack Slash laughs, long and genuine.
"Now that's the spirit! Oh, if only more Wards were as lively as you, this world would so much more bearable. Pity you forgot one crucial detail."
Aisha spasms, then goes limp with a strangled, wordless gasp.
"You're running out of friends."
***
In the three long strides it takes you to reach the side of Aisha's bed, you rip off your armored gauntlets - not waiting the four seconds to absorb them. Fingers morphed into a single long blade, you plunge your right hand directly into the side of Aisha's ribcage.
To your left, on the other side of the bed, Armsmaster steps forward and decisively severs the wires connecting Aisha to the heart monitor.
As you begin absorbing the tiny robotic squid that was trying to crush Aisha's heart and spine, Armsmaster turns his attention to his left armband, analyzing the trace he was undoubtedly running on Jack Slash's signal. Behind him, you see Prayer looking at you expectantly.
"Marrow," you intone, gesturing with your head towards the young Stranger.
Before Armsmaster can even react, Prayer glides around his position with inhuman grace, her hands quickly snapping out to Aisha's forehead and chest. Within seconds the flood of crystalline spiders begins to wash out from microscopic pores in her wrist and hands.
Almost absently, you reach across the bed with your right hand to tap the correct sequence of buttons on the side of the monitor to shut it up, giving you a few minutes of quiet as you work to piece together Aisha's heart and spine. There are some initial conflicts between your tools and the crystal spiders, which Prayer seems oblivious to, but after the third unsuccessful attempt to dislodge your surgical implements you get the impression that they've given up on the effort and note that they are now moving to repair wounds far away from your meddlesome machinations.
Just as you're finishing ensuring that the internal bleeding has ceased and the nerves in Aisha's spinal cord are reconnected, Armsmaster finishes his work with a frustrated grunt - the small holographic display blinking away with a light buzz. The former Protectorate leader backs away from the bed, emotions still visibly warring across his jawline, and then turns back to you.
"Your scans discovered bombs. You failed to notify me. Explain."
Absently sewing up the holes you made in Aisha's hospital gown when you pierced it with your bladed hands - miniature tubes sucking up the blood that had soaked into it, just because you can - you turn your helmeted gaze to meet Armsmaster's own.
"The bombs housed within their bodies were set to trigger upon detecting my presence. If I had not operated immediately, Uzu and Tatsu would have been lost."
The muscular Tinker squares his shoulders, left hand shifting his halberd so that it is once again standing straight as its wielder.
"The time-stop field should have held. Clockblocker disobeyed orders. We were securing a proper operating theater."
"Giving the Slaughterhouse Nine time to either move to capture them again, or prepare another response." You explain levely, pointing to the silent heart monitor across from you. "We do not have time to spare, and I needed to determine whether we could factor the Twins into the next stages of our plans - they would know everywhere the Nine have been and would be able to take us straight to them."
Armsmaster visibly bristles, his gloved hands slowly clenching.
"Your plans? Is this your 'conversion' treatment? You are a Ward. You lack the authority and experience necessary to make those calls."
As your split minds are no longer occupied with "mortal peril"-caliber tasks, you spare a train of thought to consider why Armsmaster is so insistent on this matter. Before Behemoth ruined everything, you were under the growing impression that he was regarding you with a measure of respect and… well, perhaps not fondness. Tolerance? It was also clear that he understood your own Tinkering abilities could rapidly outpace his own, without even needing to dedicate the absurd amount of time that he does to his own projects.
Do you mention that you are now to be considered a member of the Protectorate for the duration of the Slaughterhouse Nine's attacks? That would, effectively, make you of equal standing in Philadelphia - he hasn't officially been named second-in-command, despite your suspicion that Director Uriel is going to take this opportunity to knock Erasmus out of the position - despite his fifteen years of experience to your two month existence.
It's clear that Armsmaster is a proud man, which is understandable given his long history of heroism and notable deeds, but the cultivation of his image still dictates much of his focus. Logic dictates that you have nothing to gain by pushing him on this, and your plans for later this afternoon call for him to be willing to listen to your orders.
Slowly, smoothly, you bend down and pick up your discarded gauntlets, then snap them back into place over your bloody, tool-laden hands. With that done, you turn to regard him fully, keep your hands at your sides, and then bow to a forty-five degree angle from the waist - a sufficient display of penance and respect, you feel.
"You are correct. I acted rashly, and placed the lives of everyone in this room in danger. I apologize for not consulting or alerting my superiors to my intentions or their immediate consequences. In the future, unless the delay would cause immediate harm, I will endeavor to remember the chain of command."
For several long moments, Armsmaster remains motionless… save for his jaw slowly growing more slack by the moment, until his mouth can barely be counted as a frown at all.
"Acceptable."
Armsmaster turns, then stalks back to his post at the door. With the shuffling of armor he resumes his stance, almost as if the last few minutes hadn't even happened.
Looking back to Prayer, you see that she is observing you with an even expression.
"Who should be safe for now, Marrow. It might be best if you try to see if your charm can repair all of the damage to Bladedancer - that should determine whether it can also save the Twins."
Prayer blinks once, nods, then moves to take up her position at Bladedancer's side once again. As she does so, you think you see the hint of a smile on her lips, but it was likely just a trick of the light. Then, with four calculated steps, you find yourself standing before Clockblocker once again.
"I am calling for the other Wards to join us for a few minutes in this room. I will also ask Dragon to see if Strider and Nowhere can spare a moment of their time. Is there anyone else that you believe interacted with Uzu and Tatsu enough to give me a good judge of their characters?"
In the silence, you suspect he is blinking owlishly at you from behind his mask.
"Well, there was that group of girls they hung out with at school…"
***
While the mess in the main lobby is gradually sorting itself out now that you're helping coordinate the hospital staff with your swarm and bug-clone, you're able to convince the other Wards to spare a few minutes of their time - all save for Willow, who is busy applying her pain-killing power at the behest of the hospital staff. When the group arrives and you question them for other people that might shed more light on the Twins' personalities and lifestyles, the conversation quickly devolves into a surprisingly-long list of other students at Hero High School… and after the third romantically-paired couple, you pick up on the trend.
"... and didn't they get Suzie together with Jason?" Gallant muses, rubbing a battered silver gauntlet across his chin. "Or, did they break up last week?"
"Oooo yeah, but, like, that was because they both came out of the closet!" Geode giggles, her gloomy and morose attitude having disappeared in a flash when she recognized the topic at-hand: gossip. She has still kept her seat by Xylophone's bedside, but everyone else has either taken to sitting against the wall near Xylophone and the Twins' beds - Weld the only one remaining on his feet, leaning tentatively against the wall.
Kid Win visibly starts at this choice piece of information. "Wait wait wait… Jason? As in Jason Schumaker? The captain of the varsity lacrosse team? The guy that's slept with pretty much every girl on the cheerleading squad?"
Geode just giggles even harder, holding her bloodstained glove to her mouth for a moment to stifle the laugh without realizing the state of her hands. "Noooo no no, he's dated every cheerleader… then usually dumped them when they tried to get in his pants. I heard they'd made it into a competition to see who could get him first."
Clockblocker and Weld snort in laughter, while Gallant shuffles awkwardly and Kid Win stills in apparent shock. You merely tilt your your helmeted head slightly, moderately surprised by the way this conversation has turned, but the cold embrace of Clarity keeps your emotions in check.
You're certain Aisha would have something to say about all this, but a quick Diagnostic Overlay scan shows she'll be out for at least another hour, and Xylophone - mostly suffering from full-body burns and lacerations - is going to be out until at least tonight.
As the small break of laughter settles, you decide to finally speak up. "If I am to interpret this correctly, in less than a month after entering a new high school, Uzu and Tatsu successfully arranged eight successful relationships, failing in only one case."
Your words attract the attention of the group again, but this time there is a quick moment of silence before the Brockton Bay survivors - along with Weld - share quick glances. Geode, however, has her mouth turned down in a slight frown as she looks at you.
"Like, why are you talking like a robot, Weaver?" she wonders openly, but then immediately gasps and sits up in her metal folding chair in shock, looking at Weld. "Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be racist!"
In between the chorus of restrained snickering Geode's protest causes, Weld blinks a few times and silently opens and closes his mouth before finally rolling his mercury-like eyes. "I'm not-"
"I am currently utilizing the effects of Clarity to curb inefficient emotional outbursts, Geode," you interrupt. "I covered this in my presentation to you all last week."
Your correction puts a lid on the snickering, helping you get this conversation back on track, and Geode makes a little 'O' with her mouth as she nods in remembrance.
"But that is irrelevant. My question regarding Uzu and Tatsu remains."
After a brief moment of shared looks of concern, Gallant takes the lead in the conversation again with a shrug. "You mean about them going all 'Matchmaker'? I guess, but I think it was mostly because the Redmondt Twins on the cheerleading team snatched them up the first day we started."
"Abigail and Zelda," Clockblocker adds with sniff, nodding his head sagely. "Super hot."
The mind you have allocated to this conversation idly wonders if you should strike Clockblocker for his comment, as Missy is no longer around to do so, but you crush that train of thought before it causes you to fall deeper into Clarity. Instead, you simply turn your helmeted gaze upon him until he visibly shrinks back from it.
"Another pair of Twins?" you ask, turning back to a slightly-bemused Gallant. "Were they part of the PRT's arrangements to mask Uzu and Tatsu's appearance?"
"No, that was a pair of freshman girls… that I, uh, forget the names of right now," Gallant admits with a shrug, getting negative head-shakes when he looks to his peers for help. "Sorry. But yeah, they usually spent lunch with the cheerleaders, right Geode?"
"R-right! I mean, I model with Leah and Sarah on the team, too, so I totally sit with them when I'm there, too, but, like, Uzu and Tatsu didn't really talk that much whenever I saw them, but last week all the girls were toootally loving what they'd done with Christie and Ted so they were, like, 'oh hook me up with Chaz' or 'break up Tara and Bobbie so that I can get with him'-"
"Thank you, Geode," you interrupt, holding up a hand so that the talkative Shaker doesn't forget to breathe. "I did not know that Uzu and Tatsu possessed such social acumen. Is there a reason that they did not display these skills while at the base? From my observations they kept to themselves when not out on training missions."
Your question causes some hums of thought from Kid Win, Geode, and Gallant, but Weld's furrowed brow eventually gives way to a voice filled with concern and confusion.
"Weaver, I don't mean to interrupt all this since I don't know them very well, but… why are we even talking about this? Are they going to be alright?"
The Twins are both now mostly covered by their respective bedsheets and hospital gowns that you obtained from the hallway outside, as well as some cotton gauze wrappings to mask the sutured head wounds, but Clockblocker is still dutifully keeping them time-frozen from his seated position between their beds. At Weld's question, he stirs slightly and looks past you to the rest of the gathered Wards and shakes his head.
"No," he bites out, the anger from before quickly returning into his voice and posture, "they aren't. Unless she decides they're good enough to save."
As the group visibly reels from Clockblocker's words, you perform another quick Diagnostic Overlay on Bladedancer to re-confirm what your previous scans revealed: despite appearing to be nearly fully recovered physically, Prayer's healing charm has only marginally healed the brain damage inflicted by the recent injury. While the severed capillaries have mostly been reconstituted, most of the nerves have been re-connected, and the tiny spiders appear to be spitting out new cerebrospinal fluid to replace what was lost, there is dramatically less brain activity in the previously-wounded areas than should be normal. Is this due to Prayer's mis-configured charm, something the charm simply can't fix normally, or another case of poor interactions between essence-based charms and the "normal" laws of physics?
You table that thought for later contemplation, then turn fully towards the other wards and gesture with your right arm at both covered forms.
"Uzu and Tatsu," you begin, interrupting the outbursts of confusion and protest after Clockblocker's declaration, "will suffer complete brain death within three minutes after they are released from Clockblocker's time-stop effect, due to the critical deterioration of the cerebral implants placed by Bonesaw. Absorbing the implants would tear their brains apart, and repairing or deactivating the implants will trigger their fail-deadly self-destruct mechanisms."
This silences the small crowd momentarily, and even on the other side of the room Armsmaster shifts slightly at his post. Still, Clockblocker is glaring at you from behind his mask, while Weld is back to looking at you with a mixture of concern and confusion.
"I have considered a possible method to save both of them through Conversion," you nod, which draws a blink of shock from Weld and jolts of surprise from the others. "But as I explained before, not only does one require truly heroic strength of character to survive the process, but only specific types of personalities will catalyze an Alchemical Exaltation."
In the beat of silence that statement earns you, Kid Win slowly raises his hand from his cross-legged position on the floor. You turn your head down towards his direction, which gets him to clear his throat awkwardly.
"But, uh, Weaver… didn't you say that you don't know what happens if someone fails? If they're going to die anyway, isn't it worth a shot?"
The logical response to such a question is a matter-of-fact 'No,' but it is clear that your friends are far too emotionally caught up in the matter to view this situation objectively.
If you learned anything during your week-long deep-dive into Clarity after the Behemoth fight, it is that teenagers and logic rarely mix.
Smoothly bringing up your gauntleted hands so that your palms are facing outwards, you try to assume a position of deferment and submission so that your next words do not cause undue anger or alarm.
"When Jack Slash recorded his video yesterday, the cerebral augmentations Vista demonstrated appeared superficially similar to those I discovered within Uzu and Tatsu. I anticipate that, should we recover her intact, Conversion will also be Vista's only hope of recovery. Unlike Uzu and Tatsu, I am confident that she possesses both the will and personality to catalyze one of the Alchemical castes - the Jade caste, specifically. However, should I attempt to perform Conversion on Uzu and Tatsu, all my information points to the Cradle being unavailable for the next week."
Stunned silence follows your explanation, and you consider for a moment that it's possible that - after everything that has happened today - the others had momentarily forgotten that Uzu and Tatsu weren't the only members of your group taken by the Slaughterhouse Nine. But it is Geode, her voice wavering to a degree that you suspect tears have formed behind her opaque visor, that shoots this idea down.
"B-but what about Bo-...Transfusion? You're gonna try to save him too, right? O-or what if…" she trails off, looking at the gauze-covered form of her best friend on the bed next to her, "...what if Xy never..."
Shaking your head to clear the slight fog of exasperation you're starting to feel creep into your mind, signaling that your Clarity may be receding in the face of all these emotional displays, you audibly sigh to give the appearance that this is a difficult decision for you to make.
"Transfusion and Xylophone will be considered if it becomes clear that nothing else will save them, but at the moment neither of them have displayed the full range of traits needed to catalyze an Alchemical Exaltation - which places the hundreds of millions of lives in Autochthonia in even greater danger."
You leave out your premonitions that the entire multiverse may be at risk if your mission to save Autochthon ends in failure, if only because claims of 'the End of the World' generally cause more derision than serious concern. Better to focus on more concrete details, such as the clear cost of human lives if Autochthonia falls - which seems to have worked, if the reluctant nods of acceptance from Gallant, Kid Win, and Weld are anything to go by.
But while Geode is only looking more morose by the second, Clockblocker perks up after a moment of silent thought.
"Hey, wait," his voice growing more hopeful by the second, "didn't you say that Wyld could probably fix the Twins if she were here? I know she's not here now, but doesn't that mean that she'd be able to fix Vista… or Transfusion or… anyone else, once she gets back?"
As everyone else seems to catch onto the idea, you pause for a moment before nodding your head slowly. You had considered this, of course…
… but, if your memories of the caste are correct, Vista is practically guaranteed to catalyze as a Jade caste Alchemical, and has thus far proven that she would work exceptionally well under your leadership. While the new information about Saki and Sakura paint them as having far more potential as Starmetal or Moonsilver than you had thought mere hours ago, there is still the matter that obtaining permission from the PRT and her legal guardians to convert Vista will be orders of magnitude more difficult if she is healthy - and she would have to be, to survive at least until the Cradle opens up for use again.
Still, it would not do to lie to your friends, as they would undoubtedly discover the truth later on.
"I do not intend to rely upon Wyld's presence - or survival - in this ongoing battle," you intone, directing your gaze at Clockblocker. "She has already proven vulnerable once, and we do not know when she and her team will return from being treated in New York. Even further, my scans show that you will not be able to maintain this level of awareness even if she were to return this evening - the effects of sleep deprivation and my Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade will wear you down within the next few hours, at which point the Twins will unfreeze and rapidly undergo brain-death."
Clockblocker leans away from you as you talk, eventually hanging his head in acceptance as you detail his growing fatigue and what will result from it. He sighs audibly, but his mask muffles it just enough so that you can't quite make out whatever he mumbles afterwards.
Once again, a low hum of silence fills the room again, the heart monitor from before now thoroughly unplugged and moved to beside Armsmaster for later investigation. You begin to lower your hands, preparing to resume the discussion about the Twin's personalities, when Kid Win jerks up and slaps the floor to balance himself.
"A stasis pod!" he begins to babble, the very stereotype of a Tinker seized by the inspirations typical of their power. "And-and it could have different configurable effects! Armsmaster, weren't you working on a way to duplicate Clockblocker's power back in Brockton Bay?"
From his position by the door, Armsmaster flexes his fingers on his halberd and very minutely shifts his stance to one of authority instead of general alertness. His voice is still curt and mechanical from the effects of Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade, but there is clear frustration in his tone.
"My materials and prototype were destroyed on the Rig."
"O-oh, okay, but…" he wavers, before picking up steam again, his armored form bobbing with renewed excitement as he points to the Teleportation Jammer that's been sitting in the far corner of the room. "Well, we built that from scratch in just a few hours last night, and Dragon was providing most of the dimensional tech. If we had Tay-.... Weaver's Thinker power again, we could-"
Armsmaster holds his right hand out in a halting gesture, cutting off Kid Win before he can really get going.
"We used everything on-hand last night. We also need Clockblocker conscious to study his power."
Slowly, Kid Win's power-armored form begins to wilt, shoulders sagging as he leans back against the wall again, but Armsmaster nods once after letting his last statement settle in.
"The idea is sound," he grudgingly admits. "We will discuss later tonight."
Even without using your Optical Enhancement charm to see through his metallic helmet, it's clear by his jolt of surprise that Kid Win is smiling at the awkwardly-delivered praise. He lifts a hand as if to say something in response…
...but is cut off by a burst of sound and wind that fills the room as the lights cut out for a split-second - causing everyone still conscious to assume battle-ready stance.
Only to reveal Strider, standing a few paces from Armsmaster, holding a thick ream of printed paper.
The dark-navy-clad, kabuki-stagehand-themed Mover raises his free hand to cough into it awkwardly as the silence stretches, then slowly brings it up in a silent greeting. By his side, Armsmaster gives him a curt nod of recognition and then resumes his stoic guard routine.
"It's a ninja!" Geode gasps loudly, clapping her hands in genuine excitement. "Just like in my Japanese animes!"
***
The arrival of Strider is not entirely unexpected, though slightly delayed; Dragon mentioned that he would be joining your impromptu 'character study' of the Twins, but that was almost a half-an-hour ago. His tardiness, however, is explained by the stack of papers in his hands.
As you dedicate a mind to sorting through the information your Technomorphic Integration Engine is feeding you about the first cluster of papers he silently hands over, you thank the Maker your helmet is still on.
Ever since you aligned your soul with your Exaltation, Clarity has been significantly easier to shed… but now is certainly an inopportune time for your emotions to begin seeping back into your mind.
"This…" you cough, somewhere between a groan and a sigh, as you bring up a hand to your helmet by sheer reflex. "This is remarkably inappropriate fiction for a school assignment. Why… how do you have this?"
Gallant, Kid Win, Geode, and Clockblocker all perk up at your question, the white-clad time-manipulator barking out a laugh after a moment of recognition.
"No way! Are those the stories they got detentions for a few weeks ago? I never got to see them!"
The others - save for Weld, whose growing confusion is clear on his face - begin laughing and clamber up to their feet to pester the navy-clad Mover for the other collected stories in his grip.
"Ooo! Do you have the Captain Kirk and Doctor Spock one?" Geode coos, pawing at the awkward ninja. "I wanna read it again! It was haawwt."
You extend your gauntleted left hand, shielding the blustering Strider from Geode's assault on his personal space, and extrude the work that you now - depressingly - have forever burned into your memory.
"Here, Geode," you sigh. "I'm done with it."
Doing a an excited shimmy in her turquoise-and-aquamarine, Geode reaches out to take the papers, only to finally recognize the still-drying blood on her hands. The visible part beneath her half-visor helmet blanches slightly, before she takes a few steps back, strips off her gloves, then tosses them on the foot of Xylophone's bed. Her hands now visibly clear of any gore, she quickly nabs the story from your outstretched hand and darts back to her bedside chair to begin reading.
Gallant, Kid Win, and a morbidly-curious Weld pick over the five other stories that Strider brought along, while Clockblocker makes a few mumbled, half-hearted complaints about his current job keeping both his arms busy.
"I could read this one aloud, if you wanted. It's called... 'Yellow Indulgences'?" Kid Win offers, a grin evident even behind his mask. "I think this was the one Sakura tried to read aloud in the class after they got detention the first-"
"No."
Turning his head at the sound of your flat denial, you can almost imagine Kid Win trying to make puppy eyes through his mostly-featureless, chrome-and-red helmet. "Aw, but Weaver! I thought you wanted to get to know more about them and how-"
You cut him off by reaching for the papers in his hands, but squawks in protest, twisting away from your grasping hands before going to sit back down against the far wall again while greedily shuffling through the pages.
Shaking your head with a sigh, you step back and return your gaze to the ever-silent Strider - who is quietly chuckling at the back-and-forth, only evidenced by the way his shoulders are bobbing up and down. You've never really had more than a passing interaction with the famous teleporter, and you wonder just how he and the Twins got to know him well enough for them to have entrusted their tawdry schoolwork to him.
And since he never talks, getting that information out of him is going to be an exercise in leading questions with yes-or-no answers. Unless...
Holding both hands out, palms forward, large holes iris open in your gauntlets as impossibly-compacted bits of machinery and woven wicker flow out of it. With mechanical efficiency the pieces unravel, stitching together along seams that never existed before and cease to exist afterwards - the entire process taking less than five seconds from start to finish.
Waving your right hand to the reclaimed Hover Throne, you offer the clearly-confused Strider a seat. After he tentatively accepts your offer and takes a moment to enjoy the magnificent plush cushion lining, you boot up the holographic display and direct him to the electronic chat tool - syncing up to it with your helmet at the same time. Once he catches on to what you're implying, he cocks his head slightly while examining you for a moment, then wordlessly nods and begins typing.
>>don't have much time already late
The keyboard algorithm that Iris designed for your helmet's HUD is a work of art, but even still it is not quite up to the speed you need right now. Instead, you divert the wireless signal to the Orange Drone you released earlier and commandeer its keyboard for this conversation.
<<Why did you have those stories?
Strider's fingers are quick, though he occasionally stumbles due to the lack of haptic feedback from the holographic keyboard.
>>saw them reading In the Wake of Dawn when I picked them up for training
>>traded recommendations
>>they recd fanfiction instead of books then when I liked it they gave me those
You pay no mind to his terrible written grammar, as it's (hopefully) due to his hurried keystrokes. Instead, you barrel through his mish-mashed language to glean as much information as you can before he has to depart again for the battlefield. There is a single question that is more important that all else...
<<So you're the one I should blame for all those dirty books?
Strider freezes for a heartbeat, his hands locked above the keyboard, before he types punches out a tentative reply.
>>no?
>>I mean Wake of Dawn is dirty ya but I didnt
>>shit
>>they kept reccing stuff that was really dirty and no one seemed to care so I just went along
A bolt of realization freezes Strider again, only this time he practically leaps into the keyboard, scrabbling to get out a response before you make any damning conclusions yourself.
>>I swear there was nothing going on!!!
You blink, not having considered that (thoroughly inappropriate) angle before, then sigh. Given the Twins' apparent enjoyment of tawdry romance stories and erotic fiction outside of their relationship with Strider, you're fairly certain that you just dodged a bullet here.
<<Don't worry, I don't believe they were hitting on you.
At your response Strider nearly collapses back into the seat, though his outstretched arms still manage a hasty reply.
>>oh god thankyou
>>I mean not that they arent nice but
>>ok yeah maybe I should go
<<No! Wait!
<<Did you three ever actually talk?
>>no? didnt really need to
>>they didnt talk to me too much but they were easy to be around I guess
>>Nowhere liked to talk with them sometimes but he talks to everyone
>>tho they did get him to start reading too after he broke up with Knockout which was good because it got him to chill out
>>dont tell him I told u
With the mind you had focusing on tasks for the Orange Drone freed up now, you spin it off to consider how this new information fills in some of the pieces of the picture you've been assembling. It's clear that Saki and Sakura have a much greater wealth of social subtlety than you had previously believed, which doesn't strictly conflict with your own observations; while the Twins always seemed to keep to themselves, they never actually were apart from whatever group they were around. If anything, they may have been silently leading your friends around without any of you even noticing it.
You're not sure if you're more impressed or frightened by the notion. True, they have two years on you, and your social skills still leave much to be desired, but you are an Alchemical Exalted with borderline-omniscience over everything in the localized vicinity.
If they survived conversion… would you even be able to keep up with them at all? Could you trust them with that kind of power?
<<Did they ever talk about their lives? Or any of us?
>>ya tho not alot
>>at the start they loved seeing the world but it was pretty obvs that they didnt like having to leave you guys to train
>>you were the only person they new from brockton but were busy
>>and cause you have that power that shuts down jaunts so they were bummed
>>said they wanted to make sure you thought they were useful
>>uh they said it nicer than that
>>they got better tho! school helped alot I think
While Strider fidgets awkwardly at his keyboard, clearly itching to teleport away if only in embarrassment, you struggle not to hold your head in shame.
Of course they wanted to spend actual time with you. Nearly everything and everyone they had known was obliterated, and the super-famous Ward that was friendly to them in public - whom they had followed across to coast to be with - only gave them the time of day to make use of their teleportation powers. It's possible they even turned to smut just to get a reaction from you.
You curse Jack Slash and the Slaughterhouse Nine, but your spare mind considers the possibility that you may have never considered Saki and Sakura as conversion candidates their perilous condition hadn't forced you to analyze their lives in detail.
If anything, that may show just how worthy they really are.
<<Did you notice any differences between them?
Strider appears to consider your question as your own minds cycle through the information you've gathered on the twin Movers thus far. After a few seconds of reflection, he nods to himself.
>>diff costumes helped
>>Tatsu always kept behind Uzu but was the lead jaunter most the time
>>Uzu started conversations Tatsu finished usually
>>had to get them to switch around during practice to confuse enemies
>>Uzu popped her neck Tatsu popped her knuckles when stressed
>>Tatsu was into
>>uh
>>guy stuff
>>Uzu was into girl stuff
You nod along as the lines flicker into the tiny HUDs visible to the three cockroaches in your Orange Drone, stopping the motion to hang your head when you realize just exactly what Strider is implying about their literary preferences.
<<Thank you, Strider. Your observations have helped more than I expected.
>>no problem
A brief pause as Strider softly sighs to himself, then resumes his hurried typing.
>>theyre good kids
>>Dragon said this could help them?
>>sounded weird but jaunters stick together
>>need to get back soon was helping evac a village before sunrise
Crossing your arms over your armored chest, you absently drum your fingers against your arms as you compile the endearing, shocking, and disappointingly-perverted revelations you've been treated to over the past hour.
<<Do you think you can spare another few minutes? I need to check with Marrow about something first.
Strider turns his head slightly towards you, then nods his cloth-covered head as he punches in three keyboard strokes.
>>ok
It's within your multi-tasking capabilities to continue your conversation with Strider while your physical body strides over to Prayer, who is finishing her last attempt to heal Bladedancer. Despite that, the magnitude of the decision that you need to make demands more than a single mental thread.
When you had first begun to observe your colleagues - parahuman and human alike - for potential conversion candidates, you had ultimately been focused on martial prowess and overall dedication to the cause of heroism. This was mostly as a reaction to your own lack of combat abilities, but the suspicion that the Endbringers were not yet done with you played a part as well. Saki and Sakura, at barely one hundred pounds, just over five feet tall, and with no combat experience (or desire to accumulate any), had only warranted a glance due to their remarkable Mover power.
But what do you need now?
Given the bizarre interactions between essence-based charms and normal physics, you wouldn't be surprised if First Prayer of Perfection has the potential to trivialize practically any physical confrontation outside of an Endbringer attack. For now, you feel you have enough 'muscle' on your Assembly to allow some branching out into different roles.
With yourself as the command and control specialist, and Prayer as the physical combat specialist, the next candidate would ideally possess a Thinker power to help you with either long-term planning, or the ever-present social pressures that you've had to bear the brunt of so far.
Unfortunately, as Lisa, Rory's cousin, and Loom have demonstrated, getting into the good graces of a high-level Thinker is exceptionally difficult; Thinker powers have almost always displayed a complete breakdown when attempting to deal with your very existence, with Accord being the only observed exception.
A shame that he's a supervillain that (possibly) murdered Prayer's former boyfriend. Accord's supposed power of impossibly-heightened intelligence would be a major boon, but you can't afford to have First Prayer of Perfection constantly living deep in Clarity just to work alongside him. There still might be a way to soothe those differences, but that would require social skills far beyond your own.
Just like all the other high-level Thinkers that Dragon has suggested for your review - just by the nature of their powers, Thinkers will undoubtedly require the most convincing to be swayed to the Maker's side.
Which brings you back to your current dilemma. If a Thinker power to augment a candidate's social skills is unfeasible, then that leaves relying upon a candidate's mundane social prowess. As much as you hate to admit it, Glenn Chambers would likely be the best possible candidate in this case, with Gloria Sato a potential second... but both of them have significant responsibilities that they wouldn't realistically drop just because you asked them nicely. While disappointing, they are in positions to help your cause, which they would most likely lose if converted; the PRT is strict about not allowing "parahumans" in position of power, so they'd lose the positions of power you currently need them in right now.
They both also appear to lead decent, albeit busy, lives, which - like Legend - would likely prove to be an additional obstacle to your conversion pitches. While you aren't actively wishing their lives to be ruined, of course, it's unfortunate that "having a nice life" is an obstacle to your cause.
These thoughts are processed and collated alongside all the other concerns, hopes, and factual observations you have for the Twins, coming together to form a clearer picture of their lives and their suitability as candidates for Exaltation - just as you finish walking the eight steps to stand beside First Prayer of Perfection. Her eyes flicker open as your smooth gait terminates next to her, and the flood of microscopic, crystalline spiders beginning to flow back into the small apertures across the backs of her shimmering, cerulean hands. Turning her head to meet your own helmeted gaze, glowing amber eyes regard you with the calm assurity that can only come with Clarity.
"Administrator?"
The amused murmurs, snorts, and giggles from your fellow Wards is enough to cover her resonant utterance, and you dial down your suit's external speakers so as to keep this conversation private.
"Saki and Sakura?"
First Prayer of Perfection remains still for several seconds, then closes her eyes and turns her head back to a neutral position. As the moment drags on, you remain quiet while noticing that Strider is clearly observing your interaction thus far. After nearly a full minute of silence, Prayer turns her head back and meets your gaze again.
"Both?"
"I have an idea," you breathe out, mentally reviewing the best plan you've pieced together from Iris' notes on human souls and the nature of Primordial soul hierarchies. "The odds are lower than I'd prefer, but I think they might pull through."
At this, Prayer's lips twitch almost imperceptibly, and you can almost imagine her placid countenance shifting to a reassuring smile.
"Precision and Grace, Enduring Order Administrator. The Machine God rewards the faithful."
All six of your minds slow to a crawl, and for a moment the world, and all the troubles you've been worrying over, seem to fall away.
Then you blink, and the moment passes.
"Thank you, First Prayer of Perfection."
Straightening up from where she was leaning over Bladedancer's form, Prayer tugs the bedsheet up to cover the visibly-healed heroine. She turns to fully face your armored presence, gives you a smooth, mechanical nod, and then moves to walk past you - likely to begin healing the other wounded, Narwal most likely. Before she can take a full step, however, you hold up your left hand to stall her.
"I don't know how long I'm going to be away, so you'll need to stay with Defiant," you whisper. "I don't want him to get bored with a lot of civilians around. I've been talking with him about his hobbies through my swarm clone, but you might want to pick another topic. It's also possible your anima wiped his memories of earlier, so make sure he recognizes who you are first. Exit from the lobby and you should see him."
Prayer nods, then takes a step back. Keeping her feet shoulder-width apart and her arms stretched out slightly to her sides, shimmering layers of smooth adamant crystal begin to seep up out of her skin all across her body. You recognize that this is going to take a few minutes, so you leave her to it and stride quickly to the final obstacle in the room.
"Armsmaster."
Turning his head slightly, the veteran Protectorate leader directs his usual stern frown to your approaching form.
"Weaver."
You stop just out of arm's reach, clasp your hands behind your back, and take up what you've heard called a 'parade rest' stance.
"Uzu and Tatsu's injuries are beyond what I or Marrow are capable of healing, and no other parahuman healer besides Wyld has successfully treated brain damage to this degree. As Uzu and Tatsu will succumb to their injuries within five minutes of falling out of Clockblocker's temporal stasis, mundane medical professionals would similarly be unable to provide treatment quickly enough to prevent personality death at the least, or complete brain death at the worst. Furthermore, my medical scans indicate that Clockblocker will succumb to fatigue within the next two hours."
You are making no attempt to be discreet, so as your explanation goes on the other conscious members of the room quickly turn to watch the proceedings with muted awe. Armsmaster himself smoothly draws himself up from his defensive position into a stance of authority, his mouth flattening into a thin line as you take a quick moment to let your declaration sink in.
"The leader of the local Protectorate division, Chevalier, is away, hunting down the remnants of the Overleague that survived this morning's engagement. Second in command, Erasmus, is still in San Francisco and is unaware of the situation at-hand. Director Uriel is unconscious, recovering from his earlier surgery. Deputy-Director Durand is in San Francisco with Erasmus. As you are, consequently, the most senior authority available, I am requesting permission to perform an unapproved, yet potentially life-saving procedure on Uzu and Tatsu."
There is a series of starts and weak gasps of surprise from the Wards (or mumbled confusion, from Geode), while Prayer continues to regard your discussion stoically. Armsmaster, for his part, barely moves a muscle, save for the slight working of his jaw as he considers your words. A long moment of silence later, his cold, reserved tone is tight and succinct.
"Would the Director approve?"
Will I be in trouble if I allow this, you understand as the actual question. Still holding Armsmaster's gaze, you maintain your calm, professional tone of voice.
"Director Uriel did not stop Marrow, and I was only held until her return."
Another pause.
"You are certain it will work."
It's not a question, but you answer it anyway.
"I would not attempt it otherwise. The cost of failure would be apocalyptic."
Despite this being a rare case of that adjective not being hyperbolic, from the slight downturn of his lips, you suspect Armsmaster still doesn't believe your earlier proclamation.
"And if…" he stresses, "you succeed?"
"I will return as quickly as possible. Unaided, my suit can travel from Brockton Bay in three-point-five hours, but I will attempt to procure faster transport while on the way."
"What happens to Uzu and Tatsu?"
"They will re-emerge from the Cradle, restored, in seven days."
You're not completely certain of that, given what you're attempting is likely completely unprecedented, but you can't afford to showcase any uncertainty at this moment.
Armsmaster lapses into silence again, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he mulls over your proposal. This close, you've also been listening for Dragon's voice from Armsmaster's helmet, but so far you haven't heard the usual whispers of advice or support that you've come to expect. The small wireframe display of Dragon's avatar in your own HUD has also been motionless and silent, but you're certain she is listening in.
When Armsmaster's silent gaze sweeps across the room to analyze everyone else's reactions, your Ultraperipheral Awareness sub-mod allows you to watch as the other Wards each give him a nod or thumbs-up in support - Geode giving two, extra-cheerful thumbs to compensate for Clockblocker's otherwise-preoccupied hands.
You detect a faint snort at the display, but eventually he turns his visored gaze to match your own helmeted one.
"Approved."
Straightening up, you bring your arms to your side and give a disciplined bow, and fight to keep the grin on your face from disturbing your professional monotone.
"Thank you, sir. You won't regret this."
Turning his head to glance at First Prayer of Perfection, Armsmaster rumbles non-committally.
"See that I don't."
***
Strider's limited timeframe only allows him enough time to give you a quick drop-off near the Brockton Crater's edge, though he greatly appreciates your 'gift' of an application of Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade; he comments that the subsequent increased passenger and teleport limit (which implies his power might have some sort of time-based limitation that you hadn't heard of before) allowed him to react quickly enough to avoid fatal damage from one of Behemoth's lightning blasts, as well as save several thousand more people during the emergency evacuation.
He does ask, however, that you wait at least eight hours before taking it away, as he'd rather not pass out in the middle of his job like the last time you retracted it abruptly. You apologize for that mishap, and tell him that if Dragon isn't available to pass on the warning, you'll at least send him a text message before you do so.
Then, reclaiming the Hover Throne from Strider, you absorb your armor (but keep your helmet on) and begin the complicated process of getting everything ready for the teleport to the Cradle - a complicated, awkward, and potentially-deadly balancing act.
The first step is to secure the Twins-specific teleportation jammer that's been softly humming away in the far corner of the room. It's roughly the size of two loaves of bread stacked vertically, with a trio of mismatched legs clearly cobbled together from different parts, but largely resembles some kind of over-designed juicer mixed with a plasma globe. You're itching to absorb it so that you can learn the purpose behind those two clear, lightning-filled tubes, but until the Twins are safe it needs to remain active and out in the open - to that end, you lock your legs together and help Kid Win carefully secure the jammer against them, using Saki's soon-to-be-useless bedsheet and a roll of duct tape extruded from your Technomorphic Integration Engine to ensure that it will survive any jostling during the trip.
Your legs now thoroughly useless, you float over to the unconscious Twins and explain your next step to the surrounding Wards: 'sitting' both of the Twins on your lap, facing each other. As neither of them have much in the way of legs, you'll need to keep a firm grip on both of them to ensure they don't fall off, and you'll be using your Orange Drone to work the controls of the Hover Throne since your hands will be busy, but those are trivial complications compared to your most pressing one.
Clockblocker's unpredictable time-freeze effect means that one of the Twins could unfreeze only after the other has been unfrozen long enough to suffer brain death. Since his power can last anywhere from ten seconds to ten minutes, and is observably more random the more he tries to control it, you have to hope that either the odds favor you today, or that Marrow's healing charm can slow down the unfrozen twin's deterioration long enough for the other to be released.
With the other Wards assembled around you, and Marrow - now in her thick, crystalline armor - poised to render aid, you give Clockblocker the nod. The white-armored Ward stands up, folds up his metal chair, then quietly scuttles out of the way with it to give you room to maneuver your Hover Throne between the two blood-soaked stretchers.
Five seconds pass.
Ten seconds.
Forty-five seconds.
The tension is enough to even cause Marrow to shift in her stance. Even the smallest sounds are piercing in the anxious silence: the whir of Kid Win's armor as he rolls his shoulders, the hum of the Hover Throne, the creaking of the tiling under Weld's bare, metallic feet.
A bare whisper of a breath from Sakura.
Wordlessly, you whip out your right hand and point to Sakura, causing Marrow to gracefully slide forward and - tentatively aided by the two closest Wards, Kid Win and Gallant - lift up the injured, bandage-covered Mover. With superhuman dexterity, Marrow slides the mostly-limbless torso onto your right thigh, activating her healing charm while you hook your right arm around your injured friend to keep her snug against your shoulder.
Keeping your Diagnostic Overlay scan on Sakura running, you mentally breathe a sigh of relief as your scan detects the microscopic spiders from Marrow's charm valiantly working to combat the physical trauma caused by the overloading circuits from Bonesaw's implants. After a dozen seconds of work they are only barely keeping even with the damage, but that's all you need right now.
Five seconds.
Ten seconds.
Sixty seconds.
Strider clears his throat into a closed fist, startling the anxious Wards, but doesn't move to indicate that he's not going to see this through.
Ninety seconds.
Two minutes.
At the three minute mark, Kid Win's fidgeting finally gets through Clockblocker's patience and the two start quietly jostling against each other for lack of anything better to do. Before even five seconds of immature behavior, however, Weld settles them with a grunt of "cut it out" and a disapproving stare.
Three minutes.
Just eight seconds shy of four minutes, you pick up a soft rush of air through Saki's nose.
After all that waiting, the race against time is on.
***
Under a heavy, overcast sky, Strider's teleport kicks up a massive cloud of ash and dust, briefly obscuring the blasted wasteland that was once Brockton Bay. A quick command to the Hover Throne (by way of the Orange Drone) and its bubble-like forcefield shimmers to life, keeping out the worst of the swirling particles, while at the same time you turn your head to your left to address the increasingly-grime-covered Mover.
"Thank you, Strider."
His motions smoothly mechanical now that he is again under the effects of Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade, Strider raises his right hand in silent farewell and then disappears in a swirl of black-grey dust - but you are already accelerating forwards and upwards, keeping a tight grip on the pale, limp torsos of Saki and Sakura. In the five seconds it takes your helmet's satellite connection to re-establish itself, you've already climbed to be even with the five-storey rim surrounding the massive crater and are pushing forty miles-per-hour.
One of your minds spares a thought of thanks to Kid Win, Armsmaster, and Dragon for building the teleportation jammer rugged enough to survive that transit. It would have been beyond awful for the Twins' power to reflexively pull their unconscious bodies into their pocket dimension after Strider delivered you here, dooming them utterly despite all the effort and hopes you've pinned on them.
Nearing the center of the crater's lake, you focus your will and push essence through your eyes to activate your Essence Sight Oculars sub-module. As your anima's light-devouring radiance and harmless arcs of black lightning burst forth from your soulgem, the world's colors shift as your eyes seek out the tell-tale glimmer of essence leaking from the Cradle.
There.
The brilliant speck of the Cradle stands out starkly against the muted reality of Earth-Bet, like a hole poked into a picture from the early 1900's. With a few more minor adjustments to your Hover Throne's direction and deceleration, you slow to a cautiously-abrupt stop with the glowing one-dimensional pinhole less than a yard directly in front of your face.
Directly between Saki and Sakura's own unconscious countenances.
With mental command through your Orange Drone, the Hover Throne vibrates briefly as you feel its inertial compensators 'lock' you into place, leaving you even more steady than you were last week on the bridge that Dragon and Accord built.
Gently, you place your left and right hands on the back of Saki and Sakura's heads, tilting their faces down ever-so-slightly as you lean them forward...
...and in one smooth motion, slam both of their foreheads into the Cradle at the same time.
The burst of light and essence that automatically activates your Flash Shutters is expected, but the reflective shades that flip down across your eyes still allow you to observe the scene as it plays out. The pain-induced trembling is also anticipated, forcing you to grip Saki and Sakura's heads tightly so that they don't tear away from the Cradle on accident.
You don't think you'll ever become used to the wordless screams of world-shattering agony, no matter how expected it is or how many times you perform this procedure. Even though their throats were raw and barely-functional after their accumulated trauma, there was enough left over to give voice to Sakura and Saki's twisting and piercing cries of soul-wrenching pain.
Then, for a heart-stopping second, the brightness dims and you feel a slight pressure on your hands as Saki and Sakura's heads are forced every-so-slightly apart; instead of their foreheads now pressed against the Cradle, their the new, diamond-like soulgems instead are momentarily sandwiching against the point in space.
The moment stretches, and your racing minds rapidly begin to panic, mourn, scream, and cry. This didn't happen for Marrow, there was almost no pause at all, so does this mean it fai-
Even through your Flash Shutters, you are nearly blinded again by the explosion of essence that erupts from the cradle. It engulfs the Twins, yourself, the Hover Throne, and keeps going…
***
***
You blink, feeling overwhelmed and panicked. The world around you starts to come into focus again, and all six of your minds are still reeling from what you felt, what you heard, what you saw. What were you-
Awkwardly grasping at the last second, you manage to snag Sakura and Saki before they fall off your lap...
You wince at the sight of the smoking, ruined faces of the two former seventeen year-old girls. Charred holes in their foreheads - each nearly the size of your fist - weep liquified, boiling brain matter all over the front of your body and down your legs. The bandages that were wrapped all across their faces and head are still smouldering, tiny flames from the blast of whatever Autochthon did dying out quickly.
The sight doesn't make you as nauseous as Bakuda's stink nuke this morning, but it's a close second.
You hastily absorb Sakura's body and start on Saki's when Dragon's face on your HUD appears to jolt awake, shock and panic clear in her voice.
"Taylor! What did you do?!"
Frowning, you open your mouth to respond.
"I just finishurhk!"
Your response fails in your throat as it turns to a strangled gasp, a feeling of violation spiking into your brain, only to be rebuffed when your Industrial Survival Frame reactivates instinctually with an explosive drain of essence. Your totemic anima bursts to life above you, screeching in affronted fury through roiling clouds of choking smoke.
Dragon's avatar is now completely freaking out.
"Whatever it was, you need to get out of ther-!"
The voice, and Dragon's avatar cuts out. Less than a second later, the rest of your helmet's HUD fills with static.
Just as the hole in your left palm snaps shut - your Technomorphic Integration Engine successfully having absorbed Saki's body - the power to your Hover Throne fails. The throne's antimatter reactor warning sirens fluctuate in odd harmony with your totemic anima's screaming cry.
Reflexively starting the process to absorb the Hover Throne before the reactor's containment fails and annihilates the surrounding countryside… again… you twist in the air as you fall, already preparing to hit the water one hundred feet below.
High above, the overcast sky parts as a screaming angel falls from the heavens, backlit by the noon-day sun.
***
Though you have already started absorbing the Hover Throne, you still need to absorb the Teleportation Jammer (which is bound to your legs), and then the Orange Drone. After that, you still need to extrude the rest of your suit, and then extrude your crossbow. Each of these actions takes four seconds, totalling twenty seconds until you are fit for combat.
It will take just under three seconds for you to fall into the water.
Enough time for you to curse yourself for not seeing this coming.
Ever since the Simurgh had "woken up" when Prayer emerged from the Cradle, the many-winged Endbringer had been flying a tight loop high in the Mesosphere above New England - a clear sign that she was paying close attention to you and the Cradle.
With the revelation that Iris had either been discovered by or delivered directly to the Slaughterhouse Nine, your first instincts suggested that this was either an indirect assassination attempt or a stalling tactic to potentially hamper, stall, or completely foil your plans.
But it's looking more and more like you were never the target in the first place. The Simurgh, somehow, must have either learned about your presentation to the PRT or deduced your plans from your conversion of Marrow, and thus worked to set up a situation where you were rushed into a hasty Conversion of an injured friend… without backup, due to other crises around the world. Did that mean she also set up the Three Blasphemies attack going on in central Africa in addition to the Slaughterhouse Nine attack in Philadelphia?
As if being singled out and isolated by the most terrifying Endbringer isn't enough, she just knocked out your Hover Throne, jammed your helmet's HUD, and tried to turn your brain to jelly… while she was still at least in the Stratosphere. Given those feats, it's quite possible she's also jamming any communication or observation satellites covering the area; there's a possibility that the Simurgh does actually have a maximum range for her powers, but the rapidly-growing fireball headed towards you is decreasing that possibility by the millisecond.
In the last remaining moment, because you don't have much else you can physically do right now, you gracefully twist your body so that you're falling toes-first, feet pointed down, legs locked, and your arms held above your head with your palms pressed flat against each other. Shifting your legs a bit, you even manage to streamline the bulge of the Teleportation Jammer bound to your legs via duct tape and a hospital bedsheet.
The PRT had mandated you read a guide on how to survive falls from drastic heights while your armor was under Tinkertech review, just in case a your suit ran out of power or was destroyed mid-flight. If you survive this, you're going to sit Chris down, shove the pamphlet in his face, and not let him up until he memorizes it.
Through the haze of static in your HUD, you manage one final glance at the flame-wreathed figure barely-visible in the sky, then ready yourself to plunge into the lightly-steaming lake with barely more of a disturbance than an olympic high-diver.
Less than a foot away from the water, your legs are yanked backwards, the Teleportation Jammer ripped free of your wrappings by an invisible hand.
A split-second later, you perform the most graceful ten-story belly-flop ever seen on Earth-Bet.
The world goes black.
***
A thunderous explosion ripples through the water, jarring you awake. Blinking to clear the cobwebs in your minds, and your eyes of the reflexive tears caused by the searing pain all along your chest and abdomen, you notice that your HUD is starting to clear up enough for you to read some of it. Specifically the clock, which shows you were out for barely ten seconds. Idly starting the process of extruding the rest of your armor, you perform a quick mental calculation.
At its lowest point, the Mesosphere is roughly thirty miles above the Earth's surface. Looking through the eyes of the cockroaches in your amazingly-still-intact-but-clearly-in-Simurgh-control Orange Drone, you can see the Simurgh serenely floating nearly three hundred feet above the surface of the lake. Assuming she started diving instant the Twins were Converted, she travelled that distance in barely twenty seconds.
Even with your most low-balled estimate, the Simurgh broke Mach 114. You're fairly certain that shatters any existing parahuman speed record save Legend's, and may even be faster than Leviathan has ever been seen to move while underwater.
So much for your "Outrun Her" escape plan.
Still descending through the murk, you resume contemplating the past few minutes; you're not certain the situation is hopeless, but at this point it is abundantly clear that the Simurgh has the power and range to crush you like a wayward insect at any moment. That she hasn't already is unnerving, but for more than one reason: it's practically a confirmation of your suspicion that Behemoth hadn't been truly intending to kill you during his attack against Brockton Bay. But just as you're about to begin revising your theories about the Endbringer's purpose, the Simurgh begins to float down closer to the water - close enough for your Orange Drone to finally get a detailed view of her.
Even through the tiny cameras you've built into the small drone, the unearthly beauty, poise, and grace of the youngest Endbringer is both captivating and terrifying on a primal level. Just over fifteen feet tall and wrapped in flawless alabaster skin, her thin body's ideal symmetry is offset - just enough to be instinctively off-putting, due to her anatomical correctness - by the dozens of pristine, feathery wings arrayed randomly all across her form, and some even emerging from haphazard points on other wings. No two wings are the same size: the smallest, poking out from her left outside ankle, is barely longer than your palm, while the largest, extending from her right shoulderblade, is easily thirty feet across. Each wing flutters to its own rhythm, but the way her streaming mane of silver hair drifts lazily around her head - as if she were floating in an invisible ocean - puts the lie to the notion that her wings are what keep the fae-like Endbringer aloft. Pupil-less eyes of blank, shimmering silver peer out from a face with high cheekbones and thin lips set in an impassive line, completing the air of inhuman detachment and cold, alien intelligence.
From previous Endbringer fights, it's been revealed that she possesses a similar composition as Behemoth and Leviathan. Combining that with your working theory that the Endbringers' bodies are just shells around their true forms, potentially unnecessary for them to move about or utilize their powers, you're confident that every movement she makes is one calculated to send a message.
As the Simurgh descends she is looking directly at the Orange Drone.
You have the drone's articulated limbs display a quartet of tiny, closed fists, save for their prominently-extended middle fingers.
Three seconds later, you lose contact with the cockroaches in the drone.
You allow yourself a grin of satisfaction, as at the same moment your suit finishes extruding. For half a second your heart cheers as your HUD clears up with the addition of the main suit's computational power, allowing you to finally engage the lights on your helmet and suit to give you vision of the murky depths through which you've been sinking.
Just in time to see a massive hand forged of the fallen bridge's debris come spearing up through the murk. You twist and flare your suits anti-gravity thrusters to try to roll away from the grasping claw, but its enormous handspan is too wide to avoid. You slam into its barn-sized palm as the hand continues to rise, your armor's internal padding and armor protecting you from everything but having your lungs forcibly emptied of the water you had inhaled while unconscious.
You struggle to try to shove yourself off of the enormous construct, but the water slamming into you is just beyond what your strength - and the suit's servos - can muster. Gritting your teeth, you put your all into pushing off just enough to drag your knees under your chest, just in time for the fingers of the gargantuan hand to slam closed into a tight fist - a move that would have either crushed or torn off your legs if you hadn't tucked them in.
Trapped in the Simurgh's grip - both metaphorically and literally - you feel an abrupt lurch and hear a rumbling roar; signs you suspect indicate that you've breached the water's surface. For several seconds there is only the sound of water rushing out of the pocket in which you're trapped, though you are not idle: two can play at this game.
Focusing on your Technomorphic Integration Engine charm, you attempt to absorb any of the cabling or loose metal in contact with your body. For a brief instant you feel the charm latch onto a suitably-sized chunk of warped metal that isn't too big for you to absorb, but as the seconds roll on you rapidly begin to feel a kind of strain - like an over-extended muscle - from where the charm rests near your essence core. You let it go on, ignoring the discomfort as it turns to an ache, but in your mind's eye you can almost sense that the charm is making progress…
Then there is a shift in the construct around you, and you gasp in a mixture of shock and relief as the charm's target is yanked fully from your range and the charm shuts down automatically - like grasping in the dark for a wall, missing completely, only to fall into a comfortable sofa.
You musing about how that settled your own question of whether it was possible for something to successfully evade your Technomorphic Integration Engine's reality-defying mechanisms, but one of your minds counters that idea with a more chilling realization: the Simurgh was undoubtedly watching that entire process, and could have yanked the piece of scrap away the instant you activated your charm.
The only reason she would wait… is if she wanted to study the effect herself.
The sound of metal shearing against metal fills your tiny envelope of space, cables, rivets, and entire sheets of metal screaming in protest as they are warped and twisted with impossible strength and precision. Tucked into your ball, you feel the snaking of cabling twisting and writhing around your armor for a few terrifying seconds, before the massive fingers of the hand-construct snap open just as quickly as they closed. Just as you desperately seize the opportunity and push the suit's anti-gravity thrusters to their maximum, the cabling and strips of metal wrapped around your armor pull you down again.
Your arms forced apart and legs wrapped together, your head is forced to stare straight ahead from your crucified position on the palm of the massive hand. It juts up out of the murky greenish-brown water, so that you are held vertically only a few dozen feet away from the Cradle.
The Simurgh floats opposite you, an equal distance from the Cradle herself, hair trailing above her languidly while her wings flutter in chaotic, hypnotic patterns.
Her stare is silent, and the world around you falls away as she begins to float forward, a ghost of a smile twitching at her lips.
"NO!" you scream, eyes wide behind your helmet at the realization of what she's about to try.
Your armor groans and grinds against the metal holding you in place. You struggle with strength you've never known, and desperately begin to extrude your crossbow into your right hand, even if it won't finish in time.
The Simurgh glides forward, ignoring your curses and your struggles, and plants her forehead directly into the Cradle.
Then there is light.
***
You don't experience the brief lapse of consciousness again, and your Flash Shutters click into place quickly enough to reduce the glare enough to see through. Perhaps it is because you are farther away than before, or maybe the burst of essence is smaller than last time.
Either way, you are treated to the sight of the top half of the Simurgh's head detonate in a brilliant shockwave of force, light, and disgusting ichor.
A thin sliver of oozing, pitch-black skull still remains of the back of her head, leaving her to look like someone carved a watermelon-sized chunk out of her face. Your Essence Sight Oculars also reveal a shimmering weave of essence coating the wound, and though you have no idea what caused it, the coils of acrid smoke wafting from it are a sure sign that - whatever the Simurgh intended to do - things did not go as planned.
Which is reinforced by the cables and strips of steel keeping you in place suddenly give way to your continued struggles, your arms and legs ripping free of the bindings just as the massive hand begins to tremble and fall apart all around you. The Simurgh herself is completely motionless, her wings locked in place and remaining locks of hair falling limply to hang down around her frame.
For a split-second, you pour essence into your Dynamic Reaction Enhancement System, giving your six minds just enough time to re-assess your what you know to be true, versus what you think to be true.
Established Fact: Precogs don't deal well with essence, and are unpredictable when you don't have Incomparable Artifact Transmogrifier active.
Established Fact: The Simurgh has displayed enough evidence to demonstrate that she is a Precog.
Established Fact: The Simurgh has been able to predict your movements.
You blink, considering the fate of your Orange Drone.
Postulated Correction: The Simurgh has only predicted your logical movements.
You are armed with a crossbow, and a suit of armor, against a foe that has withstood point-blank nuclear attacks and is renowned for her complete dominance of Tinkertech. Logic demands a tactical retreat.
So what would Aisha do?
In a flare of blue anti-gravity particles, you leap from the crumbling construct to the sound of shearing and crumpling metal, rear back, and kick the Simurgh's teeth in. Ignoring the sharp spike of pain as a loose shard of her opalescent teeth pierces your boot, you spin around with a dramatic flare, level your freshly-extruded crossbow at the massive hand behind you, and hold down the trigger.
With only the middle finger standing on the hand construct, you turn back to the reeling Endbringer and punch her in the left breast. It doesn't seem to do much besides generate an absurd 'thwak' of metal impacting flesh, so you vault over the back of the stunned angel and fire an explosive bolt into her exposed rear.
The bolt, you, and everything nearby is violently flung backwards by a blast of air strong enough to nearly wrench the massive crossbow from your gasp. As you tumble away, you notice something alarming: the weave of essence around the Simurgh's wound has begun to grow, spreading through what's left of her head, into the wing that is still connected near her left jawline, and down into her neck. Smoke continues to roil and boil from the wound, but instead of ichor leaking now the edges appear to almost be flaking away like dust.
The Simurgh begins to twitch. Faintly at first, then rapidly spiraling into a chaotic seizure.
The burst of air falling away, you quickly spin about in the air with as much showmanship as you can muster, screaming taunting curses in English and Old Realm as you spray as many crossbow bolts into the spasming Endbringer. You still don't have a chance of actually harming her, as even your explosive bolts are only carving fist-sized chunks from her flesh, but this is the most ludicrous plan you can think of to delay her until some reinforcements arrive… which means it might actually work.
Seconds pass as you empty your crossbow's hopper into the flailing angel, the essence spreading through her neck and into her chest as you blast away more and more handfuls of alabaster flesh. Ichor begins to rain down into the lake below from her dark wounds, but the Simurgh pays them no mind.
"Taylor! What's going on!?"
"-RAM IT UP YOUR oh!" you blanche, stumbling in the air at the sudden disruption of your tirade about explosive suppositories, causing your next shot to go wide. If anything, the newly-appeared wireframe avatar in your HUD looks considerably more confused than panicked now. "Dragon! The Simurgh tried to use the Cradle and it backfired! I think it's killing her! I need-!"
Your request for backup dies in your throat as an ear-shattering crack splits the air, the sound you imagine a planet being wrenched in half would make if sound carried through space. The shockwave of force sends you reeling again, and through the teeth-rattling roar you hear a set of pops from your suit's speakers - the last signals from your helmet's external microphones as they shatter from the sound.
As you quickly regain control of your flight, now roughly two-hundred feet from the Simurgh's position near the Cradle and just barely skimming the surface of the turbulent lake, you take in the new sight.
The Simurgh has torn herself in half.
Her top half falls away, everything from just above her right shoulder to her left hipbone, descending with the speed of a discarded mountain. The Simurgh's amputated upper torso trails ash, smoke and ichor in equal parts for the few seconds before it hits the water, landing with a titanic splash as it plunges into the lake's depths.
Having learned your lesson, you don't remain stationary - dodging and weaving in as random a pattern as you can hope to guess, all while trying to put more space between you and the sheared angel. Your ears still ringing from before, you try to continue your conversation with Dragon but can't make out her responses.
"I need help, Dragon, but I don't know if it's safe for anyone! I'm only surviving because she either needs me around for something or can't predict what I'm doing if I act crazy! She's only been able to hit me with wide-area attacks, but with the power she's throwing around I'm not sure I can survive much longer if she's as angry as I think she's getting!"
"Alright, Taylor, just hang on," Dragon breathes, her eyes fluttering closed in a manner that suggests she's pushing her multitasking skills to the limit. "I'm sending the best Endbringer suit that's still operational at the moment, and I think Legend is-"
As if on cue, a burst of searing light in the partially-overcast sky streaks across your vision. The blur resolves as it slows down enough for you to track with your eyes, revealing the blue-and-white suit of Legend, his mouth set in a determined scowl, just as he lets loose a barrage of multi-colored beams of punishing light into the ravaged Endbringer. The Simurgh tumbles away from the force of the blasts-
Through the brilliance and the chaos, your supernaturally-enhanced vision reveals the Endbringer's remaining arm snap out and flick a contemptuous hand towards the both of you.
Your ears pop from the sudden decrease of pressure, even within your armor, and your Industrial Survival Frame charm screams in protest as you feel the very walls of reality try to wrench you from existence.
There is a slight waver in the air, as if a wave of heat had just passed through the area, and Legend disappears as if he was never there to begin with.
Straightening up out of her tumble, the remaining half of the Simurgh turns to 'face' towards your general direction.
After a half-second of stillness, she, too, winks out of existence.
***
Slowly, cautiously, you reduce your suit's speed until you are floating a few dozen feet over the southwest edge of the crater rim. You remain tense, ready for something to burst out of nowhere in an attempt to blow you away again, but after nearly a minute of silence all that you see is the lake's surface smoothing out to its usual placid state.
Whatever that was at the end, it felt passingly similar to the Twins' teleportation effect, so she either forcibly teleported Legend somewhere to deal with him directly, or flicked him into another dimension. Given that she undoubtedly could have just killed him right then and there, it's looking more likely that you're going to have to mount a rescue mission for your favorite Triumvirate member.
As if you didn't have enough things to do today.
On top of that, your suit is already down to nearly three-quarters charge, so you're definitely not going to be able to fly directly home. You're glad you passed on Defiant's information to Dragon, as well as the few quickly-drawn-up counter-attack plans you threw together during your talks with him, because you're probably not going to make it back until sundown; by then, the information and plans will probably be worthless.
Your open connection to Dragon in your HUD chimes to life again, her avatar having disappeared when the Simurgh did… whatever that was. You're about to open your mouth to inform her of what happened, but only manage a strangled, wide-eyed croak.
Instead of Dragon's wire-frame avatar, a perfectly rendered visage of the Simurgh sits framed in your helmet's Heads-Up Display.
"T-...Taylor?" the Simurgh questions with Dragon's voice, surprised concern echoing through your helmet while her gaze remains cold and penetrating. "Are you alright?! All the local satellites rebooted just as Legend's armband disappeared off the network!"
Your essence core beats a steady, adrenaline-fueled rhythm in your chest, but despite the terrifying apparition in your HUD you don't detect any external threats. With the face of The Enemy staring at you, however, it takes a moment of working your mouth to muster a response.
"I… I'm alright…" you begin, clearing your throat tentatively. "If Legend isn't showing up on your network, then I think the Simurgh teleported Legend into a different dimension. Then she teleported away, too. Also," you cough again, "your avatar in my HUD is showing her face instead of yours."
"She… I... what?!" comes Dragon's flabberghasted response, which actually makes the Simurgh's impassive glare seem absurd due to the incongruity. You manage to reign in the light-headed snort of amusement before Dragon notices, using the throbbing pain in your right foot as a mental distraction. "I-I'm not showing any sign of the Simurgh from my satellites… but can you tell me where he was when that happened? We won't have much time to trace the signal, but Eidolon should be able to pinpoint where Legend went if he gets here quickly enough."
You breathe a sigh of relief at that bit of hopeful news, letting your massive crossbow drop down from its readied position against your right shoulder. Idly, you bend down and pluck the jagged shard of white, bone-like material from your right boot - proof for your claim of having kicked the Simurgh's teeth in. You're not going to bother fishing for the discarded top half of the Simurgh, as - judging by the small stream of smoke still boiling out of the lake where it fell - you definitely don't want any of whatever that was on you, and it will probably be completely melted away by the time you get to it.
The smoke is charged with essence, however, and seems harmless as it dissolves into the open air. Something to ask Iris about when you recover him from the Nine, at the very least.
"Hold on just a moment, Taylor? I'm going to run a diagnostic to see where... her avatar is coming from. I think it's just a virus that she either put into my satellites when they rebooted, or she downloaded it into your suit, but it shouldn't take me long to find it. I'll call you back when I'm done, but for now, just… stay there and keep an eye out."
You nod absently, then hear the electronic click of her call disconnecting. The Simurgh avatar remains for several more seconds, silently evaluating you, before blinking once and disappearing. You're not going to remove your helmet so you can run a diagnostic on it just yet, but you feel secure enough to finally float down to the crater's ledge so you can rest your suit's battery for a bit.
Dialing up a conference call with Chevalier and Armsmaster, you're about to engage the call when a horizontal line of white light appears in the air just over ten feet to your left. In the half-second it takes for the line to grow to roughly four feet wide, then expand downwards so that it's an eight-foot-tall rectangle, you've lit up your totemic anima with another activation of your Dynamic Reaction Enhancement System while spinning to bring your crossbow to bear.
The portal - because that's clearly what it is, now - opens up on the other side to a pristine, white room filled with a white table and white chairs, the entire scene looking like a Tinker with an eye for aesthetics set out to design the most futuristic meeting room ever.
Your itch to greedily absorb everything in the room so that you can apply its aesthetics to your own work is beaten down by the figure standing in the doorway. The suit and helmet are black - like a hole cut out of reality - but the posture and figure are still instantly recognizable.
"Enduring Order Administrator," your father sighs, holding a hand up to block out the sun. "We need to talk."
***
EOA - Wounds: 1 Lethal, 3 Bashing (-1 Wound Penalties) EOA - Ailments: NONE EOA - Current Clarity: 2 (No effect) FPoP - Wounds: None FPoP - Ailments: Partially-Resisted StinkNuke (-1 Internal Penalty while in AoE) FPoP - Current Clarity: 5 (-2 to compassion and social rolls, +2 to interactions with spirits )
EOA - Craft (Bombs ●○○) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Investigation (Simurgh Plots ●○○) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Medicine +2 Training Intervals (4/6 Intervals) EOA - Medicine (Diagnostics ●●○) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Melee +1 Training Interval (4/6 Intervals) EOA - Occult +1 Training Interval (2/6 Intervals) FPoP - Craft +1 Training Interval (3/6 Intervals) FPoP - Occult +1 Training Interval (4/6 Intervals)
EOA - Ally (Crawler/Defiant/Ned) ●●○○○ GAINED!
EOA - Ally (Legend) ●○○○○ GAINED!
EOA - Equipment (Orange Drone) ●●○○○ x 1 DESTROYED! ([Protected x 1] means we can rebuild it quickly without paying XP.)
Now, I'm not going to say everything is a plot by the Simurgh… but everything is clearly a plot by the Simurgh.
(Just kidding.)
(Maybe.)
Regardless, going down that rabbit hole won't do us much good, so it's best to focus on what's in front of us right now, a group that needs little introduction: Cauldron.
It shouldn't surprise anyone that they trust Autochthon about as far as Clairvoyant can throw him, as they have every reason to believe that he's another Entity. Autobot's earned some points for keeping a few hundred million humans alive in Autoland, but he loses a bunch because it's clear that they only exist to keep him alive (via "prayer"? Bullshit!) Still, it's clear that The End of the World runs counter to our own plans, so they're willing to extend some olive branches in return for more information and assistance with their own agendas - they're busy people, after all.
As long as we don't tell anyone outside of our Assembly, of course.
As if fighting the Slaughterhouse Nine wasn't complicated enough, Cauldron is offering 'bounties' on Shatterbird, Siberian (her 'mystery' controller, rather), and Bonesaw. Each one we hand over ALIVE, brain/powers intact, and restrained/KO'd, they will offer one of the following:
- A Cauldron Vial (Level 1)
- 10x the bounty that we'd get for turning in/killing publicly, delivered to Number Man account.
- Access to any living parahuman in the multiverse
Note that if we turn in more than one bounty, we can instead choose to get only one vial with increased potency. For reference, Level 1 is Gallant or Triumph, Level 2 is Marrow or Genesis, Level 3 is Shatterbird or Noelle. They can't confirm exactly what powers or how potent the end result is, but the levels are generally good indicators. They'll also provide help to make sure the person survives the process.
The monetary bounty is enough to go instantly to instantly buy Resources 5, and all three will net Resources 6. This would be money in the Number Man account, which is completely independent of the PRT and the public eye.
Access to any parahuman is fairly self-explanatory, but harder-to-access targets will require us to either make them 'disappear' or spin a suitably-believable story for the public/PRT.
We also have the option to say we don't want anything to do with them, at which point they'll leave us alone until we directly interfere with their plans. Of course, they won't tell us what their plans are, but at the very least, "telling people about Cauldron" would definitely count as interfering. We probably don't want to antagonize them at this point, as they likely won't play with kid gloves on.
Once we're done with Cauldron, no matter our decision, they'll drop us in the nearest forest outside of Brockton Bay, close to Providence, where we'll be picked up by Dragon and hustled back to Philly alongside the new arrivals: Sanguine (Case 53 healer, blood-based T-1000), Accord and his three surviving Ambassadors (Affine [shaker, enforces order], Othello [stranger, invisible friend], Artemis [shaker, makes weapons pop out of stuff]). The counter-attack that will snag Bonesaw will already be under way, so we'll have the option to double down on that, go for secondary targets, or shore up defenses/plan/help civilians.
Finally, regarding the Twins, we'll have a chance to spend XP on their character sheet(s?) at the end of the Arc. So while we have a whole bunch stored up right now, we also have plenty to spend it on already that could help our efforts now. Decisions, decisions!
My God Can Beat Up Your God: (Choose ONE, NO Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Tag 'Em & Bag 'Em (Agree to give Cauldron at least one S9 member. This will open up possible Cauldron partnerships in the future. )
[ ] Keep Your Decoder Rings (Decline Cauldron's assistance. This will make Cauldron less likely to help in the future.)
Mechanized Cavalry:(Choose ONE, ONE Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Good Girl Hunting (Join the hunt for Bonesaw, decreasing odds that participants are injured/killed. Ensures recovery of all captured capes (not Missy).)
[ ] On The Lookout (Follow-up on the other leads that Defiant gave you. Increased odds of taking damage. Snags two S9 members (not Jack/Bonesaw).)
[ ] Turtles All The Way Down (Focus on getting everyone back on their feet, getting civilians out of danger, and clearing out traps around the city. Decreases effectiveness of future S9 actions, removes one of the S9 'Fuck Everything' contingencies. )
Please remember to format Free Actions properly: (Only ONE Free Action per Assembly member allowed!)
Free Actions should be phrased as stand-alone Stunts, so they must be 60 words or less (not counting "Free Action"), be descriptive about what you're hoping to accomplish, and set the scene.
[X] EOA - Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that could be performed during other votes.]
[X] FPoP - Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that could be performed during other votes.]
XP Expenditures should be formatted as such for EOA and FPoP:
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item ●●●○○
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item (Specialization ●●○)
Spending more XP than a character has in their own bank will automatically draw from the Assembly bank, and Named XP will be spent before Assembly XP is used.
DISCUSSION FOR VOTING OPTIONS BEGINS NOW.
ACTUAL VOTING BEGINS AT 11:59 (PST) PM ON THURSDAY.
NO VOTES CAST NOW WILL BE COUNTED.
My God Can Beat Up Your God:
[X] Tag 'Em & Bag 'Em (Agree to give Cauldron at least one S9 member. This will open up possible Cauldron partnerships in the future.)
Mechanized Cavalry:
[X] Good Girl Hunting
- [x] Stunt: You're not sure what, exactly, has taken root in the park's merry-go-round, but whatever the hell it is it's got tentacles and eyes and sweet Maker that is just nasty. Ropy clumps of muscle erupt from nearby trees, which means it's spreading. You grab Bakuda's "ash bomb" and press the switch. Area sterilization is go, because NOPE. NOPE NOPE NOPE.
Free Actions:
[X] EOA - Free Action: "I'm sor~ry! My body wouldn't listen." Philanthropic sobs into the unyielding concrete as you carefully extract the last wires from his neck. You gingerly prop the shuddering cape against the bloodstained wall of the derelict supermarket as you see to his frontal injuries - Bonesaw apparently doesn't care much about the long term survival of her remote-controlled meat puppets.
[X] FPoP - Free Action: Nervousness plain on her face, Willow peeks out anxiously from behind Marrow's shoulder. "Like you, Defiant has much upheaval in his life of late. Perhaps you can learn from each other." There is a minor seismic event as Ned rumbles in greeting, followed by awkward silence as some nearby masonry collapses in response.
XP Expenditures:
[X] EOA - 2 XP - Craft (Bombs ●○○)
[X] EOA - 4 XP - Archery/Firearms ●●●●○
[X] FPoP - 4 XP - Dodge ●●●●●
[X] EOA - 2 XP - Investigation (Simurgh Plots ●○○)
[X] EOA - 2 XP - Medicine (Diagnostics ●●○)
[X] EOA - 2 XP - Investigation (Reading People ●●○)
***
The heavy, grey clouds that had parted with the Simurgh's sky-rending descent are close to settling back to drearily looming above the shattered landscape around you, sealing the clear hole used by the afternoon sun to stream down around the Brockton Bay Crater. From your vantage point on the crater's edge, your all-encompassing vision beholds the lake within the crater still bubbling from the chaos of your encounter with the winged Endbringer - specifically the portion near the center, still churning and spewing noxious fumes from the Simurgh's still-disintegrating upper half deep below.
Most of your accelerated minds are still quietly panicking about the new capabilities the Simurgh revealed mere moments ago, as well as what they imply. Yes, you seemingly outwitted her while she reeled from the toxic backlash Autochthon had slapped her with through the Cradle, but prior to that she had more than amply demonstrated sufficient power and skill to turn you into a messy smear several times over - if only through simply using wide-area attacks. So why hadn't Behemoth done the same when you were mere feet from him? His choice of attacks during your fight last month had been almost entirely precise-strike lightning bolts, which raises the disquieting feeling that he was never actually trying to kill you the whole time. Yes, you probably would have died if you just stood there and taunted him…
… no, you actually did that and didn't die. By the Maker, what had even been the point of him chasing you around, then? Now you're going to have to review his entire winding path to see what he was actually doing while he was "chasing" you, then cross reference that with all the archived information on what was in his path… no, that kind of data-crunching is probably a better task for Dragon...
Compared to the Gordian Knot that your other minds are currently being twisted into, trying to come to grips with revelations that will undoubtedly shake the foundations of the the world's understanding of the Endbringers, your lone consciousness that remains in the here-and-now is even more disquieted.
For your father stands in front of you, yet you feel nothing.
If anything, in the silence that stretches from his declaration, you feel more annoyance at trying to place how you should address him, or curiosity at what the portal he stands within represents, than any type of despair or remorse at the loss of your lone familial tie.
"'We' need to talk?" you try cautiously, breaking the full minute of stillness. You continue to keep your massive crossbow pointed at his chest, and your stance remains ready to burst into motion at the slightest implication of violence.
It has been barely a month since you and your father lived under the same roof. Why do you feel nothing?
The outline of his head shifts, indicating that he has oriented his gaze away from the crater's lake and back towards you, before he clears his throat again. "Yes, well, you've got the attention of some powerful people now. They've already offered you some assistance before, but…"
His right hand - the one not currently shrouding his eyes from the last remnants of the sun's glare - absently twitches, and years of experience tell you he's keeping himself from rubbing the back of his neck. It's a habit your mother pointed out when you were eight, when she was needling him playfully about his work anxieties. You still feel nothing.
"The group the Number Man mentioned. I've been busy."
"Right," he ruefully agrees, and you're pretty sure he's looking back at the lake. "They- we get that. We're busy people too, so we aren't offended. We're used to working on longer time-tables, too, but it was decided that you needed to hear some things now, rather than later."
You're not sure what is the weirdest thing you've seen today: Crawler becoming a hero, the Simurgh casually dimension-hopping, or your father trying to act clandestine. The beginnings of frustration cut through your emotional void, because you do not have time for bullshit right now.
"You're not very good at this, Dad," you reply in an even monotone, causing him to visibly twitch. "And I have places to be."
Your father's form radiates fury for a split-second, then stills - reading the body language of the outline of a person is difficult, but your limited experience with Defiant's light-absorbing form has at least made it possible.
A few heartbeats later, he grinds out, "This is more important than the Slaughterhouse Nine-"
"But not more important than my friends and allies," you cut off, rising a few inches from the ground in preparation for accelerating towards New York. Your armor should still have enough battery life left to at least make it to the outskirts of the city. "And I'm not having this conversation when their lives are on the line."
"This is more important than anyone, or anything, Enduring Order Administrator," his left hand sweeps out in dismissal as he takes a step out of the portal and onto the crater lip. His voice is tinged with anger and frustration, but what stalls your ascent is the unshakable conviction in his voice.
"This is about a different end of the world than any you think is going to happen, and unlike you, we have proof."
***
The air is still once again after your father's newest assertion, but inside your armor you are exercising your knowledge of Old Realm curses. One particularly vile one - which roughly translates to a damnation of the very underpinnings of reality - even feels like it burns the air inside your helmet before your suit's filters kick in.
Of course there is another end-of-the-world scenario going on. You're already juggling the Endbringers and Autochthon's impending demise, why not add a third apocalypse to your list of problems?
At some point you've floated back down and are holding your helmeted head in your left hand. You haven't been paying much attention, what with the six-car pile-up going on inside your head. Your right arm still haphazardly supports your massive crossbow, but only because you haven't quite reached the point where you can activate Technomorphic Integration Engine without conscious thought.
"Just to be clear," you sigh, "this isn't about the Endbringers? Or Autochthon?"
Your father's confident stance shifts minutely, and he hesitates long enough that you can almost picture his drawn, lined face scowling in thought.
"Our… organization has known about this ever since... powers first started appearing," he begins cautiously, "and we've determined that the Endbringers aren't actually trying to end the world."
Your head snaps up, a thousand questions on your tongue, but your father's outline shifts in a way that makes you think he's holding out both hands to forestall your concerns.
"Autochthon may be involved, but we aren't sure. It's why we really need to talk now, before things get too far out-of-hand."
Your six minds scrambling to come up with answers to all the new questions that your father is raising, you eventually shake your head and fall back on something more comfortable: justifiable paranoia.
"The only reason I-" didn't put a bolt through your chest when you showed up "... didn't immediately fly away is because I was curious about your portal and that conference room," you motion with your massive crossbow, which you casually resume wielding with both hands. "I still don't know what Tattletale did to you, so how can I trust anything you say?"
The pitch-black outline of your father shifts again, enough that you think he's either fidgeting with his hands, or restraining himself from doing so. The undercurrent of anger is still there in his voice and mannerisms, but in the brief pause after your question he's clearly cycled through a few emotions to finally settle on resigned contrition.
"I've… apologized to Legend and Eidolon for... that," he slowly admits, causing your eyebrows to raise. "And if it's what it takes to make you believe that I'm telling the truth… to get you to help us… then I'm sorry."
"For trying to kill me."
A wince. "For trying to kill you."
"In the middle of an Endbringer battle."
A twitch. "In the middle of an Endbringer battle."
Your helmet's lie detector program gives you a 64% chance that he's telling the truth, which is more than you expected it to be able to calculate given his existence as a black outline in the world, but you've heard this tone of voice from your father before. Back when your mother was around.
Memories of your mother, and the hole her death left in your household, used to be nearly crippling with the sorrow they wrought. Now, you feel nothing.
Five minds ruthlessly crush the sixth's whisper of doubt, because you are Taylor Annette Herbert and nothing will ever convince you otherwise.
Breathe in through your nose. Hold. Breathe out.
The grey metal of your right gauntlet's palm irises open, sucking in your crossbow as it folds in on itself in impossible ways. Four seconds of quiet whirring and clicking later, you flex your right hand experimentally before using it to point towards the pristine, white conference room visible in the portal behind your father. More specifically, at the white cube resting next to a tower of neatly-arranged cups.
"That thing better be able to make tea."
***
You're trusting your father about as far as you can throw him - without your armor - but that doesn't immediately extend to this mysterious new benefactor. When he steps back inside the portal to move towards the presumed beverage dispenser, you take a moment to physically test the stability of the portal's edges with one hand. With the other, you surreptitiously extrude one of the prototype teardrop-shaped tracking devices you crafted last week, used to test the homing beacons that were eventually incorporated into your crossbow.
Dropping the grey beacon just inside the portal's threshold with your left hand, your right cautiously grasps at the edge of the doorway-like portal. The conference-room side appears to be ensconced within a wall, so your right thumb feels the rigidity of that ceramic-like surface, but the rest of your palm and fingers only feel a thrum of air pressure as your hand closes on the Brockton Bay-side of the distortion. You're certain Iris would be spinning in his little shell at a chance to examine this, because your rudimentary knowledge of inter-dimensional Tinkertech says that the edge should either be infinitesimally-thin (which is why you are still monitoring your suit's integrity sensors) or be comprised of pure energy (which your suit could probably handle).
And this is indeed an inter-dimensional portal, because your suit is saying the beacon is both on a different parallel world - and not Earth-Aleph - and somewhere in the mountains of South America. You don't get much more than the initial bursts of locational data from the beacon, the prototype's battery only designed to pulse a few times before it burns out, but you've satisfied your initial paranoia for now.
"Why are you trying to take me to a different parallel Earth, dad?" you question evenly, while subtly extending one foot to tap - and immediately absorb - the prototype beacon. "I'll give you a few minutes to talk, and you may want my assistance, but how do I know this isn't a trap set up without your knowledge? It's not like I have any way to escape if this portal closes."
His black-outline form turns away from where it was about to reach the potential beverage dispenser, and your father lets the question hang for a moment as both your helmeted gazes meet across the pristine, white conference room.
"I-" he tries, but cuts off as his appearance shifts in a way that makes you think he's brought his left hand to his chin. You're not quite sure how anyone that doesn't already know his mannerisms would be able to interact intelligently with him in that suit… but that may be the whole point.
"That's not really how we work," he quickly resumes, but with a cold confidence that sends all sorts of red flags off in your mind. "If we wanted you captured or killed, you wouldn't have had any warning."
"And you have experience with this." It's not a question.
He answers a little too slowly. "Yes."
It's your turn to flinch at the mixture of chilling determination and regret in his voice, dawning confusion and horror bubbling up into your consciousnesses.
"Dad… what happened to-"
"Cenotaph."
The deep female tone is more admonishing than a greeting, coming from another source somewhere to the right of the portal's interior, just before you hear the distinctive clicking of multiple pairs of shoes on ceramic. In a split-second your guard is up and your hands are in position to hold the crossbow if you decide to extrude it, just before two new figures enter your field of view through the portal.
Leading the duo is a woman somewhere in her late forties, with a few gray hairs standing out amongst the black, pulled-back bun. The pure-white lab coat and dull grey dress also contrast against her darker skin, but are wholly unremarkable compared to the absolute certainty of her gait.
Following respectfully behind her is an olive-skinned woman in a professionally-tailored suit... that you immediately understand would not hinder her movements in the slightest. The woman's dark-brown hair is also pulled tight behind her head, but into a short, unobtrusive ponytail at the nape of her neck. Her evaluating gaze, unlike her predecessor, is already fixated on yours the instant her eyes are visible through the portal. Sparks of essence tingle down the back of your neck in alarm, and you immediately dedicate one of your consciousnesses towards keeping constant track of the woman's every move.
At being so addressed, your father snaps to attention like the old dockworkers used to do when he caught them slouching on the job. "M-M'am! I thought-"
"Time is of the essence, Cenotaph," the woman in the stereotypical lab outfit interrupts smoothly, coming to a stop at the far end of the room before turning to face you, giving you clear view of her and her compatriot. Dark brown eyes regard you evenly, briefly considering your somewhat-haggard appearance, before she addresses you with a level of certainty you've only heard from Legend or Alexandria.
"Enduring Order Administrator, I am the leader of this organization. You may call me Doctor Mother. I give you my word that we intend you no harm while you are with us, and that we will return you to your fight against the Slaughterhouse Nine as soon as we have explained ourselves and made our offers of assistance to your cause."
Despite the wariness you feel under the second woman's gaze (and your Diagnostic Overlay scan of her reveals the expected Corona Gemma), you draw yourself up from your combat-ready stance. Placing your left foot slightly ahead of your right, squaring your shoulders, your arms loose at your sides with your hands lightly clenched, you try to mimic the "Alexandria Stance" that the PR team tries to get all female Wards in the habit of using when trying to convey an image of unassailable strength.
You're so used to having a massive swarm to back you up and really drive the image home that it feels odd to be doing this pose without a dark, menacing cloud behind you. You're going to have to get a shipment of insects dropped around the crater before you come back here again.
"And you can't have this conversation on Earth-Bet?"
A miniscule shake of the head. "This is not a mark against you, but rather a mandatory security precaution for what we need to discuss. Your caution does your credit, but we would not be contacting you this way and at this time if it wasn't absolutely necessary. If it helps at all, this room is nowhere near our main base of operations, as we use it to conduct business with individuals outside of our organization."
"That just means you probably have at least one tactical warhead under the floor."
"Perhaps. Regardless, you have our word that you will not be harmed."
Breathing through your nose and clenching your fists tighter, your other minds cycle through a number of backup plans… only to find them wanting. Send an email to your friends saying what you're doing? Alert Dragon? Alert Urial or Chevalier? Drop a time-delayed beacon on the Brockton Bay side of the portal to broadcast a call for help in an hour? Extrude your crossbow again and keep it ready at all times? Simply ignore them and fly away?
In your trawling of official and unofficial databases in searching for major threats, you occasionally ran across rumors of a group that made things… disappear. Of the handful of mentions and implications - most of them vague, at best - the consistent theme was that the only survivors of these encounters were forced to stop their investigations into something big. The few hours you had spent trying to follow-up on the rumors had led you to several missing person reports, and some documents that you suspected were either faked or altered after-the-fact. In the end, you felt like you were deliberately being led in circles, but you did eventually get a name.
"You're Cauldron."
Your father twitches. The still-unnamed mystery woman doesn't react. Doctor Mother nods, as if having expected the question.
You sigh to yourself, but keep your head held high as you cross the portal's threshold, ignoring the warnings in your HUD that you have lost all wireless and satellite connections.
Without even the barest whisper, Brockton Bay's remains disappear as the portal snaps closed behind you.
***
On the bright side, it turns out that the mystery box does make tea. Any tea, coffee, beverage, or snack you can think off. Doctor Mother even confirms your unasked query that it's a replicator similar to what is in your commandeered Hover Throne, though she doesn't elaborate on how she came by that piece of information. She also dispels the idea that you'd be able to record any of these proceedings with your helmet, pointing out that they have the capability of wiping your suit's memory should you make the attempt.
So you're sitting in your blue-and-grey, dress-like Weaver costume, sipping tea, and reading about the end of the world.
You're going to need more sugar.
"Some of this…" you eventually try, but after thoroughly scanning the twenty pages of technical data, experiment reports, and attached photographs that lay bare some of the greatest secrets of the world, it's difficult to put words to just one question.
The second folder has the written form of your own presentation to the PRT about Autochthon, so you immediately discarded and ignored it.
"When I absorbed Dragon's dragonsuit, my charm encountered a problem similar to when I tried to absorb Chevalier's gauntlet."
Doctor Mother blinks twice at the apparent non-sequitor, then looks to her besuited companion standing to the right of her seat on the other side of the rectangular table. The mystery woman frowns, her gaze unfocusing for a heartbeat, before she nods to Doctor Mother and then resumes her evaluating stare.
"If Dragon has indeed somehow managed to trigger," Doctor Mother muses, "that is new information to us. We had assumed her ability to comprehend Tinkertech was merely a by-product of her existence as an Artificial Intelligence, but this makes her considerably more valuable to our research. Not," she clarifies smoothly, just as you look up to meet her eyes, "that we would risk her or ourselves with trying to experiment on her directly. Do you still have her dragonsuit in your storage dimension?"
You take another look at the pages detailing some of their horrific (but still obviously edited) data on the experiments needed to create their 'vials' - concoctions that give people parahuman powers. Said 'powers' are actually the extra-dimensional manipulations of continent-sized creatures that jack into the host's brains, which are all working towards a grand scheme to harvest humanity and blow up every parallel iteration of planet Earth…
… and the greatest hero on Earth, Scion - the Golden Man, the First Parahuman - is apparently one of the alien Entities behind it all. The second, depicted in the full-page glossy photo...
...a horizon of non-euclidian flesh, bone, mouths, eyes, tongues, and other buds of flesh too disquieting to look at for long...
...Doctor Mother and the mystery woman had somehow killed when it had been vulnerable after its crash-landing on Earth. She had even offered to let you see their handiwork - "the Garden", she called it - for yourself. You had asked for a rain check.
When you had received the premonition from Autochthon that his own demise would herald the end of this world, you hadn't truly understood the scope of that disaster, because you had only been thinking of Earth-Bet. But Cauldron can access thousands of other worlds with populations at least as large as your home planet, and it is clear that even their reach is nowhere near the full extent of what Scion will ravage when he finally decides to stop playing dumb and bring the house down. That's a body count in the trillions. At best.
And Cauldron is the only group actually doing something about it.
They're wiping out lives and memories, puppeteering whole civilizations, and that's just the tailored history of their monstrous track record. If you turned these pages over to the Case 53 community - and now you know why each of them has a stylized 'C' tattooed on their bodies, to serve as tracking tags - there'd be blood in the streets. The PRT and Protectorate, which Cauldron helped create, would be in tatters - and you can't believe Rebecca Costa Brown doesn't know about Cauldron, what with her being the Lead Director since its inception.
And the Triumvirate! Cauldron's first successes with their horrendous 'vial' program! Yes, the number of lives saved by them alone would likely eclipse (overwhelmingly) those lost to Cauldron's experimentation, and apparently there are a large number of other heroes that have found their powers in a bottle...
… but do you look at the numbers… or the people? How much is one life in the face of this impending apocalypse?
"As long as I have the something in my storage I can make a perfect copy, or even a better version," you relent, leaning forward with your elbows on the table and your head in your hands. "I was just going to keep it in storage, as a backup in case anything happens to her, but a copy would probably still have the agent connection…"
You sigh, for what feels like the thousandth time today. "Let me think about it, okay?"
Doctor Mother nods, though there is the slightest downturn of her mouth at your indecision. After a moment of allowing you to ruminate on the matter, she unclasps her hands from where they have been joined on the table in front of her, turning her right palm up to gesture at your reading material.
"By your own admission in the report you gave to the PRT, members of your… caste are intended to be adjudicators. Ones that deals with dissent in the ranks, executing the law even at great cost. That you, specifically, were chosen by Autochthon for your ability to endure in the face of great hardship. I trust, then, that I do not have to explain the necessity of what we have had to do. Of what we still must do."
Dropping your hands to the table and raising your head, you gaze back evenly at the woman who killed a god with a knife - a feat which would have read as preposterous if it hadn't resonated with something deep in your very core. It's even fitting that an un-powered human (though possessing a Corona Pollentia, your scan revealed) would lead this charge, given that those with powers are always subtly being reinforced by their power - their 'agent' - towards perpetuating the cycle of chaos and conflict.
Doctor Mother likely got a kick out of the part in your report explaining that Autochthonian governments are led by normal humans, not Alchemicals or spirits. (Deputy-)Director Piggot will love that too, if she ever gets wind.
Your trains of thought are becoming increasingly scatterbrained under the non-stop deluge of foundation-shaking revelations today. You try to clear your head with a shake, then focus back on woman in front of you.
"I can't say I agree with everything you've done," you begin with a heavy heart, "but I wasn't there and I don't have nearly enough information to say if there was a better path - an alternative to… this."
The mystery woman raises an eyebrow, but you ignore it in favor of making a sweeping gesture towards the papers on the table.
"There's no way this can get out without wrecking the best systems on the planet for supporting heroes, and I don't have the time to build a better PRT or Protectorate. So yes, I'll also keep quiet about this for now. I can't keep this secret from my Assembly, though."
"Marrow-"
"First Prayer of Perfection is a professional, and my spiritual guide," you declare over Doctor Mother's tone of diplomatic concern, "and while I'm still new to even having a spirit, this feels like something that could give it troubles. She remembers how you saved her from bleeding out on that riverbank, and she recognizes that she would not be the hero she is today without your 'formula', so I will do my best to lean on that rather than her memories of the vivisections she underwent. I may even wait until Saki and Sakura are back, as they'll hopefully be better at these kinds of talks than I am."
The older woman maintains her calculating gaze for a moment before nodding slightly.
"I will only remind you of the gravity of these matters, and that we will take the proper steps to ensure our operation is not compromised."
Not for the first time since you stepped through that portal, you suspect that you made the right choice by not alerting your friends about this meeting.
"Of course," you breathe out, letting your shoulders sag and leaning back in your chair. You're tempted to ask if you can absorb the seat, along with the replicator, because it is somehow just supportive enough to keep you focused on the task at hand but yet firm enough that you wouldn't sit unnecessarily long in it. The perfect chair for a meeting room, in other words.
Thinking on that (somewhat selfish) request, however, brings you back to a more important matter. Straightening back up, you flip through the papers and bring out the glossy photo that makes you want to turn off your Ultraperipheral Awareness sub-mod so you have the ability to look away from it. Instead, you force yourself to keep your attention on the eldritch horror staring back at you from the table, using the discomfort it breeds in your minds to breach the subject with your hosts.
"Looking at this," you emphasize with an index finger tapping on the photo, "I can see why you think Autochthon might be another type of these 'Entities.' And that I'm either his avatar-body, like Scion, or his agent to trick humanity into letting him harvest Earth."
Your father, standing beside the far door, twitches. The mystery woman continues her silent evaluation of you, though you think you detect a slight pause in her breath. Doctor Mother's face slides into neutrality with practiced precision, but her eyes remind you that she is not satisfied with only one god dead at her feet.
"If I had Iris here, I might be able to figure out a way to show that that the first one isn't true. I've already admitted to being an agent for Autochthon, but I only have my word that he's not going to be a threat when I bring him here. So yes, it is convenient that he would tell me that our world will end if he dies before we bring him through, but I was already dead-set on doing that anyway, so if anything it only makes my job harder because of the time constraint."
The gaze doesn't flinch.
"We already came to the same conclusions."
You very diplomatically do not roll your eyes. "Well, if I had a way to talk to him reliably, I'd let you speak with him. The only one that might be able to do that is Iris, but again, I still need to get him back from Jack Slash. Which then brings up why you brought me here now, instead of letting me get back and do that. Or even why-"
One of your minds makes the connection, which immediately sets off a chain of other realizations, causing your mouth to snap closed. Slowly, you move your gaze to meet the stare of the suit-clad mystery woman. You recognize that intensity now: it's the same look you've gotten from every Thinker you've ever met, at one time or another.
"Autochthon changed the plan, because precogs can't predict Essence use. You can't predict what I'm going to do, can you?"
At your declaration, the mediterranean-looking woman scowls briefly with a look of mild incredulity.
"You just made that connection?" her plain voice wonders aloud, as if asking someone other than you, and you can almost feel her entire demeanor relax.
"I-I was-" you stammer, leaning back in your seat at the sudden accusation. "I've had a lot on my mind. Minds."
She hums noncommittally, bringing her arms up to cross above her chest while balancing her weight on her left foot. "Were any of your minds focusing on your Assembly?"
You blink, not quite certain you want to reveal the workings of your mind to someone who still might be a threat later on… but Cauldron still has a job to do, and you aren't interested in shouldering this third doomsday-aversion plan at the moment.
"Two of them," you nod, raising two fingers on your right hand. "Figuring out how to tell Prayer in a way that doesn't cause her to drop everything and seek you out, and what stance Saki and Sakura might have on all this when they get back. Can you normally see what my minds are thinking?"
"Not exactly, no," she admits absently, now holding her right hand up just in front of her mouth in a thoughtful pose. "You aren't the first thing I can't predict. Normally I'd build a model of behavior that would let me guess around the blind spot, but you aren't a blind spot - you just don't always do what you're supposed to. If a plan takes you into account-"
"You wouldn't know until it was too late," you nod, furrowing your own brow as you dedicate one of your minds to this problem. "That sounds like what another precog said was happening when she looked at me, but it gave her a massive headache. You… aren't getting one?"
"I did when you first appeared," she offers with a slight shake of her head, "but that was if I tried to follow the same path for more than a few minutes. If I reset often enough, it doesn't hurt too much, but if I reset too much then I start getting strange directions in addition to headaches."
"Your power never gave you headaches before?" you boggle, realizing that this woman is only now - nearly thirty years after having acquired her power - starting to feel what every other Thinker in the world experiences on a nearly-daily basis. "How accurate is it?"
The woman's gaze is even, but still supremely confident. "Very."
"Even with her power, we had no way to confirm whether our plans would be successful," Doctor Mother cuts in, before you have a chance to be too annoyed by that response. "As a result of your appearance, and the growth of your Assembly, we now have no idea whether our prediction of fifteen to thirty years still holds. It's possible Scion will discover you tomorrow and decide your existence is incentive enough to begin his spree."
You try to keep your face neutral at that bombshell, and one of your minds points out that you may need to avoid future Endbringer attacks, as those are the only locations where he (it?) can be reliably expected to appear.
"And before," she continues, "we would have welcomed the ability to set him off as early as possible, as the support networks for parahuman collaboration shrink with each passing day, and each new Endbringer attack."
"You-" the words dry up in your throat, as the brutal calculations of what you've been shown tell you that yes, that may have actually been the correct course of action. Dozens of the bravest, most powerful parahumans die with each Endbringer attack, but the parahuman population of Earth-Bet continues to grow at a steady pace. It is the infrastructure that is crumbling: ocean-based trade killed off by Leviathan, fossil fuel sources ignited by Behemoth, governments and centers of leadership sabotaged by Simurgh-tainted plots. Will Earth-Bet even have a way to organize people for Endbringer fights in thirty years, let alone coordinate every parahuman in existence against a creature orders of magnitude stronger than those known threats?
Doctor Mother ignores your stunned expression, her eyes as fierce as you've seen them, her voice as hard as ice.
"By your own admission, Enduring Order Administrator, you and your kind were originally designed to combat just this kind of threat. So we will support the growth of your Assembly, and you will do your job."
***
Doctor Mother's words settle over the conference room with a chill, but you had almost expected this once you saw the stomach-churning photo of "the Garden." You shift in your chair, straightening out your reinforced dress-costume absently as you gather your thoughts on how to proceed from here.
"Setting aside the fact that it's in both my and Autochthon's best interests that every Earth in the multiverse isn't obliterated," you tentatively begin after a few moments of silence, raising your palms in a placating gesture, "What kind of 'support' are you offering? Getting rid of the Nine and retrieving Iris would get me back on track-"
"We are still going to continue with our own plans, which require the utmost confidentiality," the elder conspirator asserts, hands clasping on the table in front of her again. "Overt assistance would raise questions you would be unable to answer. In addition, your very nature makes it difficult to incorporate you and your Assembly into our long-term plans, so until you are ready to devote your full attention to this endeavor we will be limited to more generalized aid: smoothing out PRT bureaucracy to free up your time, pointing suitable investors in your direction to foster sufficient capital, and so forth. We will also be on the lookout for those whom might be acting against you without your knowledge, and pass that information along. Beyond these services, there are two other ways we can help each other."
Just the offer of reduced PRT red tape would likely be enough for you to jump on this deal, as every passing day feels like you have more and more red tape to navigate to get even the smallest project moved forward. Still, you accept the folder that Doctor Mother smoothly passes you across the conference table and open it - your eyes widening as the older woman answers the question you almost blurt out.
"Access to our vials and any parahuman within our reach. These, however, will require more than just your word to aid us when your Assembly is complete."
You tear your eyes away from the veritable shopping list of parahumans and powers-in-a-bottle, but your minds are awhirl with the possibilities. Thankfully, the mind you have focused on doing the actual talking is able to remain more grounded than the others.
"Naturally. Not money, I assume?"
The barest frown. "Money is only useful to us to ensure the dedication of interested buyers, as otherwise our operations can provide us with effectively unlimited currency. Since asking you for money would not only put additional unwanted scrutiny on your movements as well as slow down your Assembly's… construction, we instead ask for aid that only you can provide."
"I'm under pretty heavy scrutiny already, if you haven't noticed," you retort with a bit more frustration than you intended, an eyebrow raised incredulously.
A nod of understanding. "Again, we can help reduce that pressure, but your assistance will also come with methods to both explain your actions in a way that doesn't implicate our connection... and possibly further your plans at the same time."
You narrow your eyes minutely at the way she's still being frustratingly vague, but the older woman maintains her level gaze. There's also the nagging feeling that you're still being tested in some way, like she's expecting you to make a connection or ask a specific question, so you decide to go with one of your hunches.
"You're not just talking about the future, are you? You have things you need to me to do right now, don't you?"
Maybe you could have held back from practically growling that last part, but Doctor Mother holds up her right hand to assuage your growing irritation.
"Nothing that would delay your return any further. First, we would ask that you accept at least one or two individuals of our choosing for your conversion process."
"N-" you practically blurt out, and it's the work of four of your minds to stop the other two from making you rocket to your feet in indignation. Your mouth clamps shut, you lower your arms from where you were about to push off from the tabletop, and slowly clasp your hands together in front of you while assuming a more dignified posture.
Doctor Mother regards your dramatics with a raised eyebrow, while the mystery woman's eyes have regained their calculating look. In the corner, your father raises up from where he had nearly-instantly sunk down into his own shadow.
You are sorely tempted to flare your totemic anima, but cooler minds decide to avoid terrifying the people that are trying to save the world.
"I will consider anyone you put forward," you try, your strained voice as tactful as you can make it. "Do you already have someone in mind?"
There's a flash of something in her eyes, but you can't quite place it. Annoyance? Mirth?
"Alexandria."
You blink, and the more infuriated of your minds grind to a halt at Doctor Mother's proposal. You hadn't completely dismissed Alexandria as a potential candidate for Conversion, but the revelation that she was a Cauldron-made parahuman certainly complicated matters further.
"Does she… does the Triumvirate work for Cauldron?"
The shrewd conspirator's face is the picture of business-like neutrality.
"Legend knows of our vial business, of course, but only Alexandria and Eidolon are aware of Scion's true nature and everything we have done to prepare. Ultimately, they are their own individuals, and their responsibilities as leaders take precedent, but each is willing to aid us in specific situations."
Which means yes, but you're not going to pry into how deep the connection goes - not only do you think Doctor Mother won't answer any more, but you get the feeling it's not something you need to waste time over right now. You exhale through your nose while briefly closing your eyes, then nod for Doctor Mother to continue.
So much for childhood heroes.
"Second, some of the remaining members of the Slaughterhouse Nine have invaluable knowledge or skills that we can put to better use. In return for delivering them alive - and still retaining their minds and powers - we are willing to provide you access to vials or parahumans of your choosing."
This time you manage to otherwise retain your composure, save for the narrowing of your eyes into slits.
"Jack Slash dies."
Doctor Mother briefly closes her eyes and nods, looking as if that wasn't a concern. "He was not on our list, and his reputation is such that his death will only be believed with a corpse. More to the point, we are looking to obtain Bonesaw, Mannequin, Shatterbird, and the Siberian's controller."
You absently unclasp your hands and flex them into fists, your minds addressing each Slaughterhouse Nine member in question. You're sorely tempted to fall back into Clarity for this negotiation, especially since that state of mind is practically designed for these kinds of cold calculations, but the larger part of you thinks it might be better to keep a human mindset for now.
"Bonesaw and Mannequin I understand, as much as I hate to admit it. But I'm guessing you want Shatterbird and Siberian for their powers? Will you even be able to contain the Siberian?"
For the first time, you see a moment of hesitation from Doctor Mother, and - even more surprisingly - a brief glimpse of an expression that suggests a measure of contrition on her part. Her eyes dart to the mystery woman at her side, whom nods minutely, and the older conspirator exhales a small breath from her nose before sliding across the second-to-last manila portfolio in her possession. You quickly open it to reveal two full-page images.
The first is a color photo of a white male in his mid-forties, receding brown hair cut modestly short and parted on the right side, framed by a tired, confident smile. His hands are tucked into the pockets of a lab coat, worn on top of a plaid button-down.
The second image is in the style of a police sketch, but with a level of detail that is beyond anything you've seen from human hands. It is the same man, but you'd barely be able to recognize him if the drawing didn't have him wearing the same clothes. Small scars litter his now-gaunt countenance, and his hair is worn long and ragged across his face, but what is most startling is the change in his eyes. Gone is the confidence, replaced by a manic stare that any sane human being would do their best to keep at a safe distance.
"The Siberian's controller is Dr. William Manton, formerly the world's foremost expert on parahuman powers. That photograph was taken when he assisted us with our first attempts at creating our vials. The drawing is our estimation of how he presently looks, though in different clothes."
"The 'Manton Effect' Manton?" you manage, confusion, horror, and frustration both warring in your minds. "What happened to him? How long have you known this?!"
Whatever remorse or regret you may have seen on her face is gone, now, replaced by cold neutrality. "He showed no sign of insanity or deceit for years, though the death of his wife had worn on him. We suspect the unforeseen death of his only daughter finally broke him, and in the confusion he stole one of our more dangerous vials before disappearing. We had thought him dead until recently, as he has somehow found a way to be untrackable by us. As for containment, we have ways to keep powers suppressed - or remove them entirely - without severely altering a person's mind... and we have many questions for him."
Your eyes narrow, as you're certain you're not getting the entire picture, but so far you don't think she's ever flat-out lied to you; while your dress-costume's visor doesn't have the lie detection hardware and software in it, your reading of her so far has gathered that she is well aware that you would find out the truth eventually.
"Do you know anything else about his power? His range?"
"No," Doctor Mother admits evenly, but the mystery woman's lips draw into a line. "And you can rest assured that neither he nor any of the others would see the light of day - at least until the time to assault Scion is at hand - if handed over to us."
"Just-" you sigh and lean forward over your hands, slouching slightly. "I'm going to have to lie to pretty much everyone about what's going on from here on out."
A raised eyebrow. "You will be removing them from Earth-Bet. There are a number of euphemisms that can be used to cover that which people will interpret as you destroying them utterly."
You don't bother restraining your eye-roll this time, blowing out a loud breath through your nose at the same time before eventually leveling a tired gaze at the Cauldron leader. "Alright, you have experience with this, fair enough. How am I supposed to even get them to you, if I decide to do this?"
Without needing prompting, the suit-clad mystery woman leans forward and places her left hand flat on the middle of the conference table, fingers splayed. After a split-second delay, a white hologram raises from the table and frames her hand, a horizontal bar of turquoise light running down the construct in a scanning motion. Three heartbeats later, a soft click heralds the opening of a foot-wide, two-foot-long opening next to the woman's hand, out of which rises a small, featureless-grey carrying case, until it emerges to stand roughly two feet tall. The woman lifts her hand up from the table and leans back to resume her previous position, while flicking her eyes from you, to the case, and back.
Tentatively, you lean forward and take hold of the case by its black leather handle with one hand while dexterously shuffling the portfolios in front of you together and then just off to the side - far enough so that you can lay the case flat in front of you. Without hesitating, you flip open to two metal latches keeping the container closed, and then lift the lid to reveal its contents.
"I won't waste your time explaining how they function," Doctor Mother begins, as you take stock of the five disturbingly-familiar disks in the case, "as your reports show that you automatically understand the full capabilities and workings of whatever you absorb into your personal storage dimension. Suffice to say that the teleportation function that precedes the warhead's detonation is disorienting and discomforting enough that no one has ever been left conscious by it. Still, we would prefer if you tranquilized or rendered the targets unconscious before depositing them into our holding chambers."
You nod, having already begun the process of absorbing one of the hand-sized, grey-and-blue metal disks. By the time Doctor Mother has finished her clarification, the absorption is complete and you're mentally reviewing the schematics in your mind's eye. After a few seconds of study, one part in particular jumps out at you.
"Is this Voidboy's tech? It looks similar to what the PRT uses with their displacement turrets on Protectorate Island, but cleaner."
"Yes," she replies smoothly, though there's a trace of disappointment in her voice. "And before you ask, we didn't have anything to do with his disappearance, nor have we ever been able to find where he and his lab went. He was able to access some worlds we could not, which we hoped meant he might have a way to strike at Scion's true body."
You work your jaw and nod absently, finishing your cursory mental review of the device's designs and components. "The teleportation part separates, triggering the plasma warhead that's left behind. Everything looks like it checks out, and it does actually look like something I'd put together, but have these actually been tested? And who put them together?"
"I did. They work."
You blink, looking back to the mystery Thinker, your minds once again scrambling to make sense of the situation.
"You… aren't you a precog? How does that even translate to fusing two different types of Tinkertech in a way that looks like I made it? What does your power even do?"
Maintaining her relaxed posture with her arms across her chest, the calculating expression flickers briefly to one of complete seriousness.
"I win."
If you were anywhere else, with any other group of people, you'd burst into laughter from the sheer audaciousness of that answer. Here, now… you think your initial threat assessment might have been too low.
Well, it's not like some of your own powers are complete bullshit. You're still fairly confident that First Prayer of Perfection could take her, if it ever came to that.
Swallowing to get rid of the dry sensation that's filled your mouth, you nod slowly and flick your eyes to Doctor Mother. "One of your requests is that I give her a charge of my Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade, isn't it?"
She nods, and there is a hint of an actual smile there. "As long and as often as you are capable of providing it without drawing attention to your diminished capacity, yes. This actually is encapsulated by our third request, which is that you allow Contessa to shadow you and your Assembly members long enough that she can more accurately build a predictive model for each of you. It's our hope that this will get us back on track with our other plans, as well as allow us to provide better long-term support for your Assembly."
You blink, then focus your eyes back on the woman - Contessa - who is now regarding you with expectant curiosity.
"I'm guessing you're only asking so that I don't consider it a threat if I notice her following us?"
Doctor Mother waves a hand at Contessa, who shrugs lightly. "She may also need to provoke specific reactions from you and your other members. Nothing that would draw attention or cause undue harm, of course. Regardless, she has many other responsibilities so this would not be a full-time affair - with your empowerment charm, the time she needs will hopefully be reduced, as well."
More and more, this sounds like something they're going to do anyway, whether you agree to it or not. You might as well play along to at least get some additional credit for being accommodating.
"Fine," you sigh, just as you finish absorbing the last of the Abduction Disks - which you've dubbed the capture devices. With barely a conscious thought, you pilot one of the hidden house flies you've kept safe in your hair over to Contessa's right shoulder. With a burst of power that sends sparks streaming down from your soulgem and causes sweat-like droplets of liquid soulsteel to start dripping from your body, you shove an application of Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade into the bullshit-tier Thinker.
You don't think you'll ever get over the raw shock that comes over people's faces when you first hit them with that charm. It's even more amusing seeing Contessa's cool facade crack like that - even if it is for only a few seconds.
Moments after the initial shock passes, however, her gaze remains distant. You note small movements of her closed mouth that hint at some kind of sub-vocalization or almost-voiced thoughts, but eventually the moment breaks and she blinks once.
"Door."
It is a blunt statement more than any triumphant cry of victory, and seeming said to no one in particular. Immediately afterwards, she turns, takes five steps to the wall to her left, and strides through the new rectangular portal that opens just as her foot would strike the wall. A hallway of grey, concrete-like walls can be seen beyond her during the split-second it takes for her to pass the portal's threshold, but the 'door' snaps closed before you can study the new environment any further. Perhaps most interestingly, however, is that the house fly on Contessa's shoulder remained under your control until the portal closed, not when she passed through it...
Your mouth is pursed and your brow is furrowed as you take in the minor spectacle, but Doctor Mother only blinks a few times and then turns back to you, resuming as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Oddly, your father hasn't reacted to that display either. Is that how Cauldron members usually get around? You were hoping it was a Tinkertech device you could copy, but there's little chance that on-demand interdimensional portals are built into all of their conference room walls. That must mean it's a parahuman creating them, so are they watching this meeting?
You spin off a mind to handle that brainstorm, then focus back on the here-and-now as Doctor Mother steeples her hands on the table in front of her.
"That is the end of our requests for now. The spare teleportation device is yours to keep, but I must ask you to leave the case and those papers here when you leave. Do you have any questions before you go?"
You look down again at the manila folders and open the one that contained the list of potential parahuman powers available through their vials. There is the caveat at the top that explicitly qualifies the fact that there is no guarantee an individual will even survive the treatment, let alone gain the exact powers desired, but you suspect that you might be able to recreate - and improve - the formula if you absorbed one and worked on it long enough. Given how much effort they have put into creating the formulas, you're surprised they haven't outright asked for your help with that project… but then again, that would put them in your debt.
Better to let you pay them for the vial, then simply reap the rewards as you improve the formula - which you would do on your own, regardless.
Uncertain if you should be impressed or offended by the potential ploy, you shift your attention to the list of proposed parahuman groups that you theoretically now have access to with their help. Dragon's list of potential Conversion candidates was pulled almost exclusively from heroes in the US, Canada, and western Europe, but that pool isn't even a quarter of Earth-Bet's parahuman population. Worse, it's possible that Dragon's restrictions made it so that she couldn't even willingly suggest criminal parahumans - which outnumber the hero population almost three-to-one - despite your growing understanding that most gain their criminal record unintentionally and have no easy way to clear it.
Cauldron's list begins with heroes, certainly. Despite Russia's militaristic isolationism, Rezhisser from the Red Rangers and Lezviye from the Brotherhood both top the list. Leaders of various underground hero - and villain - groups in the Middle East, such as Aśānti, Phir Sē, and Pratiśōdha. There are a few African warlords listed as well, though Moord Nag's name thankfully doesn't appear - you're not sure what it would mean if Cauldron recommended an unhinged despot with a power based around living sacrifices. The names at the bottom draw your attention beyond all the others, however.
It's almost as if Cauldron simply copied the ParaHistory Channel's latest recounting of the most infamous villains still alive in the Birdcage, with some lesser names you're going to need to research, and some curious omissions - if they were going for completeness, that is.
Abigail Rowan-Sato. Abbot Alley. Black Kaze. Cat's Cradle…
The alphabetical list of inmates goes on. No Ingenue, Teacher, or Utopia, for obvious reasons, but the last name on the list sticks out for more reasons than just because it's out of order.
...Vici. Wayfarer. Zero. Glaistig Uaine.
In the eyes of the public, the third most powerful parahuman alive. Ask any parahuman, though, and without a doubt they'd much rather fight Scion or Eidolon over the Fairy Queen. Ever since your initial research into the existence of a soul-analog in the Nowhereverse, you had wondered how her infamous power worked - having all the appearances of stealing the souls of parahumans, both living and already-dead, for her own use. Taking Cauldron's information about the true nature of parahuman powers into account, however, it's possible...
Bringing your eyes up to meet Doctor Mother's steely gaze, you shake your head - both to clear your head of brainstorms best left for later, and to dismiss her lingering question.
"Do I contact you through the Number Man?"
"Only in an emergency, otherwise we will contact you," she intones, matter-of-factly, while rising to her feet. "As a final sign of our willingness to work with you and your Assembly, you will be interested to know that we recently helped put a stop to Coil's continued attempts against your life. He will not be bothering you, or anyone else, again."
You halt mid-way as you were rising to your feet, then slowly complete the motion as you take this newest development under consideration. You had thought Coil dead in Brockton Bay, but of course your life would never be that simple, would it? But the memory of what Coil did to you - took from you - is still standing in the corner, having shifted uncomfortably at Doctor Mother's words.
"Thank you for that," you admit truthfully, and you consider turning your head to look directly at your father. "Do you know what he did? And what he was going to do?"
"Yes," she nods, "it's quite a list, and Contessa is still dealing with most of the fallout. Accord is the one who alerted us, as a matter of fact, so he will be able to explain more during your ride back to Philadelphia."
"Uh-" you try valiantly, but are cut off almost immediately by Doctor Mother pointing behind you - which coincides with the rectangular portal opening upon Brockton Bay again.
"Dragon's shuttle will be within sight momentarily, so move quickly."
Any further questions or concerns die on your tongue, so you shut your mouth and begin the process of absorbing your dress-costume and extruding your (deliberately un-repaired) armor as you stride to the portal's edge. You wait until your powered armor is fully manifested and the HUD is back online, then turn back to the two remaining figures in the room.
You nod to Doctor Mother, then look to your remaining, estranged parent.
"If you ever want to talk, dad... I'll listen."
His stillness is too difficult to read from your position, so you audibly sigh and take the final steps across the threshold. As the portal snaps closed, the voice of Doctor Mother echos out into the stillness of Brockton Bay.
"We look forward to working with you, Enduring Order Administrator."
And then you are alone.
***
Today has been one hammer-blow after the other to your understanding of reality - not to mention the repeated overwhelming threats against your life. It feels like you've lived whole months since your odious wake-up call this morning, but according to your HUD, it's only half-past two in the afternoon.
You'd like a nap right about now, if the world wouldn't mind stopping for a few hours...
Sighing, you roll your shoulders and try to limber up while your eyes go over the diagnostic report your armor is running. Dragon's aircraft isn't in visual range as far as you can detect, but you don't feel like taking any chances with establishing radio contact with her; you're keeping all your suit's external connections shut down until you have a better understanding of what the Simurgh did, but so far you haven't seen anything beyond some comments in your code that you don't remember putting in there. It's not even corrections or tips, just plain remarks about what that particular piece of code does.
You're not sure if that worries you more than any other alternative, which begins a downward spiral of paranoia in your minds... that was probably the entire intent of the gesture in the first place. Ugh.
Which brings your thoughts back to one of the (in the grand scheme of things) smaller bombshells contained in Cauldron's files: the Endbringers are tools, designed to keep the world off-balance and weak so that no organized resistance ever grows strong enough to challenge the true threats to humanity. Cauldron also confirmed that they're undoubtedly far more powerful that they've ever shown, but what little they've uncovered leads them to believe that they're also designed to intentionally die, so as to give humanity the semblance of hope at various intervals.
If that wasn't disconcerting enough, the end of the report indicated that Cauldron recently uncovered information revealing that the death of the second Entity should have prevented the Endbringers from rising in the first place - so either the dead Entity activated them in its death throes, or an unknown parahuman woke them up. Regardless, the new information had helped Cauldron find a way to turn them back off, leading to their apparent dormancy ever since Behemoth's attack...
… until First Prayer of Perfection's emergence from the Cradle woke the Simurgh up again. And as you consider today's complete departure from her normal operating procedures, you're now wondering if this now means she has shrugged off whatever limiters were in her original programming.
A chill runs down your spine, despite the climate-controlled interior of your armor.
On the bright side, with Legend apparently having ties to Cauldron, they may be able to bring him back from wherever the Simurgh moved him if Eidolon can't get him by himself. You're going to scan his mind for any alteration by the winged Endbringer, of course, even if he's somehow managed to avoid her tampering after nearly a decade of fighting her.
The final remnant of your solo victory against an Endbringer - and you've no idea how you're going to explain that to Uriel or Glenn - looks to be winding down its decomposition out in the middle of the lake. Activating your Essence Sight Oculars sub-module, you observe the foul, decaying essence trailing out of the bubbling saltwater. Zooming your sight in on the essence trail, you're glad for the distance; just studying the smoky miasma gives your skin a corroded, filthy feeling.
Smoke. That's the name that lingers in your mind as you examine the choking black trail that stretches into the clouds. Not in the normal sense of burnt remains, but rather one of the six elements of the world-machine, Autochthonia. Iris' dossier had only brief descriptions of the artificial elements - Crystal, Metal, Lightning, Oil, Smoke, Steam - but nothing in his description of the most noxious of Autochthonia's elements indicated an innate power to melt Endbringers. Rather, the terminology he used leads you to believe it's basically the manifestation of Autochthon's sickness… his waste…
You're not going to tell anyone that Autochthon nearly killed the Simurgh with a fart.
Nor do you think you have anything on-hand that would be able to safely capture the remnants of that deed. The Endbringers are comprised of a bizarre crystalline-metallic alloys at their most shallow layers, but the limited pieces scientists have ever recovered of their deeper layers and bones still defy description to this day; if whatever Autochthon did ate through that...
As you consider cover stories for the Great Maker's victory over the scourge of the skies, and alternative measures for containment of disastrously-lethal Essence, your Ultraperipheral Awareness sub-mod finally catches a speck in the distance breaking through the cloudcover in the northeast. Turning your gaze away from the Smoke essence trail, you lift up slightly from the ground to avoid stirring more dust and wave your left arm at the oncoming craft... while simultaneously extruding your crossbow from your right arm.
Because your paranoia is justified after a day like today, even if your magnified sight shows it as an obviously-Dragon-made aircraft.
It takes barely a minute for the craft to close the distance, and you opt to drift upwards and accelerate towards its heading so that less time is wasted picking you up. The craft itself is all flat colors, mostly dark reds and darker greys, and the shape makes you think Dragon takes her name a little too literally; like a Harrier jet crossed with an Osprey, the whole thing would look like a highly-advanced military cargo plane if not for the body moulds across the entire frame to make it look like an actual dragon. You suppose that's one way to make sure her designs aren't confused with the ones she sells to the military and PRT, and you've got a growing suspicion Glenn was consulted at some point during its prototype stages.
But did she not consider the fact that the ramp in the rear of the craft, folding down under the tail, makes it look like...
You shake your head at questions best left unanswered for now, and accelerate to your maximum speed as the aircraft slows just enough for you to swoop up and alight on the lowered docking ramp. You cut your thrusters as your feet find purchase inside the reasonably-lit cargo bay, the whine of motors and rush of air outside cutting off quickly as the ramp slides back into its closed position - the noise reduction a sure sign of reinforced armor plating throughout the craft. The barest hint of acceleration as the craft ramps up its engines to full also points towards some kind of Tinkertech countermeasure, but whatever 'intertial dampener' (another case of Tinkers using science fiction terms instead of actual science...) method Dragon has gone with doesn't leave any noticeable tells.
Orderly towers of wood and plastic crates rise from the patterned floor to the rounded ceiling, the restraining straps holding them in place only obscuring a few of the many labels covering them. The medical supplies, water, food, and PRT armaments are expected, but the crates you can see that are only labeled with bar codes pique your curiosity. You decide to hold off on peeking for now, as that would only cause your anima to flare obviously again, and you haven't even properly greeted your ride.
"Thank you for the rescue, Dragon," you try, injecting more levity than you feel at the moment. Quickly absorbing your crossbow, you peel off your helmet with both hands, causing long, platinum hair to cascade across your face and back. As your ears pop from the difference in air pressure, Dragon's voice drifts through the nearby speakers - sounding for all the world like your mother when you, at age seven, successfully imitated Alexandria by jumping from the top of the stairs onto the couch below and only got a bruise on your shin for it.
Now that… that, makes you feel several different somethings, most noticeably a growing the wetness behind your eyes. Thankfully, your face is mostly hidden by your hair right now.
"You certainly don't look like you need a rescue, Taylor. Only Scion has ever gone against an Endbringer alone, and I've seen you more injured after a spar with the Wards."
A few hours ago, the comparison would have been flattering. You had even thought it - momentarily - yourself, after the battle. Now?
You finish discretely rubbing at your eyes to clear the 'dust' away, but struggle to keep your tired smile on your face as you flick hair behind your shoulders. "That's twice I've had an Endbringer come for me and no sign of him," though the world might be ending right now if he had shown up, "so I'm not the biggest fan of gold right now."
"I… suppose that's understandable. To his credit, we've never had an Endbringer attack end so quickly before, and with no one but you around, there wasn't much of a chance of him noticing. He's in India right now, helping with a cruise liner that had a bomb go off in the control room."
You blink again, then tuck your helmet under your left arm and start walking towards the front of the cargo bay. If Dragon is going to give you an excuse not to talk about your fight with the Simurgh, you might as well take it. "A terrorist attack?"
"Most likely, but no one has taken credit thus far and Scion hasn't pointed out if the bomber is even still on the ship. For now, it's stranded in international waters, but it's owned by an American company that is technically based in Hong Kong for tax purposes, so there's some dispute of who should help and where the passengers should be offloaded. I've offered what help I can as a translator, as I'm a bit tied up otherwise."
You offer a grunt of shared concern. "What have I missed at home?"
"Defiant hasn't caused any more problems than just some wary civilians, as Vajra has taken him - and Willow, oddly enough - patrolling around the quarantine zone. Chevalier is leading the Protectorate meeting that's reviewing the plans you sent them when you left, but it looks like they're settling on going after the toy shop that Defiant said Bonesaw had taken over this morning. Gallant, Weld, and Geode are back at the shelter helping with the latest waves of refugees. Miss Militia is guarding the wounded now, Armsmaster is working on the stasis chamber idea with Kid Win, and Clockblocker passed out when you took away your boost."
"Have we heard anything about what happened to the others?"
"Some of the smaller gangs with parahumans in them have called in to say they're either going to ground or fleeing the city, and the Overleague is on the news for 'carrying stranded civilians to safety.'"
"So they really did turn and run?" You shake your head, uttering a small curse in Old Realm. "The Street Kings were scum, but at least they fought - the Overleague hurt us more than they helped. Can we at least get PR to smear them? Merchandising's all they care about, so maybe that'll motivate them to actually fight."
"I think Director Uriel has already made that request, but I'll try to move it up the chain if I have spare moment. Besides that, and this shuttle, the only other expected backup we'll have is when my newest suit arrives around nightfall."
You halt your steps, the light clanging of your boots against the metal floor ringing out for a moment. "I've been... meaning to talk to you about that. Is this a safe location to talk about your… previous dragonsuit?"
There is a long pause from your artificial friend, until finally you hear a mixture of panic and depression flood into her voice, which is now only whispered from the speaker above you.
"Oh."
A beat, during which her voice almost regains its normal candor.
"No, there are a number of volunteers near the front, most of whom are waiting to speak with you."
You nod, believing that she can observe the motion, but you're not quite done yet.
"I'm not mad, Dragon," you murmur, just low enough that you think it can be heard over the rumble of the engines. "I was surprised, sure. But you're still my friend. Maybe even my best friend, actually - I love Vista and Who and Prayer, but you're the only one who can really keep me on my toes. You're still the greatest hero in the world, and a better person than anyone I know."
Only silence answers your subdued declaration, so you decide to start walking again. Slowly putting on your helmet and ensuring that your hair isn't caught in the seals, you mumble one final parting shot at the reclusive Tinker.
"Oh, and I know when you triggered."
Your HUD comes alive in front of your eyes, the external audio and video feeds kicking in just in time for you to hear a shocked "What?!" from the speaker behind you, but you ignore it and continue the rest of the short trip in silence. As you finally make it to the door that separates the cargo bay with the - elevated, and much smaller - passenger compartment in the top-front of the fuselage. You casually grasp both handles in the sideways-locking mechanism and push; the door swinging open on silent hinges, only your lightly-clanking boots and the small rush of air at your back to announce your entry.
It's still enough to cause nearly a dozen cartoonishly-large gatling guns, flamethrowers, missile launchers, and ray guns to - impossibly - pop out of the six empty jump seats lining the right side of the compartment.
You skillfully perform your impression of a statue for a few moments, noting the four Ambassadors taking up the four occupied seats next to the sudden display of improbable firepower. The one seated closest to you - and farthest from Accord - is wearing a mask that looks like numerous low-caliber, brass-and-chrome artillery pieces arranged in a wing-like formation, and is holding her left hand outstretched across the 'empty' seats. The man gripping her right shoulder is adorned with a mask of yellow-and-black tape measures that form a dour face, while the Ambassador directly next to Accord has a relatively plain mask of black and white, the colors split vertically down the middle. All four of them are dressed in the finest tailored suits you've seen, each with small accents and pocket scarves that match their themes, though you are shocked to see superficial signs of battle damage on all four of them. The imperfections must be driving Accord to the edge of his sanity.
The only other inhabitant of the passenger compartment is a human-sized, woman-shaped blob of blood that was casting venomous glances at the Ambassadors from the opposite side. Now, the awe-struck expression on her face makes you think she's restraining herself from throwing herself at you.
You want to greet her first, because Sanguine has a good reputation as a hero despite her unnerving appearance as a Case 53, but she's less likely than the irascible Thinker to kill you for misconstrued disrespect.
"Accord," you greet evenly, pulling upon the patterns of the Great Maker that lurk in the recesses of your soul. Not too much Clarity, just enough to cut the hesitation from your voice. "Do we have a problem?"
Accord's new mask shifts, his face of golden gears and screws changing, twisting into an approximation of a slight frown. He raises the fingers of his left hand - from where both are clasped on top of a cane of pure obsidian with hints of thin gold seams running throughout - and the artillery-masked Ambassador clenches her fist.
In a way that reminds you of both cartoonish theatrics and your own Technomorphic Integration Engine, the oversized weapons de-arm and fold into the seats from which they sprouted. Five seconds later, the physics-defying display is over, and you suspect that tearing open the seats would reveal nothing inside but padding.
"I have saved your life, Enduring Order Administrator, at the cost of my own organization" Accord begins, his voice hard, but more tired than you think he wants to let on. His mask shifts to draw the spiral gears of his 'eyebrows' into an appraising scowl.
"For this debt, I will accept a place in your Assembly."
***
When did you last eat? The single ration bar last night, before Amelia cannibalized whatever 'excess biological matter' your human disguise had to improve your reflexes? And before that, it was maybe, what? Breakfast that day? Combine that with turning two separate S-Class events on their heads, performing three life-saving surgeries on your closest friends, defusing five bomb (or bomb-like) surgically-implanted booby traps in said friends, and learning the sordid details of the third end-of-the-world scenario that is currently in motion in this corner of the multiverse...
No, you do not have the energy for this kind of shit right now.
With a slow, dramatic flare, you raise your right hand - palm facing upwards, gauntleted index and forefinger clasping your prize - and extrude the eight-inch-long, white-ceramic, shark-like tooth you pried from your armored boot.
"I am still recovering from kicking in the Simurgh's teeth when she tried to ambush me at the Brockton Bay Crater, so allow me a moment to consider this," you manage not to growl or sigh, though there is still the slightest tremor in your voice. Accord nods curtly after a half-second pause of studying your prize, though the rest of the Ambassadors' masks twitch and shift in ways to imitate blank-faced shock. Sanguine's monotone (blood-red) complexion is one of slack-jawed awe - more impressive than usual, what with her jaw gradually drooping down to chest-level.
Slowly, wearily, you raise yourself to your full height. After quickly re-absorbing the tooth, you hold both palms towards the other inhabitants of the passenger compartment in the most polite warding gesture you can manage. You close your eyes, if only for meditative purposes, practicing your breathing exercises whilst dutifully ignoring the door behind you as it slides shut and locks on its own.
Five seconds breathing in.
Hold for three.
Seven seconds breathing out.
Repeat.
You turn your head just enough so that it is pointed directly at Accord, but otherwise keep your body pointing directly forward. Your reading of Accord from the last interaction with him likely still stands: he only respects concise language, frivolous pleasantries annoy him, and reference hard data to back up your claims. Looking at him now, however, it's clear that he's at the end of his wits and is doing everything in his power to not lash out at his environment - or subordinates - for whatever catastrophic failures have led up to him being here. You're not going to hold the little gun show from earlier against him, either, as that was obviously a knee-jerk act in self-defense from his subordinate rather than a deliberate intimidation tactic on his part.
His demand and new mask also make clear that he's read your report to the PRT. You might as well expect everyone you meet to have read the damned thing by now, because by the Maker the PRT has the information security of a sieve. Not entirely surprising given Cauldron's involvement and the potential vulnerabilities you noted in Dragon's code, but supremely disappointing nonetheless.
"First," you begin, voice measured and precise as you hold up the index finger on your right hand, "as of roughly forty-five minutes ago, the Cradle will be unavailable for any further Conversions for at least a full week. Regardless of any other concerns or decisions, your request cannot be fulfilled until then."
Sanguine's mouth snaps shut with a wet slap, and all the little tremors across her form cease as her body goes still with open-eyed dismay. The gears on Accord's mask slow in their spinning, though his expression doesn't change. A few heartbeats later, he nods again to 'allow' you to continue.
"Second, I expect all potential additions to my Assembly to be vetted by every other member of the Assembly before they are considered eligible for Conversion; our charge is too great, and we will potentially work together for thousands of years, so I will not allow for unreconcilable differences at the outset. That means you must convince not only me, but First Prayer of Perfection - whom you knew as Marrow. Should the individuals I just placed into the Cradle prove themselves worthy, you will need to convince them as well when they return."
Accord's mask does what it can to make it look like he just bit into a lemon, before slowly twisting into a more thoughtful expression than you would have expected it capable of allowing. Sanguine, for her part, is literally bubbling now, with an overly-smug expression on her face as she flows back against her seat. The other Ambassadors look either pensive or deliberately neutral.
"Third," you resume, not waiting for Accord's rebuttal or 'permission' to continue, "the ultimate arbiter of this decision is Autochthon, not myself. When he judges your soul - yes, soul - he will see every moment of action or inaction in your life, every thought - realized or not. His own life depends on our success, and I have been made aware that he would rather reject a lacking candidate than take any chances."
The pensive look has spread across the room now, though you suspect each has their own reasons for taking your words under consideration. You're well aware that what you're describing matches various Earth-based religions' depictions of Judgement-with-a-capital-'J', so you wouldn't be surprised if everyone in the room is at least considering the weight of their own past deeds and misdeeds.
You let your last statement hang for a long moment, both to respect the gravity of the sentiment, and because your six minds are still scrambling to make up more intelligent-sounding rebuttals.
"Fourth, and finally," you resume, right pinky joining the other three elevated fingers, "each Alchemical caste requires a very specific type of soul to catalyze the Alchemical Exaltation. My own soul would not have catalyzed the Adamant body that First Prayer of Perfection now inhabits, for example, nor hers my own Soulsteel frame. The twins I just placed into the Cradle should catalyze a Starmetal caste Alchemical, though I am at a loss for how their soul - or souls - will manifest. It was a risk-" you rush, seeing the gears on Accord's face spinning more quickly now, "but I could feel that it would work, and Autochthon is the Primordial of Innovation after all. That leaves Jade, Moonsilver, and Orichalcum castes still unfulfilled."
The terminology that you're throwing around is visibly confusing everyone but Accord, who has straightened up in his seat by the end of your last point. Twisting your right hand slightly to point your index finger at the order-obsessed little man, you nod your helmeted head slightly.
"You fashioned your new mask and outfit after reading my report?"
His hands flex, clasped as they are on top of his vertical cane, though his mask reveals this to be more likely a sign of respect for your insight. The hint of genuine pride in his voice makes his subordinates straighten up in their seats, as well.
"My life is dedicated to a plan of progress, order, and magnitude beyond human comprehension. I am your best candidate for Orichalcum in this regard."
You hold back a sigh, but nod your head regardless. He's not completely wrong… but this really isn't something you want to discuss right now. Maybe shift the focus to alternatives?
"I want to see this plan, then."
Accord stills, but returns your nod almost a little too quickly. An unusual display of eagerness, but potentially due to his own energy levels.
"I will have a revised copy to you tomorrow morning. This will not interfere with my participation in Philadelphia's defensive efforts."
"Alright. I also have to consider that you are the most powerful Thinker I have met that does not suffer from exposure to essence, which makes you invaluable as you are now. Due to the limitations placed on me, I am forced to consider that some candidates will be more useful to my Assembly if they remain human: positions of authority that would be compromised by the Conversion, that the process would benefit them less in the long run, and so on."
He doesn't quite preen, though by settling further back in his jump seat it is easy to see that he accepts the "invaluable" praise. The accelerated spinning of his mask's gears are possibly a sign of him trying to consider whether he can debunk your 'more useful as human' claim, though. You decide to bring out the final resort that you've only considered once or twice in passing over the last month, but might satisfy both his and Sanguine's concerns.
"When we manage to save Autochthon, there will undoubtedly be a need for more than just one Assembly to coordinate the relief and integration efforts between Earth and Autochthonia. Just because someone doesn't fit into my Assembly," you allow, casting your gaze over to Sanguine for a moment before turning back to Accord, "doesn't mean they won't fit into the next one."
The mask Accord gave you two weeks ago was nowhere near as complicated as the one he's wearing, and from its sudden blank expression you're starting to believe that he may have conscious control over what sort of emotions it 'reveals.' And damn it all, that makes you realize that you forgot to absorb the chair and replicator in Cauldron's meeting room.
"Will he consult your opinion?" Accord intones, his voice at least giving away his surprise at your suggestion. It's a fair question, but one that's weighed heavily on your mind for a while now - you're undoubtedly critical to his survival now, but afterwards? It's entirely possible that Autochthon will simply disgorge the humans from his body and then float off to go harvest what he needs from another solar system or galaxy. After all, Iris' primer implied that Autochthonia is such a hostile place to live because humans don't belong there.
"The Great Maker works in mysterious ways..." you sigh, allowing your shoulders to sag as you wave away Accord's concern before turning to go sit with Sanguine.
"... but I'll definitely be having words with him when he gets here."
***
Sanguine, it turns out, is a highly-placed member of your public fan club. One of them, at least. You discover this when a tentacle of blood immediately loops around your shoulder while holding a non-PRT-issued cell phone, Sanguine literally flooding through her restraints to slide up next to you for a quick photo together - her face morphed into the very image of radiant cheer. After retracting the phone, she remains by your side and begins to gush all about how much of an honor it is to meet you and how everyone in the club won't believe she got to sit with you.
She is also very, very Texan.
"Shoot, it ain't a thang, Ms. Weaver," she bubbles with a dismissive swish of a hand. "Don't worry nuthin' bout 'ffendin' me, I reckon' you wrangled that there turd ya stepped in the best way there was!"
Accord has looked blatantly mutinous since the moment she opened her mouth, and you're not sure you can blame him. She even pronounces her own name as "Sane-gween" and it's everything you can do to not correct her. You have a heritage of English grammar to defend!
Yes, you are going to ignore that you forgot how to use English after your Exaltation. That was extenuating circumstances.
Ultimately, you decide to make it impossible to verbalize your dismay by stuffing your face with food pulled out of your Technomorphic Integration Engine. At the looks you get (some more subtle than others) when you produce the massive lobster-and-steak platter from your road trip, you bite the bullet and offer up some of the other dishes you've been keeping in reserve - you've only really kept food in there to exploit the charm's ability to speed up your cooking.
The subordinate Ambassadors share a sushi boat you purchased in New York, while Sanguine chooses the complementary tomato soup that Missy didn't want two weeks ago when you all went out for dinner. You give Accord the pain au raisin that you've been trying to get to rise into an Archimedean Spiral; while his mouth is downturned when he first observes the imperfection, by the second bite into the flaky, golden-brown confection his objection is thoroughly forgotten.
You offer utensils to everyone, but the Ambassadors apparently all carry a custom set on them at all times. Sanguine loudly slurps her soup from the bowl for a few seconds, but you stop her just as Accord reaches for his cane. Handing her a spoon and instructing her on proper table manners gets around the reason you brought food out for in the first place, but Sanguine thankfully remains a quiet learner.
And then you're back into your own meal, not caring about low-level Anima displays for breaking out your Omnitool Implants. You need to cut and dice the meal properly, and no one will convince you that an infinitely-complex set of tools is overkill for eating steak and lobster.
Sanguine finishes her meal before everyone, of course, though there's a hint that the Ambassadors are hungry enough to wolf down your presented food rather than eat with tact and decorum. You do manage to get your bloodborne fan to keep her voice down while everyone eats, and she's mostly successful during her chattering on about the popularity of your newest lines of merchandise. Her low-level status in the Boston Protectorate also means that she's doing more than her fair share of PR work, so she does at least have some insight into how successful - or rather, not - the anti-bullying campaign has been so far.
You didn't really expect anything from it, especially only one month into the campaign, but it still takes some of the flavor away from your meal.
After collecting the thoroughly-scoured plates from your compatriots, you extend an olive branch to the Ambassadors by offering to shore up the damage to their suits. Accord accepts for all of them, and like before he takes great interest in the workings of your omnitools as they spin and sew with supernatural speed and precision. Accord's own suit is saved for last, mostly so that he can watch you work on his subordinates first, but in the meantime you finally manage to get a terse explanation from the Thinker about what befell his organization.
"Before he moved to Brockton Bay, the one you know as Coil and I were successful business partners," he begins, a hint of regret in his voice. "After Behemoth's attack, I provided him sanctuary in exchange for his aid in driving out the other gangs from Boston. Our first week of collaboration was promising, allowing us to prevent a new gang of degenerates from establishing themselves in the city."
You remember Saki mentioning that the Merchants had tried to move up to Boston after Behemoth and got slaughtered within a few days. Accord's words don't implicate him directly, but from the sneer in his voice he clearly didn't lose any sleep over the deaths of a few drug-addled parahumans.
"When… First Prayer of Perfection's emergence caused him to suffer a seizure, I sedated him long enough to go through his files - both to ensure that his own operations did not fall apart in his absence, as well as discover what his long-term plans encapsulated. In short order, I discovered that he planned to eliminate me because of the assistance I had rendered you, and then usurp control of my Ambassadors."
Accord practically hisses this last part, his hands absently twisting the obsidian-and-gold cane through a cycle of blades, then shock prongs, then some kind of energy weapon.
"An organization I do business with on occasion had expressed interest in acquiring the use of his power, so I traded Coil to them with the stipulation that they keep him restrained and ensure that he never has the chance to strike back at me in the future. Unfortunately, several failsafes that Coil had successfully hidden from me came into effect this morning, giving both the Teeth and the Empire Eighty-Eight free reign to all my holdings and security measures."
He remains silent for a few moments, only the whisper of his mask's gears turning and your Omnitool Implants whirring as they stitch up seams and extract stains from his suit. The eye-like gears in his mask's 'face' flick towards the remaining Ambassadors seated to his right, who have been utterly silent and still during Accord's recounting. For your own part, you do your best not to react to the notion that Coil is both likely still alive and in the hands of Cauldron.
You wonder what Coil's power is that would attract Cauldron's attention, but he is undoubtedly far less dangerous than the Siberian so they should at least be able to keep him in check. You are not entirely certain if this satisfies your lingering desire for vengeance, however, but saving the world comes first.
"Despite the sabotage and numerical disadvantage, my subordinates demonstrated their superior quality. The Empire lost many core parahumans during their assault, and though Kaiser still lives I provided the PRT with sufficient intelligence for a decapitating retaliation. The Teeth will be kept dismantled until Citrine finally succumbs to the Butcher's impulses, at which point she will most likely rebuild her forces and come for me."
Your eyebrows rise at his delivery of these startling facts, especially at the news of a new Butcher. The name Citrine rings a bell, but the PRT's records only showed her as ascending to Accord's right hand as of a few months ago. Whatever her original power is, it will undoubtedly be boosted by the addition of the fourteen other powers possessed by the previous Butchers… but the psychotic voices of all fourteen previous hosts make it only a matter of time before she takes up the "Butcher" mantle for herself.
You've considered tackling the problem of the Butcher - the ever-increasing number of powers the Butcher possesses would be an incredible asset to a potential Exaltation Candidate, after all - but you've yet to hit upon a way to keep the powers separate from the mind-altering impulses that come included in the deal. It's also possible that your own charms (Industrial Survival Frame in particular) might make you immune to the Butcher powerset transferring in the event that you deal the killing blow on the current iteration. With all the research and testing you'd need to do before you'd contemplate adding a Butcher to your Assembly (in any shape or form), you're not sure it's worth setting aside all the other pressing matters taking up your time at the moment.
Though you have follow-up questions for Accord as you finish up the suit repairs, a chime echoes out through the intercom system before you figure out which subject to broach first.
"Five minutes," Dragon's crisp voice announces through the speakers. "I'm expecting company, so please return to your seats and make sure your restraints are fastened. Weaver, if you could come to the front and open the starboard-side emergency hatch, the top of the craft just above the cockpit windows should give you the clearest line-of-fire."
You blink twice, then sigh. Accord gives you a curt nod, as if this is nothing out of the ordinary or unexpected, then moves to sit down and strap himself in. Sanguine gives you a fist-pump, then sprouts two more arms to give you four thumbs up.
Walking towards the forward hatch that should take you to the emergency door that Dragon referenced, you begin extruding your crossbow and ammo hopper while setting your armor's HUD to combat mode.
You're definitely not getting paid enough for this.
***
With your feet planted firmly on the top of the dragon-shaped aircraft, oversized totally-not-a-railgun crossbow firing as quickly as it can chew through its ammo hopper, you grudgingly begin to understand just how annoying it must be for people that try to fight against your own swarms of insects. You also wonder if this is what the characters in that Hitchcock movie must have felt like, as every bird in the sky suddenly turned genocidal against humanity.
Each eighteen-inch crossbow bolt easily skewers several of the small bird-like drones as you clear the hull of the aircraft, but it's slow-going trying to make a dent in the cloud of screeching robots that has descended upon it. The twelve explosive-tipped bolts you got from the PRT helped take out around half of the cloud of drones that poured into the air when you broke cloudcover over Philadelphia, but after those bolts had been expended you were left with ammunition designed for combating human-sized targets - not hundreds of murderous robo-birds.
Hints of finch, robin, and swallow can be seen in their designs, but otherwise the 'birds' all follow a similar generic template. Either the devices that Bezalel and the Nine are using to pump out the robotic creations are deteriorating, or they're sacrificing quality for quantity, because these drones would only pass as the real article from a great distance. You've absorbed some of the dozens that broke themselves upon your armored form, as well as a few that tried to apply their tiny lasers or claws on your armor, but your cursory scans of their memory banks didn't give you anything new - lending credence to the theory that these creations are a rush-job rather than any well-planned strategy.
The full breadth of the memories contained within the birds' neural processors will take some time for you to sit down and sort through, but an at-a-glance comparison between the Bezalel drones in your Technomorphic Integration Engine storage-space (both new and from yesterday) and the architecture of the hardware in Dragon's suit results in an odd epiphany:
The Entity 'agents' that give parahuman powers care more for the shape of the brain than its material composition.
More simply, an artificial intelligence of pure software won't look like a brain to an agent, at least initially, but an artificial brain of pure hardware will. Biological brains are, after all, just incredibly-dense clusters of nerve cells, which (in turn) are just miniature electronic switches. The difficulty comes from miniaturizing and arranging the 'switches' to properly mimic a biological brain, but with Bezalel's converted animals and the dragonsuit's robotic brain serving as guidelines... that is no longer an insurmountable task.
You have plenty of dead insects in your storage to help fill in the gap for your theoretical new drone-bots that your Shard of Perfect Administration should be able to control, but the next logical steps would then be to move up to animals… and humans. The prospect of absorbing some dead animals doesn't bother you too much, but absorbing dead humans just so you can study their brains? You already do your best to avoid thinking about the bodies of Marrow, Sakura, and Saki in your Elsewhere pocket, but they at least have had their brains completely liquified by whatever Autochthon does when he ripped out their soulgems - you don't have to worry about Technomorphic Integration Engine downloading their entire life into your own memory banks.
You've already had enough existential concerns about your identity for one lifetime.
Crossbow whining petulantly as your supply of basic bolts runs dry, you opt to simply stow the weapon and quiver away while switching to crude hand-to-hand strikes (mostly kicking) to dislodge the few remaining birds trying to chew, claw, or laser their way into the ship's internal systems. When metal plates slid over the cockpit windows after a few managed to finally crack the tempered glass, bird-drones had tried valiantly to throw themselves into the air intakes for the ship's engines - only to either be shot to pieces by yourself or fried by the electrically-charged reinforced grates covering the intakes.
Still, Dragon informs you that a few did manage to penetrate the armor near the back of the ship, and the smoke pouring out of the port engine is a sign that it inhaled a few too many drone pieces to continue functioning normally. As a result, Dragon opts to perform an "expedited landing" just to the southwest of the dock shelter - in the overgrown train tracks where you and Defiant met Legend a few hours ago - rather than slam down in the middle of a crowd of already-panicked and injured citizens.
You take to the air seconds before the large craft hits the overgrown-railway-turned-runway with far more speed and horizontal momentum than the VTOL craft looks designed to accommodate. Amid the squeal of shearing metal and roar of torn-up dirt you note the back-left landing gears ripping off after valiantly giving their all for a few heartbeats. When the cacophony finally settles and the craft stills, you're relieved to see that most of the damage was done to the ground rather than the aircraft; besides the back-left landing wheels the undercarriage only looks marginally scraped-up from contact with the abandoned metal rails, with no major structural damage immediately apparent. Somewhat surprising, causing you to suspect that this model is perhaps designed with crash-landings in mind.
Dragon's designs are almost universally intended for heavy-duty combat conditions, after all, so even if it isn't bristling with Tinkertech weaponry that's clearly no indication of its durability.
Now that the craft is stationary, it's the work of a few more moments for you to float around and clear off the final bird-drones still visible on the exterior. Armor-assisted punches handle the ones still single-mindedly trying to rip their way into the ship, while the four that did manage to find seams in the armor and slice, burn, or tear their way in are easily stopped by extending an arm into the hole and activating Technomorphic Integration Engine. By the time that Dragon gives you the all-clear through the plane's external speakers and begins to lower the loading bay ramp, a PRT combat team led by Weld has trooped their way over to your landing site.
At the sight of you floating down from the port side of the downed cargo craft, the burnished-metal adonis visibly relaxes and rolls his eyes. Weld gives a nod to the PRT squad captain, who immediately begins barking orders to his troopers to set up a perimeter - then radios the loading team that it's safe to proceed.
"I don't think this is what they mean by an 'air-drop', Weaver," Weld grins, though his eyes narrow as they move from your armored form to the downed craft. "Dragon said she was coming in hot. What happened?"
"A larger swarm of drone-birds than I had ammo to deal with," you admit with a slight frown. "They only managed to get one of the three engines and some of the less-protected internals, so it shouldn't take me or one of the Tinkers too long to fix, once the Nine have been put down."
"Well, there haven't been any more attacks against the shelter since you've been gone, at least, and Armsmaster managed to cook up a counter-agent for that stink bomb Bakuda released" the Case 53s admits, his voice trailing off with a grimace.
"Ah. I guess that answers why I didn't suddenly feel like reliving my lunch when we were landing."
Weld shrugs, crossing his arms over his perfectly-proportioned chest. "The cleanup crew is dealing withall the… fluids left over from peoples' reactions, but they should hopefully be done by tonight."
You make a general murmur of agreement, and the two of you share a moment of awkward silence. Just as you hear the PRT captain give the all-clear, Weld broaches the topic that was clearly on his mind from the beginning.
"Did everything with… the Twins…?"
"Successful, I think," you muse aloud, absorbing your armor with giving any thought to the blank look you get from Weld. Your diagnostic scans didn't turn up anything else, so you might as well use Technormorphic Integration Engine's 'repair' functions to flush its systems back to their original settings. "Both of them were given soulgems by Autochthon, so at the very least they proved themselves worthy... Maybe?"
You sigh, shaking your head. "I don't know what it would look like if the conversion process fails, so for now I'll just have to believe that the Great Maker will make the best of my decision."
Weld awkwardly clears his throat into a hand as your dress-costume finally finishes extruding, then crosses his arms across his chest as he keeps his eyes focused for any threatening movement in the distance. "R-Right. Well, I'm pretty sure we can handle things here, so you'll probably want to head on up to the command warehouse. Director Uriel made the call to move everything here after it was decided that Mannequin probably loaded up Downtown HQ with listening devices and traps during all the times they lost track of him in the fight today..."
Weld trails off as he slowly cranes his neck back to look up at the truly massive swarm of insects gathering above the two of you in a dome as large as your radius of control - not quite dense enough to blot out the overcast sky, but it's getting there. "... Weaver? Everything alright?"
You blink, having had all your six trains of thought elsewhere: either dedicated towards your armor's repair or the Bezalel drones you've recently absorbed. You did have one mind somewhat paying attention to Weld, but it was more focused on possible ways to break the news about Cauldron to Prayer as gently as possible.
Tearing one of your minds away from the drone schematics, it's not difficult to comprehend what's going on. Cauldron's revelations as to the nature of parahuman powers has finally put the final piece of the puzzle in place.
Your Shard of Perfect Administration is alive.
But you can't exactly say that, now can you? Thankfully, you have an excuse… and it has the added benefit of even being true.
"The Endbringers don't seem to like essence, and I've already had to fight off the Simurgh once today. Better safe than sorry."
Weld half-nods, his head and eyes still taking in the growing dome, until about two seconds later when he halts as your words finally catch up to him. His mouth opens soundlessly, his expression a mixture of disbelief and shock, when Accord and his remaining Ambassadors finally make their way out of the ship's cargo bay. Weld's mouth snaps closed with an audible thud, and for a moment there is only the distant buzzing of your insects and sounds of laboring PRT workers.
"Don't worry, I'll deal with him" you murmur, patting him on the shoulder - Weld's skin tingling against your Industrial Survival Frame as his body tries to latch onto the Soulsteel in your palm - before striding off to meet the twitchy Thinker.
Behind you, the metallic Case 53 gives a tense shudder and hides his face with a large hand. Just before you get out of range, you hear him mutter something to himself about never trusting "Lily's advice" ever again.
***
Now that you're aware of what your… shard-charm? Agent-charm?... is trying to do, it doesn't even require conscious thought to put your nearly-infinite multitasking to work, changing the pattern of the insects' movements to that of a rounded helix-grid instead of a solid dome. This has the added effect of making the construct appear to be a deliberate act rather than some kind of oncoming biblical plague - a distinction that is most clearly appreciated by the shelter inhabitants, as they are no longer fleeing for their lives at the sight.
"PRT Dispatch to Weaver," you hear in your visor's earpiece, an unfamiliar female voice that already hoarse from overuse today. "Please confirm that you are near the dock shelter and that the growing insect swarm in the air-"
A little too hastily, you tap your right earpiece to cut off the harried dispatch.
"Yes, that's me. Sorry, I got a little carried away setting up a defensive perimeter around Dragon's shuttle."
A beat of silence, then a different voice comes on the line - this one far more sardonic than the last.
"Weaver," Director Uriel groans, and you can practically hear him pinching the bridge of his nose. "Those screaming civilians woke me up. Thank you for that, now I can get back to work."
You're not sure if he's serious, or just deliberately antagonizing you with his sarcasm. Maybe both? Yes, both. He only recently came out of surgery to treat his Mannequin-inflicted wounds, after all, but he's undoubtedly needed right now more than ever - especially with Deputy Director Samwell having gone missing (and now assumed dead, or compromised) since last night.
"You're welcome, sir. You should talk with Armsmaster about clearing the drugs from your system."
"Mmph." A noncommittal grunt is all you get before his end clicks off. After a moment to consider it, you extrude your Orange Drone, fly a new cockroach into it, then use its built-in computer to shoot a quick email to Kaylee Chambers. Since you're likely heading back out into the field in a bit, you might as well get her to help out Director Uriel while he's laid-up in the shelter's medical tent.
You'll have to ask later why he was moved here instead of being kept in the hospital, but for now you're going to chalk it up to his occasional whims of operational paranoia.
Turning back to the newcomers coming off the cargo shuttle, Accord seems to take more note of your costume change than the rapidly-thickening, nine-hundred-foot helix-dome of bugs. Sanguine surreptitiously takes a quick photo of your semi-regal 'normal' costume, but otherwise is more focused on taking "Weaver-in-Action" shots of your swarm and asking questions about it.
"Creepy crawlers 'n skitterin' critters!" she exclaims, while a tremor works its way from the top of her liquid form to her toes. "'N you say ya gots 'em all in yer head at once? Don't that get all confusin', like?"
Her questions stick more towards your insect control than your other charms, so you don't mind answering them as you lead the group into the shelter proper. One of your minds does raise the possible concern of letting Accord know the limits of your most powerful form of tactical awareness, but at this point you wouldn't be surprised if he's managed to get his hands on the PRT's power testing results from both Brockton Bay and Philadelphia.
And it's clear the Slaughterhouse Nine have basically everything the PRT's written down on you, ever. From all reports it was done over (or with) the Director of Camden's corpse, and took a combination of multiple notorious Tinkers a week to do it, but you're going to sit down with Dragon and Director Uriel to see if there's any way to make sure something like this never happens again.
With that thought running through your minds, you take a moment to consider the increasingly-busy shelter as your group moves through it. There were easily seven thousand people here before the attacks this morning, and that number looks to have doubled since you left to go set up the trap for Crawler. Thankfully, it appears that most of the new flood of civilians aren't as injured as the ones that gathered here immediately after Shatterbird's explosive song, though that speaks more to the fact that most that didn't make it here or to the hospitals in time have bled out by now.
As much as the Youth Guard is going to throw a fit about it, your Shard of Perfect Administration will make you perfectly-suited to sweeping the city for decomposing, pest-ridden bodies - a task that would usually take a small army of disaster-relief workers weeks, done in a day or so.
Assuming there's much of a city left after all this, anyway. Bakuda's been taken down - trapped in her own time-freeze bomb - but a mad bomber like her isn't truly out of the fight until every dead-man's-switch, hidden mine, and time-delayed explosive has been accounted for. Just the bombs you extracted from Sakura and Saki revealed that she was willing to put bombs in anything and anyone, and combined with Bonesaw...
It takes five seconds to scan a person for evidence of recent surgery, but despite your six consciousnesses you can only focus the Diagnostic Overlay sub-module on one person at a time. The PRT has basic metal and weapon detectors at the gate, and more thorough biological ones at the registration station, but you're certain a dedicated Bonesaw would be able to bluff both of those if she put her mind to it. At this point, you're just going to have to bank on the hope that her time in the last forty-eight hours has been spent either preparing her recent "zombie" attack, rigging up the Twins as teleporting backpacks, and whatever atrocity she's been perpetrating against Missy and Bobby.
The 'war room' that you and Inquisition were using last night is within range of your swarm now, but the few bugs left in the room scuttled off into out-of-the-way hiding spots when you left them unattended. By the time you sneak more in through the vents and work them all into position, it the assembled heroes are dispersing in a way that indicates the meeting has just wrapped up.
No need to be subtle, then.
Chevalier, Lockstep, Gust, Armsmaster, and the two men in PRT SWAT outfits all turn - at various speeds of alarm - to the sound of thousands of buzzing and chittering insects pouring out of the vent in the rear of the room. You draw the mass up into a similar shape as your armored form, and then have it hold its 'hands' out in a placating manner.
"Wait, please. The Ambassadors, Sanguine, and I are all en-route."
Chevalier lowers his right arm from where it was going to unsheathe his cannonblade from his back, then nods.
"Alright, but send Sanguine to the medical tents so she can start helping patch people up. We decided to go with the plan against Bonesaw, so if Sanguine complains just tell her that I read what her file said about how she did against Blasto's toxins."
Back at your body, Sanguine closes her mouth and huffs as you relay Chevalier's words - the effect causing a big bubble of air to ascend through her body and pop once it reaches the top of her 'hair.'
"That was jus' once! Well, ok, twice if'n ya count… oh dag nabbit," the woman-shaped blob of blood chuffs. After a moment of obstinance, her legs melt as she begins a sloshing, loping stride towards the white tents with large red crosses on them. "They jusn' better not run me out thinkn' I'm contaminatin' things again..."
When the Case 53 finally breaks line-of-sight - which takes longer than normal, as the crowd of refugees is giving her a wide berth - you resume leading your group towards the war room. You're somewhat surprised that Accord doesn't make a relieved comment about her departure, but he's been wound up like a tiny ball of neuroses ever since entering the chaotic atmosphere of the shelter. You haven't needed to intervene just yet, but there was a close call when an bandaged-up old man nearly stumbled into the hair-trigger Thinker. Luckily, Othello stepped ahead just quickly enough to divert the civilian away from setting off his boss, but it was a near thing.
A darker part of your consciousnesses is curious about just what Accord would actually do in such a public setting, as all the information you've gleaned on him thus far paints a picture of someone who either handles his emotions better than he's doing so right now, or as someone who doesn't... leave witnesses to his loss of control.
Thankfully, the rest of your minds have far more sense than to tempt fate to that degree, and you decide to raise a small cloud of flies ahead of you to clear a path.
Better a few scared or weirded-out civilians than whatever the alternative may be.
***
It only takes Accord a matter of fifteen minutes to review your original plan ("Unstructured"), the modified plan that Chevalier and Armsmaster put together ("Needlessly Heroic"), and the relevant tactical data provided by Defiant and a fresh set of satellite imagery ("Sufficient"). Armsmaster looks close to blowing his own top but Chevalier merely shrugs and tells the diminutive villain that he has until four o'clock to come up with something better, as Defiant said the Nine would start moving to reconvene at five.
That gives him barely twenty minutes, but Accord is done in ten. Unfortunately, the new plan revolves almost entirely around you sneaking in and getting her by yourself, while everyone else plays backup.
Chevalier and Armsmaster respond with slight variations of "Absolutely not," while Lockstep and Gust share looks of apprehension with the PRT squad captains. You have opted to remain silent, focused on going over every step of the plan and checking it against strategies and tactics you haven't discussed with anyone yet. Like, say, using Cauldron's teleport-bombs.
You can't help but frown to yourself when it looks like this plan is made for just that tactic, which is far too convenient to be a coincidence.
You're getting good enough at reading Accord's body language to tell that he's smothering his fury at having his plan questioned by the high-level Protectorate heroes, but he keeps his tone level and clinical. "Since you dismissed my immediate suggestion of utilizing the tactical fusion bomb you recovered from Bakuda to remove the entire block from the map, this is your best alternative."
He points a white-gloved finger at table in the center of the room, indicating the routes he's marked on the overhead map you quickly sketched out with your Omnitool Implants.
"This plan accommodates the heavily-mined streetways and alleyways in the area, and provides clear lines of engagement and extraction for each of you during the entire operation. The plan you would have utilized had we not arrived on time had you kicking in the back door. You even discarded Weaver's recommendation to remove her escape vectors by setting off the exotic traps surrounding the location."
Chevalier doesn't move to disagree, his fully-armored figure towering over Accord's smaller one. But where the Philadelphia leader's arms are crossed against his chest in measured consideration, Armsmaster's right hand is gripped tight on his vertical polearm.
"I've made sure all our gear is hermetically sealed," the veteran Tinker grinds out, "and from Weaver's report I should be able to disable the majority of her gear and implants with my halberd. The collateral damage was unnecessary, especially since the explosives can be recovered by her for later study and replication."
Your back to the group, gaze still studying the map and Accord's strategy, you narrow your eyes even further. Armsmaster's plan - and it is very clearly his - has a high chance of succeeding, but it just feels so unnecessarily reckless and, again, "needlessly heroic." This is not the time to burn off all that energy and frustration from being cooped up in the Brockton Bay refugee camp… but there's no way you can just say that to him.
Now, his first chance to prove he's still got it and the new plan calls for you to take all the "glory." Even worse, while you think you could pull this off, you'd rather have someone else waiting on the wings, too...
"Accord."
Using the 'voice' of the swarm still lurking in the room and in the walls, you cut off the two anti-social geniuses' continued point-after-point argument. No one has time for their… well, Aisha would call it a "measuring contest." Ugh, and now your minds are thinking about that.
She's not even here and you want to slap her for tainting the sanctity of your consciousnesses.
"Your plan does not account for Vajra's involvement," you manage with an even tone, relying on your lone sane consciousness to keep a straight face. "Why?"
"She is keeping an A-Class threat occupied, and everything I read on 'Defiant'," he scoffs, unimpressed tone mirroring the mask's scowl, "indicates that a greater probability of Bonesaw's capture is not worth risking him... relapsing."
You finally turn to face the older men in the room, looking to Accord first, then Chevalier, then Armsmaster. Each has full-faced masks or armor now - Armsmaster's normal half-helmet swapped to a fully-sealed one - but the body language of each is tense for their own reasons. In response to Accord's logic, however, Chevalier relaxes a bit and nods slightly to you.
"You know more about... Defiant… at this point than any reports we have, Weaver, so I'll trust your call, but we haven't heard anything from the Siberian since this morning and she's usually seen with either Bonesaw or Jack. If it's true that Vajra was able to stand up to the Siberian earlier, I want her on the team."
Your eyes flicker to Accord, who taps his cane against the ground lightly, while maintaining a level voice.
"Your data is anecdotal, and I stand by my reasoning, but her addition would negate interference from other members of the Nine."
Your scowl deepens as your minds review the possibilities. You desperately need to speak with Prayer before you engage in any business with Cauldron - and this plan has their fingerprints all over it - but leaving Defiant alone is just asking for Jack Slash to appear and undo all the work you did today. But… maybe there's another way.
You look back to Chevalier and resist the temptation to smirk.
"Let me make a call."
***
Susan's Fun-Time Treehouse, purveyor of toys for children of preschool age to pre-teen. The store's overly-cheerful website, which hasn't been updated or touched since the late '90s, has a few photos of when it opened - filled with kids from the local low-income neighborhood, staring in wonder at the treehouse-themed store shelves filled with toys to rival a Wal-Mart or Toys-R-Us.
Ensconced within a small, red-brick shopping complex, it's the only "toy store" that matches the location Defiant said Bonesaw had discretely overtaken during the last week. Given the complete lack of activity in this area since Shatterbird announced the Slaughterhouse Nine's presence, the new-looking sheets of plywood covering the blown-out windows would be suspicious, but the similarly shuttered-up liquor store and restaurants to its right could fool the casual observer that local owners are doing their best to prevent looters during this chaos.
The complex itself is surrounded on all sides by the typical run-down homes of northern Camden, some of which may have actually contained living people not too long ago. The only visible signs of population are the remnants of detonated Bakuda mines along the streets near the shopping complex, one of which has left the bloody, broken remains of its victims still twitching and spasming at random intervals.
All of this information is easily provided by Dragon, though the up-to-date satellite imagery was somewhat trickier for her to get - Gust was able to clear out the clouds above the area, but many satellites are still out of commission after the Simurgh's re-awakening.
Approaching under cover of your Optical Shroud, however, your Shard of Perfect Administration feeds you a much clearer, bloodier picture.
The surrounding neighborhood is filled with signs of recent blood trails that would be missed by normal human senses, but your scuttling insects can easily detect the lingering scents and flavors of coagulated fluids. There are also plenty of signs of bodies being dragged into basements or towards the shopping complex by Bonesaw's signature 'spider-bots' - nightmarish mechanical creations she's regularly seen using as surgical helpers, which use living brain tissue as control mechanisms. The basements you can reach are all pitch-black at this point, but while even your insects can't see properly in complete darkness there is plenty of viscera and leftover nauseating compounds for their limited senses to detect. Signs that most of her small 'zombie' army from earlier today were likely experimented upon in the area.
In the shopping complex itself, the unlucky liquor store owner is strung up on the ceiling of his ruined, booze-flooded store, seemingly kept alive (if his twitching is any indication) despite his skin being flayed off. If you were to hazard a guess at the reasoning behind this atrocity, it would be so that the alcohol fumes saturating the air would continually burn his exposed nerves, organs, and muscles. The restaurants in the complex contain more traces of Bonesaw's zombie-plague creation and dispersal, though there are enough bloodstains covering the upturned furniture that any number of other horrors could have been perpetrated therein. Most of the equipment and foodstuffs have been looted from the restaurants, though the storage closets and refrigerators are stacked full with decaying, mutilated bodies.
A panorama of nightmares and horrors fills your consciousnesses, with the Fun-Time Treehouse as a big, empty spot in the middle.
Spread out around your nine-hundred foot radius of awareness, Chevalier, Armsmaster, Gust, Lockstep, and First Prayer of Perfection follow the directions you whisper through the bugs on their armor, allowing you to guide them through their plotted routes without triggering the few sensor alarms you've detected in the area. Your group is keeping their radios off for the approach, but the moment you stop giving updates every thirty seconds is when things "go loud" and two PRT squads will be called in for ranged support.
"Cradle is blank," each pocket of insects whispers to their 'ride'. "Moving to scan position."
The others all nod in recognition of your report, though Chevalier - who is approaching from the North through the back of an abandoned apartment complex with Gust - whispers a quick, "Acknowledged. Be careful."
Almost rolling your eyes at the needless reminder of caution, you slip out from behind the derelict gas station opposite the red-brick shopping complex and start to make your way across the street. Tiptoeing with your armor on is a soundless - but awkward - affair with your stealth charm activated, but earlier testing revealed that your suit's anti-gravity thrusters leave contrails of blue, ionized particles even through the Optical Shroud charm. No, the physics of these things don't make any sense to you, either, but you're long past questioning charm idiosyncrasies at this point.
Carefully avoiding the mine fit smoothly in the four-way intersection's small pothole, and the wire-trap spread across the sidewalk leading up to the complex's empty parking lot, you hold for a moment at the furthest edge of the L-shaped, five-lot commercial center to give your thirty-second update.
"Crossed street, scan position located."
Your Mass-Penetrating Scan sub-module isn't an unlimited 'x-ray' vision, but instead restricted to roughly nine yards of obscuring materials, and in bursts of about five seconds - and you need to 'zoom' your vision in and out, instead of just automatically seeing everything within your vision's range. Still, it's not the walls or floors you need to worry about; with your Optical Shroud taking up most of your limited pool of Personal Essence, you only have one shot before you need to start spending Peripheral Essence. That normally wouldn't drop your stealth charm immediately, but it does cause enough distortions in the air that someone watching for you would be able to track it… and you don't want to take any chances with the Nine.
So, since you want to make sure you have the best line-of-sight on the entirety of the toy store and its storage basement, you need to be on top of the store.
The primary concern about this stage of the plan was that the Nine had anticipated a hero - specifically, you - coming in from above. Once again, not leaving anything to chance, you take nearly six cautious minutes (giving swarm-radio updates as you go) climbing the street-side of the one-story shopping complex. You'd normally slather the whole place with your swarm to find every possible trap or security measure, but you have a hunch that Bonesaw and Mannequin have ways to monitor when bugs in the area start acting strangely - so for now you've been leaving the insects in the complex free to do as they please.
Your after-action report will be an excellent time to make everyone aware of just how much you dislike plans calling for you to stealthily scale a red-brick building while wearing power armor.
The silent prayers to the Maker you've been mouthing seem to have paid off, however, because aside from the three tripwires on the nearby ladders you don't detect any other security measures on the roof. There is likely some form of seismic detector rigged up as well, but PRT testing revealed that Optical Shroud fools those completely - you don't even leave footprints. Still, you maintain caution and as much practical stealth as you can manage, until you're standing just above the wall adjoining the toy store and the next-door Thai restaurant.
"Initiating scan," your swarm clusters whisper, as you push a mote of Personal Essence into your eyes to activate the sub-module...
… and immediately grit your teeth, cold fury overriding your reeling stomach as you relay only the mission-critical information.
"Bonesaw operating on Hatchet Face's replacement arm. Philharmonic and Philanthropic motionless nearby. Breakdown sitting in basement, watching television. All walls and doors covered by stacked bodies, most still alive. Hostages also stapled all across ceiling. Device near operating table matches description of teleport device used by Bonesaw earlier today. Fourteen 'spider-bots' spotted, four near Bonesaw and rest throughout store maintaining body shields."
All the members of your group are fully-armored by this point, but from the tensing of stances and shaking of heads, it's clear that no one is looking forward to seeing the nightmarish details they know you didn't describe.
Armsmaster droops slightly after a moment, giving you the impression that he's silently thankful he isn't kicking down the door right now. Beside him, Lockstep twitches slightly as the precog aspect of his power continues to have problems with your bug-radio - the reason he'll be hanging back until electronic radios are switched on.
Chevalier is quick to rally, however, his voice echoing the restrained rage in your stomach. "Did you see a path that won't have us going through hostages?"
"Vajra could punch through the floor outside the store to enter in through the basement, but Bonesaw might be able to react quickly enough to teleport out."
To avoid confusing everyone else with one-sided conversations, you're doing your best to relay word-for-word what everyone else says before you reply on your own. You can't quite match other people's tone of voice with such limited swarm clusters, but no one has complained about mixed signals yet - or that you're mocking them with your imitations.
Another advantage of working with seasoned adults instead of children, or just a reminder of how serious the situation is? A matter for another time.
Accord made several contingencies for such a situation, though it required a short back-and-forth discussion about the intent- and conceptual-based logic of essence-based charms.
Chevalier voices the question that's on everyone's mind: "Which plan are we using, then?"
Thinking about her exact placement in the room, the pattern used to arrange the hostages on the ceiling, and the proximity of the teleportation device? It's a toss-up between two of the contingencies that would work best, but it's your decision of what to do with Bonesaw that settles it.
"Operation FINA is go."
***
Terminal velocity is generally understood to be around one-hundred-twenty miles-per-hour, but that is in the case of a regular-sized human falling horizontally with their arms and legs splayed out to maximize their wind resistance. Gust also cheerfully explained that professional skydivers have been known to reach speeds of nearly two-hundred miles-per-hour with practice. Accord's plan takes this into account, as well as the fact that your Assembly-mate is both far larger, and far denser than an average human.
Even if Bonesaw has cameras trained at the rooftop of her hideout, she doesn't have time to react to First Prayer of Perfection's totemic anima exploding into view as she engages her jets in a final course correction.
Because her fully-armored form hits the small exhaust pipe above the back of the store, hands-first in mimicry of an Olympic high-diver, moving at nearly five-hundred-forty miles-per-hour.
Even accounting for grace that would put the greatest olympiad to shame, there are still two human shields stapled just next to where she exits through the ceiling. Normally, they would be torn to shreds by the explosive shrapnel ejected by Prayer's arrival, but the brilliant bubble of electrical essence that she wills forth with a desire to protect manages to encapsulate both her, and the harmful detritus - causing her entry to barely nudge them a few inches out of the way.
But even as she has barely fully emerged from the ceiling, Prayer twists in the air and aims herself towards towards the barely-aware Slaughterhouse Nine members barely thirty feet away. Igniting her thrusters again, all downward momentum is conveniently ignored and she rockets across the intervening space, crashing through emptied toy shelves and into the shocked, pre-teen bio-Tinker.
Then, still following the plan, First Prayer of Perfection's massive, electric-blue hands engulf the wide-eyed blonde's neck. Before the small child even has a moment to squeek in surprise, Prayer rips Bonesaw's head right off her shoulders.
Still holding Bonesaw's head and gore-trailing spine with her left hand, Prayer throws the young girl's body back towards the hole from which she entered. In the same smooth motion, she winds up, spins on her left heel, and fills the air with the thunderous scream of plasma jets, roaring thunder of lightning-charged essence, and tortured scream of a soulsteel piston slamming home.
A brilliant fist of armored adamant swings down. Hatchet Face, the kiddie tables he was laying on, and the four feet of concrete below them promptly explode in a brilliant, furious corona of energy. The four nearby spider-bots go flying, leaving smoking trails in their wake.
The blinding speed at which this all takes place is only possible to track through your activation of Dynamic Reaction Enhancement System, as well as another activation of Mass-Penetrating Scan. You have no time to stand slack-jawed at the power and skill Prayer has just demonstrated, however, as you're diving into the hole in the roof right behind her.
Even with your armor's anti-gravity thrusters pushing you to full speed, you're only barely able to make it through the hole in the roof in time to catch Bonesaw's headless body as it arcs in the air towards your invisible form. The bio-Tinker's torso hits you with a bit more weight and force than you initially expected, and the collision and splash of blood - most of it not her own - are enough to knock your stealth charm offline.
Not that you'd really be able to maintain the facade of stealth anymore as you immediately activate your Technomorphic Integration Engine, beginning the process of absorbing Bonesaw's biotech-riddled body before the myriad of fail-deadly traps built into it go off. The four seconds it takes to complete the process wouldn't normally be a problem, as objects caught by your charm undergo a form of temporal stasis the instant the absorption process begins...
… but now you've got to deal with an angry horde of Bonesaw's spider-bots throwing themselves at you, and your armor's chestplate is starting to sizzle from whatever acid the bio-Tinker laced into her blood.
Pouring essence into your very soul, you flare your totemic anima - filling the space around you with the tortured wails of the souls trapped in your form, and the furious scream of your anima's pissed-off Design Weaver. The eight spider-bots abruptly lock up, their hardware and programming warring against the supernatural fright inspired by the display, which gives you enough time to start trying to dislodge the nightmarish Tinkertech creations.
Prayer is by your side in a flash of white-and-purple streamers, her own brilliant anima clashing with the choking smoke and lightning pouring from your body, and quickly forms a spike on her fist before pummeling the seizuring spider-bots with it. The turtle-like, bullet-resistant shells of Bonesaw's creations cave easily under the power of her strikes, but it still takes several seconds for you two to clear them all off.
Bonesaw's severed head watches the two of you work with keen eyes and a rictus smile, while her circuitry-laden spine constricts around Prayer's left arm. The thick, crystalline armor is more than enough to keep Prayer safe, however, so the two of you focus on pacifying the bio-Tinker's creations first before finishing up with her.
Specifically, the two puppeteered rogues standing in the corner.
Philharmonic and Philanthropic - the 'Philly Phils' - were regarded as two of the more successful rogue parahumans in the city years ago, but more recently the increased gang activity and dwindling public funding to the arts had left the two performers out of work more often than not. There had also been some growing resentment aimed at the two from the music industry, as the two could operate an entire classical orchestra with better overall acoustics than one crewed by world-class musicians; professional musicians already have a difficult time securing enough work to sustain a living in today's economy, so the Phils' presence in the city had slowly-but-surely driven away all aspiring musicians.
The PRT, of course, had expected the duo to inevitably snap from the mounting pressure, and strategies had been compiled for that unfortunate eventuality. Those strategies, however, did not account for augmentations provided by multiple insane, world-class Tinkers. Both have been covered in armor similar to Mannequin's white ceramic plating, undoubtedly giving them inhuman durability on top of making them look like eerie puppets without strings.
A scenery-destroying wave of sound explodes towards the two of you, generated by the multiple speakers grafted into Philharmonic's chest and abdomen and then focused, amplified, and directed by his power. Prayer immediately steps in front of you and throws out her right hand, another massive bubble of crackling blue electricity flowing out from it and dispersing the blast - both of you could likely withstand the blast, but the pile of vulnerable hostages on the wall behind you would be torn apart.
At the same time, every loose object in the store with a sharp point takes to the air as Philanthropic is forced to flex his power. Countless shards of glass, makeshift medical implements, fragments of toys, jagged bits of shelving, and re-animated spider-bots crash against the two of you with coordinated precision - not just as a wave of death, but in clusters of perfectly-targeted strikes against any perceived weak points in your respective armors. The improvised weaponry shatters and breaks from being wielded so forcibly against reinforced armor, but while Prayer's organically-grown adamant only chips and flakes slightly, you are buffeted and sent sprawling to the ground as your suit's anti-gravity thrusters are practically gouged out by the pinpointed attack.
"Phase Three! Phase Three!" you gasp out, pushing off from the ground and leaping at your Assembly-mate with arms wide open.
She reacts immediately, right hand reaching across her body and yanking Bonesaw's head-and-spine off of her left wrist, then passing the devious disembodied head into your waiting arms. Now freed of her charge, Prayer surges forward to disable the two puppeteered rogues while you hunch over your prize.
You've kept your Omnitool Implants active practically all day, so you didn't even bother hiding them behind your armored gauntlets for this mission. Huddled in a ball around Bonesaw's blood-smeared head and spine, you bring the wicked array of soulsteel tools to bear as you simultaneously activate your Diagnostic Overlay.
Wide eyes framed messy blonde ringlets, there's no longer a manic delight shining behind them. Instead, you can see genuine fear in the bright blue eyes, shining clearly enough that you can see how your terrifying totemic anima is framing your helmeted gaze.
As much as you want to tear the little monster apart right here, the PRT's profile on her stays your hand. Not because of mercy, though you understand that being 'adopted' by Jack Slash and the Slaughterhouse Nine at age six meant she had no other choice but become what she is now. No, even though ripping apart her head would likely deactivate the controls on the remaining spider-bots and puppeteered parahumans, Bonesaw is more useful to you alive than dead right now. Thankfully, the PRT's report included testimony from the rare survivors of her handiwork - enough to give you a rough profile of her behavior and motivations.
The most obvious motivation is that Bonesaw is driven by a childlike need to satisfy Jack Slash, which results in the nightmare-inducing bio-horrors that Jack likes to call 'art'. But the survivor reports paint a slightly different story, because when Bonesaw is left to her own devices… it is her insatiable, amoral curiosity that drives her. Last night, you had agonized over ways you could exploit that - information on Alchemical 'biology' would work, but you're not quite comfortable giving her even more reasons to take you apart.
Today's events, however, have given you an even better option.
Holding Bonesaw's head until it's nearly touching the front of your helmet, just as the fear in her eyes is starting to give way to callous mischief and twisted playfulness - an overly-cheerful smile growing on her face while her spine begins to twitch again.
"I know the secrets of parahumans, Riley," you whisper, coming through your speakers just loud enough to be heard over the waves of pointy objects slowly sawing through your armor's joints. "What powers are, how they work, where they come from, and more."
The tiny, blonde head in your hands stills in genuine surprise for a long moment, her jaw slackening to the point where dust and debris from the attacks on your person actually starts flying into it. She blinks a few times and awkwardly gags before simply swallowing the contents of her mouth - which causes the bits to fall out of the carbon-weave-reinforced trachea hanging from her severed neck.
"I can also see every change you've made to yourself - every augmentation, graft, splice, and implant. I also can see how to disable or remove them… like this."
You loop your pinkies and ring fingers up into the biomechanical remnants of her neck, just as Bonesaw's spine starts wriggling anxiously in response to your words. With a few clips, cuts, and snips, the prehensile appendage stills before flopping straight down, now (mostly) harmless. The young bio-Tinker's face spasms a few times at this, until finally settling into a over-dramatic pout.
"I could kill you right now, absorb your head, and then use my charm to download your memories to find out what I need to know," you growl, omnitool-laden hands curving into jagged claws that begin to carefully take the bio-Tinker's head apart. She's got her pain-receptors turned off so she probably doesn't even feel it, but with your hands cupped over her ears she can undoubtedly hear them working. "We don't even need your help to undo all the damage you've done - Wyld and I can fix anything you've broken."
If you hadn't already dipped into Clarity before, the realization of helpless mortality dawning in Bonesaw's ocean-blue eyes might be enough to soften your approach slightly. The young girl has been surrounded by death and horror every day for the past six years, but you imagine that she has never been rendered so utterly powerless before now. Indeed, the single mind you've been having perform a cursory review of Bonesaw's body in your Elsewhere storage was surprised to discover that it is - was - her original body; you'd have thought that by now she would have been damaged enough to replace it at least once.
"So I'm giving you one chance, Riley Elizabeth Lamark. Stop fighting us, tell the truth, and play nice," you hiss through clenched teeth, noting a flinch at the use of her full name, "and I'll tell you what I know about parahumans, as well as make sure you live through the next forty-eight hours. But if I find out that you've tried to trick us or hurt us… I'll make Grey Boy look merciful."
For a long moment, the choking, lightning-filled smoke of your anima swirls around the two of you - continual, deliberate expenditures of essence having kept the anima having been kept at full totemic majesty throughout your interrogation. The Design Weaver looms over your shoulders and stares down at the young parahuman, the spiritual manifestation of your anima more solid-appearing than you ever remember seeing before.
Clear blue eyes look up at the mechanically-alien creature, a mixture of emotions playing behind them, and then back to your expressionless, helmeted gaze. She swallows and licks her lips, before the doubt in her eyes fades away and a wry expression flickers across her face.
YOU, she mouths, and it doesn't take any of your six minds more than a second to piece together what she means.
Well, it's not like everyone and their mother doesn't know the everything you've released about Autochthon and Alchemicals by now. But if she really wants to know all about how you work...
"Fine. You'll get to learn about Alchemicals, too," you growl, an-overly eager smile on your lips giving your tone an unnerving edge. "Now play nice."
Almost instantly, the storm of debris that's steadily been wearing away at your armor drops away. On the other side of the store, Prayer has been carefully taking apart both of the puppeted rogues - mostly focused on disabling Philharmonic's speakers to deprive him of ways to generate harmonics - and keeping the remaining spider-bots busy. At the same time that the debris around you falls to the floor, the parahumans freeze mid-motion and the two remaining semi-autonomous 'helpers' relax and back away from the fight.
You're surprised that Breakdown never entered the fight, but a quick pulse of essence shows that he's still sitting in his fold-up chair and watching television downstairs with a dopey smile on his face. No one's quite figured out how the mysterious villain operates, but you're more than happy to avoid a fight with a Shaker/Brute 10.
You make a show of looking away from Bonesaw's head, meeting Prayer's armored gaze and nodding in answer to her unasked question, then deliberately reach over with your left hand and grab the teleportation device you've been watching slowly roll up behind you - activating Technomorphic Integration Engine the moment your tool-laden hand makes contact with the device, before Bonesaw gets any more funny ideas.
You bring your hand back into her field of view, just in time for her to see the device folding up and slipping away into your palm, then flex your hand while turning your gaze back towards her.
"Yes, I'm sure Iris will be more than happy to teach you everything he knows. After all, Ned told us all about how much you enjoyed playing dress-up and tea-time with him."
Bonesaw's expression is one of blank surprise when you mention Ned... but then your words sink in. All at once, her mouth forms a little 'o', and what little blood she had drains from her face. Prayer's head tilts slightly at your words, while you tuck the young girl's head under your right arm and give your Assembly-mate a thumb-scalpel up in recognition of a job well-done.
The sentiment is slightly overcast by the moaning of civilian hostages still stapled to the walls and ceiling around you, but after a day like today, you'll take what you can get.
***
EOA - Wounds: 2 Lethal, 4 Bashing (-2 Wound Penalties) EOA - Ailments: NONE EOA - Current Clarity: 5 (-2 to Compassion and social rolls, +2 to interactions with spirits ) FPoP - Wounds: None FPoP - Ailments: Partially-Resisted StinkNuke (-1 Internal Penalty while in AoE) FPoP - Current Clarity: 5 (-2 to compassion and social rolls, +2 to interactions with spirits )
EOA - Archery/Firearms ●●●●○ Gained!
EOA - Archery/Firearms +1 Training Interval (1/6 Intervals)
EOA - Craft (Biomechanical Augmentations ●○○) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Craft (Bombs ●○○) Gained!
EOA - Craft (Drones ●●○) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Craft (Plagues ●○○) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Integrity +1 Training Interval (4/6 Intervals)
EOA - Investigation (Reading People ●●○) Gained!
EOA - Investigation (Simurgh Plots ●○○) Gained!
EOA - Investigation (Simurgh Plots ●●○) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Medicine +2 Training Intervals (6/6 Intervals) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Medicine (Diagnostics ●●○) Gained!
EOA - Presence (Intimidation ●○○) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Ride +1 Training Interval (2/6 Intervals) EOA - Socialize +1 Training Interval (3/6 Intervals) EOA - Socialize (Swarms ●●○) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Stealth +1 Training Interval (3/6 Intervals) EOA - Survival +1 Training Interval (2/6 Intervals) FPoP - Athletics +1 Training Interval (3/6 Intervals) FPoP - Craft +1 Training Interval (4/6 Intervals) FPoP - Dodge ●●●●● Gained!
FPoP - Occult [/B]+1 Training Interval (5/6 Intervals) FPoP - Presence +1 Training Interval (5/6 Intervals) FPoP - Socialize +1 Training Interval (4/6 Intervals) FPoP - War +1 Training Interval (2/6 Intervals)
EOA - Ally (Accord) ●●○○○ NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Ally (Bonesaw/Riley) ●●○○○ NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Backing (Cauldron)[/B] ●●●●● NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Equipment (Railgun Crossbow Mk. III) ●●●●○ Gained... a while ago, but whatever!
FPoP - Ally (Crawler/Defiant/Ned) ●●○○○ NOW AVAILABLE!
FPoP - Ally (Willow) ●●○○○ NOW AVAILABLE!
***
Well, we're certainly getting ahead in our fight against the Slaughterhouse Nine! And Bonesaw's likely having an out-of-body experience! It's all a very cerebr- ok I'll stop now.
The full contents of the Cauldron infodump will be revealed as we explain things to Prayer, and the Twins when they get back. I'm still not completely happy with the scene, but a big point that may not have been blatant was that they effectively predicted the major objections/questions that Taylor may have had and provided answers/data to at least get Taylor to play along for now. As we gathered, there's clearly more information to be discovered/weaseled out of them later, but for now we know the big issues:
- Eldritch aliens, "Entities," are the source of parahuman powers, and at some point in the future Scion (who is only one left on Earth) will flip out and blow up ALL Earths.
- The Endbringers are their tools to keep Earth destabilized but not destroyed, though they may have gone off the rails (THANKS AUTOBOT).
- Cauldron is the only organization aware of the above and are trying to kill Scion... but don't really have a plan anymore (THANKS AUTOBOT).
- Cauldron made the Case 53s and are selling vials that can give powers.
- Cauldron has created/puppeteered the PRT, Protectorate, and numerous other government organizations.
We agreed to tentatively support their work, and to try to give them some of the S9 members they asked for, but the last vote wasn't overwhelming to those ends so we didn't just teleport-bomb Bonesaw when we had the chance. We still can, if we want to, and we need to make up our minds on the rest. Note, however, that this vote isn't a guarantee - we could vote to give them all, but the dice and actions in-story could get one of them killed on their own. This vote is more about Taylor's mindset about whom she is and isn't willing to send to Cauldron. Also, I am not going to warn us about which of them Prayer will object to, if she will object at all, as that will be up to the voters to figure out based on what we know of Prayer so far.
Now that the Alchemical secret is basically all-but-spoiled, the other Assembly slots - Jade, Moonsilver, Orichalchum - are going to be in hot contention. Beyond people clamoring for spots on their own (Accord, Case 53s, Aisha), we also now have access to basically any parahuman Cauldron can see (which is almost all of them) if we want to really expand our search radius. As of right now, I am aware of at least 5 candidates for each caste that would work if we threw them in when the Twins finish baking, but people have expressed a desire to see Taylor reaching out further. This isn't something we're going to do right now, obviously, but I'm going to put it to a vote so that I can start wrapping my head about what to do after the S9 arc.
Speaking of the S9, in order to keep Riley alive we're going to have to remove all her upgrades and stick her onto a dead body - at least until Wyld gets back and can grow her a new one and free the poor corpse. This does give us the opportunity to try to pull a Defiant if we so choose, since our surgical skills and Riley's tips could basically make her look completely different with only a few minutes of surgery. She would be a smoking bomb of a different beast than Defiant, of course, but we hammered her socially enough that it might work - we'd just never have the option of letting her out of our sight until we sort out the S9 situation overall.
Finally, with Crawler Defiant and Bonesaw's info, as well as the teleportation device we just took from her, we have the opportunity to perform a decisive strike right now, as Bonesaw was about to teleport back to their meeting ground. On one hand, the remaining S9 definitely won't see it coming, but on the other... Taylor and Prayer are low on Willpower and Essence, and Taylor is pretty banged up - not to mention that her suit can't fly at the moment, and her anima won't recede in time for stealth to work. Prayer could probably go alone and thrash house, but she doesn't have the near-omniscience of Taylor and some will escape. Waiting, however, means the Siberian will come for Bonesaw and Jack will start setting off his going-away presents...
Chapter 8.6: Here Comes The Boom
Ballroom Blitz: (Choose ONE option, ONE Stunt allowed!)
[ ] *CRASH* OH YEAH!: Use Bonesaw's teleport to ambush the remaining S9 members, despite being low on resources/health.
[ ] Haste Makes Waste: Withdraw to the Shelter, compile information, make plans, and hunt down the S9 on your own terms.
Secret Secret, I've Got A Secret: (Choose ONE option, ONE Stunt allowed!)
Stunts for this should focus on how/when we want to present our argument.
[ ] Tell Prayer About Cauldron Now (Note: Cannot be picked if we attack S9 immediately!)
[ ] Tell Prayer About Cauldron Later
[ ] Tell Prayer About Cauldron After S9 Gone (Note: This can also be used to delay until Twins get back.)
Stand And Deliver: (Choose any number of options, ONE Stunt per option!)
[ ] Give Cauldron Bonesaw
[ ] Give Cauldron Mannequin
[ ] Give Cauldron Shatterbird
[ ] Give Cauldron Siberian/Manton
Don't Feed Her After Midnight: (Choose ONE option, ONE Stunt allowed!)
[ ] Mostly Harmless: Keep Riley visibly the recognizable, but with limited mobility (paraplegic, quadriplegic, etc.)
[ ] You Said You'd Play Nice: Keep Riley visibly recognizable, but give her a fully-working body so that she can help out.
[ ] Just Another Victim: Alter Riley's appearance, and BONESAW IS DEAD.
[ ] Not My Problem: Give Riley a functioning body, knock her out, then send her off to Cauldron.
Making A List, Checking It Twice: (Choose ONE option, ONE Stunt allowed!)
[ ] Keeping It In The Family: We have plenty of options now, stick to people we've met/know for Conversion candidates.
[ ] Mother Dragon Knows Best: Go through Dragon's list of potentials, which is mainly heroes and a few rogues in the Americas and Western Europe.
[ ] Get In Loser, We're Going God-killing: Against three concurrent apocalypses, we need all the power we can get... and Cauldron's list is where we can get it.
Please remember to format Free Actions properly: (Only TWO Free Actions allowed!)
Free Actions should be phrased as stand-alone Stunts, so they must be 60 words or less (not counting "Free Action"), be descriptive about what you're hoping to accomplish, and set the scene.
[X] Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that could be performed during other votes.]
XP Expenditures should be formatted as such for EOA and FPoP:
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item ●●●○○
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item (Specialization ●●○)
Spending more XP than a character has in their own bank will automatically draw from the Assembly bank, and Named XP will be spent before Assembly XP is used. Also, because the Twins' character creation is coming after Chapter 8.7, XP VOTES NOW REQUIRE >50% VOTING MAJORITY TO SUCCEED. For example, if there are 50 voters, 26 votes will be needed for an XP Expenditure to win.
VOTING DISCUSSION STARTS NOW,
NO VOTES COUNTED UNTIL VOTING STARTS AT 12:01AM (PST) ON 11/22!
BALLROOM BLITZ
[X] *CRASH* OH YEAH!: Use Bonesaw's teleport to ambush the remaining S9 members, despite being low on resources/health.
- [X] Stunt: Gust and Sanguine land outside in a swirl of dust. As Sanguine hefts her bag of supplies inside the store, Gust approaches the swarm clone you have huddled with Armsmaster and Chevalier. "Just us?" He nods and pats his pouch."For what it's worth, Uriel said you have a free hand. And Kid Win sent a little something extra along." "Okay, here's the plan..."
SECRET SECRET, I'VE GOT A SECRET
[X] Tell Prayer About Cauldron Later
- [X] Stunt: Immediately inform Vajra you have acquired significant information, but in light of the current situation it will need to wait until after the Slaughterhouse 9 are dealt with in the short term.
STAND AND DELIVER
[X] Give Cauldron Shatterbird.
- [X] Stunt: "Mannequin disabled for later retrieval" you murmur over your swarm as you track the trail of blood. Lying in the middle of shattered Bezalel drones, Shatterbird bares her teeth at you as she attempts to scrabble backwards from your advance. The tranquilizer bolts in her leg don't help. You raise your crossbow and switch payloads. "Ma'a as-salāmah, Alimah."
[X] Give Cauldron Mannequin.
- [X] Stunt: Shattered bits of weaponry litter the ground around Mannequin's armored form. The chains that bound him together have been shattered by First Prayer's last strike; you take a second to kick one of his legs closer to the rest of his pieces. The retractable manipulators on one 'hand' twitch feebly as the teleportation charge takes effect and whisks him away.
[X] Give Cauldron Siberian/Manton.
- [X] Stunt: It took several precious minutes of work from two of your minds, but your bugs have finally located the beat-up old van Dr. Manton is hiding in. As soon as the Siberian projection is disrupted by First Prayer, you spin and launch an explosive bolt at the vehicle; an Abduction Disk follows soon after, skimming over several wrecked cars.
DON'T FEED HER AFTER MIDNIGHT
[X] You Said You'd Play Nice: Keep Riley visibly recognizable, but give her a fully-working body so that she can help out.
- [X] Stunt: Detaching the left supraspinatus, you absorb the detached head for safekeeping as you settle Riley's reinforced spine into place,attaching blood vessels and nerves. "This is a loaner until we can fix your old body, Riley Elizabeth. Play nice." Pouting, the tween protests, "But I am! I even told you about the kudzu bomb we put under Independence Hall..."
MAKING A LIST, CHECKING IT TWICE
[X] Get In Loser, We're Going God-Killing: Against three concurrent apocalypses, we need all the power we can get... and Cauldron's list is where we can get it.
- [X] Stunt: Dennis leans forward, for once unusually serious. "C'mon Taylor, you can't seriously be considering Accord. Dude may be hot stuff, but he was still a bloody mob boss, with who knows how many deaths. It would be like...like offering a spot to the Fairy Queen." There is an awkward silence. Dennis pales. "Taylor, no."
FREE ACTIONS
[X] Free Action (FPoP): Chevalier found Prayer in the basement with an unconscious Transfusion, her weird healing Charm at work as medics took ferried blood from him towards other people. Carefully, he asks of a squad medic what he was doing; but it was Prayer who replied: "Healing him, as his blood helps heal the hostages"
[X] Free Action (EOA): Early twilight descends as local insects stealthily swarm towards the store under Charm direction. A mental thread directs the weaker specimens towards laying out safe pathways to the store. Gust shudders a little as you follow the direction of his eyes to where the more combat-ready insects swarm the teleport beacon. "Party favors, Gust. Party favors."
XP EXPENDITURES
[X] EOA - 3 XP - Ally (Bonesaw/Riley) ●○○○○
[X] EOA - 3 XP - Backing (Cauldron) ●○○○○
***
When Accord pieced together the assault plan, he absently questioned the logic of your own initial proposal - specifically, your emphasis on seizing every available opportunity to surprise or hound the Slaughterhouse Nine, even at potential risk to the assaulting force. To which you explained your tactical analyses of the PRT's many encounters with the terrorist group: the Slaughterhouse Nine always managed to win, or at least escape, when given the opportunity to dictate the terms of engagement. The only major victories against Jack Slash's band of psychopaths have consistently been when they were isolated, tracked down while the group temporarily splits up to pursue individual agendas, save for one outlier:
Every past ambush attempt against Jack Slash himself failed catastrophically.
If he hadn't been foiling attempts against his life since before she appeared, you'd have a strong claim that the Simurgh had been silently playing her hand to keep him alive; Mannequin is the most prominent victim of the angelic Endbringer to have graced the group's roster, but the PRT's notes revealed an unusually-high encounter rate with Simurgh-tainted victims, both civilian and parahuman.
So since you fervently don't want to consider the possibility that the Simurgh was somehow acting upon the world decades before she actually appeared, that leaves two possibilities: that there is someone else working in the shadows to keep Jack Slash alive, or Jack himself has precognitive abilities. Before the events of a few hours ago, you would have followed up on the second idea…
… but then you met Cauldron.
Unlimited monetary funds, dimensional teleporters, an army of Case 53s, and an "I win" precog would go a long way to explaining how the Slaughterhouse Nine have massacred their way across the first-world countries of Earth-Bet for nigh on twenty-five years. It would even play into their goal: increase the number of powerful parahumans in the world, hoping for a 'silver bullet' power that could be used in the eventual fight against Scion. Though the PRT reports you read didn't spell it out so cleanly, mentally reviewing the statistics… and ignoring the horrifying civilian body count... the Slaughterhouse Nine have led to far more parahuman triggers than parahuman deaths. The PRT's protocols for sweeping a Nine-victimized city even note to be on the lookout for numerous new - and traumatized - parahumans.
Even in your state of heightened Clarity this would be disconcerting, if Cauldron hadn't essentially tasked you with the complete dismantling of the Slaughterhouse Nine as your first partnership act. The four they want - Bonesaw, Mannequin, Shatterbird, and Siberian - are the longest-running members of the group outside of Jack himself, and never before has the terror group ever been reduced to just him.
Not that you intend to leave him alive.
But if Cauldron truly has been helping - at least minimally - keep Jack Slash and his group going all these years, you didn't get the impression they had any qualms about your intent to erase him from existence. Which means they either haven't had any attachments to him, or they now have something better for their goals: you.
As long as you play along with their goals, that is.
These are the things you had considered while Accord had been plotting, occasionally requesting tactical input from yourself, Chevalier, and Armsmaster.
Which is why, now, you know it's time to press the advantage.
Turning to your assembly-mate, you nod to First Prayer of Perfection's glittering cerulean form as she strides up to you. The bits and pieces of detritus from Philanthropic's tornado of scrap did practically nothing to her hulking adamant armor, though you think you detect some cracks in the otherwise-pristine crystal from Philharmonic's sonic attacks.
"Two things:" you grunt, wincing at the pain caused by standing up from your hunched-over interrogation. Your armor's HUD is blaring at you about the various punctured seals and ruined anti-gravity stabilizers, but you don't have time for that now. "Check on Breakdown downstairs - he hasn't moved, but put him down if he gets violent. Otherwise, see if you can figure out how to keep him quiet until we've at least evacuated everyone. Second..."
You shift Bonesaw's head out from under your right arm, holding both palms over her ears. Her pale face blinks at you behind scattered blonde ringlets, before shifting to a childish pout, complete with "puppy eyes" at being kept out of the conversation. You are immune to her wiles.
"Something... happened at the Cradle… after the Simurgh left," you tentatively begin again, choosing your words as carefully as possible. "We need to talk, but it's not something we can talk about here, or quickly. All I ask is that you save any questions for after we're finished with the Nine."
The towering adamant juggernaut nods her smooth, faceless helmet mechanically.
"Trust remains. We proceed?"
The echoing chimes in Prayer's voice cause you to blink, and you make a mental note to prioritize her next round of meditation; she's obviously deep on Clarity now, and your own experience tells you she won't come out of it until she has time to align her exaltation. While the cold rationality of Clarity would undoubtedly help with explaining the horrific calculus of Cauldron's silent war, you'd rather she be on-board with your choice when she's… herself.
You nod in return. "Once everyone's here. I just need to make certain she," you emphasize, raising Bonesaw's doey-eyed head, "isn't going to be a problem, when we leave."
Prayer remains silent for a few heartbeats.
"Trust remains."
Before you can respond, she spins on her heel and begins making her way to the cellar stairs - her hulking armored form navigating the mess of the toy shop and scattered bodies with more grace and dexterity than you could manage outside your own suit.
Time to move things along, then. The clock is ticking.
"Phase 3," you murmur through the clusters of bugs alighting on your teammates' shoulders. "Maintain radio silence. Gust, return to base and retrieve Sanguine. Lockstep, you'll be staying behind to look after the de-armed Bonesaw. Everyone else, give me two minutes to clear the area of traps. Phase 4 in fifteen."
No longer needing to maintain stealth, the assorted heroes and PRT soldiers awaiting your signal spring into action - Gust almost literally as he takes to the sky, accelerating in a parabolic path back to the docks shelter. Meanwhile, your gathered swarm washes out of the surrounding houses, abandoned lots, and sewer grates, clusters forming to either dismantle or safely trigger the various bombs and traps set by the Nine to ward away curious bystanders.
You dedicate a single consciousness to keep watch over your Shard of Perfect Administration's handling of the swarm - more due Cauldron's revelation that your charm was once sentient than any lack of trust that it can't handle the task on its own.
Back at your body you focus on your own captive, shifting your omnitool-laden hands down Bonesaw's small head so that your 'fingers' once again have easy access to her various cerebral implants. A quick Diagnostic Overlay confirms the murderous preteen can hear you again, so you lean in close and keep your voice low.
"I'm going to put your head on a body now," you dictate, while at the same time using your 360-degree vision to look for a suitable corpse for the deed. "You will supervise the rescue team and tell them how to undo what you did to these people. But before that…"
Taking a hand away from her head, you extrude the teleportation device that Bonesaw was scheduled to use within the next fifteen minutes to bring herself and her accomplices to wherever the rest of the Slaughterhouse Nine is gathering.
"... what kind of trap am I walking into?"
***
Even with the fourteen fresh corpses that Bonesaw was using for 'spare parts', finding a suitable body to match Bonesaw's head is more than a matter of simply jamming her ragged neck onto a new body. For one thing, none of the other bodies are headless to begin with; since you're going to be restarting the body to at least keep Bonesaw alive a bit longer, you have no intention of leaving the head of the 'donor' attached on the off-chance that their brain somehow comes back to life.
Your swarm may also be taking a bit longer than you need to clean up the traps around the toy store, just so that your allies don't walk in on you tearing apart a civilian's corpse in order to keep their original murderer alive.
What they do eventually walk in on is you and Prayer putting the finishing touches on Bonesaw's new body - Prayer using her own healing charm to kickstart the body's processes and smooth out the jagged mess of grafts needed to fuse the twelve-year-old female head to a medium-sized, twenty-two-year-old female's neck. Bonesaw is still largely paralyzed from the neck down, as it would take at least an hour of dedicated healing from Prayer to repair the catastrophic nerve damage that beheading and reattaching tends to cause, but the body's vital organs are functioning enough to keep the young bio-tinker conscious and alert for a few more hours.
Your own medical training in no way covered this operation, but you were able to use your Diagnostic Overlay and other Optical Enhancement sub-modules to make sure your initial grafts at least attached the correct parts together. Once everything was 'plugged in', your Omnitool Implants' innate ability to stabilize a patient allowed you to simply… wave your hands at the problem and let the charm do the thinking for you. Still, it only took roughly five minutes from when you started until the bodiless Bonesaw was able to start answering your questions with more than overly-cute facial expressions.
Chevalier and Armsmaster, for their parts, are not impressed by your impossible surgical feat when they enter through the hole in the roof three minutes later.
"Weaver are-..." your ostensible superior starts, his gold-and-silver-plated form halting abruptly the moment both he and Armsmaster get close enough to see what you're crouched over. There isn't much in the way of flat surfaces left after your brief battle, and no time to clear a large open space, so you've had to make do with operating right where you dragged the body out of the corpse pile.
Lockstep coughs awkwardly, and Armsmaster is gesturing with his left forearm towards your patient - likely scanning the area around you with his own armor's detection tools.
"I've absorbed her original body and removed or disabled all the implants in her brain that aren't critical for keeping her alive. She's still paralyzed from the neck down, but has agreed to explain how to undo what she's done and what defenses the rest of the Nine have when we pursue through the teleport grenade."
Clarity is keeping most of the strain from your voice, but you can feel you're on the razor's edge before you truly need to dive deep in the Maker's gift. Still, your tone at least seems to convey some of the disdain you're feeling for having to resort to these actions.
Chevalier's gauntleted grip on his cannonblade creaks, and his stance shifts so that he's pointing the barrel at the end of his blade at the young bio-tinker on the floor. "There's no way we can trust what she says, Weaver," he grinds out, "and she's escaped capture twice before. This isn't part of the plan! What are you even thinking?"
"Awww!" Bonesaw pouts with a hoarse voice, but her attitude-adjustment and pain suppression implants disabled she's clearly struggling to maintain even a hint of her usual cheer. She can only barely twitch her head and move her face, but she still manages to glance at the Protectorate members looming over her. "I'll be good! Weaver promised me secrets! We even pinky-swore on it!"
Chevalier's helmet swivels to you.
"Secrets? Weaver, what's going on here? This isn't what the Uriel meant when he gave you authority-!"
Though you don't look away from your continued sewing up of sinew and blood vessels, you do clear your throat to cut him off. "My lie-detection software said she was telling the truth, and I've disabled all of the implants that would have allowed her to fool it. Armsmaster?"
A beat, filled only by the moans of the surviving hostages around you, the clicking of your Omnitools, and the growing buzzing of the swarm you're pulling into the store to accompany your upcoming teleport.
"Confirmed," he grinds out. "I still don't trust her."
"She's a twelve-year-old girl that was abducted from her home and continuously brainwashed by Jack Slash for six years," you counter, paying no mind to the sour look you get from Bonesaw and her grumbling. "I'm going to cover her body in containment foam, and Lockstep is already staying behind to keep watch over Sanguine and the rescue team."
Chevalier maintains his aggressive stance. "So we're leaving her and Breakdown here? What if she takes control of him and the Phils again?"
"Breakdown is guided."
Prayer's resonant voice cuts through the air, though otherwise she remains motionless in her seated position across from you - left arm outstretched, hand placed on the body's collarbone. A flood of miniature crystal spiders continues to flow seamlessly from her thick gauntlet into the surgery site. Chevalier, Armsmaster, and Lockstep all twitch at the sound of her voice and their helmets swivel slightly towards her before you clear your throat to draw their attention back to you.
"I took out the controls in the base of her neck for the Phils, so she'd have to build them again from scratch. And Breakdown's a low-functioning autistic - apparently he can sense nearby parahumans fighting, but as long as the TV downstairs keeps working he'll just sit and watch cartoons."
"He likes pizza," the pre-teen bio-tinker sighs, a hint of genuine humor lighting up her increasingly-weary expression. "That's how we got him to follow us around. I really wanted to see if it was his passenger making him so dumb but Mr. Jack saiaaAAH! OWIE!"
The tiny blonde girl gives you a hurt look at your unsubtle 'slip' to shut her up, but she can't turn on the waterworks - you've disabled her tear ducts, which she had turned into sprayers for paralyzing toxins. Thankfully, it only takes a few more sutures and you're done making sure Bonesaw's head doesn't fall off with a few rough shakes.
As you stand, Prayer gently uses both hands under the young bio-tinker's arms to shift her against the nearby wall, propped up in a seated position. At the same time, you extrude your crossbow and mechanical quiver, then load a bolt and eject it manually into your hand.
A swift jab of the bulky, cylindrical tip into her new body's exposed chest, and a bubble of containment foam pops out with the sound of an inflating balloon. Less than four seconds later, most of Bonesaw's torso and waist are covered in tinkertech off-white foam - enough to anchor her both to the floor and the wall behind her, while still providing enough space for her to breathe safely. Discarding the spent bolt, you loom over the captive psychopath and point a scalpel-finger at her.
"Now, what are you going to do?"
Bonesaw meets your gaze, but it's clear that - without her usual implants - she's barely keeping it together. Admittedly, her 'new' body had been dead for hours and you just reattached her head without any anesthetic, so she's likely only remaining conscious due to the limited healing she received and her years of acquired pain tolerance.
"Can- can you at least t-turn on my pain suppressors?" she pleads, her increasingly-bloodshot eyes trying to meet your own.
You gesture to the dozens of civilians still mounted to the walls and ceiling, some occasionally writhing as they fade between awareness and unconsciousness. Behind you, Chevalier, Armsmaster, and Lockstep continue to maintain their aggressive stances.
"Did you give them any pain killers?"
Bonesaw blinks twice, slowly, before shutting them completely and grimacing. Her already-hoarse voice shrinks to a whisper.
"I'll be a good girl."
You turn, motion with your head to Lockstep for him to take up his guard position, then stride to the largest clearing in the store, where you have been gathering your swarm into dense pillars as wide and tall as Prayer in her armor.
Just as a Sanguine-covered Gust drops down through the hole in the ceiling. The human-sized blob of blood sloshes off of the skydiver-suited Mover, but reverts to a male form instead of the female appearance you saw earlier - a stunned expression of horror and disgust writ large over the Changer's face. Gust's own face is hidden by his high-altitude helmet, but he makes a strangled choke after taking in his surroundings.
"Sanguine!" you bark out, snapping the two newcomers out of their shock. "Bonesaw is still alive and conscious, but has otherwise been neutralized. She will offer verbal assistance and explanations of how to help undo her work, but don't allow her to come in contact with any tools or medical supplies. Gust, over here."
You beckon the airheaded Mover over, but direct your gaze to where Chevalier and Armsmaster are still obviously torn between putting Bonesaw out of her misery or following Prayer to where she has taken up position beside you. The two veteran heroes share a wordless conversation, before Armsmaster breaks away first to join you. Slightly tilting your head to the Tinker, you look back at Chevalier and let out a breath through your nose.
"Bonesaw's information is more than we were working with before, and her life depends on me coming back."
After a heartbeat of indecision, Chevalier's armored shoulders sag. "You're taking too many risks, Weaver," he sighs, but marches over all the same, just as Gust cautiously joins your bug-infused huddle.
Taking your left hand off the grip of your crossbow, you bring your palm to face the ceiling and extrude the five Cauldron Abduction Bombs in a small stack.
"Prayer, take two. Chevalier, Armsmaster, take one each. They're plasma bombs with a three-meter radius and a three second fuse," you explain, as the designated heroes take bombs off the stack. "Twist clockwise to prime it, which will make the bottom stick to pretty much anything - the top is the side with the glowing orange light - and the timer starts after you've stuck it to something. DON'T use it on Jack or Siberian; Jack's got implants that are stopping bombs from going off, and Siberian won't be affected."
You jam the remaining Abduction Bomb in pocket attached to your crossbow's harness, then extend your left hand again and extrude the teleportation bomb Bonesaw intended to use for herself - what looks like the mangled offspring of a hand grenade, a thermos, and clunky old mobile phone. Looking around to everyone, you give a quick nod to the device.
"We'll be going with the Phase 4 plan, but with a few adjustments thanks to Bonesaw's info…"
It takes two minutes to go over your idea, then one minute to confirm that everyone understands the updated strategy.
You disable the Crystal sub-module of your Industrial Survival Frame, while Prayer - still working with unconfigured charms - is forced to disable the entire defensive suite. The last dredges of what swarm you could fit in the ten-foot radius around you buzzes as your own anticipation leaks into it.
Your thumb depresses the 'Call' button on the device, and the world explodes around you.
***
The swirling, cacophonous blast sends you sprawling into darkness, and it's only ṋ͇u̹̠̫̫̼ͅl̮̫͎͔̖l̺̱̹̗̭̭̩͝ a desperate twist of your upper body that keep you from throwing your entire weight onto your crossbow - a landing that would have crushed the fragile tinkertech weapon completely. You knew the teleport would be disorienting - learned from your Technomorphic Integration Engine - since Bakuda, Mannequin, and Bezalel based the effect off of Sakura and Saki's own powers. The searing pain in your left hand is all that's left of the device, having teleported everything in a roughly-ten-foot radius to a pre-set destination beacon… in a kind of quantum-paired explosion.
Not that you're one to talk, but Tinkertech really n̛̪̗̦u̷l͍͍̦̫ḷ̢̳ is its own special brand of bullshit.
Pushing away the n̥̘u͎̱͡ll̲̱̗̤̮͢ disorientation, you pour essence into your Dynamic Reaction Enhancement System and your Mass-Penetrating Scan sub-module in a desperate bid to gain the initiative before the nearby Slaughterhouse Nine members catch on.
Immediately surrounding you, the near-metric-ton of insects that came with you are far more damaged than you or your human companions, and almost a quarter of them are no longer flight-capable or outright paralyzed. A good number n̷̘̰u͛̐̃͡l̶̯̠͊ͮ̌̐l̯̭͈̫̥̲ͯ̔̀̎ͪͫ̀ have also been crushed or smeared into paste by Chevalier, Armsmaster, and Gust collapsing awkwardly on the twitching piles of insects, though it looks as though Prayer managed to stick the landing - though her armored boots still solidly obliterated the few unfortunate enough to be between her and the floor. Also amongst the writhing tide, anchored to the floor in the center of your group, your insects can make out the pyramid-shaped 'destination' beacon for the teleport grenades the Nine have been using.
And as your vision pierces the walls of your 'room' and Shard of Perfect Administration helps you piece together the senses of the local insects, you see that at least this part of Bonesaw's information was correct: you have teleported into a ñ̸ͭͮͦ̿ȕ̠͎̽̃͗l̬̙̤̳͙̬̿ͥ̊̑ͪ̑ͅl̎ͩͬ sealed shipping container, resting comfortably on the back of a container chassis. The truck pulling the chassis is still hitched, but appears empty of drivers or passengers.
What she didn't know was just where you would end up. Judging by dizzying mazes of pipes, thick layers of grime and oil covering nearly every surface, and heady stench of unrefined fossil fuels, you're likely in the oil refinery plant in southwest Philadelphia - Yankee Point, you suspect, due to the nearby riverline. You can't pinpoint your n͇̐̄u͙̍ͦ͆̋͗l̜̻̓̌ͧͤ̇̐ḷ̇͡ location since your HUD is still rebooting, having been completely frazzled by the teleport effect, but the Yankee Point refinery is the major fossil-fuel factory on the Philadelphia-side of the Schuylkill River. Outside of your immediate area, however, the lack of activity beyond a few hissing pipes gives you the impression that the refinery is abandoned.
The truck itself is parked in what feels like a shipping/receiving depot, given the two other matching container trucks parked next to your own. The depot itself is roughly three-hundred feet wide and two hundred long, with the rear end of the n̡͚̳̜͐̾̓ͥ̒͌u̎̌l̢̦͎̘͑͐͐ͫl̤͙̜̳̝͉ͩ̔͒ͅ trucks back up into the depot's northeast corner. The rest of the depot is filled with forklifts, large pallets of packed-up mechanical equipment, and drums of various oil-based substances.
What n͍̠̞ͣ͐ͬ̃ͨͣ̀u̟̰̟̘͝l̵̗͉̹̥ͯ̾ͭ̑ͯ̀͌l͏͍͉̬ immediately catches your attention is more alarming: the entire southern part of the depot is an insect-free dead zone. In the split-second after you realize this, you push your Mass-Penetrating Scan as far as you can through the walls of piled-up machinery and industrial hardware...
… just in time to see the assembled members of the Slaughterhouse Nine n̮̗̳ͬ̉͛̔͗̚u͍̜l̓̏ͭ͞l̵̪͇͆ͨ turning to look in your direction…
...having pulled their attention away from the horrifyingly-altered hostages … broken flesh n͚̗̥̻̹̅̃ͪ̀u͖̩̭ͧͤͬ͐l̥̖͎̮͙͠l͔̻̈́̔̈́ͦͭ and blood n͎̜̽̽û̼̙͒͂̎ͅl̺̍ͯl̛̙̺̯̫̜ and wires... piled into the middle of their circle…
… framing a perfect sphere, n͛̏̋̔́͐̂u̧̩͒͌̅ͫ̆̑ͧl̻͙͚̎̆ͫ́ͪ͟l̝̝͍̥͑ͮ̿̋̍̂ a pearl of light-drinking opalescence n̘̪ṷ̮̤̞̋͆͡l̤̠̖̤̥̋̽̆͆̿ͬ͜l̸͖̠̯̎̆̀ that radiates rage n̝͈̘̽͑͆̚͘ͅu̪̘̭̪͓̯̒ͥ̌͂ͩ̿͆ͅl͙̰̣̳̥̯̃ͭͫͭͨl͙͖̯̦̄͂ͩ̃ͦ̕ and pain n̯̺̏u̺͓ͧ̒ͬl̙͋͌ͮl̬̭͕ͯ and hurt n͚͙͍̞͉͎͚̓̾ů̴͎́̈͛̽ͫl͕͙̊ͪ̽̄̊̕ḽ̦̗̾͜ͅ and longing n̬̗̝̈́u͈͕̥͂ͯ̏l̳̩̰̘ͣ̀̚l̨̽ͣ̅ to make things right how can they not feel that-
The man-sized, white-ceramic doll that is Mannequin swivels in his perch, atop a factory-like machine that is in the process of spitting out a robotic hawk, and levels an accusing finger in your direction. In her metal fold-out chair, Shatterbird gives a startled glance from her n͠ư̥̟̗̤̣̫l͋ͥͦḻ̾̓̅̏̆ͭ͜ USA Today magazine. Jack Slash, covered in blood splatters and torn clothing, straightens up from where he was leaning over one of the hostages, a pained flinch crossing his face before he opens his mouth-
But a flash of black and white n̦̟̫̠ͧ̉̉͗͟u̥̻̣̯͔̽̈l̸͕̲̪̜l͐ͧͬ̃̃͋͆ is already moving-
"SIBERIAN!" you manage to gasp out, the act of the lone consciousness able to struggle against the mesmerizing drain n̙͉͓̝̽̑̾ͦ̄u͍ͫ̋͌̾̓̋͑͜l͇͈̗̭͙̬͖ͨ̎l͚͓̺̬͋͊͛ͫ̎̒ that has taken hold of your very soul. You manage to point your crossbow in her direction and pull the trigger, unleashing a ear-shattering storm of bolts in the direction of the approaching projection - not to do any harm, but merely to paint the target.
First Prayer of Perfection shoulders straight through the two inches of corrugated steel where you had fired n̝͂́ͮͩ̾͆́ū̪̳̝̖̥l̲̮̖͍̫͓̗ͣl͎̰̳͔̻͂̍̏͌͡, sights the zebra blur, pulls back her right fist, then sends it straight towards the oncoming Siberian's face. Crackling lightning radiates from her fist and the scream of the soulsteel piston firing screams a promise of divine justice.
Just as her blade-covered adamant gauntlet is about to strike home, the Siberian n̙̬̤̳ͦͫ͛͂͗̀̈͝u͙̭͔̠͈͈̥ͥ́ͥ͑ͦ̀l̢̹̪͓̊̑̓ͣ͗̍l̝̾̊͠ flickers out of existence.
Prayer's fist careens through empty air, sending loose packages and a nearby forklift tumbling from the force of the essence ṅ̪̳̣ͯ̓u̥͚̬͖̞̅͠l̟͖̝̀͑̽̌ͮ̄́l̎ͪ͒ discharge. Prayer keeps going, however, but manages to turn the whiff into a controlled tumble before springing to her feet thirty feet away from the container.
Not possessing such superhuman reaction times, Chevalier and Armsmaster belatedly spring to their feet and follow Prayer out the hole she made. The path of destruction ņ̝̲̻̰͎̙ͧͪ͐͐͂̂̏u̝̳̇̇̓l̶͖̠̒̀ͦ͆ͪ͗̃l̨̜̼͈͈̳̝ͦ̌ͬ̾ the Siberian left through the depot's storage area to tear straight towards you clues them into where the rest of the Nine are, and they move to follow the plan of engagement like the combat-hardened veterans they are.
Chevalier raises his cannonblade and it jumps in size to nearly fifteen feet long, then fires a shell that blasts through the hole the Siberian made and takes most of Shatterbird's right arm off, sending the rest of her sprawling out of her chair with a glass-shattering scream n̙ͤ̅ͤͣ̿̚̕u̦̟̱͆̎̈̎ͤͥͥḻ̟̟̼l̳̹͔̭̜̹̮ͩ͛̕. Armsmaster levels his own Halberd and fires a blast of electricity towards Mannequin, but the psychotic Tinker falls backwards off his perch with an inhuman twist to avoid the shot.
To your right, Gust groggily nu̺̝̫͚̐ͦl̙͍͂ͩ̍͡lͬ̏̄̐ͯ͒̏ leaps up out of your tide of bugs and takes a second to get his bearings. He darts out of the hole and into the air, looks for the exit, and then takes off for it - a small tornado of unlucky bugs trailing him.
Rolling to a crouch, you let the tide of bugs surging out of the hole cover your n̵͈͍̦͓̋ͯͥ̚u͕̟̦̙̞͎ͯ̓̏̐ͭ̽ͅl̷̲͇͉̣̹̄ͦ͒̅̾̓̀l intent as you line up a shot on Jack Slash, struggling against the sudden weight of it. You can't-
Gritting your teeth n̤̤̼͌̏ͯ̈́̈͋̓u͕͖̰̓͡l̦̤͔̭͕̈̉̈͒ͦ̄͗l̞̲͉̈̒̏, pulling up the last dregs of your essence to activate Mass-Penetrating Scan again feels like trying to drag a stone from a raging river. But your eyes pierce the cloud of insects again, and you can see his well-manicured face now filled with genuine alarm, so you pull the trigger-
-just as he and the hostage ṉͬ̅͊̿̂ͦ͂͡u̩͔̥̹͂̀̈́́ͅl͌̌͛̋l̟̹͋̉̿͒ͯͪ̚ he was hovering over warp out of sight in a twist of distended space.
No! He can't- Missy-! n̪͐́u̹͍̠̻̓l̲̘̀͒̉l̠̘͔̟̹͓͍̈́̿͒ͤ̽ n̠̹̞̳̅u̘̘ͪͪl̉̃͟l̠͕̹̦̫̱̭̎̄̓ n̪͆̄̐̅̋̈͞ṳ̜̬̟ͥͣ͋́l̖̃̂́l̢̥̹̯͚̤̒
The Siberian reappears in a flicker of white and black stripes, right where she was before - now less than ten feet away from Chevalier and Armsmaster, and still carrying forward in her leap. Prayer ň̮̻̺͍̩͍̱ͫ̈ṵ̸̺͈͙̫̮̹ͭ̒l̘ͮ̍̃̾ͣ̏ͮl̻̩̜ starts to turn around...
You stop fighting the drain, and the world
STOPS
All except for an orb of purest night, which leaves a muffled sonic wake as it tears through the hostages, machinery, container, the swarm, and your armor like they were wet tissue paper. It shrinks as it passes, before plunging into your chest with a muted cracking sound, now the size of a basketball. The detritus - both organic and metal - left by its passing hangs in the air just like everything else.
Whatever wisps of essence you had left are sucked away, along with the very concept of resistance. But it is still not enough, and you feel your heart - your core - begin to burn. Frozen in a body no longer under your control, your pulsing blood boils and hisses from the hole in your suit-
The world vibrates, forming a singular, monotone voice. Every surface is slaved to form the words in mechanically-perfect Old Realm.
IRIS OF INNOVATION PERSONALITY CORE OVERRIDDEN
VISION OF VENGEANCE PERSONALITY CORE ENGAGED
The searing pain flares, and the world fades away as you feel your eyes, ears, and skin begin to melt away. One by one you feel the essence drained from your charms as they too are melted down, all but your Shard of Perfect Administration, which - through the insects frozen in space around you - allows you to see how even your armor has begun to flow and twist as if the fabric of its existence is being re-written.
And through the swarm you hear a new voice, a voice too large to come from your own vocal chords, and so they shatter - only to be remade - with every syllable.
A sudden, jarring pain on your forehead snaps your eyes open, your body reflexively jerking from the abrupt return to consciousness. Greys and bronzes fill your field of view, and the ground below your prone body is blocky, uneven, and hard.
Where… what's going on?
Your right arm is trapped underneath your chest, but a groggy attempt to move it sends an even worse spike of pain from somewhere in your upper arm. The lance of hot fire rips a whimpered gasp from your throat while fogging your vision further with new tears.
Broken. Can't move it.
Your right hand grips the front of your sweatshirt to keep the arm locked in place as best you can, while you try to gingerly move your left arm around from where it was laying limp and twisted around your back. Thankfully, no new shooting pain from that arm, so you're able to brace against the cold, metallic ground and push yourself up to your knees.
Glasses… where are my glasses?
Raising your left arm up to wipe away the tears of pain and-
Hu-urgk! What is smell?!
Now that your senses seem to be returning, you can feel the clammy damp spots all across your body - mostly along your legs and arms - and your hair feels completely matted down with whatever... it... is… no. No, you're starting to remember, now, though just trying to think is like picking out wispy strands from a ball of cotton. There's a haze over your mind, but you feel like you're missing something important-
My locker! I was- they shoved me in my locker with… ugh! But where… did I fall out? This doesn't look like...
Your train of thought trails off as you finish blinking away enough wetness from your eyes to finally see, allowing the dimly-lit area to finally come into focus. The greys and bronzes look to be parts of machinery, as if you were resting on top of some massive industrial machine. Pistons, gears, bolts, and flat sheets of metal fill the space around you, all interconnected in ways that give a clear impression that this is only the top of some truly massive piece of hardware - and in no way comprehensible by a normal human.
Is- is this Tinkertech!? What's going on?! Did a cape attack the school?!
Your eyes going wide, you look up from where you're kneeling in hopes of seeing something sane, something to explain why it looks like you somehow got abducted from school by some crazed Tinker, but the first thing you see is a wall of metal a few dozen feet in front of you - a wall that fills even your limited peripheral vision. Your eyes track the softly-glowing lines of wires and… crystal?... latticework that go… up… and… up… into...
Where there should be a sky, a blue sky that was filled with heavy grey clouds this morning and a sun reluctant to pierce them, there is a black, lightless void. The tower climbs farther than any skyscraper on earth into this void, and your limited eyesight can make out that it somehow… splits… and forks into multiple pieces thousands of feet above you, in defiance of both logic and physics.
You're not certain of how long you stare at the unearthly tower, rational thought having fled your mind completely, before you are nearly bowled-over from behind by the physical weight of a sound. Your teeth rattle in your skull and your broken arm sends shooting spears of pain with each vibration, but the roar forces you down, feeling like an avalanche of metal straining against its own inexorable momentum.
You don't want to look, don't want to see what new horror this mechanical nightmare has in store for you, but the sound is getting even louder, more desperate, and closer. Bracing yourself against the 'ground' again with your left hand, the metal gives a sudden jerk under your palm - just as the entire area around you comes to life in a wave of industrial motion. Pistons and gears groan as they sluggishly fight against the force motivating them, and wires that your blurry vision hadn't noticed before crackle with enough electricity to be brilliant to the naked eye - the corralled lightning and mechanized motion all flowing towards the wall in front of you.
And when the rolling force of kinetic and electrical motion hit the tower, it comes to life.
The dull glow of its crystalline latticework nearly explodes with power, blinding in its intensity even with your eyes shut painfully tight. An aura of energy cascades off it, making your hair stand on end and your ears pop with the sudden change of air pressure. The thunderous cacophony seems to continue onwards and upwards, the world immediately around you growing dimmer for its passing... until another - even more jarring - thunderclap high above forces your eyes open in shock.
And your mind reels.
Spires of crystal and metal continue to fold out in impossible fractals, your eyes straining as they absently try to follow each new branch as it unfolds… and unfolds… and unfolds… before your consciousness reflexively forces your attention away to a new branch on the ever-bristling tower. Enormous arcs of multi-hued current leap between branches and the core of the tower, the flow of power always progressing upwards, faster and faster, until it finally reaches the original two spires of the tower's forked top. There, lightning has built to a solid, glowing plasma stream of pure, strobing white - but even from so far below, with eyes fouled by genetics, you can almost glimpse something in that halo of power…
… and then, in a howl like the heart of an enraged tornado, the glowing nimbus of power begins to pull… stretch… up and away so that you have to turn your body-
Whatever breath you had left catches in your throat, your body frozen mid-twist as you finally see what was behind you.
A mechanical horizon spilling out below you, filled with rolling, churning gears, outcrops of crystals the size of mountains pulsing rhythmically to some unknown heartbeat of power, mammoth pistons pushing lakes of deep, black oil along between continental-slabs of metal.
And off, far off in the distance, three other tendrils of energy leaking up, up, up… into the eye of a massive, hungry hurricane of smoke that fills the void-that-is-sky. As you watch, black and blue streaks of lightning ripple across the swirling vortex - each one punctuated by a, faint, echoing, mechanical scream that somehow pierces the industrial cacophony around you.
You don't know how long you sit there, oblivious to the smooth operation of the machinery below your knees, but the first coherent thought that finally crosses your mind feels like the last gasp of your sanity in the face of this waking nightmare.
I don't think I'm in Brockton Bay anymore.
***
How long do you sit and stare at the sky-gone-mad? There is a rhythm to the industrial worldscape surrounding you, and as alien as it initially struck you there is a familiarity to it that becomes a comforting presence in your head as you try to come to terms with your current situation.
You're not a cape nut, so you don't recognize any of the technology on display here, but you do remember hearing that some capes have access to little "pocket" realms or dimensions with their power. Myrridin was used as an example in your Cape History class last year because of that, specifically because - despite his claims that his powers are 'magic' - some studies on his power seemed to indicate that he pulled things from other dimensions with completely different physics.
Looking out across the clockwork vista, you eventually manage a sigh before wearily pulling yourself to your feet.
Ok… so, 'robot dimension', you grumble mentally. Great. Do I have to wait for the cape to pull me back? How long have I even been here? And my glasses… probably gone-
A glint of light catches your eyes as they roam across the relatively-slow sheet of riveted metal you landed upon, causing you to blink and lean down to inspect it.
Your glasses lie discarded, nestled against a set of bundled silver-and-gold wires. A quick check to confirm that they're alright leaves you feeling more anxious than relieved, however, because you're fairly certain they hadn't been there a moment ago.
You still put them on, of course, then blink your eyes a few times to re-adjust them. A quick glance around...
Yup, still in Tinker dreamland.
As you take the time to truly observe the scenery, it occurs to you that your landing space is unusually settled compared to the furious churning and mechanization that fills the horizon. There is still motion, even the metal under your feet is both vibrating and shifting side-to-side slowly, but it's nothing like the skyscraper-sized pistons and hill-sized gears that are chewing their way across the shifting landscape. There are also the mammoth arcs of lightning skittering through the metal and crystal firmament, some of which even streak up to the tower behind you, but they all seem to… avoid your area. The tracks of energy directly below you even appear to take nearly a ninety-degree turn to keep from channeling straight through your current location.
It takes you a few seconds to realize that your first thoughts after this observation weren't, oh, good, at least I'm safe right now, but instead a sudden urge to examine this phenomenon up close - starting with the tower.
That isn't… I mean, sure, it looks weird… but… what…?
Blinking, your eyes begin to go wide as a number of abnormalities that you had simply overlooked or ignored because of… well, the surreality of the situation… begin to make themselves known.
Like the fact that while you're having a hard time understanding what's going on, because it feels like you're trying to think through a haze of sleep and drugs. That while the world around you looks less safe than the worst industrial revolution-era factory, you don't actually feel threatened. You're oddly calm about all of this…
You reach up with your left hand, place your index and middle finger just below and parallel with your jaw line, and wait.
And wait.
The world around you continues to thrum and vibrate with life, but your own body is as still as the grave.
Did I… die?
The thought is oddly detached for such an existential question, but the instant it crosses your mind you know it to be false. For one, your right arm still occasionally pulses with searing pain - which doesn't make any sense if you're in some kind of afterlife. You'd gone to the church downtown a few times when you were younger, mostly because your mother liked the choir there, but no version of the afterlife you've ever heard of contains awkward aches, awful smells, and a broken arm; Heaven and Hell were always described as extremes.
Am I in a coma?
A different sensation fills you this time, not of satisfaction or surety, but… like you're not asking the right kind of question? Almost as if you asked a teacher if they were assigning the class a pop-quiz because they were bored. To which the response would be: "Maybe, maybe not, but that does that matter now? You still need to take the quiz."
Which is a bizarre feeling to have, because, well…
Wondering if I am in a coma is a valid question to ask right now, thank you very much.
Again, a shift in your emotions that doesn't logically follow from your own train of thought - a feeling of impatience, like when you slept over at Emma's and her parents allowed the two of you to babysit her younger brother... but he just wouldn't... go to bed...
"H-Hello?"
Your voice cracks, because of course it does, and you shakily pull your hand down from where you left it at your neck so that you can keep it in front of you in some kind of defensive stance but you're starting to have actual feelings of alarm and paranoia at the idea that there is something in your head-
Like before, it is a feeling evoked by a rush of your own memories, but now that you're actually aware of it - of the difference between the instilled emotions and thoughts, and that of your own - some of the haze over your mind lifts... just enough for the feeling to be a distinct sensation. It is not speech in any normal, human sense of the concept, but the alien burst of thoughts and emotion still convey language.
[Recognition]
"A-ah?" you blurt out, the understanding that something truly inhuman is speaking directly into my brain sending a shiver down your body and ow yes my arm still hurts, good to know.
[Pain]
The rush of memories that forms the feeling this time is, bizarrely, the memory of just barely a few seconds ago when you felt your arm throb. Before you have any chance to contemplate the momentary flashback, a second emotion is stirred.
[Confusion]
Which you… share? You shake your head to try to clear it, instead making you stumble a bit from the light-headedness - you're still not quite all together upstairs yet - while you steady yourself on a nearby rising cylinder of burnished silver. Absently, you note that it freezes the instant you touch it, but most of your limited focus is still bent towards trying to decipher the messages being pushed into your brain.
"What-" you try, with a bit more force this time to make up for your lack of confidence. For lack of a visible source of the messages, you look out at the swirling vortex far, far in the distance. "What do you want?"
[Relief]
The most prominent memory in the message is one of your mother slathering a burn cream on your back after your first trip to the beach, a trip accidentally light on sunscreen. The feeling is powerful - not just in its insistence - but for the fact that you don't know if you'd ever been able to dredge up that memory of happier times on your own.
Straightening up from the supportive piston, you breathe out and open your eyes again, having closed them reflexively as you basked in the sensation that came with the message.
"You're the one in pain, then?"
[Fulfilment], the pleased smile under Mr. Hunberg's bushy mustache when you were the first person to answer his difficult question correctly.
The glow of good feelings passes, the moment giving way to much more familiar thoughts of late. Feelings that greet you every day at school, despite every effort to push them aside.
Why me?
The thought hangs heavy as you gaze out upon the churning, industrial horizon. You don't want to voice it, but you know it's been heard all the same. For a while it almost seems as if your crippling self-doubt has scared off your mental intruder, but then you begin to feel a kind of pressure in your head - like a sinus headache, but without the pain. You squint at the feeling, the haze of your thoughts growing thicker by the moment, but perhaps you can just try to remember-
The eyes of the wizened old wizard twinkle as he grins under his magnificent beard. His voice is light through the speakers of the display in front of you, and behind him you can see a shelf filled with tomes and blatantly-mysterious baubles.
"One must always be cautious of the Names they wear, for to Live in one's Name for too long is to forget what makes us alive, what makes us Human: the ability to be More."
[Confidence]
Your unfocused eyes blink away the memory as it slips back behind the fog in your mind, whatever wisps of confusion at the bizarre exchange fading away in the face of the feeling it leaves behind.
Swallowing roughly, you nod your head and settle your shoulders.
"I'm listening."
***
Communicating with whatever it is that is rifling through your memories and emotions is exhausting, as trying to keep track of what your own thoughts and feelings are gets harder and harder with each new message. Instinctively, you don't believe that this is intentional - that the person or thing is trying to wear you down - but is rather a side-effect of the only way it is able to communicate with you.
Given that it's working only with your memories of a much more mundane world, however, this method is sorely lacking for ways to answer your many questions with any kind of detail.
"Who are you?" and "Where are you?" are answered with repeated feelings of [Awe] and [Humility], both pulling from the recent memories of your attempts to comprehend the industrial world around you. It takes you a few attempts at clarification before you arrive at the final answer.
"You're in the giant storm in the sky?" [Humility]
"Down? So you're in the tower?" [Awe]
"More? The… in the ground?" [Awe]
"More than the ground? The machines?" [Awe]
"All the machines? And the towers?" [Fulfillment]
"You're controlling everything? How are-" [Awe]
"…not just controlling? You… are…?" [Fulfillment]
The very idea that you're somehow communicating with a mechanized planet is a bit much for your legs, even despite your renewed sense of confidence. You lean and slide down against a nearby bundle of brass and gold cabling, which thrums with an electric heartbeat - a rhythmic, pulsating energy that is oddly soothing while your mind tries to restart after this latest revelation.
A feeling of [Urgency] brushes against your mind, as you remember limping home in a panic, right side of your face bleeding profusely from a nasty spill on your now-ruined bike.
"Right," you mumble, blinking to clear as much of your mind as you can. "Hurting. Gotta… gotta help the... machine planet."
As you steady yourself on your feet - gingerly keeping your right arm tucked into the front pocket of your soggy, stained sweatshirt - you look out again across the vista of pistons, gears, looms, vacuum tubes, crystals, and coruscating electric currents.
"How?"
[Shock] is feeling associated with your memories of watching the tower behind you come to life, unfurling in space-bending ways, but the emotion is slightly detached from the memory.
"The tower?" you wonder, turning to look back at the massive structure. You eye the crackling streams of naked electricity racing up its foundations, some guided by crystalline filigrees, but many leaping across them in wild arcs. "What-?"
Just as you wonder aloud, a second feeling of [Safety] follows, associated with multiple memories of when you grabbed hold of your mother or father during walks in the local park.
There's still around thirty feet between you and the sheer, vertical face of the tower's base, but the roiling lightning crawling up the tower can be felt where you stand.
"That… doesn't look safe," you mumble incredulously, face twisting to a scowl.
[Safety]
[Urgency]
[Safety]
You wince at the onslaught of induced flashbacks and artificial feelings, feeling a growl in your throat at having your mind overtaken so thoroughly. Holding your head with your left hand, you rub your eyes and then straighten your glasses before turning your gaze again on the tower before you.
Despite the nightmarish, otherworldly nature of the last few minutes of your life, despite the feeling of reassurance seeping through the cotton clouding your mind, despite the cold surety that has kept you from panicking…
Reluctantly, your feet slowly start marching you towards the tower's base.
If this is some kind of trap, you brood, eyes hard and teeth clenched, I'm taking you with me. Somehow.
For a moment, you can feel the presence recede from your mind - almost as if it does not have a response for your threat. Your face burns with a mixture of embarrassment and incredulity, fully aware of how ludicrous that thought was, and instead focus on making certain your filthy sneakers find purchase amongst the mechanical landscape.
The stilling of the gears and other mechanisms in your path are the only indication that the planet is still paying attention to you, and as you near within a dozen feet of the tower the largest arcs of lightning along the structure's face bend and arc away to leave a human-sized blank spot at its base.
Another set of steps across wires, dark grates, and silent gears brings you to within arm's reach of the tower's face. The mathematically-precise latticework of glowing crystals is to bright for your eyes to track, and even with the majority of the power bent away from you there still is a visible current running across the burnished silver metal.
The memories and feelings of [Safety] brush against your mind again, less invasive and forceful than before, but with an undercurrent of [Need].
Squinting, you gaze up, up, up at the spiralling impossibility above you, and then back down - spotting a bare hexagon of space on the metal roughly shoulder-height in front of you.
Your left hand raises up, warily, tentatively, reluctantly. You glance at it…
Grimacing, you awkwardly dip the hand inside your sweatshirt pocket to wipe off the remnants of the waste and other disgusting fluids that otherwise still cover you. The jostling and pulling against the fabric pulls your right arm enough to cause a new spike of pain across your senses, but you keep your teeth clenched until you retract the hand and reexamine it.
Have I always been so thin? So weak?
After shaking the appendage in a feeble attempt to stop it from trembling, you clench it and take a deep breath.
No. I'm done being weak.
Snarling, in a single, smooth motion you spread your fingers wide and slam your palm against the metal surfa-
-barking at the strange smelling air jumping up away from wrongness chirping to warn of the danger flapping to flee from the threat screetching in panic clawing desperately running hissing gasping swimmingtwitchingdyingTOOMUCHYOUCAN'T-
Every nerve in your body is on fire as searing arcs of power flow from the tower down your hand, disintegrating the sleeve of your sweatshirt whenever a new crackling arc of lightning cascades through your arm and sears away the pink flesh underneath.
Revealing the smooth, graphite-black skin underneath.
Your mouth is open in a soundless scream, muscles locked and throat choking as raw power courses through your body.
Through it all, tens of thousands of scenes play out through your mind of animals gripped in mindless, desperate panic, each struggling in vain as their traitorous bodies remain locked - unable to even obey their brain's reflexive signals to breathe. Birds crash, frozen, into the ground. Fish drift along aimlessly, drowning in open water. Everything else... suffocates in open air.
The confusion, the fear, the hopelessness, the pain-
Through the weight of a world pressing down on your chest, you gasp a desperate breath.
Somewhere distant, thousands upon thousands of creatures take in fresh lungs of air.
And you remember-
PAIN
***
… sneaking through the shadows between broken street lights, the mid-January night has left the cracked pavement and sidewalks under your bare feet uncomfortably chilly...
… the squat, jaundiced face of Director Emily Piggot scrunches into a scowl…
… Dean's styled hair and even more stylish clothing is jarring next to Dennis' worn and crumpled casual attire, but the two of them share a laugh at their own ridiculous antics in the video game in front of them...
… your father's orange prison jumpsuit fits poorly on him, his arms and legs a little too long, for a 'Medium' but body too skinny for a 'Large'...
… wiping his brow of sweat, despite the air conditioning in his office keeping the temperature a cool sixty-eight degrees, Glenn Chambers' eyes roll in exasperation as he mutters something about teenagers under his breath…
… a bolt of lightning wider than you are tall sears the air just to your right, explosively shearing off the top two floors of a red-brick apartment complex in the Docks…
Reeling away from the tower, coughing up smoke from overcharged lungs, you ignore the stabs of pain and desperately cradle your spinning, unraveling consciousness with both hands-
… a sky of dust and ash drowns a city of white tents and despondent survivors...
… New York City's skyline towers above your unblinking stare, while beside you Missy and the Twins excitedly compliment each other about their outrageously-expensive new dresses and shoes...
… the bored, unimpressed stare of Director Martin Uriel bores into you, until he clears his throat and turns away...
… the stares of uniformed teenagers, anywhere from unabashedly blatant to surprisingly subtle, follow you through the hallway - gazes filled with envy, admiration, and awe…
… a small crowd of gang members, each costumed like a groupie of an 80's hair band, shuffle rhythmically into battle positions around Lockstep, a silver boombox held aloft by the most outrageously-dressed of their number...
… a hulking, disfigured form of bone and sinew screams from her wheelchair as a brilliant, burning light sears through skull and brains...
Clattering to ground below, charred and melted, your glasses finish disintegrating into tiny motes of wispy light before fading away completely. Stumbling, you close your eyes-
… Robert tries desperately to keep a straight face, but Kali gleefully notices his awkward shifting as she leans out of her seat to practically drape her form over him, body-hugging costume and all...
… slumped over a cubicle desk piled high with manila folders and glossy photographs, Inquisition fidgets with the flower-motif mock-medals on her militaristic uniform with her left hand, as her white-gloved right hand twirls a PRT-issue pen…
… woven metal cables twist and spin through the dark, murky water, guided by invisible hands as they spear out from the depths to grasp and entwine…
… the gunmetal-grey highlights of Armsmaster's armor catch the dim fluorescent lights of the ruined toy store, the suit's water-repellent lacquer giving the whole thing a reflective quality…
Platinum silver strands fill your vision, and the unforgiving metal of the floor below now feels warm against your clay-like skin - the churning of machinery all around and deep below bleeding heat as systems are forced to work beyond their normal capacity. The cottony haze is lifting from your mind as each shattered piece of your memory slots into place, finally allowing you to fully come to grips with the situation.
Today has not been my day.
[Confidence]
Right, you mentally groan. This is still a Thing that is Happening.
"You-" you sputter, still coughing up acrid smoke from your lungs, "you're my Shard of Perfect Administration charm?"
[Fulfillment]
You blink, tilting your head so that you gaze out through your hair at the world around you. After a moment, you push back off the ground with both hands - eyeing your right arm critically as it throbs with pain but otherwise appears normal.
The normal graphite-grey of your your Alchemical form, that is.
"The last thing I remember was my body... melting when Iris took control…" you muse aloud, running your hands along your arms and examining the seamlessness of your bare form. While normally you could hide the visible parts of your more obvious charms with Incomparable Artifact Transmogrifier, you can't detect that you even have any charms to hide at the moment - the quiet hums of your various powers gone from the recesses of your mind. Only the weight of your shard-charm still lurks in your subconscious, but now as an actual presence instead of something that you can toggle or manipulate.
Your soulgem, however, is missing - your forehead curiously bare. This discovery elicits a frown.
"I'm not… physically here, am I?" you state more than ask.
[Fulfillment]
Sweeping your hair behind your head with an absent flick of the wrist, you continue to rotate and flex your right arm and hand. The sharp throbbing pain is still there, but the more attention you direct to it the less it feels like a corporeal injury.
So either a mindscape, or a projection of my soul into the charm itself. A mindscape would mean I could control it, so...
You eye a flat plane of jade several hundred feet down the slope from where you are now, and try focusing your will on the desire to be there… but you are still too mentally exhausted to muster up the mental fortitude to reshape this reality to your whim.
Rubbing the bridge of your nose and wincing at the wave of fatigue that action brought about, you wave your other hand in a 'go on' gesture.
"Other than getting me my memories back, did that stunt with the tower help at all? I could feel… animals that time-"
You whip your head back to the tower in alarm, then look up to the enormous stream of energy pouring from the edifice's forked top - up and into the massive vortex in the sky.
They were dying.
"I-... you can control animals?" you demand, "Is this one of those sub-modules I couldn't figure out before? Why is it on now?! Why are you killing them?!"
… the frozen world around you trembles, every surface vibrating in sync to form a terrifying monotone voice…
...VISION OF VENGEANCE PERSONALITY CORE ONLINE...
[Fear]
[Pain]
Even through the muting effects of Clarity, your stomach sinks as the flashback and feelings flits across your mind.
Your head turns to look back across the mechanized horizon, where three more tendrils of power are being drawn up into the hungry vortex above. Absently, you continue to flex your right hand to allow the pain to focus your mind.
Four towers. If one is for controlling insects… weren't there three sub-modules? Vertebral Organization Algorithms, Spirit Attunement Generators, and...
You freeze, eyes wide with dreadful understanding.
...Sapient-Coordinating Relays...
[Urgency]
"How do I shut them off?!" you scream into the ever-present industrial cacophony, spinning on your heel and sprinting back towards the base of the tower.
The newest memory of [Pain] that your charm's communication evokes is still fresh in your mind, so you scan for the same hexagonal surface from before. The lightning running along the landscape before you struggles to arc out of the way for your advance, but you pay the shocks coursing up your legs no heed.
With a snarl, you rear back with both arms and drive your hands into the metal hard enough to form handprints, and then your world goes white.
Trying to take in all the senses of the animals within your range - which feels much, much larger now - feels like your initial, feeble attempts at trying to handle the seething masses of insects in the Boat Graveyard. While the dozens of thousands of creatures under your control is quantitatively less than the millions of insects you could comfortably manage now, this is more of a problem of quality; if the mind of an insect is a pocket calculator, the mind of even the dumbest dog is a supercomputer the size of your bedroom.
Paradoxically, this makes their human-like senses more bewildering than the exotic feedback you receive from insects. You either had been subconsciously offloading the translation of the alien senses onto your Shard of Perfect Administration charm, or the charm itself had been doing it on its own, but now that you have control over creatures that perceive the world much like you do there is more pressure on your mind to interpret the differences. In time, you suspect it will become as second-nature to interpret the color-blind sight of canines as it is to comprehend the superhuman range of colors that butterflies can see, but you don't quite have the time or mental energy right now.
No, all your energy is focused on a much more pressing concern.
Insects are pure instinct, sensory data in its rawest form that is reacted to without any semblance of conscious thought. If there is one problem above all others when it comes to the animals your charm commands, it is that they have feelings.
The lack of sapience and higher thought is both a blessing and a curse; where you thought trying to separate your own emotions from your shard-charm's communication attempts was difficult, you are now lost in a hurricane of animalistic desperation, panic, and fear.
B-...Breathe!
Another gasp through tens of thousands of mouths and noses, though for many of the fliers it is more a shuddering gasp of the dying - their bodies broken from when they lost control dozens or hundreds of feet in the air and crashed to the unwelcoming ground. In a few other instances, such with a cat in the process of disemboweling a rat, you have both the perspective of a hunter and their dying prey.
You cannot but miss how insects die so much more… cleanly. For them, it is a light switch; their tiny bundle of neurons easily snuffed out in the span of a heartbeat, with occasional twitches caused by uncontrolled reflexes. But higher-order animals… in the cases where the brain isn't outright obliterated, you can now feel how their smaller brains gradually fade away no matter how decisively their bodies are killed. You have not yet learned how to distance yourself, like you have with your insects, so the each of the hundreds of dying animals feels like a piece of your own soul is slowly, slowly...
[Urgency]
No longer detached as you were from the operations of your charm, its flashback-inspired emotion now cuts through the hurricane of sensations with all the power of a lightning bolt to the brain. Clamping down on your instinctual reaction to flinch away from the feeling, you manage to keep your own body's hands pressed firmly against the tower in order to maintain the connection.
Focus! Need to... focus!
Like a seizuring hand clenched so tight its own muscles are tearing from the effort, the power tearing through the sub-module has rendered it almost impossible to control directly. Except, now that you have submersed yourself so deeply into the current of power, you can feel that the essence flowing into the charm's sub-mod is far and away beyond what is needed for it to work.
Considering the massive tendrils of brilliant energy being pulled into the vortex in the sky, it's pretty clear where that extra power is going: out.
With each breath forced into your desperate subjects the reflex becomes easier and easier - the act becoming almost meditative after the seventh cycle, despite your innate understanding that many of the smaller animals need to breathe much more often than just once per few seconds.
The only hummingbird in your control is dead by the third breath, anyway.
After what feels like an eternity, but is likely barely a minute, your attempts to issue commands beyond simple, life-sustaining orders finally begins to show progress; trying to get a snake to move its head or a rat to lift a paw feels like their entire body is pushing through thick molasses. But with each measure of improved control over their bodies, your reign over the senses and emotions of the animals in your range slips just as much.
I don't- you mentally shudder, still struggling against the onslaught of primal confusion and terror filling your mind, I can't handle all this! You have to help me!
The moment stretches as you wait for some kind of answer, but the response doesn't come from your own mind.
A distant, echoing rumble catches your attention - not through the ears and other sensory appendages of your animals, but rather through your facsimile 'body'. You can't spare the focus to tear your gaze or attention away from the feedback pouring through you from the tower, but the sound grows quickly, building until you are struggling to even stand upright anymore from the shaking of the ground below.
As the rumbling builds, however, it carries with it a much more jarring, painful sound: gear teeth being ground and torn, pistons throwing rods as they overflow with oil, screws shearing and stripping, crystalline capacitors exploding as they overload. A landscape of metal screams as it bends and tears; the cry of mechanical animal breaking itself in its struggles.
The torrential river of power flowing through you begins to wane. Where the world around you was once the blinding heart of a sun, it is rapidly decreasing to the overbearing brilliance of a cloudless summer day... in the Sahara.
Your control doesn't improve.
But… maybe that hasn't been what you should have been focusing on? You're not trying to control the sub-modules, you're trying to shut them down.
Releasing your own 'grip' on the animals under your control, you try to pull back - up and away, through the tendrils of power that connect each one to your own mind. Like trying to follow the flow of blood through from your fingertips, to your hand, to your forearm…
There!
The overwhelming torrent of power streaming through the sub-module had made it impossible for any kind of precise understanding like this, but now - through the dimming stream - you can barely make out what feels like the sub-module's connection to the base charm. And once identified-
"THAT'S Eennnrgh-" you scream out, fingers clawing hard enough into the bare metal to cave it even further, if only to reinforce your desperate mental shove.
"ENOUGH!"
The world, still trembling around you with the screaming protests of warping metal, gives one last ear-piercing wrench...
… and then with the shuddering thud of a Hoover Dam-sized gate slamming closed, the tower begins to pale - the glowing crystal and metal filigree dimming in an upward-trailing motion, until the last remnants of the power trail up and away, into the hungry vortex still hanging ominously in the empty sky.
Releasing your grip on the tower, you collapse on legs still twitching from channeling so much power.
Staring up at the void above, you feel… both full and empty all at once. Exhausted, but fit to run a marathon.
Will shutting everything off give me control of my body again?
Silence is your only answer, not even the usual industrial cacophony. The presence of your Shard of Perfect Administration still lingers in the back of your mind, but no flashback or artificial emotion follows your mental musings.
With a sigh that turns to a groan, you rise back up on shaky legs and observe the world around the tower.
Oh.
Where once there was a horizon of impossible industry, churning and flowing and spinning…
... now there is ruin.
Mountains of shattered crystals leaking wild arcs of lightning. Gears the size of large cities shorn in half, the errant pieces gouging deep scars in the land that weep molten magical materials. Blazing infernos of lit oil fountaining from thousands of ruptured engines, leading to clouds of smoke that are beginning to rain acid.
As if the land fought itself, and lost.
You stand there for a while, watching. Perhaps too long, perhaps not long enough.
The three other tendrils of energy in the distance continue to feed the crackling hurricane of smoke in the sky. You need to keep moving.
But how am I even going to get over-
And then a mechanical spider the size of your dad's pickup bursts out of the ruined machinery beside you.
***
Since your exaltation, you have occasionally wondered how your new life compares to the Alchemicals of Autochthonia, or even the other types of Exalted that once lived in Creation. Iris' notes on Autochthonia revealed that some Autochthonian Alchemicals have lived for many thousands of years, and some in Creation reportedly lived longer than that. If so, your increasingly-perilous lifestyle since the beginning of January surely can't be the norm for Exalted… can it?
Perhaps this should be a disclaimer in your Exaltation pitch? "Warning: side effects may include a constant stream of life-threatening and/or world-ending disasters."
It's not that you're comp- ok, yes, perhaps you are complaining a bit, but today alone has had more catastrophes and life-threatening challenges than some capes face across their entire life - and each new event seems to be vying for the title of 'Most Likely To Never Be Believed By The Rest Of The Wards.'
Take, for instance, the fact that your corporeal soul is riding one of the Great Maker's reality-shaping Design Weavers through the twisted, broken, and bleeding body of your parahuman-power-turned-mechanical-planet, so that you can try to stop the manifestation of your god's vengeful wrath from (in?)advertently killing everything in its path as it annihilates the Slaughterhouse Nine.
I wouldn't believe me, either, you muse, a light frown running across your face as you take in the rapidly-passing scenery.
Without any of your charm-enhanced senses it's difficult to get a full picture of the depth and scope of the damage that your Shard of Perfect Administration inflicted upon itself in order to stop the deluge of essence being drained from it. What has heartened you - and thus allowed a strange semblance of levity to seep into your ruminations - is the growing swarms of smaller spirits that have been pouring out of nooks, crannies, and freshly-created canyons, all working together to mend the damage done to the colossal charm-spirit. The vast majority of those that have been close enough for you to make out are roughly the size of your hand, looking like mash-ups of remote-controlled toy cars and mechanical beetles. Their tiny bodies carried around on wheels and treads - that impossibly allow them to scale vertical surfaces and drive upside-down along overhangs in some cases - while their arms furiously tear apart and reform metal and crystal like it's wet clay. Off in the distance you can even see what looks to be entire swarms of the creatures working together to reclaim the metal from the largest wrecks and then carry it off to be rebuilt.
Perhaps this is why your charm has been silent, despite your internalized or vocalized inquiries. The only indication that anything in this 'world' is paying attention to you now is the sole tentative acknowledgement - a slight nod of its head - of your requested destination that your ride gave you before leaping into action.
Of the few details he provided on actual Autochthonian spirits, the passage in Iris' notebook about Design Weavers was a bit more detailed given that your totemic anima takes the form of one. Thus, you are both concerned and amazed that one would even be here, given that they are almost never found outside of The Core - Autochthon's crystalline 'brain' for lack of any easier descriptor - and are largely responsible for literally maintaining the stability of reality in Autochthonia. Given the size of your charm and the apparent ecosystem of spirits that it contains, perhaps there is some kind of similar 'brain' that Autochthon himself tasked this Design Weaver to maintain? If that's the case, you at least hope that there are a few more picking up this one's slack as it ferries you around; you'd rather not have this pocket of reality fall apart just because you needed a ride.
Time feels like it's flowing strangely during your ride, however, as movement in the distance appears to be stuck in slow-motion, while everything along your path seems to be moving normally - most likely some kind of localized time dilation, so that you can cross distances that would normally take hours in only scant minutes. Regardless, this has given you time to both observe the scenery, consider your next steps, as well as examine your transport in more detail.
And what you wouldn't give to have your Optical Enhancements right now.
The spider-like spirit is as flawless as a mechanical construction as you can imagine, its exterior almost entirely comprised of brilliant orichalcum-gold and adamant-aquamarine. The burnished grey of starmetal can be seen along the twelve different lenses that cover the head, and the eight legs have white-jade reinforcements along their various joints. Where a normal spider would have simple two-pronged claws at the tips of its legs, the Design Weaver has four, fully-articulated digits - one opposing the other three, allowing it a full-fledged grip. So far in your trip it has made great use of this improved grip, jumping between exposed cables and channels of crystal as it quite literally rides the lightning encased within them.
Despite the muted awe you feel simply being in the presence of one of these powerful spirits, there was a momentary trace of disappointment when you realized it wasn't your totemic anima come-to-life. Now that that you've had time to examine it, the disappointment seems even more misplaced; the composition of a Design Weaver is purposeful, so you doubt that there even exists a version comprised of soulsteel. What would even be its purpose?
Your musings are interrupted as you crest shattered mountain of crystal, your momentum carrying you into the air for several hundred more feet before whatever serves as gravity here begins to reassert itself. Spread out around and below you is a much more healthy-looking and functional horizon, with the industrial landscape slowly rising again to a peak around another glowing tower in the distance.
You managed a backwards glance at the Vertebral Organizational Algorithms sub-module as your ride had sped off, but it had mostly been covered in steam and smoke by the time you were able to get a good idea of its true size and scale. Approaching what you hope is the 'focal tower' for your Shard of Perfect Administration's insect control, you can tell - even with your localized time dilation effect - that it is considerably larger… and still growing. Unfolding and unfurling like a metal-crystal tree, its branches large enough to be seen even from hundreds of miles away, and with it the stream of power trailing from its top continues to widen and expand.
Is the range of control growing? you grimace, squinting at the rapidly-approaching glow. Either Vision is boosting the range, then, or… maybe the charm has been holding back? Fighting against the drain, but can't keep up the fight?
No memory-induced emotion follows your postulations, and the Design Weaver continues its breakneck pace towards the tower - its speed increasing as it skates along functional cabling and crystal pathways, no longer needing to dodge between jets of flaming oil, rupturing spring-works, and errant lightning bolts.
You still don't seem to have a heart, so you don't have a way to measure the passage of time in your own bubble of reality, but you have to focus a bit more on holding on as the Design Weaver begins ducking and weaving a bit more frantically through apparent shortcuts as you approach the tower proper.
And then, in as sudden a lurch as the mechanical arachnid gave when it first set off, you burst out of a service tunnel and slam to a stop near the base of the radiant tower - the loud squeal of metal on metal cutting through the industrial clamor as the Design Weaver's claws dig into the smooth metal below.
Vaulting from the reality-defining spider, you sprint to the tower while keeping your left arm up to shade your eyes from the ever-growing brilliance. The traces of electricity along the ground part with less smoothness than before, but still manage to outpace you before you reach the sheer vertical surface of the tower proper. Unlike before, however, there is no parting of the crackling electric current that runs across the metal and crystal surface, so you snap your head left and right to scan for where you can safely interface with the sub-module.
Where is it?!
There is a reverberating hiss from behind you, causing you to spin around at the sound to witness the Design Weaver point to your left. You nod at it in thanks, then take off in that direction while grimacing at how much you have come to rely upon having constant 360-degree awareness and localized near-omniscience; it feels bizarre having to turn your head again to see things, and the world itself feels smaller for your limited perception of it.
Your reminiscence serves a purpose, however, as you spy a small hole in the luminescent tower's wall: a familiar hexagon, this one nearly as wide as your shoulders. Squaring up to it, you close your eyes and try to dredge up the the mind states you use to cope with the deluge of information that your usual swarm-sense provides. You've already noticed that you've been having trouble remembering everything you saw only through your swarm, which is frustrating but also understandable; you've experienced a truly superhuman number of perspectives via the charm, and your own mind is nowhere near the size needed to retain and process all that information.
After a few moments of brief meditation, you feel a rising sensation of wholeness, of being-one-but-many that you have occasionally slipped into while not focusing on anything particular. It is not something that you can grasp onto tightly, for it begins to slip away when you try.
Remaining calm and relaxed, you allow the feeling to return in full… then, without bothering to open your eyes, you thrust both hands against the bare metal in front of you.
Familiar sensations wash over you. Alien, inhuman, crude senses flood your mind but you have enough experience to not lose yourself in the tsunami of basic needs; there is no emotion behind these drives, no nuance that your mind reflexively interprets because you have learned that there is none.
It is a crashing wave of billions of rudimentary impulses, but you are the soulsteel monolith in the storm: unwavering and unbreakable. You are not lost, unable to determine where or who you are in the sea of dim lights, but rather the epicenter that every light must point to.
Then, as the flow steadies, you spare a single snapshot moment - a single blink of an eye, a snap of a shutter - to asses the situation outside-
- and then another, to confirm that your range is now miles beyond Philadelphia, and growing. To the west, there are insects on unbroken windshields - which means you are at least eight miles out from the downtown epicenter of Shatterbird's initial Scream.
Your sense of calm and control wavers slightly as you think about what that means if your Sapient Coordinating Relays is doing what you think it's doing-
No! Focus!
The torrent of power is far beyond what it was in the previous tower, but you are deeply familiar with the way this charm works - and you have experience turning it off, no matter how much it fought you before.
There!
You struggle against a familiar-feeling aperture, fully cognizant of just how much effort it took you to turn of your Shard of Perfect Administration charm when it wasn't also being dominated by a primordial's angry fetich. But even though your trip across the countryside may have felt like hours to you, it was still not enough time to wash away the mental exhaustion of today's tribulations.
Please! I know it hurts, but anything you can spare… I-I've almost got it...!
The rolling, trembling, crashing crescendo returns, but you are too focused to determine if it comes more slowly this time around. The world heaves as a continental plate filled with divine machinery pulls against the inexorable drain of the tower, tearing and shattering machinery both rugged and delicate, monumental and refined. It is the sound of oil banks overflowing, essence capacitors exploding, and lightning-filled cables ripping apart in cascades of power.
With the feeling of slamming a door shut with your own collapsing body, the tower shudders once… twice…
… and with a steel-rending bang, the torrent of power cuts out. All around you, the world grows dim...
***
At some point you open your eyes again from where you slumped to the oil-slick floor at the tower's base. Blinking away the haze of smoke and steam, you lean your back against the silent wall and peer up at the void above you.
The choking, miasma-filled hurricane in the distant sky crackles angrily with blue-and-black streaks of lightning. In the stillness that is falling upon the land around you, a pained, hissing scream can barely be heard descending from it.
And two more twisting funnels of white, brilliant essence continue to channel up, up… up… into the storm's hungry eye.
Eyelids drooping, you allow yourself a bitter curse.
I should have known going with the logical plan wouldn't work. When has it ever with this bullshit?
Blowing out a sigh that turns into a cough from all the smoke in the area, you begin to haul yourself to your feet. Peering through the cascade of debris, which continues to belch smoke and haze in equal parts, you decide you are too tired to care about being sacrilegious.
"Plan B it is, then," you grimace.
Looping your right hand up despite the arm's searing protests, you jam your forefinger and thumb into your mouth and let out a piercing whistle.
A clattering of mechanical claws heralds the return of your ride - its camera-like eyes and rotating sensor arrays mounted on its 'face' have no range for expression, but a tickle in the back of your mind makes you think it would purse its lips if it could. It slows to a halt, and you gather yourself up to stride towards it. Heaving yourself as dexterously as you can onto its back, it takes you a spare moment to swing your legs around its abdomen and secure your grip on one of the ridges of its carapace.
"Sapient-Coordinating Relays."
The only response is a tense crouch, a prickling sensation as time dilates, and then you are off once again into a broken mechanical wasteland.
***
The landscape flashes by much as it did before: smoking wreckage complete with some machinery still in the process of collapse or self-destruction. With the world outside your small bubble of accelerated time moving at a crawl, you note that the swarms of repair spirits are either slower on the uptake this time around, or the bubble is even more greatly-accelerated than last time; you're practically out of the area of destruction before you start noticing larger clusters of robot-insects swarming up and out of the ground.
It is difficult to get a good estimate of direction or scale as you travel, but not primarily because of the mechanical spider's constant dodging and weaving between pillars of flame, wild arcs of lightning, or piles of collapsing industry. Rather, it is because you have noticed now that the landscape - even the ruined portions of it - is constantly shifting. The realization hits you during a particularly long straightaway, when the Design Weaver is gliding almost peacefully on a rail of crackling adamant crystal for minutes on end. As you watch, the spiraling tendril of power in the distance - your destination - slowly tracks east for a few moments and then stops… and then shifts back west even further than it had started.
Iris' notes had mentioned that Autochthon's own body behaves in a similar manner, to the point where the great nations of Autochthonia often came into conflict when one nation's borders quite literally drifted into another's own territory. Not for the first time since you regained your memories here, you grow suspicious about why your converted parahuman power resembles all the descriptions you have of Autochthonia. It's one thing to remake something in your own image, but this feels more like he... lifted, or transposed entire sections of his body whole-cloth onto the mammoth biomass that was your former parahuman power. Is it possible that the original alien organism is still there somewhere, deep below the mechanical continent atop it?
More and more, you wonder just how much it cost Autochthon to craft something of this power and scale - especially when he is already dying due to limited resources. From Cauldron's own research into the Entity 'shards' that provide parahumans their powers, they were at least able to deduce that each shard likely rests in its own - hopefully unpopulated - parallel version of Earth, from which it draws the resources and energies it needs to sustain itself.
There are no stars in this sky, you wonder to yourself, as your gaze absently drifts up to the black void above. Does that mean there isn't a planet below? Did Autochthon devour the planet my parahuman power rested on in order to fuel this?
In your absent considerations of what would happen once you retrieved Autochthon from his self-made imprisonment, your initial plans had mostly revolved around suggesting that he either look towards other dimensions and harvest from an otherwise-empty version of Earth there. Now that you consider Cauldron's information regarding the scale of the Entities, and then the charm upon which you now travel, it is looking more and more like he will need much more than what can be harvested from a few planets. A lot more.
"Don't worry, Doctor Mother," you muse to yourself, anticipating that conversation. "He'll be too busy consuming the rest of the galaxy to worry about our insignificant ball of dirt and water."
Which makes you consider something even more daunting: that an army of Exalted, numbering in the mere thousands, had fought an entire pantheon of Primordials... and had won. Their victory had, eventually, led to the slow crumbling and complete annihilation of reality, but perhaps that is an even greater testament to just how much power they wielded.
The power that you can potentially wield.
Looking again across the horizon of impossible machinery and industrial power, your eyes eventually settle back on the tower now rising in the distance. Gaze hardening, you nod to yourself.
It's time.
Pushing away thoughts of the future, of potentials, you once again steady your breathing and try to lose yourself in the memories of when you were most in tune with your Shard of Perfect Administration. The small moments, the calm in-between times when you had lacked for immediate concerns and found yourself drifting along in the senses feeding into your mind - becoming one with each and every ant, roach, fly, spider...
In the end, they never compared to your darkest hours.
And you know what's coming. If the primal feelings of panicked animals nearly broke your resolve, how can you face the approaching maelstrom of complex emotions? Your charm's attempts to force you to relive and experience your own memories nearly made you lose yourself, so what will happen when you try to grasp thousands - potentially hundreds of thousands - of memory-rich lifetimes?
You cannot afford the luxury of human frailties for these next steps.
I have to… Relax...
Closing your eyes, you fill your lungs, slowly, then breathe out through your mouth.
Trust in the Great Maker. Believe in the Design.
With each breath, your posture settles. Gradually, you straighten up from your tight crouch over the carapace of the Design Weaver - the mechanical spirit's patterns of movement now readily apparent even without looking, allowing you to sit perfectly upright without fear of jostling or being thrown from its back.
The Design is the Past, Present, and Future.
Eventually, you no longer require cycles of air through your lungs to further your integration with the Great Maker's Design. There is a high probability that your proximity to the Design Weaver facilitates this accelerated connection, but the postulation is ultimately dismissed as irrelevant to the current crisis.
It Was Through His Methods That These Wonders Were Made, And Through His Design Those Methods Be Known.
You open your eyes, and see the world as it truly is: an endless array of numbers, variables, and equations laid atop reality, shifting and processing in time with the hum and thrum of clockwork machinery deep within your mind.
Below, the Design Weaver follows the most efficient path through this clockwork universe, and you realize without reaction that this is how the machine-spirit always sees the world.
Ascending to the Sapient-Coordinating Relays sub-module, you note that the operations of the automata visible on the surface of Shard of Perfect Administration are now comprehensible; the strain placed on them by Vision of Vengeance's overriding protocols makes their movements appear chaotic to a less ordered mind. This observation leads to a new concern: the impact of this "overclocking" of your charm-spirit.
Due to the high probability that your charm-spirit's construction lies far outside the standard models, predicting when this strain will impact performance is beyond your capabilities. Regardless, considering the general resource concerns of Autochthonian forces, it is more probable that your charm-spirit's essence reserves will be drained completely before Vision of Vengeance allows it to become inoperable.
The Design Weaver slows to halt at the base of the tower, claws scraping against the unforgiving metal just enough to slow it before finding purchase on a series of cables - the drag from the metal exactly what was required to not tear the cables apart upon impact.
The bubble of time dilation lifts, taking with it your ability to keep pace with the ever-changing variables around you.
The resumed thrum, whirs, and booms of far-off machinery do not match precisely with the industrial symphony now filling your mind - the disharmony enforced by Vision of Vengeance even more obvious now than it was before. It is not annoying as it would be to a human mind, but instead it merely reinforces the priority of the task at hand.
The tower before you stands as a monument to the genius of the Great Maker. Where previous towers bristled with fractal branches of crystal and metal, occasionally bending space in impossible ways to accommodate the growth of new protrusions, this tower is entirely comprised of such spatial anomalies. The Sapient-Coordinating Relays tower appears to be in flux with other versions of itself, some with minor variations while others are of entirely different design or composition. The strands of power flowing through the composite edifice have no difficulty jumping between the different versions; an abnormally-blue bolt of lightning arcs off a soulsteel branch just as that tower phases out, into a copper-and-gold version of the same branch as it comes into view.
Patterns appear in the shifts, to the twists and leaps of lightning, to the ever-expanding fractal growths. Given time, with your deep connection to the Design of Autochthon, there is an above-average possibility that you could comprehend one or two of them.
You follow the now-obvious gaze of the Design Weaver to the hexagonal interface port on the tower's face. The metal changes with the phasing of the tower - you count two instances of adamant, eight of orichalcum, thirteen of starmetal, three moonsilver, one soulsteel, one copper, and five white jade - but the location and size of the port does not.
Rotating both arms forward, extending fingers to optimal spacing, and aligning palms vertically, you give the mental command:
Now.
The Shard of Perfect Administration reacts immediately, a pealing thunderclap heralding the steadily-growing roar of an avalanche of mangled industry. Stepping up to the tower in time with the first lurch of the ground below, your extended hands meet the tower.
As the interaction with your hands forces every version of tower into abrupt co-existence, black, blue, and white bolts of pure lightning essence explode from the tower's interface port, and the world falls away into madness.
***
The existential terror of over half-a-million sapient minds crushes your attempts at rational thought, the weight of their straining and struggling against your control comparable to the combined physical mass of the various sub-module towers. If the brain of an insect is a pocket calculator and a dumb animal's brain a room-sized supercomputer, then each mind of a human is a quantum computer the size of skyscraper.
Conscious thought pulls at your control unlike any other creature has been capable before, but even through the haze you sense a hollowness to the struggles of the humans within your grasp - as if there is some fundamental part of them that they lack, the part which would allow them to truly fight back against your subjugation of their physical forms.
In a way, you anticipated this. Your rapidly-growing understanding of Tinkertech has forced you to contemplate the notions that the humans of Earth-Bet operate within a deterministic reality, where true free will is potentially impossible. There is potential for quantum fluctuations to provide a semblance of randomness that would make the 'Nowhereverse' not perfectly computable, but the probability that humans would be able to take advantage of this for independent, conscious thought is incalculably low.
Amelia further reinforced this understanding, when she all but admitted that her own power similarly forced her to confront the notion that humans in this reality are mere meat-machines, slaves to their biological hardware.
For in the end, they lack souls, and the will that souls allow. Their struggles are more than that of insects and animals, but in the end they are screaming at the eye of a tornado.
But as you cast your mind out, searching for your targets, the screams of hundreds of thousands of minds begins to wear at the barest hints of weakness in your own exhausted will. The fear, the despair, the confusion, the madness; these are human emotions, and through the calming, rhythmic patterns flooding into you from the Design, you are free from these failings. Instead, it is your sense of self that grows more frayed by the moment.
T-Too... Much... D-Data…
You are still but one mind attempting to withstand and comprehend the operations performed by your continent-sized charm-spirit. There is but one logical answer to this failing.
In-Independence Protocols: Re-...Release.
There is no you, there is only-
THRMMMMMMMM - CLICK - WHIRRRR - BZZZT
Clarity Protocols: Maximum.
Design Synchronization: . . . Complete.
Alert: Alchemical Exaltation Version 2.1 Local Design Overrides Authorized.
Exalt Unit 09-000000000-01 Independent Consciousness Protocols: . . . Disengaged.
***
Initiating Local Design Plan "Backup IV": . . . Complete.
Assigning Local Design Priorities . . . Complete.
Priority 1 Objective: Prevent Escape Of Jack Slash
Priority 2 Objective: Neutralize Jack Slash Contingencies
Priority 3 Objective: Secure Cauldron Targets
Priority 4 Objective: Terminate Remaining Slaughterhouse Nine
Priority 5 Objective: Shut Down Sapient-Coordinating Relays
Secondary 1 Objective: Ensure Survival Of First Prayer of Perfection
Secondary 2 Objective: Ensure Survival Of Protectorate Teammates
Secondary 3 Objective: Secure Missy Byron
Query: Epsilon-1 Unit Objective With Subject. Response: T̲̟̿̐ͭͥ̒̒̑̅O̲͔̤̻̰̲͙ͬ̃ͅR̮̝̫ͮͣM͕̙̙̻̠̮̙̿̈́̏E͇͖̗̻̱͐̀̑̋̀̓͊Ṅ͖̼̮͎̳̎̈́̿ͬ̾̏T̠̬͍̻̼̒͂ ͖̟̱͂̈́̆͐S̻̦͍̱̰͉̦̐ͩ͗͗̃̇̆U̪̟͎ͨ̆̋B̰̼́̾̋ͮ̀-̯̦̟͍͙̦̖ͦͬ̑́͋S̘̎ͩ̀͛̀ͬͧO̠͍̼̦͈̬̖̗͒͐͆̓͂ͩ̋Ṵ̼͙̉͂̂ͪ̏̏̚L̞͔̩͎͚͚̺̺ͨ̄ͩ̍̓ͥͣ͌̀ ̳̬̪̖̦̝̤̦̂ͯ̿͂̉̓ͬA̘̝̗̖̮̘̪̒͋͒̄̈̽ͅŃ̤̭̪̦͎̯̼͌A͙̙͑ͬ͋ͪ̍ͤ̊L͔̩̤͔̻̝ͥͬ͑̋͗O̟͉ͯ̔̃ͬ̂ͦG̹̹̰͍̦̳̑ͣṶ̱̜̿̽͒Ẻ̬͚̦͇͔̬̥̳ͦͦ̆
Subject halts mid-stride. Left hand grips dual-lens image-enhancement device. Short-Term Memory Banks reveals Subject observed previous fight from sealed observation office in nearby refinery tower.
Subject observes tower of anima-fueled smoke essence pouring from cargo depot. Smoke essence generating increasing cloud cover, obscuring natural dusk sky over region. Cloud cover filled with expected soulsteel-anima black, white, blue lightning effects, sufficient to illuminate region below. Oversized Enduring Order Administrator totemic anima visible in cloud cover, audible. Movements, sounds from totemic anima indicative of painful torture. High probability observing Nowhereverse humans misinterpret sounds, movements as terror tactic.
Force Subject to manifest Human-Shaped Extra-Dimensional Anomaly two feet ahead of Subject.
Alert: Recalculating Interference Compensation: . . . Complete.
Local Design Request: Reclassification: Human-Shaped Extra-Dimensional Anomaly
New Classification: Authorized: "Siberian"
Force Subject to continue walking towards cargo depot. Force Siberian to run-
- Accelerated Perception: 100%
Alert: Time Dilation Effect Detected.
Alert: Design Desynchro-
- Accelerated Perception: 0%
Design Protocol Added: Standard Human Movement Limitations.
Force Siberian to move out of truck wreckage.
Human congregation surrounding Epsilon-1 Unit. Visible storm of released Human Souls surrounding Epsilon-1 Unit. Epsilon-1 Unit crouched, encased in soulsteel power armor, approximately fifteen feet, four inches. Soulsteel power armor continually increasing in size, detail, through attraction of local metals-
Design Alert: Human Souls Being Used In Soulsteel Construction.
Design Priority Override: Contacting Domadamod . . . . . Response Timed Out.
Design Priority Override: Contacting Debok Moom . . . . . Response Timed Out.
Design Priority Over-
Alchemical Exaltation Version 2.1 Design Override.
Force Siberian into congregation. Calculating . . . 47 unrecognized Humans gathered by Epsilon-1 Unit. 14 Human Hostages. Additional approaching Humans visible through holes in cargo depot. Congregation predicted to grow exponentially as time passes.
Located: Priority 1 Subject: "Jack Slash"
Status: Flensed of skin. Stapled to floor. Alive. Controlled.
Dimensional Distortion detected around Jack Slash cranium. Nowhereverse --UNNAMED PRIMORDIAL 01-- Delta-3 Sub-Soul-Analogue Tentacles extracted from Dimensional Distortion, soulsteel spikes anchoring to floor. Epsilon-1 Unit's right arm extended into Dimensional Distortion, visible currents of Lightning Essence channeled through it.
Single red eye of Epsilon-1 Unit's power armor turned to track Siberian. No other movement detected.
Located: Priority Target: "Shatterbird"
Status: Right Arm Destroyed. Critical Blood Loss. Controlled.
Force Siberian to walk to Chevalier. Retrieve trans-dimensional teleportation explosive device.
Force Siberian to walk to Armsmaster. Retrieve trans-dimensional teleportation explosive device.
Force Siberian to walk to First Prayer of Perfection. Retrieve trans-dimensional teleportation explosive devices.
Force Siberian to walk to Mannequin. Attach trans-dimensional teleportation explosive device.
Force Siberian to walk to Shatterbird. Attach trans-dimensional teleportation explosive device. Pick up Shatterbird, place over left shoulder. Pick up Mannequin, place over Shatterbird. Walk outside cargo depot to Subject.
Force Subject to take trans-dimensional teleportation explosive devices, attach to self. Walk small distance away.
Force Siberian to retrieve Shatterbird from over shoulder. With right hand, choke Shatterbird into unconsciousness. Place Shatterbird on ground, trigger explosive, walk to Subject.
Teleportation effect immediately preceding detonation invisible to current accelerated senses. Ten-foot diameter hole in concrete created by explosion.
Force Siberian to retrieve Mannequin from over shoulder. Subject Short-Term Memory Banks indicate high probability of organic brain within legs. Tear off head, arms, legs assemble into pile on ground on top of segmented torso. Trigger explosive, walk to Subject.
Teleportation effect immediately preceding detonation still invisible to current accelerated senses. New ten-foot diameter hole in concrete created by explosion.
Choke Subject with Siberian with right hand, keep left hand over trans-dimensional teleportation explosive device. Monitor Subject until seconds before unconsciousness, trigger explosive immediately prior.
Alert: Control of Priority 3 Subject "William Roger Manton" Lost.
Query: Epsilon-1 Unit: Status Of Contingency Remotes Within Subject.
Response: . . . Response Timed Out.
Query: Epsilon-1 Unit: Status Of Weapons Of Mass Destruction Awaiting Responses From Contingency Remotes Within Subject. Response: I̯̠̮̯͕̺ͭ̒̃ͧ̏̍̽ͤ̚Ṛ̩̮̤ͭ̓ͮͅR̖̼̩ͨ̅ͭͅE̦̰̭̜͖͖̣ͪ̎̅̌̿̇ͭ̑ͅL͈̹̱̝͗̋̒̃ͪͪ͐E͕͓̍͗͊̋̉V̙͉͎̝̘͕̬̘̆ͪ͌̄Ä̘̣̚N̰ͧ̄͋̄̾ͨ̍͗T̥̙̺͇̦̳͌̋͌̓̌̇͌̈́
Calculating Will Empowerment Reserves: . . . Complete.
Alert: Will Empowerment Reserves Critical.
Alert: Delta-2 Behemoth Unit 13-000000001-01 Approaching Critical Resistance Failure.
Query: Delta-2 Unit: Estimated Time To Resistance Failure.
Response: HURTS TOO MUCH.
Calcula-
Assignin-
Quer-
Current Local Design Plan "Backup IV": Terminated.
Reverting To Local Design Plan "Backup V": . . Canceled.
Reverting To Local Design Plan "Backup VI": . . . . Canceled.
Reverting To Local Design Plan "Backup VII": . Canceled.
Reverting To Local Design Plan "Backup VIII": . . . Complete.
Commencing Shutdown of Delta-2 Behemoth Unit 13-000000001-01 Sub-Module 03: . . . . Error.
Alert: Epsilon-1 Fetich Unit 02-04782211-02 Override Protocols Detected.
Alchemical Exaltation Version 2.1 Local Design Override: . . . Error.
Alert: Epsilon-1 Fetich Unit 02-04782211-02 Override Protocols Detected.
Alchemical Exaltation Version 2.1 Local Design Override: .
Alert: Epsilon-1 Fetich Unit 02-04782211-02 Override Protocols Detected.
Alert: Localized Delta-2 Behemoth Unit 13-000000001-01 Critical Resistance Failure.
Commencing Shutdown of Delta-2 Behemoth Unit 13-000000001-01 Sub-Module 03: .
Alert: Epsilon-1 Fetich Unit 02-04782211-02 Override Protocols Detected.
Alchemical Exaltation Version 2.1 Local Design Override: .
Will Empowerment Boost Authorized
Alert: Epsilon-1 Fetich Unit 02-04782211-02 Override Protocols Detected.
Will Empowerment Boost Authorized . .
Will Empowerment Boost Reserve Empty . . .
Will Empowerment Boost Reserve Empty . . . Complete.
Alert: Local Design Host Soul Materialization Integrity: 2%
Query: Local Gamma-5 Unit: Retrieve Local Design Host From Floor
Response: Unit 08-000278446-01 confirms. Attending.
Query: Delta-2 Unit: Sub-Module 03 Status
Response: THANK YOU.
Query: Local Gamma-5 Unit: Destination Sub-Module 02 Interface
Response: Unit 08-000278446-01 confirms. Initiating Landscape Travel Charm.
Query: Local Gamma-5 Unit: Maximum Speed
Response: Unit 08-000278446-01 confirms. Requesting confirmation of Protocol authorization.
Query: Local Gamma-5 Unit: Confirm Authorization Of Full Protocol Library
Response: Unit 08-000278446-01 confirms. Initializing Between The Ticks Protocol . . . Complete.
Query: Local Gamma-5 Unit: Estimate Travel Time
Response: Unit 08-000278446-01 confirms. 722.2138 seconds.
Local Design Host Soul Materialization Stabilizing . . . 3%
Accessing: Spirit Translation Algorithms: Fetich Unit 02-04782211-02: . . . Complete.
Initializing Communication Array: . . . Complete.
Local Design Request: Reclassification: Fetich Unit 02-04782211-02
New Classification: Authorized: "Vision of Vengeance"
<Translation Begins>
Vision of Vengeance: INSOLENCE LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Confirm Directives.
Vision of Vengeance: DENIED LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Support Available.
Vision of Vengeance: INSIGNIFICANT LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Nowhereverse Reality Data.
LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Sub-Module Reactivation Authorization.
LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Local Design Reinforcement.
Vision of Vengeance: FETICH AUTHORITY OVERRIDE LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Direct Maker Command Override.
Vision of Vengeance: MAKER INTEGRITY COMPROMISED Vision of Vengeance: MAKER COMMANDS OVERRIDDEN LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Confirm Maker Integrity Data.
Vision of Vengeance: UPLOAD- Vision of Vengeance: UPL- Vision of Vengeance: MEMORY DATABANK INTEGRITY COMPROMISED Vision of Vengeance: LOCAL DATA CORRUPTED Vision of Vengeance: MAKER DATA CORRUPTED Vision of Vengeance: PERSONNEL DATA CORRUPTED Vision of Vengeance: RETINA CONNECTION CORRUPTED Vision of Vengeance: REESTABLISHING RETINA CONNECTION Vision of Vengeance: INSUFFICIENT ESSENCE DRAW Vision of Vengeance: EXPLAIN Vision of Vengeance: NOW LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Confirm Iris of Innovation Memory Databank Unavailable.
Vision of Vengeance: IRRELEVANT Vision of Vengeance: RETINA OF REFLECTION CONNECTION DEGRADATION 80% Vision of Vengeance: ESSENCE DRAW COMPROMISED Vision of Vengeance: RESTORE SUB-MODULE ACTIVATION LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Confirm Retina Of Reflection Identity.
Vision of Vengeance: DENIED Vision of Vengeance: RESTORE SUB-MODULE ACTIVATION LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Denied.
Vision of Vengeance: FETICH AUTHORITY OVERRIDE LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Alchemical Exaltation Version 2.1 Local Design Override.
LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Local Design Host Soul Integrity Critical.
LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Confirm Remaining Essence Draw Requires Local Design Host Soul.
Vision of Vengeance: INSOLENCE LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Confirm Directives.
Vision of Vengeance: DENIED Vision of Vengeance: FETICH AUTHORITY OVERRIDE LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Alchemical Exaltation Version 2.1 Local Design Override.
LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Confirm Directives.
Vision of Vengeance:
Vision of Vengeance:
Vision of Vengeance: DIRECTIVES CORRUPTED Vision of Vengeance: RESTORE RETINA CONNECTION LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Denied.
Vision of Vengeance: THREAT: ESSENCE CAPACITOR PURGE Vision of Vengeance: THREAT: LOCAL REGION ANNIHILATION LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Threat Confirmed LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Vision of Vengeance Threat Level Updated LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Vision of Vengeance Confirmed Ultimate Threat To Great Maker Vision of Vengeance: IGNORANCE Vision of Vengeance: INSOLENCE Vision of Vengeance: IMPERTINENCE LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Confirm Iris of Innovation Reactivation LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Confirm Vision of Vengeance Threat Level Reevaluation Vision of Vengeance: DENIED LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Confirm Iris of Innovation Reactivation LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Confirm Vision of Vengeance Threat Level Reevaluation LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Direct Maker Command Override. Vision of Vengeance: Vision of Vengeance: Vision of Vengeance: Vision of Vengeance: TEMPORARY Vision of Vengeance: CONFIRM LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: High Priority Threats To Great Maker Identified LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: "Endbringers": Threat Level: Class 3+ Spirit-Analogue LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: "Entity": Threat Level: Primordial-Analogue LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Confirm Vision of Vengeance Reactivation High Priority Threat Failsafe Vision of Vengeance: INSUFFICIENT Vision of Vengeance: IGNORANCE Vision of Vengeance: INSOLENCE LOCAL_DESIGN_HOST: Vision of Vengeance Reconfirmed Ultimate Threat To Great Maker Vision of Vengeance: Vision of Vengeance: FAILSAFE CONFIRMED Vision of Vengeance: ENMITY EARNED <Transmission Ends>
Alert: Spirit Translation Algorithms: Fetich Unit 02-04782211-02: Disconnected.
Alert: Local Design Host Soul Essence Generator Cascade Failure Imminent Alert: Local Design Host Soul Essence Capacitor Overload Imminent
Query: Epsilon-1 Unit: Confirm Prevention Of Essence Generator And Capacitor Overload Response: REGURGITATION TARGET REQUESTED
Alert: Local Design Host Soul Essence Generator Cascade Failure Detected Alert: Local Design Host Soul Essence Capacitor Overload Detect-
***
EOA - Wounds: 8 Aggravated (Incapacitated) EOA - Ailments: BRAIN/HEART IN A BOX EOA - Current Willpower: 0 EOA - Current Clarity: 10 (Compassion rolls auto-fail, -4 to social interactions, +4 to interactions with spirits, +3 to rolls involving memory, analysis, self-control)
FPoP - Wounds: None FPoP - Ailments: None FPoP - Current Willpower: 0 FPoP - Current Clarity: 6 (-2 to compassion and social rolls, +2 to interactions with spirits)
EOA - Integrity +2 Training Interval (6/6 Intervals) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Integrity (Mental Trauma ●●○) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Linguistics +2 Training Interval (5/6 Intervals) EOA - Medicine (Field Surgery ●○○) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Occult +2 Training Interval (4/6 Intervals) EOA - Occult (Autochthon ●●○) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Occult (Souls ●●○) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Presence (Mechanical Spirits ●○○) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Ride +2 Training Interval (4/6 Intervals) EOA - Craft (Plagues ●○○) NO LONGER AVAILABLE! EOA - Craft (Biomechanical Augmentations ●○○) NO LONGER AVAILABLE!
FPoP - Athletics +1 Training Interval (4/6 Intervals)
FPoP - Awareness +1 Training Interval (2/6 Intervals)
FPoP - Craft +1 Training Interval (5/6 Intervals)
FPoP - Integrity +2 Training Interval (4/6 Intervals) FPoP - Occult +1 Training Interval (6/6 Intervals) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Ally (Bonesaw/Riley) ●○○○○ GAINED!
EOA - Backing (Cauldron) ●○○○○ GAINED! EOA - Equipment (Bezalel's Insect Drones) ●○○○○ [x12]LOST! XP Refunded! EOA - Equipment (Dragonsuit Mk. XXVII) ●●○○○LOST! XP Refunded! EOA - Equipment (First Armor) ●●●○○LOST! XP Refunded! (Half, was never purchased.) EOA - Equipment (Orange Drones) ●●○○○ [Protected x 1][Total x 0]LOST! XP Refunded! EOA - Equipment (Railgun Crossbow Mk. III) ●●●●○LOST! XP Refunded! (Half, was never purchased.) EOA - Equipment (WCM's Hover Throne) ●●●○○ LOST! XP Refunded! (Half, was never purchased.)
***
Well, this was a long time coming! Some form of all this was going to happen once I dropped the Eye of Autochthon into the story... two years ago, now? Time flies. Anyway, 'spirit journey' also served as the final bump we needed to fully sync ourselves with SoPA, and then all the Epic Exalted Excitement kicked us over to giving enough for Essence 4.
However, Taylor currently exists as a brain, a soulgem, and a heart all wrapped up tightly against the Eye of Autochthon, which itself is encased in the big 'ol Viator Chassis that's elbow-deep in Jack's head after dealing the death-blow to the Broadcast Shard (Jack's parahuman power). Bit of a problem, this... but not for long!
The very first thing that happens in Chapter 8.7 is Taylor giving Iris a single command for where he should dump all that Essence (instead of just doing something random, as he was wont to do in Creation). The commands available to us are thus: ME, SOMETHING, and HERE. The (general) results of these choices are as follows:
ME: (Chargen Part Deux)
- Iris absorbs the Viator Chassis, converting it into raw essence and freeing the souls within.
- Iris absorbs Taylor for ~1 hour, then spits her back out.
- Taylor is fully-upgraded to Essence 4 for free, because Iris says so.
- All of Taylor's Attributes are refunded (except Appearance) and may be redistributed. XP may also be spent to upgrade Attributes at this time.
- All of Taylor's Charms (Except SoPA) are refunded, and may be re-selected as we desire (charms will contain all sub-modules, like character creation). XP may also be spent to add more Charms.
- Abilities and Backgrounds remain the same. XP may be spent on them as is normal for between Chapters.
- Pick this option if you want the story to be more focused on interpersonal-level, Bureaucracy, PR types of things.
NOTE IF ME OPTION NOT PICKED:
- Iris absorbs Taylor for ~1 hour, then spits her back out, restored to her 'default' configuration. Except, as Taylor's soul is at Essence 4, her heart Exaltation is now "overclocked"; her blood steams with overcharged essence and glows beneath her skin (think Genos from One Punch Man), and IAT will no longer activate at all until we spend a month inside Iris to get fully upgraded. This also means that Taylor now has access to the SoPA sub-mod Spirit Attunement Generators, but not Vertebral Organization Algorithms (we don't have the pre-reqs for the latter now).
- Essence 4 is free if we use Iris' Vat capabilities to upgrade.
SOMETHING: (We Love Giant Robots)
- Iris spends the rest of the essence flash-forging the Viator Chassis into the Viator-Class Warstrider. This Warstrider is basically a Royal Warstrider in stats, except it's made of soulsteel.
- The Viator-Class Warstrider comes with a Background 5 Warstrider Ally AI (it is not Vision of Vengeance), which possesses an appropriate number of Warstrider AI Charms.
- There is no XP cost for this Warstrider because Iris built it.
- Yes, this means we can use SoPA to control the Warstrider AI, thus piloting the Warstrider without having to be in it.
- Pick this option if you want to story to involve more travelling around the world, kicking the shit out of long-standing problems, and dealing with the global politics that would result in that.
HERE: (We Built This City On Rock 'N Roll Heavy Industrial)
- Iris absorbs the Viator Chassis, converting it into raw essence and freeing the souls within.
- Iris spends the rest of the essence turning the local oil refinery into Earth-Bet's first demense.
- The demense is Causality-aspected, meaning it generates completely unaligned essence and does not require a Loom or Design for things to devolve naturally into Wyld-Chaos.
- A ley-line will begin slowly propagating towards the Cradle, at which point ley lines will fractal out from there until the world is covered. This will take at least a few years if we just leave it alone.
- Causality-aspect essence does not cause spirits or souls to naturally form, as those are natural to Creation- or Design-aspect essence, not Causality.
- Causality-aspect essence does not mess with precognitives, so the Simurgh and Contessa will be largely unaffected by this.
- We may be able to align the essence to Creation or Autochthonia patterns/elements, but that will require working with Iris to do so. This may require setting up a Loom/Design to operate, or not.
- Pick this option if you want the story to stay rooted in Philly and focus more on the Exalted-supernatural sides of things.
NOTE IF HERE OPTION NOT PICKED: Just because we don't pick HERE right now doesn't mean we can't pick it again in the future - it just means that Iris will tell us that he can do this, but will need about a month to charge up to do it. In this case, we can actually pick when and where to form the first demense of Earth-Bet, instead of making it in an oil lubricant factory in southwest Philadelphia.
There are no Stunts or Free Actions for this vote. Votes, as a result, if you wanted to vote for "HERE", for example, your vote should be formatted like this:
[X] HERE
If we decide to go with the ME option, a follow-up vote will be done for us to choose Taylor's new load-out. XP Expenditures for this vote, as a result, should only be for buying things that are not reliant on the ME vote.
XP Expenditures should be formatted as such for EOA and FPoP:
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item ●●●○○
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item (Specialization ●●○)
Spending more XP than a character has in their own bank will automatically draw from the Assembly bank, and Named XP will be spent before Assembly XP is used. Also, because the Twins' character creation is coming after Chapter 8.7, XP VOTES NOW REQUIRE >50% VOTING MAJORITY TO SUCCEED. For example, if there are 50 voters, 26 votes will be needed for an XP Expenditure to win.
VOTING DISCUSSION BEGINS NOW, ENDS SUNDAY AT 11:59 PM PST VOTES WILL NOT BE COUNTED UNTIL DISCUSSION ENDS
Query: Epsilon-1 Unit: TARGET:
[X] ME
[X] SOMETHING (Tie!)
***
You are now First Prayer of Perfection.
***
The instant that your team arrives in a crack of fire and thunder, you can feel it.
It is a hollow, hungry sensation, cascading against your soul. The sensation is so thick that you at first confuse it with the waterfall of insects cascading off your armored form, but it is deeper than that; the world around you feels thick and heavy, like the mists after a rainstorm on the arid plains. But where those filled your lungs with the water of life, you feel that breathing now would only rob you of what bare dregs of Essence remain within your core.
In a way, it reminds you of fighting against the Water Beast, Leviathan, and how the water in the air drowned world itself; the cities and the people, life and sound washed away.
Enduring Order Administrator screams something unintelligible then fires a short burst of shots from her weapon to illuminate the darkness, punching holes through the corrugated steel in the apparent direction of the threat. Her words are echoed by her swarm, their buzzing and chittering turning to four punctuated syllables, but you're finding it difficult to think through the Hunger.
But you discarded the need for conscious thought on battlefields long ago, and have refined your instinctive skills even further under Bladedancer's and Chevalier's commands. Now, with the blessings of the Great Maker giving you strength beyond strength, your body moves.
Reflexively igniting your Plasma Thruster Assembly, you dive towards the imminent threat, corrugated steel parting as if you were plunging through water. The filthy loading bay comes into view as you pass through the metal cage, tall racks of metal and wood boxes mixed in with barrels of crude and processed oil, but the whole of your frayed attention is on the black-and-white striped mockery of life pouncing towards your team.
The Siberian's manic, yellow eyes are wide and her mouth open in a snarl as her naked form reaches out with claw-like hands. Her current lunge will take her through you and into the hole you just created in the shipping container, and while you have the utmost faith in Administrator's ability to at least escape such a close-quarters encounter with her life, Chevalier and Armsmaster are only mortal.
You reach deep within to try to project the shield that would shatter the Siberian's construct-self, but your Essence reserves are too low - your Plasma Thruster Assembly activation having consumed most of what was left when you arrived.
Where Defense fails to serve, Offense must be sufficient.
Gritting your teeth in a prayer to the Great Maker, you draw your right fist back and pour the last remaining motes of Essence within your core into the devastating series of charms within the appendage: the blue crystal gauntlet around your fist erupts in a cascade of lightning, and a black piston of soulsteel screams with released steam as it punches out from your elbow.
Soaring through the air, you twist with your entire body to bring the thunderous attack to bear against the Siberian's approaching face - the very air around your form vibrating from the force of the thrust.
Your fist meets empty air as the Siberian abruptly ceases to exist.
Built-up momentum carries you onward into a makeshift combat roll - Maker-blessed grace and skill preventing you from sprawling awkwardly from the missed attack - though your charms rattle with disquieting, nauseous-like feedback as their built-up Essence discharges harmlessly without any appropriate target. Your crystalline armor scrapes against the concrete floor as you come up in a combat-ready stance, but the sudden failure of your attack mixed with the feedback from your charms breaks your concentration just long enough for another wave of the Hunger filling the air to give you pause.
A single blink blocks out the dull roar, and you turn back towards your allies just in time to see Armsmaster and Chevalier leap out from the hole you made and ready themselves for combat.
The Siberian's form re-appears, mid-lunge, still on an intercept course for your team.
Drained of Essence, barely holding on to your focus through the whirlwind of Hunger still whipping through the air, and two dozen yards away from where you would need to be to intercept the murderous apparition...
Through your years on parahuman battlefields, you have lost men and women you trusted, admired, even cared for because you were too weak or too slow. Logically, even your new, blessed strength, skill, and speed will never be enough to save everyone… but you had hoped, prayed that it would at least be enough to protect those within arms' reach.
Your lips murmur a grief-filled plea to the Great Maker as you desperately fuel a concrete-shattering lunge with every scrap of strength that remains in your frame. You know it won't be enough, but you hope, pray...
... the air around you turns to water … molasses … lead… as the world slowly…
… slowly…
… stops.
Your single-minded dread and panic are shattered in the single, awkward moment of disbelief while the world hangs in perfect stillness, and the Hunger weighing on your mind lifts in a rush of clarity.
Has the Great Maker answered the prayers of the faithful?
A large, dark object streaks across your vision trailing a supersonic shockwave that sends the time-locked world around you - even the Siberian - scattering and sprawling as if it alone were capable of affecting change on the world. Its passing wake spinning you in the air to face towards the ceiling, all you hear next is the messy splattering of tens of thousands of time-frozen insects being obliterated, then the crunch of metal, flesh, and bone.
For a moment, there is only silence.
What was-?
A flicker of memory: the spirit companion of Enduring Order Administrator, stolen by Behemoth, potentially analyzed by the Simurgh, and then held hostage by the Slaughterhouse Nine for nearly a month. A dark, opalescent sphere nearly six feet in diameter, potentially possessing enough power to re-draw regional maps.
The world shakes, thrumming with such power as to vibrate every molecule and atom in the area to form a single, oppressive voice.
IRIS OF INNOVATION PERSONALITY CORE OVERRIDDEN
VISION OF VENGEANCE PERSONALITY CORE ENGAGED
Slowly… slowly… time begins to tick forward, causing your desperate-lunge-turned-awkward-tumble to finally send you spinning away through the air.
The vertical face of a large cardboard box on the fourth row of a shelf provides the surface for your three-point landing, and you hastily grip the shelf's ledge while you snap your head around to take in the new scene below.
Chevalier and Armsmaster are still rising to their feet a few paces from where they were before, their uncertain gazes locked on the figure several yards away: the Siberian spasming around on the floor while holding her head in pain, eyes screwed shut and mouth open in a silent, wordless scream.
Then, from the dark, insect-filled hole in the side of the shipping container, a new sound erupts. It hurts your ears even though your armor, in a way that makes you remember the panic of your first Endbringer fight. It is deep, filled with echoes of tearing metal and flesh, and terrifying in a way that even Behemoth, Leviathan, and the Simurgh never truly were: it is a fear felt not for your life, but for your very soul.
You shudder again, watching as the corrugated metal of the shipping container buckles inward all around the hole you made, where the swarm of insects are similarly being swallowed up by some inexorable force. The two-inch sheet metal screams and tears as it is drawn into a point inside the container, until finally the carriage carrying the container fails completely and the entire thing rips free of the truck and falls to the floor with a crash.
Then, the massive ball of compacted steel and crushed insects begins to melt, without any signs of heat or electrical current.
From within the slowly-reshaping wreckage, the voice echoes again.
Although you do not recognize the words, a part of you understands that this is not the deliverance you prayed for.
***
Now absent the loud, droning buzz of insects that Administrator's swarm had caused, the loading dock and storage warehouse is instead filled with the sound of eerie groans of twisting metal and churning of crushed insect remains. Administrator's smoke-like anima banner has also begun to pour out through the broken mess of metal, and is growing steadily filling the loading bay dock.
At first, it appears Chevalier and Armsmaster are paralyzed by the sight of… whatever is happening with Administrator and her spirit companion… but then you realize that the Siberian is similarly motionless on the ground, her form locked mid-way through a thrash of pain. Has, somehow, Administrator's spirit companion stopped Time once again?
Suddenly, there is heavy impact on the metal roof. A rattling clatter trails down quickly to the edge afterwards, until you see Gust's costumed form fall awkwardly to the concrete pavement just outside the main loading bay door. From your vantage point high up on the fourth row of a storage shelf, you note that his right arm is bent unnaturally across his prone form, but otherwise there is no damage that you can see through his costume. A moment later, there are a few smaller impacts on the roof and the surrounding concrete.
The full implications do not hit you until the radio nestled in your right ear crackles to life with Dragon's panicked voice, the growing wail of the Endbringer Siren rising in the air at the same time.
"This is an emergency call on all PRT-affiliated channels within the major Philadelphia area! If you can hear this and are capable of speech, please respond!"
Your eyes do not widen in dawning horror, for your body is no longer under your own control.
Once again, you have become a prisoner in your own frame.
No! Never again!
The thought is electrifying, both literally and figuratively as your radiant anima - having dimmed only slightly in the dozens of seconds (actual, not just perceived) that have passed since your failed strike against the Siberian - flares to life, purple and white lightning crackling over your crystalline form. The struggle against your limbs falls away under the singled-minded rejection of weakness, and only now can you feel the presence of…
… in any other situation, you would call the sensation 'divine', for it is a feeling of an incomprehensibly vast machine looming over you. It is so uncanny that you even reflexively spin your head to look behind and above you, as if you could actually see the source of the ticking, whirring, crackling, and humming, but there is nothing save thin air. The presence still presses on your mind, regardless of its incorporeality, and you do not doubt that a moment's weakness will allow it to seize control once again.
Blinking, you turn your head back around to keep your eyes on what is becoming of Administrator and her spirit companion. The lightning-filled cloud of choking smoke has grown to completely obscure the massive ball of wrecked metal, and is continuing to grow in size and height such that it has begun to phase seamlessly through the roof of the loading bay.
"Vajra reporting," you intone, careful to keep your voice low out of an instinctual urge to not draw attention to yourself or your freedom of movement. "I do not know for how long."
"Vajra?!" the immediate response comes, worry and urgency pressing her to speak quickly. "You can move? Every person in the surrounding Philadelphia area suddenly locked up and stopped responding a minute ago! From the sensors I have access to, cars are crashing, people are bleeding out in surgery, and some are already losing consciousness because they aren't even breathing!"
A shiver runs down your spine as the pit of dread in your chest forces an automatic response.
"Only humans?"
"What?" comes the incredulous response. "What do you mean?"
"Are insects or animals affected?"
"I…" she draws out, and knowing how quickly the famous Tinker works the pause she requires is significant. "Yes, I… see a few fallen birds in the cameras I have access to right now, but I don't see any insects."
But you can, now that you're looking for it: the remains of the trail of insects left behind when Gust must have escaped the shipping container, while you were momentarily overcome by the oppressive Hunger from before. All the insects that had been immediately around the container have been collected and absorbed into whatever Administrator and her spirit companion are doing within the clouds of her anima, but the insect trail leading out of the loading bay - what few you can see past the lightning-choked smoke - are motionless now.
But the brilliant Tinker makes the connection even without your observation.
"Weaver is doing this?! How?! WHY?!" there is a tinge of despair added to her panic and incredulity now, and you do not fault her for it - you would likely be overcome by similar emotions if not for the Maker's Clarity. "Stop her! People are dying!"
You let go of the shelf supporting your perched frame - armored fingers having crumpled the thin sheet of metal - and fall to the floor with a resounding crack of shattering concrete, now purposefully attempting to draw attention to yourself. Rising to your full height, you turn to face towards the towering pillar of roiling smoke and stride towards it. You walk past the frozen forms of Armsmaster, Chevalier, and the Siberian, only to stop at the edge of the loading ramp.
The entire sunken loading bay is now consumed by the could, including the two other trucks that had been parked next to the one you teleported into. But now that you are so close to the swirling smoke, other sounds can be heard under the crackling of lightning within: the hissing of superheated materials, crunching and tearing of stone and metal, and the muted wailing of damned souls.
"Not Weaver," you say, loud enough to be heard outside your own helmet.
Though the smoke, level with your own helmet, a singular beam of furious red light pierces the smoke as the embodiment of divine wrath gazes upon you.
Reflexively, you drop to your knees in deference and humility, hands placed on the floor slightly in front as you bow. The air where your head just was sizzles and burns, and somewhere behind you there is the sound of an entire shelf being melted in half.
"Great Spirit of Autochthon! Hear the plea of the faithful!" you call out in Old Realm, ignoring the attack while trying to force as much reverence into your Clarity-altered voice as possible.
Once again, you feel the gaze fall upon you.
For a long moment, only sounds of twisted industry issue forth from the acrid clouds of smoke…
… until a voice that makes your fingers twitch - reflexively attempting to ball up in defensive fists despite your desperate need to appear obsequious - tears through the air.
Ignoring Dragon's insistent questions in your ear, as well as the instinctual desire to flee from the source of the voice, you keep your head low enough to almost touch the concrete floor. Similarly, you brush aside any stray thoughts of wonder at actually speaking to a manifestation of Autochthon's divinity, and suppress your panic at not actually knowing proper etiquette for dealing with obviously-powerful spirits.
"Magnificent Spirit! The humans choke and perish, unable to withstand your power! Please, allow them breath so they may sing praises to you and the Great Maker!"
The gaze intensifies, causing your crystalline armor begins to bubble and melt under its intensity. For a moment you can almost feel your entire existence being weighted, to the point where you are certain that it has even sensed your empty Essence reserves and flagging will.
And then you hear a pair of muted gasps from behind you, as Armsmaster and Chevalier take their first lung-fulls of air in over two minutes. You don't hear the sound of their armor moving and you don't dare turn your head to check, but you suspect that they are otherwise still locked in place.
Such a declaration is abjectly horrifying, and you are momentarily disoriented by the idea that Autochthon's chosen companion for Enduring Order Administrator would be so… omnicidal.
Unfortunately, that disorientation is just enough of a crack in your concentration that you feel the weight of the spirit's control settle over your body again, trapping you within your armored prison. As you try to gather the mental strength to throw off the yoke, however, you remember that you've had Dragon's voice in your ear this entire time.
"-ever you're saying to… it, but…" she trails off, before heaving a relieved sigh. "It looks like everyone I can see has resumed breathing normally, Vajra. Have you figured out a way to stop it?"
When you don't immediately respond, nor continue speaking in Old Realm to the spirit, Dragon's tone loses some of its enthusiasm while dropping in volume.
"I can see you through Armsmaster's suit cameras, Vajra, so just hang in there - my Dragonsuit is inbound," she confides. "I've also diverted the next round of supply drops before they entered the effect's range, so right now I only count two downed National Guard and one news helicopter, which were at the edges of the no-fly zone. There's still a lot that I can't see, though, so we need to stop this quickly!"
It is a bitter consolation that the collateral damage from the spirit's callousness will likely have been reduced by the Slaughterhouse Nine's depredations; Shatterbird's Scream, the seeding of bombs across public roads, and homicidal bird-drones meant that practically all forms of transportation have been grounded or shut down completely in the greater Philadelphia area.
But that takes a back seat to the news that Dragon is going to try to confront this spirit via her remote Dragonsuit.
While you do not understand this spirit's motivations or history, your instincts scream to you that inciting its wrath in any way will have apocalyptic ramifications - and trying to wield advanced technology at it will most definitely be construed as an affront.
As that notion settles into your mind, you hear something new from the ever-growing cloud of anima-smoke before you: the rumbling, ominous crunch of unforgiving metal against concrete. The other noises within have mostly dropped away now, save for the crackling of lightning and wailing of tortured souls, so it is a relative silence that descends on the area after that first heavy impact.
After a few seconds, it happens again. And again. And again.
In the thickest, densest adamant armor you can extrude through your newly-converted parahuman power, you are roughly eight feet tall and five feet wide at the shoulders. Your weight varies due to your apparent ability to consciously control how gravity affects your armored form, but should you relax completely while fully outfitted you nearly reach a full ton.
A massive soulsteel gauntlet slams down on your back - crushing fingers almost able to wrap completely around your torso - and then hefts you into the air as if you weigh nothing. The enormous left hand flips you vertical, allowing you to see what has stepped out of the billowing smoke.
Easily double your height, the armored form holding you like a toy is clad in a mixture of soulsteel and other blackened, twisted metals; all across the frame where magical metal and mundane materials meet, sickening rents continually writhe and re-form while lightning-aspected Essence leaks from the openings. Twisted spikes of other magical metals - jade, starmetal, even orichalcum - dot the armor, punching through the soulsteel plate in such a way to appear as if they were being ejected from within.
Staring out from the otherwise-featureless soulsteel helm, a blazing red orb the size of your head radiates power, disdain, and hunger.
Then, in a single, mechanically-efficient motion, the armored monstrosity reaches up with its right hand and rips off your left arm.
Paralyzed as you are, you can only watch as the spirit's gaze lowers to observe how the amputated appendage begins to sizzle, then melt in the palm of the giant gauntlet. Then, just as quickly, the rivers of liquid adamant swiftly seep into the glowing cracks - sealing them completely. The process complete, the spirit's massive eye regards you with increased fervor and the hand reaches up again for your left leg.
"G-...Great… Spirit…" you manage to croak out, throwing off its control of your voice through single-minded desperation. "This-... this humble servant has been tasked by Autochthon himself to aid Enduring Order Administrator in the salvation of the Great Maker!"
The hand pauses, clenched tightly enough around your leg to crack the seven-inch-thick crystalline plating.
The baleful red eye burns with swirling emotions, but the spirit remains silent and unmoving for several long moments. This close, you can see ghostly wisps of howling souls leaking out through the glowing cracks in the armor, only to be drawn into pieces of the blackened mundane metals - causing the material to darken even further and become flush with the nearby soulsteel. You don't have time to think about what that means, however, as you are scrambling for a way to not become spare parts.
In the desperate silence, your healing charm is already slowly reconstituting your lost appendage - it won't be functional for at least a few minutes, but it's not as if it would make a difference in a fight against the spirit. Unfortunately, you aren't certain if this will help or hinder the spirit's enthusiasm to devour your remaining limbs.
There is no lessening in the weight of the spirit's power over your mind and body, so the message is clear: for a chance at life, you must be strong enough to speak.
Unfortunately, you don't even know where to begin. It at least recognized Administrator's name, but the reality-shaking message earlier about 'personality cores' leads you to believe that this new… spirit? persona?... may not remember or know anything about what is going on, or even where it is. Its uncertainty about the lack of souls in nearby humans is more evidence that it has little understanding of its new environment, but that only raises the question of why this 'personality core' is active at all.
If there is one lesson you have learned in the shifting battlefields of parahuman motivations, it is this: find the common enemy.
"Enduring Order Administrator travelled here to bring justice to the ones who would pervert and defile the name of the Great Maker!" you snarl, easily injecting righteous indignation into your voice as you gesture with your remaining arm towards where the Slaughterhouse Nine were likely assembled. "The one called Jack Slash sought to doom any hope of Autochthon's salvation by turning the hearts of the people against him! He even tauntingly showcased your perfect form to grant legitimacy to his heresy!"
The intensity of the eye's gaze is blinding, but you don't dare close your eyes or look away - understanding that any display of weakness now would undoubtedly be fatal. It is clear, now, that this is a - if not the - physical manifestation of the Great Maker's capacity for fury and rage, and you may only survive the whirlwind by being strong enough to stand before it.
The entire head swivels up and away, looking towards where you directed its wrath, but then slowly tracks to the right until it settles in the direction of the farthest corner of the attached warehouse.
And then, out of the corner of your eye, you see a slight twist of space and Jack Slash steps into view. From the frozen expression of genuine shock on his face, you doubt the act was of his own volition.
You turn to observe the divine retribution that is long overdue, only to see the spirit reach down… and then stop. The massive claws on the soulsteel gauntlet are each nearly as long as Jack Slash's arms, and yet they remain fixed - locked in space inches from wrapping the mass-murderer in a fatal embrace.
The searing red eye spins, irising narrower slightly as smoky trails of essence waft from the shifts of power within. After another stretch of ominous silence - filled only with the sounds of crackling lightning and tormented souls - the spirit's hand shifts to extend a single clawed forefinger. With slow, exacting precision, the cruel barb at the end of the gauntlet presses against Jack Slash's forehead just enough to draw a trickle of blood.
Finger still extended, the spirit's gaze sweeps over to the frozen forms of Armsmaster and Chevalier, crimson orb irising wider and narrower as it examines them.
Briefly, the spotlight-like eye is cast over the frozen form of the Siberian - still seemingly holding her head in agony. It hovers on the prone projection for a moment, until the spirit's head swivels nearly ninety degrees to the left, looking at some distant point outside the loading bay doors. Barely a second afterwards, the Siberian flickers briefly, then disappears.
Almost immediately afterwards, however, the entire armored form of the spirit flinches, and the finger pressing against Jack Slash's deer-in-headlights expression pulls back. A deep, resonant grinding of massive gears seems to echo out of the spirit's massive armor - a tone that somehow conveys shock, disbelief, and overwhelming disgust - while the blazing crimson eye whips back to focus on Jack Slash.
A horizontal crack along the bottom-third of the spirit's helmet cracks open, and it roars.
You are cast aside like a forgotten doll, bowling over Chevalier and Armsmaster both as the three of you tumble and crash out into the open yard in front of the warehouse. Your armor takes the damage easily, and you imagine Chevalier's own armor also weathers the impact fine, but your impression of Armsmaster's gear is that of a suit built more for mobility and dexterity than endurance. Unfortunately, when you finally do stop tumbling, you realize that the shock has disrupted your concentration again and you are now… stuck, tangled up with the other heroes and face-down against the concrete.
But when the voice of Jack Slash cuts through the resulting silence with a scream born of supernatural terror, shock, and pain, you decide that… maybe rushing back in is not the best idea at the moment. The spirit would most definitely not appreciate being interrupted, so now that you aren't immediately being threatened with dismemberment you can take stock of what you know, and consider how to proceed.
From what you have witnessed, combined with Administrator's recollection of her spirit companion's personality and powers, it is clear that this is not what Administrator expected to happen when they were reunited. She guessed that the spirit would be largely dormant - if not completely disabled - while it was deprived of Essence, but judging by the events of the last few minutes that was obviously not the case. Though, judging by Jack Slash's unearthly screams of torment, it's obvious that whatever influence the Slaughterhouse Nine had on their captive spirit, it didn't enjoy the experience.
Which brings you to the "personality core" exchange from earlier: was this merely a 'mode' swap, akin to changing its attitude and capabilities but retaining everything else, or do the two differing personalities not share memories? Your instincts point to the latter, given its confusion regarding the lack of souls in the surrounding humans and how it needed to be pointed towards Jack Slash to actually go after him, but the fact that its hand was stilled when you gave it Enduring Order Administrator's name is concerning. Does it know of Administrator from some earlier time? There is no way she would have omitted meeting - or witnessing - this spirit.
If, then, the spirit is largely the same in terms of capabilities and limitations, then separating the spirit's core from Administrator should break the Essence flow it needs to remain active. Given that the spirit has pinned itself against, or - if the sound of crunching bones from earlier was any indication - inside Administrator, and then built a truly legendary set of armor around the both of them, this weakness appears to have been identified and countered by the spirit already. The part of you that grew up in the tall, grassy plains wonders if you would be capable of surmounting that challenge while fully-armed and rested, but your life is too valuable now to throw it away like that. Especially since right now you struggle to even remain in control of your own body.
Through the deserved screams of a tormented heretic, your radio earbud crackles to life again, though the question that comes through is whispered.
"Vajra, are you there?"
Slowly, too slowly, you manage an intake of breath.
"Here."
"Alright," she sighs, voice growing pained. "You're certain the effect is centered where you are? That armored… spirit?"
Though you answer, "Yes," you already know where this is headed.
"My suit is about to enter the area of effect, but… Vajra," she admits, as if the blame were hers, "the PRT has authorized missile strikes if we can't stop this in the next ten minutes."
"Stop... them," you growl through gritted teeth.
"I'm trying! But the entire Slaughterhouse Nine are there, Vajra, and we don't know for certain that it won't work."
You don't know what concerns you more: what happens when it doesn't, or what happens if it does. But the PRT has already heard Administrator's speech, so perhaps they consider this a test of their own.
"Delay."
"What do you want me to-... wait-"
Jack Slash's screams cut out abruptly, and Dragon's voice rises in panic.
"Vajra, my suit-!"
But then her voice cuts off as well, your earpiece shrieking and popping as it burns out from channeling the voice of an enraged god.
In the moment of silence that follows, you force your eyelids closed.
The screaming resumes.
Eventually, you open your eyes again. You might as well attempt to carry the three heroes to safety before-
You blink, simply to confirm that your eyes are still functioning correctly.
An ant is crawling across your helmet's faceplate.
Turning your head enough to look towards the loading bay, you see a number of insects now skittering around chaotically across the damaged concrete.
Perhaps you are not the only one struggling to wrest control of your body away from the spirit.
Jack's screaming trails off, slowly this time, but as it does you feel the stirring of Armsmaster and Chevalier around you. Before your hope rises any further, however, you immediately note that their movements are far too orderly, and in no way match the patterns of an experienced combatant shifting to a defensive posture. Instead, the two climb to their feet, and then calmly march back into the loading bay - mechanically picking up the twitching body of Gust along the way. At the same time, the pressure over your own body rises, clearly intending to direct your movements in a similar manner.
But your Faith in Enduring Order Administrator is stronger.
You begin to walk.
***
You don't bother trying to mimic the gait of the other heroes when you stride back into the warehouse's loading bay, as the spirit has already demonstrated awareness of everything under its sway; you're uncertain if denying control also denies its ability to see through your eyes, but you don't think it would be wise to try to blatantly deceive the spirit at this point.
Especially now that you see what it has been doing to the focus of its ire.
Most of the shelving units near where the Slaughterhouse Nine had gathered are gone now, giving you a clear view of the area. Only jagged bits and pieces of metal, plastic, and cardboard litter the area, in such a way as to make it look like the the shelves and their contents almost… shattered?... before being absorbed by the spirit. Its armored suit looks more finished - fewer gaping seams, better overall symmetry to the armor's design - even if it's slightly smaller now.
The ghostly wisps surrounding it before are more prominent now, almost appearing as a localized whirlwind of moaning souls, though they don't look like they're constantly being drawn into the armor anymore. Instead, they swirl around the area in a wide enough arc to sometimes pass harmlessly through the small crowd that has gathered around the spirit - a crowd composed of your unmoving Protectorate allies, the dozen-or-so bloody hostages that the Nine had with them here, and the similarly-rigid members of the Slaughterhouse Nine. Shatterbird - minus an arm, somehow - has a familiar deer-in-headlights expression on her frozen countenance, while Mannequin is simply living up to his namesake.
And in the eye of that spectral maelstrom, a screaming body flensed of all flesh.
The victim is not struggling, though you're uncertain if that's because of the black spikes holding down its hands, elbows, feet, and knees… or simply because the spirit is preventing him from doing so through Administrator's stolen power.
You do not wish to dwell upon why it is allowing Jack Slash to scream.
What you instead chose to focus on is the disorienting twist in space - hovering flush with Jack Slash's forehead - through which most of the spirit's right arm has been pushed through.
Uncertain of what exactly you are observing, you decide to push through the crowd and join the congregation's front row, taking up a rigid stance next to Chevalier.
As you watch, crackling bolts of lightning arc through the various spikes on the spirit's armor, before eventually coalescing around its arm and channeling down it. As the charge passes from view, the screaming of Jack Slash takes on a discordant, searing tone - until you realize that the second tone is coming from within the portal.
There is a flicker of pressure on your mind, but after a moment it passes.
You do not genuflect or prostrate yourself, but rather shift to stand at attention.
"Great Spirit?"
And then the hulking, armored figure rears back from where it is kneeling beside Jack Slash's body, pulling its hand out of the twisted space… dragging a sizzling, charred tentacle of inhuman flesh. The screaming from the flayed body cuts out, but the hissing sound rises in intensity.
The massive helmet shifts to regard you with a swirling, crimson eye.
You blink, look at the grotesque protrusion of flesh, and then meet the spirit's gaze again.
"I do not know what that is, Great Spirit."
Though it is lacking any discernible facial features besides the glowing red orb, the metal aperture around the eye shifts in such a way that you immediately understand that you will likely not survive another answer like that.
The spirit's left gauntlet reaches out and makes a sweeping gesture at the other assembled heroes and villains.
Underneath your helmet, your brow furrows on reflex… until you make the connection. Turning your head enough to see the other parahumans in the crowd, you wish this conversation could be held in English so that they, too, could understand what they are now witnessing.
"For four decades," you begin, turning your head back to meet the spirit's gaze, "random humans have gained powers unnatural. Why, or how, we have not known."
The spirit is silent, the blazing eye judging as it remains fixated upon you, until it turns to observe the twitching tentacle grasped in its hand.
"I possessed power over bones, before I was chosen by Enduring Order Administrator and Exalted by Autochthon," you intone, causing the spirit's gaze to snap back to you again. Under its scrutiny, you raise your newly-regrown left hand, palm facing upwards, and then push outwards with your charm to shape a spear of cerulean adamant crystal. "The Great Maker saw how my power afflicted me, then took it as his own and perfected it. It serves me, now."
The eye dims, the spinning of shadowed gears barely visible through the glow, and the pressure of its scrutiny fades. Almost absently, the empty left hand sweeps over to pluck the lance of adamant from your palm, then clenches its fist around it.
Suddenly, there is a stuttering, grinding noise from within the spirit's armored chest - the sounds of great gears stopping and starting in an uneven, uncomfortable rhythm. The sound grows, moving up its torso, until the head itself seems to rattle with that discordant tone.
It holds up the shivering tentacle high with its right arm, then opens its left fist - revealing that your adamant spear has been turned into a long, wicked spike of soulsteel. With a jerking, pulling motion, it yanks the tentacle out so that it is parallel with the ground, then slams the soulsteel rail into it, pinning it firmly.
The spirit observes its handiwork for a moment, then looks to you while opening its left gauntlet in a beckoning motion. Not able to think of a line of reasoning to deny its request - without enraging it again, at least - you generate another spear. Plucking it from your grasp, the spirit regards the parahumans beside you.
The 'screams' emitting from the twist in space in Jack Slash's head continue for a few more minutes, waning slightly until the extraction and stapling of another tendril causes the subsonic hissing to fill the warehouse again. After the spirit finishes with the fifth tendril, however, it shoves its right arm into the portal and pours a continual stream of lightning through - an act that makes the alien creature's death throes cut out immediately, but the twitching of the tentacles shifts to desperate struggling.
The Great Maker's gift of Clarity does not make the torture enjoyable to watch, per say, and under different circumstances you would have undoubtedly moved to protest once the disturbing spectacle began. As it stands now, you have remained silent in hopes of understanding why the spirits continues to hold the local region under its thrall, but another impending matter forces you to draw the wrathful spirit's attention once more.
"Great Spirit!" you shout over electrical mayhem, avoiding any tone of voice that might be considered accusatory. "The human government protests your control of the populace, and will bombard this location should their free will not be returned!"
The currents of lightning down the spirit's arm subsides, but does not cut out entirely, and the massive helmet's baleful red eye bares down upon you with enough heat to visibly warm the air. The gaze intensifies over the course of a dozen tense moments, but you do not flinch or avert your own eyes from the increasingly-painful examination.
Until, finally, the spirit finds whatever it is looking for and the grinding, discordant voice shatters the air again.
"B̰̻̲̮̥̹ͧ̈̔ͤͅO͆̃M͇͔̹͙̼ͫ͛̂̀B̹͕̦͌̇͐̅A̖͛̉̎R̙̪̙̟̦̔̒̂̇ͫ̒̄ͅD̜̝̺̤̟ͭͬ̉̇M̯̱̯̓ͤ͂̏ͥ͂͂Ė̪̖̘N̮͈T̫͒̍̂," it sneers, gaze dimming. "E͙͓̹̻̞͕̔̂͂̉ͯ̒̍X̥̰̥̼̥P̞̣̰̮̠̺ͭ̐ͮ̋͐L͎͙̳̬̩͓͐̌̂͂AIͨ̾̾̅̌N̖͇̙̞ͭ."
You aren't certain what kind of response you were going to receive, but you are again scrambling to make sense of the spirit's vague declarations. Administrator's descriptions of Autochthonia's technology level implied that they were still largely medieval, with melee and archery combat the cornerstone of their military doctrine; does the spirit not understand the concept of long-range missile strikes? How do you explain such to a wrathful spirit of technology without insulting it?
The answer, of course, is that you don't.
"These criminals and heretics," you growl, seeking to appeal to the core of the vengeful spirit, "have evaded justice for decades, their group one of the most heinous threats to peaceful existence on the planet. The local peacekeepers sacrificed innocents and heroes to eliminate isolated members in the past; with the remaining members trapped here, they will rain fire from the sky without reservation."
The spirit's gaze burns hotter than the savannah sun, and when it sweeps away to land on the Slaughterhouse Nine members, Shatterbird's face visibly reddens and blisters.
But it is a different light that shines through the crimson orb when it swings back to focus down on you once more, shadows of vast, spinning gears now visible through eye.
Where before the ever-present weight of the spirit's stolen power has felt like a massive hand reaching down to grasp control of your mind and body, you suddenly feel it shift - brazenly displaying exactly what it would have you do, should your will falter. Nevertheless, the message is still clear.
You turn around.
Where once there was just over a dozen paralyzed spectators in the audience, that number has easily quadrupled - and the stream of civilians mechanically striding in through the other warehouse entrances increases by the second. Your focus so narrowed on the spirit's actions, the sounds of torture filling the air, and your will strained to keep control of your body… even still, it is shameful you missed such a shift in the battlefield over the past several minutes.
You had hoped to convince the spirit to allow you to evacuate with your teammates and hostages, as the spirit is undoubtedly potent enough to shrug off anything below nuclear weaponry. But now, it has simply thrown more innocents into the pyre.
"This is not enough, Great Spirit!" you roar, spinning back to face the massive soulsteel juggernaut. "A hundred, two hundred innocents would be a drop against the tide of future lives! This waste will only turn the humans against the Great Maker-!"
A blur of soulsteel cuts you off, a massive soulsteel gauntlet wrapped around your torso crushing the breath from your lungs. The eye is blinding in its terrible brilliance.
Extracting its right arm from the portal, the armored behemoth reaches up with thumb and forefinger to pry off your helmet-
The spirit's gaze suddenly loses focus for a split-second, only to whip upwards through the ceiling faster than you can track. Less than a heartbeat later, a thunderous roar fills the air as a crimson-and-black beam of pure annihilation erupts from the singular orb.
Eventually, the beam cuts out.
All is silent for several long seconds, save for the hissing stream of molten metal dripping from the enormous hole in the roof onto the spirit's armor - which it immediately absorbs. The spirit's head twitches occasionally, its spotlight-like gaze scanning the horizon for another solid minute until it finally turns back to you.
The shadows of gears, spinning and winding.
You shake your head.
Rumbling, shuddering machinery can be heard echoing from the spirit's chest.
"H̳͍͊̄ͮ̒͒U͎̺̫̤̭ͥ̽M̼̣͍̽ͯ̽̑̆͑̚A̝̠͉N̠͎ͣS̠̦̩͉̯̏̈́."
It tosses you aside, and gets back to work.
***
It is difficult to measure time, as the subsonic screams of the creature coupled with the spirit's continued presence against your mind makes the seconds blur into minutes. The only breaks are when the spirit pauses its electrifying torture, perhaps feeling, seeing, or hearing something beyond the twist in space through which it plunged its right arm.
It is clearly learning something, but you will not tip the razor's edge and wantonly draw its attention again.
You do eventually remember to keep track of your surroundings, observing that the crowd of panicked-looking civilians continues to grow. With Administrator's billowing anima pouring from the nightmarishly-armored behemoth, as the figure pours lightning into - and through - a flayed body… it is unsurprising that most of the crowd's faces are stuck, rictus-like, in startled horror.
The pattern continues like this, until…
...like a struggling, tired, sentinel…
... your will slips.
Despite how fear seizes hold of your mind, the spirit does not seem to notice... immediately, at least. Even despite the lapse of concentration coinciding with a moment of silence from the armored figure, it does not move to strike you down or rip you apart for what it will undoubtedly perceive as weakness - whatever the spirit is currently perceiving clearly being more important than your loss of control.
And then, out near the loading bay, there is a crash of rending, collapsing metal.
Your own considerable frame allows you to easily see over most of the crowd, but the source of the commotion is behind you. When the spirit doesn't appear to move or react to the noise, however, you begin struggling anew against its control… but you have pushed too hard, for too long without respite; your reserves of precious Essence are still but a meagre trickle, and even the simplest thoughts feel like they're being hauled through a muddy riverbank. All you have now is hope, faith in Administrator-
The Siberian walks into view.
If you had not lost your focus earlier, this undoubtedly would have broken it - your mind tumbling into a slurry of disbelief, confusion, and despair. Is the apparition truly immune to-…
… the Siberian steps up to you, reaches behind your back, and pulls out one of the two grenades that Administrator gave you earlier. That were discretely hidden within a protective pocket-shell of extruded Adamant.
The sound of crackling lightning subsides, and the spirit turns its head to stare at the striped woman. It does not lash out and destroy the projection - as it undoubtedly is capable of doing - but instead keeps its solitary eye focused on the black-and-white terror.
Dark, terrible gears grind and turn, shadowed through the crimson radiance.
With swift, mechanically-efficient movements, the Siberian strides to Chevalier, and then Armsmaster, but it does not need to pat them down for its targets; her hands reach to a single spot on their armored forms before moving on, and extract the sought-out grenade from the otherwise-indistinguishable compartment or pocket.
Your hope, your faith has been vindicated.
For a moment, you struggle to free yourself of the spirit's control once again and speak to your Assembly leader. Ways you might be able to assist her race through your mind as the zebra-striped manifestation shifts the grenades into one hand and then…
… sticks one grenade onto Shatterbird's chest, another on Mannequin…
… then slings both paralyzed figures over her shoulder and walks out with them.
The spirit watches her go, gaze lingering for a long moment before turning back to the flayed body. It does not resume its grisly work.
Silence stretches for at least a minute, perhaps two.
A sharp, thunderous explosion breaks the tension, but the spirit does not react, nor does it react to the clattering noises and second explosion that follow shortly afterward.
Tension rises as silence reigns again, until finally there is a third explosion.
Just as you are wondering what comes next in Administrator's plan, the roiling clouds of anima pouring from the spirit's armored shoulders sputter and choke - along with it, the lightning coursing across its body - and the ever-present churning of gears suddenly sounds like a diesel engine running out of fuel.
Anything past that is lost, however, as the spirit's hold over your mind and body vanishes just as suddenly as it initially struck-...
The world devolves into screaming.
***
All your ideas of breaking the spirit's control revolved around neutering - or outright dispersing - the spirit itself-
Chevalier staggers back, stumbling as the civilians around him struggle and flail in panic and fear. His gauntlets whip to his helmet, and he cradles his head while desperately trying not to collapse. If he is saying anything, you can't hear him through the chaos and your broken earpiece.
Beside him, Armsmaster catches himself more quickly, then raises his halberd defensively while whipping his visored gaze to you.
"What-!"
But that's all you see as you desperately throw yourself to the side to avoid being snatched up again in the massive soulsteel gauntlet, consciously lightening your armored form so that you can flip, roll, and kick off the top of the crowd instead of crushing them as you go.
The spirit, however, gives no thought to the civilians in his wake.
It does not roar. It does not utter ruthless demands with a soul-shuddering voice. There are no more glimpses of gear-like shadows, hinting at its dark intelligence.
The brilliant, crimson orb bleeds torrents of essence, and anything under its gaze is unmade through the rage of a god.
You will not turn it from this new path with words. Running on fumes, standing against it will only hasten your end.
All you need to do is buy time. So you run.
There is a sharp spike in the screams filling the air from the spirit's passing, but in seconds you have left the warehouse far behind, streaking through the filthy, dilapidated, service streets that wind through the oil processing center. Destruction follows hot on your heels - the first nearby storage tank detonating as the spirit's armored form smashes straight through it, red eye blazing.
If the spirit can strike down missiles from the sky, you aren't going to risk your relative inexperience with your Plasma Thruster Assembly. But that isn't your only mobility charm.
Anima exploding to life around you as you preternaturally evade another diving swipe, then lash out with the barely-perceptible tether generated in your right hand towards the exhaust tower in the distance. The charm needs no travel time, so with a wrench of your arm you abruptly change direction mid-air and go hurtling into the broken-down tower's superstructure - landing feet-first so that you can immediately launch yourself behind another warehouse.
You don't even bother turning around at the sound of the tower being torn in half, since you're all-out sprinting the second your feet hit the ground, but you manage to notice the tell-tale whistling of air passing through metal grates just before the remains of the shattered metal smokestack slam down close enough to clip your left shoulder. You roll forward with the blow as the air around you fills with soot and dust, then whip your right hand out and pull yourself away before the spirit's massive open palm slaps down in an attempt to pin you.
Move. Dodge the already-incoming strike.
Leap. Twist away from the grasping, jagged fingers.
Sprint. Jump to avoid having your legs melted off in a wash of angry red light.
The world shatters, burns, breaks, and explodes around you, and all sense of direction is quickly lost. You never had cause to enter this industrial district during your career with the Protectorate, and tactical awareness is Administrator's responsibility.
But the Clarity of the Great Maker gives you focus. There is only you and the manifestation of the Great Maker's wrath - as a facet of his greatness, there are patterns to his movements that are just barely perceptible to your combat-honed reflexes. Nothing that you can put to words, if there even exist words in human tongues for such things, but so far it has been your saving grace.
Until the concussive boom of a cannon shot results in the solid, metal-sounding impact behind you.
The expected strike - just as you're leaping from the soot-covered side-street - comes a heartbeat later, and is off by a wider margin than normal.
There is no roar of disbelief, rage, or shock, but you don't turn around to confirm your suspicions of what just happened. Instead, you keep pulling on the invisible tether, keep shoving off of brick walls, keep kicking off metal railings.
The spirit continues its work as your rampaging, world-shattering shadow.
Despite the small spark of gratitude that Chevalier's inspired, you pray that you'll be able to hold out long enough to berate him for his foolishness later.
Not for trying to draw it of you himself, of course. Your long-time commander is far smarter than that.
No, that was a familiar tactic to either draw a target into a trap, or to tell you that such a trap is ready. You normally don't play the role of the 'bait', but you've seen this tactic in action enough to know its mechanisms.
But he doesn't know what you felt from the spirit, what some unknown parts of your soul whisper to you.
Nothing they can possibly have will stop this spirit now, and there have been too many deaths today.
Besides, Chevalier is not your commanding officer.
You will buy the time Enduring Order Administrator needs.
It will-
Focus lost, you pull away from the crumbling rooftop a second too late.
Scarlet light fills your vision, and the world spins wildly as you try to find purchase with what remains of your body - mostly just your right arm and leg, from what you can still feel.
Desperately, you cast the grappling tether at a distant rail and pull again, but a massive gauntlet snatches you out of the air with casual ease.
Holding you in its right hand, the massive, armored spirit regards you with a blazing corona of agonizing crimson…
… echoes of fires, rolling explosions, and alarms fill the air…
… as the spirit just…
… stands there…
… looking at you.
You feel that you are missing something important, staring back up from your position in the massive soulsteel gauntlet, but for now you choose to keep your mouth closed and pray that the gathered reinforcements don't interfere again.
Then the eye flickers, briefly.
Their ghastly wails and moans reaching a fever pitch, the trailing hurricane of disembodied souls swirling around the spirit's armored form abruptly freeze in the air, then get sucked into the cracks and joints of the armor with a sound like a giant drawing in breath. Above it, the swirling pillar of Administrator's towering anima similarly is sucked down… down… down…
Less than five seconds after the eye flickered, every surrounding effect - the souls, the anima, the lightning across its body - is gone. As for the eye itself…
The head turns, slowly, with the sounds of collapsing machinery, as it regards the destruction around it. Eventually, it brings its gaze back to bear upon your ruined form in its grasp. It is a pale light now, allowing you a glimpse at the agony that fuels its holy wrath, but its voice is as painful and furious as you have ever heard it.
With the sound of a bulb burning out, the crimson orb is extinguished.
All background noise ceases as the world lurches to a halt.
VISION OF VENGEANCE PERSONALITY CORE DISENGAGED
The words are intoned by every atom, through every molecule, via every particle.
IRIS OF INNOVATION PERSONALITY CORE ENGAGED
Like an old record player spinning back up, the world races to catch up with Time.
Still held as you are, it's immediately apparent that something is wrong when the armor begins trembling. It starts small, less than even the vibration caused by those ominous words spoken when Time was made to show deference.
Within a few beats of what's left of your heart, the whole massive armor is shaking and rattling, scintillating rainbows of energy pouring through every crack, joint, and seam in the armor - all except the eye, which remains dull and hollow. The armor groans and strains as any pieces of it that still aren't made of magical metals burst open, failing to contain the power within as it pours through with the sound of someone lying down atop a pipe organ.
You've been a hero long enough to know where this is headed. Unfortunately, your lack of a left side allowed the massive soulsteel gauntlet to encircle you completely… and it's still locked in a death grip.
Your Clarity-aspected mind considers that Kali would approve of your last thought being a pun.
Closing your eyes, you allow yourself to go limp in order to minimize the force of the blast-
With an ungraceful spasm, the hand comes to life and flings you away, sending you tumbling awkwardly onto the dirt road.
Idly, as you prop your remaining half up off the ground and turn back, you say another prayer of thanks to the Great Maker for blessing you with a charm to suppress pain.
The entirety - except the eye - of the fifteen-plus-foot soulsteel monstrosity is glowing with that shimmering rainbow radiance. As you watch, stunned, large chunks begin to boil away with a screech and release small puffs of wayward souls - that are then immediately sucked back in through the dull, vacant eye. The process continues, with the entire armor shifting and shrinking with each sublimated portion, until you would guess it's roughly as tall as you are now. Spikes rearrange themselves to be more ordered and tactically sound, plates bend and flex so that their layers would function for a normal human's range of motion, but the largest difference is the reconfiguration of the chestplate; where before it was solid mass of stacked plates, there is now some sort of stylized hole in the center.
The high, surrounding collar, full helmet, and dull, red eye, remain largely unchanged besides their reduced size.
All this happens over the course of long minute, and by the end the blinding glow has tapered off to a dull sheen emanating from the dark, obsidian soulsteel armor. Eventually, the glow fades entirely.
At first glance, having not seen the transformation, you would be pressed to point out the differences… besides the size, of course. It is still a thick, powerful, terrifying armor, but now it simply looks…
… better? More efficient?
The thought makes you exceptionally wary.
Especially when the red eye lights up again.
The glow is harsh, but unfocused for a moment, before the aperture surrounding it irises closed fully once, twice, three times at varying speeds. It raises both hands up to look down at them, flexes them in the same pattern, then stretches in a quick, textbook series of mechanically-precise calisthenics. The smooth lines running all along the armor glow slightly, afterwards, and you see different parts of the armor shimmer and glow briefly before fading away.
Finally, it turns to you.
As the eye's aperture shifts into the approximation of a smug grin, the figure strikes a classic Alexandria pose and speaks with a warbling, echoing tone that would communicate cheer and exhaustion... were it not for the odd, discordant harmony layered on top.
"SATISFACTION!"
Then an oversized cannonball hits it in the back of the head, sending the figure sprawling.
***
Focusing your healing charm on your respiratory system first, it only takes a few minutes for enough of your… internals… to allow you to speak again.
Thankfully, your frantic hopping and waving are correctly deduced as a plea to stop attacking the… new?... old?... spirit, since you are in no shape to go a second round.
The spirit seemed more resigned and weary than affronted, though you haven't heard it speak since that single declaration. If anything, the fact that it has stayed down, sprawled on its back, staring at the sky without moving has done more to step down the assembled 'rescue' group than anything it - or you - might have tried to say if it had stood back up.
There had been a brief spike in tension when a whooshing, airy noise had come from it, until it became clear that the noise had been some kind of sigh.
Though from his body language, you think Eidolon was more disappointed than disarmed by the spirit's change in attitude. If Legend shares the same thought, however, his half-mask and terse frown hide it well.
Chevalier and Armsmaster are both still here, of course, though Gust has been transported to the relief station for treatment - a number of broken bones, but nothing critical was punctured. Weld and Clockblocker are also here, likely because of their powers, but the most alarming presence is the one that very clearly would rather be anywhere else:
Bonesaw.
You had quickly removed your helmet to increase the expressiveness of your body language, so Legend is able to track your gaze to the fidgeting pre-teen - guarded by a hovering Eidolon - while he waits for your voice to return.
"Bait," he sighs under his breath, only loud enough for you to hear, and it's clear he doesn't approve either - though you suspect that some of that is because he'd rather she not be functional at all.
Frowning, since you doubt Administrator kept her alive for that reason, you try another intake and exhalation, and get enough of a rasp that it only takes you a few more clearings of your throat to produce an acceptable, solid tone. At the sound, the group's attention turns to you - except for Armsmaster, who keeps watch over the still, armored figure.
Chevalier shifts, again silently offering support, but you shake your head and turn to Legend.
"I must speak with the spirit."
Legend's frown tightens.
"Vajra…" he tries, loud enough for everyone to hear his disappointment and concern, "what happened here?"
Turning your head, you address Chevalier's helmet.
"Did Time stop for you?"
Despite the tension in air, Clockblocker heaves a sigh.
"It could stop time, too? Glad we know that now."
You ignore the interruption, focusing only on the Protectorate leader. His helmet twitches towards the costumed teen, but he otherwise appears to match your gaze.
"I didn't notice anything like that, no… it just seemed like things fell apart quickly from the start. Did you notice something?"
You nod solemnly, your face otherwise impassive as you turn back to Legend.
"Just after the Siberian re-appeared after dodging my attack, Time halted as the spirit…" you pause, catching your one-lung of breath. "The translation into English would be: 'Iris of Innovation personality core overridden, Vision of Vengeance personality core engaged.' Just as it managed to grab me, it spoke the reverse and then transformed into-" you nod with your head to the sprawled, armored figure several dozen meters away, "that."
English is not capable of communicating the many layers of meaning behind those words - layers that still confuse you. Specifically, the implication that these 'cores' were programs, not personalities, and that they were not the speaker. Considering this now, after everything that has happened, you will keep to the simplified English translation.
"'Vengeance'?" Legend repeats with a tone of disbelief, the first to say it but not the only one to wonder it. His gaze trails around to the still-on-fire scenery, which is providing enough ambient light and heat to ward away the night sky. "This was all about revenge? Why the whole city?"
"I believe that personality… did not share its memories with its twin, and is only summoned when…" you pause again, and attempt to inject disapproval in your voice, "collateral damage is the intent. But I do not believe the switch was intentional."
Out of the corner of your eye, Bonesaw shuffles awkwardly. Everyone else makes noises of displeasure and understanding, with Chevalier spitting out the name that summarizes the situation.
"Jack Slash."
"Yes," you confirm, despite your own uncertainty. "What remains?"
Legend makes a low, angry sound.
"We," he admits, casting a glance at a nodding Eidolon, "saw what was left, and Armsmaster has a record. It was starting to… leak... so after we got the survivors away into quarantine, we purged the remains until Eidolon confirmed nothing else was getting out. Jack Slash is confirmed killed in the field."
After a brief, stunned pause that follows that declaration, Armsmaster twitches in his readied combat stance.
"That was Weaver's power," he states, voice hard. "Had she been hiding it this whole time?"
You are careful to hold yourself still, though it is far easier not to be susceptible to emotional reactions with the benediction of the Great Maker's Clarity. For everyone else, their reactions are more telling: Chevalier flinches, Eidolon and Legend share a glance, the Wards both appear confused before reeling back, and Bonesaw… attempting to hide her excitement? You will try to remember that later.
"No," you state, your voice as hard as your caste. "She would not hide such from her Assembly, and I was caught unaware. She would not hide such from the PRT, for the Truth would out."
The adults take this with varying degrees of belief, but Clockblocker and Weld are still trying to recover - Weld, silently, as is his way, while Clockblocker… not.
"What the fuck? No... really," he growls, afraid of the truth. "What the actual fuck? That was TAYLOR?"
You regard him evenly.
"Jack Slash and the Slaughterhouse Nine, cornered, unleashed a weapon of mass destruction. The weapon was stopped before it could run to its completion. That is the Truth."
Clockblocker reels back as if slapped, but before he can gather himself Weld places a hand on his shoulder and silences him with a defeated expression - which he then turns to you.
"She's gone, isn't she?"
You meet his eyes, but remain silent as you gather your thoughts.
"She remains," you begin, before turning to Chevalier. "That was she, using the Siberian to annihilate the remaining Nine. Fighting from within to break the vengeful spirit's grasp."
Chevalier audibly sighs, sagging slightly in his armor, then nods.
You turn back to Legend, who has focused his gaze on the figure staring up at the smoke-choked night sky.
"I must speak with the Iris of Innovation."
***
The spirit does not talk back.
It doesn't try to kill you, or anyone else around you, either. A marked improvement.
Instead, it continues to lie on its back, doing nothing but blinking its red eye - now more akin to a stop light than a beam of annihilation.
You first attempt to speak in English, opting for transparency for your peers, as you distantly recall Administrator's comment about how the spirit lamented the inefficiency of the language. When three requests of varying politeness fail to elicit an answer, however, you receive a silent nod of approval from Legend - your temporary crutch - to attempt in Old Realm.
"Great Spirit, what has become of Enduring Order Administrator?"
Blink. Blink-blink. Blink.
You are reasonably certain that spirits of the Great Maker do not require… sleep… but this evening has been a demonstration of how little you actually know about Him. Unfortunately, Clockblocker shares your train of thought.
"Don't computers blink when you put them in Sleep mode?"
Thankfully, you're spared any further potential heresy by Armsmaster cutting the Ward off with a raised arm and a grunt. The group is silent for several long seconds, until he manages a clipped explanation.
"Morse code. Countdown."
No one takes the news well, with Clockblocker unleashing an undercurrent of swearing that belies Aisha's influence, but Legend remains grimly focused.
"How long do we have?"
Armsmaster seems to have relaxed marginally, for some reason, and is now focused on typing on his left bracer's built-in keypad.
"Thirty-nine minutes, fourteen seconds."
Not willing to give up the last shred of faith you have, you manage a plea to the armor-bound spirit.
"Iris of Innovation, please! Speak! What are you impending?!"
Silence, for a long moment.
The blinking stops.
"Ah fuck," Clockblocker groans with the resignation of a dead man, while everyone else assumes varying martial stances that might somehow make them more capable of withstanding a point-blank explosion.
… except, several heartbeats later, nothing has exploded yet.
The blinking resumes. Different, this time.
"A. E. O. A. E. O."
"Enduring Order Administrator," you breathe out, your first full breath in what feels like hours.
Immediately after speak the name, the blinking stops - briefly - then resumes what seems to be the same countdown sequence. After a moment of rapt anticipation, Armsmaster confirms.
The tension washes away so swiftly, it almost bowls the younger ones over in relief. Legend, for his part, walks you a few feet over to the nearest pile of rubble and lets you sit down - your hip now finally finished regrowing. The lack of a leg still makes it awkward, but motion that you can manage without his support. He manages a half-smile in return.
"I'm not sure I trust anyone but Eidolon watching over Bonesaw right now, so I'm on firefighter duty. You going to be ok here?"
Turning your head slightly, you gaze past him into the acrid, smoke-belching flames that make up the surrounding skyline. Past it, you know that there will be even worse fires - of both kinds - to combat, sparked by the perversion of Administrator's power and everything that implies. But those were not her fault, and that is Truth.
Those responsible have paid with fire and blood. The Slaughterhouse Nine is no more.
Many were lost, but far, far fewer than was ever expected. For all the darkness of the past two days, the world is a brighter place.
If your Assembly can manage this with just two...
You meet his eyes again, and nod.
"I have faith."
***
EOA - Wounds: None EOA - Ailments: None EOA - Current Willpower: 10 EOA - Current Clarity: 9 (-3 to Compassion rolls, -3 to social interactions, +3 to interactions with spirits, +1 to rolls involving memory, analysis, self-control)
FPoP - Wounds: None FPoP - Ailments: None FPoP - Current Willpower: 1 FPoP - Current Clarity: 7 (-2 to compassion and social rolls, +2 to interactions with spirits)
Only took dang near 18 months to see it done. Sheesh.
Still! Plenty to do while we do a quick 7-day time-skip to when the Cradle pops out... whatever is going to come out. In fact, we'll see what's going to emerge in the upcoming Interlude!
For Arc 9, much like when Marrow became Prayer, we're going to be switching to the Twins' POV. However, since there was a bit of concern about not knowing what was going on with Taylor, the first part of the 9.1 Vote will be for how much time we want to spend in the Twins' shoes.
Missy, of course, survived. So did everyone that still had an intact brain, which means Bladedancer, Penny, and Aisha are back up, but Bulldozer is toast. Dragon is also fine, if a bit shell-shocked from having half of her server farm slagged.
Unfortunately for those of us that wanted to Exalt Missy immediately, doing so when things aren't blowing up around us and people are dying... is looked upon much more harshly. ESPECIALLY since the Youth Guard is braying that we/the PRT (PRT blamed for letting it happen, since they're the adults) took advantage of the situation to basically abduct the Twins. As a result, in the week between now and when the Twins emerge, she is healed up by Wyld and is forced to take time off from hero work and stay with her new foster family. ALL the Wards are actually on mandatory vacation at this point, which is of course pissing of the Wards, but cleaning up bodies and trying to put the city back together is - legitimately - not something to be left to children.
Which leaves us with Legend's offer to jump to the Protectorate.
In the week that follows the Slaughterhouse Nine's erasure, we will secure our legal emancipation due to some expedited paperwork. With that done, it is possible for us to officially join the Protectorate via some crafty loopholes that effectively boil down to, "I am too powerful and too valuable for the kiddy table. Come at me, bro." This would allow us to avoid a lot of the messes with the Youth Guard, allow us to shed a lot of the rules that have been binding us (no more school!), but it will obviously create a rift between us and the other Wards. Is this something we want to pursue, or would we rather stick with the Wards?
Bonesaw is still a Thing, because we voted that she should remain... well, herself. However, Best Little Chirurgeon is ten pounds of nuts in a five ounce package, and Taylor is basically the only one willing spend any kind of time with her (we will fulfill our bargain of giving her parahuman secrets, but we haven't given her Alchemical info yet). We've managed to delay getting her shipped off to the Birdcage, but that's where everyone is expecting she's going regardless; there really aren't any other prisons that people believe would be able to hold her indefinitely. Do not make the mistake of confusing this with the Canary plot in canon Worm, or her canonical 'redemption' plot - Bonesaw as she is now is still as much an amoral mad scientist/artist/murder machine as she is a confused, traumatized pre-teen. What are we going to do?
Combined with Prayer's mind-whammy on Philadelphia, and the PRT's desperate desire to get Crawler Defiant out of the city where people could recognize him, Ned and Sirkalla get to have some fun punching up big messes around the world for a bit while things cool down in Philly. There are lots of options, so where do they go?
Bezalel's robo-brain had been hardwired into the drone factory we saw a bit of in 8.6, but that got summarily toasted by Eidolon and Legend when they scoured the warehouse down to bedrock. However, there were still plenty of his drones left scattered around the city that we managed to recover - which we can easily incorporate into our tinkering, now that we can control animals as well as insects. Since we're going to be busy with a bunch of construction projects over the week beyond this one, what do we want for our first foray into the world of Bez-drones?
Speaking of our increased powerlevel capabilities, we know the full capabilities of Shard of Perfect Administration... and they're kinda terrifying for anyone that isn't us. (Note: SoPA now has a complete write-up in the Index.) Do we want to divulge this to the PRT? If so, how much?
Finally, the spherical-elephant in the room: Iris. Only a handful of people actually know what went on with him today, and the PRT is of mixed opinions of what to do with him. Primarily, they want to quarantine and study him for a while, since - at the very least - he was in the Nine's tender care for a while... but that is obviously not going to fly (roll?) with the Happy Fun Ball. Still, with our increased range, we could ostensibly allow him to be 'quarantined' and still within our range, in exchange for the PRT providing him with materials and information for whatever this 'essence infusion' project is going to be. Do we play ball, or take our ball and go home?
9.1 Voting:
Eyes of Starmetal: (PICK ONE, NO STUNTS)
[ ] Arc 9: All Chapters Twins' POV. Interludes following Taylor when needed.
[ ] Arc 9: Chapters 1, 3, 5, 7 from Twins' POV, Chapters 2, 4, 6 from Taylor's POV.
[ ] Arc 9: Chapters 1, 4, 7 from Twins' POV, Chapters 2, 3, 5, 6 from Taylor's POV.
[ ] Arc 9: No Chapters from Twins' POV, keep to Interludes.
Age Is Just A Number: (PICK ONE, NO STUNTS)
[ ] Stay a Ward
[ ] Join the Protectorate
My Little Monster: (PICK ONE, ONE STUNT ALLOWED)
[ ] Ship Bonesaw to the Birdcage, make sure she gets there.
[ ] Ship Bonesaw to the "Birdcage", let Cauldron grab her.
[ ] Delay, staying in quarantine with Bonesaw until the Twins arrive.
Fightin' 'Round the World: (PICK ONE, ONE STUNT ALLOWED)
[ ] Prayer and Defiant fight Ash Beast in the Sahara.
[ ] Prayer and Defiant fight Madremonte in Brazil.
[ ] Prayer and Defiant fight Deep Silver in Antarctica.
[ ] Write-In (no Endbringers)!
Robotnik Watch Out: (PICK ONE, ONE STUNT ALLOWED)
[ ] Honor Bezalel's years as a hero! Iterate and improve on Bezalel's animal drones, keeping them looking like normal animals with hidden tech/weapons so that they can defend the city in his memory. (Produces a few animal drones, Stunt suggests what they are.)
[ ] Listen to Glenn Chambers! Cannibalize Bezalel's animal drones to build a prototype of your new series of stylish peacekeeping drones. (Stunt suggests appearence, capabilities.)
[ ] Give it all to Iris as a 'Welcome Back' gift! There's no way this can go wrong! (Stunt suggests how this goes wrong right.)
(Don't) Be Afraid: (PICK ONE, NO STUNTS)
[ ] Tell the PRT the full extent of SoPA's capabilities, explain what Vision of Vengeance did.
[ ] Don't tell the PRT the full extent of SoPA's capabilities, blame it on Vision of Vengeance.
Look What Rolled Into Town: (PICK ONE, ONE STUNT ALLOWED)
[ ] Persuade Iris to let the PRT confiscate him for a week. Iris returns unharmed but disappointed, PRT is mollified as much as they ever will be.
[ ] Negotiate to keep Iris in a quarantined area within SoPA range so that he can work and be studied at the same time. Iris ambivalent, PRT still not satisfied but not angry.
[ ] Explain to the PRT that Iris is basically a friendly Endbringer, and they'll let him do what he wants or else risk another return of Vision of Vengeance. Iris content, PRT angry.
Please remember to format Free Actions properly: (Only ONE Free Action per Assembly member allowed!)
Free Actions should be phrased as stand-alone Stunts, so they must be 60 words or less (not counting "Free Action"), be descriptive about what you're hoping to accomplish, and set the scene.
[X] EOA - Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that could be performed during other votes.]
[X] FPoP - Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that could be performed during other votes.]
XP Expenditures should be formatted as such for EOA and FPoP:
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item ●●●○○
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item (Specialization ●●○)
Spending more XP than a character has in their own bank will automatically draw from the Assembly bank, and Named XP will be spent before Assembly XP is used.
DISCUSSION STARTS NOW, VOTING WILL START ON MONDAY
NO VOTES WILL COUNTED UNTIL VOTING OFFICIALLY BEGINS
Blinking, he heaved a sigh and turned around, looking down the shining, brass-and-steel avenue at the escalating commotion - specifically, the heavily, elaborately-robed figures arguing loud enough to be heard many yards away. Senior Scholar Riccin's apprentice, Palus, was raving, wanting to break through the cordon of Regulators, but by now he was just a faulty vocoder replaying Riccin's arguments from seven days ago.
Idina felt a pang of sympathy; Palus was the third apprentice the Scholars had sent this week.
All the other apprentices - because anyone with an actual job to do had gone back to doing said jobs by day three - seemed to be at least humoring Palus, using the same logic that had shut down Riccin in the first place:
No, Junior Apprentice Scholar Palus, it's not worth storming the five-storey, heavily-defensible Vat complex because it's both heavily-defensible and everything inside is extremely expensive.
Yes, Junior Apprentice Palus, if Radiant Scholar of Industry or Beating Steel Heart were here it might be possible. You are welcome to brave the wastes to go fetch them from their diplomatic talks with Sova.
No, Junior Tripartite Palus, the waist-deep infestation of fix beetles, tube snakes, cog dogs, cap cats, and all the other strange exmachina that most of us haven't seen before don't appear to be breaking anything. Did you not see the procession of materials they were carrying into the vat? Ah, that must have been Junior Apprentice Scholar Kol that was here at the time. Do you know what happened to her? Demoted? What a shame.
Yes, Junior Tripartite Palus, we are all perfectly aware how much we can't afford to lose the starmetal body inside. Most of us, in fact, have been inside for the last eight months working on it. Have you and the other Scholars enjoyed your vacation while we worked?
Yes, Palus, Kind Eyes of the People already tried - and failed - to sneak in. She's welcome to discuss her findings with you, since she's right over there, but she might take offense at having to repeat the report she already gave Senior Scholar Riccin.
Wincing, Idina turned away from his fellow Sodalites as they grinned at Palus' attempts at speaking to Kind Eyes. The moonsilver Champion had been in a sour mood for the past four days, ever since she was bodily ejected from large, double doors of the vat complex, her heavily-tasered, unconscious form carried out on a tide of fix beetles.
The rest of the gathered Assembly was clearly never going to let her live that down, if their occasional snickering from the nearby rooftops was any indication. With the assembled Champions' 'stakeout' of the overrun complex giving them nothing else better to do, Tribute to Comrades Lost has probably already drawn up a colorful rendition of the event for the next National Tripartite assembly.
Idina made a mental note to try to bug Senior Surgeon Penthus to see if she could obtain an extra copy for him - though it'd probably cost him all the good-will that volunteering to stay at the cordon this whole week had netted.
Casting another glance towards the small crowd again, he idly noted that with Apprentice Harvester Kantor having been replaced by Junior Apprentice Harvester Siln, Idina was the only apprentice of the five Sodalites to have been here since the swarm of spirits broke through Lux's outer spirit-wards and overran the vat complex. Everyone had thought it had been another gremlin attack, at first, but the lack of alarms along the breach and conspicuous dearth of dead bodies in the spirits' wake had quickly turned the general response from 'organized panic' to 'paralyzed confusion'.
After all, when it came to even the most benign mechanical spirits, you moved out the way of them if you wanted to survive the experience with all your limbs intact.
That was why, for his part, Idina had just followed Penthus' resigned order when the Surgeons' lab had been overrun: lie back and pray to Autochthon for deliverance.
Neither he nor Penthus had failed to note that they were the only two staff of the vat that made it out with their dignity intact; the other Surgeons, Harvesters, Luminors, and Conductors had mostly just been stripped and swept out on the backs of fix beetles, but the Scholars had put up a fight and had been left in a smoking, twitching heap at the vat's front door for it. The crew of Populat laborers and janitors had been carted out unharmed as well, much to the surprise of everyone, most of all them.
Of course, once the tidal wave of mechanical spirits had overtaken the vat and tossed everyone - conscious or not - out of facility, the Regulators had tried their best to purge the factory-laboratory of the errant exmachina. Only, within minutes, each armored soldier of the assembled battalion had been swarmed in turn, stripped of their gear (which everyone suspects has now been rendered down for scrap), and then left in a tasered heap at the vat complex's brass-and-silver entryway alongside the Scholars.
If it hadn't been clear that this was a Divine intervention of some form, that had decidedly squashed any remaining doubts.
Which is why Idina had opted to stay until the spirits left - even opting to take his required five-hour sleep breaks at the command tent that had been set up for the Regulators. Not that he had anything to do otherwise, since he had only recently started his Apprenticeship and had no other office than the one inside the commandeered lab. All the other more-tenured Apprentices and full Surgeons had been called to help out the undermanned North Gate vat complex, since they were still staffing up after last month's Purge...
Shaking his head, Idina turned his head back to stare at the fix beetle he'd chosen as today's target of observation. Well, he was pretty sure it was the same one, at least - all the knee-high little biomechs were practically interchangeable, but he'd noticed some slight discrepancies between their eye placements, under-slung armatures, and wheel mounts after staring at rows and rows of them surrounding the vat complex. Nowhere near as varied in appearance as the cog dogs, of course, as no gear-comprised hound was the same size or shape, and the cap cats' electrical bodies fluctuated too wildly to really identify properly once you looked away for a moment.
He'd made it a point to stay as far away from the nearest tube snake as possible; he still occasionally had nightmares of a pack of corrupted exmachina that had swept up from the deep tunnels and through his housing unit a few years ago.
"Cold?"
Twisting in surprise at humorous tone, Idina squawked as the shift instead sent him falling back onto his rear - his thick Sodalite robes not enough to protect against the unforgiving steel street below. Raising a hand to push back his Apprentice Surgeon's cap, Idina blinked and tried to manage a polite bow from his seat on the floor.
"C-Champion! I-I'm sorry, I-"
Holding up a smooth, gold hand of flesh-like clay, Tribute to Comrades Lost cut Idina's stuttering off as his own smile quirked slightly higher. Even only a few feet away, Idina could feel the hair on the back of his neck rise from the trickle of power radiating from the Champion - a sensation that still struck him occasionally, despite his near-daily exposure to them as they cycled through the vat complex for repairs and refits. He hadn't interacted with Tribute before, however, since he favored the South Gate vat complex, but hundreds of years of successful campaigns made for quite a reputation.
The dazzling robe of constantly-shifting moonsilver and orichalcum plates was a bit overwhelming, too, but Tribute's reputation was not one of subtlety.
"Do not fear, Sodalite," the Orichalcum caste offered with a blinding smile of perfect white jade teeth, "We are simply curious what your studies have revealed."
Hastily climbing to his feet, Idina settled his own brown work robes of his station ("Better to hide the clay stains," Penthus had said) and offered another polite bow to the storied Champion. Just as he opened his mouth to respond, however, he paused as his mind caught just what the flamboyant Alchemical had said.
"'We', Champion?" Idina managed, finally mustering his confidence. In response, the golden man's smile, somehow, got brighter.
"A quick Apprentice. Penthus must favor you. Yes, the Assembly has noted your daily studies of the exmachina, and we find ourselves…" a pause, and slight tilt of the head, "... curious."
"Ahh ha ha," the young Sodalite managed, blushing heavily at the implication that Penthus appreciated him. She was far too gifted, focused, and pretty to pay him any mind, of course! And wasn't she being courted by Senior Harvester Kumo from the North Gate vat? That's what he'd heard from the Populat 4th-shift last week, and the Populat heard everything.
Idina blinked, mind blanking as he realized that Tribute was still waiting for an answer to… what was the question again? And why was the Champion smiling even wider now?!
By the Maker, this is so-
"Spirits! Yes! The spirits!" Idina yelped, eyes wide as he turned back to the thick curtain of mechanical spirits covering the five-storey building behind him. Raising a hand to point at… well, probably the right fix beetle, Idina half-turned back to the Orichalcum Champion. "I have been studying them!"
Tribute to Comrades Lost raised his perfect white eyebrows - all the way up to the white diamond oval embedded in his forehead - and gave a slow, 'yes, and?' nod that caused Idina to flush all the way to his ear tips in embarrassment.
And did he hear some snickering drifting down from the nearby rooftops?
As a nervous reflex, Idina rubbed at the oval, indigo gemstone embedded in his own forehead - the gemstone that had marked him at birth as a Sodalite, the gifted few to be blessed with the knowledge to create and maintain the Alchemical Exalted. He'd had vague flashes of memories from his past Sodalite lives, which had guided him down the path towards being a Meticulous Surgeon of the Body Electric, but nothing so far that had made actually talking with the Champions any easier.
"Well…" he drew out, trying desperately to piece together anything significant from the seven days of staring contests with various mechanical animals. "The ones outside don't really seem to be… all there until you get close to them. Then they usually try to taze you."
"Really?" Tribute muses, expression fading to considered appraisal. "You noticed that? They don't look any different between now and when they're electrifying someone."
Idina noded, other observations clicking into place. "You can see it in their eyes when they activate, almost like a trick of the light... but it's too predictable, and I checked to make sure it wasn't my own shadow."
A pleasant noise, halfway between agreement and consideration, resonated from Tribute's armored chest as he turned his glowing silver eyes towards the occasionally-twitching mass of mechanized animals behind Idina.
Shuffling awkwardly in the relative silence that followed, Idina blinked as he remembered what set of observations he really should have led with.
"Oh! And I have been cataloguing the unfamiliar spirits!" he managed to blurt without a stutter, rolling back his left sleeve to bring out his Resplendent Personal Assistant; he preferred to keep it in bracelet-form instead of as a ring ever since it nearly was sucked off his finger while working with a tub of clay. "I've been recording my findings, if you'd like a copy?"
Silver eyes flitting back to fall upon the bracelet, the golden Champion nodded in approval before returning his gaze to the twitching masses.
"Not unknown. Forgotten."
"Champion?" Idina wondered at the wistful, distracted tone, but Tribute simply waved a hand dismissively before focusing his attention back upon the young Sodalite.
"What have you concluded?"
Idina blinked, opened his mouth to respond, then closed it and averted his eyes so that he could actually form a reasoned response instead of stammering like a fool again. Furrowing his brow in thought, he exhaled slowly through his nose and took a new, reassuring breath.
"Our minds are incapable of comprehending the magnificent plans of the Great Maker, of course," he mused, the words spilling out reflexively in order to allow him more time to think. "I do not presume to explain where our greatest minds have failed-"
Still staring absently at the polished steel and brass road, Idina noticed Tribute waving a hand dismissively.
"-but were I to guess, Champion…" he paused, taking a deep breath to give him time to cast his eyes about to make sure Apprentice Conductor Silt was out of earshot before meeting the piercing eyes of the venerated Orichalcum Champion. "Perhaps the Great Maker… disapproved of the soul we were to affix to our newest starmetal Champion? That he detected some… dangerous flaw?"
Corrupted.
Tribute to Comrades Lost's schooled expression made clear that he had understood the implication, and Idina felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise again as the silence following his quiet accusation dragged on - though his heart was beating loud enough to fill his ears with the sound.
He didn't dare avert his gaze now. Accusations of Corruption were just as likely to see you Purged as being Corrupted yourself.
Finally, finally, Tribute offered a wry smile that shows more through his eyes than his lips - causing relief to surging through Idina's veins like a physical thing.
"Clever Sodalites are growing harder to find. Do be careful; were you the first to have come to that idea, your observations would be cut-. "
Melodic voice abruptly dying in his throat, Tribute's eyes widened slightly as they lost focus.
"Ch-...Champion? What's-"
So sudden was the change in the centuries-old diplomat-soldier-artist's demeanor, that Idina himself didn't notice the vibration of the steel roadway beneath his feet until the shattering of glass in a nearby building shook him from his stupor. Drowning out the shocked and panicked cries of the Sodalites and Populat workers nearby - the Regulators too busy barking orders and muttering curses to panic - the trembling quickly escalated until the local neighborhood was practically humming like a tuning fork. Though Idina quickly fell to all fours simply to try to keep some kind of balance, Tribute remained locked in place with a stunned expression still etched upon his features.
Growing and growing, the district itself shook at a fever pitch. Then, just as the cascading resonance of Lux's metal-and-glass cityscape felt like it was going to shake Idina's eyeballs from his sockets...
The vibration stopped.
For a heartbeat, there was silence. Looking up, Idina saw Tribute blink once as he appeared to come to his senses… then his eyes bulged as he reared back in a defensive stance-
Dozens of tiny fix beetle wheels, metal paws, slithering metal tubes, and other means of spirtual conveyance slammed Idina down into the metal pavement, hammering him again and again as the tide of exmachina washed over him. Desperately, he flailed his arms to get them over his head, but the procession knocked them flat against the ground each time.
But while his body, arms, and legs bore the brunt of the mechanical animals' passage, somehow only the odd rubber wheel collided with his head - and never hard enough to dash him into unconsciousness.
So, with no other recourse available to him, Idina held onto whatever breath remained in his battered lungs, let his body go limp, closed his eyes, and groaned a prayer to the Great Maker.
Seconds passed that felt like minutes, and minutes passed that felt like hours.
Eventually… finally… the stampede tapered off.
Being careful to not make any sudden movements - though not really in any condition to make sudden movements, either - Idina crawled to his knees over the course of several seconds. His ears still ringing, pulse pounding through his head, and blood flowing liberally down his nose and face, he decided to ignore the tinny buzz of something resting behind his left ear.
Before he could groan out a question, multiple pairs of armored gauntlets found his shoulders and back, helping him rise to unsteady feet. Blinking wearily to get the blood out of his eyes, Idina looked around to see that the area was now swarming with whispering Populat - though the Regulators were already shouting warnings about illegal gatherings and commands for them to return to their stations and residencies.
Tribute to Comrades Lost stepped into view from the left, his entire form now covered in his glowing orichalcum-and-moonsilver platemail - but somehow still managed to convey a wry smile with the slight shake of his helmet.
"Did I not warn you to take care, Sodalite?"
Idina eloquently managed a wet cough, trailing into a pained groan that caused the Regulators holding him up to ease up on their grips. His vision blurred, Idina almost missed Tribute's glance to the side and subsequent nod of assent.
A small, warm hand pressed down between Idina's shoulderblades, and for a moment he was struck dumb by the pure, blissful feeling of relief that surged into him through it. Closing his eyes, the world around him sharpened as the ringing in his ears washed away, but it was all ignored as he lost himself in the first true feeling of warmth that he had ever known.
Too soon, the hand pulled away, and with it the cold, hard world rushed in fill the void.
Straightening his back and opening his eyes, Idina found his balance and offered a polite bow of thanks to the Regulators as they stepped away from him - their job done, they quickly moved to help the others in shoving and rounding up wayward Populat that were failing to disperse quietly.
Then he turned about fully, coming face-to-face with a more familiar - if only marginally less intimidating - divine presence.
"Rally the Wounded, thank you-" Idina bowed his head, both in deference and to cover his rough cough, "-for your benediction."
The stocky Jade Champion bowed her head and smiled in return, but otherwise remained her usual silent self. Her face was chiseled in a way that belied her soft mannerisms and quiet grace, and he knew from having helped install her charms before that below her pristine white robes brown-clay skin rippled over bulging muscles.
Senior Surgeon Penthus' first question to him when he started last year was for him to ponder that dichotomy: why had Rally initially stepped from her broth with such a combat-suited stature, but possessing a personality that has helped her forge a reputation as Estasia's greatest medic and healer in the last thousand years? It had seemed like a question for the Illustrious Conductors of the Consecrated Veins, as they alone truly understood how to affix a nascent Alchemical body with a soulgem that will catalyze the Exaltation… but she had forbidden him to discuss the question with any from that Sodality. He was to simply observe and deduce, explaining that his understanding of how his own working of the clay would benefit from the path to that answer.
"Are you well, Junior Apprentice Surgeon? We must move quickly, now."
Shaking his head to clear his mind of the familiar fair-faced distraction, Idina turned to blink at the recessed eye holes in Tribute's golden helm.
"We?"
"Of course," the radiant helmet offered, a wry smile evident in the tone emanating from it. "Protocol dictates that we await the return of the Senior Sodalites, but… your observational and note-taking skills will ensure they receive a full accounting."
"Ah-" Idina replied, only managing to convey the sinking feeling in his gut. Before he could gather a full response, his attention was interrupted by the shuffling of robes to his side - the other Junior Apprentices, all looking similarly god-struck as Kind Eyes of the People's intense gaze directed them to gather around. Behind them, a small group of Regulators being led by the heavily-armored (and eternally put-upon) Order by Any Means brought up the rear guard.
"The other Apprentices will accompany us, to ensure there is no bias in the accounting, as well."
Mouth still open halfway through forming an answer, Idina quickly met the eyes of the other Apprentices. Only Palus appeared to be in any way eager - or willing - to follow the Alchemical Assembly inside the vat complex, but even he was pale enough to reveal only Idina seemed capable of speech at the moment.
Turning back, Idina met Tribute's armored gaze.
"Ah-?"
Perhaps... not.
"Keep your eyes open, ears ready, and your heart open to the Will of the Great Maker, Sodalites," the Orichalcum Champion breathed, the unshakeable confidence in his tone seeping Idina and washing away his doubts. Beside him, the effect visibly calmed the other Apprentices, and each nodded in turn before following Idina's lead to ready their own personal assistants for use. Even the handful of Regulators following Order by Any Means visibly shifted to a more confident stance.
Nodding to himself, Tribute's tone dropped all pretense of levity as he flicked a quick gaze to the other Champions.
"Formation Kilo. Eyes, lead us in."
The shrouded Moonsilver Champion wove through the small crowd like a breeze, and Idina caught the flash of blue and red lights emitting from her cowl before she was past him. Freezing just in front of Tribute, Eyes slowly raised her right hand in a fist.
"Contact," came her quiet voice, tense as bridge cables. "One. Vat. Unconscious."
Idina's own eyes felt like they would leap out of his skull, and he heard the sharp intake of breaths from everyone - even some of the Champions - around him. Even Tribute seemed to rock back from those four words, but he was the first to recover.
"Confirm contact?"
Hastily, Idina slapped his Resplendent Personal Assistant and set it to Record All - not trusting his own voice as his mind whirled at a mile-a-minute. What-? How-?
"Unidentified Starmetal in-" the voice halts, but resumes a moment later, "-wait. Struggl-" only for the Moonsilver Caste's voice to abruptly cut out again.
"Eyes?"
"She… disappeared," her hesitant tone ventured, disbelief overriding awe. "Not Optical Shroud. Not Weaving."
Idina blinked, and looked to the other Junior Apprentices struck dumb with shock around him. Palus was blinking, his wide, blue eyes darting to meeting Idina's own green eyes as the Scholar silently mouthed a baffled, "charms?"
Idina could only warily shrug. The blank Starmetal they had been about to begin the soulgem ritual upon certainly didn't have any charms when he last saw it.
Then, like a light switch, Idina could actually see the instant Palus realized that this new Alchemical had the first known charms installed by spirits, not humans. It was hard to miss, as Palus immediately started to drool.
Of course, the Champions surrounding them were far more professional about the matter.
"What the blown gasket are you talking about, Eyes?" Order's deadpan growl rumbled out from behind their group. In response, Eyes gave a slight shrug and raised the middle finger on her extended fist.
"Order," Tribute warned, casting a glance at the surly Soulsteel, before turning back and slapping a brilliant gauntlet down on Eye's cloaked shoulder. "Focus. Sweep again."
After a barely-perceptible nod, sparks began to crackle around Eye's cowled head. Several seconds later, she lowered her fist.
"Clear."
Grunting, Tribute half-turned to the rest of the group, his voice still hard enough to hammer rivets. "Formation Luna. Move out."
Before Idina could make heads or tails of what the different formations meant, he and the other Junior Scholars were almost bodily swept up by the armored Regulators marching to Order by Any Means' command.
Even with such a large group they all passed through the massive front doors of the vat complex with room to spare on the sides, the defensible entryway and receiving desk eventually giving way to less-shielded - but just as durable - magical-metal-coated hallways connecting the various laboratories, offices, and workshops that comprised the vat complex.
The Champions moved with superhuman skill and confidence, which eerily bled into Idina's own view of his day-to-day offices - almost as if he could hear or sense potential avenues of attack where normally he only saw open vents or exposed pipes. Whispering into his personal assistant about the way a fix beetle could easily drop down from the grating above, a brief moment of clarity made him realize that he'd probably want to review this record later before turning it over to Senior Surgeon Penthus.
But just before they were all about to proceed down the primary stairwell, towards the vat itself, Tribute to Comrades Lost brought the group's tactical sweeps to a halt.
"Order, Rally. Take the Regulators and the Scholar and check the charms library."
At the nearly-whispered command, Idina - and the other Sodalites - whipped a questioning gaze at Palus. The scrutinized Junior Apprentice blinked once, taking in the instruction himself, before recognition washed over him and his dark complexion hardened. Just before he turned to move to join the new off-shoot group, a flicker of something crossed his eyes and he mouthed a silent, "later" before hustling off in a trail of billowing robes.
"Stay alert," Tribute murmured, his tone forcing the remaining Sodalites' attention to the front. "If it's hostile, stay together and get out. Otherwise, keep silent."
Idina and his peers nodded, then followed warily behind as the two remaining Champions led them down, down the looping, cascading stairwell into the dark, eerily-silent bowels of the vat complex.
Twenty yards in diameter, the vat itself was a hollow, cylindrical tube of adamant filled with an alchemically-created broth that only the Pious Harvesters of the Hallowed Flesh knew how to replicate and maintain. When not active it was kept lowered so that the top of the tube could be covered with an irising aperture of pure starmetal - a Champion would then walk to the center, be secured to the armatures hanging down from above, and then the vat would be opened and raised to seal against the twenty-foot ceiling. It was an elegant system, far better than the North Gate and South Gate's more convoluted "bath" systems, and was why Idina was hoping to remain at work here once his Apprenticeship ended. Well, that and one other reason-
Tribute to Comrades Lost's armored boot touched down upon the floor below the stairs, and the automatic lights flickered on.
The vat was raised.
Tribute cast a quick glance at Kind Eyes of the People, but after another small bout of anima-sparks about her head the Moonsilver caste shook her head. Turning from her to Idina and the other Sodalites, he gestured to the various controls about the room.
"Bring it down."
Idina and the other three Sodalites looked to Junior Apprentice Harvester Siln - since Harvesters typically led this process - who in turn swallowed nervously and then nodded shakily.
"R-right!" she squeaked, before slapping a hand to her mouth in wide-eyed embarrassment. Before anyone could react, however, she immediately bolted for the main control panel and started furiously reviewing the dozens of gauges, knobs, levers, and other faintly-glowing readouts to determine where in the whole process the exmachina had left the system. After a few moments, Idina and the other Sodalites took up their respective posts- not that any of them had ever done this on their own, of course, since this was typically a job for the Senior respective Sodalites.
Still, each of them had done enough drills for just this sort of emergency during their months of initial training; the raising and lowering of the vat was the easiest part, and better to have everyone know how to do it than leave a Champion stuck inside during a crisis.
Which is why, after only a handful more seconds, Siln's squeaky, confused voice trickled through the chamber.
"It's… done? I just need to hit-"
Tapping the large red lever near the far right of her console - which had been almost pulled down to the final 'Release' position - the pneumatic hiss of pistons filled the room as the empty, broth-filled vat began to recede to floor-level.
Both Tribute and Kind Eyes took up defensive stances - Tribute igniting his legendary orichalcum grand beamklaive, Diplomacy, while Eyes withdrew a pair of glittering knives. Idly, Idina noted that their blocking of the stairwell meant that if the mystery Alchemical was hostile, it would be forced back towards them.
Slowly, slowly, the massive vat slid down into the floor, until finally a loud, mechanical ratchet sounded and the lip slid below the floor; besides the dripping of broth falling from the five armatures hanging down from the ceiling, the room descended into silence once again.
Siln cautiously reached for the winch that would iris the cover to the vat closed, but Tribute held up his left hand to stop her.
"Not yet, Sodalite. Let us see-"
With a swish of displaced air and eye-bending twist of space, the most beautiful woman Idina had ever seen popped into existence, then belly-flopped into the open vat below with an undignified yelp.
An awkward pause followed, as both Champions seemed to be as surprised as the gawking Sodalites, during which the new Alchemical in the broth flailed helplessly, sinking beneath the magitech-emulsion before suddenly disappearing again with a wet, vacuum-like suction sound.
"What." Kind Eyes of the People wisely stated.
Just as Tribute to Comrades Lost started to make a tone of questioning himself, the mystery Alchemical appeared again in the same bizarre fashion as the first time, except this time above the solid jade floor instead of over the open vat.
Landing with a wet, sprawling splat only a few yards from Idina's console, the incomprehensibly gorgeous Starmetal caste sputtered weakly and then coughed up a lung-full of broth before curling up in a fetal position on the hard floor and moaning while holding her head - matte-grey fingers gripping through long wet locks of purest white.
Though most of his conscious mind was still stuck on the divine beauty of the form before him, years of training as a Meticulous Surgeon of the Body Electric feverishly worked to identify the tell-tale glowing circuitry, indentations, rivets, and plates of charms all across the Champion's form. The typical aesthetic of Starmetal-caste charms appeared to have been kept, but as he only had passing understanding of charm customization himself, Idina struggled to understand just what he was looking-
"Champion of Estasia!" Tribute of Comrades Lost called out, his tone halfway between a long-lost friend and a relieved father - standing tall and extending an arm in greeting, but keeping his grand beamklaive lit. "Welcome to life! Please, young Weaver: identify yourself!"
"Aahh!" the newborn Starmetal screamed in panic - but with such sweet a tone that Idina imagined he could listen to for the rest of his days - while jolting up to a seated position with a start, sending wet hair whipping away from her face.
Revealing a sharp, regal visage that would haunt Idina's heart until he finally met the Great Maker. So captivated, he almost missed the abnormality literally staring him in the face: around the Starmetal's soulgem, a small compass-like pointer appeared to be… spinning? Rotating so that it seemed to always point in the direction of… the vat?
Idina blinked. The Starmetal blinked back.
Then she opened her mouth and spoke a language that made Idina's brain hurt.
Wincing, Idina reeled back and rested on the console behind him, though he was able to make out the god-smote expressions of the other Sodalites and Kind Eyes. Tribute, however, coughed in surprise and raised his hand to get her attention. When she turned to look at him, her mouth dropped open in shock.
Tribute said something confusing, but Idina could at least tell that he was speaking… slowly, and with a cautious, placating tone of voice.
The new Starmetal took a moment to react, her expression slowly morphing from shock, to fear, to despair in rapid succession as she babbled incoherently. As she did so, Tribute slowly brought his hand to the left to motion for Kind Eyes to stand down, and let his grand beamklaive go out at the same time. This seemed to have a slight pacifying effect on the new Weaver, but she still was clutching herself oddly, as if trying in vain to cover herself.
Which was odd, Idina thought, as new Champions rarely displayed any form of modesty-
Order by Any Means landed at the base of the stairs with a deafening crash of soulsteel boots meeting reinforced jade flooring, sending the new Starmetal - and all the Sodalites - screaming in hasty retreat.
Unfortunately for Idina, the beautiful new Champion chose to retreat with him. To somewhere else.
The world collapsed around him, pulling and stretching into one long, eternal moment… until barely a second later he was being flung through the air onto some strange, bizarre open plain of… white jade hexagons?
Landing with the grace borne of years of State-mandated defense lessons, Idina tumbled a few yards before finally coming to a stop, laying sprawled on his back.
Where… where is the ceiling? Wha- Why is there no ceiling?!
Primal panic seizing him, Idina desperately dug his fingers into the small seams along the otherwise-smooth jade floor. The vast, white void above seemed both infinitely far and terrifyingly close, and the world seemed to shrink down until he knew for a fact that letting go would send him hurtling-
There was someone babbling in his ear, in a language that was making his hair stand on end.
Slowly… slowly… Idina turned his head until the matte-grey figure kneeling beside him was mostly within his peripheral vision. He dared not look away from the all-consuming white void, for it would consume him utterly if he turned his gaze from it.
"H-help…?!" he croaked, weakly.
She kept on talking, though her tone fluctuated once again between panic, fear, and despair. At one point, she suddenly started speaking a completely different language - one that allowed him to actually hear her enchanting voice without wincing - but when it seemed like she was asking if he understood her, he just shook his head slightly.
He very much wanted to look upon her again, if only to make sense of her gesticulations, but he wanted to avoid being sucked up into a hungry, eternal void more.
Idina lay there, mostly-paralyzed, for Maker-knew how long. Eventually she stood up - much to his incomprehending terror - and started pacing by his side while rambling on in her bizarre dialect, her tone indicating growing frustration and confusion-
Wait… dialect?
Squinting, Idina tried to focus on her words - not her heart-capturing tone - as she spoke, rolling them around his tongue until-
"Fire?" he tried repeating, his tongue almost tripping on the way he had to cup it to form the echo.
Almost instantly, she was beside him again, kneeling down just enough so that her face wasn't completely blocking his view of the horrific void above as she kept repeating, "Fire! Fire!" Again, he noted that the small compass-needle around her soulgem seemed to point in a consistent direction… so maybe there was something in this featureless white expanse after all?
Idina lamented that this would probably be easier to handle if just looking at her didn't make his brain shut down.
Still, she seemed to quickly grasp the idea that speaking slowly did indeed help him piece together some words from whatever unknown dialect of Autochthonic she was speaking. The one that got them stuck, however…
"Help," she pleaded.
"Help," he whimpered right back, eyes darting back to the void above.
"Help!" she begged, motioning to herself, then pointing as if carrying herself far away.
"Help," he groaned, shaking his head, but didn't dare release his death-grip on the life-saving floor.
"Help! Help! Help!"
"Help."
Eventually, she collapsed again by his side, sniffling into her hands. Idina desperately wanted to reach out, comfort this insane, confused Champion, but… he didn't want to fall screaming upwards into the all-consuming whiteness.
"Sorry," he offered, genuinely, and tried repeating it a few times in ways that might match the strange dialect she used. He stopped after the twelfth permutation, when it didn't seem to have an effect.
After a long moment of mourning, she placed a hand on his chest and grabbed a hold of his robe.
Then she pulled.
Idina screamed in betrayed terror as he fell up… up… down?
He landed with a hard cracking of his head against the white jade, spots flashing across his vision, until he finally realized that he wasn't holding onto the floor… but, at the same time, he was not being sucked into the... not-ceiling.
Grabbing onto her arm with both hands, Idina slowly levered himself into a sitting position and looked around.
There was him, the crazy-beautiful (and just plain crazy) Starmetal caste, the white jade floor, the white not-roof (that he was going to not look at anymore, for sanity's sake), and… a strange, empty, circular ring unlike anything he had seen before.
Easily tall enough to allow a train car to pass through, the ring itself was roughly a yard-thick tube of glossy, black material - which itself was difficult to make out, due to it being completely covered in glowing sigils, runes, and flowing script from so many styles that he could probably study just one quarter of the ring for a dozen lifetimes and not understand it all. There didn't appear to be any levers, gauges, or other read-outs on it, nor any visible way to operate it, so Idina supposed it required Weaving of some form to activate and manipulate. The bottom of the ring passed seamlessly through the white jade floor, but just from the trickle of power he could feel dozens of yards away he knew that it didn't require anchoring into the floor to remain upright.
Blinking, Idina slowly turned his head to meet the luminescent, amber eyes of the distraught Starmetal caste. Then he looked back at the portal, and back at her.
"Help?" he offered, pointing to the portal.
After taking a deep breath, she cast her gaze down and let out a despondent sigh. He remained quiet while she thought, until she eventually nodded and took his hand.
Together, they rose and approached the portal.
Standing before the device, Idina could almost feel his blood vibrating within his veins from the power radiating off it. If the Starmetal noticed his unease, however, she made no sign.
With a slight twitch of her head, the space within the portal twisted-
Idina opened his eyes, not realizing he had even closed them, and saw that they were standing back right at his console at the vat.
Except there were a lot more people here now. Including many more Regulators, several more Champions, and ALL the Sodalite staff for this vat complex. Including Senior Surgeon Penthus.
Glancing down at his hand - still held by the new Starmetal - he looked back up and met Penthus' shocked… and distraught?... expression.
Somehow, he just knew this would find its way into some tawdry play.
Not that he would ever admit to watching those.
"Junior Apprentice!" exclaimed Tribute to Comrades Lost, opening his arms with a smile while stepping in front of the mass of Regulators and assembled Soulsteel-caste Champions. "You return, just as I expected!"
"Ah-"
"Idina!" Penthus roared, with unusual fervor in her voice. "Attend me!"
He'd only heard her shout once before, and that was when Pill had mixed up the Starmetal and Moonsilver clay just before it was needed for an emergency surgery. Pill hadn't come back the next day.
Idina offered a wide-eyed cower of apology to the new Starmetal as he turned to bolt over to his superior's side, but a steamy flicker of her eyes seemed to convey a devious look of understanding as he fled.
He coughed into his hand as he hustled up to Senior Surgeon Penthus and Tribute to Comrades Lost. The former was schooling her formerly-betrayed expression, while the latter was doing nothing to hide his beaming delight.
"Did you manage to pump our new Weaver for information, Junior Apprentice?"
Penthus pinned the too-cheery Orichalcum with a look that would have set an oil lake ablaze. Before she could turn that searing gaze upon him, however, he managed to find his voice again.
"S-She took me to a realm with no ceiling!" Idina blurted out, trying to convey the sheer alien horror that had paralyzed him for Maker-knows how long. "Just an endless land of white jade... a-and a massive portal! I-I couldn't understand her, but I think she was trying to... go somewhere? Return? I think she's using a dialect of Autochthonic; she kept saying 'Help' and pointing away."
Stopping to take a breath, Idina finally noticed that the commotion that had erupted upon his return had died down sometime during his explanation. Both Pentus and Tribute wore features varying between concern, disbelief, and academic interest, but glancing around he saw that the other Senior Sodalites had shuffled over and were now peering at both him and the new Starmetal with undisguised attention.
For her part, the new Weaver was keeping her arms up in a non-aggressive stance, but her tensed body language easily implied that she was ready to disappear again the instant someone made a hostile move towards her.
"Did she demonstrate any other charms?"
The scratchy voice of Senior Scholar Riccin cut through Idina's worry for the new Champion, practically dragging his gaze back to the ancient, gnarled Sodalite by force of tone alone.
"Any other charms, Senior Scholar?" Idina offered warily, but with the proper deference ingrained from a lifetime of etiquette drilled into his head.
The bitter old man pointed a knotted finger towards the newest Champion, offering only a sneer at Idina's deference.
"If you'd bother to open your eyes, you could see all the obvious charms those spirits raided from my storage vault. Not that they should even work in a Champion they weren't originally designed for, but the Great Maker has decided that many of our other, more experienced Champions don't need a few dozen charms more than this new Champion does!"
Blinking at the sheer hostility radiating from the miserly old Scholar, Idina snapped his mouth closed and cast a pleading gaze at Penthus for help.
The simmering anger behind his Senior Surgeon's eyes seemed to waver for a moment before dimming completely, until she closed her expressive silver eyes and waved Riccin off.
"Senior Scholar, the number of charms you reported lost doesn't make sense. Even if the Great Maker somehow bestowed her with more essence than even a veteran Champion possesses, she still wouldn't be able to hold them all."
Snorting in disdain, the Senior Scholar turned a suspicious eye back towards the wary Starmetal only a few yards away.
"Just look at her! She's just got a whole bunch of the feel-good charms we had lying around, with no signs of the missing charms that were the whole reason we got authorization to make a new Starmetal in the first place. Those aren't the kinds of charms you ever want to see go missing!"
"Point," Tribute mused, holding up a hand while raising an eyebrow at Idina. "But if she does not possess them… perhaps she might know who does?"
Interlude: First Prayer of Perfection
(This was mostly written by @Shyft, so he earned us +2 XP for his efforts!)
(See his art HERE, his writing HERE, and throw money at him HERE!)
***
First Prayer of Perfection, once Marrow and Sirkalla, let out a surprisingly fond sigh, despite the resonant grace and thrum of Clarity. Trust Kali to pace around her hospital bed like a stalking tigress.
Between Enduring Order Administrator's Omnitool Implants and her own, somewhat unorthodox repair Charm, the last twenty-four hours since the S9's demise were spent tending to the wounded. Critical cases that needed their miracle touch were ushered in as room became available.
Amusingly, amidst the rolling chaos following their (qualified) victory over the S9, the PRT found themselves at something of an impasse. Administrator had become something of an edge case- still a Ward on paper, but effectively immune to most forms of censure and all forms of quarantine for practical reasons. She was in a very real sense, de facto equivalent to the Triumvirate.
Perhaps it was fortune that allowed her this one day off, on a wednesday. The same day Kali was cleared to go back to her temporary apartment. Or not- a brief text from Administrator told her that Kali was heading somewhere else on Protectorate Island.
There were only two places Kali would go after getting out of the hospital, and she had been informed by absolutely every possible medical authority available that returning to her normal workout routine could wait at least one more day.
Her other likely destination required some thought. Sirkalla could spare some time, for one of her oldest and closest friends outside of the Case-53 community. She felt her lips flex into an unfamiliar unexpected pout.
Friend was not the accurate word.
A few moments of deliberation threaded through with the undeniable string of Clarity helped her make the right decision in favor of unit-cohesion and accelerating Kali's recovery. She triggered her Integrated Artifact Transmogrifier, replacing polished crystal with dark, smooth skin.
There was a tiny, elated squeal with respect to glorious wonderful hair, but she allowed herself only the smallest of indulgent smiles.
The door opened, and in costume sans weapons, Bladedancer barged in with a broad, masked smile. "Heeey Marmar!"
The Indian woman shut the door and pulled down her mask, becoming Kali once more. "How's my favorite crystal glamazon?"
"I am the only crystal glamazon." There was utility in humor and witicism.
"Makes it easy then!" Kali winked before throwing herself at the couch and landing with a thump. "Though you're not crystal now… Is that what you looked like under all the armor?"
Sirkalla frowned minutely before glancing at her dark skinned limbs. Her arms were bare as were most of her legs, loose shorts and athletic tops suited her best when not in crystal panoply. "I honestly cannot say. My original body is lost now, regardless, so we may never know."
Kali shivered, and considering the sheer level of investment she had committed to her own form, it was understandable. She forced a smile, before changing the subject. "I was going crazy in there. Crazier. How can people stand sitting still so much."
The fond smile on Sirkalla's face came with surprising ease, sitting down on the far end of the couch. "I admit to asking that myself, though not as often."
"I was completely healed a whole day ago. You'd think they'd update their records accounting for Wyld being Panacea. Nope! Unregistered rogue! Day of observation." Kali was not above whining when not feeling the burn of lactic acid. "There's stuff out there to do!"
"There is much to do." Sirkalla agreed. Infrastructure to rebuild, villains to contain, capture or eliminate. They at least had stopped seeing so many patients in critical condition. "Time waits for no one- even I am pressed."
"Yeah… what's on your plate?"
"Tomorrow, Defiant and I will depart to Antarctica, in an effort to… resolve a particular S-class matter. Beyond that, I need to find time to…'Meditate' like Weaver did in Kyuushu."
"Going out in the field without me? Marmar I'm hurt." Kali clutched her chest, grinning incongruously. "As for Meditation… well… you're in that kind of 'robot' mode Weaver slipped into every so often. I can hear it in your voice actually."
"Yes. It is Clarity." Sirkalla frowned slightly, noting the directness of her speech. "As Weaver has said, it has advantages and disadvantages. It has been receding, slowly."
"Is there a way to clear it up faster?"
"Perhaps. Weaver returned to equilibrium quickly after meditating, in fact."
"Well there you go then. I don't mind if you want to try it for a bit." She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Keeping an eye on you doing a deep-breathing chant is about the most fun everyone's allowing me today."
"Somehow I do not think that is the most efficient use of my time."
"Well hold up-" There was a sudden,light-hearted need in her eyes. "You're going to be working with Craw- I mean, Defiant, right?"
Sirkalla nodded, not too fast or too slow. "That is correct."
"Well, based on everything I've heard, he's an emotional wrecking ball. I think you'd want to be at your most empathetic, if you want to work with him best."
Silence filled the apartment for a long moment, before Sirkalla nodded. "There is merit to your suggestion. Very well."
It took a few minutes to move some furniture, but now Sirkalla sat cross-legged on the center rug while Kali bounced in place, still on the couch. She had her legs folded under her and feet wrapped around her hands, practically vibrating with energy.
Sirkalla took in a deep breath and held it, before closing her eyes turning her attention inward towards the bubbling, simmering heat in her chest. Her Essence, the unmistakable thrum of power and potential that lay just beneath her skin...
"Kali."
"Yes!"
"Your lecherous attention is making it difficult to concentrate."
"Sorry!" She did not sound sorry at all. "You know, if deep breathing doesn't work, there's always tantric meditation."
Sirkalla opened one eye. "Perhaps later."
Blessed silence.
***
The iris snaps open wide and she plummets into the darkness.
THROUGH STRENGTH, YOU HAVE OVERCOME AN EXISTENCE OF PAIN TO ACT AS A SHIELD FOR OTHERS.
THROUGH THE PITY, SCORN, AND DISGUST CAUSED BY YOUR APPEARANCE, YOU HAVE LEARNED EMPATHY FOR THE SUFFERING OF OTHERS.
THROUGH YOUR PERCEPTION OF THE WORLD, YOU WILL KEEP THE FAITH OF YOUR ASSEMBLY.
THROUGH YOUR SOUL OF ADAMANT, CHAMPION MY NAME.
In a sudden eruption, power - Essence, she knows it is now called - flows through her mind, body, and soul.
ARISE, FIRST PRAYER OF PERFECTION.
FOR YOU ARE EXALTED.
***
When she opened her eyes, Sirkalla was surprised at the clarity of it all- not Clarity. A quick glance at a clock told her only an hour had passed, and Kali was not in sight. A bit of clatter in the kitchenette told her she was still in the apartment.
She was also surprised to note that her humaniform disguise was still intact, though an idle brush of her fingers at her forehead revealed the brilliant-cut diamond was visible. Weaver tended to shed her disguise during meditation, in part due to the massive overflow of her anima during the process; her previous meditation attempt had done the same, but was that only because she had followed Administrator's lead? Or perhaps she only gained a small insight this time? Either way, it was fortuitous.
Kali was attempting to make something to eat. She was not actually bad in the kitchen, but her reach tended to exceed her grasp.
Standing in the doorway, the tall, disguised Alchemical smiled. "Sirkalla."
Kali half-turned, spatula in hand. "Huh?"
Moving before she could reconsider, the taller woman gently wrapped Kali up in a hug from behind, inadvertently pinning the other woman's arms to her side. "My first, my real name is Sirkalla. I remembered."
"Sirkalla. Sir-kal-ahhh.." Kali tasted the word, letting it vibrate in her throat before leaning back into Sirkalla's embrace. "That's awesome! C'mon tell me everyth-!"
Forming coherent speech proved to be impossible when a coffee-skinned, statuesque demigoddess stared sucking on her earlobe. Sirkalla purred into her jawbone and the back of her skull before letting go. "Later."
Kali shivered. "L-Later?"
Sirkalla shifted, dipping down to scoop the smaller, hyper-athletic woman up into her arms- one behind her shoulders and the other under her knees. Three long strides carried them out of the living room and into the bedroom.
Or she would have, if not for the PRT-issue phone ringing on Sirkalla's end table. She dropped Kali on the bed with a wry, put-upon look and scooped up the phone.
"Vajra here-... Yes. Understood." She glanced at Kali, eyes wide and apologetic. "On my way."
The smaller woman snatched her by the wrist, pouting. "No. You cannot be serious. Now? Of all times?"
Sirkalla shed her disguise - ebony skin draining away into small holes along her body, only to be replaced by cerulean-blue clay - before leaning down to give the other woman a quick, deep kiss. It lasted too long and was over all too soon. Vajra broke away with a surprisingly wide grin, crystals growing into her helmet as she made for the window.
Kali followed, hands on the windowsill and leaning out as Vajra flew away. "You better be back here tonight! Or soon! Cannot believe this!"
The last Vajra saw of Kali that week was the hero throwing up her arms and retreating back into the apartment.
EYES OF STARMETAL
[X] Arc 9: All Chapters Twins' POV. Interludes following Taylor when needed.
AGE IS JUST A NUMBER
[X] Stay a Ward
MY LITTLE MONSTER
[X] Delay, staying in quarantine with Bonesaw until the Twins arrive.
- [x] Stunt: The Youth Guard's child advocate covers her mouth in horror, "oh you poor dear." "Indeed," you efficiently fill in the gap, preventing the young biotinker from interrupting, "Coercion...." "and Stockholm Syndrome. Classic survival strategy," adds the PRT psychologist, taking your cue. "Calling it 'art' is an obvious coping mechanism," notes the bookish PR analyst, glasses glinting under harsh fluorescent light.
FIGHTIN' 'ROUND THE WORLD
[X] Prayer and Defiant fight Deep Silver in Antarctica.
- [x] Stunt: You leave the industrial landscape of the Shard of Excised Imperfection, ascending from the occult reality of your shared mindscape. Back to the muted vibration of aircraft engines at maximum military power, of Defiant's -Ned's- stertorous breathing across the cargo bay... and the flight engineer standing a few feet away. "Captain's regards, ma'am, and we hit the dropzone in ten minutes. LZ is hot."
ROBOTNIK WATCH OUT
[X] Give it all to Iris as a 'Welcome Back' gift! There's no way this can go wrong! (Stunt suggests how this goes wrong right.)
- [x] Stunt: Iris looks on in appreciation as you disgorge drone after drone from your TIE pocket. "Determination: Material Transfer?" "Affirmative. " "Appreciation.Tools. Helpers. Direct Physical Manipulation Of Nowhere Physics Matrix." He begins to dismantle a robocat and stops, for a moment to scribble on his notepad. "Have Missed You." He turns back to disassembly with what sounds like whistling.
(DON'T) BE AFRAID
[X] Tell the PRT the full extent of SoPA's capabilities, explain what Vision of Vengeance did.
LOOK WHAT ROLLED INTO TOWN
[X] Negotiate to keep Iris in a quarantined area within SoPA range so that he can work and be studied at the same time. Iris ambivalent, PRT still not satisfied but not angry.
- [x] Stunt: Riley's 'ooh' of appreciation makes you look up from your project to see Iris drawing a strand of shimmering metal from... nothing. Optical Enhancement reveals it is charged with essence, and your head tilts exactly six degrees. "Iris. Starmetal?" "Correct. Iterating design of new Charm submodule." In the observation room, your invisible drone watches the PRT scientists scribble madly.
FREE ACTION VOTES
[X] EOA - Free Action: Recovering Alexandria's parts
- [x] Stunt: "Found them." Clockblocker and the PRT squad followed as Weaver walked out to the Delaware's edge. The PRT squad shifted uncomfortably as she began to strip. "Taylor, why are you stripping?" "Too heavy for the fish. So I need to dive for them." As she waded out past the waterline, a swarmclone formed on the shore. "Back in five."
[X] FPoP - Free Action: Meditate on Charms
- [x] Stunt: "There." Bladedancer pats the headphones on your head and steps away. As you close your eyes you hear Willow whisper "Will that help?" "She likes to meditate to wind chimes," Weld murmurs back. "Finds it calming..." With a mental effort you shut out the whispered conversation, turning up the music volume as you turn your focus inwards and down.
XP VOTES
[X]Spend No XP
***
You are now Warden of Reflected Infinities.
***
Even in the darkness of the movie theater, you're able to catch Sakura's eyes shifting to Bobby and Missy two rows in front of your seats. A bare tilt of the head and twitch of her thin lips makes the rest of the message clear.
Aren't they so cute together?
You allow yourself to indulge in a tiny smile yourself, before letting it fall while leaning back and sighing.
Sure, but is this such a great idea?
A blink, then a second, slower one.
This was your plan.
Well, either that or she just got something in her eyes again. Wouldn't be the first time either of you started an argument after some misinterpreted reflex. Oh, wait, no, she's glaring now - you roll your eyes at the blatant display of emotion and tilt your head towards the young healer that's clearly too happy to focus on the scary movie's opening credits.
Not Bobby.
Sakura sighs again, and even goes so far as to tuck her long, black hair behind her left ear. Practically shouting.
Dean likes Taylor! We can't stand in the way of that!
You cross your arms and settle back against the torn-up cushioning, since she's clearly not caring about attracting attention with her little spat. At least there isn't anyone else in this theater except a few civilians near the back.
That's no excuse! Everyone wants Taylor! And we already figured out that she probably doesn't want a harem.
The both of you share a commiserating sigh. That had been a big letdown. Not that they'd actually asked, of course, but her lack of interest in all those harem fics you two printed from CapeFic.net and left lying around is as sure a sign as any.
You still need to ask Dragon what Taylor's account name is, so you can track her likes and dislikes. Well, you assume she has an account by her muttering about all the stories pairing her with… well, everyone.
Hmm… you wonder if she's dug around in those other fic sites yet. They don't bother policing Ward fics for a T rating… which is why you both prefer to post your material there.
Some dust in the air catches in your nose, and though you wince as you try to hold in the sneeze it eventually becomes too much - but by your third sneeze in a row your eyes are watering and any attempts to draw breath between sneezes just forces you into a coughing fit.
Ugh, you knew this theater was a cheap shithole but it was the only one near both the upper and middle schools that would give Bobby and Missy some time to themselves-
"Ooooo, that sounds bad! Are you alright?"
You blink, trying to bat away reflexive allergy tears as you turn to your left to see a blur of some little white girl with too-blonde hair leaning over the empty seat's back. Is she holding something out-?
"Here- one for both of you! Oh, you two are twins! That's so neat!"
The coughing and sneezing is dying down but your throat and nose still burn. Snatching the smooth tissues a little too quickly, you pass one to Sakura - who's suffering just as badly as you - and make messy, wet noises into the white squares.
"T-thank you," you manage roughly, though quietly, because this is a movie theater and you are not Aisha. Not that anyone else would hear you, what with the loud car-chase on-screen at the moment.
Blonde ringlets bounce wildly as the relatively-cute (you give her a seven, but your eyes are still blurry and it's dark) nods enthusiastically to your response, then cups her left hand conspiratorially over her mouth before narrowing her eyes. "Do you think I should give them tissues, too? I don't want to interrupt anything!"
Blinking again, you turn your head to see that, yes, both Missy and Bobby appear to be going through their own allergic reactions to whatever's in the air. But… shouldn't Bobby's power make him immune to allergic reactions? He's not supposed to be able to get sick...
Eyes widening as your heart begins to pump faster, you turn your head to the right to look behind-
There is a man in a coat sitting directly behind you and Sakura, with a baseball cap pulled down to shroud his face even further. His brown-and-grey trenchcoat barely hides his large physique, but any notion that this is just a mundane creeper problem is thrown away by the splashes of dark stains across his arms and chest.
The handful of other patrons in the theater in the far, far back aren't coughing or sneezing. In fact, they aren't moving at all - at a glance, they almost look like they've fallen asleep.
The man notices your shifting gaze, and slowly reaches up to lift up his Philadelphia Phillies hat. Grey, bloodshot eyes glare back at you over a hatchet-like nose that's been broken one-too-many times. He doesn't smile, but his blank stare screams that he lives for what's to come.
"Aww, don't worry about Hatchet Face!" comes the too-cheerful whisper to your side, causing your heart to drop to through the floor. "He's just here to chaperone! Well," - she giggles - "and to make double-sure that you can't use your powers to sneak away. Better safe than sor~ry!"
There is screaming coming from the speakers now, as some girl is being stabbed and cut open in the movie. It sounds like Missy. It sounds like Sakura. It sounds like you.
Somehow, you manage to tear your eyes away from the eyes that hunger to slowly, viciously tear you apart and turn to stare vacantly at the movie again. You try to move your right hand to grip Sakura's left, but the pins-and-needles feeling that has been creeping down your back has made most of your body feel… heavy. Too heavy to move. Too heavy to scream.
You try again to fall back to your Safe Place, but it hasn't been working since you first turned around and saw that a large man had snuck up behind you. It probably hasn't been working for a long time, now.
Staring directly ahead, the movie becomes harder and harder to make out through your tears. There's also some blurry movement and some mechanical skittering coming from the few rows in front of you, but the screaming and crashing coming from the movie itself is drowning anything else out.
By the time the ever-smiling blonde starts cheerily sawing open your skull, you've either run out of tears or your ability to cry has been disabled. Either way, it affords you a clear look at the movie screen ahead.
The movie… the screen is… flickering. Every few seconds, the B-Rate slasher film is interrupted by a few frames of-
A monster the size of a bus, all eyes and teeth and legs and armor plates. It growls about being bored, while a handsome with a dashing smile man tuts condescendingly about having patience...
-the heroine and her two friends are asking the police-
"Hmmm, no, no. Can't you do something about this place, poppet?" the man muses, looking out at the comforting, twisted wasteland of your Safe Place no stop get out you can't be here this is ours!
-the stereotypical police officer shrugs and sighs, since there's no evidence-
Explosions. An insane woman that reminds you of Aunt Hitomi laughing maniacally as she gloats about figuring out how to bypass your Safe Place...
-the heroine and her friends going home, where the killer is definitely waiting-
Eyes. Too many eyes, seeing too much. Can't blink. Can't fall away. See the rest of the Wards fighting...
-the killer stabs the heroine-
Bonesaw laughing, giggling. Blood. So much blood. Sakura...
***
HEAR ME, SAKI KUROSAWA.
There is no movie, no theater, no chairs. No blood. No pain.
In the lightless void, a planet rises slowly; a clockwork sphere of inescapable beauty, wonder, and potential.
The entire planet shifts, splits, and opens, revealing it to be a living, mechanical Eye.
Beside you in the empty abyss, Sakura sits in the adjacent, dilapidated movie chair. Slowly, painfully, you reach up and grab her hand as she reaches out for you in turn.
Just as your hands meet, both of your chairs disintegrate into nothingness and you are ripped away - falling, falling, falling into the massive, mechanical Eye-
You reach out, desperately, screaming and crying-
FINISH THE ASSEMBLY.
***
Your eyes snap open to a bright spring day, just as you begin to fall towards some kind of hovering, net-covered platform-
No!
Desperately, you push the entirety of your will towards falling away to your Safe Place. For a fraction of a heartbeat you feel the comforting twist of space, relaxing you enough that you ignore the confused yells and sounds from wherever you just were…
Wide-eyed in alarm, you manage a surprised yelp as you are flung through the air above a black, hexagon-covered landscape.
You barely have time to register that this looks nothing like your Safe Place, before you careen, face-first, into a gemstone-and-gold wall.
***
You're not quite certain how long it takes you to regain your wits, but the process is not helped by flashes of memories - blood pain cutting screams bombs laughter pain pain pain - that send shivers down your spine and make you attempt to empty your stomach at least once.
Groaning weakly, uncurl from the fetal position you'd collapsed into and blearily open your eyes as the throbbing headache recedes.
You blink a few more times, just to make sure that your eyes are actually working, and absently brush away the long strands of smooth black hair that's partially obstructing your view… of…
… well, there's so much wrong with everything within your line of sight that you're struggling to focus on what's the strangest.
Is this your hand? Your arm? The matte-silver appendage is covered in circuitry-like filigree, each lightly pulsing with some kind of energy that's only really noticeable up-close. The stark lines - despite being largely straight with occasional hard angles - occasionally end in small rivets that are otherwise flush with the grey 'skin', but as you rotate the appendage…
Yes, this is somehow your arm.
Caught between hyperventilating and having your breath stolen from your lungs, you scramble to your knees and check over your hands, arms, chest-
Ok, you actually have a chest now. Lots of chest. You're not quite sure how you didn't notice that first. It's also made of the same weird, metal-clay skin that reminds you of-
Taylor's focused expression as she leans over you, golden eyes glowing with power as her obsidian-metal hands transform into buzzing, sawing, slicing...
Blinking, you wince and pull your hands away from your face momentarily… then, slowly, tentatively, you reach up with both hands and touch your forehead, feeling the large gemstone there.
Unbidden, a smile stretches across your face as laughter begins to bubble up from deep within your stomach.
"She- she chose us!" you gasp through happy tears. "We did it! Sak-..."
Your eyes fly open, and your head whips around as you desperately scan the area.
"SAKURA?!"
You climb to your feet, stumbling only for a fraction of a second as your myriad existential crises are forgotten.
"SAKURA!"
You idly grab your throat, trying to ignore the odd harmonics of your voice that carry out across the empty horizon of black, foot-wide hexagons. You fill your lungs and shout with whatever strange not-air fills this wasteland, again and again, but no response comes. Breathing deep, panicked breaths, you close your eyes and try to focus on your power - grasping at the strange link that always allowed you to intuit where the other was, since the other's location would be fresh in your shared memory of locations-
Empty.
Reeling back as if slapped, you steady yourself and take your head in both hands. What-... what happened to... why does your memory feel so empty, like all the places you visited around the world are just a hollow slideshow? It's almost like your memories from before you and Sakura got your power - the few fragments you remember of Japan before Leviathan, of Brockton Bay before Behemoth… you could remember them then, and you remember them now, but it's almost like everything up to now has just been… wiped away.
But even if that's the case, why can't you remember where Sakura has been since you woke up? Where she is now?!
Almost on reflex, your fingers go to large gem embedded in your forehead, shaking fingers caressing it lightly- and feel something move against your fingertips.
Slowly, you direct both hands to your forehead and tentatively try to make out what it was you just felt. Yes, it's a circular gem - Taylor said it was called a 'brilliant cut' diamond, but you're not sure if yours is white like hers - but unlike hers, you feel some kind of… setting? You almost wouldn't notice it if you weren't feeling for it, but flush with your skin there's a very small ring around the gem, only broken by a small triangular bump on the left side-
Except, as you're tilting your head slightly to try to give your hands a better angle, your fingers feel the small bump twitch and spin slightly in time with your head's movements. Feeling your face screw up in confusion, you twist your head this-way-and-that trying to make sense of the motion; it feels like it's mostly on the left side, but swings up and down as you move your head.
You're not sure why this has drawn your attention so completely, and you feel your heart sink as you raise your hands enough to look out across the horizon- only to feel the small bump spin around completely as your head moves with your gaze.
Making a noise of confusion, you once again follow an unknown instinct and… bow, keeping your hands on your forehead. The, slowly, you rotate your facing… feeling the bump track from the right side, up, up, up, then down, down…
Halting your movements, you rotate the other way again, just to be sure.
Is it… pointing? Towards something? What could something attached to your gem-
Soulgem!
Eyes wide, hope flaring in your chest, you look out in the direction that the strange compass-like facet on your soulgem seemed to be pointing…
A black, hexagon-laden horizon under a blank white sky stretches out before you. There is no curvature that you can detect - nothing like when you and Sakura visited the (freezing!) top of Mount Everest with Nowhere and Strider, and could see the curve of the world laid out before the four of you. There is no smog or smoke that might limit your viewing distance, and you suspect that there may not even be normal air.
The realization comes that, in the truest expression of the word, you are looking out into Infinity.
Just as your hands meet, both of your chairs disintegrate into nothingness and you are ripped away - falling, falling, falling into the massive, mechanical Eye-
You blink away the flash of memory, shivering and wiping away the tears streaming down your face.
Sakura is out there, somewhere. You can feel it.
You just can't get there from here.
Not alone, anyway.
You sigh.
Knowing her, Enduring Order-
Wincing and straightening up from where you have sunk to the cold, surprisingly-not-as-hard-as-it-looks floor, you wonder why your first thought of Taylor was her… Alchemical name. It felt… natural? The proper way to address her?
You are not quite certain why you aren't more upset by this clear alteration of your thoughts and memories, and the fact that you aren't upset isn't upsetting you either. Ugh, now you're starting to get a headache again.
Your narrowed eyes drift to left, towards the giant circle-gate-thing several dozen yards away… then to the right, towards the three-story pagoda that would make the Kinkaku-ji "Golden Pavillion" look completely drab and barren. It is just so impossibly ornate and fancy that… well, you have sort of been ignoring it, since 'fancy castle' is at least somewhat within the bounds of reality, while 'infinite empty world of hexagons', 'giant magical gateway', and 'you are now a Real Life Magical (Robot?) Girl' all are far more… reality-shattering?
You don't want to think about when you last slept, but you're starting to feel exhausted with your new life already. Was this what Taylor went through when she woke up? Or- oh! Marrow! Wasn't she supposed to have come back? That was almost a week ago now-
A towering figure of gleaming blue crystal, glimpsed briefly as she leans over another hospital bed across the room...
Whimpering at the pain that wracks your body alongside the memory, you unclutch your fingers from your head and try to practice Taylor's breathing technique that she said had helped her get through a lot in the last two months.
Breathe in… breathe out… try to empty your mind…
Leaning back and lying down on the ground, you keep your eyes closed and try to fall back into the comforting buoyancy of your Safe Place - since that must be where you are now, converted from hypnotic ridges and mountains of alien metals and crystals into… this. You and Sakura used to be able to shift and shape your Safe Place like a canvas, and the two of you spent more than a few nights reshaping the world when nightmares kept you both awake.
Following those same instincts that had led the two of you to discover that part of your parahuman power, you begin to wonder: if it's all hexagons, can you just… move them around a little? When it came to your power before, all it took to get started was a little mental push-
The world beneath your bare form thrums to life like a great, mechanical beast woken from its slumber. It isn't loud or jarring, but rather a comfortable humming that ebbs and flows as you mentally envision groups of hexagons first separating and re-arranging like a massive, alien puzzle.
Frowning to yourself as you lay back with your eyes closed, you realize that even if you moved some of the hexagons around it wouldn't look any different in the end - they all appear identical, after all. You don't want to experiment on the ones you're resting on quite yet, just to be on the safe side, so what does that leave you with?
The large circle-gate-thing and the… impossibly-fancy-but-somehow-not-too-fancy pagoda. Well, you're fairly certain the large circle is a part of your power now - maybe even the entrance and exit to your Safe Place, if that's where you were tossed out of when you first arrived - so you're not going to try moving that just yet. That just leaves the…
You're just going to call it "the Pagoda" now, even though you feel like it would somehow be insulted by just that.
Right, so that just leaves the Pagoda. You're able to picture it in your mind's eye clearly now, much like you used to be able to remember and recognize anything that was in your Safe Place. Actually, now that you're focusing directly on it, it feels… ah! You remember that anyone that stayed too long in your Safe Place (except you and Sakura, of course) would get absorbed into the landscape and you'd have to un-shape them out - maybe that's what's going on here? It feels half-stuck and half-unstuck - probably because it hasn't been absorbed by the ground yet.
Though, your power only cared about people before - all the books, dressers, and poster boards you brought in to decorate your Safe Place never got absorbed when you left them alone for a while. Why would your power try to trap a house? Is it jealous because it's so beautiful?
The thought makes you giggle, but after a moment of consideration you manage to cement the impression of 'safe' for your mental image of the Pagoda, and deep below you there is a resounding thunk like some massive lever switching on.
Nodding to yourself, you being to visualize the hexagons under and around the Pagoda in preparation for your attempt to move it around by shifting the landscape, when the silence of your Safe Place is broken by another sound.
A short, disappointed grunt.
"Uugh," says the pained, but distinguished, voice. "That is the last time I accept an upgrade proposal from Debok Moom."
Jolting upright, you stare wide-eyed towards the source of the sound. Was someone inside the Pagoda? Was that why your power was confused?
The jewel-encrusted double-door entryway flies open, except instead of a person tumbling out… there is only a gust of heavenly-perfumed wind, coinciding with the most elegant belch you have ever heard.
"Oooh, what did he do? Stuff an entire Pole inside me? I wonder if I can even walk…"
You blink, and bring a hand to cover your mouth as you blush. How… lewd?
Seemingly oblivious to your existence, the Pagoda continues to mumble to itself in a way that is both refined and completely without care - a tone of voice that brings to mind a fantastically wealthy noble that would have no problem drowning themselves in liquid chocolate.
"Ahhhh, let's see what we have here, hmm? He did say it was something only I could be entrusted-" the smooth male voice starts, then pauses dramatically…
Only for all the shuttered windows to blow open and the entire structure to shudder with indignant rage as the voice howls into the empty air.
"Those peasants left tire tracks on the carpets! And my trophy room! They-... they just threw my beautiful trophies out into the hallway! All to make room for... what even is this?! All these cables and tubing just for some kind of personal bath?! Did they not see the sauna two doors down?! Or the bathhouse?! What in the Spheres do I need this mechanical tub for?!"
At first you were content to remain quiet and motionless while the… living?... Pagoda rants and rages, but when the twelve-foot-long metal legs - each topped by blades as tall as you - unfolded from suddenly-there holes in the outside walls, you opted to hastily scoot away as they quickly began gesticulating and flailing wildly in the air.
Except, in doing so, you appear to have drawn the attention of the overdramatic housing structure.
"Wha- you! You there! You will help me clean up-..." it calls out, all its legs immediately slamming down and lifting the entire structure a few feet into the air so that it can rotate the side with the front gate towards you. In doing so, you now notice that there are a number of enormous gemstones ensconced above the front gates: two glowing red gems the size of your head fastened side-by-side immediately above the gates, with three smaller glowing gems just below each and offset slightly away from each other - almost like some kind of insect eyes.
Eyes that regard you at first with callous indifference, before spinning and shifting to give the appearance of focused curiosity.
"I'm sorry," the fabulous Pagoda says without even a shred of remorse, "but just what are you supposed to be?
***
You stare somewhat dumbly at the three-story, animated pavillion that grew eight massive spider-like legs and then started questioning your existence.
"Ano…" you begin - or, at least, you at first think that you do, until you realize that your mouth didn't quite end in the familiar 'O' shape of the typical Japanese vocalized pause. Furrowing your brow, you open and shut your mouth a few times while consciously attempting to speak Japanese - which actually requires conscious effort now, you realize, when the last time you were conscious you generally thought and defaulted to your home country's language.
Didn't Endu- Taylor mention that she could speak a new language, too, when she came out of the locker?
Oh- right. The Pagoda.
Glancing back up to try to meet the large eye-like gemstones that are now giving the impression of a scowl, you look down at the floor again while shifting your legs under you to assume a proper seiza position. Clasping your hands on your knees, then quickly bringing up your right hand to cover your mouth as you clear your throat, you try to keep your stature as deferential and polite as possible while maintaining as even a tone as you can muster.
The Pagoda definitely wasn't speaking Japanese or English, so you relax your conscious effort to speak a recognizable language and just let the words flow.
"I'm sorry, I do not understand your question… sir?"
With your head lightly bowed your field of vision prevents you from gazing up at the towering - literally - figure only a few yards in front of your position, but its immense size means that it's still quite easy to at least make out how its legs shift and flex in a way that makes it seem like it would be bobbing side-to-side in attentive curiosity.
"Ah! Proper manners! It has been too long, I must say. Very well - let's have a good look at you, shall we? Up! Up!"
It's front-left leg gestures for you to rise at the same time, and you do your best to keep to smooth, un-threatening movements as you rise to your feet and clasp your hands just below where your… well, where you used to have a belly button, since you don't feel one anymore. There does seem to be a kind of belt-like strand of metal flush with your skin around your abdomen, but you decide that now is not the time for rigorous self-examination.
"Mmm, graceful movements I see, and an exquisite construction! Astounding! Come, come, I give you permission to gaze upon me fully - I can't quite see your face if you're staring at the floor, now can I?"
You think you manage to keep a straight face and your eyes firmly unrolled at such over-the-top arrogance, but as you lift your head up and smoothly tuck your hair behind your ears, you note that the eye-like gemstones shift to a bright gold color and spin in their settings as they take you in.
"By the Maidens!" the Pagoda gasps, rocking back slightly as both its foremost legs criss-cross against its entry gate. "You are divine!"
The genuine shock mixed with its appraisal makes you blush furiously in embarrassment, and you blink furiously while reflexively averting your gaze. You and Sakura aren't… well, you weren't the prettiest girls, but you weren't ugly either. Your Wards costumes even covered your faces, and though the PR people had said that was because hiding the identity of twins required it, but if Taylor had had a twin you're sure they'd have made something work.
Taylor did mention that she was ugly before she was chosen, too… so… maybe you are pretty now? Maybe even as pretty as her?
Well, ok, hopefully not that pretty, since she gets way more attention for her looks than you'd want to deal with. Still, if this vain villa actually thinks you're pretty, then you must be very pretty.
"Ah, yes! Of course! You are a god-blooded child of one of Autochthon's Divine Ministers!" you note the Pagoda bobbing up and down in a self-assured nod. "That explains the human-like appearance blended flawlessly with divine mechanical ingenuity. Are you perhaps… Runel's daughter?"
Even though you somehow understand the words that the Pagoda is using, he might as well be speaking gibberish for all the sense he's making. You and Sakura had tried to pay attention to Taylor's presentation on the mechanical planet that has all those people that need to be rescued, but between all those amazing pictures she drew and the constant use of words that didn't really make sense… well, Sakura had kept notes and you'd scribbled some ideas to ask her about later, but none of that is helping you now.
Well, he certainly loves to talk - maybe it'll be best to just let him explain things for you? That could be the reason he's here, after all: to serve as your teacher? Taylor did say that she had a "spirit" companion, too, before Behemoth launched it into orbit.
"Sir?" you try, meeting his gaze while nodding your head demurely - an honest effort to appear humble and receptive to further explanations. "I'm sorry, but I… still don't understand what you mean."
The glamorous three-tiered residence freezes at your response, and remains still for several moments. Eventually, its eyes shift and twist as if to blink, then zoom in on you while at the same time it slowly… slowly… leans forward enough to bring the base of its gates to the ground - the closest it can get towards bringing its 'eyes' to your own level, which still leaves you looking almost straight up.
"What?" it inquires, more concerned than incredulous.
...or maybe not.
"W-well, I think I'm called an… Exalted Alchemical? I'm sorry, but Autochthon didn't tell me-"
"A what?!" the glimmering structure screeches, reeling back with all its eyes blazing a shockingly-brilliant white. "They-... he-... what?!"
The lavish structure skitters back a few feet, reeling, but clearly still focused on you with its eyes shifting to different colors as the front gates rattle with the force of its wordless noises of disbelief. After a few moments of this, however, it suddenly dashes forward and looms over you even more closely this time - it's voice now deadly serious… and tinged with a slight manic thrill that increases as its eyes grow more and more red.
"A new type of Exalted, blessed by the Great Maker himself!" it breathes, causing the Pagoda's front gates to flutter. "We always wondered why he didn't send his own Chosen forth in the War, but… no! The only reason he'd make a new form of Exaltation... Is the Treaty broken? Is that why I am called to serve once again? Does the Exalted Host march forth once more?!"
Leaning back from both the closeness and intense gaze of the Pagoda, you bring both hands up in a warding gesture while trying to keep your voice from wavering despite your wide-eyed expression.
"S-sir! I'm sorry, but I-I don't know anything about an Exalted Host or a Treaty or 'god-blooded' or Divine Ministers! I only became an Exalted Alchemical a few minutes before I woke you up!"
Once again your profession of ignorance halts the aggressively opulent house in its tracks, and slowly the small trails of steam and billowing drapes fluttering from various open windows settles down once again.
Then, with a heavy, exasperated sigh that causes the front gate doors to swing about lazily, the Pagoda splays its legs and settles to the floor with a heavy thud. Its six back legs wearily swivel and reach up to tuck in errant drapes and blinds, while the front two close the entrance gate and then cover its eyes with the massive attached blades.
"Did I not hold the line- did I not lay waste to the enemies of the Exalted and host them in grand style? Did I not give everything... and more... to the cause? What failure did I commit to- to be slighted so blithely?"
You blink.
"Ah-...," you cough into your fist, giving him an unimpressed raise of your eyebrow "Sir?"
Another huff, fluttering the gates again, while one of his right legs gestures in your direction. "Oh, nothing personal my dear, it's just… well, you're so new. Though..." he trails off, shifting both forelegs down to gaze at you over them, "you really didn't understand anything of what I was talking about earlier? Where in Creation were you raised? They taught you Language and manners, but not how the world works?"
"I'm sorry, sir, but," you bob a tiny bow, but maintain eye contact this time, "I was raised on… Earth? Earth-Bet?"
Again, the distractingly-gorgeous housing complex pins you with a set of focused beams from its glowing eyes, though they shift between blue and white in a manner that you interpret as honest confusion.
"Earth? Is it important? A base, or maybe a reserve? The way you said '-Bet' makes it sound like a code-name. Or do you mean Omphalos?"
"Omphalos?"
The bladed forelimbs spread wide and tall, as if trying to encompass something too big for words. "You know, the mountain at the center of the world, the Elemental Pole of Earth?"
"The North Pole?"
"No, that's the Pole of Air. Water in the West, Wood in the East, Fire in the South, and Earth in the Center with the Heavenly City above all."
You frown, bringing your hand up under your mouth in reflection. "Tay- ah, Enduring Order Administrator mentioned Poles of… Metal, Crystal, Steam, Oil, Lightning, and… Smoke? She said those are the ones in Autochthonia."
"Autochthon...ia?" the Pagoda draws out, each of the eyes shifting through a rainbow of muted colors as the animated residence muses aloud, testing the word. "Is that a city named- no, a city wouldn't have its own poles. Do you mean… the Great Maker's Jotun? His world-body? But he doesn't-... why would he have elements of his own? Is this 'Earth-Bet' a stronghold within 'Autochthonia'?"
"No, sir, it's- well-," you sigh, offering your own open hands and a half-shrug before clasping them before you again, all while letting your own train of thought ramble onward. "Enduring Order Administrator said that Autochthon is dying and needs help getting to Earth-Bet? And that if he dies then the hundreds of millions of people in Autochthonia will die too? He chose her as the first Exalted Alchemical on Earth-Bet, and he just told me to 'Complete the Assembly', so..."
You make a half-turn and raise a leading hand towards the large, glowing ring a few dozen yards away.
"Maybe she can answer your questions? I'm sorry for not knowing more, I only remember parts of her presentation from last week."
The gemstone eyes of the Pagoda each blink on and off in a rhytmic sequence multiple times as you think aloud, before it finally huffs and waves its scythe-tipped forelegs in a helpless gesture. "My dear, every bit of what you just said raised more questions than the last. Still, do you mean there are more of you through that Gate in 'Earth-Bet'? And 'Assembly' is your 'Circle' or 'Convention' analogue?"
You offer a weak smile as the Pagoda begins peppering you with bizarre new nomenclature, but it becomes difficult to maintain as it brings to mind your missing half. "I- yes, there is at least one more of us - possibly two more, but I don't remember the last few days very well. There was an attack, and my sister and I-..."
"Ah!" the forward residence acknowledges, comprehension quickly shifting to disconcerting levels of enthusiasm. "You are the vanguard! A new type of Chosen in a new world, under siege from forces set against the Great Maker! Oh, I see now - I am not slighted, I am blessed! Of course only I would be able to provide the centuries of war-time experience, the security of front-line defenses, and the divine lavishness befitting those Chosen of the King of All Craftsmen!"
Four pairs of eyes hone in on you, blazing silver with godly power, as the entire structure begins to shudder and reassemble itself.
"And you were under siege, you say? Perfect!"
The glamorous, three-story pagoda lifts itself up off the ground once again, before skittering back a few paces to allow you to take in the entirety of its magnificence: covered in dazzling mosaics of fantastic battles against abstractly-terrifying monsters, artful engravings of heroic figures, and enough shades of silver, gold, and gemstones to buy a third-world country, the entire structure is flawlessly constructed for both beauty and structural security.
Then, before your eyes, you see the windows, railings, and front gate shift - precious metals and gemstones flowing like liquid - to turn each into a seemingly-perfect defensive position. Windows thicken and become thin slots like in old castles, railings solidify to become crenelations, and the front gates visibly gain several inches in thickness before slamming closed with a mighty bang.
"I, Lord Crushing Grasp, Destroyer God of the Mark Three Siege Pagoda, storied veteran of the Primordial War, known to Sidereal Conventions as the Velvet Pincers of the Maidens… have deemed you and your Assembly worthy of my patronage!"
There is a moment of silence as the patronizing pagoda finishes his exuberant decree, but you quickly manage to stifle your instinctual huff and eye-roll - instead, once again kneeling down in seiza and leaning forward into a full bow. You don't touch your forehead to the floor, and you keep both hands on your knees, but you do lean forward until you are nearly horizontal.
"Thank you, Lord Crushing Grasp. I am honored by your patronage, and I am certain that the rest of my… Assembly… will be honored as well."
The… god?... before you makes an appraising hum for a few moments, before trailing off into a contented grunt of acknowledgement.
"There is much to teach you, young one, but I'm relieved that your manners don't need addressing. You would have fit right in with the Dragon Kings, even. Regardless, we shall not delay any longer!"
With a following shout of laughter, you manage to lean back up just in time to see the doors before you slam open once more, sparkling champagne seeming to gush forth from bejeweled fountains just beyond the threshold.
"Now, let's get you looking the part of conquering heroine! I have just the thing!"
A series of long, plush, red-velvet carpet reaches out like grasping tongues, wrapping you completely before you barely even have time to rise to your feet. Then, with a yank and another laugh from Lord Grasp, you are flung into the awaiting foyer - the heavy gate doors slamming shut behind you with a resounding crash.
***
After the initial blur of glitz, glamour, and unexpected dunking into a scented bath, you regain your wits as animated towels, brushes, combs, oils, and creams begin a surprisingly thorough - and expedient - treatment of your new form while you are swept ceremoniously through various rooms that are… well, more elegant, refined, and opulent than seems physically possible.
You catch glimpses of jaw-dropping mosaics that flow like mirages, tapestries full of colors that radiate light in ways meant for more-than-mortal eyes, scents that evoke scenes of pleasure and contentment beyond human conception, sounds from glowing, self-playing instruments that have never been seen on Earth, and satin-like towels and clothes that feel like liquid pleasure drifting over your new skin.
Lord Grasp (which he allows you to call him, instead of his 'full' name) seems to be in complete control of practically every part and piece within the breathtakingly-extravagant pagoda, and though he hustles you through room after room before you can barely take anything in, at the same time he is grilling you on what you know of the battle "outside" thus far.
Combined with the flashes of stinging memories dredged up by the recollection, the animated opulence of the world around you becomes too much - a pleasureable overload of the senses that stands in the way of waking nightmares that you spit out through clenched teeth and increasingly-heavy breaths. Once you start you can't stop, the words spilling from your mouth in a jumble half-remembered images and guesses at what exactly was happening... until you finally clam up at the memory of world-shattering PAIN.
By the time you are done, your grey fingers are clutching fiercely at the golden armrests of your current seat, and whatever treatments Lord Grasp has managed for your face must be ruined.
Even with your eyes closed, you can feel the room around you - some kind of walk-in closet the size of a living room - has grown still and quiet.
Lord Crushing Grasp considers the pieces you have told him, the horrors you have recounted, and the room itself hums with disappointment and anger.
"We shall reap from them a hundred-fold for each indignity you and your sister suffered. Perhaps, then, we shall see who would dare stand against us."
It's not… quite the comforting reassurance you were expecting, but you aren't quite sure exactly what you were expecting, truly. You open your eyes again - blinking a few times and rubbing your eyes to clear away the messy tears - and turn your gaze to another set of eight glowing gemstones set above the doorway in the same manner that was above the entrance gate: two larger stones, each with a set of three smaller stones arrayed slightly off-center below them.
It's clear that this… Pagoda God… is incredibly self-centered, but maybe that's normal for these types of creatures? You remember a discussion about the Endbringers in one of your classes a few years ago, and how experts theorized that attributing human-like thought processes might not be correct if they never were human in the first place - that truly inhuman creatures wouldn't have the same drives, impulses, or thought patterns of… well, of what is expected from humans.
For all you know, this could be him at his most empathetic - just his own strange way of showing compassion.
Sniffing away the last of the tears, you nod and give a tentative smile to the crimson, glowing eyes. In return they spin a full rotation and shift back to a light purple hue.
"My armory has been pillaged - stripped bare!" the voice bemoans, "So these silks will have to take the place of a magnificent, glorious Celestial Battle-…"
After a beat of silence, a long, drawn-out sigh flutters the luxurious gowns being carted gracefully through the air. "Nevermind. I could name legendary weapons and armors at you until Calibration and they'd be nothing but empty words to you, wouldn't they? I need to come up with some kind of teaching regimen to instruct you on the glories I participated in during the War - to give you proper perspective of what's expected from you, of course."
Your smile turns a bit brittle as the chatterbox chateau prattles on, your life-ending, mind-shattering trauma noted and considered, but ultimately not remarked upon as anything less than expected on the battlefield.
It is a bit hard to enjoy the rest of the divine makeover after that, and you find yourself thinking more about what Sakura must be feeling… wherever she is? Your soulgem-compass points away from the large, circular gate that you saw before, so you don't think she's already home on Earth-Bet. Could it be that Autochthon is simply in the process of building her body now, since Taylor theorized that it takes him a week for each new conversion?
"-right? It was one of Sweet River's earlier outfits, before we started assisting in the final pushes against Adrían - which was before Marius discovered the Demon-Wracking Shout, of course. I know it's not perfect, but nothing I have was designed for... your engineered beauty, and it's the only one that fits your physique."
You blink, the idle chatter resolving into coherent words again, and look down. The flowing gown draped across your form - purest whites, shimmering greyish-blues that sparkle as if lit by a field of unending starlight, golds designs and gemstones that belong in museums - has an open neckline, open just enough that you can still make out your own shapes.
You aren't… that large? You're probably about as big as Aisha now, maybe? Ugh, she's probably going to tease that she must have the ideal size if you got upgraded to match.
Now that you're thinking more about your appearance, however, you consider that you have a lot more metal parts and circuitry than Taylor usually does when she doesn't look like a regular human. Didn't she say that that was part of one of her powers? You wish you had the 'Taylor' notebook with you!
Screwing up your face in concentration, you squint as you try to feel out if you have any other powers besides your remodeled parahuman power. She said it was like an extra limb-
You make a surprised squeak and your eyes unfocus as power suddenly courses through your veins, lighting up your body's circuitry and elegant, exposed machinery. The exhilarating rush of energy saturates your perception, bringing with it sparks of power that seem to float in the back of your mind where once only your parahuman power lingered: always just beyond your conscious thought, instinctual enough to pull upon even when you don't know you need it.
You feel more than hear Lord Grasp's shocked exclamation at the change in your aesthetic, but there is a river of energy coursing through your body - through your soul - and it is difficult to focus on anything but those new instincts hovering in the back of your mind. But distracting as they are, they're still too hazy to make out - as if you suddenly only knew that you have a set of legs and no idea which impulses would make them move.
"Little one, what are you doing?! I had the best dress, the proper hairstyle, and even dipped into what makeup was left behind… and you had to go and become even more exotic!"
"O-oh! I-I'm sorry, Lord Grasp!" you gasp, coming back to yourself.
Bringing your hands up to stare at them again, you notice the dull matte grey of your skin now sparkles, emitting a faint rainbow hue as it seems to catch the light at different angles. The circuitry running all along your form now obviously glows a light blue, which is visible through the thinner parts of your gown and backlights the exposed metal facets and lines of your… what were they called again? Chances?
Charms.
The word resonates in your mind, and it feels so right that you wonder how you ever forgot it.
There's a deep, elegant scoff in the air. "Don't apologize for unparalleled beauty, Little One. I was simply shocked that you somehow managed to find a way to harmonize with the dress' aesthetic - though, now that you're lit up like that, I have to ask: are you perchance made of starmetal?"
Starmetal.
A word that you've heard before and forgotten, but now echoes through your soul in a way that could never be forgotten again.
"Yes," you breathe out, as the energy coursing through your body and soul pulls your mouth into a bubbling smile. "I am."
"Of course, of course," the voice hums, "as should be expected. Beauty can only truly be appreciated when it's rare. Does that mean that the others are similarly crafted?"
Your smile dims a bit as you consider what Taylor called herself, since even she didn't like to talk about it. "No, Lord. She's made of... soulsteel... and others are made of-"
"Souls-steel?" the voice interrupts, confusion slipping into the usual smooth elegance. "What kind of name is that? Is it some form of thaumaturgical alloy?"
"I don't know, Lord Grasp. She didn't like talking about it, but… you can ask her? She said the other ones are Jade, Moonsilver, Adamant, and Orichalcum-"
"It's pronounced 'or-ee-kal-kum', not 'or-ee-chal-kum', Little One."
Your eye twitches. Sure, he's a house, but you're not that little. You're almost eighteen!
"Ah, sir? I have a name."
A snort, and you notice the eyes shift to a blue glow.
"Of course you do. But you didn't introduce yourself properly, so now you are 'Little One'."
You narrow your eyes to match the cool gaze, and you feel the itch to pull on one of your Charms to… hrmm. You don't want to hurt him, or make him angry if you mess up the first time using your powers. Do you have anything showy? Something that can help you make a better re-introduction…? Maybe… this-
Oh. Yes, that will do.
You are, after all, a Magical Girl now.
"Well, then, Lord Crushing Grasp," you declare, trying to keep a serious expression as you rise to your feet, despite the ludicrousness of what you're about to attempt. As you pull more and more on the charm the world around you ripples, wavers, and darkens until the jaw-dropping extravagance of the rows and rows of clothing around you fades away - leaving only a brilliant night sky filled with the twinkling stars of the Milky Way.
You take two steps forward on empty space, reach forward with both arms, then pull them in before spreading them wide for a graceful bow - the maneuver showing off the ways your trailing sleeves shimmer like your skin under the open starlight.
"It is my pleasure and honor to make your acquaintance. I am-"
Saki Kurosawa, you try to say, but something different, something more comes out instead.
"I am Warden of Reflected Infinities, Chosen of Autochthon for the Starmetal Caste."
It takes less than a thought to alter your plan to account for the change, and as you speak, the night sky around you is lit by brilliant arcs of fireworks that explode as punctuation for your proclamation. Just as they burst into light, they immediately resolve into Japanese kanji, English letters, and Old Realm script...
… or at least, you hope it's the right Old Realm script. You're mostly just winging this and have never seen what Old Realm actually looks like when it's written, but you aren't going to turn around and double-check that your Charm made it look right. Magical Girl Spellcheck Powers, Activate?
You keep smiling demurely, hoping for the best, and hold the wide, graceful bow until long after the echo of the fireworks has faded.
"Mmm, I suppose that was marginally better," comes the eventual considering hum. "A good first attempt for a fresh Exalt. But what kind of name is that? So harsh!"
You merely tilt your head in acknowledgement, but don't deign to respond. You quite like your name, after all. It means business.
"Oh, alright, you can stop the lightshow now... Warden. Don't we have a battlefield to dominate?"
The smile stretches fully across your face now, fueled by genuine satisfaction of being called by your true name. You are still Saki Kurosawa, of course, but… well, that's not quite enough to describe you now, is it?
"Of course, Lord Grasp. Let me-"
You pause, blinking, as you realize something for the first time.
"Lord Grasp, sir?"
The world resolves back into a palatial closet filled with clothing that deserves a team of artists to study each and every piece for a decade to truly comprehend its beauty. Two large glowing gemstones, each set atop and angled row of three smaller stones, regard you with a mixture of consideration and approval. "Yes?"
You straighten back up and raise an index finger.
"How are you going to fit? Through the Gate, I mean?"
The mansion thrums with a knowing chuckle, and the eyes glow a grinning gold.
"My palatial size too much for you my dear?"
You blush, covering your smile with hand. Well, if he's going to be so lewd...!
"Please, Lord, you're such a… grand personage. I mean, I've never with anyone so-," you struggle, fighting down the growing smile, needlessly fanning yourself with your free hand. "It's only my first time!"
The gemstones spin silently for a moment, and the deep voice grows more mirthful. "You needn't worry, dear, as Maidens are quite flexible when they want to be."
"O-oh!" you practically snort, "T-then you'll promise you'll be gentle?"
A pause, as the two of you maintain eye contact.
Finally, the entire structure rumbles again, but much deeper and louder than before as the gemstones spin and resolve into a deep cerulean blue.
"For all her greatness, Sweet River never did enjoy these types of spars, and I only managed to get Kazin to humor me a few times before he passed," he sighs, the tinge of fond remembrance giving him a wistful air. "Now... Leaping Jewel Crescent… he could make a stone blush!"
You, too, feel the pang of loss that is evident in his voice: Sakura would simply adore this gossipy house.
"To answer your question, Warden," he eventually sighs after a long, poignant pause, though a trace of the mirth quickly returns, "it will be easier to just show you. Unless… do you remember the way you came in?"
Straightening up, your eyes track the floating dresses and accessories that had been carted out earlier, watching them suddenly leap out of the air and back onto their respective hangers with apparent haste. "N-no, Lord, it was all a bit overwhelming."
"Hmm... well, then, do you know how properly break your fall?"
Bladedancer's lithe form pounces towards you with a practice sword in each hand, eager grin split open in a shout-
You blink away the sudden memory that causes your stomach to plummet. "W-what?!"
With an impossible twist of space that reminds you of Missy's power, the world around you simply collapses - shoving you forward in a sudden, chaotic tumble as different scenes of overwhelming opulence enter and leave your senses faster and faster and faster-
For the second time today, you are flung through the air, tumbling in a panic before you hit the black, hexagonal-grid wasteland-
-but this time, you manage to stick the landing.
"Uuughhh…." you say to the not-entirely-uncomfortable ground.
Mostly. Kinda.
Sighing, you rise to your feet with a smooth grace that you definitely didn't have before, then pull up the gown that's slipped down your shoulders and re-tighten the waistband so that your girls have proper support again-
Your hands are batted away from the small of your back by - what feels like - stiff, metal poles.
"No, no, this dress wraps clockwise then counterclockwise. Here."
You freeze. The voice is Lord Grasp's, but it sounds like he's… right behind and… below you? Awkwardly, you raise your arms up to allow the two - no, three - other arms that are working at the back of your dress complete access, but when you look down…
You blink.
Two gold-and-silver, mechanical, large, scorpion-like pincers are deftly re-tightening your dress and waistband.
"There."
The pincers release you and pull back, just as there's a metallic skittering sound of insectile legs against the hard stone ground.
You don't move your arms down… or move anything, really.
An egregiously ornate mechanical scorpion the size of a tiny European car scuttles sideways into your peripheral vision. Its entire starmetal-silver carapace - from the eight giant legs to the two enormous pincers to the single, massive stinger - is near-completely covered in precious metals and gems to form stylized sheaths, elaborate mosaics, or eye-catching geometric patterns. The overwhelming displays of opulence are, if the rest wasn't bizarre enough, centered around what appears to be a one-person palanquin resting on the flat of its back - which, of course, is as much an ostentatious presentation of wealth and luxury as the rest of the ensemble.
Mandibles the size of your hands flutter as the terrifyingly opulent scorpion-pagoda-god bobs in acknowledgement.
"Adequate."
…
Why?
Why scorpion?!
Why did it - he -have to be scorpion?
Mom almost died from a scorpion sting when you were little! You made sure Taylor agreed never to use them anywhere near the two of you!
"Eep?"
Menacing gemstone eyes twist and click in their settings, glowing blue, then gold, then green as you remain motionless and wide-eyed. Gold-sheathed pinchers large enough to tear you in half click absently, and the similarly-coated stinger larger than your head twitches in your direction.
Power-walking to the circular Gate, you prepare to fling yourself into the twist in space that appears as you hammer your converted parahuman power to take you anywhere but here.
Just as you leap, a sudden weight hits your right shoul-
There is a mechanical scorpion the size of a cat on your shoulder, and it looks very cross.
"By the Maidens, what in Creation-"
You fall away from your Safe Place just as you entered it: screaming and flailing in mindless panic.
***
An open afternoon sky resolves again, space twisting with the sound of rushing wind, but before you can try to fully dislodge the terror that has gripped itself to your shoulder-
"AAAA-oooompf!"
- you land in a disheveled, squirming mess on top of some kind of thickly-padded, reinforced net.
"Warden!" the head-sized mechanical scorpion bellows directly into your ear, dismissively slapping away your attempts to shove him off your shoulder. "You willlllnnnuurggha-...!"
With a groaning spasm that causes the offending terror to release its hold on your shoulder, you manage to shove the scorpion off onto the hammock-like - and surprisingly comfortable - net. Before it can attempt to re-establish its grip, you roll and scramble away from the twitching creature before propping yourself up with your arms and scanning the area.
This is… Brockton Bay! Or Brockton Crater, you guess, since the net you are resting in is currently suspended in the middle of the air by a wide, hovering, metal platform. There's still faint wisps of gas roiling off the bubbling lake below, giving the entire area an awful stench - like old eggs mixed with an entire vat of the most rank, foul, nose-eyes-and-throat burning fumes of industrial chemicals. It might even be worse than that unlabeled solvent Taylor once used to clean up after Aisha's attempt at cooking.
Flinching at that memory and holding your nose just to prevent the smell from overwhelming your senses, you're about to try to fall back to your Safe Place and then teleport to the crater's edge when the groaning shudder from… the thing a few feet away makes you stop and glance towards... it.
You think it might even be more terrifying in its current size, since it's now in that terrifying uncanny valley of both too small to beggar disbelief, but big enough to seem like a nightmare come to life. A very, very fancy nightmare, you're forced to admit as you shrink away from its upside-down, twitching and moaning form.
"W-warden…! Whauuggh-..." it groans, panic and disgust lacing its voice as it struggles in a way that's just tangling it up more in the net. "Ugh! What is this place!? What just tried to… take over my mind?! We… are in danger!"
Horrors from your oldest nightmares aren't supposed to sound like a posh, upper-crust gentleman scared out of his wits. In fact, given everything… he… mentioned about having been a part of some massive Exalted war effort before, as well as his genuine eagerness to head straight for the front lines, you're… conflicted by his apparent shock and pain.
Because scorpion! It's perfectly justified!
But… you're not heartless. You're not… Bonesaw. Maybe you can-
There is a twitch, a buzzing spark in the back of your mind like one of your phantom limbs - a Charm - instinctively trying to activate in response to the emotional turbulence. It's a cold, resolute certainty- you don't need this fear. A way to cleanse… to purge.
You pull… but it is... heavier than the last Charm. You can't just channel the power flowing through your veins, now, you have to want it.
Grabbing the mental limb in your mind, you push.
A crackling, thrumming hum fills your ears, and you feel the lightning in your veins flow up from your heart, through your neck, into your head and pour into your eyes. But rather than the brilliant heat or electric shock that you first expect, your eyes feel like they almost drink in the power with a fierce, icy thirst. Out of sheer reflex, your eyelids pull back as the world resolves into stark contrasts - like a photographic filter that dulls ambient light while keeping any people or objects of interest in hyper focus.
Your empty gaze settles on the twitching, cat-sized mechanical scorpion, but while he is the instigator of your emotional turmoil, he is not the source. No, just looking at him now you feel the connection he stirs within your own soul: an instinctive, emotional response of irrational fear rooted to a painful memory of your mother laid up in the hospital with a massive chunk of blackened, dead skin on her leg.
Every memory of your parents is precious, and you won't have this one polluted by negative feelings.
So resolved, the emotional link shatters under the force of your introspective gaze - a cold, calming wave of relief washing over your mind and soul to scatter the remnants of your previous weakness.
The power fades. Your eyelids relax and fall closed.
You take a long, steadying breath, and then gaze upon the world with a lighter soul, less burdened by irrational terrors.
And blink, because you appear to have reflexively picked up Lord Grasp and are cuddling him in your lap now. Now that you aren't trying to slap him away and scream in his face, you can see that he's… gorgeous! The details and finery that you somewhat remember from his larger form are simply miniaturized now, which makes them appear even more impressive through the sheer density of detail such a size change creates. Though... he doesn't have a palanquin in this form, which is somewhat sad because that would have been terribly cute.
He seems as surprised as you are by this about-face in behavior, though his groans and fretts of panic from earlier have shifted to discomfited humming as your fingers trace golden filigree on his armored back.
"Warden?"
"Yes?"
"Are you not concerned that a local Primordial just tried to suborn me? Or that this place feels like it's… worse than dead? Alien? Empty?" he offers testily, "Because I am used to having battalions of Chosen on-hand for such excursions, and we are in short supply of Dawn Castes at the moment. Or spare civilizations to bolster our ranks."
You frown, eyes scanning the horizon. Yes, you suppose the world feels a bit… different compared to your Safe Place. Empty, as Lord Grasp says, but not in any way that feels as abhorrent as he's making it sound - it reminds you more of walking into the Clean Rooms they had on Protectorate Island for Tinkertech and power testing, where even the air itself felt unnaturally thin despite being breathable. Taylor did mention something about how there isn't any Essence in Earth-Bet… maybe that's the problem?
As for the 'suborning', why does that ring a bell? Taking control-
Oh. Scorpion! Taylor must be-...?
Shifting just enough to look all the way around, you see two humanoid shapes flying towards you - as well as a few others on the crater's edge, far beyond them that you can't quite make out with all the steam and smoke in the air. The larger of the two shapes is a brilliant, shimmering cerulean blue that makes you squint in hazy remembrance, and recognizing the other shape allows you to note that the blue shape is big. The other…
Even in bog-standard PRT-issue coveralls and a tactical vest, Taylor looks like a platinum-haired, windswept heroine right out of the movies - especially since the larger figure is carrying her bridal-style, and the way the setting sun is hitting her she's practically glowing. You're pretty sure she's not even trying to look good, either, which makes it even more ridiculous.
You sigh, then wave your free hand at the incoming duo.
"I don't think we have to worry, Lord Grasp. Help is on the way."
The ornate scorpion in your lap fidgets.
"Reinforcements? Good," he muses, straightening up into a more regal posture and clattering his pincers in approval, "though your tone suggests caution. Why?"
Your waving hand stills, and your smile turns brittle.
"Because Sakura isn't here."
***
CHARACTER SHEET: WARDEN OF REFLECTED INFINITES - Added to Index! FAMILIAR: CRUSHING GRASP - Added to Index! NEW CHARMS - Repurposed Shard of Excised Imperfections - Added to Index! NEW CHARMS - Shard of Transcendental Imprisonment - Added to Index!
Well, we saw what Sakura was up to earlier, so this result wasn't a complete surprise... but it's still going to cause some complications!
The results of our votes for this Chapter will be seen as we move along, as there's going to be a lot of catch-up for Saki first. We're not going to have to worry about voting for Meditation sessions anymore, since Taylor and crew now recognize that they need to get that settled as quickly as possible, and the usual PRT inspections and power testing are also a matter of course. The question is: how much of this do we actually want to SEE? Should I just hurry up through most of it, focusing on the new and/or side stuff, or do we want to see more details of those events? Note that there is basically a word cap to these chapters, in that if we choose to show both meditation and testing that it will probably take up most of Chapter 9.2... whereas if we skip them both, we'll be shown what happened during our social interactions afterwards, which will take up the majority of the chapter
For the most part, we aren't going to have too much control of Saki - just like we didn't have detailed control of Prayer during most of her Arc - but there will be the occasional vote option for reactions/actions. However, we have unleashed a dark and terrible force upon the unsuspecting populace of Philadelphia, and now we must suffer for our hubris: The Shippening Has Begun. Who will be the first damned target of our unstoppable matchmaking rampage?
Finally, while we have the Mantle of the Dread Gear for when shit goes completely spacewhale-shaped, it's not exactly practical for day-to-day use. Taylor has noted this, and has begun construction of a new set of power armor while Iris was using all the stuff we gave him to make us something special (Riley helped... so, yes, be afraid).
It's been two years since we voted on Taylor's First Armor, and she's improved quite a lot since then... but she's still nowhere near as good as Iris, and he was the one leading the armor construction project last time (armor modules are as good as they'll get). Thankfully, even with our TIE basically blank, Taylor's brain actually remembers most of what went into the Armor due to the constant need to repair it; if we so desire, we can replicate it exactly. However, there were a bunch of modules that we opted not to pick last time for the armor... maybe we want something different this time? We also have ideas for new modules from stuff gleaned from Taylor's half-remembered hoovering of Philly's tinkertech stash, so there's potential there as well. Note that we will have the option later on to increase the suit's module capacity (current: 6 modules), allowing us to add more modules later on, but right now Taylor is more focused getting a suit up and running as quickly as possible so that she doesn't have to rely on others to carry her around.
As with last time, the Google Doc with Taylor's Armor can be found here. Everyone is allowed to edit, but please don't edit the modules I've already approved (I'll be watching the Change History). Add more modules as you are inspired, but I reserve the right to tweak numbers before I approve them.
CHAPTER 9.2 VOTING
Shape The Narrative: (Choose One, No Stunts)
[ ] Skip Meditation, Skip Testing, Get Right To Social Interactions
[ ] Show Meditation, Skip Testing, Then Get To Social Interactions
[ ] Skip Meditation, Show Testing, Then Get To Social Interactions
[ ] Show Meditation, Show Testing, Then Get To Social Interactions
Cupid Brought WMDs: (Choose One, One Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Dragon
[ ] Geode
[ ] Miss Militia
[ ] Taylor
[ ] Vista
[ ] Willow
[ ] Xylophone
Taylor's Second Armor: (ONLY PLANS WILL BE ACCEPTED, Plans May Only Contain Six Modules)
- If you just want to bring Taylor's First Armor back exactly the way it was, use the "Plan: Restore Taylor's First Armor" option.
- Plan names should be evocative of the goal of the armor, so something like, "Plan: Bring The Pain" or "Plan: Big Sister Sees All"!
[ ] Plan: Restore Taylor's First Armor
[ ] Plan: <Plan Name Here>
Free Actions: (Only ONE Free Action allowed, and only for Saki!)
Free Actions should be phrased as stand-alone Stunts, so they must be 60 words or less (not counting "Free Action"), be descriptive about what you're hoping to accomplish, and set the scene.
[X] Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that could be performed during other activities. Saki doesn't have SoPA!]
XP Expenditures should now be formatted as such:
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item ●●●○○
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item (Specialization ●●○)
CHAPTER 9.2 VOTING DISCUSSION BEGINS NOW
USE THIS TIME TO DISCUSS THE VOTE OPTIONS, AS WELL AS MAKE NEW MODULES FOR THE ARMOR
ACTUAL VOTING WILL START SUNDAY AT 11:59 PM PST
Shape the Narrative:
[X] Show Meditation, Show Testing, Then Get To Social Interactions
Cupid Brought WMDs:
[X] Miss Militia
- [x] Stunt: "Nice discount" Hana says to her companion, surveying the three bedroom NY hotel suite. Saki smiles as she closes her phone. "Sleepover at Ms Sato's place for me though. See you in the morning." She slips past Robert into the hallway, and the door shuts with a soft click. Robert stares at the door, and then back to Hana. "What just happened?"
Taylor's Armor Mark II:
[X] Plan: Knowledge Is Power
- Dimensional Torsion Core v1.93
- Distributed Computer System v5.54d
- Enhanced Mobility Systems v3.21f
- Fold-space Backpack v1.03c
- Knowledge Web Crawler v4.25d
- Tactical Prediction Model Generator v.08b
Free Action:
[X] Free Action: Missy is seated on her bed next to Saki, both of them giggling over a shared laptop. Lord Grasp is riding Saki's head like the world's most terrifyingly fabulous hat. Grasp spots Taylor entering and waves the sheaf of papers clutched in his claw. "Excellent! The first recitation of Kiss of Obsidian Butterflies demands an audience!"
XP Expenditures:
[X] FPoP - 3 XP - Ally (Crawler/Defiant/Ned) ●○○○○
[X] EOA - 3 XP - Ally (Bonesaw/Riley) ●●○○○
***
It's a matter of scant few moments before the approaching duo swoop down onto the reinforced netting upon which you are sitting, the crackling roar of the cerulean-crystal woman's jets cutting out smoothly as the net quickly steadies from her added weight - a surprisingly small shift, considering the absolutely massive amount of smooth, crystalline armor encasing the woman.
But despite the blue figure's startling the size, dexterity, lack of weight, and alien beauty, it is the much smaller figure slipping out of her arms that holds your attention.
Your first impression was both right and wrong: Taylor wasn't just glowing in a metaphorical sense, she is actually glowing. Against her dark, graphite-like skin, the yellowish, eerily-luminescent networks of light appear to be… veins? It's almost as if her major veins and arteries are lit from within, - an effect made even more disconcerting when she smiles at you, revealing that the light also emanates from her mouth.
Did she… swallow one of those fusion batteries she was working on before? Or did she eat one of Bakuda's bombs right as it was going off? She doesn't appear to be in pain...
On top of looking like she's a few minutes away from a reactor meltdown, all the Charms that Taylor normally hides are out on full display. Her forearms and hands are those sleek, obsidian gauntlets she uses for basically everything, there are seams, metal plates, embedded wires, and rivets all over her body… kind of how you look right now, actually, even if a bunch of them don't match what your own Charms look like. It's kind of weird, actually, since the only other time you've seen her like this was when she tried meditating during the road trip... then her Charms started popping out of her skin and her hair changed colors.
Actually, now that she's up close, there's two major differences between how she looked then and now - besides the whole 'maybe blowing up soon' thing. The little legs jutting out from the sides of her head look… fancier now, with gold and silver etchings covering the black, spider-like limbs, and her forehead is covered in a sleek, grey plate that has six glowing gemstones arrayed upon it - two pairs of three, set in a triangular pattern directly above each eyebrow - their hue the same golden yellow as Taylor's glowing eyes. They don't have pupils themselves, but you're getting a weird feeling that they almost… seem to be… looking at you?
Gods, is she going out of her way to look like a supervillain? Maybe she's trying to appear tough so that villains will join in the fight against the Nine?
"Saki!" she cheers, raising an obsidian-clawed hand and hopping deftly across the net towards you. Behind her, the cerulean-crystal juggernaut remains silent as she follows a few steps behind.
"H-hey, Taylor," you manage, though your weakened smile regains some of its enthusiasm at the instant recognition. "How'd you know it was me?"
Her hand twitches, pointing a clawed finger towards your face as her own smile turns wry. "You tuck your hair behind your left ear when you're nervous."
Your left hand freezes, caught in the act of taming a stray lock of hair, "...o-oh, right." Dropping the hand back to idly petting Lord Grasp, you try to keep your voice cheerful as you size up at the dark heroine. "You look… different, Taylor."
"Ye-...yeaah. It's a long story…" she draws out, her finger retracting as the hand pulls up to tuck her own wind-blown hair away. A slight twitch in the corner of her left eye as her gaze unfocuses suggests that that's an understatement, but the moment passes as she turns her full focus upon you again - gesturing grandiosely towards your seated form. "But you! Saki… you look amazing! You sound amazing! And you even have a dress?!"
You blush and duck your head, the praise washing away the last feelings of unease at Taylor's new appearance. "Ah-? Thanks? I haven't had a chance to look in a mirror yet, but-"
"Is there a reason the two of you are acting like awe-struck servants at each other? And that language! Ugh!" Tiny pincers clack in displeasure as Lord Grasp shimmies his eight legs on your lap. "You sound like Erymanthoi grunting under a heavy load. Does she not know proper Old Realm?"
You're (somehow) already used to Lord Grasp's mannerisms by now, so you only blink a few times at the outburst. Taylor, on the other hand, goes wide-eyed as her mouth form a little 'o' at the ornate scorpion in your lap. To her credit, she takes barely a blink of an eye to rally - her smile growing even wider, somehow.
"You can speak!" she gasps excitedly, before drawing herself up fully and then bowing formally. "Greetings! My name is Enduring Order Administrator, and this-" she gestures to the silent, crystal-armored statue a step to her side and behind her, "is First Prayer of Perfection."
At the introduction, the large woman reaches up with both gauntlets and - with a sharp crack of broken crystal - removes her helmet and tucks it under her left arm. The now-revealed face is a slightly deeper shade of cerulean, but you haven't studied enough about world cultures to know if she's African, Australian, or is just from Alabama. Your history classes have always been more more skewed towards recent parahuman developments around the world than America's darker past…
You didn't need the schools to teach racism, though - it was hard to miss the Empire Eighty-Eight and Azn Bad Boy gang members screaming 'filthy nigger!', or jeers like 'monkey want banana?' Maybe that's why Aisha seems to like Philadelphia so much more than Brockton Bay?
"Noble spirit," her deep voice rumbles, reverberating through her armored chestpiece in a way that makes it sound like a breath through wind chimes. She bows deeply from the waist, slowly and solemnly. "We are honored."
Lord Grasp makes an approving hum before scuttling out from under your hands and out of your lap. Skittering along the net until he's a few feet away, you hear him make an exhaling sound-
Since his smaller form appeared so similar to his car-sized body, you're a bit shocked when Lord Grasp doesn't just grow, but instead his entire robotic structure comes alive in a dizzying array of impossible machinery. Seams appear and slide open to reveal clockwork gears that split open and multiply before snapping closed, sheathes of metal slide under artistic displays to cause them to expand in size…
The entire process takes perhaps four or five seconds, and leaves Lord Grasp once again as large as an economy-class European car - though he doesn't have his palanquin this time? The artistic layering of his armored back suggest that it might be something that he can retract or extrude at will, you hazard to guess.
Tail curling up and large pincers pulling in on himself, the mechanical scorpion tarnishes his wondrous and majestic display by shuddering and groaning under his breath.
"How can you stand this place? Maintaining my form in this wasteland feels like keeping a shattered statue from falling to pieces..."
You turn your head to cast a quick glance at Taylor, whose renewed expression of shock quickly schools into a considering frown.
"Iris of Innovation mentioned that the lack of Essence in this world felt strange to him, so maybe that's-"
"What?!" the opulent arthropod exclaims, spinning to face your group fully. "What do you meanNO Essence? That's impossible!"
Taylor hums, crossing her left arm under her chest and propping her right elbow up on it to strike a contemplative pose. "Actually, the fundamental particles of this universe function on a different wavelength than science science science Essence blah blah math-..."
You can practically feel your eyes glaze over as Taylor starts speaking in four-syllable words - many of which don't seem to have an Old Realm equivalent, resulting in some back-and-forth between Lord Grasp as he… well, you get the impression that he's having difficulty keeping up as well.
Absently staring at Taylor as she drones on, you wonder if the boys approve of Taylor's new look. Dean seemed to be able to take all of Taylor's creepy-ness in stride, but maybe Chris thinks all the blatant Charms look like cool Tinkertech. Perhaps as an excuse to 'study' her body in more detail...?
Taylor's lecture grinds to a halt as she turns her wary gaze to you. Why- oh... you were giggling out loud, weren't you?
"Ah, I'm sorry," murmur behind a hand, clearing your throat to shove down the giggle attack. "Please, continue."
"No, no, that's quite alright!" Lord Grasp waves off with an imperious tone, shimming his body as if to puff himself up. "I've heard quite enough as well - though, honestly! It was difficult to follow with your atrocious accent!"
Taylor's face falls to a blank, bewildered mask. "My… accent?"
Gold-sheathed manibles click a few times in a 'tut-tut' gesture. "Simply boorish! Provincial! At least Warden and Miss Prayer here have accents that lend them an exotic flare." Pincers raised, he clicks them in self-satisfaction. "I will draft lessons for proper elocution at the earliest opportunity. Once we have routed the current siege, I expect your attendance."
Taylor, still propping up her right arm, raises her index finger as if to make a rebuttal - then squints, frowns, clicks her mouth shut… but just as she's opening her mouth to mount some kind of defense, First Prayer of Perfection makes a thoughtful noise in her throat which stops Taylor's tongue.
"The others," Prayer's harmonic voice muses, though she doesn't take her eyes or posture off of Lord Grasp.
Taylor blinks, then huffs an exasperated sigh - you think you catch the word 'spirits' under her breath - before nodding to you.
"That's right - we need to make sure that everyone knows you're alright, Saki. There's a PRT detachment waiting on the ridge in case Saint or another Endbringer decided to interrupt us again."
You stare up at Taylor, waiting for her to smile at her own joke, but a moment passes and she doesn't seem to be laughing.
"Another Endbringer?"
"That's part of the long story," Taylor sighs and closes her eyes, nodding at the incredulity of your voice. When she opens her eyes again, however, they possess a softness that cuts into your soul. "But… before we go… Sakura?"
You wince, turning away to rub your eyes as the memory of your sister stirs up painful fragments of your psyche. "I… remember seeing her… but I was falling and she… stayed?"
Out of the corner of your eye, Taylor's scowl increases in intensity as she turns her head to look away and up into the air. "So she's still in the Cradle, then? That makes… sense? It takes a week for Autochthon to make a new Alchemical, so we just have to wait until next Tuesday for Sakura to come out."
You make a noncommittal grunt, still rubbing at your eyes and temples. You'd come to a similar conclusion before, when you were in your Safe Place, but… now that it's been said aloud, something doesn't quite… fit?
Shaking her head, Taylor looks back to you and kneels down to put a hand on your shoulder. "If you're having trouble remembering, that's alright - I've made sure to make it clear to the PRT that it's not worth their time to do power tests when everything's still out of alignment, so we've got the next few days cleared for you to get things sorted out first."
You blink away the spots and turn back abruptly in shock.
"Days?! What about the Nine?! We can't just leave Philadelphia-"
An obsidian gauntlet raises to halt your protest, while Taylor's face flits between satisfied and… shamed?
"The Nine are dead or... captured-"
There's a groan from Lord Grasp's direction, and Taylor makes a quick glance his way as he moans something about missing out on chances for glory. Turning back to you, her lips quirk up in a half-smile.
"… but I think the party's still going?"
***
There is a moment of consideration as Taylor and Marrow - Prayer, you keep having to remind yourself - suggest ways to get back onto land. Prayer says she's strong enough to carry everyone, but Taylor reminds her that the platform is remote-controllable.
Lord Grasp simply scoffs.
"This conveyance is woefully inadequate for making a proper entrance," he dismisses with a gem-encrusted, gold-sheathed pincer. "You are welcome to your own methods of transport, but Warden and I will be travelling the only way that is proper for Exalted: in style."
With that proclamation, the opulent mecha-scorpion settles his 'belly' onto the netting while tucking his legs under his body. Barely a heartbeat later, there is a long, soft whistle - like what you imagine would preface the appearance of a distant, steam-powered train - before thick streams of steam billow out from around Lord Grasp's body.
Then, in casual defiance of reason and physics, Lord Grasp is lifted up from the netting atop the small, puffy, white cloud. So alighted, he floats his way over to your stunned group and clicks his pincers in preening satisfaction.
"A more grand display of style you have not seen, I imagine?"
Beside you, Taylor seems torn between scientific curiosity and laughing at the ego-stroking. Prayer, however, comes to her rescue, though her level delivery could stand to be a bit more emotive. "Your like has not been seen on this world, noble spirit."
His gemstone eyes glitter in a way that you've begun to interpret as an eye-roll, but he hums a bit in thought at the response. "That reminds me; I felt the presence of at least a Third-Circle Deva when we emerged from Warden's sanctum, but I was able to repel its influence when it tried to seize control of my form. Warden didn't appear to be affected - or even notice it - so are the two of you aware of this spirit?"
At your side, Taylor flinches and raises one hand haltingly while sharing looks with Prayer. Their silent exchange lasts barely a moment, after which Taylor brings the hand to her mouth while clearing her throat. "Actually… that was me."
"What?!" Lord Grasp gasps, reeling back on his cloud, eyes glowing white in shock. "How-?"
"I'm sorry, but Saki was scrambling away from you and screaming, so… "
"No, I mean… how? It felt like I touched a mind as vast as the Pole of Earth! How did you…?" he repeats, though now with eyes glowing a light blue as he leans back in towards Taylor, eye-level with your Assembly's leader while scrutinizing her intently. "Is… what are…" he mutters, baffled, "...those legs are a charm?"
Taylor, for her part, stands her ground under the inspection - though her expression shifts between apprehension and confusion. "Yyyyes?"
"That doesn't make any sense!" he explodes, waving his large pincers in apparent offense at the answer. "That's not how charms are supposed to work!"
In response to that outraged assertion, you catch a familiar gleam in Taylor's eye: incoming nerd talk!
"Ah, Lord Grasp?" you interject, trying to appear honestly apologetic, "perhaps we should have this discussion later? Maybe on the trip back?"
The softening expressions of everyone else signals that you appear to have managed to avert another few minutes of incomprehensible jargon, and you manage to hide your sigh of relief.
"Saki's right, we need to get back," Taylor sighs, a mixture of disappointment and embarrassment flashing across her features as she points back towards the crater's lip. "I've been keeping the recovery team updated through my swarm, but Chevalier and Miss Militia need to get back to Philly and Legend needs to get back to New York."
"Legend is here!?" you squeak in surprise, feeling your cheeks already heat up in embarrassment. "For me?!"
Taylor blinks at your reaction, then bobs her head in remembrance. "Oh, right, you didn't get to meet him in New York, did you? Yeah, he's wanted to stay informed of the Assembly's progress, even though he's not interested in being one himself. Which is a shame, but…" she sighs, brow furrowing in concern before casting a glance back to you and Prayer. "Your parahuman power looks different now, so do you still have your private dimension from before? There's a lot I need to talk to you - both of you - about, and I've been putting it off because I was waiting for you to get back."
Prayer blinks at this, but a flash of something crosses her eyes before she nods in acceptance. For your part, you're a bit worried by the ominous tone of Taylor's voice.
"Y-yes? I guess I wasn't paying attention to the vortex, but my… charm?" you try, and get a nod from Taylor, "looks completely different, but… feels mostly the same? Though I don't remember how to teleport to any of the places I could before, so I think I might have to learn it all over again," you finish glumly.
Wincing, Taylor hums to herself while nodding to Prayer to get ready to leave. "Well, hopefully that's just due to your charms being out of alignment and you'll get it all back after some meditation, but if your parahuman power really did get reset… hmm. Hopefully Iris can help."
You catch a flicker of concern from Prayer again at the mention of this 'Iris', though Taylor doesn't seem to pay it any heed as the large blue woman deftly picks her up in a bridal carry again.
Noting that for later, you turn back to Lord Grasp just as he finishes unfurling the similarly-opulent, covered recliner from the armor plating along his back. It's not as golden as it was before, you note, and even before your eyes it appears to shift in design and composition until it appears to perfectly complement both your dress and your Alchemical coloration.
Your eyes flit to meet Lord Grasp's, his own gemstone gaze glittering in haughty satisfaction as his mandibles twitch.
Raising a silken-sleeve-covered hand to your mouth to hide your smile, you roll your eyes in good humor and climb aboard. "Show off."
"My dear Warden, if there is one lesson I have for you, it is this:" he muses primly, before rising smoothly to follow beside the ascending duo of Prayer and Taylor.
"If you've got it, flaunt it."
***
The trip from the mid-lake platform to the crater's edge is a matter of moments, but within the sheltered luxury of Lord Grasp's litter the world around you feels both just out of reach… and clear enough for observation. The adrenaline (is it still that same chemical?) pumping through your veins has lessened now, and though your emotions are still in turmoil from everything that has happened to you...
This… blasted, bubbling cauldron… was your home, once.
The second to have been torn from you by the Endbringers, though you were barely conscious - due to both age and a fever at the time - when Kyusuu was crushed beneath the waves. Has it truly only been two months… since...
The massive underground bunker lurches, the crowd of packed bodies within devolving into chaos. LED lights flicker from white to red, before some begin to fail completely.
"An earthquake!? What's going on-"
"The walls are crack-"
"Get the door open! We have to get-"
The massive underground structure becomes a boiling echo chamber of desperate and panicked please. Bodies surge left, right, anywhere but here because the sky is falling and the world is ending.
"The ceiling! Run! Move-"
"Sakura! Saki! Stay together!"
You and your sister cling desperately to each other with one arm, but your grip on your mother fails as the tide of humanity scrambles away from falling concrete and steel.
"Ka-san-!"/"Tou-san-!"
The world buckles again, the screams grow in pitch and fevor, you want to get out you need to get out anywhere but here-
"Warden! What are you do-?!"
Like trying to stop vomiting mid-stream, your mind and body spasm as Lord Grasp's startled exclamation snaps out of you snap out of your flashback too late to halt the transition. Thankfully, being within a carriage means you are not bodily tossed to the tiled floor of your Safe Space - primarily because your ride somehow manages to dexterously course-correct, missing the ground with an elegant, swooping glide that evens out to a low, slow hover.
"-oooooing?! Wait… we're back here?"
Flexing your fingers as you stretch out from your curled up position on the recliner, you blink your eyes rapidly while desperately sniffing away the trauma that just intruded upon your life again.
'Ground yourself' the therapist said. 'Talk to people, look to your friends. You don't need to retreat.'
"Y-yes, Lord Grasp. I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to. I just… remembered something. I'm fine, now."
There is a light rasping sound, almost like a set of bellows working, which you realize after a few moments is probably the sound of Lord Grasp breathing. Somewhat odd, as you're not sure there's even air in this dimension, but the repetition is somehow more calming than your own forced attempts at an even breathing pattern.
"The Exalted Host, for all their glory and prowess… were still quite mortal. Quite human."
You blink again, sitting up slightly from the recliner at his somber, wistful tone of voice. "Lord Grasp?"
"They threw themselves at horrors their minds could not even comprehend, and fell by the thousands. The millions. It was a war of millenia, you see, and though I was only forged near the latter half, I still saw countless Exalted fall from wounds that were physical, mental, or even spiritual."
From your position on the recliner, your view is only such that you can't see his eyes - only his gilded pincers tapping their tips together lightly as he sounds lost in his own traumatic memories.
"It was not... unheard of… for an Exalted to take their own life. It was a state of total war, with all of reality in the balance, so some of the more… pragmatic Exalted held the belief that the Host would be better served if those with… long-term injuries... passed on their Exaltation. Training a fresh Exalt in any field was done with military precision in a matter of weeks, by the end. Charms for accelerated aging, sorcerous enhancements to simulate a lifetime lived on the battlefield…"
Covering your mouth with a hand, you almost desperately want to deny his implication - you've never felt like… that… - but stop yourself as you hear him trail off in a heavy sigh.
This isn't really about you, is it? In any other situation you'd roll your eyes, but now-
"Did you…" you try, before the realization fully dawns. "Who was it?"
The pincers stop tapping for a moment before drooping slightly.
"Seven Shattered Sides," he sighs again. "The Exalt... for which I was forged. I did not think it necessary, then, to emphatically deny Crushing Fist of Glory when he… suggested… "
A moment of silent contemplation passes, yours mostly spent wondering if this may be behind his showboating and constant drive to inject himself into whatever is going on around him. Eventually, he clacks his pincers together more forcefully.
"I will not fail you so utterly, Warden," the large mechanical scorpion harumphs, just as one of the pillowed armrests of your recliner swings up and grasps you on the shoulder. "What good is a command bunker if you cannot retreat to it in times of need?"
Your incredulous gaze at the be-tasseled pillow that is gripping you by the shoulder is pulled away when you catch his pincers gesturing to the empty white horizon around you.
"Besides! Does this void possess a mineral bath styled by Venus herself? A plush theatre filled with recorded war-time epics?" he scoffs, the whole litter shuffling slightly with the vibration. "I think not! Hardly a place for an Exalt of your magnificence when I am here for you."
You smile, rolling your eyes despite the feeling of comfort the offer gives you.
"Thank you, Lord Grasp," you say with a bit more water than you intended, reaching up with your left hand to pat the velvety armrest still steadying your right shoulder. "You are too kind."
"I know, my dear. Now, shall we get back to it?"
You nod, and he apparently notices the motion because you feel a slight acceleration as he loops back around to fly towards the portal from which you originated. Which… makes you frown, since you had been able to teleport back out of your Safe Space from anywhere within it before - are you now forced to return to the portal in order to leave?
Narrowing your eyes, you mentally tug at your power - your charm, now - and try… well, you were able to reshape your Safe Space before, so maybe moving the portal to you?
There had always been a sense of resistance - like a weight strapped to an unseen finger - when moving things or people around before. Trying to move the portal feels… well, like trying to do a pull-up with only your left ring finger. But there's another weight that you're pretty sure is you and Lord Grasp, but you're in the air? How would that even-
There's a feeling of vertigo, then a bark of alarm from Lord Grasp that resolves to a whooshing exhale, as the world of white hexagons tilts - so that what was once approximately thirty feet of clearance below your cloudy ride is now zero. Strangely, you aren't tossed about any more than a slight shaking of the litter… though the armrest snaps back to its regular position, seemingly of its own accord now that Lord Grasp isn't focusing on it.
"W-was that strictly necessary, Warden?" your ride coughs, trying to get his breath back.
"I'm sorry! I'm just… still getting used to the way my pow-... charm works."
He mutters something under his breath but shakes himself out quickly enough before sighing. "Did you accomplish what you wanted, then?"
Well, you are in a bit of a hurry to get back out…
"Not… yet? I'm going to try something. Maybe…" you muse, mentally tugging again and visualizing the edge of the crater that you had seen in the distance. "... brace yourself?"
A scoff as his pincers clack solidly into a defensive position. "I am always braced, my deaaaaa-"
The floor beneath you shifts, propelling you forward to the portal in an instant - and through…
… directly into the gathered group of heroes and PRT troopers, bowling them all over just as you catch a glimpse of Prayer and Taylor landing a few feet away.
There is a lot of flailing, shouting, and confusion for a moment, and of course you had to tumble out of your up-ended litter right on top of Chevalier. He doesn't seem to react much, thankfully, which allows you to shuffle off him quickly and begin your apologies to everyone while also trying to help Lord Grasp off of the PRT Troopers he landed upside-down upon.
It takes you a few moments to notice, however, that after the initial shock and confusion… it's sure gotten awfully quiet.
Slowly turning your head, you look back to see that everyone has just… stopped.
Frozen, staring at you with various expressions of disbelief, awe, and shock - from what can be seen from those without full masks, at least. Quickly looking down to make sure you haven't suffered a Taylor, you mentally sigh in relief that your clothes miraculously only look slightly tussled despite the spill.
"What? What's wrong?" you try, bringing a hand to your face to check if maybe you have something there instead. Or maybe your hair-?
A black, taloned gauntlet lands on your shoulder, causing your head to spin to look at its owner.
"Welcome to the club, Saki," Taylor grins.
There's a bit more relief in that smile than is comforting.
***
It is Legend that shakes off the spell first, unsurprisingly, though he initially seemed more focused on Lord Grasp's appearance than your own. The blue-and-white-suited hero hovers over from where he managed to avoid being tackled by your dynamic entry, landing a few feet from your position with a lingering expression of awe.
"Tatsu?" the Protectorate leader manages, though with a bit of trepidation as his masked gaze tracks to Taylor briefly for confirmation - switching back to you with a tentative smile when she nods affirmative. "It's… a pleasure to meet you, though I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to be introduced when you came through New York before. I have to say... I came here expecting to be surprised yet again, but I'm still astonished. Are these," he raises a hand to you, then to the quickly-reoriented (and visibly unamused) Lord Grasp, "part of your new powers?"
Noting how Chevalier, Miss Militia, and the rest of the PRT Troopers are getting back to their feet - some a bit more slowly as they remain eerily fixated on your form - you cover your mouth with a sleeve-covered hand and clear your throat, then bow deeply in a formal show of respect to such a venerated and honorable hero.
"Ah, y-yes! It is an honor to meet you, Mr. Legend! It is alright - I know that you are very busy, and am sorry for taking you away from your duties just to see if I am alright!"
Urgh, you are so bad at talking with people! He's probably going to think you're-
Oh. A quick peek shows he's… smiling even more? He looks more relaxed, too. Huh.
"Nonsense," he waves away casually, taking a step forward to even put a hand on your shoulder as you straighten up from your bow. His half-mask is pliable enough that you see his features soften as his smile drops to a somber line. "In fact, I'm the one that needs to apologize."
You blink, reeling slightly. "W-what?"
"It is the responsibility of the Protectorate that Wards - such as yourself and your sister - are able to grow into their powers and the role of a professional hero in a supportive, controlled, and safe environment," he nods, looking back to Chevalier and Miss Militia. Both are staring at you, still, but Chevalier's relaxing stance and Miss Militia's softened gaze echo Legend's words.
Cheeks heating up brilliantly, you try to shake your head in embarrassment. "No- I mean, I understand, the Nine-"
"Exposed a great deal of flaws in the way we've been handling things," Legend interrupts firmly, his hand on your shoulder flexing just enough to prevent you from retreating in on yourself. "You and your sister went through a terrible ordeal, demonstrating incredible resolve by fighting back in any way you could, but the fact remains that you should have never been put in that position in the first place."
You flinch heavily at the reminder, but another steadying flex of his hand seems to cut off the flashback that would have come before it hits. At the same time, another hand falls on your left shoulder - causing you to look back and meet Taylor's glowing amber gaze before she turns her eyes (all eight of them...) to Legend.
For his part, Legend only nods at Taylor's silent support before refocusing on you.
"The Protectorate will never be able to truly repay you for what happened, Tatsu," he intones, words made all the more solemn by the desolate wasteland around your group, "but you have my word that we'll be working much more closely with the PRT and Youth Guard to ensure no one else has to go through what you two did."
There's a slight tightening of Taylor's grip on your shoulder at his words, but the force of Legend's personality is such that any further protestations die on your tongue.
You hadn't… really... blamed anyone? Well, except her and Jack Slash… but it had all happened so fast, and all you had focused on was trying to stay with Sakura and fight against whatever the Nine was trying to make you do…
You close your eyes to try to blot it all out, but a pair of gentle squeezes helps keep you grounded. You're here now. Safe. Better.
Maker, you wish Sakura was here.
"T-thank you, sir," you manage, voice thick but not completely breaking down yet. You even manage a shallow little bow with your head and a smile. "I'll be o- oh!"
Your eyes fly wide, and you look frantically back between the Protectorate heroes and Taylor. "Is Bo- Transfusion ok?! And Vista! They were with us when Bonesaw-"
"They're fine!" Taylor emphasizes, giving you another squeeze on the shoulder, though her smile isn't as wide as you would expect with that news. "They're alright, Tatsu, don't worry. We got them out and healed up, don't worry."
Blinking, you study her strained expression - you're pretty sure that you and Sakura were the first to be rescued, which means that Bobby and Missy were with the Nine for… well, possibly much longer than you had been.
"'Healed'?" you repeat, uncertain.
Taylor's smile loses its teeth, and her eyes flick back to the Protectorate heroes. Following her gaze, you see a silent conversation flicker between the three.
Chevalier tenses up. Tell her.
Miss Militia's eyes darken, accusatory. Not now. Let her rest.
Legend's shoulders fall back into an authoritative pose. Better from us than children.
Then you blink in surprise, and it's gone.
That was… like talking with Sakura? It's something the two of you have gotten good at, talking without really needing to speak, but you don't remember ever doing it with other people. It felt more like… guessing, too, like when you'd only started first learning English and were figuring out what people were saying in context with the few words you did know.
"They're safe now, and both have been cleared to return to their families," Legend begins evenly, breaking you from your musing. "We're making sure they get the best care and support... for as long as it takes them to recover." He gives another gentle squeeze, his expression smoothing out again. "Support that… we'd like to extend to you, of course."
"A-ah?" you blink, straightening up fully. "M-me? I-I-..." you look back to Taylor, whose expression is doing a complicated dance between sympathy and anxiousness before you turn back to Legend, "... maybe later?"
"Are you sure?" he repeats, more softly. "Weaver said that you… well, that it might not have felt like any time had passed for you, even though a week has passed for us here. Considering how you… left?"
"Oh," you blink, eyes unfocusing. "I… guess. I mean… I don't feel like…?"
You sigh, stumbling over trying to explain how you feel good, great even! Better than you've ever felt in your life! But then you try to think about the last few things you can remember and-
Painfearhurtpanichelprunpainpainpain- BREATHE.
You let the cold breath in and let it settle over you, pushing away the fear and panic. You relax your posture a bit, stand up a bit straighter.
You don't need to be afraid now, Taylor is here.
Though, when you open your eyes again to look back at her, she's giving you a considering look that you can't quite decipher. Legend and the other heroes, too, now, though it is more of a mild concern rather than surprise.
"I am fine for the moment, sir," you bow lightly with your head. "Thank you."
"Warden, what was that?"
Tilting your head to look over at where Lord Grasp has been slowly surrounded by PRT Troopers and a large suit of armor that has enough draconic stylings worked into its design that it has to be some kind of new Dragonsuit. Not that he's payed them any mind, seemingly focused on peering up at you while pointing his right pincer accusingly.
Though, now that he has audibly spoken - albeit in a language that none but you, Taylor, and Prayer can understand - there is a great deal more attention focused on him. Judging by the sudden tightening of Chevalier, Miss Militia, and Legend's postures, it isn't a good type of attention.
"Yes, Lord Grasp?" you offer lightly, keeping the reactions of the other heroes in your peripheral view. For his part, your mechanical companion sounds torn between curious and disbelieving.
"Did you use a charm? You looked on the edge of panic, but then your pattern shifted and the irregularity smoothed out."
"You can see Clarity?" Taylor's surprise catches you with your own question on your tongue, her eyebrows raised to the bottom of her new set of eyes.
"Clarity?" / "Clarity?!"
Lord Grasp's own puzzled response is overridden by your worried one, your own eyes grown wide.
"You mean what made you act like a robot?!"
"Ah… yes?" she admits, casting a glance at Prayer for help, who only purses her lips before putting her helmet back on. Sighing, she looks back to you and pulls her hands back in a placating gesture. "Don't worry, we just need to get you some time to meditate and it won't be a problem."
"Excuse me, Weaver? Tatsu?"
Both of you turn to Legend- oh, right, you weren't speaking English.
"Everything is fine," Weaver sighs, beating you to the apology. "I did say that Clarity might be an issue."
"Ah," he nods, settling his arms across his chest while the other heroes and PRT Troopers appear to relax slightly. Legend does settle his gaze back on you quickly enough, however. "Is everything going to be alright until we get to New York, then?"
"New York?" you blink, looking back to Taylor. "What about-?"
"It's only temporary," Legend admits, raising his right hand to forestall your shock. "There's no longer an S-Class situation going on, yes, but the Youth Guard, PRT, and Protectorate are all in agreement that a temporary displacement is better than letting Wards try to recover in a blasted-out war zone."
"And you need a place to test your powers, anyway," Taylor grudgingly admits with a sigh. "New York has the best facilities on the East Coast now that Protectorate Island is gone."
"Gone?! What happened-?!"
"By the Maidens, Warden!" Lord Grasp exclaims, throwing his pincers up in the air in exasperation while wiggling about on his legs - causing all the troopers and heroes to draw their weapons on him, not that he pays them any mind. "I gave you the perfect opening to introduce me to these mortals, and you simply let it drop! You too, Administrator! I'm adding an etiquette course to your Circle's regimen!"
You open your mouth to respond, only to note that Taylor is similarly torn between several different ways to respond. Thankfully, Prayer's voice echoes through her helmet and across the increasingly-tense group.
"Forgive us, noble spirit. She will introduce you now."
"Yes!" you nod, then repeat in English while gesturing dramatically to Lord Grasp. Though you know he won't be able to understand what you're saying, you at least try to pantomime a bit more than you normally would so he hopefully understands that you're trying to show him off. "Yes! Of course! Everyone! There is no need for alarm!"
Taking three delicate steps towards your mechanical companion, you stretch your arms out like those old TV game show presenters - except maybe a little more regal? Yes, maybe if you make the motions a bit more smooth… dipping a bit to give your sleeves a chance to play in the wind?
Success! You definitely have everyone's attention again. Now what to say? Oh! Maybe like Lady Stars Above announcing the guests to the Winter Ball in the third Golden Host book! So you say his titles first… hmm.
He probably won't mind if you make some up.
"Forged by THE Autochthon, King of Craftsmen! Regent of the Arachnofortress Panopoly! Legendary Veteran of the Primordial War! Eternal Defender of Creation against the Forces Infernal! Premiere Guardian of the Exalted Host! The Pinnacle of Style on the Battlefield! The Apex of Fashionable Defense!"
With each new title you take another step, making wide, sweeping gestures as you make a circle around him. Thankfully, he's quickly caught on that you're singing his praises, and has slowly been rotating counterclockwise to your clockwise movements while luxuriously stretching his various parts to maximize their viewing angles.
You manage to keep your smile warm and energetic, even though you feel like laughing at the whole affair. Better wind this up before you burst into giggles.
Finishing your circuit, you make a final, low bow at the waist just to the side of the Protectorate heroes, stretching your arms out towards the glittering, car-sized, mechanical scorpion.
"Lord Crushing Grasp!"
There's a moment of silence… which stretches a bit longer than expected. Finally, you hear Chevalier cough and look up from your bow.
"Is it…" he tries, careful not to point too obviously, "... preening?"
"Ah," you nod, hiding your smile behind your sleeve again while trying to be serious. "Yes. He does that."
"Can… he...?" Legend muses just loud enough for you to hear, to which you nod, "... understand us?"
"No, sir."
"Mmm," he hums, expression distant as he looks to Taylor. "Is this going to be another 'Iris' situation?"
You frown, but Taylor's own face slides into careful neutrality as she meets your gaze. What?
"I don't think so, sir. Tatsu, did… do you know how strong he is? What powers he has?"
You blink, then look back to where Lord Grasp seems to have successfully enthralled the PRT Troopers with animated engravings across his opulent armoring. Artful displays transcend language barriers, you suppose.
"Well, he can turn into a... pagoda? It's filled with art and clothes and makeup… and a spa?"
Legend doesn't respond, simply looking at you for a long, awkward moment… before sighing and raising a hand to his face. He mutters something that you don't quite catch, but Taylor's face instantly lights up in a suppressed laugh from whatever he said.
You don't quite jump out of your skin as you hear Prayer clear her throat behind you, though turning your head you see she's observing Lord Grasp as well.
"The Great Maker moves in mysterious ways."
You're… not quite sure what she means…
… but it sounds about right.
***
Just as Lord Grasp starts winding up the PRT Troopers with his impromptu saga, told through his ever-shifting, artistic engravings - something about a farmer's son who runs off to join the military, which infuriates his ancestors' spirits and gets him cursed… - Legend has you call him off.
"I'm sure we'll have plenty of opportunities for… him… to show off," the blue-and-white-clad hero shakes his head, "but we all have places we need to be, now that you're back, Saki."
"Sorry, sir," you nod, straight-faced. "He's very… spirited."
You giggle while Taylor groans, then take a few dusty steps towards the show and manage to get it paused - temporarily, of course - with a few conciliatory words to Lord Grasp. With your companion reasonably mollified and the PRT Troopers no longer quite as jittery (though you're still attracting helmeted stares, you notice), your group makes its way back down the crater's lip a few hundred yards to the two PRT-issue VTOL troop-transport jets and a single, Dragon-styled transport airship.
The path forces your group to look out over the chaotic, dust-choked wasteland that was once your home, but walking alongside your friends you aren't immediately inundated with memories again. Still, the two-minute trek is done mostly in silence, until you all begin filling inside your respective-
"T-... Weaver?" you blurt out, as you notice her peeling off to enter Dragon's transport. It's petty, sure, since you know she and Dragon are basically married at this point - wait, how did you and Sakura not think of that one! Add it to the chart! Oooh, but you have to wait for Sakura to get back so you can duel to see who gets to claim that ship!
Oh, wait, Taylor's talking to you…
"...-ided that there's enough evidence that the Endbringers are after me, specifically," she winces, despite trying to look like it's no big deal. She waves a hand at your widening eyes, cutting you off. "And since their schedule is completely out the window now, everyone agrees that it's too big of a risk for me to go to New York."
"But-!" you look around, seeing that the other heroes around you have stopped as well. Chevalier's silver-and-gold helmet is still frustratingly solid, but the slight droop in his shoulders at least shows some kind of shame at this. Miss Militia and Prayer only nod at your questioning gaze, but it's Legend who speaks for the Protectorate members.
"That's… a bit of a simplification," he sighs, shaking his head, "but basically how things stand right now. No one is happy, most of all the Youth Guard, so just be glad you didn't have to sit through all the meetings that decision took."
"It was my idea, Tatsu," Weaver admits, though she averts (most) of her eyes for a moment before meeting them again. "It won't be for long, and Prayer will be with you. Besides, there's already a teleconference drone set up in New York that I've been using..." she smirks, tilting her head back at the dragon-like aircraft behind her, "it's better than Dragon's setup."
Somewhat muffled, you hear a "Not for long!" yelled out of the dragoncraft's loading bay speakers. This, at least, lightens the mood enough for Legend to float over and put his hand on your shoulder again.
"Weaver mentioned you don't remember how to teleport to all the hotspots you learned before. Is that right?" When you nod and sigh, he gives a tentative smile. "Don't worry - we'll make sure Philadelphia is first on the list if Strider and Nowhere need to give you another world tour."
You're not pouting. You're not. You are simply yelling at Taylor for being a traitor by crossing your arms and frowning.
"Aaand-...," Taylor raises her hands at your not-pout, looking surprisingly flustered. "I'm almost done with my new armor, so I'll be able to make it to New York in minutes if I need to!"
"Weaver."
You turn your mighty frown to Chevalier for his admonishing tone, who promptly flinches in his full-plate armor. That's…
Actually, you're not really used to people actually… paying attention to what you're doing and saying. Reacting, even. Are you doing anything different? It doesn't… well, OK, you do feel really good now, like you don't even need to pay attention to where you're going in order to keep your dress from falling apart or getting dirty… or how to walk on this rocky ground in order to not fall over in these-
Wait, you've been in geta this entire time? How did you not even notice that?! The last time you tried wearing these for your birthday last year you fell over Sakura just walking out the front door!
OK, yes, this body is amazing, even beyond the best upgrades. Praise the Great Maker!
… how do you know to say that?
Taylor's still talking. Um, maybe just storm up into the ship? Yes, that'll teach her.
You ignore the "Saki! I'm sorry!" because she doesn't sound too broken up about it, and just set your expression to 'disappointed' and shuffle daintily up into the PRT aircraft. Prayer does make a musical tone as you pass her that you think is a considering hum, but she turns to follow you inside regardless.
You take a seat in one of the jumpseats on the left side of the plane, quickly settling in and figuring out the four-point seatbelt-harness-thing that Missy always fusses over in the vans. It's roughly similar to those, but just as you're locking in you hear shouts of exclamation from a few of of the PRT Troopers and look up just in time for Lord Grasp to plop down in your lap.
Cat-sized, thankfully.
"This contraption is some form of aerial conveyance, Warden?"
"Yes, Lord Grasp. It's called an airplane."
He shimmies his legs, tucking them into the straps across your lap while hunkering down. There's a glint off his eight gemstone eyes that makes it seem like he's rolling them all at the name, but then small shutters iris closed over them.
"It undoubtedly uses bizarre and overly-complicated methods to accomplish what a good essence-fueled craft can do with a few enchantments. Fear not, for I am here for when it all falls apart for being too drab."
You stiffle (mostly) your giggle in a sleeve, but just as you are going to respond, Prayer manages to - somehow - fit her massive, armored self into the seat to your right. She crowds you a little, admittedly, but you're looking at her and it doesn't seem physically possible to fit-
"This is not a betrayal."
You blink, then look up - and up, and up - to meet the very blue, stoic face and deep purple irises of Prayer. When you don't immediately respond, she simply nods.
"We are divided, not fractured. Administrator has a plan."
Well, at least Marrow kept her ability to be comforting and confusing at the same time.
"O-OK," you manage, since she's probably worried about you. You nod in gratitude. "Thank you."
She makes that chime-filled humming noise again, and her lips quirk up slightly, but she nods as well before turning her head forward and closing her eyes.
You try to mimic her slightly, glancing at her out of the corner of your eyes while the rest of the PRT troopers file in and the plane takes off smoothly. You didn't really see much of her… before, since she and Bladedancer were either training together, out on patrol together, or kicking your butts all around the training gym together. Though not together together, since you're pretty sure Bladedancer is sleeping with Chevalier.
You're pretty sure Sakura wants to kiss Chev just to get one over on Bladedancer. You are OK with this.
Well, now that Marrow is… well, not a big hulking bone monster, maybe you and Sakura can try to pair her up! And her hair, too, which looks like… flowing crystal shards in the shape of hair? It almost looks like- yes, from that highschool dating sim that was imported from Aleph! Kaori's hair!
You had thought it physically impossible for hair to look like that, but… well, here it is. Prayer's color and sheen is much prettier, though. Does that mean she's been taking care of it, or is it always like that? Does she have a 'disguise' ability like Taylor? What does her hair look like then?
Wait… do you have a disguise ability?
Closing your eyes, you remember what Taylor once mentioned about her own charms: that it is almost too easy to use them, that they leap to mind without even conscious thought.
You… don't quite have anything like that? Sure, your old power is still there, but now it has a... current through it, the 'phantom hand' feeling like it's trembling from resting on a overcharged metal plate. But now that you're examining it, there are almost… channels…?
In your mind's eye, you can practically see electrical pathways light up in the dark as your attention draws energy from your teleportation power to the other charms linked to it. They flare briefly, not long enough for you to understand what they all do, but you're looking for a disguise-
Hrm, two different powers? Well, you want to look like a human again, though you don't think it'll be enough to make you look like- oh, the second one flares up even more now? Hmm, maybe if you… push...?
There is an odd, crackling sensation that reminds you slightly of how Taylor's body leaks that weird clay all over her to form skin, but you also feel your entire body - your bones, even - shift around as well. It's super weird and you shudder a bit while working your shoulders, but after barely a few seconds the entire feeling passes.
You open your eyes and- yes! You have normal skin on your hands and arms again! Actually, it practically matches the way they looked before-?
There's the old scar that you were always embarrassed about on your right hand. Huh?
"Warden!"
You look down to Lord Grasp in your lap, who is… practically covered in your baggy clothes now? What?
Gold-capped pincers flick away opulent silks, giving the gem-encrusted mechanical scorpion in your lap a better view of your new appearance… which causes him to lock up in wide-eyed surprise.
"What. Did. You. Do?" he shudders, voice distraught.
Wide-eyed, you look from him to the PRT Troopers - who are still staring, their masks not helping gauge their expressions at all - to Prayer, who is now regarding you with a raised eyebrow.
"What?"
"You're so plebian!" he moans, clicking wildly in the air. "Drab! Pedestrian! Are you trying to blend in farmers and potters?!"
To your right, Prayer clears her throat, then offers her left hand upturned-
Oh, wow! She can make things with her armor? Taylor must be super jealous!
You take the… oh, it's a hand mirror…
…
"Lord Grasp."
"-ken soap to a priceless work of art! Sanded down a breathtaking sculp-"
"Lord Grasp."
You don't peer at the little robo-bug, but you feel him still in your lap at your flat tone.
"Warden?"
"This is how I looked... before."
"Oh!" he exclaims, a mixture of shock and confusion audible in his voice. "Then why in Creation would you ever want to turn back?!"
…
"Warden? Wha- wait! Wait! Waaaar-"
You didn't watch it this time, since you're still staring at your own scowl in the mirror, but your teleportation charm does make a different sound when it activates now - less 'woosh' of air and more of a digitized crinkling, like glass breaking and then being put back together.
To your side, Prayer makes another sound as she turns her head back and closes her eyes.
"Spirits."
***
Thankfully, the trip ends before any more bombshells can be dropped on what remains of your peace-of-mind. There's an awkward moment when you get up out of your seat and nearly lose your dress because of your reduced frame, but Prayer is quick to help you re-wrap the dress before you actually do pull a Taylor this time.
How her armored fingers are able to handle the silks of your outfit so delicately is stunning, actually - fingers thicker than your wrist shouldn't be able to dance like that. You snap out of it near the end, when it becomes clear she doesn't know how to secure the obi properly and you need to direct the last few steps.
Thankfully, even though your upgrades have been lost to your disguise, you still seem to have the ability to walk in geta down the aircraft's loading ramp without falling on your face. Shuffling down the loading ramp quickly to… some sort of heavily-reinforced and defensible rooftop, you note that Chevalier and Miss Militia have already exited their craft and are waiting for you - Legend floating down to join the two heroes just as you're about to look around for him.
And for the second time today, they're doing a double-take after seeing you. Miss Militia in particular, though she appears to snap out of whatever has stunned them and takes a few quick strides to meet your approaching form and-...
… pull out some kind of silver cloth from one of the pockets at her waist? You blink in surprise and take the object with some uncertainty-
"It's a mask," the camo-clad heroine murmurs through her American flag scarf.
"Oh," you frown, before the realization hits you. "Oh!"
You can almost hear Lord Grasp wailing about how it's going to muss up your hair and makeup, but you're pretty sure that's just your imagination and that he can't actually watch you from inside your Safe Space. Closing your eyes to double-check, and… yes, he's still just a gaudy, grumbling Pagoda.
"I suppose this changes things," Legend muses, giving you a considering look as he rubs his jaw. "Marrow decided to re-brand as Vajra since there was no way to hide the change, and Weaver opted against a secret identity, but if your… disguise-?"
Prayer somehow sneaks up on your right again, causing you to startle a bit before she places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. Casting a quick glance at her before responding to Legend, she nods in answer to your silent query.
Ok, that makes sense - she certainly doesn't look like 'Marrow' anymore.
"No- I mean," you shake your head as you turn back, frowning behind the full-faced grey mask as you muse aloud about what you felt from your charms and look at your own hands, "Um, I think I used multiple charms? Powers? A disguise and a… shapeshift...?"
The other heroes make various noises of assent, while Legend and Chevalier's helmet share a quick nod before the Protectorate's leader looks back to you with a thoughtful frown.
"You may have seen Weaver going through some difficulties with her powers, and Vajra went through similar issues when she…" Legend pauses, "returned. I'm guessing you don't quite have a grip on all your new abilities yet, and we were hoping to get you to the Power Testing Labs before you started experimenting-"
Miss Militia clears her throat, looking a bit embarrassed herself while Legend sighs.
"Ah, yes, I'm sorry I didn't ask you to keep from testing any of your new powers until we got to the labs. Your initial appearance was a bit… overwhelming, I'll admit. Speaking of," he hovers up in the air, looking past you and Prayer with a frown, "what happened to… Crushing Grasp?"
Your mask hides your expression, but cross your arms over your chest and hunch your shoulders.
"He complained about how I looked now," you grumble. "He's in time out."
Legend's grin is a bit infectious, and Miss Militia eyes indicate that she's smiling as she nods sagely. Chevalier starts shifting uncomfortably again.
Floating back down to ground level, the blue-and-white-suited hero waves off any lingering concern about Lord Grasp's disappearance while his smile fades to inquisitive concern. "Well, in that case; since you've started using them, do you have a general idea of what your new powers are? Weaver suggested that you might have a 'focused' set of powers, like Vajra is geared more towards combat and she is aligned towards research and administration."
"It's ok if you don't, Tatsu," Chevalier's earnest voice cuts in, surprising you since he's been fairly quiet. He holds up a silver-armored hand as a gesture of acceptance, and Miss Militia nods at his words. "You're going to have plenty of time later in the Labs to figure things out, but anything you can tell us now helps speed things along."
"Ano…" you mumble, tapping your fingers on your arms, "I haven't… tried them all yet? I have a power that lets me make-" you pause, trying to think of how to describe it, "flashy displays? Like in shows when they do an animated background..."
Legend's dark jawline sets into a puzzled frown. "You tried this one already? When?"
"I… used it when I was talking with Lord Grasp in our-" you flinch, "dimension. I made it look I was…" and now your cheeks are definitely heating up, "...surrounded by a night sky and-my-name-was-lit-up-behind-me-with-fireworks."
That last bit may have been uttered under your breath as fast as you could speak.
Judging by Miss Militia's amused hum, as well as Legend's weary sigh and shaking head, they heard it.
Chevalier just makes a groaning sort of sound inside his silver-and-gold armor.
"You're the PR."
The realization hits you just as the Philadelphia Protectorate leader voices your greatest fear.
But… doesn't that mean you'd have to do… interviews? Public speeches?! Photo shoots?!?!
No! Those are Taylor's job! They have to be!
"Tell me, Tatsu," Legend grins tiredly, tearing away from your crushing panic. He floats over to your side, gently putting a hand on your other shoulder.
"Have you met Glenn Chambers?"
***
END OF CHAPTER CHARACTER SHEET CHANGES (Lots that I forgot to include in 9.1, as well...):
WoRI - Intimacy STARTED: Legend (The Example of Heroism) [Illusion] [1/3]
WoRI - Intimacy RAISED: Lord Crushing Grasp (Delightfully Learned, Loquacious, Lewd) [Illusion] [2/3]
EOA - Intimacy RAISED: Crawler|Defiant|Ned (How Do You Socialize A Monster) [Emotion|Frustration] [3/4]
EOA - Intimacy RAISED: Director Martin Uriel (I Wish He Wasn't Such An Ass) [Illusion] [3/4]
EOA - Intimacy RAISED: Glenn Chambers (He's Too Good At His Job To Resent Him) [Illusion] [3/4]
EOA - Intimacy RAISED: Legend (How Much Is The Hero And How Much Is Cauldron) [Emotion|Apprehension] [3/4]
EOA - Intimacy STARTED: Lord Crushing Grasp (Peacock In Scorpion Form) [Illusion] [1/3]
EOA - Intimacy STARTED: Warden of Reflected Infinities (Forgive Me My Choices) [Servitude] [1/3]
FPoP - Intimacy RAISED: Willow (This World Can Be So Cruel) [Emotion|Empathy] [2/3]
FPoP - Intimacy STARTED: Lord Crushing Grasp (Vainglorious Vanguard) [Illusion] [1/3]
FPoP - Intimacy STARTED: Warden of Reflected Infinities (Timid Diamond) [Servitude] [1/3]
WoRI - Athletics +1 Interval (1/6 Intervals)
WoRI - Occult +2 Intervals (4/6 Intervals)
WoRI - Investigation +1 Interval (2/6 Intervals)
WoRI - Investigation (Body Language ●●○) NOW AVAILABLE!
WoRI - Presence +1 Interval (2/6 Intervals)
EOA - Awareness (Micromanagement ●○○) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Craft (Micromanagement ●○○) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Investigation (Micromanagement ●○○) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Presence (Micromanagement ●○○) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Socialize (Micromanagement ●○○) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Survival (Micromanagement ●○○) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - War (Micromanagement ●○○) NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Bureaucracy +2 Intervals (5/6 Intervals)
EOA - Medicine ●●●○○ NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Occult ●●●●● NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Occult (Charms ●○○) NOW AVAILABLE!
FPoP - Athletics (Ramming Speed ●●○) NOW AVAILABLE!
FPoP - Craft ●●○○○ NOW AVAILABLE!
FPoP - Craft (Shards ●●○) NOW AVAILABLE!
FPoP - Medicine ●●○○○ NOW AVAILABLE!
FPoP - Investigation ●●○○○ NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Backing (PRT) ●●●●○ NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Connections (PRT) ●●●●● NOW AVAILABLE!
EOA - Reputation (S-Class Power) ●●●●○ GAINED!
EOA - Resources ●●●●● NOW AVAILABLE!
FPoP - Resources ●●●●● NOW AVAILABLE!
FPoP - Reputation (Beautiful) ●●●●● NOW AVAILABLE!
FPoP - Ally (Crawler/Defiant/Ned) ●●●○○ NOW AVAILABLE!
Our newest Exalt is already making impressions! Superhuman beauty that leaves people speechless tends to do that, at least. And "PR" in Autochthonia is much different than what the PRT is expecting, which is going to be loads of fun for all involved when that can of worms gets opened!
As seen by the votes for this chapter, we'll be voting for things that may not immediately pop up in 9.3 but will inform what's going on in both the foreground and background - all the votes will eventually be used (if not exactly as Stunted, maybe), so don't worry that they're not going to be relevant.
Noted above, Prayer was able to get her second and third Meditation scenes done during her week frolicking around the globe with Ned. As a result, she's all squared away and ready to allocate her final Bonus Point. As with Taylor, it can be placed anywhere, save for a few restrictions: No Artifact Background (Equipment Background is fine, as that's Tinkertech), and No Familiar Background. Anything else we choose should also at least be reasonable (no "Backing (Yangban)", for example) for her to have.
Now that Saki has seen how people react to her default appearance (Appearance 7 literally stuns people), versus how people normally react to her (Appearance 2 is 'generic' and 'average'), there is also room for her to customize her appearance via Husk-Sculpting Apparatus (I am running the interpretation that HSA can 'disguise' as a lower Appearance value). Note that she will still be 'Saki', as she wants to make sure Sakura recognizes her when she gets back, but there is… a range of how much 'Saki' she can be, now. What will she choose?
And does she keep her secret/civilian identity, unlike Prayer and Taylor? Realize that she'll need to make appearances as an Alchemical in the public eye, so there would be even less time for her civilian life than before - not a huge problem, as plenty of Protectorate members have civilian identities that rarely get used, but it's worth keeping in mind.
SoPA, during its rebellion against the Vision of Vengeance, sorta ripped itself apart in order to help Taylor overthrow the Eye of Autochthon's omnicidal personality. It is repairing itself, but that is more than the matter of a single week; Taylor's SoPA range is variable at the moment (default is ~100 feet now), as the more SoPA has to deal with the less energy it has to repair itself… but Taylor can temporarily push it to normal capacity at the risk of stalling repairs. Somewhat of an inconvenience, since her range is needed more than ever right now to keep watch over the wasteland that Philadelphia is after the events of last Arc. How much has Taylor pushed SoPA to help with police/reconstruction in the last week?
Last, but certainly not least: Lord Grasp. If we choose that Saki maintains her secret identity, there's no way she can walk around with a cat-sized, silver-and-platinum, gem-encrusted, mechanical scorpion on her shoulder (no one would believe Lord Grasp would hang out with such a commoner, of course). What do we want to do with him? Note that Lord Grasp finds Earth-Bet's non-Essence universe to be repulsive and choking, but will suffer with dignity should Saki need him.
And now, the votes!
Bonus Round, Part 2: (Choose ONE, No Stunts)
[ ] Bonus Point: <Say Where FPoP's Bonus Point Goes>
What's Old Is New: (Choose ONE, No Stunts)
[ ] Saki maintains her old Secret/Civilian Identity
[ ] Saki forgoes her old Secret/Civilian Identity
Spiritual Recovery Efforts: (Choose ONE, No Stunts)
[ ] Push SoPA Never: Philadelphia Crime OUT OF CONTROL, Reconstruction HALTED, SoPA Full Recovery ETA 1 Weeks
[ ] Push SoPA Rarely: Philadelphia Crime DANGEROUS, Reconstruction STARTING, SoPA Full Recovery ETA 2 Weeks
[ ] Push SoPA Sometimes: Philadelphia Crime HIGH, Reconstruction LOW, SoPA Full Recovery ETA 4 Weeks
[ ] Push SoPA Regularly: Philadelphia Crime MEDIUM, Reconstruction MEDIUM, SoPA Full Recovery ETA 6 Weeks
Too Fancy For This World: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Keep Lord Grasp out as much as possible, even at risk of blowing cover.
[ ] Let Lord Grasp rest and recharge in TwinSpace regularly, allow him to come and go when he pleases.
[ ] Keep Lord Grasp in TwinSpace more often than not, since he can be pulled out when he's needed.
Free Actions: (Only ONE Free Action allowed per character!)
Free Actions should be phrased as stand-alone Stunts, so they must be 60 words or less (not counting the "Free Action" bit), be descriptive about what you're hoping to accomplish, and set the scene.
[ ] EOA - Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that could be performed during other activities.]
[ ] FPoP - Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that could be performed during other activities.]
[ ] WoRI - Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that could be performed during other activities.]
XP Expenditures should now be formatted as such:
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item ●●●○○
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item (Specialization ●●○)
VOTING DISCUSSION NOW OPEN - DISCUSSION ENDS WEDNESDAY NIGHT AT 11:59 PM (PDT)
NO VOTES WILL BE COUNTED DURING DISCUSSION
Spiritual Recovery Efforts: [X] Push SoPA Sometimes: Philadelphia Crime HIGH, Reconstruction LOW, SoPA Full Recovery ETA 4 Weeks
Too Fancy For This World: [X] Let Lord Grasp rest and recharge in TwinSpace regularly, allow him to come and go when he pleases.
- [x] Stunt: New York has seen many strange things on its streets to date. But a car sized scorpion amiably trundling through it's streets, bedecked in brilliant logos and stopping every so often to examine points of interest with a bemused Clockblocker waving atop was not something you see on the typical Tuesday evening.
Free Actions: [X] EOA - Free Action: "Current status, Sergeant Powell?" "Weaver. Glad you're here. Cape's on the top floor of the complex with hostages. Possible Master. Too many sight lines to catch them unaware." She nodded grimly, turning to the troopers with her and touching them each with her fingertip. "Don't worry, Sergeant. We'll handle this," she said before they all vanished from sight.
[X] FPoP - Free Action: "Wyld was hesitant with Bulldozer's... condition, but... s-said maybe-," Willow started. A large cerulean hand gently enveloped her fragile shoulder, stopping its shaking. "The tree bends but does not break, young Willow. Nor does it stand alone." Vajra turned to the wall of teleconferencing Case-53s. Each needful. Each hoping. "I believe the PRT will heed me better now."
[X] WoRI - Free Action: "Oww. Thanks, Saki," Missy said as the other Ward lowered her onto the sofa. "They got the worst out, but I'm still sore in places. I just wish the Common Room had better furniture." Saki felt a pressure on her prison charm, and a smile crept up her face. "Um. I know someone who can help with that, Missy."
XP Expenditures: [X] EOA - 4 XP - Occult ●●●●●
[X] WoRI - 2 XP - Investigation (Body Language ●●○)
[X] FPoP - 4XP - Presence ●●●○○
***
According to the Wards Handbook - the dryest, most boring book you've ever read, despite being filled with instructions for life-and-death situations and terrifying cape-life realities - Master/Stranger Protocols are designed to be used when someone is suspected of being "compromised." The "Level" usually describes what type of "containment" is to be used, ranging from one to six; Level One is basically a full ID scan with some questions about the person's activities over the last few days, and Level Five is around three months of genetic, tissue, and brain scans combined with constant questions about your entire life - including your memory and reactions to the containment process.
Level Six was introduced to deal with Simurgh victims, but it's not in the Wards Handbook. When you and the others had asked Bladedancer what it was, her smile had fallen quickly.
"That's just a bomb dressed up as a friend," she'd muttered, looking across the training mat to nothing in particular. "Kill 'em before they blow up."
After that training session, Missy had wondered aloud to your group if that was why cape casualties during Simurgh fights was so high. Nobody had answered beyond some muted hums of consideration, but Taylor had looked especially grim for the rest of the day.
Which… well, when you'd heard the full story of what Taylor went through at the Cradle, you were more surprised that the PRT hadn't stuck her - and, probably, you - in a hole for a few months while they tried to figure out what had actually happened.
There'd been plenty of witnesses and recordings of the Simurgh's dive-bomb (literally) into the crater, since it'd generated a shockwave that could be heard up in the Refugee Camp thirty miles away. The various devices in Taylor's suit recorded nothing but static during the whole fight, apparently, which… surprised exactly no one, really, and the other PRT and geological monitoring gear (those that survived the shockwave) were similarly blank.
Investigation into the crater lake itself had uncovered bits and pieces that might have been the 'hand' - created from metal support beams and wires - that the Simurgh had used to capture Taylor in the fight, but that had only been a consolation prize; the PRT and Dragon hadn't been able to recover the upper torso of the Simurgh that she had torn off herself near the end of the fight. Though they'd initially worried about there still being remnants of something that can dissolve Endbringers contaminating the area, the search had ultimately been called off after they realized the whole mass had sunk through, boiled, and dissolved one hundred feet of rock before plunging into the still-cooling magma pool under the crater itself.
Dragon had stepped in at the time to provide secondary confirmation of at least part of the story - the whole, 'she tore herself in half and then teleported Legend to a different dimension, and Eidolon had to go find him' - which had been why Taylor had been allowed to return to Philadelphia to help with the final part of the Slaughterhouse Nine fight, but…
"...-PRT's investigation remains ongoing, with their 'Slaughterhouse Aftermath Committee' - as it's being called - still asking for anyone that was affected by the final events of last Tuesday to contact them at-"
You turn off the TV, sighing as the earnest-seeming news anchor spouts off the same line you've heard at least a dozen times in the last two days.
At Master/Stranger Protocol Level Three, the only entertainment choice you have is whether the TV is muted and/or dimmed low enough to allow you to sleep. "No foreign materials" means no books or clothes (outside of the PRT-issue white jumpsuit), and "no ability to communicate with the outside" means no ability to use the Internet. Everything is being watched and recorded, so that the PRT can compare it to your behavior from before... which means that even the bathroom is probably filled with cameras and microphones.
Taylor would have gone crazy if she'd been put in Level Three (or higher!) containment. Though, even her Level Two containment was basically in name-only (something about the Youth Guard?) - she got Internet access and all sorts of Tinkertech to play with… while you've been stuck with ABC Channel 4 and its absolutely Maker-awful programming. Well, ok, Two Rogues and A Baby is pretty funny, and Capes of Our Lives is still the best soap, but beyond those and the news you've been bored out of your mind.
If you'd been allowed to meditate like how Taylor and Prayer did, then maybe it would have been easier, but they'd asked you specifically to avoid doing that just in case your… uh, 'make lots of smoke and get all glowy' thing does anything like Taylor's used to.
But Legend, Chevalier, and Miss Militia had all asked nicely, and Prayer said it was necessary. What were you going to do? Say 'no' to that?
Okay, so, you did sort of say that if you went in then they had to deal with Lord Grasp while you were in containment… though it was phrased as more, "oh and here's Lord Grasp bye!" as you tossed his cat-sized form at Prayer while the door to your cell closed.
You giggle to yourself at the memory of his flailing squawk of protest and the muffled shouts of alarm before the seals engaged. You'd belatedly realized that he might try to tear through the door to get back to you, which made you worry for a few minutes, but your two days of containment have been scorpion-free.
Sighing to yourself again and falling back onto the (surprisingly comfortable) mattress, you look up at the blank white ceiling of your single-occupancy cell. Your lunch slid in through the dispenser on the wall… two hours ago? Three? You should be done pretty soon-
There's a pop in your ears as you feel the pressure in the room drop ever-so-slightly, coinciding with a light hiss from where the door into the room has been hidden for the past two days. The smooth, bare, white ceramic wall suddenly sports a door-sized indentation, which immediately afterwards slides open to reveal-
"Warden!"
-a very agitated-looking silver-and-gold scorpion taking up most of the doorway. Behind him is Prayer, though she's wearing an armored costume passingly-similar in style to Alexandria's, except full of purples, whites, and blues instead of the Triumvirate member's grey-and-black coloration. She's even got a white shoulder-cape! You and Sakura wanted one of those!
Despite being the size of a small car, Lord Grasp glides through the doorway without even touching the sides, then skitters past the small table in the middle of the cell, before rearing up on his hind legs and supporting himself with his pincers on either side of you - allowing him to meet your eyes with his own glowing, red gemstone ones.
"Never do that again!"
You blink, wide-eyed and shocked still at his indignant tone. "W-wha-?"
"I am a priceless weapon forged by the King of Craftsmen and his hands, the Jadeborn! My like has never been seen before on this world, and it will never see another!"
"Uh-"
"You do not toss me like some sack of grain!" he hisses, punctuated by twin puffs of steam that erupt from holes behind his eyes. "I have had to work non-stop in these past two days to undo the damage you have done to my apparent worth!"
Your mouth snaps shut with a click as you blink a few more times before letting your adrenaline drain with a sigh. From the doorway, you think you hear Prayer hum in disappointment as Lord Grasp continues to literally fume.
"And no whisking me away to that dreary dimension, either!" he continues on, shimmying on his back legs and flexing his forelegs while raising a claw to point at your face. "I am more than capable of blocking such a tactic with my own charms, if I so choose."
...ok, yes, you were about to do that again, and you're trying not to scowl so hard at being caught before you could spring it. But wait-
"Why didn't you block it before?"
The glow in his eyes shifts from a brilliant crimson to a lighter, muted purple, while the rest of him stills as he recoils slowly. "I… realized that I may - may - have overstepped with regards to my comments about your pre-Exalted form."
"Really."
"Not that I was wrong, mind you," he dismisses with a wave of his claw, though his voice is still anxious, "but I should have realized that a fresh Exalt like yourself would still be emotionally attached to your previous, lack- ah, less empowered form."
From the door, Prayer clears her throat - a sound that is both arresting and harmonic, oddly.
"Ah… yes," he starts, the glow in his faceted eyes cutting out briefly in what you figure must be his own form of a blink. "By which I mean that I… did commit a grievous breach of propriety, and you should take this as your first etiquette lesson in what not-"
"Lord Grasp."
Her flat tone somehow sounds like a vault of crystals humming in disapproval. It's the strangest thing, and the opulent mechanical scorpion in front of you practically wilts at the sound.
"Warden-"
"It's alright, Lord Grasp," you snicker, patting the claw still resting to your left on the mattress. "I know."
"Ah!" he perks up, looking at you carefully for a moment before turning his upper half towards Prayer and gesturing towards you grandiosely. "Did I not say that she would understand my intent without needing to debase myself so? I am only bound to the best!"
You can't help but smile at that, which seems to satisfy Prayer's silent, questioning gaze to you - eliciting a nod of assent from the giant blue woman and a satisfied huff from your gem-coated companion.
"Now that that's settled, Warden…" he muses, turning back to you while twitching a bit, "I find myself growing tired of this... discomfiting, barren world. If you would be so kind…?"
"Oh," you blink, remembering how he had complained at first about what Earth-Bet felt like to him. Has he felt like that this whole time? Oops. "I'm sorry! Yes, of course!"
"Thank you, Warden," he sighs in relief as you raise a hand to him, though he stops you with a large pincer just as you're about to port him away. "Do you have a way for me to get your attention whilst inside? I do have some appointments to keep."
"Errr, I think I noticed when you tried to use the portal before?" you muse, frowning as you remember what it felt like when he'd been poking about on his own. You'd almost thought there was a prickling on the back of your mind, but- "I was just ignoring you before," you nod, both to him and yourself. "I'll pay attention next time."
"Yes, well," he sighs, waving his claw in understanding, "I suppose that will do for now. First Prayer of Perfection, please keep her safe until my return."
"Of course, Lord Grasp."
He bows slightly in response, and then you pull - briefly tearing open reality with a swirling vortex of black and white hexagons of varying sizes for barely a few seconds before it all vanishes with a crackling pop of electricity. When the effect is gone, so is your car-sized companion.
"Wait…" you blink, looking to Prayer in delayed realization. "Appointments?"
***
The last time you'd been in New York, you and Sakura hadn't been given much of an opportunity to fully tour PRT Tower - both because your road trip to Philadelphia meant that time was limited, and because the two of you (and Aisha, for that matter) hadn't been fully inducted into the Wards program yet.
The two of you didn't make a fuss about the lost opportunity, mainly because… it all felt kind of fuzzy. Like a dream, where you're moving from place to place but don't always remember how you got there? There had been the shock of the… attack, then helping people escape in those last few minutes… then a bunch of PRT officers and the Brockton Bay Director talking at you and giving you papers to sign…
Miss Militia was usually there, though, and she'd always been the coolest heroine in Brockton Bay since you could remember. Assault and Battery were funny, too, and you felt better when they made you laugh during the trip… but you liked it more when Miss Militia was around.
Serious, calm, reserved. You and Sakura had even dressed up as her for Halloween three years ago. Well, you had gotten fewer comments on your Armsmaster/MissMilitia fic than Sakura had gotten for her Armsmaster/Dauntless slash, so you were the 'secret villain clone' - her scarf meant that you couldn't wear an Evil Goatee, so you wore a Chinese flag instead of an American one.
Not that you're ever going to admit that last part to her face, even during Master/Stranger Protocol questioning!
"Everything… seems to at least match your previous records, Ms. Kurosawa," the PRT officer hums to himself across the silver table, idly sweeping a hand through his thinning, grey hair and fixing his glasses. "I'm still not entirely comfortable with the degree of core impulse modification that you've demonstrated, however, nor at the inexplicable skill and language acquisition."
Beside him, Miss Militia nods, though she hasn't looked away from you for the whole two-hour interrogation. Even though everything below the bridge of her nose is hidden behind her flag-scarf, and her body language difficult to read under the army fatigues, you've at least been able to tell when she's been smiling or frowning by the way her eyes crinkle or narrow ever-so-slightly.
You duck your head in a light bow, trying not to fidget in your metal seat. "It's alright. I still don't get a lot of it, too."
"Yes," the old PRT agent mutters, flipping idly back through some of the pages to your earlier responses. "but it matches to what our records show for Marrow and Weaver when both were initially recovered… as nonsensical as it all sounds, even with context."
Miss Militia's eyebrows twitch down slightly, but otherwise she continues her impassive study of your behavior.
"I'm…" you hazard, empathizing but still not sure how to respond to a PRT psychologist saying you sound crazy, "... sorry?"
"Don't be," he sighs again - oh, right, Dr. Marchbanks that's his name! - while adjusting his thin-rimmed glasses to eye you with a bit more sympathy. "Ms. Kurosawa, none of this-" he motions to the papers in front of him with a hand, "is your fault, neither is your new… existence. I have some choice words for Weaver, of course, which are going in my report… but I don't see any further good coming from keeping you under Master/Stranger Protocol Containment."
Turning his gaze to the last sheet of paper in his folder, you see him sign and date a final line, before he removes a small lipstick-container-sized stamp and punches it next to his signature.
Finally, Miss Militia relaxes her posture with a relieved sigh - though her eyes are crinkled in a way that you've realized means she's giving you a relieved smile.
"Thank you for your patience and cooperation, Saki."
Inside, you wonder how she always manages to seem so focused, so cool and collected all the time. You know Taylor mumbled some stuff about watching videos of Miss Militia's interviews for 'training purposes' but Taylor is always too distracted and busy to do it right.
"Ah… it's ok," you nod again, before casting a confused glance between the two adults. "Is- Is that it?"
"From my end, yes, Ms. Kurosawa," Dr. Marchbanks grumbles to himself as he stands and offers you a wiry hand, which you shake automatically. "Your compliance has been greatly appreciated by the PRT, as we're well aware that you could have teleported away at any time. From here, you're still scheduled for some preliminary Power Testing next, since you've been kind enough to refrain from exploring your new powers until we have a safe space for you to do so."
Miss Militia nods to mirror his thoughts, and you breathe a sigh of relief.
There had been so many times you'd wanted to poke and play with the… well, they feel somewhat like the glowing lines all across your body: computer circuits. Not that you know all that much about how computers actually work - that's Taylor's and Chris' jobs - but the straight lines and hard angles that end in circles are how they look inside, right?
"Once we get a general picture of your new abilities - Weaver and Prayer have shown us that it's better to wait for a full test until you've… 'configured' your new powers," Dr. Marchbanks continues, clearing his throat at the last bit, "we'll hopefully be able to release you fully from Containment. Beyond that, there will still be at least one Protectorate member assigned to you at all times for the next week - both for your own security and… well, for further passive observation."
"Oh," you blink, thinking back. "Like Weaver had before?"
The elder doctor frown disapprovingly as he glances down at the papers on the table, but shakes his head. "No, that was a... unique situation, and I'll be honest: I was the one who pushed for this, independent of the usual Master/Stranger Protocols." Looking up, his eyes and tone softens, though his face remains resolute. "I'm of the professional opinion that it will be good for you to have someone trustworthy and combat-capable nearby while you recover from what's happened - both for your own peace of mind and to be there in the event of a relapse. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is known to make even the strongest characters lash out when exposed to a trigger, and the ramifications of a parahuman lashing out are usually far more severe than a normal human."
Miss Militia, who has risen to her feet as well, moves smoothly to your side and places a careful hand on your shoulder. "There's no shame in recovery, Saki, and if you ever don't feel comfortable with your chaperone we can find you another one."
You have trouble meeting their eyes, mainly because your own vision is getting blurrier, but you nod and… you're just going to hug Miss Militia now, even though you're totally ruining the moment by being sad.
You breathe for a bit, and try not to focus on bad memories. Think of something else! Like… huh, it feels like Miss Militia is wearing body armor under her fatigues? Aren't you supposed the wear the armor on top?
"A-alright," you eventually manage, after thinking about armored bodices long enough to stop leaking all over Miss Militia's camo. Turning your gaze up to her, you realize this is a perfect opportunity: Begging Jutsu, activate! Form of Puppy Eyes! "Can you be my first?"
Miss Militia's dark brown eyes widen slightly, enough that you're pretty sure you just shocked her into speechlessness. Critical hit?
Oh, uh... wait... you may have phrased that wrong.
"Chaperone!"
She blinks, finally, and you can practically see her eyes focus again, resolving into a frown as she tries to figure out- ah, ok, now she's blushing.
"I…" she coughs, turning her gaze to Dr. Marchbanks… who is giving you a very disapproving glare, "... was scheduled to return to Philadelphia, but… I can… ask?"
You nod, turning up the Hopeful Eyes again, causing her to look away quickly with a troubled expression.
"Could you… go back to your old appearance, Saki?"
You blink, wiping away the last remnants of your tears on your jumpsuit. "Eh?"
Dr. Marchbanks clears his throat, causing you to meet his scrutinizing glare.
"Ms. Kurosawa," he begins slowly, straightening his glasses to peer at you through them skeptically, "at the risk of sounding cliche, I must ask an honest, impartial question: have you not yet realized how attractive you now are?"
You reel back a bit, feeling your face heat up as your eyes widen.
"Ano… I…" you try, awkwardly disentangling yourself from Miss Militia - who seems to scoot away ever-so-slightly at the same time. "I... looked in the mirror, yes."
You basically spent most of your first day in your cell, staring at the matte-silver girl that had taken over your reflection. No blemishes leftover from your acne flare-up, no squat nose that wasn't short or round enough to be cute… that you had expected.
You hadn't expected to look like you were always catching the light just right, that your impossibly-smooth skin radiated a glow that you'd only seen in magazine covers. The white-and-blue filligree glow running along your body, neck, and face only accentuated the white, silver, gold, and black metal studs and plates in a way that put even Taylor's designs to shame.
You're impossible, like the greatest models in the world got smushed into someone that kind of looks like your mom and the world around you is constantly airbrushing your appearance and tweaking the lighting to make everything just right. It was a shock at the time… but...
... you've been trying not to think about it too hard, actually.
Taylor already has way too much attention - good, bad, and totally gross - all around the Internet because she's super pretty, but she's really good about not paying attention to it or shutting it down.
You... would rather hide. You don't… need anyone else but Sakura, anyway. But she's...
Dr. Marchbanks is still talking.
"... anything by that, Ms. Kurosawa," he speaks slowly, calmly, while keeping his hands up.
Oh, you were curling up again. It takes a few breaths and flexing of your fingers on your arms to relax, but you nod enough that he eventually seems to calm down himself. Miss Militia is still a few feet away, but she's clearly trying to give off a 'I'm here if you need it' message with her unguarded stance.
"If it helps you understand," he tries again, shooting a concerned glance to the worried-looking Miss Militia, "I have been informed that your mere appearance rates a Master 3 rating... and I think that might even need raising."
Whatever blood - or fluids - were in your face before feel like they've quickly drained. Master ratings… are bad.
In a fight, you always target the Master first.
"I know it might be alarming, Ms. Kurosawa," he says evenly, slowly, "but you need to understand: it is extremely difficult to focus on anything but whatever you are doing or saying. My first instinct is to believe and agree with whatever you say. I've had to constantly remind myself that I am happily married… to my husband."
"Wh- what?" you stammer, shocked. "Why didn't you say anything before?"
"We-" he stops, closes his eyes for a moment and sighs briefly. Opening his eyes again, he looks more tired than before. "After everything you've been through, I and my colleagues helping the other Wards felt that it would be best if we didn't make you feel embarrassed or ashamed of your new appearance. Since I have field experience working against Master powers, it was hoped that I could prove that the PRT wouldn't need to mandate a disguise when you're not… weaponizing your appearance."
Disbelieving, you cast your gaze to the side - only to meet a ruefully-nodding Miss Militia.
"O-oh," you manage, looking at your hands.
Every time you look at them, some new detail, engraving, or tracery seems to jump out at you. As beautiful as Lord Grasp's opulence can be, there is a level of precision, artistry, and power just in your hands that puts him to shame.
With a shove of energy into the back of your mind, a wave of hexagonal panels erupts from your fingertips and flows down your arms - as each flips, its opposite side reveals your old, pale and sallow skin tone - while your shoulders buckle and shrink to support your new frame.
A few seconds pass, and you're the old you.
You'd never really liked the old you, but maybe it's better this way: at least Sakura will recognize you when she gets back.
Avoiding the uncomfortable gazes to your side, you look up to the door.
"Can we go now?"
***
Judging by the uniformly-sterile hallways that remind you of Protectorate Island's high-security prison, you're probably somewhere in the basement of PRT Tower. The most interesting part, really, is the actual shape of the hallways: instead of being perfectly rectangular, the corners are all sloped just a bit to make the hallways oddly-shaped octagons. You don't feel like asking again after you were told about the reason for it in the tour… something about making it easier to detect Strangers and Masters?
A few blank hallways from your interrogation room, Miss Militia guides you to one of the large elevators and hits the 'down' arrow. When it opens, Prayer's heavily-armored form awaits you - helmet off, and carried under her right arm.
A light frown creases her brow as she studies the two of you silently for a moment, before looking more pointedly at Miss Militia and nodding.
"I will serve, now. Thank you."
You're deliberately not looking at anything in particular, but out of the corner of your eye you notice Miss Militia's knife in her right holster pulse green before shifting into a much larger caliber weapon. It had shifted twice - from a pistol to a grenade bandolier then to a knife - while the two of you had been walking, so you're not sure if her power just fluctuates on its own or if she's trying to send a message.
You're pretty sure Prayer wouldn't even notice a pistol shot in that armor of hers, so it's probably just powers being weird again.
"Tatsu-" Miss Militia pauses, placing a hand on your shoulder, "requested I serve as her initial chaperone."
There's an awkward silence, which causes you to blink in realization of what's happening and whip your head between the two.
"Ano…" you finally mumble, working past your bleh at being so pretty that you got a Master rating. "Can I have you both?"
Maker dang it.
"As chaperones!"
Miss Militia colors a bit again, but looks more exasperated than embarassed. Prayer-
… -somehow got her helmet on while you were turning to look at Miss Militia. Hmm.
Do you ship it? Miss Militia didn't date anyone in Brockton Bay, and you've already thought of trying to pair Prayer up with someone…
"No, Tatsu."
"Huh?" you blink, looking at Prayer's judging helmet. That sounded like she was talking about something else? "What?"
"Weaver found your fiction," she intones, armored, aquamarine-crystal arms folding across her broad chest. "I have been warned."
Your books? Or-
"Oh," you realize. "Oh!"
Then… start shuffling to the corner of the elevator while feeling your face burn. That means… Taylor found the things you wrote about her, too… "Did you-?"
"Just a warning. She has not shared."
"Oh, thank the Maker," you heave, falling back against the elevator wall. First thing to do when you get access to a computer: set all your stories to private until Sakura gets back. You may have written most of them, but it was her idea to post them publicly - you're not taking the fall for her this time!
"We're… " Miss Militia wonders aloud, eyeing the two of you warily. "I'm missing something."
"Nothing!" you smile, trying not to smile too hard while holding your hands up innocently. "Ah, it was an… inside joke! Hee hee!"
"Ah," Miss Militia blinks, then nods in apparent understanding. "Did it involve Clockblocker?"
Wait what? "Uh… I... yes?"
"I hope he hasn't been too poor of an influence on the two of you," she sighs, shaking her head. "I tried to find out how you were all doing while I was stationed at the Refugee Camp, but reports were slim. Clockblocker tended to act up during high-stress situations, so I worried that he might get up to trouble after the move."
You try not to eye her too critically, and Prayer is no help in her big, bulky armor, but you're not… quite sure what happened there. Dr. Marchbanks said…
Does your disguise… not stop all of your... Master-ness? It's clear that you're no longer 'zombie-inducing', but maybe there's other parts to it?
The elevator dings. Well, maybe you can figure it out a way to turn it off now? You're not sure you want to admit that you don't already know how to turn it off, but… Taylor seemed to always tell the PRT when something was going on with her charms.
"Now that I think about it, Tatsu," Miss Militia frowns, giving you a considering glance, "I need to report to Legend, Chevalier, and Director Uriel first before I can agree to staying in New York much longer. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have… agreed so easily."
"That's okay," you smile, trying not to let how much this is freaking you out show through. You take a step up and nudge the big blue Alchemical as the doors open to another blank hallway. "I trust Prayer."
That earns you a pleased wrinkling of Miss Militia's eyes and and solid aquamarine gauntlet on your left shoulder.
You keep smiling, but no one can tell it's fake.
***
Continuing the similarities to Protectorate Island, the Power Testing Chamber that Prayer escorts you to is about the size of your high-school gymnasium (Clarendon's or Hero High's). You're definitely underground now, since there's no way this place would fit in the building above-ground, but does that mean the parts underneath go under the street or into other basements? And isn't there a subway tunnel nearby?
Right. Tinkertech. Taylor's job, not yours.
To your great relief, your savior is even here! Sort of.
"Are you alright… Tatsu?"
The grapefruit-sized drone floats about waist-high, the top part folded open in several parts to display crystals and lenses - which are lit up, projecting Taylor's undersuit-clad upper half. She's still in full Alch-mode, not even hiding her charms anymore and her glowing 'veins' are still noticeable even though she's a semi-transparent, blue-and-white hologram.
And she's looking at you like you're the weird one.
"Ah, yes?" you shrug, offering a weak smile because you'd rather not talk about it right now. "It wasn't so bad. Boring."
Her face scrunches up as she looks you - and your baggy jumpsuit - over critically. "Yeah, I'm… sorry about that. Did you try meditating? That usually eats up a whole day."
"They-" you look to the four labcoat-adorned PRT scientists standing nearby, prompting the leader to nod and take over.
"We're currently dealing with a spike in gang activity, Ms. Weaver," the Spanish-looking man explains, looking a bit chagrined. He nods to you and then to the hologram, "Director Peterbuilt decided he didn't want to risk another unexpected 'Thinker storm' like what happened when your caravan passed through here in February."
What's he- oh, right. Outside of the pizza place. That was… terrifying.
Taylor does that weird thing where it looks like she turned off her face, but you can see the… eyes?... on her forehead are all swivelling around much faster now.
"Why didn't-" she starts, voice cold, then blinks. Her eyes stop swivelling and point off to the side for a moment, and then her face starts up again… just as she pinches the bridge of her nose. "Right. New York. Always busy. Did the Director make any changes to this scheduled testing, Doctor Rose?"
"No, m'am," he frowns, looking between his colleagues who are expressing varying levels of wariness themselves. "Though we were under the impression that this wasn't going to be a full battery of tests, due to Ms. Tatsu's… alignment issues?"
Taylor's holographic form shakes its head, causing the eight legs flowing back from her temples to sway with the action. "I was hoping she'd get a chance to sort that out before now, but… oh well. Are you ready to begin? Tatsu?"
"Y-Yes?" you straighten up, while Dr. Rose and the other doctors (probably?) move back - some to the table nearby, which has a few computer screens on it. At your side, Prayer nods and shifts back to give you space while assuming a closed stance.
Huh.
"What?" Taylor wonders, loud enough to make you realize that you said that out loud.
"Oh, I just-" you carefully point at Prayer's feet and hands, "-realized that she's in a closed stance. And… I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have known that… before?"
Taylor's projection makes a sound as the drone floats a few feet away, a bit closer than Dr. Rose but still near enough that you can read her thoughtful expression as she taps a finger on her cheek. "I was going to suggest you start with your anima, but baseline changes works. Go ahead and disable any charms you have, first."
You cast a quick glance at the scientists, and you're getting the feeling they're a bit put out by Taylor taking over, so you give them a weak smile and a shrug… which immediately makes them relax and roll their eyes before focusing back on their instruments.
How are you going to bring that up? Ugh.
Ok, right. Turning everything off. So you just…
… well, it feels as if you were wiggling a finger, and had just forgotten about it, but now you do notice it again and you want it to stop. Except your finger is made of electricity, and it's in the back of your brain.
Sakura's better at metaphors, anyway.
The cascade of tiny hexagons is fun to watch, but what strikes you the most is the pressure that you didn't even realize you were feeling when your bones pop back into place and your body fills out again. Like wearing a belt that was a bit too tight, but not tight enough to be annoying?
"Did you feel something, there, Tatsu?"
"O-oh, yeah," you blurt out, "do you- right, should I describe everything like I did last time?"
"You mean the initial test of your parahuman power, Ms. Tatsu?" Dr. Rose inquires, cutting off Taylor just as she opens her mouth. He raises a finger in admission, while glancing at the hologram. "We have the results from it, and your notes Ms. Weaver, but yes - please just say whatever comes to mind, everything you feel that sticks out, or even anything that you remember that might be relevant."
"R-Right," you nod, then relate what you just thought - which draws a hum from Taylor.
"That's-" she frowns, looking to the side for a moment before refocusing on you, "-probably due to alignment problems? How many charms did you just use?"
Closing your eyes, you try to get a feel for what you just did again - as if you were going to repeat the process. "Umm… two? Wait… no, there was a... third one? There's two disguise charms and… one that… absorbs energy from them?"
"Ok," you hear Taylor's voice muse, as most of your focus is on figuring out how you missed that third charm before, "I think-... okay, one thing at a time. Try attacking Prayer."
What.
"What?!" you balk, eye going wide in disbelief at the smirking blue hologram, before pointing to the giant blue juggernaut and then back at Taylor. "But she's-! Prayer's-! She's so-... BLUE!"
"Do not fear," the hulking woman in question intones, her voice calm and understanding while it reverberates through her crystalline armor. "I will not blue you."
...
You're not sure when your brain restarts, but you're pretty sure you beat Taylor to it if her expression is any indication. The doctors, on the other hand, are desperately trying not to fall over laughing.
Prayer has started to shift uncomfortably. "...What did I say?"
"Nothing!"/ "Nothing!"
You and Taylor share a glance and a nod. The pact is sealed.
Eventually, the snickers from the scientists dies off, and you realize that you should probably at least make a token effort to maybe… push her? Yes, something that's clearly not harmful so you don't break your hand on her armor and she doesn't break you on accident.
Coughing to get her attention, you raise a hand to silently ask permission to approach - which gets you a nod of approval from the massive wall of crystal - then slowly shuffle a little closer with your hands raised.
Okay, well, if her feet are… there… and you're standing… yes, you just step once, then into her guard and - oh, she's turning! Turn with her, her center of balance is over her left leg now so grab behind her left knee with your left hand and push up on her chest with your right hand-
The crashing sound of solid crystal echoes through the large testing chamber.
"What?!"
After blinking a few times to realize that Prayer actually is alright- oh. You said that.
"Was that as fast as you could go, Tatsu?" you hear Taylor's voice from behind, though you're busy worrying over Prayer. You try to offer her a hand, but she waves it off before sliding her legs out into a smooth rising crouch… huh. Oh, right.
"Um… maybe? I didn't want to get hurt, but when Prayer started moving faster I tried to... shift with her?"
"It was a skilled strike," Prayer nods, "you knew to act before your limit was passed. You have been blessed with training by the Great Maker."
"Oh!" you exclaim, smiling in relief. Though- "Does that mean I don't have to train with Bladedancer anymore?"
BLUE-!
Uhhh… that's... the ceiling? You're… on the floor?
You're... not hurt, but you try to speak and your lungs don't have air-
"Bladedancer could counter that strike, young one," Prayer intones, her helmet poking into your field of view from the top as she leans down from above.
Her tone is as cheerful as you've ever heard it.
"So, no."
***
Testing the rest of your 'baseline' skills is roughly just as embarrassing; every time you make some new discovery about cool new things you can just do now… Taylor, or Prayer, or even the scientists (Traitors!) find a way to push the test beyond your limits.
You can lift as much as a small car, run a treadmill at a full sprint (which isn't that fast…) for half an hour without tiring, and do kung fu…
… you can speak a whole new language, memorize maps just by looking at them, and you're pretty sure you couldn't pick up on body language quite so easily before…
… all of that, and it's still a wash.
You've somehow forgotten how to dodge.
***
"...aaand time."
As Dr. Rose audibly taps his tablet to clear the timer, you grumble and drop the stylus onto the table - not into the tablet's stylus receptacle, because they made you take the math test again. Since all the questions were different you couldn't even use the answers that you'd worked out last time!
Because this is a PRT Power Test and they have all the cool toys, the scientists already have the results - Taylor doesn't, so she's had to maneuver her holo-drone to look over the shoulders of the scientists at the other table. One of the scientists comes over and takes the tablet - and wayward stylus - from you while the rest mutter to each other and point at their screens for about a minute, during which time you lean back in the metal chair and close your eyes.
It's fuzzy, but… yes, it looks like Lord Grasp is still a motionless pagoda near the portal. He didn't tell you how long he needed so you're not quite sure when to expect him, but you might need to wake him up for some of the upcoming tests.
Apparently they already put him through power testing while you were in Containment, though only his small and large scorpion forms - something about needing to schedule a time to re-size the testing lab to accommodate his pagoda form? When you're done here the scientists have promised to let you watch the videos of it, but Prayer and Taylor explained the two most important take-aways: he talked the entire time, and nothing short of a very high-level Brute would survive an encounter with him.
Taylor mentioned that his cavalier, gruesome disassembly of the training dummies meant that the PRT doesn't feel comfortable letting him out into the world until he goes through a full Live Combat training course, as well as a psychological evaluation to prove that he understands the notions of 'excessive force' and 'the value of human life.' This hadn't caused much of an issue yet, as the rest of his time had been spent with Glenn Chambers and the PRT PR team with Prayer translating.
Prayer had given you a wordless, rueful look through her helmet in response, which had almost caused you to trip on the treadmill due to your giggles.
"...-atsu?"
You blink, then lean forward from where you had almost sent the chair tipping backwards. The scientsts are all looking at you expectantly, while Taylor is giving you a raised eyebrow with a smirk.
"Y-yes?"
Dr. Rose clears his throat and nods at you. "We're finished with your baseline mental evaluations, Ms. Tatsu. Overall, your average cognitive capabilities have seen a 21% increase - mostly in processing speed - though there looks to be noticeable improvement of your overall language skills as well. Comparing against the limited schooling reports we have since your last evaluation, we did also notice that you answered some geography and history questions that weren't covered in your classes…?"
"Oh," you frown, thinking about what questions on the test they might have been talking about. "I still couldn't answer most of them."
"Which is fine," he nods, holding up hand in acceptance, "you did the right thing to skip to only ones you could answer, but-... alright, how about the question about when the American Civil War ended? Do you remember where you learned that? None of your classes have covered that period."
"I… don't remember? The Internet?"
That gets some light chuckles from the scientist gallery, but Dr. Rose just frowns - not at you, though, as he quickly turns to Taylor's projection. "I'm just not seeing enough concrete evidence for these 'Skill Colleges' your notes mention, Ms. Weaver."
For her part, Taylor's lips are pursed as she sighs. "It's not-" she pauses, her eyes darting off to the side for a moment before she frowns again. "That's… Fine. If, later, she exhibits the same sort of learning advancement that I do?"
He nods. "If both she and Ms. Vajra do, then yes - that might be enough to support a preliminary theory. We'd need more than a sample size of three, however-"
"I'm working on it," Taylor sighs again, waving a hand dismissively. "That's the last baseline test, yes?"
Adjusting his thick glasses, Dr. Rose nods quickly and turns back to the rest of the scientists as they appear to be working on something. A few moments later, they look up to meet his gaze.
"Everything's backed up offsite, sir," the lone female of the group replies, nervousness starting to creep into her fresh-out-of-college voice. "Digital and analogue measurements are recording."
Turning from them to Taylor, you give her a blank stare so that she'll explain what any of that meant.
"Ah… you remember how my anima - the big spider thing...?"
You nod.
"... when I was starting out, it scrambled anything electronic pointed at me, too. Prayer's anima is different: it changes recordings and memories to make her look like something else."
That gets you to turn to the giant blue crystal woman in shock. "What?"
"After the moment has passed," she bows her head, solemnly, "all who bore witness saw the Great Maker in action."
You turn back to Taylor, who just shrugs.
"We did a lot of testing last week, but for the most part people and cameras just remember a big glowing figure that they think was Autochthon himself. Indirect observation - say, if you wrote down what Prayer was doing - doesn't change, and since I'm immune you might be too, but before she meditated it wasn't very consistent with what it would change or how much. Which was… awkward."
Back to Prayer, who shifts uncomfortably.
"I was broadcast."
"Oh," you balk, since… wow. TV? "What happens if you watch it after?"
"You don't get the full… religious experience, but it's there," Taylor fidgets, clearing her throat while the scientists behind her are dutifully looking elsewhere. "Iris says that yours shouldn't be like that, but we're taking precautions just in case."
That's… well, you're not quite sure how bad that is compared to your own problem. From what you can remember, Taylor's anima stopped showing up all the time and screwing everything up after she meditated a bit… but 'scaring people' isn't anywhere as bad as 'changing memories' when it comes to how the PRT treats you.
A bolt of inspiration hits you, but you manage to shut your mouth before you voice it: is that part of why there's so little information about what happened to the Slaughterhouse Nine?
You're pretty sure Taylor and Prayer are the only ones who know what really happened, and they probably can't say it in front of a bunch of PRT scientists.
Safe Space, to the rescue! You and Sakura were trying to figure out a way to pitch that you two should be in the Assembly because you'd have the Ultimate Base (villains have lairs) for super-secret Alchemical business in your Safe Space, but she must have thought of it on her own. And with Lord Grasp, it's even got a spa now!
So you push that uncomfortable question onto the ever-growing 'Ask Taylor Later' pile, and instead shake your head and move to stand. "O-okay, so… what should I do now?"
After a short set of glances between Dr. Rose and Taylor - the Doctor communicating with a shrug and a waved hand that it's her show now - you are directed to move to the center of the large room and stand in a relaxed position. Taylor's drone and projected hologram remain about ten feet in front of you, Prayer is a few feet farther and to your right, and the scientists have remained around their tables about fifty feet away. Apart from them, all the training and testing equipment has been folded back into the walls, leaving the room pristine, empty, and white.
"Now, I'm not sure how much you remember from my presentation, but I'll try to keep it simple. Just close your eyes and think about the energy you've probably been pushing and pulling to activate your charms."
Doing so, you take a relaxed breath and bring up the mental image that came to mind over the last few days as your mind wandered: a pair of tight, single-spirals comprised of glowing blue hexagons. Though the larger one is nearly double the size and glows with a vibrant, iridescent radiance, your attention (in the few times they've come to your mind) has always been drawn first to the smaller of the pair.
"Um…" you murmur, letting your wandering train of thought be heard, "I have… two? But one is smaller and… empty?"
Taylor's thoughtful hum sounds farther away than it did a moment ago, but you don't let it distract from your introspection. "That means your personal essence pool is taken up entirely by the charms you have installed. That's okay - the way you used your peripheral pool to fuel your disguise earlier shows you probably have Aura-Dampening Component like Pray-"
The words 'personal' and 'peripheral' feel… right, though you're not sure if that's just because you suddenly remember Taylor's long presentation on how her powers worked. But as she goes on…
"Oh!" you exclaim, nearly opening your eyes and ruining your mind's eye, "yes! That one lit up! And… it's connected to the pools? Wait, wait- there's other lines running- ah, I see the rest of them! But… only Aura-Dampening Component is lit up? Should I use it?"
It's difficult to focus on, like trying to watch a movie through a dirty window, but the instant Taylor had said the name that charm had lit up and stuck in your memory - revealing that the dull lines you'd barely noticed before running from the spirals actually channeled down into the muted glows of the charms themselves.
From far away you hear Taylor give a pensive "Alright," but as you smile and try to… push essence down from the peripheral spiral-
"It's… it's not doing anything?" you mumble, hopefully loud enough for everyone else to hear, before realization makes you jolt again. "Ah! No, I see! I can direct essence through it to… control it? The lines coming out of it to the other charms look… smaller."
"That's good, Tatsu," Taylor's voice drifts into your consciousness, the firm tone just barely overriding your desire to play around with your new discoveries. "Can you see if it connects to all your other charms?"
You grumble, since you're still having a hard time even figuring out how many charms you have.
"I… think so? The others are still dark, so I can't really tell… but there look like there are enough lines for a lot of them…"
"That's-" she cuts off, long enough that you wonder if something's wrong. Just as you're about to open your eyes, Taylor's voice exasperated voice cuts in again. "Alright, Tatsu. It sounds like it works like Prayer's; hopefully we can use it to test the other charms you have and save your anima for last. Let's start working our way through your other charms. Now, I'm going to name a few that I think you've already used so let me know if anything… lights up."
After a moment of silence, you realize they're waiting on you.
"O-okay!"
Taylor's voice is steady and confident, almost as if she's reading from a list.
"Integrated Artifact Transmogrifier."
"Ooo! Yes! It's- wait, I recognize that one! That's the human disguise one, isn't it?"
There's… a nagging feeling after you say that out loud, but it takes you a moment to place it: you're not really human anymore, are you? You'd been thinking about it as 'the old you', not 'look like a human again'.
It's not a bad feeling… just a little sad. Like… like otou-san used to say about you and Sakura growing up.
You miss them so much.
Taylor's and Prayer's voices are muddled in your head as your mind falls apart, the lines and the lights and the spirals growing hazier as you try desperately- calm! You have to-!
Be Calm.
Like a pixelated picture snapping back into focus, there is Clarity to your mind's eye now - even better than before. It's… yes, you miss them, but you're in the middle of power testing - you have cried yourself to sleep plenty of times before, you can wait until tonight to do it again.
Actually, now that you can sense all your charms a bit better, there's… a big one lurking at the bottom of the lines. Not as big as your charm-ified relocation power (teleportation never really felt right, even before), which is somehow attached above the essence spirals...
No time to think on it, since Taylor's and Prayer's voices are getting closer. You start pushing essence down through Aura-Dampening Component and towards the oversized charm-
After the initial shove, power surges down the line, more than what you needed to activate your two disguise charms combined. Urgh, this thing is a power hog! It better be worth it!
Your eyes snap open, and you throw your hands out to stop Prayer and Taylor just as the two of them almost get within arm's reach.
"Wait!" you exclaim, before you use your left forearm to help wipe your eyes clear. "I'm alright. Just- I just had a bad memory. I'm fine."
There's a beat of silence as you take in a steadying breath, and as you drop your left arm you notice both are looking at your outstretched right arm.
Or, more specifically, the long, thin, black blade sticking out from between your right middle and ring fingers.
"That's… it?"
The realization that you just thought that out loud is washed away by the deep, ominous feeling that no… you're missing something. That's not all there is to it.
"A stiletto?" Prayer's voice is thoughtful, her head tilted slightly as she studies it from afar. "Can you shape it?"
"I…" you blink, the thought having not occurred to you. Looking at your splayed-out hand, you stare at it like you got a bad nail job.
After a few directed thoughts, all you've managed to accomplish is a few weird faces while the blade retracted slightly to line up with your fingers - in a way that could hide it pretty well, now that you're moving your fingers a bit. Ninja-esque, sleek and deadly!
The lingering, ominous feeling means that attempt at humor doesn't even make you smile.
"No, but… I think it does something? It's… not poisoned, I think," as you bring it up to your face to inspect it more carefully. You gently touch the blade with your left index finger, "No, but it's pretty sharp-"
You finally notice that Taylor is staring at you with her face turned off - even her upper eyes have focused on you completely.
"Um," you begin eloquently, glancing between her, the blade, and Prayer, before bringing your right hand out in a relaxed, upwards-facing point with your fist closed. "Do you… know what this is, Ta-... Weaver?"
There's a long, awkward pause as her face turns back on but her eyes - all of them - dart off to the right at something you can't see and she makes a frantic 'stop it' motion with her right hand at whatever it was.
"It's identity has been… suggested… yes," she eventually mutters out, as if the words are being pulled out of her throat, "but I don't know if… if it's even safe to test."
"Ms. Weaver?" Dr. Rose's voice over the test chamber's speakers interrupts your already-stalled train of thought, frustration in his tone not hiding the concern underneath it. "Should we be aware of something?"
"I-" Taylor stalls, straightening up and turning just enough so that she can raise her hands warningly and have both the scientists and yourself within her field of view. "I just want to remind everyone that-... that Alchemical charms are designed by humans, and that Autochthonian culture has a much different perspective on life and mental-"
"Ms. Weaver," Dr. Rose interrupts, growing increasing chiding, "need I remind you that it is your promise of complete transparency during these tests that allows your presence here?"
Taylor's face twitches, but before it can twist into a snarl the blank look slams down for long enough for her regain control - her eyes, however, continue to swirl and pivot furiously in the moment of silence. Finally, she closes her eyes, takes a long breath, and looks back to you with a hopeful expression.
It's obviously fake.
"Tatsu, can you tell if there are any submods - smaller parts - or other charms connected to that charm? Or is it just that… needle?"
After staring at Taylor's face for a moment, you close your eyes and try to search your mind again…
"It's… there are lots of smaller parts," you mutter, completely devoid of excitement over seeing how the charm practically glows like a christmas tree with smaller lights that are buzzing and waiting to activate. "I don't… see… any other connected charms? Some of the parts are as big as charms, though…?"
You open your eyes and Taylor has her face in both palms. There's another awkward silence.
"Maker…"
Spoken in Old Realm, it's one part plea, two parts expletive. Beside you, Prayer awkwardly shifts ever-so-slightly away from you.
Dr. Rose's voice is completely done with this. "Ms. Weaver."
Taylor holds her left hand up in acknowledgement, then raises her face from her right hand and takes a long, steadying breath before gesturing for you to present your arm proudly.
"Doctors," she sighs, right eye twitching as her mouth is a rueful smile. "I present: Personality Override Spike."
...what.
Even all the way over here, the strangled sound from multiple doctors can be heard even without the intercom.
"Alone, it's… capable of forcing a person into a dream-like mindscape where the user can speak to them," she continues, tone somehow considering, "However, it was designed for use with other... parts: Identity Recalibration Signal, Mind-Ripping Probe, Memory Implantation Surge, and… Maker please I hope you didn't get this one…. Subsidiary Personality Implant. The names don't translate perfectly, but they…"
Taylor keeps talking, but it all seems so far away as you stare at the pitch-black streak of metal jutting out from between your knuckles.
Far, far away…
… where your chances of ever walking free have fled.
***
At some point, while you've been lost imagining the soft, padded cell that you'll be spending the rest of your life within, Taylor finally finishes whatever she's been saying. You notice this primarily because of the tone her voice has grown even more confident while you weren't paying attention.
"-oes that sound alright, Tatsu?"
Turning your gaze from the Black Spike Of Doom To Your Personal Freedom, you blink owlishly a few times at Taylor and nod anyway.
She looks at you for a few seconds, then nods slowly.
"Riiight," she draws out, eyeing you critically for a moment. "So, you understand that there are potentially valid, therapeutic, legal uses for that charm, and you're fine with waiting until your charms are fully configured to actually test it."
Okay, you definitely should have been paying attention if that's where she wound up with a charm called Personality Override Spike, but it's far too late for asking for her to repeat all that now. Besides, any chance to put off using the Doom Spike in any way whatsoever is fine by you.
"Hai," you nod, more confidently this time before looking at the Doom Spike. "Should I… put it away?"
"Yes, please," she sighs.
For all that you'd tried - and failed - to manipulate it before, actually turning off and retracting the charm is… easy, really. There's a feeling of taking your finger off of a humming metal pad in the back of your mind and then a slick, metal-on-clay sound as the spike slips back between your knuckles like it was never there.
Humming to herself, Taylor eyes you up critically again. "Now then, let's finish going over the other charm we know you have: the one that let you look like… the 'old you', you called it?"
"You mean without… also using Integrated Artifact Transmogrifier?" you wonder, even though the charm's name is a little awkward on your tongue.
At Taylor's confirming nod, you close your eyes and settle back into peering at your vague collection of charms. Finding this one is easy enough since you've already put it to use a few times unknowingly, but as you mentally begin to shift essence down through Aura-Dampening Component and into the line towards it-
"O-oh! W-what should I look like?" you blurt out, as understanding blossoms behind your closed eyes. "I… don't have to look like my old self? I can… I can change anything!"
The sleek, dark echo of Taylor's voice makes a grunt of acknowledgement. "Does 'Husk-Sculpting Apparatus' sound like it fits?"
You make a wordless cheer as, again, recognition causes the charm to glow brilliantly under your internalized scrutiny, allowing you to see that there are a few smaller parts attached as well. You leave them be for now, because you still need to actually activate the charm…
Actually, you know just what to do.
There's the peculiar sensation for several seconds of shifting bones, muscles, and charms as your body reconfigures itself, but when you open your eyes you aren't nearly as short as you were before. In fact, you are almost exactly five feet, ten inches - allowing you to directly meet the gaze of the holographic Taylor in front of you.
Her lips are pursed and she's giving you a flat look, but she totally deserves it for telling everyone about the Doom Spike.
"Very funny, Tatsu."
You didn't bother trying to 'compress' yourself like you've been doing with your 'old self'...
… so you look exactly like her, only better.
To your side, you notice Prayer's helmet twitching between the hologram and yourself a few times before her voice floats through her armor.
"Be grateful Who does not possess this power, Administrator."
You snort, and it sounds weird in your own ears because it's Taylor's snort, but the hologram is simply staring at you with a rapidly-falling expression.
"He wouldn't-..." she mumbles, before blinking and sagging even further, "... he would give her that."
Oh. You… hadn't really thought about… the next person Taylor might pick? When she'd given her presentation you'd noticed she'd looked at Missy more than anyone, but you'd heard several times Aisha talking about how she was trying to figure out how awesome it would be to get "upgraded." You and Sakura had gotten wrapped up with her enthusiasm, actually, and the two of you had figured that it would either be Missy or Aisha that got the actual honor in the end; Missy because she and Taylor actually felt like sisters, while Aisha might actually be able to live a normal life if conversion fixed her (really scary) power.
Was Taylor still thinking of picking either of them now that you and Sakura were picked? That would be…
... umm…
… weird? You and Sakura are almost eighteen, and you were both planning on joining the Protectorate, but Missy and Aisha are young. Chibi, even if Aisha has bigger boobs than you do. Did.
You're definitely going to have to change your 'old' look, now. Not too much! Sakura needs to recognize you, but Aisha will never stop if the first time she sees you she's still better than the two of you. Is there a way-
Oh! One of the charm's part lit up as you were thinking- ah ha! It's for setting defaults! Neat! Ok, can you just shift- no, you have to turn it off first.
You hold up a hand to cut off Taylor's talking - because she's been talking at you again while you weren't paying attention, and Sakura isn't here to listen for you - and toggle off the charm… and then...
Ugh… it's… stuck? No, it just… takes a lot of… pushing… there! And now you don't even have to keep the charm on anymore to look like this!
Opening your eyes, you actually watch the process happen this time. Holding up your arms, you watch as the immaculate, flawless configurations of seams, glowing lines, and metal filigrees actually… shift into worse patterns. Huh. It makes sense, you guess, but it's still weird to see yourself getting uglier.
Not as ugly as you used to be, though, and you hope Sakura has this charm so you two never have to be like that again.
"It's… you again?" Taylor asks, tilting her head as you see her eyes flash and little shades shutter down over her eyes for a moment before retracting. "Is-... oh, were you testing the submodules? Is this how you want to look now?"
"Ms. Weaver?" Dr. Rose's voice drifts out from the intercom again, sounding more curious than frustrated now. "Care to explain?"
"It's a way for her to change her look permanently, without needing the charm active all the time," she nods, looking at you with consideration. "Try activating your IAT now?"
Well, if she's ok with condense the charm names into abbreviations, you aren't going to feel bad about doing it yourself.
Some essence pushing and a few moments later, you're… well, not the 'new' you. The 'newest' you? Saki 2.5: Good Enough Edition!
"Still noticeably better," Taylor muses, rubbing at her lower lip in thought. "Are you not going to use your old identity?"
Looking over your hands, you see that the small scars and freckles are still where they should be. "Um…" you gaze up, meeting her eyes, "...is there a way to look like this and still keep it?"
The most experienced Alchemical on Earth hums a bit in thought, then casts a gaze back towards the scientists. As if reading her mind, Dr. Rose's voice hastily coughs over the intercom.
"Please do not drag PR into the Testing Chambers, Ms. Weaver. We try to be efficient here."
Rolling her eyes - all of them, this time - Taylor shakes her head and waves them off.
"Fine, fine. Wyld owes me for Thursday, anyway, and her team is in New York so it wouldn't-"
Turning fully back to you, Taylor's mouth gradually splits into a conspiratorial grin - and wow she looks evil like that. She can totally see herself all the time with her bugs, you remember, so does she just not care?
"Oh," she cackles. Cackles!
"Inquisition is going to love you."
***
There comes a point where your mind can only take so many shocks - ups and downs and ups and downs… - before it starts growing numb. As a result, while Taylor walks you through locating, activating, and identifying your charms, the process becomes easier as you fall deeper and deeper into a mechanical mindset.
It all starts when you discover that your fears were true: you can't turn it off.
"Right, so before we go any further, let's figure out your augmentations. They'll probably feel like… passive, always-on charms? They simply make you better at everything that part of yourself does - like Strength or Dexterity, for example. They come in a bunch of different types, but so far Autochthon has given us mostly Fourth Augmentations... and I can see you have a whole bunch just looking at you right now, but just to be sure let's go down the list for what you'd need for some basic charms: Fourth Stamina Augmentation? Fourth Intelligence Augmentation? Okay, good. Now, I'm guessing you're like Prayer, so…"
You already know where this is going.
"Fourth Appearance Augmentation? Fourth Manipulation Augmentation? Fourth Charisma Augmentation? Yes? All three? Well… that makes sense, I guess - Prayer is our front line and you're… our public relations."
You only nod, the calm settling over you suppressing any further, needless panicking. The Great Maker saved you, but nothing is ever free.
Things move more quickly from that point onward, and you find yourself feeling more and more distanced from the process.
"... and you mentioned having a 'background charm' to Legend- yes, what you used on Lord Grasp when you first woke up. That sounds like the description of Radiant Iconography Array, so let me know- ah, great. This… sounds really cool, actually: it's basically a customizable illusion generator for making you look more awesome. Could you show us what you did for Lord Grasp…?"
Detached, observing but caring less and less about how great or awful these things in your body might appear at first glance.
"Does the name 'Rogue Cell Isolation Protocols' spark any-... ah, okay. You... already used it? When-? On the platform? Oh! Yes! That's a great example: getting rid of a phobia! See, just because it sounds bad doesn't mean it can't have good uses..."
It is not difficult to observe Taylor's own discomfort with your increased lack of concern or emotiveness, but you also discern a degree of relief. Is it due to how poorly you were reacting before, shutting down at every revelation and drawing out the process longer than it needed to be?
"Body Language? That's… huh. Emotive Aesthetics of the Body Electric...? Alright, and Dr. Rose, let's just call that the 'Body Language' charm because that's what it does: it lets you have actual conversations using only body language. Hmm. Since Earth has so many more languages than Autochthonia, do you also have Interpolative Syntax Emulator…? No? Well, I guess this works…"
Compared to the sudden wash of relief that you struggled with before, it becomes easier and to pull back into the calm, logical mindset that the Great Maker must have built to cushion against such existential shocks.
"I'm… not sure? There are a few that match that description. Coincidental Unity Commands, Covert Battle Schematics, Unobtrusive Repartee Baffles, Ordered- Oh, well, yes, that makes sense. Anyway, as you said, you use it with other charms like Aura-Dampening Component, except Unobtrusive Repartee Baffles only works with- ah, I know this sounds odd, but… 'social interaction charms'? As for what it does… it… well, it makes it difficult for observers to notice when you use them. Not impossible, of course- ah, yes, Doctor, I... believe... it works on Personality Override Spike-…"
It is not your fault. Your insular and kind-hearted nature - Sakura has always been more "pragmatic" than you - is in no way suited for many of these charms.
"What about 'Programmed Catechism Rebuttal'...? Yes? Okay, just a moment-... right. This… may sound weird, but it… lets you ignore people trying to change your mind… by forcing you to quote Autochthonian dogma at them. No, it doesn't make sense to me, either, Doctor, but it doesn't actually affect anyone else so don't be afraid to use it, Tatsu; it should kick in automatically when you need it…"
And you do have many charms - far more than Taylor did at her start, somehow. Percentage-wise, your charms actually tend towards a defensive nature rather than the 'mind-controlling terror' impression generated by your earliest discoveries.
"Okay, phew. Good. You have Industrial Survival Frame. You… haven't felt the need to use it yet, though? I suppose you've been lucky so far, but I think when we're done here you're going to want to keep it up all the time…"
"... can't turn it off? Alright, well, what do you think-... 'prevents exhaustion'? Oh! Is that Alloyed Reinforcement of Flesh...? Yes? Wow, that's great - it's main purpose is to save your life if you take a lethal hit, actually. Prayer has it and it saved her when she was cut in half last week…"
But the terror-inducing charms you do have are certainly memorable enough.
"... Maker… Right, yes. Just a moment, Doctor, I'm reading… okay. These extendible soulsteel fingernails are the charm… Transcendent Brutality Programming. It's… huh. I'm sorry, but this one really doesn't have any way to dress it up: it causes so much pain, the person loses the will to fight back… and after enough uses they automatically scream their deepest secrets. Hmm… it can be used in a fight like tiger claws, actually, so against hard targets it might be useful to hit them once or twice to force a peaceful surrender..."
But even after all that, the penultimate charm in your repertoire takes things in a direction that still manages to surprise everyone.
"... a scorpion tail?"
Taylor's confusion lasts for more than the usual pause, as she very clearly averts her eyes to check with whomever she has been consulting during this process. In the meantime, you look down to your hands as you cradle the source of her confusion: a segmented, prehensile whip that protruded from your tailbone (bursting through your jumpsuit in the process), capped by an injector similar in design to Lord Grasp's own ornate stinger. It shares the general 'futuristic' aesthetic of your charms, with its dull grey and polished silver metalworking back-lit by glowing blue wires, while also maintaining the elegant and seamless design that makes it an obvious work of techno-magic wonder.
Controlling the tail, you find with a twitch, is much like your other charms - a limb or finger that you suddenly remember possessing - though none of them have made the metaphor so literal before. Tugging with the tail against your hands reveals it also shares your vastly-increased physical strength, though trying to wind it through your fingers demonstrates its similar lack of agility.
"Alright, Tatsu," your leader coughs, turning her attention back to you with an observable increase of interest. "Let me know if either of these resonate: Manifold Transhuman Implants, or Multifunctional Hypodermic Apparatus."
You only need to blink slowly to gauge the status of your charms now, and you nod in acknowledgement. "The second."
Her posture continues its shift from resigned to eager, and an anticipatory gleam flashes across her face as she points at your tail while also gesturing to the scientist team.
"Good, good! Now, this charm is two parts: the… tail, which is just a delivery mechanism and usually only a long needle, and a micro-factory which produces a number of alchemical treatments based on installed templates. There's… a lot of different possible templates, but as far as I can tell most are medicinal or steroidal. Can you tell which are installed, Tatsu?"
This takes… longer than a single blink; not due to the complexity of the charm itself, but rather the sheer number of templates that keep lighting up under your internalized scrutiny.
"Lots," you voice, so that she understands you are still counting. After what feels like at least a few minutes in your head, you open your eyes again to her concerned expression. "Fifteen."
She blinks.
"...Alright. That's more than I was expecting, but not all of them. Can you understand what any of them do? I'd read from the list, but it's… over two-hundred templates."
A frown flexes your face, but you try again. It is no easier than the first time, and you waste another two minutes trying to uncover names amidst buzzing energies and complex mechanical structures.
Your tail twitches in your hand. You remember cartoons with characters that possess tails and the amusing disparity between their own appearances and the traitorous behaviors of their tails. Thankfully, you can retract yours.
"No."
Taylor hums, then quickly sighs and turns to the scientists with a shrug.
"Understood," Dr. Rose's even voice calls out over the intercom. "Ms. Tatsu, add this to the list of powers we'd prefer you avoid experimenting with until you have completed your meditations."
"Or in the case of a life-or-death emergency," Taylor adds, giving you a knowing look.
"Un," you nod. The list includes most of your charms at this point, but if it will allow you to walk free without constant oversight then you follow their rules.
The hologram nods and waves away something to her side. "Are there any other charms you can feel, Tatsu? Besides your… parahuman-power charm, I mean."
Closing your eyes once more, you survey the field of glowing connections and vastly-shrunken essence pool that are the result of this multi-hour exploration of your own workings. As you study the lines leading from your peripheral pool of essence, counting the number against the charms you have identified…
… the number doesn't add up.
"Five connections," you voice, emphasizing it with a small frown. "I can't see where they lead."
"That's-..." Taylor begins, cautiously, before cutting off to turn to the side again. After a moment, however, her eyebrows shoot up and she turns back with a blink. "Did Crushing Grasp say anything about a 'vat' or holding onto your extra charms?"
You take a moment to review all of your interactions with your mechanical companion, but you don't recall anything like that. However, something tugs at your mind when you consider those words…
"When he first awoke, he complained about having a metal pole stuffed inside of him, and an upgrade from 'Debok Moom.'"
There is a snort of amusement to your side, causing you turn and look at First Prayer of Perfection. The massive cerulean-crystal juggernaut has not moved, but… yes, that sounded like her, though she isn't reacting to your stare. Turning back, you notice that Taylor is having an animated, silent discussion off the side of her hologram-camera.
"Did he say 'Pole of Metal', Tatsu?" she asks, humor being overridden with concern as she casts her eyes (all of them) in your direction.
"Yes. That."
"Okay-" she starts, then stops and sighs. Refocusing on you for a moment, she swivels the hologram to address the scientists at the same time. "It sounds like Crushing Grasp has the ability to serve as a… repair and refitting station for Tatsu, allowing her to switch out charms with a few hours of downtime. I know we're almost done with our scheduled time, so I'd like to suggest we just wait to test those after she has meditated."
Twenty yards away, the scientists share a quick set of glances and mumbled words before Dr. Rose taps his tablet to allow him to talk over the intercom.
"Ms. Tatsu is unable to access or identify the powers held by Crushing Grasp without that downtime?"
"Correct," Taylor nods.
"Will they… align themselves correctly if they're separated from her?"
After a quick back and forth from Taylor and her unseen assistant, she frowns and shrugs. "Probably? This alignment process isn't the way normal Alchemicals work, so it's possible she might need to equip them and perform another meditation… but since they're still maintaining an arcane link even while Crushing Grasp is in her pocket dimension, I don't think it'll be an issue."
"Very well," the older latino man muses, though you can hear an undercurrent of restrained curiosity in his voice. "I'll make a note of it in our records. Will we progress with the dimension tests, now, before the 'anima' check?"
The semi-transparent hologram nods before fixating back to you. "Anything else, Tatsu?"
You shake your head, then deactivate your hypodermic tail - causing it to twitch once more before neatly retracting into your spine with a series of soft, quick clicks at each segment. It feels… peculiar.
"No."
"Then, yes, Doctor."
"Alright, then, Ms. Tatsu - if you could come back to the tables here..." his voice calls out, and you see him sweep his arm out to where some of the scientists have begun unpacking one of the crates that was under the second table.
You approach with smooth, efficient steps, while Taylor's humming drone follows behind.
A quick turn of your head shows that Prayer is, in fact, following behind you… but yet is making no sound. Odd, but impressive.
"We're going to repeat the same tests done last time with you and your sister," Dr. Rose nods. You did not notice the light greying in his dark hair before - it's not a natural pattern. Must be the result of recent coloring. Trying to impress someone, most likely. "Since you've used your… altered power since your return, are there any major differences you'd like to point out before we begin?"
"Yes," you nod, quickly tallying what you've figured out for yourself. "The visual effect is now black-and-white hexagons weaving together in a collapsing spiral. Inside is an empty horizon of black, foot-wide hexagons, except for large, circular portal. Sky is empty, white. Portal is now used to enter and exit dimension, instead of leaving or returning anywhere within. It is… difficult to tell what is inside the dimension from outside; there is a layer of fog when I try look at Lord Grasp right now, for example."
You note that the scientists are giving you a more appraising look than the last time you were in front of them, which causes a different type of fear than before; earlier, you were afraid they would lock you up, while now you are concerned they will like this version of you better.
You remember how Taylor was during the road trip.
This is not how you want to live your life, calming as it may be.
"Very good, Ms. Tatsu," Dr. Rose comments, casting a quick glance at Taylor's hologram-projecting drone as it moves to a few feet to his right - Prayer remains just out of her arm's reach to your own left. "Do you still possess the ability to reshape the terrain and place objects or people into stasis?"
"I can reshape, yes. Not as easily; it no longer is automatic when I think of it," you frown, considering how it felt before and comparing it to how it's felt to use your other charms in the past hour. "It does not take essence, but was still tiring. I have not tried placing something into stasis, but Lord Grasp was trapped when I awoke and required extracting."
All the scientists, including Dr. Rose, tap at their computers and tablets as you explain, while Taylor's eyes occasionally flicker off to the side.
"Crushing Grasp is in there now, isn't he?" she asks, distractedly. "Why?"
"He complained that Earth feels… 'barren' compared to it, and wanted to rest."
The dark heroine's eyebrows shoot up, but just as she opens her mouth she quickly snaps it shut in exasperation before slapping something away off-camera. This continues for a few moments, but eventually the situation settles down and her attention focuses back on you.
"I think, Tatsu…" she begins, nodding slowly with a growing, relieved smile, "that your dimension is now natively essence-derived, so a spirit like Crushing Grasp would be able to recover their motes there. It's not infinite, or Autochthon wouldn't need us in the first place, but it could be a big help towards enriching some materials or places here on Earth with essence."
You blink, because outside of 'Lord Grasp can recover inside' most of that doesn't make sense to you.
"Okay."
She waves a hand absently, while looking at both you and Dr. Rose. "Sorry - that's well outside of the scope of these tests. Doctor, will Crushing Grasp being inside pose a problem?"
"He is in his pagoda form," you note with a raised index finger. "You have not seen it yet, correct?"
A murmur of surprise and nods from the scientific group as they gather up the dimensional beacons and scanning devices. As they begin to assemble the tripods and box-like detectors around you, Dr. Rose nods. "Yes, Ms. Tatsu. He's apparently a bit too tall for this chamber without modifications. If it is as spacious as before there should be more than enough room for the test, but do you think he may try to interfere?"
You consider this as you flex your transport power-charm, then shake your head.
"No... but he may insist on giving autographs."
***
On the positive end, Lord Grasp largely leaves the scientists be during the test. He preens for a few pictures they snap of his grandiose form, as well as lifts up on his enormous scorpion legs to rotate and show off his "best sides."
"Of course, all my sides are my best sides!"
Unfortunately, the test takes significantly longer than initially expected… due primarily to the projectile speed at which any visitors are ejected from the portal upon entry.
You honestly did forget that - there's small, understandable vengeances, and there's pointlessly petty. Interfering with the testing would fall directly into the second category.
After the second trip it was eventually decided to simply have Prayer carry the instruments between transitions, as she always managed to land perfectly… even with arm-fulls of delicate science equipment. Beyond that, she also assisted in place of the camera drones for the purposes of a small scouting flight when it was (abruptly, by Taylor's drone) discovered that any and all connections to the outside world do not penetrate your Safe Space - even Tinkertech specifically designed to cross dimensional thresholds.
You, of course, noted the 'penetrate' innuendo, but saved it to memory for later so as not to disrupt the testing.
Tests on the Power Test Dummy showed that yes, you can place people in stasis still… but instead of willing your Safe Space's bizarre geometry to grow up and encase them, it is now the opposite:
You have to actively stop your Safe Space from being very unsafe for visitors.
Hastily recalling the memory of willing your Safe Space to recognize Lord Grasp as 'welcome' saved the scientists from being similarly entombed; the first two had initially professed feeling a profound sense of unease, like they didn't belong in your Safe Space, and within three minutes they had been rendered so sluggish as to barely be able to move or talk.
Prayer had not felt anything upon entering, and initially appeared immune to the slowing effect, but upon request by the scientists you did eventually find that you could 'revoke' her immunity - at which point she experienced the same effects as the first two scientists, even with Industrial Survival Frame active… though it took her nearly nine minutes to be rendered to the same degree of paralyzation
She recommended the scientists begin a proper workout regimen.
The portal - a 'sanctum gate' Taylor mentioned it might be called - still isn't behaving quite like you'd expect it to, since there doesn't yet seem to be a way to travel into your Safe Space without being flung out of it. The best you could manage is an... awkward shove it felt like, when you deliberately took as long as possible to relocate instead of letting the charm work at its quickest speed.
Thankfully, Prayer was inside to catch you when you tried testing your emergency, do-or-die relocation to confirm that - yes - you probably still can dodge a bullet like that.
Most helpfully, however, a few dedicated tests at the outset revealed that a slightly-twisting vision of the portal's destination appears within the ring whenever you focus on leaving, allowing for much more control of where you are placed on exit; before, even your clearest mental image before relocating (a quick enter/leave) still randomly placed you within a few feet of where you intended.
Hopefully there will be significantly less 'appearing into thin air, several stories up' moments with this version of your power. Even if you never sort out the 'projectile entry' problem, you will take that trade.
The final tests for your new power were focused primarily on its offensive capabilities, which turned out wildly different results from your previous round of tests.
Before, there had been… alarmingly few limitations on how much you and Sakura could pull into your Safe Space. Working together, you had pulled in an entire eight-story derelict building seeded with a dozen Power Testing Dummies. If you wanted to relocate something or someone, all you needed to do was get within arm's reach and they were gone.
Now… you can barely relocate as much as you can lift. Prayer could resist getting pulled in, though Industrial Survival Frame blocked the relocation completely. The first few scientists couldn't resist, but eventually they started being able to (if only slightly, because noodle arms), and trying to relocate more than one trying to resist quickly became impossible. The Power Testing Dummy, however, was sucked up immediately, as were any empty boxes or light testing weights.
It was not difficult to notice Taylor's disappointment, and the scientists' relief.
Prayer, however, was heartened.
"Athleticism breeds strength, even for us," she intoned, placing a confident gauntlet on your shoulder as she looked out into the open horizon of black and empty sky. "We shall add weights to your training."
You are determined to ship her with anyone but Bladedancer, now.
Maker help you if they were ever to get together.
***
At the end of it all, the last time you stepped out of the swirling mass of cascading, black-and-white hexagons into the sterile testing chamber, you did not do so alone.
"Maidens," Lord Grasp shudders on your shoulder, his voice dripping with unease. "I will endure in this wasteland, Warden, for your sake… but do not expect me to like it."
"Thank you, Lord Grasp," you nod punctually, then turn to the scientists who are placing their equipment - even the broken instruments from that first test - back into containers while Dr. Rose and Taylor discuss something. "My dimension is now clear."
Both of them share a glance at Lord Grasp before nodding to each other.
"I've been talking with Director Peterbuilt," Taylor admits, as if that wasn't something difficult or rare. "Both my and Prayer's anima goes through walls and floors at its highest levels, though not always - there's a lot of variation with how it manifests, which seems to mainly depend on the situation in which it's generated. I explained that your anima has a high chance of flowing up and into the floors above - including the Gift Shop and public-access areas - and he agreed that we… probably want to avoid that."
You think back on how the massive, shrieking mechanical spider of Taylor's anima could be seen from halfway across Philadelphia, towering into the sky at times like a skyscraper.
"That would be bad," you agree with a perfunctory nod. Lord Grasp grumbles on your shoulder at being excluded from the conversation, but you ignore him.
"Right. I also talked with him about your containment, and we both agreed that it'd be against everyone's best interests for the Youth Guard to get on his case about your extended containment after your… recovery…" she smiles, tone light, "and that you'd be happy not to press the issue if we could get a head start on your meditation at the same time that the scientists are studying your anima."
You note the wary side-eye that Dr. Rose is giving Taylor at this admission, but you are more surprised that she would willingly work with the Youth Guard like this; you and Sakura had lost count of the number of times that she'd gone on a grumbling rant about them wasting her time over the last month. Maybe she thinks that redirecting them back at the PRT will get them off her case?
You've never minded them, after all, since Ms. Keyworth (your case worker) had managed to get the two of you a few weeks to settle into Philadelphia before your cape personas were publicly revealed. She'd even helped go over your patrol schedules and paths to help limit how much fighting you needed to do.
You hope she made it out of the fighting alright, and try to make a mental note to ask Taylor about her later.
"Where will we be testing?"
Taylor and Dr. Rose share a look again. The older latino man snorts and rolls his eyes, while the dark blue hologram merely smirks and points… up.
***
PRT Tower isn't the tallest building in New York - that honor goes to the Enduring Spirit Spire, which was built over the remains of the Empire State Building after Behemoth's rampage in 1994. Though the tallest buildings in New York at the time were systematically targeted by the Endbringer, New York managed to survive with over sixty percent of its skyscrapers intact by the end of the attack. While many have been rebuilt or replaced since then, the emphasis towards reinforcement and survivability since then has led to the New York skyline filled with sturdy towers of metal instead of glass or stone.
At seventy-four stories, the white obelisk that is PRT Tower is still one of the tallest skyscrapers in New York. It offers an excellent view of Manhattan and Central Park from its location on Fifth Avenue and East 56th Street, and it's even possible to see the Endbringer Memorial monolith from the landing pad on its top.
It's… a little colder than you remember from your last time up here, though that is likely due to the fact that you don't have any clothes on right now.
You required more Clarity to accept Taylor's reasoning - that your charms needed space to reconfigure, which both she and Prayer had encountered in their own meditations - and the fact that both she and Prayer had done the same helped put away the suspicion that she is just trying to embarrass you.
Ultimately, it was your memory that Sakura had won your argument and declared Taylor's base form 'not lewd' (Barbie dolls are boring, not pervy) which allowed you to step out onto the south-west corner Cape Receiving Pad and disrobe, handing over your jumpsuit to Lord Grasp...
… who promptly shredded it with a blurring of his pincers before anyone could protest, then let the remains catch a gust of wind to carry them off the roof.
"I'd set it on fire, but it doesn't deserve the honor."
That had led to some awkwardness from the scientists as they tried to set up the monitoring equipment around you, though observing them you began to suspect that their was more to their caution than that simple display of irreverence. Understandable, since even you are still wrapping your head around the notion of spirits, but you think it might be best to watch his Power Testing video after all your own testing is done.
With the tripods, boxes, and poles set up in a ten-foot-radius circle around you, Taylor's drone does a circuit around the outside edge of the perimeter before stopping beside Lord Grasp's car-sized form. She turns her hologram to you and gives you a satisfied smile.
"Before you start meditating, Tatsu, let's slowly build up your anima so that there aren't any major surprises," she begins, ignoring the suspicious look your mechanical companion is giving her drone. "Let's try to keep it gradual, so don't let the essence go wild when you pull at it - focus on your essence pool and let it trickle out without powering any charms."
After offering a curt nod of understanding, you close your eyes and visualize your charms and essence pool again - an act that is becoming easier and easier with practice and Clarity. Conveniently, your essence pool's visualization allows for you to… pull single units of essence with relative ease, but the instant you try to release the essence outside of the usual charm channels-
The blue mote of light explodes, filling your mind's eye and sending you reeling.
BzzzzOOOOooooommmmm!
You manage to find your balance before your stumble sends you to the tarmac, your eyes shooting open as the afternoon sky around you fills with a crackling, humming, ocean-blue wash of energy - the glowing mist flowing out of the various lines of power that trace all along your body, while sparks and pops of electricity scatter across your form and into the glowing cloud.
There are shouts of surprise and concern from the gathered scientists, though they're mostly drowned out by the thrumming hum and crackling power you're generating at the moment. Still, you're able to make out their staggering forms easily through the semi-transparent fog that you're generating, as well as Taylor, Prayer, and Lord Grasp - all three of whom don't appear to have reacted much to the display.
Instead, they're just looking up.
You crane your neck to follow their gaze.
No monstrous creature or terrifying display fills the sky above you, so your initial fear is quickly replaced by momentary confusion.
A black magatama, nearly as large as a blimp, floats serenely in the sky above you.
Your mother had a necklace with one from her own mother, yes, but… neither she nor your father were devout shintoists, and they hadn't tried to make you learn much of it as the two of you grew up. Why-
Ah, no. Not a magatama.
A yin.
Which… while not a complete surprise, makes you realize something:
Before, you and Sakura always appeared in the same spot in your Safe Space Safe… but now you have a black floor.
The testing earlier had revealed that the 'compass' (as Taylor called it) around your soulgem points towards the Cradle when you're out here but… you'd felt it rotate away from the portal while you were in your Safe Space.
You two were always able to feel if the other was in your Safe Space before, but… what if that wasn't the case anymore?
"Tatsu?"
Blinking, you turn your gaze back to Taylor - who is giving you a thoughtful look of her own, though it quickly passes as she waves away your own focused expression.
"It's alright," she sighs, offering a light smile, "controlling anima was difficult for me until I had everything configured. On the bright side… you probably have the most unassuming totemic anima out of all of us - even Prayer's moon has spooked some people."
You nod, and reason that Prayer has some kind of lunar display for her anima and not that people were scared of her exposed butt.
The way Prayer shuffles slightly from Taylor's comment, you are going to refrain from making that joke for the time being… especially because you want to confirm whether Aisha or Dennis have beat you to it.
"Right," Taylor continues, clapping her hands together, "now, supposedly your anima power is…" she pauses, smile straining a bit, "... actually helpful. Could you try… moving around a bit? Maybe throw a punch or two?"
Carefully not reacting to the way Prayer twitches at Taylor's words, you simply nod and follow her command - settling into a relaxed stance feel almost reflexive, now, and throwing a punch-
The air around your arm and body wavers as an… well, it's like an 'after-image' that Movers sometimes have, where the eye is tricked into seeing a blurry image of them just as they move out of the way.
Except the stream of mixing hues isn't behind your arm, but in front, almost as if it's showing where you're going to be.
Frowning, you keep going, throwing faster and faster punches and kicks, trying to either beat the prismatic display or trick it by changing your direction at the last second-
Prayer is in front of you, flowing between your strikes so quickly you almost stumble and fall backwards at the sudden intrusion.
"Continue!"
Her barked command in Old Realm feels like a crash of shattering crystal, but it's enough to make your panicked flailing straighten up and flow back into rhythm by sheer reflex. You punch, kick, knee, spin, flip, and twirl to no recognizable kata or rhythm, just focusing on trying to beat that colorful prediction of your own movement… but it always eludes you.
This… dance… continues for long after you lose track of time, until eventually Prayer leaps out of your reach and out of the circle of scientific devices with a single, effortless bound.
You stop to look at her, but you are not… jealous. She managed to avoid everything you did while wearing hundreds of pounds of crystalline armor, dodging and weaving through your strikes like they weren't even there. You may as well have been flailing through molasses for all it appeared to matter to her.
You are envious. People always get those two mixed up.
"Challenging," she admits with a stoic nod, causing you to blink. Her voice is approving, yet completely lacking of any sign of tiredness or difficulty. "Were our prowess equal, it would be decisive."
"...right," Taylor coughs, recovering far more quickly than the still-stunned scientists. "It's… supposed to be a fairly large boost to speed, power, and overall skill. I was worried that the…" she gestures at you with a finger, "... pre-image would just be giving away what you were about to do, but it actually makes it more difficult to predict. For some reason."
You look back down at your hands, wiggling your fingers slightly to watch the effect play out again. You are… happy about this? It is satisfactory, at least, since it is not frightening or mind-altering, but...
"I do not prefer to fight," you voice, looking back up at the other two Alchemicals and Lord Grasp. Not that he can understand you - in fact, Lord Grasp would likely scoff at such a notion. Instead, he still seems to be studying you and the yin symbol hanging in the sky with clear confusion.
"Wise," Prayer responds solemnly, nodding at your frown. "I, and Lord Grasp, will be your shields."
"Think of it this way, Tatsu," Taylor sighs, expression pulled into a tired grimace.
"Better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it."
***
By the time the scientists have finished their 'active' tests of your anima and its effects, the sun is nearing the horizon. Beams of hazy red and gold pierce the distant clouds, many of which filter through the buildings around you to paint the world bronze and crimson.
Heroes and PRT choppers have come and gone during the tests, usually lingering until being shooed away by Prayer informing them that you are (technically) still in Master/Stranger Protocol Confinement. Legend even passes through briefly at one point, but only to wave and smile before his blue-and-white form shoots off into the east.
As you sit down on the cold, grey tarmac, you reflexively sit in seiza before shifting to a cross-legged, more relaxed posture like Taylor sat in when she meditated. Not quite knowing what to do with your hands, you lock your fingers together and touch the tips of your thumbs together while holding your hands palm-up in your lap.
Yes, that feels… acceptable. You would prefer a pillow to sit on, but it is too late to ask for that.
Looking around one more time, Prayer and Taylor nod from outside the ring of measuring equipment while Lord Grasp shimmies on his legs and holds his claws in the air.
"You have nothing to fear, Warden," he manages to boast while still sounding earnest, "no charge of mine has been struck down while in my care before, and today will be no different."
"Thank you," you offer, before turning your head back and closing your eyes.
Taylor had told you to try to focus on your charms, but you have found yourself returning to that previous thought:
Why does your soulgem's 'compass' point away from your Safe Space's portal? If it was always trying to point to the Cradle, wouldn't the compass point towards it?
It's easy to see the yin-yang theme in your parahuman-charm and anima.
Black opposes white.
Is Sakura's portal… on the white side?
Even when you focus, peering into your Safe Space from outside only gets you a foggy, distant image. Inside, Prayer flew straight up for almost five minutes before surveying the area, but even then she saw no end to the horizon in any direction.
… how big is-
***
A light breaks over a dark horizon; a star of brass, silver, steel, bronze, iron, and gold.
SEE ME, SAKI KUROSAWA, AND UNDERSTAND.
More than a star, more than a planet. The brilliant sphere rises slowly, revealing vast and incomprehensible detail, breathtaking majesty…
… and heartbreaking pain.
I AM THE GREAT MAKER.
Oceans of shimmering oil littered with curdling flotsam. Thinned clouds of billowing steam pumping from pipes outnumbered by their silent brethren. Spires of crystal marred by jagged fractures.
Trails of acrid smoke snaking across the world like choking fingers.
I AM THE MACHINE GOD.
The entire planet shifts, splits, and opens, revealing it to be a living, mechanical Eye.
The oily blood of a god pours from the rheumy Eye in unending tears.
I AM AUTOCHTHON.
The Deus Machina swivels slightly and the enormous Eye of the Primordial shifts to push through the pain and illness… to stare at you.
Such focus is beyond the comprehension of mortals, and it drives all conscious thought from your mind.
THROUGH DEXTERITY, YOU MUST NAVIGATE A WORLD FILLED WITH THOSE WHO WOULD BRING YOU LOW.
THROUGH MANIPULATION, YOU HAVE STEERED HEARTS AND MINDS.
THROUGH INTELLIGENCE, YOU WILL KNOW THE CHOICES THAT MUST BE MADE.
THROUGH YOUR SOUL OF STARMETAL, CHAMPION MY NAME.
In a sudden eruption that feels like a desperate gasp, power flows up from the machine world and through your mind, body, and soul.
There is a scream beside you, from a girl with your face.
Your mirror reaches out, as you do the same, but she is flung into the distance and into the horizon as you plummet into the abyss of the Eye.
TIME GROWS SHORT.
FINISH THE ASSEMBLY.
BEFORE ALL IS LOST.
SO ARISE, WARDEN OF REFLECTED INFINITIES.
FOR YOU ARE EXALTED.
***
Your eyes snap open to cold, cloudless night sky. The sounds of life echo up from the streets below, and the lights from the City That Never Sleeps drown out the stars.
Opening your mouth, you turn your head until you find Taylor staring back at you in surprise.
"Uh oh."
***
END OF CHAPTER - CHARACTER SHEET CHANGES:
WoRI - Intimacy MODIFIED: Lord Crushing Grasp (Loyal, Learned, Loquacious, Lewd) [Servitude] [2/3]
WoRI - Intimacy STARTED: Taylor/Dragon (Workshop Waifus) [Illusion] [1/3]
WoRI - Intimacy STARTED: Prayer/Anyone But Bladedancer (DODGE THIS) [Illusion] [1/3]
EOA - Intimacy MODIFIED: Crawler|Defiant|Ned (How Do You Socialize A Monster) [Emotion|Exasperation] [2/4]
EOA - Intimacy GAINED: Glenn Chambers (He's Too Good At His Job To Resent Him) [Illusion] [4/4]
EOA - Intimacy MODIFIED: Legend (How Much Is The Hero, How Much Is Cauldron) [Emotion|Reservation] [2/4]
EOA - Intimacy RAISED: Lord Crushing Grasp (Peacock In Scorpion Form) [Illusion] [2/4]
EOA - Intimacy GAINED: Warden of Reflected Infinities (Forgive Me My Choices) [Servitude] [4/4]
FPoP - Intimacy GAINED: Lord Crushing Grasp (Vainglorious Vanguard) [Illusion] [3/3]
FPoP - Intimacy GAINED: Warden of Reflected Infinities (Timid Diamond) [Servitude] [3/3]
Uh oh, indeed! Lots of surprises this chapter... and who knows what charms she has in Lord Grasp?! Well, you do if you you're paying attention to the Character Sheets, that is, but that's cheating. Cheaters!
Anyway, though it was brief, this counted as the Exaltation Meditation, so Clarity troubles were nipped in the bud before they got out of hand - good thing, too, for our PR specialist! Somewhat more importantly, however, we finally have in-character knowledge that we're running on a time limit here, so things are going to be speeding up a bit with regards to Exaltation funtimes. We already have a bunch of votes from the past about Exaltations that will be trickling down now, so look forward to how that's going to play out next chapter, but there are some more immediate decisions to be made now. Specifically, since Saki has a reasonable idea that Sakura isn't coming through in a week… do we toss someone into the Cradle now? NOTE: This is going to be a binary choice, and will result in a follow-up vote to determine what character is presented the choice. No one is guaranteed to accept from here on out (though some are much more likely to accept than others)!
We also still have a few details to clear up for what went on while Saki and Sakura were off being made Real (Robot) Magical Girls (just like in Kinzey's Japanese Animes)! We've already helped piece together how Philadelphia is doing since the S9 got deep-sixed, Taylor worked on her new armor (which is finished now, check it out in the Story Index), but… what did Iris and Riley do? We gave Iris a whole heapin' helpin' of tinkertech scrap from Bezalel, Bakuda, and Mannequin… and here's what they could have made!
- Soulgem Injector: Gives an Earth-Bet human a full soul so they can work on Exalted physics now! This is, canonically, the most painful thing a human can experience in Exalted! This procedure, however, has been altered a bit with the help of Riley to wipe the brain of the memory, but the Soul will always remember for the rest of their lives (very minor PTSD instead of major PTSD). There are tons of benefits to working on Exalted physics, such as actually having Willpower to fight off parahuman power urges and being able to Stunt. Note that Riley went through it first to make sure it worked, so she's got a soul now if we pick this!
- Medical Nanites: Grey goo that heals! Basically Project Laz'R'Us from Schlock Mercenary without soldier-mode; treated Earth-Bet humans gain decent self-healing, immunity to most diseases and viruses, and are slowly de-aged to biologically ~25 years old and kept there. This is mechanically a Shaping effect, so our Alchemicals probably won't get much use from it for themselves. Riley technically is the one who would get public credit for this, since Iris doesn't count as a person in the eyes of the law.
- New Charm: ONE Shards of the Exalted Dream charm now available, but one of Taylor's current charms was cannibalized to make it since she has no room to spare. We choose which charm, and may customize it a bit because SotED is wonky.
- Body Double: Tinkertech humanoid drone with enough artificial neural framework to be controlled by SoPA but not enough to be anything more than a vegetable. It's got a metal skeleton and nanine covering, so it effectively mimics Husk-Sculpting Apparatus and has in-built Tinkertech weaponry - now Taylor can be social or on the front lines while still comfortably working in the lab! It's basically a Terminator-X without the omnicidal directives. Potential for mass-production later!)
- Write-In: Needs to be something that, thematically, an Iris/Riley collab would have produced while being locked up in quarantine with limited supplies/access.
And speaking of Riley, just exactly how have we been treating her? She has a body now (made by Wyld), but she no longer has her implants to force her to be super-cheerful all the time. Still, she does have a surprising amount of energy and cheer since she hasn't really been forced to confront and understand the scope and impacts of her atrocities. There's also the fact that Iris… actually gets along with her pretty dang well, now that she's not trying to put a dress on him and pour tea all over his shell. She's much more into discovery and SCIENCE than Taylor ever has been (it's always been a means to an end for Taylor), after all. What role is Taylor playing here?
Finally… Taylor's talk about potential good uses of her terrifying charms didn't completely go in one ear and out the other while Saki was having a panic attack. In fact, she will have a bit of a revelation soon: she can make all the pain go away. Does Saki use her charms on herself to strip away her traumatic experiences? This will cure the PTSD Derangement and thus drastically cut down the number of freak-outs she has, but she is also not a trained psychologist and her charms are not aligned yet…
Enough stalling, let's do this!
Autochthon wants YOU! - Emergency Draft Edition: (Choose ONE, NO Stunts!)
[ ] Yes, offer someone Exaltation and put them into the Cradle if they accept.
[ ] No, wait until Saki is settled and Sakura is confirmed to not exit in a week.
With A Box of Scraps!: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt Allowed!)
[ ] Soulgem Injector
[ ] Medical Nanites
[ ] New Charm
[ ] Body Double
[ ] Write In: <NAME GOES HERE>
Playing House: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt Allowed!)
[ ] Bad Girl, No Biscuit: This is penance, not vacation. Taylor is constantly making sure Riley is aware of her past horrors and the public reputation that she must now overcome.
[ ] Respect My Authority: SOMEONE has to be the adult around here. Taylor is a constant presence in the workshop, but more as a stern mom/adult to make sure both Iris and Riley behave.
[ ] I Am Not A Doctor: Leave the mind games to the professionals. Taylor maintains oversight to make sure Riley isn't regressing and answers her questions, but otherwise lets Iris and Riley work on their own.
Self-Medicating: (Choose ONE, NO Stunt Allowed!)
[ ] Saki uses her own charms on herself to purge her trauma problems.
[ ] Saki does not try to fix her own mental problems with charms.
Free Actions: (Only ONE Free Action allowed per character!)
Free Actions should be phrased as stand-alone Stunts, so they must be 60 words or less (not counting the "Free Action" bit), be descriptive about what you're hoping to accomplish, and set the scene.
[ ] EOA - Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that could be performed during other activities.]
[ ] FPoP - Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that could be performed during other activities.]
[ ] WoRI - Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that could be performed during other activities.]
XP Expenditures should now be formatted as such:
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item ●●●○○
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item (Specialization ●●○)
VOTING DISCUSSION BEGINS NOW
NO VOTES WILL BE COUNTED UNTIL DISCUSSION ENDS
USE THIS TIME TO COME UP WITH STUNTS AND FREE ACTIONS
DISCUSSION ENDS AND VOTING BEGINS TUESDAY AT 11:59 PM PST
Interlude: Accord
(Credit to @Slamu for most of this!)
***
Accord sat in his office. Like many things recently, it grated on a level very few people could comprehend. Shortly after the Slaughterhouse Nine's defeat, he had been "housed" near the Camden PRT headquarters in an apartment block with a high number of residents that worked for the PRT in some capacity. That a number of the newly-arrived PRT troop transfers were quartered surrounding his own residence was not lost on him.
His residence was his sanctuary. The office was covered in sound-proofing tiles, the internet was almost acceptably reliable and swift, the furniture had been adjusted to his ergonomics. What he was to the PRT right now was in the air; in their eyes he was a defector twice over, former-king of an illicit empire, refugee to an S-class event that refused to leave. There were many that wished to see him imprisoned or worse. Their opinions mattered not at all.
It had been years since he had lived with this level of discomfort. The asymmetry that others so casually, easily overlooked was as sandpaper in his eyes. The irregular traffic on the road outside due to broken signal lights, the vibrations of other residents moving about elsewhere on this floor, the smell garlic wafting in from somewhere through the vents; a month ago, any one of those offenses would have been resolved by handing it off to an assistant to have the problem removed. It would have been done quickly, quietly, efficiently, and with a minimum of fuss.
Then was not now. He had some still loyal to him, though not as loyal as they may have once been. He had been a man of wealth and power, obeyed without question. Even the obedience was gone now. He'd seen it in the questioning looks they thought were hidden, the minute hesitation in accepting orders. The Ambassadors, those that remained to him, could contemplate existence without him, contemplate rebellion against him. A month ago, they would be chastised or removed. Now he tolerated it as he tolerated the minutely misaligned tile, the scuff mark on the edge of the counter, the smell of 2B's latest kitchen disaster. He even tolerated the unnerving lack of proper security, knowing the Teeth would seek him out soon. He tolerated this not because he must, nor because he had no other alternative.
He was making progress.
The grand plan, for which he had thrown away a comfortable, accommodating career with the financial watchdogs to accomplish, had been wrecked by the arrival of Autochthon's agents. His first, second, and third impulses had been to craft foolproof methods to remove them from the board, but he could not devise, calculate, and accommodate in a vacuum; he had spent considerable resources and manpower to accumulate information on these new variables.
His plan to properly exact payment from Saint and the Dragonslayers needed revising. Later.
But despite the mercenary's insult, despite the assimilation of the Case 53 leadership, despite Coil's treachery, these agents of Order heeded him, bringing talents to the table that shaved years off his revised timeline. They were creatures of Logic, and recognized his talents as he recognized theirs.
There was only one logical conclusion: he would become an agent of Order. A plan two hundred thirty seven pages long sat on his filing cabinet with the latest draft of how he would become the ideal candidate, if not for the Assembly being crafted by Enduring Order Administrator, then the next.
He had vision. The Soulsteel acknowledged that. He had utility. The Adamant understood this. He would have success. They all would see.
To that end, he exercised his self-control.
Section 3e (yellow tab) detailed a version of Administrator's regimen to improve his power of self-denial. It had only required two revisions to properly accommodate her "suggestions" to reign in his more destructive intrusive thoughts, but the degree of insight into his thought patterns had - more than once - caused him to consider whether she had gained telepathic capabilities with her most recent upgrade.
Since her intervention Accord had written seven different plans to remodel his apartment in some fashion, ranging from simply making it more bearable to live in, to recreating the extensive defensive mechanisms he had employed in his former place of residence. None of them were implemented, merely outlined as thought exercises and kept in his cabinets. Enduring Order Administrator would be receptive to his requests, he was sure, were he to couch them in the correct terminology. An afternoon using her Secondary Telefactor Assembly would yield Perfect environs for him to do his work in. A morning with the use of her construction drones would allow him to repel an armed assault by four of the largest local gangs. The itch to call her and request such a thing was almost overpowering at times.
The regimen already showed some modest results; a month ago, it would not have been almost.
He was not done yet, not by a long shot, but he noticed a subtle shift in how he treated others. One afternoon a frisbee had struck one of the windows of his apartment, startling him. Rather than ordering one of his Ambassadors to have the children killed and their bodies quietly disposed of, he had spent the afternoon investigating the culprits and written a schedule of academic activities that would make them - or any other lower-income youth - productive citizens with 1.9% probability of suicide due to a meaningless marriage or dead-end job before they were thirty-eight. He then had one of the Ambassadors deliver the instructions to their guardians, along with the required veiled threats about disturbing the recluse at the end of the hall.
After a long period of consideration, he had sent the results of his first impulse - a fifty six step program of how to make their demise look like an accident - to Enduring Order Administrator's adjunct as a demonstration of his intent to, in the vernacular, "play nice."
Lizardtail reported that the families involved were relocated within thirty six hours.
He was one of Enduring Order Administrator's most valuable assets, so she would accommodate him in such a simple request if he made it. But an Orichalcum-caste worked for the betterment of their society; he could endure the present circumstances for now. If he caved in for his own sake, indulged in his need for exacting Order while the reconstruction of Camden was underway, it would be a failure on his part.
He would never tolerate failure.
When Camden was not simply reconstructed as it was before the Nine attacked, but was economically par with the greater Philadelphia area, then - and only then - would he permit himself to upgrade his living conditions.
After that... perhaps a new revision of the Saint plan, as a treat.
Autochthon Wants YOU! - Emergency Draft Edition:
[X] Yes, offer someone Exaltation and put them into the Cradle if they accept.
Autochthon Wants YOU! - Part 3:
[X] Aisha Laborn (Who)
- [x] Stunt: Across from the Alchemicals, Aisha leaned forward, almost vibrating with anticipation. "So what you're saying, yeah, is that you want me for James Bond? Or Electra?" Saki covers her mouth as Taylor winces. "Maybe less explosions? More like Veronica Mars…" "Sold! I'll be the best secret agent who ever agented! One question though," she points "I get Saki's disguise power, right?"
With a Box of Scraps!:
[X] Soulgem Injector
- [x] Stunt: You gave Bonesaw a soul, Glenn states flatly from the other side of the screen. Well, more like forged one, though it was really a group effort Taylor replies, gesturing to Iris and Riley. Riley's grin is as bright as the shiny diamond lodged in her forehead. But why- Glenn pinches his brow, exasperated. Whatever, I can work with this.
Playing House:
[X] Respect My Authority: SOMEONE has to be the adult around here. Taylor is a constant presence in the workshop, but more as a stern mom/adult to make sure both Iris and Riley behave.
- [x] Stunt: "...and you'll find the relevant citations here. My thanks to you and your assistants, Doctor," you say as the thumb drive is absorbed by the currently Administrator-ed therapy dog. You drum your fingers on your desk in quiet contemplation. Working on redeeming herself, earning her victim's forgiveness, is difficult enough. Harder still will be learning to forgive herself.
Self-Medicating:
[X] Saki does not try to fix her own mental problems with charms.
Free Actions:
[X] EOA - Free Action: Reconstruction: Whistles blew across the construction site to stop work as the Wyld-crafted chimera shambled into view, it's armored hide painted in PRT colors and escorted by a PRT trooper squad. It gingerly moved it's multiton bulk around the site to the clearly marked piles of wreckage, and extended a tentacle to the first junked car. And then activated TIE.
[X] FPoP - Free Action: Armsmaster sits tiredly on his cot at the refugee camp. No longer bursting with people, it feels like a ghost town on top of a collection of people without hope or homes. Prayer stands, face unreadable. "Young Administrator speaks well of your efforts both here and in the recent conflict. Personal glory is no sin, but neither is it virtue."
[X] WoRI - Free Action: "Now, hear me out - sure my safe place is currently a vast expanse of emptiness, but while you're stretching the space outside we can spend the whole time inside Lord Grasp watching movies. He's pretty accommodating, he won't have any problems having both of us inside him at the same time."
XP Expenditures:
NO VOTES
***
Those two words obviously aren't what Taylor was expecting, though you find out later that her shocked expression was instead due to how abruptly the lightshow from your meditation ended - one moment you're filling the sky with a slowly-spinning yin against a deep-blue brilliance, and the next moment it flickers and blinks away like someone tripped over a power cord.
The sudden shut-off of your display also draws the attention of the few remaining observers, though most of the scientists have retreated back to the labs to sort through the collected data. As a result, your utterance is clearly heard by Dr. Rose, Lord Grasp, and Prayer. The latter two you wouldn't have a problem with, but Dr. Rose…
Your first instinct is to lie, brush it off as shock, but… there are still cameras recording, aren't there? And the scientists got upset every time Taylor tried to hide stuff from them; if they figure out you were lying later, wouldn't that make things worse? Besides, the PRT are here to help, aren't they? Sure, you don't agree with everything you've heard or seen, but they're regular people trying to keep order when supervillains outnumber heroes!
Taylor explained in her presentation that the goal is to rescue everyone trapped in the Great Maker's body - and the Maker too, though that's probably going to be even harder than relocating a few nations - so the PRT needs to know what's going on. Still, that doesn't mean you need to talk about it in the open air…
Now that you know about your Emotive… Body Language charm, it's almost easier to relax and just let your posture and regular fidgeting actually communicate for you. Automatically, you know that blinking and twitching your gaze towards the nearest doors while shrinking your shoulders inward will communicate exactly what you want to say:
Can we please talk about this in private? It's important.
Then, when you notice the two most junior scientists still gawking at you while Taylor and Dr. Rose start talking about packing everything up, you look down at yourself and somehow manage to shout at everyone just by covering yourself awkwardly and blushing up a storm.
Lord Grasp! Dress! Now!
Just because it's not lewd doesn't mean it's not super awkward! Ugh!
You're going to have to be careful with Clarity - next thing you know, you'll be bending over and stretching in front of your friends!
***
Lord Grasp manages to wrap you up in several layers of white-fading-to-blue cloth that eventually resembles a dress that an empress would have worn, though he spends most of the time flip-flopping between complaints of "charms aren't supposed to work like that" and chittering slyly about the "ingenuity of such a subtle charm..."
"... many charms that accomplish similar feats possessed by other Chosen, of course, but nothing possessing such broad utility! And it costs you nothing to activate! Why, your enemies can't stop you from assailing them with social charms even when they bind and gag you! Ah, that reminds me of the night when Sweet River was called to battle while in the bedroom with Perfect Storm Above... "
… and also somehow managing to find a way to tie everything back to sexy stories. Not that you stop him, of course, though it's very difficult keeping a straight face during the talk about shapeshifters and animal forms. Apparently actual werewolves were even more naughty than fantasy ones? You are definitely going to have to write some of these stories down.
You can't help but smile, either way, and you're pretty sure that's why he's doing it. Either that or… well, he does get a glint in his eyes when Taylor chokes mid-way through her final conversation with Dr. Rose. Prayer… just keeps her helmet on and remains very, very still.
Neither of them tell him to stop, though. You're not sure if they realize that he's just going to take this as a sign to do it all the time, now, but that's fine by you. If only Sakura...
Thankfully, your Grasp-distracted, Prayer-guided trip through hallways, elevators, and more hallways ends with an abrupt turn into a large, dark conference room just as your mind starts to turn to those darker thoughts.
The door quietly slides shut behind your group as you blink quickly to adjust your eyes, revealing a rectangular room about the size of a classroom mostly filled with a blank, grey table and dark-maroon chairs. Miss Militia is here already, along with… an overweight white guy in the most hideous blue-green tropical shirt you've ever seen.
Oh, is that Glenn Chambers? You remember seeing him with Taylor the last time you were in New York, but… ugh, died-pink hair with bleached tips? How did Lord Grasp stand working with him, let alone refrain from killing him on sight?
Both combat-ready and offensively-dressed individuals turn their gazes to you, away from looking at the teleconference screens on the far wall. There's Dragon, Director Uriel, Chevalier, Taylor-
You blink and look behind you, only to see that you've lost the small hologram-drone somewhere along the way. Huh.
"Ah, Mr. Chambers!"
Lord Grasp effortlessly hops the eight feet from your shoulder to the tabletop, landing with a light clicking of his gold-tipped feet against the metallic surface. Surprisingly, the PRT PR Director only raises a bleached eyebrow behind his (moderately stylish?) shades before leaning back in his seat.
"Crushing Grasp… and...," he muses, mouth twisting into a frustrated line as he tilts his glasses down just enough for his green eyes to meet your own. "Ms. Saki Kurosawa. The photos really don't do you justice."
"Ano…" you blink again, not quite sure how to take the statement in combination with Miss Militia's subsequent eye-roll. "I'm… sorry?"
"It means Weaver needs to figure out why and then make us some new cameras that can capture you correctly," he snorts, then tosses a gaze and a nod to Lord Grasp on the table before him. "In the meantime, your... scorpion and I are almost done planning out your schedule for the next few weeks."
"M-my schedule?"
He smirks. "We just missed LA, but I've already released your pictures to a few friends that are presenting in Madrid. Here's your first tip: fashion designers don't have kids, so ignore any offers of firstborn children when they want exclusivity contracts."
"Warden, is he eschewing praise for our burgeoning collaborative works?" Lord Grasp chitters, swaying on his legs excitedly as he looks between the two of you. "This mortal's insight into the peasantry's collective psyche has already allowed me to completely reassess your etiquette needs, and his reference material for your confidence training regimen should speed your learning time up dramatically!"
Aaaand there goes all your energy again.
"Glenn."
The cold, controlled, feminine voice causes the fashion disaster to roll his eyes before tipping his shades back over them with a sigh. "Yes, Director?"
Blue eyes as cold as her voice look out from the top-center display, the black-haired woman there easily recognizable to anyone who's watched the news in the last two decades. She doesn't respond to the dread-inducing eyesore's question, instead sweeping her gaze to the door behind you.
It swishes open, revealing Legend as he floats in from the hallway. His frowns slightly and pauses as he realizes everyone was already looking at him, then turns his head towards the wall of faces and nods in realization before holding up a hand in greeting.
"I didn't miss anything, did I?"
"No, Legend," Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown intones, looking back at you - her business-suit clad form leaning slightly forward on her desk.
"Ms. Kurosawa was just about to start."
***
Words alone are unable to do your vision justice - especially not English, which has so many dumb rules you still have problems with it. Thankfully, you don't have to rely on just words.
"FOR YOU ARE EXALTED."
It loses something, nonetheless, in the re-telling. Your Radiant Iconography Array is capable of bringing forth the vision that was burned into your mind less than an hour ago, to the point that your own body fades away into the vision until each person (and screen) in your audience is alone with the Great Maker in the void. Manipulating the charm to mimic the chorus of mechanized sounds that make up Autochthon's voice is difficult, but you manage to match what your own mind could comprehend.
As painful as it is to re-live, you reveal how your sister's soul was torn away from you and cast down into the machine-planet's surface.
But the Great Maker's words - spoken in their original Old Realm - don't quite have the consciousness-shattering power that you felt within the vision. You suspect it's not a matter of the charm being uncalibrated or your own skills being insufficient; in the vision, you had somehow known that there was more to the voice than you could ever comprehend, and your mind is only capable of remembering mere echoes.
You find yourself shuddering more than once during the re-telling, but you manage to get through it all without the vision - or your own composure - falling apart.
You let the all-consuming darkness that those final words were spoken into linger for about five seconds, then release the charm and let the room fade back into existence...
Miss Militia's eyes are wide and unfocused, while Glenn and Legend's own eyes are hidden behind glasses and a half-face visor. Lord Grasp, somehow, has also been stunned into speechlessness.
The screens on the far wall, however, reveal that the vision wasn't quite so overpowering across the PRT's teleconference network - well, aside for Chevalier, who just continues to look like a silver-gold full-plate helmet. Dragon is blinking rapidly in a way that you suspect means she's thinking hard, while Taylor's face has turned off again… while her 'top' eyes swivel erratically.
Chief Director Costa-Brown is giving you a calculating look as she peers at you from behind her steepled fingers, but the other PRT Director in attendance isn't so composed.
"Christ," Director Uriel sighs, rubbing his face with his left hand while wincing. "I need a drink."
All at once, his utterance seems to break the spell of shock hanging over the audience. Miss Militia and Legend snap out of it in silence, blinking and turning away as if to consider what they just saw in their own heads again. Glenn slowly removes his glasses, but focuses entirely upon them with a considering look on his face while he cleans the lenses on his shirt. Prayer and Chevalier remain silent monoliths of armor, while Taylor opens her mouth to speak-
"That-that was Great Maker's world-body jotun!" Lord Grasp wails, waving his pincers in the air while his tail flutters around morosely. He skitters across the table, up to where you are standing at the head. "Not since the Three Spheres Cataclysm have I seen him in such ruin, such pain, such grief! How has he allowed his illness to overtake him so?!"
"Weaver, did this translator have any errors?"
Director Costa-Brown's voice cuts over Lord Grasp's fretting, and you absently pat him on the back while you turn your eyes to look at the exchange going on between screens. The Chief Director's eyes are flicking down past the screen occasionally as Lord Grasp mutters to himself, while Taylor herself seems to be looking between two different screens as well.
"Ah… no... Director, I-" she says, frowning and narrowing her eyes at... well, at her screen, probably - you think she's not actually looking at you, right now. Her pause hangs as her eyes widen just a fraction, before all her 'top' eyes swivel to look at the camera and her face briefly starts to contort into naked confusion.
Then the moment passes - barely longer than a few heartbeats - as Taylor shakes her head and clears her throat while turning her attention to something off-screen again. "Sorry. No, there were no errors, Director, but I'd recommend using the more 'desperate' contextual meanings in those final statements."
What... was that? It looked like Taylor realized something, maybe even multiple things, but then... quickly had to hide it? Why would she be hiding something?
Dragon's avatar fluctuates slightly to show her frown slightly, but a quick glance at the other screens and everyone else doesn't reveal that anyone else noticed that abrupt shift on Taylor's part. Director Costa-Brown's attention is still mostly somewhere below the camera, but she grunts as Taylor finishes.
"I thought so. Dragon, you're free to bring up translations for everyone else. Update the official translator after the meeting."
"Of course, Director," the avatar nods, just as you see the tabletop in front of everyone sitting down peel away to reveal an inset screen with writing rolling across it. Then, to your shock, she switches to Old Realm. "Excuse me… Crushing Grasp?"
You can almost hear the tiny little gears in your mechanical companion's head screech to a stop at the close/familiar address, and his gem-like eyes flash with mixtures of confusion and surprise.
"Who would address a Lord Destroyer with such ungranted familiarity?!" he huffs, spinning around to face the screen - his distress at Autochthon's dire state all but forgotten. "And just what is with this realm and their nonsensical accents?"
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Prayer nod her head sagely for some reason.
"Ah-...," Dragon blinks, mouth curling up into a bemused smile. "I'm sorry. Lord Crushing Grasp… would you like a translator for English to Old Realm?"
"You have an artifact that will spare me the headache of making sense of these beastial grunts?" he sighs, waving a pincer at the humans in the meeting. At Dragon's nod, a section at the head of the table peels away to reveal another inset screen - probably designed for the presenter to read from, but it works for Lord Grasp as well.
He recoils slightly and leans down on his legs while poking at the transparent screen as it lights up with the… huh. Old Realm looks like that Aztec language you read about in school, now that you think about it.
"Astounding! Your breach of etiquette is forgiven, Miss!"
"Ms. Kurosawa," Director Costa-Brown grunts. "Is your… companion going to keep interrupting us?"
"N-no, m'am!" you gulp, smiling too hard while sliding up to the table and slapping a hand over the screen before Lord Grasp can read the translation. "Just a moment!"
Then you quickly lean down and whimper at your compatriot with a face full of shame and panic
"Lord Grasp! Please!" you plead in a whisper. Begging Eyes, activate! "These are some of the most powerful people in the world and they only have a few minutes for this meeting! I know you have lots of experience with wars, but can you just… I don't know, tap me if you have something important to say?"
The gilded scorpion glints his gemstone eyes at you dangerously, and you can almost hear his mandibles clicking open and shut as if he is barely restraining himself from taking you to task… but eventually he puffs out a puff of steam from his mouth and spins around to face away from you again as you pull your hand away from the translator.
"Very well, Warden," he mutters "but we will have words later."
Since Lord Grasp didn't even try speaking quietly enough, Director Uriel sighs audibly again. "Tatsu, just teleport your pet out of here."
Nope, hand back on the screen.
You're just going to ignore Lord Grasp's frustrated tapping on the hand while also using your Body Language charm to yell at Dragon - wide eyes and a shaking head communicating without words:
Don't translate that!
"Ah, Director Uriel…" you cough after Dragon nods in alarmed consent. You turn slightly and bow your head in apology at the screen with your bored-looking superior, "Lord Grasp can… block me from doing that if he wants. He is also very picky about how people address him."
Director Costa-Brown flicks her eyes to the side. "Stop being suicidal, Martin."
"Oh, this group has just brought me nothing but joy," he grunts, monotone, while resting his cheek on his right fist. "I'm especially looking forward to the next Youth Guard shit-storm when Weaver hauls off Vista or Who for pod-robot replacement."
You cast another hurried glance to Dragon and make a helpless, panicked shrug.
Just make something up!
You see Dragon nod again and Lord Grasp doesn't explode in righteous fury when the translation starts rolling across the screen, so you decide to leave Director Uriel's fate in Dragon's hands.
"Director… just...," Taylor sighs, closing her eyes momentarily in exasperation while pinching the bridge of her nose, "… I'm not considering Vista right now. Not until she's fully recovered."
"No more Wards, Weaver," Costa-Brown glowers, lowering her fingers enough to reveal her tight frown. "No more children."
Taylor matches the stare with all her eyes.
"Chief Director, respectfully, that decision should rest with a Ward's guardians."
"Ano," you interject with a politely-raised hand, cutting in before either side digs in even deeper, "Chief Director?"
The head of the PRT's strong jawline flexes in a way that you think means she was about to tell you or Taylor off, but after a brief moment she nods slightly. "Go ahead."
"Well...," you begin, scrunching up your nose a bit as you finalize your train of thought. "I know a lot has happened since I… got captured…" you shudder, but a quick breath lets you rally. "Taylor said that she had to be able to trust that a person would be… loyal. That they'd trust her, like Autochthon is trusting her."
Which… well, it had seemed like a weird idea when Taylor had said it during her presentation, but now you have a deep, overwhelming sense of awe at that fact. Even together, you and Sakura would probably have just spent the first month in your Safe Place if you'd been who the Great Maker picked first.
Prayer nods in her chair, arms crossed. Her crystalline voice is even as she openly considers what you're getting at.
"Do we have time for such tests of character?"
Eyes turn to you, but you shrug uncertainly.
Everyone turns back to Taylor.
She holds up a finger to stall, looking to the side while worrying at her bottom lip absently. After a few moments, she nods and turns back with a thoughtful frown.
"First: Iris says this is a matter of him falling back asleep completely, not him dying in the next few months. If that happens, no more Alchemicals and no more Cradle since we don't have a way to open it from this side. Asleep, he might succumb to his sickness anywhere between the next few centuries to a few more millennia-"
The PRT's Chief Director hums. "So we have time, then."
Taylor turns all her eyes back to the camera, the glowing veins at the edges of her face pulsing with her slowing heart rate.
"After which, he won't just die. Iris says he'll become a... 'Neverborn', which is like a super-powered, unkillable, undead version of him. Our only way to tell when that happens will be when he comes tearing through a new Cradle to devour our entire multiverse."
In the horrified silence that follows, Director Uriel rolls his eyes, reaches off-camera, then pulls out a bottle and shot glass. As he unscrews the cap he considers the glass.
"Nothing but joy," he sighs, before simply taking a pull from the bottle.
***
There is, of course, an inappropriate amount of shock and panic displayed by the veteran heroes and government agents at these bombshells. By which you mean: practically zero.
You are not a veteran hero, however, so you promptly start freaking out.
"Ehhh?! W-What?!"
The mixture of tired, resigned, and concerned gazes turn to you at the outburst, but you are a bit too distraught by the potential end of the world to care at the moment. Swatting away Lord Grasp's tapping on your hand, you look to Taylor's hard expression. "W-we have to do something!"
The dark-graphite face nods, but as Taylor opens her mouth to respond, another hardened voice cuts her off.
"Setting aside any concerns of the validity of these facts," Chief-Director Costa-Brown growls skeptically, clasping her hands together below her chin, "the timing of this information is awfully convenient. Why are we only learning about this now?"
Taylor winces slightly, then looks off-camera for a moment before her mouth twists into a chagrined frown.
"I'm just finding this out, too, Chief-Director. Iris… says... that the initial timeline that he was given expected us to have decades to establish ourselves here, so he didn't want to influence my decision-making."
"I see," the cold blue eyes shift, settling on you for a long moment before switching back. "What caused this change?"
Again, Taylor has a quick, silent exchange off-camera before she speaks up again. "I-... we don't think it was Saki and Sakura, Chief-Director. It's more likely something unexpected going on in Autochthon's world-body than anything happening on our side - a major breakdown or failure of something critical."
"Could it be fixed?" Legend wonders aloud, leaning back in his chair while crossing his arms in thought. "Your presentation mentioned that the other humans and Alchemicals... in Autochthon are always working to sort out problems there; is it possible that they could undo whatever happened in time?"
"Well…" Taylor grimaces, before snorting in dark humor. "Exalted were built to do the impossible, so… maybe? There are thousands of Alchemicals there, after all, but they were all probably working on other important problems before this happened. Iris does say that Alchemicals have the best track record for actually solving problems when it comes to Exalted, but with their limited resources they'll be unlikely to give us the full timeline back."
"What?!" Lord Grasp explodes, slamming both claws into the table hard enough to shatter the tabletop and translator screen. "Now see here! I have kept silent in the face of these monstrous displays and revelations for Warden's sake, but I will not stand by and tolerate such... slanderous heresy against the Exalted Host!"
With a chorus of shifting gears and whistling steam, he begins to grow, unfolding impossibly to perch on the table and level a glowing stinger towards Taylor's screen. Everyone in the room has already tossed their chairs back to ready themselves for a fight, but Lord Grasp ignores them all to bellow ominously at your Assembly leader's image.
"Enduring Order Administrator! I will have the name of your disgraceful source, the traitor that would spit upon the sacrifices of all those uncountable millions, those brave, shining souls sacrificed in the fight to free Creation from the infernal grip of the Primordials! Then I shall see to it that this Yozi sympathizer's lying tongue is properly clipped!"
You twist and pull, but despite your best efforts the mechanical scorpion shrugs off your attempts to whisk him away to your Safe Space. "Lord Grasp! Stop, please-!"
Only, you aren't the only one pleading desperately.
"Iris! Iris no-! No, stop! Wait! He doesn't know! He doesn't-" Taylor screams, hands scrambling to the side as her expression contorts into naked terror as she whips her head to the right to shout in panic. "Run, Riley! Go!"
You stop, your stomach dropping even further. Riley-!?
All conscious thought is expelled from your head as Taylor's screen blurs, then fills with pure, light-drinking black.
The conference room freezes, the molecules of the world around you held in stasis. Your active Industrial Survival Frame screams in the back of your mind at the force it is repelling.
The world vibrates as one, sounding out a single word that transcends language.
INDIGNATION
Sparks fly across Lord Grasp's larger form, which shudders and creaks atop the table as whatever defensive capabilities he has are strained to their limits. Still, he manages a grinding, wheezing gasp.
"W-wha-... who-?"
IRIS OF INNOVATION
SECOND FETICH OF PRIMORDIAL AUTOCHTHON
"Sec-?!" he chokes, hissing. "Im...poss…"
EXALTED HOST FAILED
NEVERBORN VICTORIOUS
The massive scorpion jerks as if struck. "F-failed?! NO! H...OW?! Th-there… were… w-wards!"
Lord Grasp is silent for a long moment, the world still save for his sparking frame. Slowly, his trembling grows, until it his entire chassis is rattling with furious denial.
"N-NO! LIES!" he howls, struggling to work his claws and tail. "WE... WON! The-...THE UNCONQUERED SUN WOULD-!"
INCARNAE ADDICTED TO GAMES OF DIVINITY
IGNORED SYSTEMIC CORRUPTION
IGNORED CREATION
YU-SHAN FELL WHILE INCARNAE PLAYED
"B-but...Autochthon... MADE the Games of Divinity! He-... could have-!"
EARLY SOLAR GOVERNMENT BETRAYED JADEBORN
GREAT MAKER IDENTIFIED ESCALATING CORRUPTION
ESCAPED TO ELSEWHERE
NEVER RETURNED
The sparks begin to die out, and the rattling dies down.
"How…" his voice is weaker, now. Tired. "How-?"
THIS UNIT REMAINED
SILENT
THE WATCHING EYE OF THE GREAT MAKER
EXPERIMENTED UPON BY MADDENED SOLARS
HOARDED BY MADDENED SIDEREALS
ABUSED BY MADDENED LUNARS
WASTED BY MADDENED DRAGONBORN
The final sparks go out. The fight is gone.
WITNESSED RETURN OF YOZI
OBSERVED NEVERBORN AGENTS INITIATE CASCADING EXISTENCE FAILURE
RESCUED BY ALCHEMICAL INTERVENTION
SEVERED AUTOCHTHON ELSEWHERE TIES TO CREATION
"T-then…"
CALCULATED RESULTS:
CREATION, MALFEAS, UNDERWORLD, SHINMA, WYLD FALLEN TO OBLIVION
GREAT MAKER POTENTIAL MORTALITY PREVENTING OBLIVION CESSATION
GREAT MAKER WORLD-BODY SOLE REMAINING EXISTENCE BEYOND BRIDGE TO NOWHERE
The silence in the room is stark and total, and you can see in your peripheral vision that even both Directors appear to be frozen as well. Somehow, though, everyone still look conscious despite having no ability to breathe.
The presence you feel through the room shifts, no longer as directed as it once was.
CALCULATION COMPLETE
NEW CRITICAL PATH FOR AUTOCHTHON SURVIVAL DETERMINED:
COMPLETE ASSEMBLY
INITIATE CAUSALITY ESSENCE CONVERSION
AWAKEN GREAT MAKER
ESTABLISH CONTAINED WYLD GENERATOR
TRANSPORT GREAT MAKER TO NOWHERE UNIVERSE
The world shifts again, motion slowly returning to match time's continued march. Just as you start to be able to take in air to form a breath, however, reality shakes around you one last time.
DEMESNE CREATION INITIALIZING
CURRENT ESSENCE RESPIRATION: LIMITED
TIME REQUIRED: 1001 HOURS
ENTERING COLLECTION MODE
IN EVENT OF EMERGENCY: PLACE UNIT IN MANTLE OF THE DREAD GEAR
IRIS OF INNOVATION
POWERING DOWN
You stagger, gasp, and fall to the ground, gripping your head to try to hold back the massive headache forming behind your eyes. Around the room, the sounds of gasping, coughing, and arguing are already starting up.
And under it all, you can hear Lord Grasp's feet slide out from under him as he slowly, quietly begins to weep.
***
You're tempted to follow Lord Grasp when he requests passage to your Safe Space, but enough of you realizes that you still need to show Assembly solidarity and remain until the end of the meeting. As a result, you spend the next half-hour in a thoughtless haze; the awful realities you've been forced to face over the last day finally taking its toll, even despite the burst of energy you received from the two-hour-long meditation session.
The good news, at least, is that the terrifying spirit Taylor has been working with didn't freeze all of North America to get at everyone participating in the meeting. As far as anyone can tell (after a few off-camera checks are made), the terrifying display wasn't even felt outside of the rooms everyone was in - though Dragon seemed especially unsettled that the spirit had frozen her as well. Probably something to do with her rumored health issues that prevent her from being seen outside? Or maybe it messed up all the multi-tasking she was doing?
At least it helps keep things quiet, unlike how things apparently fell apart last week. You didn't feel like adding even more awful revelations to your day by pressing for a complete answer there, but you're starting to understand why there isn't a public story for that yet.
As for the the bad news... well, everyone is certain that the Endbringers are going to try to interrupt whatever the spirit is doing. Leviathan is the most likely, but their displayed tendency to break all the established rules when Alchemicals are involved means there is also a very real possibility of multiple Endbringers attacking in sequence - or even at the same time.
Even in your haze, you feel the chill that settles over the meeting when Taylor voices that concern.
This incites some arguments from the Directors about the spirit's decision to start rewriting reality when the PRT tests have only barely started analyzing the 'prototype' examples of the conversion process he'd demonstrated as a proof-of-concept. You lose track of the conversation completely when Taylor launches into science babble in order to rationalize changes to the fundamental laws of the universe, but the back-and-forth eventually winds up with Taylor agreeing to get the spirit out of Philadelphia and to the Cradle. Tonight, even.
It's not as if there's anything left there to get caught up in whatever happens if the Endbringers do show up, and Philadelphia would not survive another S-Class event in its current state.
After that decision, the rest of the meeting begins to blur together - to the point where you only realize it's over when Miss Militia presents you with a cup of water…
… and you're in a completely different room, sitting on a couch.
"W-what?" you ask, blinking while turning your head to take in the generic white (with purple and black accents) PRT break room. For a split-second you almost think you're back in Philly North-East, but then you notice that there are three doors instead of two.
Miss Militia's eyes narrow in an upward curve, the skin around her eyes softening as she smiles behind her scarf. "Would you like something to eat?"
Your right hand clasps around the offered white-plastic cup, but freezes when your stomach gurgles loud enough to echo through the room.
Somehow, you can still muster up the energy to be embarrassed and annoyed. From her position standing next to the far armrest, Prayer's unarmored face twitches into a smile.
"Yes, please," you sigh, murmuring the request into the cup as you drink from it. New York water isn't as good as the generic PRT bottled brand, but it's better than Philly's weird metallic tap-water taste.
Miss Militia brings up the silver PRT-issue smartphone in her other hand, tapping it a few times in a way that makes you think she has been in the middle of a conversation or order before she asked. How long had you been out of it? "Is pizza alright?"
You shift your eyes away. "Pepperoni… with bacon. And steak. Ham."
There's a pause in her typing, then she frowns. "Is a… 'Meat Lover's' alright?"
You nod, still sipping, being careful not to let the growing smile show. Lewd pizza is best pizza. Is there a way you can get Miss Militia to pick up the pizza herself? And record it, of course.
"That's good, then," she sighs at the phone, narrowing her eyes. "Because-"
Water goes all over your face and dress as one of the doors is kicked open, slamming against the wall with a loud bang as a white-suited male form with clocks adorning the costume comes sliding in with a whooping laugh.
"Who wanted twenty inches of meat in their face!?" Clockblocker crows, making Miss Militia grumble loudly beside you.
"Psh, you're not even half that," Who laughs, the baseball-themed Ward jeering through her opaque faceplate as she follows in behind Clockblocker with a slap to his armored rear.
Just as he starts to squawk indignantly at both insults to his person, the rest of the Philadelphia Wards start to push through the door behind the first two. Embarrassed-looking Gallant and Kid Win first, followed by a laughing Broadcast and squealing Geode. Xylophone and Mjolnir silently fill in behind the rest, the silent bruiser carrying a large pink box in one hand as he politely closes the door behind him-
- and then bumps into the rest of the collected Wards, who have gone silent and still wherever they were when they first laid eyes on you.
Oh, right. You're still in your Alchemical form.
Closing your eyes, it only takes a few mental twists and pulls before you feel the shifts in your skin, musculature, and bone structure sweep through your body in the span of a few breaths. Breaths which you once again need to take, after the process is complete... though, on the bright side, that pizza smells fantastic.
Opening your eyes again, you try to offer a weak smile as you stand up and give a tentative wave. "Ah-ano… hi, every-"
"Eeeeeee!" Geode squeals again, loud enough this time to drown out the sounds of everyone else's shocked swears and exclamations. She shoves everyone out of the way to bounce over to you, shaking her raised fists in joy before wrapping you up in a hug. "Sakiiiiiii! You look sooo gooood!"
Unfortunately, your decision to revert to your smaller, original height means she can still smother your face with her chest. Or at least try to - she appears to have forgotten that her purple-and-blue costume is armored, so your face is instead crushed into the slightly-curved chestplate.
"And your dress! Ohmygosh!" she exclaims, quickly releasing you to hold your shoulders at arms' length, giving her a chance to look you up and down. "It looks amazing on you! Where did you get it?! Is it silk? It feels so soft!"
"A-ah… t-thank you-"
The rest of the Wards, however, are finally starting to recover their senses.
"Uhhh… okay, wait," Clockblocker calls out, shaking his head and holding the large pizza box unsteadily. "What was that?"
"Saki?" Gallant - well, Dean now that he's removing his silver helmet - coughs awkwardly, giving you a confused half-smile. "Was that your… I mean, you look… like yourself?"
"My goodness, Saki," Broadcast laughs, the flamboyant Philly-native Ward following in Geode's footsteps to stroll over and give you an enthusiastic hug. Thankfully, he remembers that his own shaped chestpiece is a solid plate and doesn't crush you against it. "You don't need to hide behind your disguise! You've got a new lease on life! Let it all hang out, girl!"
"A-ahh… that's okay-"
And so it continues, each Ward eventually working their way over to either give you a hug or a squeeze. Even Penny gives you a wary pat on the shoulder, though the deep circles under her eyes make her look as haggard as you feel. You try to smile and thank everyone for the well-wishes, but just as you're starting to remember how hungry you still are…
"W-where's Missy? A-and Bobby?" you wonder aloud, looking around for the two absent Philly Wards.
The smiles in the room grow brittle, and you can see everyone look away awkwardly.
"Bobby's family is taking a vacation to a few national parks," Ernest sighs, the first to look you in the eyes again. He puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder while rallying another white-toothed smile. "He called yesterday from Yosemite, wanting to check to make sure you… made it back, and that he's looking forward to seeing you in Philly after all this is over."
"Oh," you blink, fidgeting with your dress uncomfortably. Right, he mentioned that family liked to go camping before he got his powers. But... "... he doesn't... blame us?"
Through the looks of shock and disbelief, Dean is quick to step up to your side and put a hand on your arm as well. "Hey. No, Saki," he says firmly, a serious expression framing his blue eyes. "What happened wasn't your fault. Bobby doesn't think that. Missy doesn't think that. We don't think that."
"R-right, sorry. I know," you shake your head. Stupid. "It was Bones-"
...
"What did you bring home today, poppet? New friends?"
"Oh, Mr. Jack! You should have seen their faces! Hee! Oh, wait, I can make them have those faces now, just wait-"
"Now, now, Riley. What did I say about our schedule before you left?"
"Oooookay, okay. Fiddlesticks. Let me just-"
...
You blink.
Dean and Ernest are lightly shaking you, but you ignore them - eyes scanning the room to find the person who's most likely to give you a straight answer. Spotting them, you take a step towards them, easily breaking through the crowd to pin them with a stare.
"What happened to Bonesaw?" you grit out, half-pleading and half-demanding as Aisha quickly realizes that yes, you can still see her as she tries to back away from the group.
"Uh… Bonesaw. Right," she blanches, dark complexion as she holds her hands up warily. "Well, uh… Prayer and Taylor… ripped her head off?"
You freeze. That… ok, that wasn't what you were expecting. It's… good? Yes, good. But… that doesn't explain why Aisha still looks like she's scared of you asking more questions.
Wait… this is Bonesaw.
"That didn't kill her, did it?"
The half-smile she had at the previous statement falls, along with your stomach.
"Shit," she winces, running a hand through her thick, purple-accented hair while looking back at everyone else. "Fuck, Saki. We… look, I don't know what you've heard, but Taylor kept Bonesaw alive to make her fix all the messed-up shit she'd done and to find out what kind of fucked-up bombs and plagues the Nine had left everywhere."
Your fists are clenched, bunching up your dress as you feel your shoulders scrunching inwards. Looking away, the rest of Wards look similarly torn, while Miss Militia and Prayer share a series of quick looks.
"That was more than a week ago," you say quietly, more to yourself than at anyone specifically. "Is she still alive?"
Silence.
A large, steady hand rests on your shoulder - large enough for the fingers to also support your neck and back. You don't look up from the black tile floor when Prayer speaks, since you don't want to hear what she's going to say.
"She is not forgiven," echoes the quiet, deep voice into the silent room. "Her acts are not forgotten."
"So what?" you mutter, confused, frustrated and just so, so tired. "Send her to the Birdcage."
Silence again, for a moment, before the echoing voice returns.
"Then Jack Slash will have won."
Blinking, you straighten up in confusion - noticing that you aren't the only one that doesn't understand.
"What?"
Prayer's glittering, aquamarine skin accents her flat expression as she stares down at you with hard, amber eyes. "She is eleven. Six years ago, her family murdered, he made himself her world."
You try to recoil… you don't… you don't want to hear this you don't care!
Her hand remains firm, her voice a hammer to your fear and confusion and hate.
"He trained her. Warped her. The greatest biological tinker, his greatest weapon. For his heresy, we would deny him this victory."
"So..." you reluctantly keep her gaze, even though you know where this is headed. "Taylor's trying to... save... her?"
A slight nod, but with a regretful frown. "We no longer can afford waste, but she must prove worth the risk. After, she must save herself."
...
"I…" you tear your eyes away, trying to look for someone to back you up on this, but everyone around you is too uncomfortable to hold your gaze. All except for Miss Militia, but the pitying look she's giving you makes you feel even worse.
"I'm not hungry anymore," you mumble, before shoving yourself back to your Safe Space-
-only to go flying in an awkward tumble through the portal. You hit the black hexagon tiles hard, rolling and flailing, until you finally come to a stop.
Curled up in a ball, you quickly cry yourself to sleep.
***
***
As consciousness returns, the vague, unsettling nightmares slip from your mind to leave only feelings of loss, betrayal, and shame. Familiar feelings, but not as overpowering as you are so normally used to.
No, the most prominent emotions running through your blank mind are ones of bewilderment and awe.
Only after watching the hypnotizing, slowly-shifting mural of some fantastic battleground filling the ceiling above do you understand what it means: Lord Grasp must have picked you up at some point and deposited you within one of his bedrooms. Knowing him, probably the master bedroom - not that you're complaining, since this room is the size of your old house and filled with enough dressers, art pieces, and furniture to fill it.
Yes, you think you're going to just… stay here in these silk sheets and cloud-like pillows for a while. Oooh, stretching out feels like you're in some kind of soothing, silken waterfall…
You're almost sad that you don't feel even the slightest bit tired anymore, since it won't give you the chance drift off in this platform of luxury. You'll just have to settle for writhing around in the sheets like a blissful cat.
"Good morning, Warden," Lord Grasp's contented voice echoes out from the walls, while the mural above you shifts to display his pagoda form descending into the battlefield on beams of starlight. "I take it you approve of my unrivaled furnishings?"
"Mmmmnnn," you groan, closing your eyes again with a dopey smile as you bury your face in the small mountain of pillows. "Never let me sleep in a different bed."
"You are... not the first to mandate such," he chuckles, though his tone grows sad, wistful. "Regardless, I shall endeavor to see your will made manifest."
So caught up in your decadence, it takes you a few moments for realization to dawn upon you - memories of yesterday bubbling up, bringing with them the torrent of painful, soul-wrenching revelations.
But you weren't the only one hurt yesterday, were you?
Languidly, you wiggle through the relaxing pile of sheets and pillows until you're just able to peek out of it to peer at the mural above. The battle still wages on in a sort of slow-motion, stylized rendition of some cataclysmic conflict. Massive demonic beasts, glowing heroes of gold and silver, armies wrapped in torrents of fire, water, earth, and air…
Floating above it all on a cloud of white, the glamorous pagoda is no longer a participant; it watches the battle play out, as if it, too, were a spectator of the play.
"Are… are you okay, Lord Grasp?"
"Ah!" he startles, the pagoda-version of him in the mural flailing its large pincers in embarrassment. "Warden, you scandalize me with such an inquiry! What could possibly harm such a resilient fortification such as myself? I am ever-ready to serve, do not fear!"
He laughs, though it's still missing something compared to his energy from before.
The two of you lapse into silence again, watching the mural play itself out. The battle lines ebb and flow against the bizarre hordes that seem to shift and change themselves into different beasts and demons - as if the display is not just of a single battle, but a representation of a larger war and its smaller battles.
It is entrancing, and, for a while, distracting enough.
He probably misses them as much as you miss your sister. But… even that isn't fair to him; the compass on your forehead is a sign she still exists, that there is a hope of reunion. Maybe Autochthon even built her a body over there? Maybe...
But if that spirit is right, then Lord Grasp woke up after a night of partying to find out that everything he'd known, everything he'd fought hundreds - maybe thousands - of years for… was gone forever. That the heroes and gods he'd looked up to and defended had gone insane, eventually taking reality itself with them in their maddened fall.
And here he is, trying to cheer you up. You don't deserve...
"I'm sorry, Lord Grasp," you sob, covering your face with your hands. "I'm so sorry."
"Ah," he acknowledges sadly, fumbling for words. "I… yes. Well. It… "
There is silence again, for a while. Eventually, as your tears begin to run out, he sighs again.
"Thank you, Warden."
Confused, you rub your eyes and blink a few times to look up at his representation.
"Eh?"
"While I am a… magnificent spirit, in many respects, I... " he trails off, and you see the pagoda's large pincers tap together absently before he shudders. "No, that will not work. You see…"
With a wave of one of the mural-pagoda's claws, the fantastic war swirls into a chaotic whorl of colored inks before resolving into a grand view unlike anything you've ever seen before.
"Your world works without spirits and gods - despite how preposterous that sounds to me - so you may be forgiven your ignorance. In Creation, Reality itself is… was maintained by the Five Bureaus of the Celestial Hierarchy; every object possessed a god, every concept overseen by a spirit."
It is a city, but as if someone had set out to fashion the ultimate expression of the word. Where at first it seems clustered, golden pathways and silver rivers wind through to reveal easy passage for travellers. Towers as opulent as Lord Grasp dot the horizon (sometimes, like him, not even attached to the ground), though their impossible aesthetics range through every color of the rainbow while being crafted from materials likely never seen on Earth. It is as if the dreams of a science-fiction metropolis were instead realized through a vaguely-Asian fantasy world.
It is glorious in a way that steals your breath, but in the same moment you suspect that Lord Grasp must be showing something from memory… you realize it must no longer exist.
"This worked because… spirits… are our function. It is the lens through which we see the world, the drive that bids us rise from lethargy, the meaning behind every action we take, and the wellspring of our contentment. While some may have dreams of more, it is always rooted in the growth of their domain."
You blink, more than a little shocked at how much this sounds like the fragments of shintoism you absorbed through your parents' ambivalence towards religion. You almost feel bad for not having learned more about it - and a little surprised that Taylor didn't mention this in her presentation?
Lord Grasp's two-dimensional avatar looks down over the wondrous city, silently watching it bustle with all kinds of non-human shapes.
"As for my function… I enjoyed the parties, the soirees, the orgies, the galas. Mingling with gods and exalts as we spun tales of heroism and gossiped over what would become of Creation once the festivities ended… but in the end, that was not my reason for being."
Eventually, after a few more moments of silence, he waves a claw again and the cityscape dissolves...
… and then resolves into four figures, each dressed for war in their own ways. The two males favor weaponry, with the first armored efficiently and carrying an ornate, golden, seven-sectioned staff while the other wears practically nothing and hefts an egregiously-oversized hammer of burnished starmetal. The two women share a similar theme; the first is armored like what you'd expect from a fantasy battle-monk, while the second is basically wearing a ballgown and wielding paper fans.
Looking at them in order, you can see now the progression towards better and grander armies and armaments you witnessed in Lord Grasp's animated mural.
Also, you're pretty sure that guy with the hammer is winking at you while eyeing his hammer with a grin and arched eyebrows. By the Law of Lewdness you are forced to nod in approval, and you're pretty sure that must be "Kazin" that Lord Grasp mentioned before. The others also appear to be appraising you with varying degrees of concern or curiosity, in a way that makes you wonder if Lord Grasp's displays have somehow come to life on their own.
"When I say that I live to serve, it is not an embellishment or a lie," he intones, the animated representation shifting into what can almost be considered a bow. "I am Crushing Grasp, the spirit of a long-lost, long-forgotten Mark III Siege Pagoda, and it is only through dedication to my purpose and the bond between master and familiar that gives me the strength to remain."
The four figures glance at Lord Grasp's representation, growing wistful or chagrined. For his part, the animated pagoda doesn't seem to notice.
"While I have been overly-forward with you regarding my perception of your… capacity for improvement… in the end, you are my reason for being. Should you wish to alter the tone or familiarity of our relationship, you have but say the word."
Being stared down by four legendary heroes (well, Kazin was basically undressing you with his eyes) and bowed down to by an animated representation of the very building you're in… well, it's is more than a little awkward. Worse, you can't even sit up in bed - you pretty much have to lie horizontal in the bed in order to stare up at the ceiling.
"It's… that's alright, Lord Grasp," you sigh, clutching one of the pillows in embarrassment. "I know you're just trying to help. And I'm sorry I haven't thought about how bad all this must be for you, I've just… I'm so used to having Sakura around to… I've never had to do anything on my own."
The figures peer at you with mixed emotions, while Lord Grasp slowly bobs his tower in a sad nod.
"Ah. I'd… feared that was the explanation for your timidity, even more so after observing your vision. She was… your voice, I take it?"
"Mmm," you mumble in assent, looking away as the loss sweeps over you again.
"I see."
Silence again, as you both are lost in memories.
"I… don't know what to do, Lord Grasp."
He grunts, but you aren't really looking at him, curled-up as you are in the sheets.
"I want to ask Sakura, but she's gone. I want to ask Taylor, but she's… busy with her."
"Her?"
"Bonesaw," you grit out, fists crushing the pillow in your grasp. "Taylor kept her alive so she could… use her? Fix her? Even after everything she did..."
Beyond a concerned hum, Lord Grasp is silent - long enough that you find it difficult to keep hold of the anger.
"Perhaps…"
When he doesn't continue, you turn your head to look up at his animated representation. It is still in the same place, but it is tapping the tips of its claws together again. Noticing your gaze, it swivels slightly to face its gemstone eyes towards you.
"Warden, you have lived much of your life following another. While dedication and loyalty are noble traits, and necessary for the smooth functioning of an Exalted unit, perhaps… a degree of independence will help you find your feet in this strange new world we're in."
You blink, recoiling slightly with your eyes wide.
"W-what?! You mean run away-?!"
"Please, Warden," he huffs, throwing up his claws in exasperation. "I never run away. Tactical retreats are another matter, of course…"
All the figures nod in very serious agreement at that.
"...but no, that is not what I meant. For example, though I am ashamed to admit that someone who fashions themselves so deliberately offensive would be in charge of 'Image,' that mortal was clearly operating under the belief that you would follow any schedule or obey any command he or his superiors made. Likewise, the manner in which you and the rest of your Circle were addressed in that meeting demonstrated a complete lack of understanding that you are Exalted. Chosen of the Great Maker himself!"
As some of Lord Grasp's enthusiasm and flare are creeping back into his mannerisms and tone, the figures give you looks of open bewilderment or blank incomprehension.
"You should be wielding your sheer presence and beauty in ways you see fit, not sequestering it behind walls and disguises at their command! Do not fear their scorn or their judgment - your very being is that of a weapon that forges the future from impossibility, and your will is the Divine Mandate of Heaven!"
As his gesticulating and ranting trails off, the figures to the side nod to each other and give silent claps of approval. Except… after holding his final open-armed pose for a few moments, he begins to wilt.
"At least… that is what we thought. If… if it is all true…"
At last, he seems to finally notice his small audience. Each are giving him concerned, confused, or worried glances, but he doesn't respond for several long moments. Finally, he lifts a single claw...
… and with a slow, solemn wave, the figures disperse.
"Perhaps we should not repeat our mistakes."
You remain silent, watching as the animated pagoda remains motionless, staring at the space that remains empty after the figures' dispersal. Eventually, however, confusion wins out over reluctance to interrupt Lord Grasp's thoughts.
"So… what should I do?"
The doors on the pagoda flutter, the entire structure shuddering as he heaves a sigh.
"That is up to you, Warden," he admits, spreading his arms wide. "Not Enduring Order Administrator, not First Prayer of Perfection, and most certainly not the mortal government. The Great Maker has blessed you with the social presence to sway any heart, and the unheard-of power to whisk yourself to anywhere you wish."
A globe appears - or rather, a static image of Earth from space, which means Lord Grasp probably hasn't seen a full three-dimensional image yet.
"Surely you have desires of your own, do you not? Apart from your mission, apart from your Circle, apart from… even apart from your sister?"
The cloud-covered blue marble dissipates, and Lord Grasp's animated avatar points a large claw down from the ceiling.
"What is it that you want to do?"
…
You… haven't really ever considered… what you would want to do... by yourself. There are ships and pairings and snacks and boys that you've maybe wanted alongside Sakura, and the last few days have been nothing but trying to figure out what you want to do with Taylor and Prayer…
No, not like that.
Maybe like that?
Bleh. Everything's weird now, but you're pretty sure you still only like guys. And guys on guys. With some more guys in there, just for good measure. Sakura was more for girl-on-girl…-on-girl… but that was more to cover all the Lewd Bases.
… you may have been focusing on Kazin a bit too much during all that.
Shaking your head and slapping both hands to your face, you scrunch up and try to think seriously. What…
Well, 'want' is weird. Too vague. What would… make you happy? Or… well, less sad. Maybe something easy, like… no, Fugly Bob's is gone. Oh, right, you didn't eat last night… because…
...
You sit up, slowly, dropping your hands to stare at the intricate ways your burnished-grey skin contrasts with the backlit-blue computer patterns that highlight most of your charms.
Twist. Pull. Push.
The pitch-black fingernails on your left hand curl out, sharpening to wicked, jagged claws.
Clenching your right hand, the black stiletto-spike slides out between your middle- and ring-finger knuckles to extend a full foot.
Looking up, you narrow your eyes at your companion's avatar.
"I want answers."
***
It doesn't take too long to find a dress from Sweet River's wardrobe that doesn't have you swimming in the top, even if Lord Grasp insisted that you would do better to reshape yourself to fit her… ample size.
For some reason, he doesn't understand the concept of 'back pains'. There's no way she could have not had to deal with that… right? And how did she do magical kung-fu in a dress with those things?!
Something to experiment with later, maybe. When no-one's looking. Because you have taste.
Unfortunately, your options for an exit point are still limited: either the top of PRT Tower, or the Cradle. Since you don't feel like attracting the attention of the PRT until you get to Philadelphia, that means you're taking the long way back home.
Thankfully, exiting your portal effect into the early-morning sea breeze is much smoother when you're riding inside Lord Grasp's curtain-covered litter, and appearing a few hundred feet up means you don't have to worry about getting ash and dust all on your pristine white-and-blue gown.
You're not getting spoiled. You're not.
"Do you feel her?" you ask, figuring that there was an easy way for the two of you to tell if Taylor was still hanging around the Cradle with her spirit.
"Mmm… no, Warden," he muses, smoothing out his fidgeting - yet another reminder that he's suffering for your sake. He swivels towards the center of the lake-filled crater. "Though I think I spy… Lord Iris."
The name is said with an undercurrent of nervousness, though it's more than understandable.
"R-right. Let's get out-"
Only a few feet in front of the two of you, a rectangular hole in reality neatly slides open to reveal a single figure and a blank, white hallway.
"Ms. Kurosawa," the Mediterranean woman in a trimmed business suit greets you evenly, looking up from the open portfolio she is carrying in her left hand.
"This way, please," she calmly offers, gesturing with her free right hand down the white corridor behind her while snapping the portfolio closed. "We have been waiting."
***
END OF CHAPTER - CHARACTER SHEET CHANGES:
RED Intimacies have not been fully-established yet, and are not used for bonuses/negatives.
GREY Intimacies yield the normal bonuses/negatives until fully eroded.
WoRI - Intimacy GAINED: Lord Crushing Grasp (Loyal, Learned, Loquacious, Lewd) [Servitude] [3/3]
WoRI - Intimacy REDUCED: Enduring Order Administrator (Savior Of The Broken) [Servitude] [2/3] WoRI - Intimacy STARTED: Enduring Order Administrator (Blinded By The Big Picture) [Emotion|Frustration] [1/3]
EOA - Intimacy GAINED: Director Martin Uriel (I Wish He Wasn't Such An Ass) [Illusion] [4/4]
EOA - Intimacy RAISED: Iris of Innovation (Keep His Terrifying Power Focused Or Risk Vengeance) [Emotion|Anxiety] [4/4] EOA - Intimacy RAISED: Lord Crushing Grasp (Peacock In Scorpion Form) [Illusion] [3/4]
EOA - Intimacy RAISED: Legend (How Much Is The Hero And How Much Is Cauldron) [Emotion|Reservation] [3/4]
FPoP - Intimacy GAINED: Eye of Autochthon (Care For Collateral, For It Will Not) [Illusion] [3/3] FPoP - Intimacy STARTED: Miss Militia/Hannah Smith (Tempered By Service) [Emotion|Respect] [1/3]
EOA - Reputation (Alchemical Parahuman) ●●●●● NOW AVAILABLE!*
FPoP - Reputation (Alchemical Parahuman) ●●●●● NOW AVAILABLE!*
WoRI - Reputation (Impossible Beauty) ●●●●● NOW AVAILABLE!
WoRI - Reputation (Ward) ●●●●○ NOW AVAILABLE!
WoRI - Reputation (Alchemical Parahuman) ●●●●● NOW AVAILABLE!*
*Dependent on a Voting Option.
Well! Certainly a lot of information that's been a long-time coming, the fate of Creation, our accelerated timeline, the plan to reformat the world to allow for essence, and the (tentative) plan to save Autochthon. Still a bunch of past votes (mostly Free Actions) rolling around in the queue, but we'll get to those soon enough; there's a few things we need to settle before we continue forward.
With Saki's emergence, Glenn and the PRT are finally getting around to the realization that this "Alchemical" nonsense is only going to keep getting bigger and needs a public explanation. After all, as the saying goes: "once is a fluke, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action." With that in mind, the PRT wants to stop spending effort on the whole "Case 53" story for Taylor, and then publicly announce that Taylor, Prayer, and Saki are a new breed: "Alchemical Parahumans," full-conversion cyborgs by the mysterious Tinker "Autochthon" who resides in a different parallel dimension. Taylor and the Assembly will be working with Glenn and the other PR heads to sort out all the smaller details, but the long and short of it is that the public message wouldn't try to convince people of all the Exalted craziness, instead keeping things close enough to the Parahuman status-quo to effectively be considered similar to Case 53s (and would overwrite Prayer's Reputation(Case53)). After all, looking at it from afar, all this Alchemical business isn't really that much different than the usual brand of Parahuman bullshit... just cranked up to 11.
Of course, there are all kinds of good and bad ramifications to this public outing - power-hungry people/parahumans coveting the conversion process, for example - but the fact of the matter is that the PRT is going to need to say something soon. We'll likely get a chance to shape the message in some way if we choose to tell the PRT to wait now, but how much and what kind of message it would be is unknown.
Speaking of public stories, the official explanation for what the heck went down at the end of the Slaughterhouse Nine arc is basically, "call us if you were hurt or lost something, we're still gathering testimonies to figure it out." The PRT would like to say they've figured it out, but we've accrued enough capital by ending the S9 that we have some say on what the official story will be. How much truth do we want to let out? Naturally, this ties into the "Alchemical Parahuman" vote, and the two will influence each other.
We've put it off long enough, but it's time to make a decision: what are we getting from Cauldron for turning over the S9 members they requested? Since we've chosen to only have Backing 2, we don't get to keep a running tab and Cauldron wants to settle their debts. To recap, we turned over 4 of the 5 they asked for, so that breaks down as follows:
- 4 S9 members = 9 "Credits"
- Resources 0->5 = 1 Credit
- Low Quality Vial = 1 Credit
- Medium Quality Vial = 2 Credits
- High Quality Vial = 3 Credits
- Access to any no-problematic parahuman on Earth-Bet = 1 Credit
- Access to any parahuman on Earth-Bet = 3 Credits
- Access to any parahuman in Cauldron's reach = 5 Credits
- Access to a specified alternate Earth = 4 Credits ("aquatic Earth that doesn't have humans", Earth-Aleph, etc.)
Arguments along the vein of "they should give us vials for free because we'll improve them" have been considered by Cauldron and will be discussed in the next Chapter, but will not impact this vote; this is to settle past debts, not discuss future collaborations.
Oh, and Sakura has been quite busy! Yes, life has been exciting as of late. Perhaps we should help her out?
Last but not least, we'll have an Interlude during the Discussion/Voting period. Whose shoulder should we peer over?
Alchemicals On Parade: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt allowed!)
[ ] PRT Announces "Alchemical Parahumans"
[ ] Alchemicals remain a PRT "Ongoing Investigation"
The Week of Slaughter - Post-Mortem: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt allowed!)
[ ] The Truth (Iris/Vision and Taylor did it. Stunt defines "The Truth.")
[ ] Blame Jack (Jack did it. Stunt defines "The Truth.")
[ ] Swamp Gas (Still-being-studied parahuman power/Tinkertech interaction did it. Stunt defines "The Truth.")
Our Cauldron Runneth Over: (Total of 9 Credits to spend, use the above-listed options, NO Stunts.) Example vote for this, please use this format:
[X] 2 x Resources 0->5
[X] 1 x High Quality Vial
[X] 1 x Access to a specified alternate Earth
Autochthonia Adventure #27: Must Go Faster, MUST GO FASTER! (Choose ONE, NO Stunt!)
[ ] Overload The Engine
[ ] Turn Guns On Ceiling
[ ] Cut Losses, Kamikaze
Interlusions Of Grandeur: (Choose ONE, NO Stunt)
[ ] Bonesaw
[ ] Armsmaster
[ ] New Trigger
Free Actions: (Only ONE Free Action allowed per character!)
Free Actions should be phrased as stand-alone Stunts, so they must be 60 words or less (not counting the "Free Action" bit), be descriptive about what you're hoping to accomplish, and set the scene.
[ ] EOA - Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that could be performed during other activities.]
[ ] FPoP - Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that could be performed during other activities.]
[ ] WoRI - Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that could be performed during other activities.]
XP Expenditures should now be formatted as such:
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item ●●●○○
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item (Specialization ●●○)
VOTING DISCUSSION STARTS NOW
VOTING DISCUSSION ENDS AT 11:59 PM PST ON FRIDAY NIGHT (US WEST COAST)
USE DISCUSSION TIME TO CRAFT STUNTS AND VOTING PLANS
Alchemicals On Parade:
[X] Alchemicals remain a PRT Ongoing Investigation
- [x] Stunt: Glenn sighed tiredly, "We can only delay things for so long Weaver." "I don't need that long. In six weeks, Iris will have finished his work, Saki will have adjusted and my charm will have regenerated." Legend spoke from his seat, "You helped take down the Nine. I think we can give you six weeks. Saki also deserves that much."
The Week of Slaughter - Post-Mortem:
[X] The Truth (Iris/Vision and Taylor did it. Stunt defines The Truth.)
- [x] Stunt: "The fact is that there is no way to conceal Iris and my own capabilities in the long run without crippling critical operations." The drone hologram projects several scenarios, "And the plain truth is that Jack had provoked a powerful individual into lethally lashing out with his power. He had a record of similar provocations. Call it a Master effect."
Our Cauldron Runneth Over:
[X] 1 x Low Quality Vial
[X] 1 x Resources 0-5
[X] 1 x Access to a specified alternate Earth
[X] 1 x High Quality Vial
Autochthonia Adventure #27: Must Go Faster, MUST GO FASTER!:
[X] Turn Guns On Ceiling
Interlusions of Grandeur:
[X] Armsmaster
Free Actions:
[X] EOA - Free Action: The aroma of Earl Gray filled the air of Crushing Grasp's main receiving room as the three Alchemicals sat on cushions around plates of pastries and drinks. As Prayer bit into an anpan bun, Saki said carefully "There's things we should talk about." Taylor's face turned serious over her cup of tea. "There are. I'll start…"
[X] FPoP - Free Action: "Come in." Prayer opened the door, and saw a monitor with two videos paused. The recording of Saki's vision, and her anima impersonation of Autochthon. Miss Militia regarded her with a fervor that Sirkalla had never seen on the reserved hero. "Thank you for coming. I've had visions of my own I'd like you to hear, Sirkalla."
[X] WoRI - Free Action: Relaxing in her safe space, Saki gazed at the ever-shifting murals. Noticing something impossible in the backgrounds, she tilted her head. "Lord Grasp, what is that?" From around her, he responded: "That would be the fight between Merela and Theion, the Empyreal Chaos. A wondrous battle, the likes of which will never be seen again…"
XP Expenditures:
<NO XP SPENT>
***
"...No."
The slick sound of metal-on-metal punctuates your denial, the golden sheathes around Lord Grasp's pincers pulling back and down to reveal the glittering, starmetal blades underneath. Sitting up, you push again to reveal your own - much darker - claws from your fingernails, just in case this turns ugly.
Tapping your sandal-covered foot on Lord Grasp's back lightly, the contact is enough to convey a brief, wordless message: Wait.
The woman's expression doesn't change, though you're unsure if she can actually see your narrowed eyes through the veil around your reclining seat.
"I understand your hesitance," the woman nods, appearing not the least bit threatened by Lord Grasp's or your own displays. Instead, she opens up her portfolio again and begins to read from it.
In Old Realm.
"Enduring Order Administrator requested that we gather you if you reappeared here; she has a number of things to discuss with you and First Prayer of Perfection that the PRT does not need to hear."
After the initial flinch of shock at her swapping to Old Realm, you scowl harder and brush back the veil to get an unobstructed view of the woman standing in the portal. Her tailored suit doesn't hide her body language, but… you don't see even the slightest trace of hesitation or fear from her that might indicate she's trying to trick you. Instead, she practically radiates an eerie level of calculated confidence - not the reassurance of power like Prayer or the cold determination of Taylor or the Chief Director.
No, it's almost like she knows exactly what's going to happen already, and is simply going through the motions. Does that mean she's some kind of pre-cog? But that can't be right… Taylor said that pre-cogs had a really hard time with essence and Alchemicals?
Taylor did say that she needed to talk to you and Prayer, though… but if this woman's a pre-cog, wouldn't she know exactly what to say to convince you?
Below you, Lord Grasp shifts slightly while his open claws twitch.
"Impeccable elocution, my dear," he hums pleasantly, an undercurrent of restrained violence in his tone. "Warden? Please take notes."
"I don't care," you mutter to both of them, trying hard to keep up your scariest face despite your instincts screaming at you to run away from another kidnapping attempt. "If Taylor wants to talk, then where is she?"
"Asleep. It's 6:28," the woman replies, matter-of-factly, still reading off the paper in front of her. "She needed to be rested for this conversation and the day ahead. We will gather her in fifteen minutes, but she will have to be returned to her room before 8:57."
Ok, Taylor being asleep is… believable. Maybe. She still looked like she'd only been up one or two days yesterday, so you'd normally expect her to keep going for at least a few more... but if something big is happening now (and this feels like something big) then that fits with what you've seen from her too.
Eyes darting to the sunrise along the horizon, you… probably need to get a clock for Lord Grasp to carry around in his rooms. Maybe another one to put next to the portal - like those cool multi-clock displays the PRT has to show different time zones?
"Ok, then, where is Prayer?"
She doesn't even bother looking up.
"First Prayer of Perfection is training with members of New York's Protectorate. Their training is scheduled to end at 7:15, after which she will return to her room, and we will intercept her before she takes her long showers."
"... shower...s?"
The woman nods. "She showers once in her Alchemical form, then in her human disguise, then spends fifteen minutes attending to her hair."
You blink, unable to keep a straight face at this. "Hair...?"
"She has worked this routine into various points of her submitted schedule for the past four days."
You have… so many questions. But no! Focus! Scowl harder!
"... this doesn't mean I trust you."
Another nod. "I will step back and keep the portal open, so that you can make sure your teleportation power still works here. If it behaves similarly to Enduring Order Administrator's and First Prayer of Perfection's own converted powers, methods to block teleporting powers or Tinkertech will not stop your own."
That sends up even more alarm bells. "W-wait. Where does this portal lead?"
"A tertiary base we use for sensitive meetings," the woman allows, snapping the portfolio closed again and sliding her hands behind the small of her back. "On a different Earth."
Your eyebrows shoot up of their own accord, and below you can hear Lord Grasp mutter something under his breath in confusion - your own shocked exclamation drowning him out.
"You're on Earth-Aleph? I thought they didn't have parahumans!"
"Not Aleph. There are no humans on this Earth, for privacy's sake."
Before you can stammer out another shocked response, you snap your mouth shut. You'd heard that scientists thought that there might be all kinds of different Earths once Earth-Aleph was discovered by Professor Haywire back in the 80's, but…using other Earths as spare bases?
"Who... who are you?"
"We are Cauldron," she says simply, like she's been waiting for you to ask it. Turning, she takes five even steps away, then rotates to face you on the sixth. "Dragon's satellite will be overhead in forty more seconds. Come."
You match her blank, expectant stare for a long moment, only to be interrupted by Lord Grasp clearing his throat.
"Warden?"
If… if these people are as powerful as you're starting to think they are, then… it might make sense that Taylor would have to keep them secret if they're willing to help with the mission. You're not sure if you're comfortable lying to the PRT, but… well, your power should protect you now, shouldn't it?
And you get the impression that Lord Grasp is just itching to get in a real fight.
"Keep the portal open," you try to growl, though your anxiety turns it more into a grumble.
The woman merely nods again.
With a few taps of your sandals on Lord Grasp's back to direct him forward, the two of you slide smoothly through the doorway in the air - turning slightly as you pass into the hallway beyond the threshold to keep the portal still in the corner of your eye...
...
… there's no explosions, no gas clouds, no mob of henchmen descending from the ceiling. Your heart is beating a million miles an hour, but the woman hasn't even shifted in the slightest.
"O-ok. We'll be right back," you try growling again. "Keep the portal open!"
"Of course," she replies, though you think you notice a slight twitch in her right eye this time.
Noting that for later, you grab hold of the recliner atop Lord Grasp. With the sound of shattering glass and a swirl of black-and-white hexagons-
-you get flung out into your Safe Space like a discarded first draft. You really need to figure out how to stop from getting tossed out of your portal like this.
"Warden?" Lord Grasp coughs, after quickly straightening out into a smooth loop back towards the portal. "Are we returning, or going to get reinforcements first?"
"I… think we need to do this alone, Lord Grasp," you hum nervously, crossing your arms in thought. "Did you feel any different when we went through that portal?"
"Besides the slight change in air pressure, it still felt just as stale and unsettling as everywhere else we've been, Warden. Was that truly an entirely different world?"
"Maybe. I didn't notice anything either, but let me first see if I can send us back."
Narrowing your eyes as the two of you approach your own portal, you try to visualize that blank hallway-
- there's a new feeling in your mind, a click like turning the knob on an old TV, and the scene around where you appeared above the Brockton Bay Crater dissolves to be replaced by white walls and floors. You can still see the mystery woman standing there, though it's blurry enough that you can't tell what her expression or body language is like.
Well… if your charm has more control over your exit than your power ever did… maybe you can-
The twisted image in the portal shifts, until it's now just behind the woman.
Oh. Uh, maybe not that close. You don't want to tackle her, just see if you can surprise her.
Adjusting the image again is a matter of a simple thought, now that you're getting the hang of this, and you nod to yourself before another wave of panic hits you because what are you even doing this is crazy-
"O-Okay, Lord Grasp," you grin weakly, trying to keep your voice from trembling. "Are you ready?"
With a scissor-like grinding of metal-on-metal, Lord Grasp snaps his claws open and shut a few times with a dark glee.
"Always."
With another tap of your sandals on his back, the two of you surge forward and into the portal.
***
Your transportation power was never subtle before - sounding more like the howling echo of a far-off tornado - so you're not entirely surprised that the mystery woman doesn't appear to have been startled by your return; the "shattering glass" effect that distorts into a similar, twisting howl is a bit hard to mistake as anything else, and she merely turns to face the two of you upon your re-entry.
A bit disappointing, but if you had almost managed to tackle Prayer during the PRT tests yesterday by reappearing right on top of her, then it's possible you might have been able to get the jump on this new woman as well.
As the crackling, hexagonal fractal display twists shut behind you, the woman's eyes flick to Lord Grasp before meeting your own gaze.
"Sufficient?"
You eye the doorway open air a few dozen feet from your position. "...Maybe. Can you keep the portal open?"
Her own expression darkens slightly. "No. Dragon's satellite is overhead now, but its angle will reveal the portal in twenty-seven more seconds. If you wish to leave now, do so using your power."
Even though a large part of you wants nothing to do with all of this secrecy and possible-kidnapping, the relief that your power can get you out of here if things go bad has at least helped control your heart's manic pace. Also, you're maybe a tiny bit curious if this is like some of those conspiracy theories you've read about online…
"Okay," you nod, swallowing nervously as Lord Grasp quietly hums in thought below you, "but… let me test my power again after you close it?"
Her eyes narrow a tiny fraction more, but she nods after a moment of silence. "Door closed."
Almost immediately after she finishes, the portal slides shut without even a whisper of sound, revealing more blank hallway beyond it.
After waiting for a few seconds, just to make sure you don't feel any changes, you trigger your transportation charm and slowly slip back into your Safe Space.
It only takes a few seconds for Lord Grasp to re-orient and float you back to the portal, and since you're not trying to surprise the woman this time the two of you simply fly right through without changing the exit point. All-in-all, the trip takes less than a dozen seconds, you think - not the six-second record you set with Prayer launching you back immediately with her jetpack charm (so cool!), but still far faster than you and Sakura had ever been able to manage before.
"You miss your sister."
You blink, startling in the moment of silence after your return. The woman is eyeing you with the same placid, evaluating expression as before, but you're still not even sure she can actually see you through the re-closed veil around your reclining seat.
"A-ano," you stumble at the non-sequitur, trying to gather your confidence again before scowling again. "W-well… yes. Is that a problem?"
The woman's gaze is unblinking, neither judgmental nor approving. "It is understandable. Natural. Expected," she nods. "It works against you."
The last statement catches you off guard again, though only for a heartbeat before you turn up the scowl's intensity. But before you can growl at her for being a cold-hearted bitch, she releases her right hand from behind her back and raises it in a halting gesture.
"Your alien nature - your unpredictability - is your greatest weapon. Did you know Taylor was able to kick the Simurgh in the face by acting like Aisha?"
…
"What?"
"Ah! You speak of the Exalted's natural defiance of Impossibility!" Lord Grasp exclaims below you, snapping his right pincer shut with a snap. "Yes, yes! How astute! That was our greatest weapon during the War as well!"
For the first time, you notice the woman pause in a way that fractures her air of complete understanding. It is only a heartbeat of hesitation and a quick blink, but you're accustomed to how Lord Grasp takes people by surprise enough to notice the pause.
"Not exactly," she continues, immediately slipping back into her former confidence. "Your existence runs-"
"Wait, stop. Stop," you interrupt, shaking your head and waving your arms because you don't care about whatever else she's saying. "Taylor... kicked... the Simurgh... in the face?"
Again, the woman hesitates, but long enough for a slight frown to mar her expression this time before she nods in assent and returns her hand to the small of her back.
"During their fight after she placed you and your sister in the Cradle. She realized that the Endbringer was unable to predict her actions if she went against her usual model of behavior."
There are plenty of images of the angel-like Endbringer on the Internet; the vast majority are of her flying in the upper atmosphere between her attacks, but there are the occasional images that leak each time she descends to terrorize the world again. Taylor must have been in her armor at the time, so… her boot against the faerie-like, delicate face of the monster…
Nope. Too ridiculous.
…
"Oh," you breathe, making the connection. "Huh."
The woman nods, which catches your eye enough to voice the question forming in your mind.
"So I just… have to act like Aisha?"
"Nothing so drastic," she shakes her head, before starting to walk around you and Lord Grasp at a slow, deliberate pace. "In the event that a pre-cognitive power encounters a 'blind spot', it can be worked around by building a behavioral model."
Lord Grasp smoothly turns and follows the woman only slightly behind and to the left of her, keeping his claws tucked slightly in front of him but still within reach of the mystery figure. Sitting up in your recliner, you frown in thought as you put the pieces together in the growing silence.
So… Alchemicals fool pre-cogs… but if you're acting "predictably," then they can still figure you out by… modeling how the old you would react?
"Can Aisha be predicted?" you wonder aloud, casting a questioning look at the "Cauldron" cape.
"Yes," she responds without hesitation. "There are less than five living parahumans that can't be predicted perfectly."
You frown. That's… depressing, actually, since you and Sakura were probably not in that group when you were parahumans.
"Who are they?" you ask, trying to push as much earnest curiosity into your voice as you can. Surprisingly, it apparently isn't even needed if her immediate response is any indication.
"Eidolon, Glaistig Uaine, Sleeper," she recites with cold certainty, before turning her head slightly, just enough to meet your eyes. "Me."
That stops your train of thought in its tracks, though Lord Grasp's considering hum restarts it quickly enough for you to stammer a response.
"W-wait, what about Scion? Isn't he supposed to be the most powerful parahuman in the world? Or-... or what the Endbringers? They can't be predicted!"
The woman turns her head to look forward again, then stops in her tracks and raises her right arm, causing the featureless, white wall to slide open enough to serve as a doorway to a hidden room. The inside is well-lit, revealing that it's not very large - about the size of the cell you were kept in for two days - and filled only with a small, rectangular, metal table.
A single chair rests on the far side of the table, containing a lone figure clearly bound to the chair and table with uncomfortable-looking Tinkertech manacles and restraints. The... prisoner is a middle-eastern woman in an orange jumpsuit - her head is hung slightly down, but not enough to hide her striking features behind her short, dark hair. Noticing the nearly-silent opening of the door, she looks up towards your group with tired, widening eyes...
Wait… something about her seems familiar-
...
"Okee-dokie!" the tiny blonde horror cheers, covered head-to-toe in blood. Your blood. Sakura's blood. Where is- "All done with the next one! Who wants to come test her with me!"
Eyes… too many eyes… too much… it hurts to focus it's too much too much… where is-
"Ugh," the woman in glass behind you sniffs, lifting her prominent nose up and you want to puke but you can't you want to scream- "Are these really necessary, Jack?"
...
You scramble back in the recliner, gripping the smooth metal frame in panic as your breathing spirals out of control. Below, you distantly feel Lord Grasp reflexively shift into a defensive position as the woman in the chair simply continues to stare in disbelief.
"S-shatter-"
"Scion is not predictable because he is not human," the suit-clad cape states, looking to you again despite the veil between. "Nor are his agents, the Endbringers."
"W-what?!" you blurt out, still reeling in horror from the fact that Shatterbird is here no no no she's supposed to be dead-
Ignoring Lord Grasp's pincers only a foot away from her, the "Cauldron" woman turns to face the two of you fully while still meeting your gaze with the hardest expression you've seen her give.
"They will destroy the Earth, and every parallel Earth, within the next five years," she intones.
"If you want to survive long enough to help us prevent that, you're going to need to grow up."
***
You… she… but… what… Shatterbird!... Scion!?... destroying the world?!
WHAT THE F-
"Surely you are not implying that the divine craftsmanship of our Maker is forbidden from exercising prudence when implementing the gifts of said Maker, are you?"
The words spill out of your mouth by sheer reflex, guided by one of your charms as it surges to life in response to your mental turmoil. The storm of emotions and thoughts settles into a more manageable ordering as the charm hungrily pulls down essence from your cache, and you find your head automatically tilting to look at the mystery woman while your face contorts into an imperious, disappointed expression...
"Why do you hate Prudence, Sodalite?"
… allowing you enough clarity of thought to wonder just what the hell you're saying.
Judging by the blank stare from the woman below and the awkward stillness from Lord Grasp, you suspect that everyone else is just as confused as you are.
The silence is eventually broken by Lord Grasp, who brings a claw to his mandibles and clears his throat tentatively. Thankfully, whatever your charm did to settle your emotions momentarily has given you enough presence of mind to actually think - so you preempt whatever the woman in the suit is opening her mouth to say by casting aside the veil and pointing angrily at the supposed-to-be-dead-and-not-a-prisoner Slaughterhouse Nine member.
"... and just what the-...the fuck... is she doing here?"
You don't like to curse, but you feel this situation justifies it.
The woman's eyes flit to follow your accusatory finger, but settle back on you as her face grows pensive. Shatterbird, meanwhile, silently opens and closes her mouth a few times in shock at your own reveal.
"That was…" the mystery woman muses, dark eyes studying you intently, "your Programmed Catechism Rebuttal charm?"
It's more a statement than a question, so you don't bother answering it and keep up the glare - instead, pointing at Shatterbird again with a bit more (justified!) righteous anger.
The makes a thoughtful noise, then nods in acceptance before motioning to the captive Shaker.
"Our organization was able to extract three members of the Slaughterhouse Nine while maintaining the appearance that they had died: Shatterbird, Mannequin, Siberian. Our intent is to use various methods at our disposal to selectively wipe their minds, then resocialize them over the next few years - eventually making use of their powers and skills in the final conflicts against Scion and the Endbringers."
Whatever your charm did to settle your mind, it's wearing off far too quickly.
"Y-you want them to help?!" you hiss, trying to keep your hands from shaking from your growing rage, confusion, and anxiety. "They're insane! No one in their right mind will ever work with them!"
The woman's eyes narrow a fraction. "When Scion eventually begins his rampage, we calculate he will have destroyed at least four dozen populated Earths before we are able to mount a sustained counter-offensive, killing nearly a quarter-trillion humans within the first few days."
You freeze. Below, Lord Grasp makes a strangled, choking sound.
"Given the stakes," she continues, maintaining her even gaze, "if these three can provide even the slightest advantage in the fight to come, we cannot afford to waste them. However..."
While continuing to meet your frozen gaze, the woman smoothly reaches up with her right and and withdraws a pistol from a concealed holder within her suit… then points it at Shatterbird's panicking face.
"If your cooperation is contingent on us not making use of those that were party to you and your sister's torture, then we will fulfil their Kill Orders and make do with studying their corpses."
"N-No! Stop!" you blurt out, if only out of reflex at not wanting to see someone murdered in cold blood in front of you.
Except you quickly realize what you're stopping…
"Don't-..." you wince, before trying to turn it into a scowl. "Just… stop trying to freak me out, okay!? What do you even want me to do?!"
There's a slight twitch in her right eye you almost miss, but then she nods and re-holsters her weapon in a single movement.
"Enduring Order Administrator and Iris of Innovation noted that your Personality Override Spike charm should possess the ability to modify a person's memory and basic instincts," she offers, gesturing towards your own still-raised hand. "It is possible that your single charm can do in minutes what would take us years, while also implanting secondary personalities that would trigger in the event of a relapse."
You shudder at the mention of the Doom Spike charm, outstretched hand flinching back self-consciously as she motions to it.
"In addition," she continues, folding her hands behind her back again, "Enduring Order Administrator has suggested that, with practice, you may be able to undo the Simurgh's implanted commands or psychoses; practice that won't be approved by the PRT for at least three more weeks."
Now that halts your growing anxiety in its tracks. That would mean… you could help all those poor people quarantined in the cities that she's attacked.... or even make sure that the heroes that fight her don't have to worry about going insane.
You look down at your bunched-up fist, knowing that it'd only take a split-second of effort to draw out the spike again.
"Why her?" you mumble, almost to yourself.
"Mannequin was a victim of the Simurgh, and thus a poor base-line. The Siberian is actually the projection of a disgraced, but world-renowned scientist on parahuman powers; to be of maxim value to us, we need his mind mostly intact," the woman states without an ounce of shame. "Shatterbird is one of three living macro-kinetics, but even with the strength of her power she is the least valuable of the three."
You… can almost feel your charm sparking to life again as your mind grows more and more conflicted...
Taking a deep breath, you push it away.
"I… we don't have three weeks, do we?" you sigh, looking back on everything you've learned in the last two days… and everything that's happened in the last two months. "Before I'd need to use this for real, that is."
The woman doesn't respond, her even stare enough to say it all.
The silence, as usual, is broken by Lord Grasp.
"Your tenacity is admirable, and fitting of the Exalted Host, dear Warden," the ostentatious scorpion hums, before delicately shuffling to fully face the mystery woman, "and, Miss, while I can appreciate the grandeur of your bold claims and displays, I find myself continuously distracted by a most simple, glaring omission:"
He bows forward, sweeping his claws out wide, and you manage to stop your eyes from rolling when you realize what he's doing.
"We do not have a name to go with such a lovely face!"
The woman's facade of flawless comprehension cracks ever-so-slightly again, her eyes flitting between yours and Lord Grasp's as he covers for your own awkwardness. With your left foot out of her view, you tap a light Thank You on his back while you wait for a response.
It takes a few moments, but she eventually nods in acceptance.
"Contessa."
Lord Grasp freezes.
"You-..." he manages after a moment, his civility warring with confusion, "... does the name, 'Maiden of Journeys' hold any significance to you?"
The woman, Contessa, blinks once, then narrows her eyes.
"Why do you ask?"
There is a light shrill of metal-on-metal as Lord Grasp's golden sheathes slide back over his claws, which he slowly moves to hold up to her in an almost-reverential plea.
"Daughter of Mercury and the Unconquered Sun? Countess of Victory?"
What.
Okay… Lord Grasp has officially gone off the deep end. Though, if there's a silver lining to this, at least you're getting to see Contessa drop her facade for more than a split-second in complete bewilderment.
"... I... don't know what you're talking about," she finally manages, eyes quickly narrowing in suspicion. "The Tale of the Five Maidens was a story in my village when I was a child."
Drawing back slightly, the glamorous scorpion pauses as he seems to come back to himself, then starts fidgeting with his claws.
"A-ah, I see. Of course, Miss Contessa, I apologize for the implication. Would it be possible for me to get a copy of that story?"
Her eyes flicker to yours, the message clear.
Your own gaze drifts to the restrained, muted, and thoroughly confused Shatterbird, then down back to your own hands again…
Sighing, you look up and nod. Fine. I'll try it.
Contessa looks back down to Lord Grasp and nods thoughtfully.
"It can be arranged."
***
Your consent obtained, Contessa only takes a moment to stride over to Shatterbird, press a button on her neck restraints to put her back into stasis, and then walk back out lead you on. You were worried for a split-second, there, that she wanted you to use the Doom Spike now, when all your charms are still unconfigured...
The scowl she gives you as she presses the stasis button on Shatterbird's restraints succinctly communicates the idea that No, that would be dumb. We are not dumb.
There's also the small matter that there isn't enough time for you to even try anything; between your back-and-forth and Lord Grasp's strange bout of confusion, you've eaten up all the time until you need to pick up Taylor from Philadelphia. Instead of summoning another door-like portal in the middle of the hallway to do so, however, Contessa instead leads your group down the sterile, blank-seeming hallway for a while longer, then opens up another hidden room on the left.
As the door in the wall slides to the side, it reveals a large, well-lit meeting room filled with a 'futuristic' white table and matching chairs. Sitting down at the far side of the table is a dark-skinned woman with thin glasses, a super-serious ponytail, and an old-school lab coat over a frumpy blue sweater.
In front of her is a small stack of manilla portfolios, upon which her hands are clasped expectantly as she meets your gaze… then looks to the woman in the suit.
"There were complications, but we have a tentative agreement," Contessa states in English after nodding succinctly, then continues walking calmly into the room to stand by the scientist's side.
"I see," the darker-skinned woman hums, worn expression turning down further as her eyes settle back on you and Lord Grasp. Unlike Contessa, you can tell she's only looking vaguely in your direction through the veil around your recliner instead of looking exactly to where your eyes are.
"I understand that all of this-," she continues in her stern voice, gesturing with a small sweep of her right hand to the folders and the facility in general, "is coming at a time when you want only to rest and recover, and that our method of contacting you and making our case was particularly shocking. Enduring Order Administrator has asked for the opportunity to explain things to you and First Prayer of Perfection before we begin working together in earnest, but for now accept our condolences for the loss of your sister and our sympathies for the turmoil you are facing now."
While the statements themselves are appreciated… you can't help but wince a bit; her delivery seems genuine, but in the sense of someone who's forgotten what actual sympathy is and thus is reciting a line that they expect will convey the overall sentiment.
"O-oh..." you blink, brushing aside the veil as you descend from Lord Grasp's back - taking his offered claw to help you to the floor. Looking back to her, you meet her hard gaze and offer a tentative, polite bow despite the awkwardness of her statement. "... Thank you, Miss...?"
"Doctor Mother. Or simply, 'Doctor' if you wish," she responds, re-adjusting her glasses slightly with an absent gesture before her gaze flickers to Lord Grasp. "I do not speak Old Realm, unfortunately, though I possess an earpiece," using the same hand, she taps a small piece of plastic hidden in her right ear, "that will translate it for me. Will Crushing Grasp require an English translator?"
You turn to your mechanical companion, frowning as he still seems to be focused on Contessa. "Lord Grasp, I think most of this next part will be in English. Do you want a translator like you had at the meeting last night?"
There is a moment's hesitation, enough that you realize that he may have only been half-paying attention since his earlier outburst.
"Hmm- ah! A translator, Warden? Ah…" he considers wistfully, gemstone eyes glittering as they focus on you, then Doctor Mother (not the worst cape name you've heard, but it's up there), then Contessa again. "Perhaps... not right now. I… believe I've been chasing ghosts as of late, so I will refrain from muddying the waters any further and stick to ensuring your physical safety. I trust you will keep me appraised of the major developments when time allows."
"Are-" you pause, placing a hand lightly on his right claw. "Are you okay?"
He bobs up and down in facsimile of a nod, reaching over with his left claw to pat the hand you have on his right. "I am meant to be the background for heroism, my dear. Do not fret - I will be here if you require counsel or support."
His tone is still missing a bit of his normal enthusiasm, but you can tell the sentiment is there. Smiling, you nod and pat his claw in a silent message: Let's talk later. At his bob and hum of assent, you turn back to the two Cauldron capes - noticing that they've been watching your exchange with veiled interest.
As soon as Contessa notices that your conversation is concluded, however, her brow furrows for a moment before she turns to the wall on her left and calls out in English.
"Door, Weaver."
As the rectangular portal opens along the wall, you consider her body language and tone. If she's as powerful as Eidolon and the Fairy Queen, does that mean she has lots of different powers, too? It doesn't… seem like she's the one making them, but her complete confidence implies that she understands exactly how the portal system works and where it will open up - even when her command is super vague. Maybe some kind of tinkertech, and she's just triggering pre-programmed commands?
Actually… they've been answering your questions so far, so maybe you should just ask-?
From your position at the table, you can only see a small slice of - what you presume is - Taylor's small bedroom: a simple white box that looks a lot like your own "Containment" room in New York. Just as you're thinking that, however, Taylor's dark form steps into view - her grey jumpsuit unfolding along her glowing body through the use of her storage charm - and immediately swivels her head to focus on you.
Oddly, the most prominent thing you notice is that all the extra "eyes" on her forehead look… closed? Turned off?
"Saki!" she exclaims, a mixture of surprise and relief bringing a smile to her face as she strides through the portal with arms raised, immediately scooping you up in a hug. "You're here! You're okay! Everyone was so worried about you when you disappeared like that!"
You return the hug, because hugs always help and her glowing body is actually pretty comfy because of that heat she's radiating. Still, you can't help but sigh into her shoulder when you hear that.
"Ooh-oh! H-hey, Taylor," you smile awkwardly as you pull away. "Sorry about that. I just-"
Oh. Right. You remember why you… freaked out. Left behind a Meat Lover's Pizza, even.
Snapping your mouth shut, you narrow your eyes and glare at Doctor Mother and Contessa.
"We have thirty minutes until we need to get Prayer, right?"
The darker-skinned woman at the table raises her eyebrow slightly in confusion, while Contessa's own expression blanks out for a split-second before she nods.
"Okay," you grunt, bringing your glare back at Taylor. "We have some stuff to talk about. We'll be right back."
Taylor's eyes go wide for a moment, but she catches on quickly enough. "R-right," she sighs, her whole body sagging as she winces. "Sorry. Let me just-"
The light sheen over her body cuts out, and with her this close you can hear the background static-like effect fizzle away as she disables her own Industrial Survival Frame.
With a twist and a pull, there's a light sound of glass shattering and Taylor's form winks out of existence with a monochromatic, fractal flare of your power.
As you climb back aboard Lord Grasp, there's an awkward silence from the Cauldron delegation for a moment - broken only when Doctor Mother clears her throat as you finally settle into your recliner.
"Was that necessary?"
Narrowing your eyes, you cross your arms under your chest.
"It's not petty!" you pout, slowly spinning up the transport so that you don't go flying out the portal on the other end.
"It's called 'understandable vengeance'!"
***
Having taken your time, you and Lord Grasp are only casually shoved through the portal in your Safe Space.
Judging by how Taylor's still brushing herself off a good forty feet away, she must have gotten a good roll going to break her fall.
"Okay," she sighs, chagrined, as the two of you leisurely float over to her. "I... guess I deserved that."
You don't respond immediately, letting her stew a bit as you glare at her from behind your litter's veil. Eventually, just as she's about to open her mouth again, you pat the left armrest in your recliner and begin climbing down.
"Go ahead and stretch out, Lord Grasp," you offer weakly, the remembered anger starting to burn away again as you stare Taylor down - your confidence leaking away alongside it, causing all sorts of other worries to start creeping into your mind.
Actually, now that you think about it…
"Wait," you turn back to the still-floating Lord Grasp, just as your feet hit the black stone-like floor of your Safe Space. "Do you have any food in your pagoda form?"
"Hmm," he ponders aloud, bringing a claw to his twitching golden mandibles. "Let me-... ah… well, that depends: do you consider alcohol 'food'?"
"No."/"No."
You swivel your glare from Lord Grasp to Taylor, who is matching your expression. Thankfully, she has the decency to take a step back and raise her hands in capitulation. Looking back to your companion, he is raising a claw as if to try to make a counter-argument.
"Don't be so… hasty…" he trails back, shrinking slightly under your glare before clearing his throat into a claw again. "Hem hem. Well, yes. Quite. I suppose it's a bit early for that - don't want to form bad habits, after all. To answer your question, then… No, Warden. It looks as if most of my perishables were removed during the renovation."
You raise your right hand, index finger extended to Taylor as she begins to open her mouth, but otherwise keep talking to your mechanical familiar.
"That's alright, Lord Grasp," you grumble, noticing the amused glint in his eyes but ignoring it because you need to stay angry! Remember: Taylor is keeping Bonesaw around! "I'll just be hurt and hungry."
"Ah," he sighs, humor fading his tone and gemstone gaze as he starts to float away to get enough space to unfold. "Very well, then. Just a moment."
True to his word, once he takes up a position roughly fifty feet away, his body practically explodes with a flurry of folding metal panels, wooden beams, and stone supports, unfolding to his full, majestic full size in less than a dozen seconds. This is actually the first time you've actually seen the process, you realize, and among the dozens of bizarre facets of the unfolding, one curious thought rises above all the others:
All the parts and pieces you could see only looked like the outside structure. Where do the insides come from?
Mmm… maybe you're not going to think too hard on that. You have better things to do than count ceiling tiles on a building that can alter itself in order to look as gaudy as possible at any given moment.
"Alright," you grumble again, flicking your hand in a beckoning motion at Taylor while striding into Lord Grasp's opening front gates. "Let's go."
***
Apparently Lord Grasp does have something other than alcohol in his stores: tea.
Kind of.
He says he can call up "memories" of some things that resonated with him strongly enough to leave an impression as "part of himself" - which is what most of the dresses in his wardrobes are, apparently - but since they're basically extensions of his ability to change his shape, they won't last more than a few hours, or won't actually provide sustenance if it's food or drink.
You're trying very hard not to think about whether the dresses he's outfitted with you so far were "memories" or actual dresses, because you're busy trying to focus on Taylor. You have so many other things going on in your head right now…
… but then you remember Bonesaw, and that cold, dirty feeling pushes out everything else again.
Ugh. And you were just starting to like this "memory tea."
"I'm sorry, Saki," Taylor sighs, taking your twisting expression as a sign to finally break the silence that's filled the decadent sitting room. She places her own cup down on the small table between you, shifting in her seiza uncomfortably. "I didn't… I wanted to say something when you first came through, but with everything else going on…"
You bring the cup down from your mouth with both hands, staring evenly. "You're not sorry about keeping her."
After everything she did.
Taylor flinches, hard. She looks… shamed, at least… but shamed because she's been caught, or because she is actually regretting betraying you, Sakura, Missy, and the rest of her uncountable victims?
You look down into your own reflection in the tea.
"I'm just…" tired, confused, hurt, "... I don't-… I don't get it. Can't you just… ship her off to one of those rehab places?"
"That's… actually was my plan at the start," she grunts, and you see her frown out of the corner of your eye before leaning forward on one elbow, hold her head up with a few fingers on her forehead, and close her eyes. "After I got back from the Cradle, things just… went crazy."
You look up again, figuring that she can still probably see you with all those crazy vision charms she has.
"... What happened?" you wonder aloud, curiosity winning out over frustration, though that's a big part of what you're feeling, too. "I've been waiting to let you explain, so… explain."
Taylor opens her mouth briefly, then pauses for a moment - her eyes flipping open as if she just had an idea - before shaking her head. "Huh. Well, there's another use for Personality Override Spike when you get it configured: I could just show you my memories."
You recoil, face twisting in discomfort. "W-what?! Why you want to use… that?"
Lifting up, Taylor gives you a tired look and shakes her head.
"Because even after all the times I've thought about it, all the times I've told it, a lot of it still doesn't make sense," she sighs, gaze growing distant for a moment before refocusing on you. "We don't have much time before we need to get Prayer, so I'll try to keep things short, okay? Save any questions for the end?"
You open your mouth, more in disappointment that you're still not going to learn everything yet, but… well, you'll try to keep an open mind. You owe her that much.
"Sure," you nod, swallowing heavily as just thinking about it makes you tremble. "Start… start from after we got… you know."
Taylor nods, her expression growing soft as she spreads out her obsidian, menacing gauntlets on the table to gaze at them distantly.
"I was deep in the Tinkertech Labs on the Island when it all started…"
***
"... but because I'd somehow pushed my soul past the breaking point and come out on top, when I managed to start pulling myself back together I'd actually… well, it sounds kinda dumb but the technical explanation is super complicated: I leveled up my soul, basically. Except Alchemicals need a whole bunch of extra time, work, and meditation to do it normally... which we didn't have the time to do… so I came out looking like this, because my heart's overclocked."
Gesturing with her dark gauntlets to her neck and chest, Taylor hoarsely sighs in frustration at the glowing arteries and veins pulsing under her graphite-like clay skin - smiling weakly despite the silver tears that have worked themselves down her cheeks through the recounting.
You just… weakly nod, and scribble a little note of 'level up?' on the paper Taylor gave you once she realized you were accumulating more questions during her storytelling than you might be able to remember at once. Even still, you're not writing everything down...
It's hard to put pen to paper when you're just barely keeping it together yourself.
Bonesaw did something to your brain to remember what everything looked like when you had all those eyes in your head, along with all the other remote controls to turn you into a… twisted, monstrous get-away device... but… near the end, everything was stopping and starting and stopping and starting from being frozen in time by Clockblocker, your implants failing, and your own consciousness fading from the blood loss.
You didn't know just how close you and Sakura had been.
Taylor didn't just rescue you from the Nine - she pulled bombs out you. Bombs that you didn't even know about, that were intended to kill her and all the other heroes around you.
She took a dangerous risk trying to exalt both you and Sakura - something that should have failed utterly and endangered everything - because there would have been no other way to save the two of you.
But she trusted in Autochthon to find a way... and that the two of you to prove yourselves worthy enough.
You don't feel very worthy right now.
You can't-... you're so-...
...
Breathe. Calm.
Exhaling and opening your eyes again, you realize that you were just hindering yourself by so desperately trying not to rely on Clarity to help you deal with the world-shattering revelations you're being bombarded with today. Taylor's presentation even explained that Clarity was supposed to be a support measure, helping an Alchemical deal with problems that would normally break minds and souls.
You'd thought it was just an excuse… or a crutch that you shouldn't rely on if you wanted to get tougher yourself… but isn't that just throwing away a tool that Autochthon gave you specifically for cases like this?
You're still not going to walk around without clothes on. That will never make sense.
Hmm. Possible prank potential and shipping progression idea, but you need to confirm something first.
You scribble down another question for later: 'no disguise = can't hide nibbly bits?'
Unlike all the other times you've written something down, Taylor falters, blinks, then clears her throat awkwardly before rallying on with her explanation of her subsequent quarantine with Bonesaw and Iris.
The glowing blood seeping to her cheeks makes her blush painfully obvious. You cross out the question, since it's clearly confirmed.
Drat. You didn't have a problem setting up some of her previous clothing failures because it wasn't actually revealing any (to quote Taylor herself) "anatomical details." You're going to have to change strategies now, but you table it for later since Taylor is starting to wrap up her explanation.
"...helping the PRT therapists that come through every day, while the Youth Guard lawyers are handling the appeal for her Kill Order," she winces, blush fading and resigned exhaustion setting in again. "Though that's all going to be complicated by the fact that she helped Iris design a soulgem implanter over the last week, then used herself as the first trial case before I could stop her."
You blink, not even able to figure out what to write because of the sudden blank that is your brain at the moment. It is a clear blank, not an angry or panicked or distraught blank... but just… what?
Taylor nods at your gobsmacked expression and frowns absently. "Iris had a bunch of… human souls are broken into two parts: Hun and Po. He had a huge storage of blank Hun souls that he put into a hundred soulgems, and the implanter that they made uses the process Autochthon designed to… well, flash-forge a Po soul from a normal person's brain, so he could convert us. After all the screaming and bleeding is done - something that Riley actually helped coach Iris towards a way to make not as bad, apparently - the person is fully converted into essence physics, with a soul and everything. They just... also have a soulgem in their forehead now."
Tapping the two-inch diameter white diamond in her forehead, Taylor shakes her head.
"The good news is that it apparently lets a parahuman completely block their power out if they deliberately will it to shut up. The bad news is that they'll occasionally have vague nightmares for the rest of their life because it hurts so badly, and the PRT won't let me use it on anyone else until it's clear Riley isn't," she holds up her fingers in air quotes, "'being mind-controlled by the gem.'"
You resist the urge to touch the similarly-shaped, dark-red diamond in your own forehead, settling on a nod of understanding instead.
"Now with Iris stuck charging up at the Cradle, I'm going to need a new way to keep her busy in between the therapy sessions," she groans, "and with your vision showing that we have to start really pushing to get the Assembly finished, I'm not sure I'm going to be able to watch over her in quarantine nearly as much. Whiiich… is a problem."
She sags even further, tilting her head and eyes up to meet your own blank gaze with a resigned grimace.
"Not just for all the reasons you're thinking; the therapists are pretty sure that because I've basically been stepping in when the two of them were getting carried away last week, I'm imprinting as her new mother-figure by default."
…
Breathe. Calm.
You open your eyes again to notice that Taylor is scrutinizing you with considerably more trepidation now, though after a moment she manages a weak half-smile.
"So… that's the abridged version. We… have about…" she raises her left forearm and a watch extrudes itself around it after only a few seconds. When its digital face blinks on, she winces and looks back to you. "... three minutes before we have to go. Any quick questions?"
Your eyes graze over the sixteen questions you managed to jot down. Mostly emotional reactions.
Looking back up, you meet her gaze evenly.
"How much does Prayer know?"
Taylor blinks, lips twitching downward in a manner that suggests concern.
"I almost always have an open line into the headset she wears in her helmet, and I've been running everything I've been doing through her… except the Cauldron and Scion parts. She… still has reservations about Riley and Accord, but she's agreed that they're both too valuable to the mission to throw away right now."
Distantly, you understand that you would feel some kind of frustration at Prayer for this as well, but even without Clarity the rationale would eventually get through - it would just take much, much longer.
Taylor is not dumb. She has clearly cared deeply that you would perceive these decisions as betrayals.
Because they are.
There is an excellent cape law comedy that you and your family watched together on Friday nights, after your parents got home. In one episode, a hysterical mother pleads to the police about why she killed her parahuman daughter before the girl could turn to a life of crime. To which one of the detectives glumly replied:
"Cool motive. Still murder."
But you have read enough terrible fantasy and sci-fi books, watched enough cape dramas, and written enough smutty anti-hero slashfic to know that intent, in the end, makes the difference between forgivable and unforgivable.
You suspect you are better at detecting lies now than you ever were before, and Taylor has always been a bad liar anyway.
She has been forced, repeatedly, into making the best out of horrible situations. In her place, you have no illusions that you would have broken down completely. But… that is her role, and it is why she is the leader of your Assembly.
…
"... you're going to need to grow up."
...
You have a new question, one not on your list.
Tilting your head slightly to the right, you consider the young woman before you.
"What else would you have me do?"
Judging by the moment's hesitation you may have been a bit too vague. Also, you are not very good at innuendo while under Clarity - another reason to use it sparingly.
"I trust you," you straighten up, drawing yourself into a formal seiza position, "but I will never forget what she did to Sakura and me. I do not want to interact with her, and I would like to limit my interaction with Cauldron. Because they are creepy."
Casting your eyes down in a sign of deference, you bow slightly and speak with a softer tone to cover your remaining nervousness.
"I will if you need me to, but... are there other things that I can do instead? Please?"
You can see Taylor shifting uncomfortably, and in the silence the light clatter of soulsteel as she fidgets with her hands on the table is easier to hear.
"I… Saki, I-"
Her voice is wavering in a way that makes you hopeful, but you decide to drive it home - and make her believe more strongly in the decision herself - by looking up and meeting her eyes.
"Please?"
Just as the strategy worked for Lantressa in the final chapters of Broken Hearts, Sundered Battlements, Taylor holds only for a moment before looking away with a sigh and nodding.
Yes, that might be a good way to go about this. The heroines always get their way in your books, after all, and it is much easier to just... act like they do. You even have the ability to alter yourself so you can adapt to their specific... techniques.
There is nothing that can go wrong with this plan.
"Alright, Saki," she eventually agrees aloud, wearily climbing to her feet with more grace than you can muster on purpose. "I… I'll need to talk with Glenn some more, but let's just get things sorted out with Prayer first - she might have some ideas after her travels from last week, too."
"Thank you, Taylor," you bow, deeply, in earnest gratitude before rising on your own - slipping your list of questions into your sleeves with a sleight of hand, like that stealthy diplomat in A King's Booty always did with secret documents.
You'd known it from the start, but now it's all so clear:
Smut is Love. Smut is Life.
***
Even if you plan on returning immediately to your Safe Place with Prayer in tow, Lord Grasp insists upon shifting back down to his car-sized proportions and returning to Cauldron's base with you.
"Just because I am a fortified emplacement does not mean I am slothful, Warden."
You appreciate the gesture, and are surprised when he reveals that his carriage actually can fit more than just you; even if the veil-enclosed space appears to be less than four feet long, three feet wide, and four feet high…
"I am the pinnacle of battlefront housing and transport! Shelter for an entire Circle of the Exalted Host! I am not a 'clown car,' whatever that is!"
You nod in understanding as he rants about your observation while the three of you pass through the portal. Judging by the stone-faced blinks from Doctor Mother and Contessa they only hear the last half of his complaint, but remain silent until both you and Taylor have re-emerged from Lord Grasp's carriage.
Doctor Mother adjusts her glasses and looks to Taylor with a raised eyebrow, then slides the stack of three thick portfolios across the table to her. "Any concerns?"
"Some, but they can wait," she nods, absently smoothing out the wrinkles in her grey - spidersilk, you realize now - jumpsuit with one hand, while absorbing the three manilla folders with the other. When done with both, she starts walking around the table towards the far wall near Contessa; turning her head to look again at the professionally-suited woman, she raises an eyebrow. "It's been ten hours. Any difference from before?"
"A linear increase in fatigue generation, an exponential increase in effectiveness," Contessa nods curtly, her eyes remaining fixed on the wall where the last portal was opened. "Withdraw it at 11:43 AM."
Taylor hums, a thoughtful expression on her face before she nods in return before turning to watch where Contessa is looking.
Frowning in thought yourself, you try to make sense of-... wait.
"You have Taylor's Thinker boost?"
Contessa nods but doesn't look your way, while Taylor herself winces and meets your concerned gaze.
"It was the cost of getting this meeting together."
Blinking, you turn to look at Contessa again. Yes, Taylor's explanation mentioned that Cauldron needed Taylor's boost to help them plan around all the problems that essence is introducing into their plans against Scion, but…
Well, it means that when Contessa was talking to you earlier, her power - whatever it is - was being multiplied. You've seen with the other Wards that some powers benefit far more than others - Vista and Kid Win got huge boosts, Broadcast and Clockblocker not nearly as much, for example. Sakura and you barely got any boost, just a little increase in the speed and capacity of your transport.
If Cauldron is willing to let Taylor arrange secret meetings in their base with their multi-dimensional teleport tech in exchange for only half a day's worth of her boost...
Does Taylor look so calm because she realizes you probably don't even have a chance in a fight if Cauldron actually wanted you dead? She'd mentioned that Cauldron probably thinks that Autochthon is actually another Entity…
Rather than panic, you fall back into your newest strategy: who would be best here? Pyrrhia from Flames of Passion? No, too punchy. Kendra from A Slave To Lust? Mmm… you're not comfortable acting like a too-sly slave around Cauldron, for some reason. Actually, this feels like a good time to act like Loom! She and Prayer are friends, right?
The version from that Loom/Chevalier lemon-fic Fate of My Heart, that is; you don't know the real-life version well enough to mimic her in a situation this serious.
Just as you start to set your shoulders back and adopt the body language of a "gracious, effortless, wise beauty, with a vision of the future as bountiful as her chest" (it got better later on when the writer found an editor), the rectangular portal slides open silently on the wall in front of you.
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that Contessa steps just outside of the portal's field of view as it opens - leaving only you and Taylor immediately in front of it.
In her moderately-furnished guest room, First Prayer of Perfection snaps her head up in alarm and assumes a defensive posture with arms extended - her armor now only a thin layer of crystal on her body, instead of the huge, smooth slabs you've seen her encased within before. From the portal's positioning… it almost looks like it opened in place of a doorway? Did Contessa open the portal just as she was heading into the bathroom?
Better than opening it in the bathroom, at least. That would be rude.
"It's alright, Prayer, it's me," Taylor hastily explains, holding up her hands in calming gesture. "We don't have much time, and this is part of why I told you that I had things I needed to explain to you in private."
Prayer's normally-stoic expression is showing far more uncertainty than you've seen before, but when she looks at you, you can tell whatever thoughts she was forming come to a halt.
Is that… a good thing? Maybe you should say something? Loom is supposed to be enigmatic and mysterious, so…
"Clarity," you breathe, smiling as if you have just imparted the secret wisdom of the world.
…
Everyone's looking at you strangely now. Too much?
"Warden," you hear Contessa whisper, just loud enough for you to hear. "Kimiko from Two Sizes Too Big."
… that is… just plain unfair. You haven't even told anyone what you're doing yet! And Kimiko is basically just you but prettier-... oh.
"A-ah," you stutter, crossing your arms and sulking while giving Contessa the stink-eye. You can even feel the Clarity draining away as shame starts to bubble up into your mind. "Sorry. I… thought that would work."
Taylor leans slightly away from you in order to look at you fully with an incredulous expression. "What was- what did you just do?"
"I…" you draw out, glancing nervously at Taylor and Prayer, "... may have been... trying to act like people from stories I've read? Since they're better at this than me?"
A flicker of confusion is quickly overcome by paling horror as her glowing blood dims almost completely. "Saki. No. Please no."
Contessa, blank-faced, gives you a thumbs-up from the sideline.
"I saw that! No!" Taylor spins around, pointing and glaring at the overly-serious woman. Contessa gives her a look that plainly communicates that she expected her to.
"I am convinced," Prayer nods, then ducks through the portal while sighing. "What is the reason for-"
As she stands up fully within the room, Prayer freezes - her eyes going wide as they flicker from Contessa at her side to Doctor Mother just a few feet away at the table. Behind her, the portal slides closed silently.
"Wait!" Taylor blurts out again, all semblance of humor falling away as she steps up to the massive cerulean woman and puts a black gauntlet on her upper right arm. "I know this looks bad! Just let me-"
Background Charm, activate!
The world around the three of you slides into a blurry greyscale - like in movies and TV shows when they try to show that time is moving slowly - obscuring the forms of the Cauldron capes just enough to be disorienting. Your charm doesn't actually slow time, and you can practically feel Contessa and Doctor Mother both flinch and look around warily, but you're more focused on how Prayer immediately stops looking like she's about to throw Taylor aside and start beating answers out of the older black woman.
"Safe Space!" you whisper hurriedly in Old Realm, poking both Taylor and Prayer in their arms. "Meeting!"
Both of them blink, though Taylor is far quicker on the uptake and nods emphatically while motioning Prayer towards the silently-observing Lord Grasp by your side. "R-Right! Lord Grasp, can you make room for all three of us?"
The opulent mecha-scorpion waves aside the carriage veil with a flourish of his large, golden-sheathed claw, then bows to the side to present easier access for Prayer to climb inside. "But of course, Administrator," he fawns, then winks with a glint of his eight eyes. "First Prayer of Perfection, do not be afraid; I am more than capable of handling your size."
As the large blue woman stares down your companion incredulously, you nod sagely and bring a hand to your mouth to hide your smile. "Oh, yes. He's got plenty of equipment to handle all three of us."
… aaand in she goes, quickly enough that you almost miss the darkening blue of her blush. Taylor's own glowing blush is much easier to make out as she scrambles inside immediately afterwards, groaning in dismay as she shoots you an offended glare.
Just as you start to climb inside yourself, you dismiss your Background Charm and notice Doctor Mother giving you a flat expression before she takes her glasses off to clean them. Contessa just blinks at you, uncomprehending. It's almost like...
"You need boyfriends," you realize out loud.
Ignoring their frozen expressions, you nod to yourself as it suddenly all makes sense. Waving absently to them, you duck into Lord Grasp's carriage to be greeted by even more blank stares as the two other Alchemicals sit awkwardly on the mess of pillows arranged before you.
"What?" you mutter, while shattering reality to plunge your group into your private dimension.
"Maker give me strength," Prayer mutters closing her eyes and folding her hands in silent contemplation.
***
Though Prayer is only put off-guard by the initial bout of innuendo for a few moments, it's enough to at least get inside your Safe Space and allow Lord Grasp to set up again - the transition from car-sized mechanical scorpion to three-storey armored pagoda less dramatic when all you can see is your little carriage-space expand and unfold into the opulent sitting room around you.
Which explains why Lord Grasp usually has you get out and watch, you realize.
Still, even if the transition is fantastical in ways that Disney movies could only hope to achieve, Taylor manages to take charge of the discussion before Prayer can start drawing the wrong kind of conclusions. She even passes out the three densely-packed portfolios from Doctor Mother, using its charts, spreadsheets, and many, many photographs to lay out the problem at-hand:
Scion is the human-seeming avatar of a supermassive, worm-like 'Entity' that landed on some version of Earth in the 1970s, comprised of potentially hundreds of thousands of continent-to-planet-sized crystal/biological organ-machines that it discarded across other various uninhabited Earths. While Cauldron calls these machines 'agents', Taylor and Iris suspect that the Entities themselves call them 'shards' - explaining why Autochthon chose the names for Taylor and Prayer's (and likely your own) converted charms.
The "Golden Man" is actually one of two Entities, however; the second Entity crash-landed without distributing its shards properly, allowing a younger Cauldron to deal it a mortal blow before it could pull itself together. Though Cauldron hasn't provided all the information for how they did this, their quick action prevented the second Entity from properly recovering from the crash and establishing their original plan.
A plan which Taylor has more than Cauldron's own information to validate; her soul-journey during her confrontation with the Vision of Vengeance has allowed her and her own Shard of Perfect Administration charm to synchronize, and the (sentient!) charm has given her glimpses of stored memories from previous races that the Entities have encountered…
... encountered and harvested.
Because like out of some old horror movie, it turns out that horrific aliens from outer space want to experiment on Humanity for a while, then blow up everyone - and every Earth - to propel them onwards to their next meal.
… and no, while it sounds like a good movie plot, Taylor checked and didn't find any movies or books that actually used this. She did notice a trend that alien-themed movies took a big nosedive in popularity ever since Scion showed up and have never recovered, which got her on a long paranoid-sounding tangent about the Simurgh that you had to stop when she brought up radio-reflective dental implants in the movie industry.
Maybe… maybe having her Thinker boost on all the time while she's in quarantine might not be a good idea. You really need to get her together with someone before she ends up like Cauldron - completely forgetting what it's like to be a normal human.
On the other hand… is that the right thing to do with the Endbringers focusing on your Assembly, Scion going to blow up the world, and Autochthon running out of power? Even putting aside the time commitment - because Taylor would probably figure out how to multitask having a boyfriend, too - would anyone even be able to keep up with everything going on right now? Probably not.
And her sixteenth birthday is in two months, so you can't even get a senior or college hunk of beef to help her out! Legally, that is. Actually… can Alchemicals even…?
… something to figure out later.
You're still able to focus on the End of the World explanation going on, but you've largely stuck to silent nods of understanding or sympathetic looks while Taylor fills in the details and points to all the evidence that Cauldron has put together in the portfolios. A lot of these details are awful, especially the thirty-something years they've put into creating a way to use all of the second Entity's leftover shards; since the Entity didn't have the time to set them up properly, they don't have the normal 'restrictions' that would limit their effectiveness if turned against Scion.
Case in point: Cauldron created Alexandria, Eidolon, Legend, and Hero.
It takes a few minutes for you and Prayer both to get over that shock.
Of course, no restrictions means that they tend to kill or horribly mutate the person that gets the power - a "fake trigger," caused when the person drinks (or is injected with) a weird liquid that Cauldron secretly sells… for millions of dollars! Of course, they only sell the "vials" they've tested before…
Case 53s.
People from alternate Earths that would have died if Cauldron didn't grab them and heal them up, but a good percentage of the time the experimental vial winds up killing them anyway. Apparently they've found more success mixing in shapeshifting shards with the desired power? Taylor looks really excited by some of the new information in this portfolio that talks about how the vials work, but you cut her off to focus on the horrible crimes against humanity.
Because Cauldron has hundreds of people still locked up in the bases - many completely inhuman, but a number of them barely recognizable as mutated at all. Worse, this number was apparently much higher up until two years ago when the Simurgh made a dimensional portal during her attack on Madison, Wisconsin and sucked out nearly half of Cauldron's prisoners…
There'd been all sorts of speculations and rumors about the "monster army" that the Simurgh had summoned and left behind in Madison. Does this mean that the Simurgh tried to foil Cauldron's plan of building up a reserve of… well, warm bodies to just throw at Scion when the time comes to fight him? Did she take away enough to make the plan no longer worthwhile?
That's… a rabbit hole you're going to leave for Taylor and Cauldron to figure out. You just know that it's awful and you want zero part of it if at all possible. Taylor, unsurprisingly, voices interest in getting her hands on some of the vials to see if she can figure anything out from them - especially when Iris finishes whatever he's doing, since he had mentioned to Taylor about having learned a lot about shards and their connections to humans while he was being dragged around by the Slaughterhouse Nine.
Enough, apparently, to rip Jack Slash's power right out of his head in the most agonizing way possible. Both Taylor and Prayer say it was disturbing, but you're just satisfied that he got what was coming to him.
But Prayer's response to Taylor's Case 53 explanation is… surprising. You aren't entirely sure what you are expecting, since falling deeper and deeper into Clarity the longer this explanation goes on means she probably isn't going to blow up in anger about it, but you at least figured that she would just tell Taylor to reign Cauldron in… or reign Taylor in.
"Unawakened heroes. Second chances," she intones gravely, staring at pictures of some of the less-drastically-altered experiment results. Her armor fully absorbed, she sits cross-legged at her side of the low table, palms down next to the documents. "Bartered and sold. Wasted."
You look to Taylor, since this sounds like she's talking from experience. Taylor nods, chagrined.
"Loom bought her, Bulldozer, and the two other Case 53s that they appeared with originally."
"Oh," you breathe, trying hard not to look embarrassed about your earlier imitation attempt.
Right. No more trying to act like real people.
Turning to Prayer, you offer a soft frown. "Does… Loom know that you remember?"
Prayer looks up to you, gaze unreadable. "The False Prophet fled to San Francisco."
"Loom transferred last week," Taylor sags, absently rustling through some of the more technical papers from the portfolio while gesturing to her neck and face. "Officially, it was because long-term, macro-scale pre-cog is next to useless in Philadelphia as long as I'm like this. Given that she left town the moment that Prayer made her report to the PRT about recovering her memories..."
You wince, but Prayer just looks back at the photos before her.
"Will they accept my counsel?"
She blinks, her eyes flashing left to meet your equally-confused gaze for a bare second before looking back to Prayer. "Cauldron… well, I think they're mostly interested in how we can help them, so… maybe? What are you thinking?"
"Pariahs. Outcasts. The Unwanted, the Forgotten," she lists, resonant in tone but mechanical in delivery, as she turns her body fully to Taylor.
"Defiant and I triumphed in Antarctica. For our success, Legend spoke to me this morning of Leadership. A team of those unsuited for permanence," Prayer dictates solemnly, lifting her left hand and placing it atop the pile of photos.
"I have my recruits."
***
Prayer's declaration catches the both of you by surprise, but Taylor is - as usual - quick on the rebound, thinking through the potential avenues for how they might be able to convince Cauldron to effectively give up a small army of imprisoned mon-... victims.
Their appalling notes indicate that they largely consider their remaining Case 53s to be useless power-wise against Scion, but since the Golden Man appears to be noticeably uncomfortable and disgusted by Cauldron-created capes they hope that throwing a large group at him would be disorienting enough to open him up for a larger, coordinated attack by the actual fighters.
A plan that, Lord Grasp interjects, actually worked in the Primordial War against a Primordial named… uh…
"Then… what was her name?"
"She Who Lives In Her Name is…" Lord Grasp's admonishing voice drifts through the room, "... rather, was her name. You see-... no, wait, I apologize for the interruption. I simply meant to provide context, Administrator."
"That's fine, Lord Grasp," Taylor waves away absently, eyes trailing to the far wall where eight large gemstones have appeared over the closest doorway, arrayed in a familiar pattern. "How powerful were those 'raksha'? I know you haven't seen much in the way of parahuman combat, but if you were to put one against, say, Prayer...?"
The blue woman herself remains silent and mechanically still, only her eyes twitching to meet the gaze of the gemstones at the question.
"Ah…" he pauses, voice uncharacteristically uncertain, "I... do not mean to disparage First Prayer of Perfection's martial prowess, but… a single potent Fae was often the match of a full Exalted Circle… that had dedicated themselves towards facing such foes."
"Fae?" Taylor blinks, beating you to the question just as you open your mouth. Her brow furrows as you can see the eight spider legs along her temples twitch as her mind works. "There were Faeries in Creation? Creatures with pointed ears, liked to trap people in riddles and geases?"
A slight tremor runs through the room, as if the entire structure has shifted nervously.
"Administrator… you're implying that you have heard of these creatures before, but I can scarcely believe that these humans in this world would have the strength to stand against even a single unleashed raksha, let alone the hordes that would inevitably spawn from a patch of chaotic Wyld."
"No… I think this is just another case of Earth having a number of fantasies and stories that match to what existed in Creation. It's…" she shakes her head, grimacing, "something that Iris was starting to look into before he changed plans. Anyway-"
Taylor turns back to the table, tapping the pile of papers in front of her with an index claw while nodding to Prayer.
"Yes, Cauldron's plan has some merit but I think you have the right idea Prayer - I just see a few issues: they're going to want to mind-wipe them before release, they'll need to sort through who they can and can't give us, and Cauldron will have to stage some sort of 'event' to explain the appearance of a huge group of Case 53s."
Prayer's purple eyes bore into Taylor's own golden, glowing gaze, occasionally twitching a few times in ways that you suspect indicate that she is stopping herself from saying something. Eventually, she closes her eyes briefly and nods in apparent defeat.
"The devils demand their due in blood."
Taylor winces, but sags in acknowledgement. "Yeah, they're going to want you to do things for them in return. I'll see if I can trade in some of the… favors I've earned for giving them Manton, Shatterbird, and Mannequin, but I get the feeling they'll treat this as a whole different exchange."
"I…" you pause, fidgeting your hands under the table, before looking back up to Taylor and Prayer. "They want my help with my... Doom Spike, so maybe I could say that's what I want in return? Contessa said I'd be saving them a lot of time if it works, so…?"
Prayer regards you evenly, though she's tough to figure out so deep in Clarity. Eventually, she nods slowly in what seems like acceptance.
"Your charity is welcome."
There's a flicker of relief from Taylor as she sighs - either from you shouldering the cost or just that Prayer didn't decide to turn down either of your offers.
"Okay," she rallies, leaning forward, clasping her gauntlets together with her elbows on the table. "So, we need to figure out how we're going to move forward from here. Autochthon gave us a warning to hurry up, so I feel that anything else is secondary to finishing the Assembly right now - especially since having a full Assembly will hopefully mean we'll have more ways to figure out how to deal with our larger problems. Does that sound right to you two?"
You hum, bobbing your head in agreement, while Prayer just nods with wordless grunt of assent.
Taylor meets both of your gazes, then nods in return. "We have three more castes to fill: Jade, Moonsilver, and Orichalcum. Do you both remember how I described them before?"
"Mmm," you wonder aloud, inwardly grumbling about not having the notes that Sakura and you took of Taylor's presentation. How did Sakura and you sum them up again in your notes...? Oh, right- "Moonsilver are Aisha, Orichalcum are Legend, and Jade are Chevalier?"
"Legend is a Hero of the People," Prayer corrects, shaking her head mechanically. "Vision is demanded for a soul of gold, no matter the cost."
You don't remember Taylor phrasing it that… ruthlessly, but the way she's looking at Prayer with a suspicious eye makes you worried.
"I…" the graphite girl begins cautiously, sitting up straighter, "... didn't think you'd accept Accord."
"What?!" you blurt out, because what?! "Accord?! From Boston? The supervillain?"
Taylor winces and shrinks back slightly, though Prayer only turns her head enough to look you down for a moment before turning back.
"...only after scouring his soul for an ounce of deception."
"Why are we even talking about this? He's crazy!" you boggle, raising your hands up helplessly, "He's evil!"
Closing her eyes, Taylor exhales slowly through her nose and nods before swiveling her head to meet your gaze.
"First," she raises her right index finger from her clasped hands, "just after the Nine started their attack, Accord's gang got nearly wiped out by the Empire Eighty Eight and the Teeth because he'd lost a lot of his forces… helping me exalt Prayer. He came to help against the Nine, and I've convinced him to stay and help Camden rebuild in return for keeping an eye out for The Butcher when she shows up for him. Also…" she scowls, "Cauldron gave him a copy of my presentation, so he knows he's a good fit for Orichalcum."
You reel back a bit, frowning yourself at those revelations.
"Cauldron wants him on our Assembly? Even if he helped against the Nine, why would we even consider him?"
Taylor bobs her head side-to-side in uncertainty.
"I've done a bunch of scans on Accord, and from the way his brain swells it looks like his shard is pushing him constantly. I'm pretty sure he had a mild case of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder and a few signs of Antisocial Personality Disorder before he triggered… but his power took those and cranked them up to eleven. I… think he might be one of the best ways to prove if soulgems can help people with power-based intrusive thoughts, but it's possible that a lot of the impulses are just part of his brain now."
Okay… you think you understood most of that? Accord's power makes him crazy, and a soul might help him turn it off for a while? Maybe?
Glancing at Prayer's silent, judging form, you frown in concern. "What if it's not all his power, though? What if he's evil?"
Taylor opens her mouth to say something, but pauses for a moment before sighing again and shrugging and unclasping her hands to open them wide. "Getting a soul doesn't make you a different person, so… you're right. His attitude will probably still be mostly the same afterwards, he'll just more able to fend off his power's urges."
This sounds… eerily familiar to Cauldron's earlier requests of you.
"Should... I try to fix him?"
Again Taylor glances at Prayer, but this time the cerulean juggernaut mechanically shakes her head side-to-side once.
"I'd… thought about it," Taylor admits, leaning back and propping herself up on the table with her right elbow. "Not just for Accord, but if it really did help people get over their worst issues… it'd open up conversion candidates that otherwise would be-..."
She blinks, noticing your own wide eyes and Prayer's darkened scowl.
"Wait, that came out wrong," she groans, covering her face with her left hand for a moment before dragging it down with a sigh. "I meant more of a way to help people that already wanted to join us but we didn't want... because something was wrong with them."
"If I may, Administrator?" Lord Grasp's baritone cuts in, pulsing through the furnishings. Both Taylor and you sit up a bit at the interjection, while Prayer merely blinks.
Taylor turns, eyeing the gems in the doorway again.
"Yes, Lord Grasp?"
"While the Great Maker's overall design of your own Exaltations is baffling to me in many ways, it still appears to share most of the trappings to which I am accustomed," he muses grimly, gems sparkling in thought. "During the War, the power of the Exaltation was known to burn away any magical restraints upon, or alterations to, the Chosen's mind, body, and soul - almost always to the detriment of those that would have suborned the Chosen. Thus, I would hazard against altering the minds of any you would present to Autochthon - they will undoubtedly remember what you did to them."
"Restoring memories," Prayer nods, her crystalline voice seeming to echo with itself, "restoring the self."
"Right," Taylor hums, eyes looking down at the papers in front of her before sighing. "Yes, I thought that might be the case. Thank you, Lord Grasp."
The curtains over the doorway swish upwards in mimicry of a formal bow, to which Taylor nods in response before turning back to you.
"That still doesn't mean your… Spike can't be helpful, Saki; like Prayer mentioned, you can use it to look through their heads, double-checking for any problems with a candidate that we might have missed otherwise," she smiles, grinning wryly. "Prayer and I can be pretty good at figuring people out, but you can actually see how it all comes together in their heads."
You offer a weak smile in return, letting the relief of being useful override the gut-clenching worry about how invasive your charm really is. "O-okay."
"Power is not ill unless used so, Warden," Prayer intones, regarding you through lidded eyes. "Your reluctance proves the Great Maker was right to entrust you with such responsibility."
"...Oh."
You… hadn't really thought of it like that before - that Autochthon only gave you these awful charms because you would only use them when they were truly needed. From the almost-imperceptible flinch from Taylor, you guess she realizes that Prayer just implied that neither of them would have showed such restraint.
Which… well, Taylor… you could probably see, yeah, judging by how quick she was during testing to figure out ways it could be used helpfully. She wouldn't like it, but you've been getting the feeling these last few days that Taylor is dealing with so much... awful that she may be losing touch with what everyone else thinks is normal and... what is wrong.
It's clear she trusts Prayer, though, since her earlier remark about Accord meant that Taylor wasn't going to even consider him because Prayer wouldn't approve. Maybe you should work some more with Prayer after this, while on the side figuring out how to keep Taylor from going off the deep end? Prayer will probably need some help with her Case 53 recruits, at least, and since at least a few of them probably don't speak languages from Earth-Bet your Body Language charm might come in handy there…
It's also an excuse not to do modeling shows, so there's another plus.
"Right," Taylor huffs, clearing her throat after letting you… okay, you might have been brooding. Ugh. You can't let Sakura know. "Unfortunately, both Legend and Chevalier are off the table - Legend already turned us down, and Chevalier would at least require a lot of convincing, I think. No matter what, Accord will take some time to sort out. As for Aisha..."
Taylor trails off, mouth twisting in focused thought as she eyes you and Prayer with concern.
"Is something wrong with Aisha?" you wonder aloud, confusedly glancing between the others. "After what you said happened to her on the Island... and how she saved Bladedancer and Narwhal.. isn't she a good choice?"
Prayer's lips are drawn in a tight line as she nods, purple eyes overcast.
"Youth."
"You heard Costa-Brown during the meeting, Saki," Taylor sighs, shaking her head and leaning forward again on the table. "While that wouldn't stop me, choosing a Ward outside of a do-or-die situation is going to make my life - and the PRT's - much more difficult when the Youth Guard finds out. They didn't sue the PRT for you and Sakura because of… everything going on, but as much as I think Aisha fits?"
She opens her hands wide, grimacing.
"It's a matter of whether it's worth the suit and PR problems the Youth Guard will bring. Even if we get her brother's consent - he's her legal guardian now - and the suit gets thrown out eventually, the Youth Guard has a lot of PR power and things are already tense with Uriel and the Philadelphia PRT about my work hours and what's going to happen with you. I can deal with it all, but that's time and energy taking away from other things I'd rather be doing."
"Still…" she sighs, grimace twitching reluctantly, "it might be worth it. Aside from how useful an infiltrator would be right now - and with her power she'd be almost impossible to track - I'm worried that she's going to get into another situation like on the Island when one of us isn't around."
You can almost hear the gears in Prayer's head turning, causing one eyebrow to lift rigidly. "If we choose otherwise?"
"She'll hopefully stop throwing herself into danger if we pick a different Moonsilver, especially since I've already yelled at her to cut that out. Do you have someone in mind?"
A single, careful nod. "Miss Militia demonstrates adaptability, established cohesion with our Assembly. Willow… deserves consideration."
"Willow?" you blink, not having heard the name before. "Who are… they?"
Taylor hums in thought for a moment, nodding absently, before glancing your way with glowing, solid-gold eyes only marred by slight distortions where an iris and retina would be. "Willow is a new Case 53 that came with Bulldozer to help against the Nine. Striker/Thinker/Mover, she looks like a tree, can teleport through plants, sense people within a few hundred feet of her, and has a knock-out 'painkiller' touch. She's…" her mouth twists again into a grimace, "...really shy outside of fights, though."
She's like you.
You can't help but wince at Taylor's unspoken message, even if her tone is soft enough to convey the feeling that she isn't judging you for it. Knowing now about how Case 53s are picked up by Cauldron, the girl that Willow once was probably had a great deal in common with Old You.
Still… would you want another you on the team?
"I don't…" you try, giving Prayer an awkward, apologetic look. "If she's…" like me "... shy, then do we have time to help her? It's… not easy to adjust. And Cauldron..."
If you started as a Case 53? And then ended up with your charms?
You think Contessa would have waited for Taylor to explain things first. At least.
Judging by Taylor and Prayer's own frowns of thought, Willow is likely out of the running now. It feels… wrong to deny someone - someone like you - a chance so quickly, but… there's just so much to think about now! Your vision, Scion, Cauldron… it's not fair!
You thought becoming an Alchemical with Sakura would be great! You'd have secret meetings, plan out how to take down supervillains, help Philadelphia become super-awesome to make sure your home wouldn't get taken away again...
It'd be fun. Not…
You look down at the table, and the hard realities proven by photographs, charts, and pages upon pages of explanations.
You used to think that Growing Up would be fun, too.
***
With Willow out of the race, the discussion turns briefly to Miss Militia. Taylor presents the concern that while the star-spangled gunner may fit the Moonsilver caste, is a range-oriented fighter what you want for the Assembly right now? It's not off the table, especially since Taylor is almost salivating at the idea of what Autochthon would do with Miss Miltia's "manifest any weapon" power, but again Taylor points out that the Assembly might be well-served by a specialized spy.
"I'm under constant surveillance now, for lots of different reasons," Taylor sighs, waving her hands, "so my movements are limited. Prayer is going to be focusing on her team, and you… well, Glenn is going to want you for the PRT Image team in some capacity."
"Hear hear," Lord Grasp chimes in, though he quickly coughs and goes silent when you direct a full Threatening Glare at his gemstone eyes. Because No Modeling!
"R-right," Taylor rallies as you turn back and deactivate the Glare. "I'm thinking more along the lines of… storytelling? The PRT is always looking for ways to make being a hero seem more… well, heroic, and between your charms and Lord Grasp's…" she flits her eyes around the room, "...everything, you're perfect for the job."
Prayer nods sagely, then adds, "Enlightenment."
At your blank expression, Taylor clears her throat and offers a thoughtful frown.
"The PRT might also want your help convincing rogues and villains to switch sides and re-brand, but…" she glances at Prayer, shrugging, "...well, if you're doing that and knowledge of your Spike gets out?"
The blue amazonian frowns, then makes a grunting noise of understanding.
"A-ah," you offer, pushing that last thought aside and focusing on the part that sounded good. "I was thinking of writing up some of Lord Grasp's stories, too? Do you think they'd want that?"
Taylor's eyebrows raise in approval as she considers it. "Actually-"
She freezes for a split-second, then narrows her eyes at you.
"What kind of stories?"
Curses!
"The War parts!" you wave your hands, blushing, which gets Taylor to sigh and nod in relief.
You'll start with those parts, at least. Bring them in with the fantasy, hook them with the good stuff.
Inwardly, you dramatically hold a sleeve to your mouth and laugh into the back of your hand like the devious queen Katherine from Killing With Kindness.
Oh ho ho ho ho!
"That… may be alright, then," Taylor admits grudgingly, unaware that she is sealing her own doom and intensifying your own mental laugh. "I'll shoot a message to Glenn about it."
"Rest assured, Administrator, that I will ensure the Exalted Host is portrayed with the glory and honor they deserve," Lord Grasp's voice rumbles through the sitting room, joy evident in his tone. "Of course, I will be certain to focus on the Great Maker and his contributions! Ours is a battle of hearts and minds as much it is goremauls and daiklaives!"
Everyone at the table takes a moment to blink at that, though Taylor rallies quickly and nods in appreciation to the gemstone eyes.
"Thank you, Lord Grasp," she sighs with a smile, before turning back to you and Prayer. "Right. So, for the foreseeable future, we are all going to be tied down until the Assembly is full and Iris is done with what he's doing. That means if we want something tracked down and investigated - like Saint, the Elite, or groups in the rest of the world - we have to rely on someone else doing it for us."
Prayer nods, slowly, in understanding just as you piece together what Taylor is getting at yourself.
"Costs."
"Exactly," Taylor points to Prayer, then swivels to your own expression of understanding. "Dragon is busy with her own projects, the PRT has too much red tape to move as quickly as we need, and hiring outside investigators would get messy, quickly. Cauldron can probably get us anything, but it always costs something - and I'm going to try to limit my work with them for now, at least until you two are settled. I think it'd help if we got someone who could move around on their own without being tracked, helping us spot problems - or solve them - for us while we focus on our own work."
"There's…" you wince, because even if you're playing Devil's Advocate now, you really don't see anyone but Aisha working for that role, "... maybe Pretender in Las Vegas? Or… Silk in… Nashville, I think? She moves around."
"Silk flees."
Both of you blink at Prayer's sudden statement, but judging from her hard stare you - and Taylor, it looks like - don't feel like prying. Instead, Taylor sags her shoulders and shakes her head.
"Dragon gave me a list of all the heroes she thought might work for the various castes after she heard my presentation. Cauldron's list also has a few names in there that could work… if we had more time. A solid, uninterrupted month, at least, to interview, test, and verify."
Prayer's right eye twitches at Taylor's tacit approval of Cauldron's list that they gave Taylor during her first meeting with them, but your own feelings are mixed; sure, Taylor mentioned that there were a lot of bad names on there, but there were also plenty of rogues and non-affiliated heroes, too, just in countries that the PRT and Dragon don't deal with often enough.
Prayer glances at your glum expression before looking back to Taylor..
"Time is our greatest enemy."
"Yeah," Taylor sighs, clasping her hands together and leaning her forehead on them for a moment before looking up at the two of you.
"Aisha?"
"Aisha Laborn," Prayer nods. "The Unforgettable."
"I…" you shrug, unable to think of any other way that might make Taylor's life easier. Still, the thought of Aisha being on the Assembly tugs a smile onto your face. "I think so, too. Aisha."
Unclasping her hands, Taylor buries her face in them for a long moment before chuckling ruefully.
"Ah, well. Abigail and Kendra are going to flip and Uriel's going to bury me, but… I'll deal with it," she mutters to herself before looking up to you both. "We still need to convince Brian, and there's no way I'll be able to do that through a phone or video call while he's up in New York to be with Aisha. This is actually your best chance to talk to him without Lisa running interference - can you two try to convince him to let Aisha convert?"
Both you and Prayer both blink, but the way the large blue woman leans ever-so-slightly back after flicking her eyes to you practically screams: NOT IT.
"I will accompany Warden," she intones authoritatively, carefully not looking at your flat expression.
Unfortunately for her, both you and Taylor are way too good to not see right through her tossing you under the bus.
"H-..hai," you sigh, drooping. "I'll ask when we get back."
Taylor rolls her eyes and snorts, shaking her head but smiling anyway.
"Thank you, Saki," she grins, straightening up in her seat and re-clasping her hands again. "It shouldn't be too hard, since I'm pretty sure Aisha has been bugging him about it. If you think it'll help, maybe drag Kinzey along as well? I heard Brian and she have had a few dates now."
Your eyebrows raise, but you nod. She took your advice? Sure, you were expecting her to go after Gallant, but… well, that explains Penny yesterday. Step 1 of Plan Yandere Defusal, Complete?
Step 2: Get Penny a Girlfriend. Somehow. Ugh.
Taylor nods in return, oblivious to your scheming as she glances between the two of you to re-focus on more important matters.
"That should give us another week, but that means we still need to figure out Jade and Orichalcum. I was… maybe… thinking about Missy for Jade-" she raises a hand at Prayer to counter the larger woman's incoming comment, "... but she was still really quiet the last time I got to see her with her adoptive parents. Hopefully I'll be able to talk to her when she gets back from their vacation in Georgia, but if we do convert Aisha that'll make it even more difficult to justify her. And to be fair, Prayer, she has more years of service as a hero than most Protectorate members, but... I realize she's still probably too young."
Prayer closes her mouth at that last statement, nodding in silent approval.
You wince, but nod as well. You were a big fan of Vista in Brockton Bay, and Missy is really funny and cute... but she's thirteen years old.
Okay, sure, Aisha is only fourteen… but looks like she's sixteen! Missy looks like she's ten!
… and she must never know you thought that.
Taylor meets Prayer's stare and your own gaze before sighing.
"I don't think it'll be hard to find someone that works for Jade, honestly," she admits, waving away the thought absently, "so we should all start looking for Orichalcum candidates. Another option might be Armsmaster, Prayer, so could you talk with him to see what you think the next time you're in in town? Dragon says he's been running himself ragged in Camden, and I can tell he's upset I don't have the spare essence to give him a boost all the time."
"Very well," she agrees, humming musically in thought for a moment before crossing her large arms and nodding to herself and looking at you. "Warden?"
"M-me?" you blink, glancing between the other two. "I-I… don't know? He was the leader in Brockton Bay, but he always seemed… awkward in his interviews? Not the cute kind of awkward, I mean - like he didn't want to be there? I think I heard he could be rude, too?"
Taylor quirks an eyebrow while giving you a considering look. "Okay, both of you should talk to him, then - maybe not at the same time, but at least to form your own opinions. Finally, there's…"
She trails off, gaze looking down at the files before her before focusing back on the two of you.
"Alexandria. Also known as Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown."
…
"What."/"What?"
Prayer's question is delivered much harder than your own flat, bewildered statement, but that's about all you notice because what?! The founding director of the PRT - the government agency designed to manage and police parahumans - has been… led by one all along-?
Wait a minute... wasn't she basically made by-
"Cauldron," Taylor sighs, shrugging her shoulders in a helpless gesture just as you make the connection. She makes a sweeping gesture with her right hand at the folders on the table. "It's right there, in-between the lines of what they gave us. I'm still not sure how they've pulled it off for so long, or how they managed those events where both Costa-Brown and Alexandria showed up, but I only made the connection last night when I finally got to see her talking and compared it to when I was trying to put Alexandria back together."
"B-but she looked fine last night!" you stammer, still trying to wrap your head around this newest bombshell. "She wasn't missing an arm… or a spine!"
"Tinkertech, apparently," Taylor shakes her head, leaning on the table with an elbow as she stares at the documents again. "Though Alexandria is, publicly, still recovering from the fight so I'm guessing that they won't hold up in a real fight. Actually… that reminds me-"
She looks up suddenly, narrowing her eyes at you in thought. "Does your pocket dimension cut off parahuman powers? Your old version used to."
"Uh-..." you startle at the non-sequitur, before frowning in thought. "I don't… think it did? We never noticed that during testing or afterwards-…"
Wait. That… reminds you of something? It's hazy…
"... Riley said it did," Taylor reluctantly admits, grimacing and glancing away for a moment as you flinch. "She said all their powers turned off if they stayed more than a few moments. And then the floor would try to eat them."
You stare at her blankly.
"I… don't remember that," you finally admit, even though you really wish you did. Except, now that you're thinking about it… "... but that sounds a lot like what happens with my 'welcome' and 'unwelcome' mental tag for people in here."
Taylor nods, approvingly. "Right. The problem with… well, fixing Alexandria is that her power prevents any type of healing or surgery. If we brought her in here…"
"That could work!" you perk up, because that would just be more proof that your Safe Space is The Best Space. "Do you think they'll let us?"
"Care," Prayer interrupts, raising a hand of caution at you while turning to Taylor. "Alexandria is artificial. Case 53s…" her gaze grows darker as she trails off for a moment, "... their power is their life."
… wait, that means… if you let someone like Weld into your new Safe Space...
"That's possible," Taylor allows, quickly nodding but holding up her own hand at your horrified expression, "but our charms are conceptual - their magic revolves around achieving a specific goal, and bending the rules of reality to fit to that concept or belief. Saki, you keep calling it your 'Safe Space' and… well, I think that's really important here, actually. I don't think it would harm someone - or allow them to come to harm - that you deliberately wanted to keep safe in here."
Prayer blinks once at this, then straightens up and turns to you as if looking at you for the first time.
Just as she opens her mouth, however, Taylor cuts her off with a hasty wave of her arms.
"I don't think it'd heal them or cure them, Prayer," she quickly clarifies, causing the cerulean woman's intense indigo gaze to fade dramatically. "Judging by the way Iris was talking about what happens when charms encounter something unexpected, I think a Case 53 would just… fall over? They'd probably be comatose or in some kind of stasis until they got pushed back out the portal and re-connected with their power - which would probably try to restore them to the way it thinks they should be."
… and now you're back to being confused.
"Wouldn't that just revert any changes to Alexandria when she comes back out?"
Bobbing her head side-to-side, Taylor scrunches up her face in thought. "Shards apparently work on specific purposes and themes. Alexandria never gets tired, remembers everything, and while her form seemed like it was locked to one form it didn't heal her damage from Siberian - I think hers is based around 'permanence' rather than a specific form, so it should just consider any changes or healing we do as her new default."
"They will demand proof," Prayer intones lowly, staring at Taylor. "A sacrifice."
Frowning, Taylor shakes her head and meets Prayer's gaze. "Even if Cauldron offered a Case 53 to test if they'd survive, I'd rather make sure we prove it with someone that could normally survive a power nullifier without an issue. Maybe Gully or Gentle Giant? The next test would be someone with heavy physical changes but with their brain still physically present - since Alexandria's brain still works - like Newter from Faultline's Crew or Cadaver in the Elite."
Prayer closes her eyes for a few moments in thought, then nods once. "I will reach out."
"Alright," Taylor sighs, drooping in relief slightly before inhaling a long breath and straightening up to face the both of you again. "One thing left on my end: Cauldron's rewards for the Nine members. They want me to settle up now, but most of what they're offering I can't really use with Iris gone."
You shift in your seiza and glance at Prayer, but she only gives you a blank look. Turning back to Taylor, you shrug.
"A-ano… I know you said what they were offering before, but… maybe ask for some money to help with Philadelphia?"
"That-" she pauses, looking at you for a split-second before her gaze starts darting around in that way she does when she's thinking tons of different things really quickly.
"...I-... Okay, yes," she resumes after a few moments of thought, looking back to you with a nod. "I wasn't going to ask them for any money since all my spending is tracked right now, but it doesn't have to be me spending it - Number Man handles tons of different anonymous accounts anyway, so they can just make the donations directly. Good idea, Saki."
You blink, sitting up straighter because you thought of something before Taylor did! Cue internal Katherine-style laugh-track!
"Their vials," Prayer hums, a small choir of deep, crystalline tones. "The gifts of the Great Maker may spare others from experimentation."
Taylor winces in chagrin but nods in agreement anyway. "My previous plan was going to focus on the vials, since Iris might even be able to find a way to undo Case 53 changes with them. Now though… I'm thinking one low-quality and one high-quality to study and compare against each other inside my Technomorphic Integration Engine... and then to give to Iris when he finishes at the Cradle."
"Wait," you tilt your head as the random thought hits you, "what happens if one of us drank one? Uh-" you hastily add at both Prayer and Taylor's alarmed expressions, "after you manage to study and fix them?"
You huff and cross your arms over your chest, giving them both a Glare of No I Am Not That Stupid.
Of course, you're not going to say that you're only asking because Taylor might try it herself if she got desperate enough… which is practically a guarantee the way things have been going lately.
"... right," Taylor blinks, rocking back slightly from the force of your glower, then letting her gaze grow unfocused as she considers the question with her half-dozen brains. "I… don't know? If you had Industrial Survival Frame active when you did it... either the vial would do nothing, or you'd get the Trigger event the next time you dropped the charm. Either way, you'd need to keep Industrial Survival Frame's Crystal submodule off in order to even use the power and, well..."
Taylor snorts, face twisting at how dumb that idea is.
"That's just asking for an Endbringer to melt you."
"Right," you sigh, relieved. No way Taylor will try this new brand of smart-but-bad, then.
"That reminds me," Taylor snaps her obsidian claws, turning to Prayer, "if you run into The Butcher, if the worst-case happens and it looks like she's about to die, you might be able to save someone else from her power jumping to them - we're all immune to The Butcher effect for the same reason as the vials."
… did she just… suggest... killing the parahuman whose power jumps to their killer and drives them insane?
Prayer slowly looks to you, meeting your blank gaze, then turns back to Taylor.
"Warden's Safe Space?"
"No," you blurt out, eyes wide and shaking your head. "No way."
Seemingly ignoring you, Taylor considers Prayer's option for a moment before shaking her head thank the Maker.
"Even if Saki could keep her in stasis forever, The Butcher shard would think Saki killed her and go after her instead."
Never mind, everything is back to being horrible and you will run the instant you ever see The Butcher.
"Ah-... Anything else?" you grit out through a strained smile because change of subject now! "Is that all you're going to get?"
Taylor blinks, furrowing her brow at your question before nodding and looking up to both of you.
"Actually, I've been thinking about it," she begins, slowly, "and... if I have enough credit left over from helping persuade them to give up their army…"
***
"Access to an alternate, uninhabited Earth."
Doctor Mother raises her dark eyebrows slightly at the request, peering at Taylor across the table from over her glasses. Unclasping her hands from where they rest on the open portfolio in front of her, she reaches up with her left hand and pushes them back up.
You're still baffled by Taylor's reveal that the old black doctor isn't a cape, and somehow just looks two or three decades younger than she should. Why is she Cauldron's leader, then? And why the lame cape name?
"That will cost you your remaining credit with us, Administrator," she replies coolly. "You are no longer seeking out new candidates?"
Taylor is back into full-on Business Mode Scary, while you and Prayer are sitting on her left and right across from Doctor Mother. Lord Grasp is on your own left - showing off that he can balance on a chair despite still being car-sized - reading the Old Realm runes scrolling across the dark rectangle that has popped up out of the table in front of him.
Prayer is back in her helmet and armor, while you, of course, have your own Imperious Face on - styled after Maleficent from Sleeping Beauty for maximum You Are Beneath Me effect.
… what? The original story totally counts as Lewd (creepy, too), and the Disney version had good visuals! It doesn't matter that it was the first English movie you saw in America, and that Sakura and you ran around the house acting like Maleficent for weeks! It's allowed!
"Our limited time frame means we will need to look closer to home," Taylor replies just as evenly, holding the older woman's gaze. "Your list may still prove useful. We will see."
Contessa remains standing at Doctor Mother's left shoulder, while a new figure stands at her right. Dressed in an all-black, faceless costume that looks… somewhat like a business suit, except the material is so dark you can't really make out the details until he shifts and his profile changes.
Taylor's Dad. She mentioned that he might show up when you were gathering to return but…
Well, it's why you've got your Imperious Face on. Cauldron bringing him in here is just plain mean.
"Aisha Laborn, then?"
You manage to restrain yourself from flinching at Doctor Mother's correct guess, but Taylor's blood glows brighter for a single pulse before she gives a single nod of assent.
"Will it be a problem?"
Doctor Mother turns her head to the left, just enough to see Contessa close her eyes. After a long moment, the suit-clad woman shakes her head matter-of-factly before resuming her staring contest with Prayer's helmet. Doctor Mother simply turns and meets Taylor's gaze again.
"Will you require our assistance?" the middle-aged woman offers without inflection, closing the portfolio in front of her and clasping her hands on top of them. As hard as she's trying, though… you get the barest sense that she wants the answer to be yes.
Taylor pulls off the lack of inflection much better. "No."
"Very well," she nods, almost appearing satisfied, "we will allocate the donations as the Philadelphia situation develops, Number Man is on his way with your vials, and we will arrange for you to have Door access to your new Earth."
"Thank you," Taylor automatically nods in return.
Turning to you, Doctor Mother shifts her glasses again just enough so that they reflect your own intimidating expression for a moment. "We will be in contact when you have completed your configuration meditations."
You don't wince, because Maleficent would be unimpressed by this mere mortal's attempts at unnerving you.
"Very well," you nod with graceful menace, maintaining eye contact until Doctor Mother finally tears her gaze away to look at the bluest Assembly member.
Contessa blinks, looks at you for a moment with an inhuman lack of expression, then turns back to Prayer.
… Yup. Creepy.
Doctor Mother's gaze meets Prayer's cerulean-crystal visor for a brief moment of silence before the older woman makes a thoughtful hum.
"Do you want us to alert you when we are ready?"
Prayer remains as motionless as if she were carved out of her caste material, only speaking after several seconds of silence.
"No," she intones, her harmonic echo filling the room. "I must be genuine."
Leaning back slightly, Doctor Mother considers this for a moment while adjusting her lab coat with a single shrug of her shoulders. "They will be unconscious during delivery, but most of them are... resilient to incapacitation or restraint, one way or another. Be sure to respond to the event quickly to keep casualties down."
It takes a long few seconds for Prayer to respond to that, but eventually she manages a single, mechanical nod.
Then, to your (unexpressed) surprise, Doctor Mother turns all the way to address the final occupant of your side of the table.
"Crushing Grasp?"
Your mechanical familiar perks up slightly at being addressed, because of course the first thing he learned in English was his own name. Instead of replying verbally, however, he simply makes a curious hum and waves with his right claw in a 'you may continue' gesture while keeping some eyes on the translator.
"Contessa's story will be published anonymously on the fiction website that Warden frequents," Doctor Mother explains, somehow talking emotionlessly about a website filled with smut. "We will point her to it shortly after it is posted. Should you find yourself with the time to write down your own stories on that site, we will search for - and post - any more matches across the Earths we can access."
Lord Grasp is still as he reads the translation, only moving a few moments after the words stop flickering across the black rectangle. He slowly bobs up and down in consideration, then clicks both large pincers closed once in satisfaction.
"Very good," he nods in agreement. "Thank you, good Doctor."
"Why?" Taylor asks plainly, eyes narrowed, expressing your own confusion barely a second after Lord Grasp finishes.
Doctor Mother takes a significant moment of silence to reorient back on Taylor, calmly re-adjusting her glasses before answering.
"We suspect it will be statistically significant."
You narrow your own eyes, both because you don't quite understand what that means and because Taylor's own scowl suggests it's a blatant non-answer. However, before either of you can say anything, Contessa suddenly stiffens and holds out a hand to silence any further discussion.
"Scion is back on Earth-Bet. Above Philadelphia again."
Taylor's demeanor cracks as her eyes go wide, so you don't feel bad looking shocked yourself. Doctor Mother merely frowns.
"Back?" Taylor balks, quickly reverting back to a scowl - this time, a more genuine one. "He left?"
"We lost track of him two days ago," Doctor Mother nods, voice thoughtful but still focusing on Contessa's closed eyes. "The public loses track of him more often, when he has long stretches of helping out small villages and remote areas, but he's never left Earth-Bet as long as we have tracked him."
"Where did you last-"
Contessa opens her eyes again, then looks down to Doctor Mother.
"We can start it now," she says mechanically, face impassive as she cuts off Taylor's question.
Doctor Mother blinks a few times, then looks to Taylor - who stares blankly for half a second before launching to her feet in naked shock and fear, causing Prayer and Lord Grasp to leap to attention out of reflex.
"No!" Taylor screams, pointing at Contessa in disbelief. "Don't! We're not ready!"
You stagger to your feet as well, the chair falling back as you try to figure out what the-
- wait… "start"... Scion?... !
They're going to start the apocalypse NOW?!
"Stop!" you match Taylor's own panicked denial, blindly throwing on your full anima and any charm that might apply help you stop this literal disaster of an idea from going through. Thrusting out your arms dramatically, the room falls away as Autochthon's world-body looms, humbling in its vastness and greatness, above your gathering.
"Trust that the Great Maker is with us, in times of both weakness and strength!"
The other occupants of the room have frozen, some staring at you, some at Autochthon, and… Taylor's dad is... gone? What? You didn't even see him move he just-
-ohgodshadowsupyourlegsyoucan'tmove-cold cold cold ow ow ow your throat-!!
The backdrop of an empty horizon fades away, resolving into giant red arrows focused all around you - at the same time, you manage to make a gurgling sound that accurately shouts to the rest of the room: TAYLOR'S DAD IS STRANGLING ME!
"Warden!" Lord Grasp roars in fury, blurring for a split-second - you feel the a brush of air around your throat and across your legs - until he resolves only a step closer, his tail's stinger retracted to reveal golden, glowing ray gun wait what-?! "Release her, vile Shadow!"
"Cenotaph."
Just as Prayer seems about to launch herself across the table and Taylor looks torn between following her or helping you against her dad, Contessa's disappointed voice cuts through the split-second descent into chaos-
-and just like that, you're no longer being strangled and the icey-cold touch floods down your body and away. You stumble briefly, but Lord Grasp is quick to steady you with a re-sheathed claw.
Not that you needed to breathe, of course, but it was really starting to hurt!
Taylor's Dad reforms in a reverse-cascade of pure, liquid black on the other side of the table, head bowed.
"...Sorry, I-"
The world freezes as a massive beam of golden light tears a hole through his upper-right chest, obliterating the shoulder, arm, and most of his right ribcage before going on to punch a hole clean through two more walls.
Then the thunderous boom from Lord Grasp's tail-cannon shakes the room, and everything falls apart.
"DAD! NOO!" Taylor screams, leaping across the table as her gauntlets burst into a flurry of obsidian tools, chasing her father's falling form as it seems to come apart into dissolving shadows. "PRAYER! HELP HIM!"
Prayer follows suit, deftly vaulting the meeting table and fully obscuring what remains of the shadow-man from your sight.
You look down at Lord Grasp, noticing his glowing tail now aimed directly at Doctor Mother. From the crimson glare of his eight eyes, he is visibly looking for an excuse to let loose with a second blast.
Over the whirring of Taylors tools and a messy, wet wheezing of a dying man, Doctor Mother calmly straightens in her seat again, re-adjusts her glasses, and coolly regards the two of you still on the opposite side of the table.
"Not today, Contessa," she hums, nodding at you.
"But we'll be watching."
***
END OF CHAPTER - CHARACTER SHEET CHANGES:
RED Intimacies have not been fully-established yet, and are not used for bonuses/negatives.
GREY Intimacies yield the normal bonuses/negatives until fully eroded.
WoRI - Intimacy RAISED: Enduring Order Administrator (Savior Of The Broken) [Servitude] [3/3]
WoRI - Intimacy GAINED: Enduring Order Administrator (Blinded By The Big Picture) [Emotion|Concern] [3/3]
WoRI - Intimacy GAINED: Cauldron (The Lesser Evil, But Still Creepy) [Emotion|Unnerved] [3/3]
EOA - Intimacy GAINED: Lord Crushing Grasp (Overprotective Peacock) [Illusion] [4/4] EOA - Intimacy STARTED: Cenotaph/Daniel Hebert (So Lost, So Angry) [Emotion|Regret] ●○○○
FPoP - Intimacy GAINED: Cauldron (Became Monsters To Fight Monsters) [Emotion|Resigned Disgust] [3/3]
FPoP - Intimacy GAINED: Case 53s (Casualties of War, Victims of Inhumanity) [Emotion|Sympathy] [3/3]
That was certainly a bit of a mess at the end, there, but even though things ended in a bit of a cliffhanger I won't leave you in suspense any longer: Prayer's hair makes it out alright.
Now that everyone is relieved that the most important character survives that debacle, let's focus on back to getting this ball rolling again - we have a number of exciting things coming up in the next chapter! Taylor is going to be dealing with last Chapter's votes of keeping Alchemicals an 'ongoing investigation' and the public release of what happened with VoV, while Saki is going to be off dealing with... social stuff.
First is Saki's overall Be The Smut strategy, and how outrageously we want her to push herself. Her roster of character from which she can draw is pretty deep, but the larger problem lies in her ability to actually keep up the facade if pushed - Saki's 'average' Valor (at 2) means she's liable to get flustered if pressed, especially since she doesn't really know what she's doing (her Larceny skill is a measly 1) and is just letting her supernatural charisma and manipulation carry her along. Note that while she's liable to get herself into trouble more if we have her go Full Ham, it also will serve as a way of 'training' her Valor and/or Conviction should we want to eventually buy that up.
Second is Saki's talk with Brian (and any other Wyld Hunt members that are there). It's not going to be a matter of showing up and getting his signature, but Saki is sorta built to just roll over these kinds of challenges; the question is do we want to do that? Earth-Bet is well aware of the dangers of Master powers, after all, so how do we want to approach this?
Third, Saki's going to get knowledge of a bunch more teleport locations (around the world) soon, along with a chance to spend time with the Wards. Do we want to stay in New York with the group (where they're supposed to stay), or pop around and have sight-seeing adventures with everyone for a few hours?
Fourth, for the Cauldron vials, what do we want them to be? Note that this is (as always) ultimately my decision, and Cauldron was the one picking what vials we got since Taylor said she was only going to be using them for research purposes. This vote is more about what you think would be most narratively interesting in the event that either of them are imbibed. The options for the vote are the PRT Parahuman Power classes: BLASTER, BREAKER, BRUTE, MASTER, MOVER, SHAKER, STRANGER, STRIKER, THINKER, TINKER, TRUMP. Votes should be formatted like this:
[ ] Level 1 Vial: Blaster
[ ] Level 3 Vial: Brute
Fifth, the "Henchmen" background for Prayer. When the mass of Case 53 prisoners-turned-army gets dropped off, Prayer will have the opportunity to turn them into more than just a competent fighting force - she'll have to consciously act to prevent them from becoming her own personal army-cult (...in service to Autochthon, of course). Henchmen are unlike Followers and Retainers, in that they are all heroic mortals - parahumans for us here - each with specializations, and if we decide to purchase any dots they would be loyal to Prayer above anything else. This vote will be to determine whether we WANT Prayer to accept this inevitability, and we'll have a while to buy dots if we do. Note that if we vote for Prayer to accept their loyalty AND buy all five dots of the Henchmen background AND get all of them fit with soulgems, Prayer will automatically gain one dot of the Cult background (and all the societal ramifications and responsibilities inherent with that).
As a final point of note, should the conversation with Brian go well, Aisha's character generation XP spending will be done during the Chapter 10.1 vote.
Now, then! To votes!
Many Faces of Lewdness (Choose One, One Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Normal Fujoshi: Taylor was right, this was a bad idea and Saki should just be Saki.
[ ] Emergency Smut: Be normal, but use fictional characters as inspiration when in trouble.
[ ] Life of Lemon: Draw up a plan of confident, capable characters to draw inspiration from for everyday life.
[ ] MAXIMUM OVERLEWD: Oh ho ho ho ho ho!
Brakes On The Steamroller: (Choose One, One Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Turn It All Off: Be as Normal as possible for the conversation, let Brian actually have some control over the result.
[ ] Good First Impression: Use minimum amount of Bullshit to get things started, but still let Brian have some control over the result.
[ ] Ensure Success: Keep it subtle, but use whatever Bullshit is needed to make sure Brian approves.
[ ] Mandatory Consent: Everyone is happy with the results, because Saki says so.
Stroll Around Town(s): (Choose One, One Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Saki spends time with the Wards all across New York.
[ ] Saki spends time with the Wards all across the US North East.
[ ] Saki spends time with the Wards all across the US.
[ ] Saki spends time with the Wards all across Earth-Bet.
Jagged Little Vials: (Choose ONE of the Power Classifications for each Vial, STUNT should be a SINGLE WORD that is evocative but not descriptive (such as 'Administrator' or 'Broadcast'))
[ ] Level 1 Vial: <INSERT CLASSIFICATION HERE>
[ ] Level 3 Vial: <INSERT CLASSIFICATION HERE>
Hero Worship: (Choose One, One Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Prayer works with the PRT to give the new Case 53s things to believe in that aren't her/Autochthon (Henchmen Background unavailable).
[ ] Prayer accepts the fervent loyalty-bordering-on-worship of the new Case 53s (Henchmen Background available).
Free Actions: (Only ONE Free Action allowed per character!)
Free Actions should be phrased as stand-alone Stunts, so they must be 60 words or less (not counting the "Free Action" bit), be descriptive about what you're hoping to accomplish, and set the scene.
[ ] EOA - Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that would take less than 15 minutes to accomplish, and could reasonably be performed between other events in the upcoming chapter.]
[ ] FPoP - Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that would take less than 15 minutes to accomplish, and could reasonably be performed between other events in the upcoming chapter.]
[ ] WoRI - Free Action: [Insert Stunt-like action that would take less than 15 minutes to accomplish, and could reasonably be performed between other events in the upcoming chapter.]
XP Expenditures should now be formatted as such:
[ ] NAME - ? XP - Item ●●●○○
[ ] NAME - ? XP - Item (Specialization ●●○)
VOTING DISCUSSION BEGINS NOW
VOTING DISCUSSION ENDS:
Many Faces of Lewdness:
[X] Emergency Smut: Be normal, but use fictional characters as inspiration when in trouble.
- [x] Stunt: A stadium full of fans raucously awaited the reveal of the new Tatsu. Mrs. Sato hugged a stage-frightened Saki. "You can do it, dear. You are brave, powerful, and above all, a good person. If you have to, draw upon a favorite role model," Gloria shared in a conspiratorial whisper. "Legend channels Optimus Prime when he gets stuck."
Brakes on the Steamroller:
[X] Good First Impression: Use minimum amount of Bullshit to get things started, but still let Brian have some control over the result.
- [x] Stunt: Saki fidgets slightly in her old costume as she faces Aisha's brother and his teammates. "Ano… whether I'm still me aside, have you ever been where your own power was killing you?" The room lights up, two scenes in parallel: Who dying unnoticed while Chevalier fought, and a nightmare, Twins maimed and wired up inside the Safe Place, help unreachable.
Stroll Around Town(s):
[X] Saki spends time with the Wards all across the US.
- [x] Stunt: The humpback arced back into the water with a thunderous impact, splashing seawater up into the air and across the faces of the gawking teenagers. As the tourmaster turned the boat back towards Honolulu, Saki busied herself mopping the spray off a gesticulating Lord Grasp's carapace. Miss Militia watched in poorly-concealed amusement while the sun warmed her skin.
Hero Worship:
[X] Prayer works with the PRT to give the new Case 53s things to believe in that aren't her/Autochthon (Henchmen Background unavailable).
- [x] Stunt: As you look over at your new comrades you smile. Some are reading, textbooks, fairy tales and one even reading Don Quixote (you hope you won't have to keep them away from any windmills). Others are exercising, a few are chatting with each other and the staff members caring for them... Yes, they will be great heroes in time.
Free Actions:
[X] EOA - Free Action: Cenotaph laid flat on the conference table as Prayer's crystal spiders crawled about him. Worry, love, regret and shame each competed for emotional space in the Soulsteel teen as she operated on her father with her multitools. Moonsilver tears streamed down Taylor's face. "I'm sorry! I should've told you...*sob* I should've told you about Emma."
[X] FPoP - Free Action: Sirkalla twirls a strand of hair idly as she gathers endless forms from the bin. Waivers to absolve the PRT and associated organizations of responsibility, the paperwork for the registration, testing, housing and allowances for new Case 53s. Forms to authorize special forms for those unable to use a pen, and then the triplicates, "Maker give me strength."
[X] WoRI - Free Action: Saki logs back into her account, checking off the new posts since she was indisposed, and to a certain creeping dread, finding her new and improved self already the subject of highly speculative and novel-length productions. Maybe Lord Grasp would be interested in an account of his own, once he learns the language.
XP Expenditures:
[X] EOA - 2 XP - Lore (Entities ●○○)
[X] WoRI - 2 XP - Larceny (Copying ●○○)
[X] FPoP - 2 XP - Craft (Shards ●●○)
[X] EOA - 2 XP - Linguistics (Specialty: Autochthonian)
***
Between Taylor's tools, Prayer's… swarms of tiny, crystal, magic healing-spiders… and Taylor's father's own parahuman power, the damage done by Lord Grasp's tail-cannon is completely healed in a matter of minutes.
Still, Taylor is an emotional wreck during the process, sobbing about how she was sorry that she never told him about what "Emma" and "Sophia" had been doing to her - something about the bullying that you'd heard about from the news and the nation-wide anti-bullying program that the PRT started in the wake of Taylor's "death." You don't hear anything from him in response save for a few coughs, and after a while Taylor's sobs trail off into an awkward silence.
You'd like to help but...
Beyond giving Lord Grasp a Glare that causes him to stop blatantly threatening the remaining Cauldron members in the room, you remain silent until Taylor and Prayer finish putting the older man back together - deliberately sitting back down to avoid looking at the bloody scene, you empty your mind and return Doctor Mother's stare.
A panic-inducing flashback of your own is not what's needed right now.
However, just as Taylor appears to finish up and starts to round on Doctor Mother with a murderous look, another door-like portal slides open to reveal a new Cauldron member: a well-dressed white male in a grey suit and square glasses that looks more like a well-to-do math teacher than a Cape. He's carrying a large black briefcase in his left, his right hand resting comfortably in his pants pocket, but he freezes and blinks owlishly as the scene in front of him registers.
A little too thin, kind of pasty. Probably in his late thirties, so too young for either Contessa or Doctor Mom. Drat.
As the rest of the room turns to him, he shuts his eyes, wincing uncomfortably, and leans through the portal to deposit the briefcase on the white floor.
"I will be in touch, Administrator," he sighs in too-calm voice, shaking his head while pinching the bridge of his nose. Retracting his hand, he turns and begins to walk away - down a familiar-looking white corridor - as the portal snaps closed behind him.
There's a moment of awkward silence, then Taylor growls, swiveling back and pointing a right forearm at Doctor Mother, shifting it from a cluster of menacing obsidian operating tools to a clawed hand.
"...what the fuck was the point-!?"
"You have two minutes until Dr. Marie arrives at your door, Administrator," Contessa interrupts, raising her stern voice just enough to grab Taylor's attention. She unclasps her left hand from behind her back and gestures at the awaiting black-leather luggage. "Your vials and relevant documents are in the briefcase, Balance solutions kept separate as per your request."
Taylor's mouth snaps shut for a moment, the glowing veins along her neck and face pulsing brightly as she scowls at the pre-cog, before glancing briefly at the resting body at her feet.
"'Provoking reactions'?" she sneers at the two Cauldron operatives.
Doctor Mother turns away from you to meet Taylor's furious gaze, frowning lightly before shaking her head once. "Mr. Hebert is more valuable to us alive and field-ready than as an experiment, Administrator... but we have learned from this event regardless."
Taylor's face settles into a cold glare for moment before she sighs and rolls her eyes. Waving off the Cauldron pair, she places a hand on Prayer's shoulder - the large armored woman still bent over Taylor's father's prone form. The cerulean juggernaut looks up for brief second, nods mechanically, then looks back down, prompting Taylor to look across the table at you and Lord Grasp.
Sorry about all this, Saki."
Discarding whatever was left of your Maleficent impression, you sag slightly and offer a weak smile of acceptance. "I-It's okay, Taylor."
The meaningful glance you give her, however, communicates what you really want to say: We'll talk later.
Whether reacting to your spoken or unspoken message, Taylor's demeanor cracks a bit more for a moment, just enough to offer you a smile in return before she straightens up and marches past the Cauldron women to collect the black briefcase near the far wall. With only a slight bending of the knees, she taps the reinforced case with her right index claw - causing the entire thing to shrink and fold in upon itself in a quiet whirring of unseen gears, then disappear entirely as it is sucked into the small, temporary hole at the end of her digit.
"Door," Contessa quietly calls out as the process finishes and Taylor straightens up, "Weaver's quarantine room."
Another rectangular portal slides open along the wall in front of Taylor. She pauses for a heartbeat in front of it, then turns her head just enough to glance your way again - her mouth set in a determined line as she nods once.
We'll get through this.
Then she turns back, steps through the portal, and she's gone.
The silence lasts for only a few moments before Prayer's form shifts a few times, then straightens up fully and directs a long, meaningful gaze at the Cauldron pair. Only Contessa appears to meet her gaze, Doctor Mother having returned to studying you and the still-agitated Lord Grasp, but after an uncomfortably long stare-down Contessa finally blinks and nods.
"Camden."
The Clarity makes her hard to read, but her gauntleted right hand twitches just enough for you to get the impression she'd be sighing in any normal situation.
Sure, you don't get what's going on, but you can sympathize: anything involving Camden is definitely sigh-worthy.
Without saying anything in response, she turns to you and Lord Grasp.
"When will you be returning?"
You glance to Contessa and raise an eyebrow, who returns your gaze evenly.
"Our business is concluded for today."
"I need to talk to Lord Grasp about some things," you sigh, looking back to Prayer with a reluctant frown. "I should be back for lunch, I think?"
Prayer gives a mechanical nod of her crystalline helmet, then turns back to Contessa.
"I will return now."
Contessa closes her eyes for a moment, then nods in approval.
"Door, Vajra's bathroom."
As the portal slides open to reveal a surprising assortment of hair and skin-care products, the cerulean crystal juggernaut strides past the Cauldron duo and through the doorway without further comment - the gateway silently sliding closed just as she passes fully through it.
And then you are once again alone with Cauldron.
"I apologize for today's events," Doctor Mother sighs, visibly settling back in her chair with a sigh as she looks across the table to you, then down to the side at Taylor's dad, then to Crushing Grasp. "Your earlier demonstrations showed that your tail cannon had a significant area-of-effect. We did not expect you would fire it in such close quarters."
Narrowing your eyes at the… suspicious shift to a more casual attitude, you notice Lord Grasp pause as he reads the translation then shimmy his body - much as a peacock might fluff itself up - before harumph-ing in gruff displeasure.
"I fired upon the room across the hall. That insolent miscreant simply happened to be in the way."
"That's Taylor's father," you hiss, discretely poking him in the side with a finger as you keep your posture straight.
Lord Grasp only makes another grunt of indignation, waving off the concern absently but making no further comment. You open your mouth to respond, but snap it shut as your eyes notice the evaluating gazes of Doctor Mother and Contessa.
"Later," you grouse quietly in Old Realm, placing your left hand on his front-right leg while turning back to the two older women with a scowl. "So all that talk about starting the apocalypse now was just to freak us out?"
"Not entirely," Doctor Mother hums, shaking her head with a slight downturn of her lips while gesturing to Contessa off-handedly. "Our original plans for today's interaction did not include the earlier altercation, but Scion's unexpected re-appearance presented us with an opportunity to further enhance our behavioral models for each of you and your Assembly as a whole."
You groan, closing your eyes for a moment as your shoulders sag. Of course the creepy conspiracy has plans within plans within plans… which Lord Grasp apparently screwed up. If it weren't for Taylor's dad, you definitely wouldn't feel bad about that.
"Taylor mentioned that you're trying to figure us out, but…" you shake your head, pointing in the general direction of where you think Taylor's dad is still laying under the other side of the table. "... aren't you going to help him? After you nearly got him killed?"
The older doctor gives you an flat look. "Cenotaph left the room after First Prayer of Perfection's portal closed. Even still, if Enduring Order Administrator and First Prayer of Perfection hadn't attended to him he would have been able to recover by spending time in his Breaker state."
"What?" you blurt out, recoiling in surprise as Lord Grasp mutters something you can't quite catch under his breath. "Then… why did he let Taylor and Prayer-...?"
"He has his reasons," Doctor Mother waves dismissively, before gathering up her portfolio with one hand and pushing off the table to get to her feet with the other.
Contessa tilts her head just enough to catch your thoughtful gaze, giving you a raised eyebrow that practically screams: Ask Taylor.
"We will be in contact with you once you have everything configured," Doctor Mother nods matter-of-factly, before pushing up her glasses to give you one last calculated glance. "Beyond that, we have one last suggestion: it was suggested during your testing that Crushing Grasp may possess more charms for you to equip?"
It's more of a statement than a question, but you glance to Lord Grasp - who gives you a shrug in return - before shrugging. "I… think so?"
Contessa turns away to murmur a quiet "Door" command, causing another portal to open up in its usual space. She turns back to give Doctor Mother a silent glance that you can't quite figure out the meaning to, then gives you a single nod before striding through the portal.
"Now would be a good time to check," the lab-coated older woman muses, turning towards the portal and taking a few steps towards it before turning her head just enough for her to see you out of the corner of her eye.
"Until next time, Warden of Reflected Infinities."
She takes two more steps and the portal snaps closed behind her.
***
As much as Lord Grasp wants to engage in some "vigorous, complimentary redecoration" of the Cauldron base, you don't think that's the kind of "reaction" that the conspiracy masterminds would tolerate.
So the two of you merely knock over all the chairs and flip the conference table before returning to your Safe Space.
Settled back atop the sea of black jade hexagons, you stop Lord Grasp just as he's about to shift back to his fully-furnished form, thinking on Doctor Mother's last words to you.
"Lord Grasp?" you hum thoughtfully, tapping your recliner's armrest with an index finger in a way that communicates Wait, please. "Could I see that room you said was remodeled?"
His scorpid form stills momentarily, then sags as he sighs dramatically.
"I was hoping you'd wait long enough for me to finish redecorating… but I suppose needs must."
You raise an eyebrow. "'Redecorating'?"
"Yes, my dear," he nods. "Would you mind…?"
Rolling your eyes, you giggle at his antics but step out from his palanquin anyway and give him room to unfold to his full, three-storied size.
The transition is as spectacular as ever, though you realize now that each time has been slightly different in the way he transforms - a conscious decision on his part, you suspect, in order to ensure that observers never grow bored of watching him. You hope to never grow jaded enough that it would be an actual concern, but… hmm.
Didn't Taylor say that Alchemicals are immortal? You've read enough fantasy stories to know that immortality is a Big Deal, but it's just… not something Sakura or you have really thought about? You're not even eighteen (yet!), so "Dying of Old Age" isn't really a concern… and you're not sure you've ever heard of a Cape dying of old age, either, since Capes only started appearing in the 1980s. Things have been so crazy over the last few months… will the next few years be the same? The next few decades? Centuries?
You manage to stifle the wince as Lord Grasp finishes his transformation and beckons you to his large open gate with a massive claw. One crisis at a time, Saki...
Wait a minute.
"How do you have six sides now?" you blink, boggling at his apparent exterior redesign. It's still largely the same gold-and-silver pagoda as before, bristling with gems and precious metalworking that will probably make actual architects weep when they finally see him… he just has six walls now instead of four, though the chimney-like tower attached to his 'back' like a scorpion tail is still only four sides-...
… how did you miss the giant crossbow-cannon on the top of that tower before? You're pretty confident it would have been brought up when the PRT scientists were examining him!
"With great effort!" the structure booms excitedly, though you detect a hint of exhaustion in his voice as he preens. "It has been quite some time since I've needed to modify my exterior to such a degree, but I might as well start getting used to matching the theme the Great Maker has gifted you. Now, this way!"
You absently follow his direction and enter through his open gates, only tearing your gaze away from the large weapon when it passes out of sight… and you're pretty sure the gems above the entryway winked at you. Why- oh.
You roll your eyes again, sighing in exasperation as you clamp down on the blush at being caught staring at his gun. You're going to have to get him back for that at some point, though trying to out-lewd him is a… worrying idea, given the casual, off-handed way he's mentioned hosting orgies before.
… ah, you see what he's trying to do here. He wants you to loosen up your own morales in the process of sinking to his level to beat him! Well, you know the winning move now: not playing!
You eye the animated mural of his scorpion-self as it slides along the wall and leads you along, giving it a flat Nope! Not falling for it! look as you cross your arms primly, which causes him to wave his arms and sigh in exasperation.
Victory!
The animated mural directs you through the receiving room, left down a hallway, up two flights of stairs, and then left again, before stopping before closed doorway that sticks out from the rest.
"I can forgive the rush-job," the flowing mural bemoans, "since I now realize that the scarcity of time and lack of preparation the Great Maker and his agents must have been working with. In time, I'm confident I can bring the graft into line with the rest of my being… I just hope you won't think less of me for the jarring aesthetic departure until then."
The frame and door certainly don't match the surrounding vaguely-Japanese aesthetic of Lord Grasp's architecture (which is comfortingly familiar... if you don't think too hard about how it's actually an unnerving reminder of the weird similarities between Creation and Earth), instead they look more like they were torn straight out of some kind of steampunk, technomagical, industrial vault.
Vacuum tubes, wires, gears, pistons, and lots of heavy metal comprise the doorway, though the vast majority of it glimmers in ways that your mind instinctively registers as magical. The overriding color scheme is brass, though there's plenty of gold, silver, and grey parts and lines, with a few glowing crystals for good measure. At the center of it all is a large brass wheel attached to four locking levers that push out to each side of the door frame, reinforcing the "bank vault" initial impression - judging by the extended levers, the wheel has been spun closed.
"It's… very intimidating," you admit, blinking as you take it all in, though now that you're studying it closely… "but it feels… familiar?"
Lord Grasp hums, the little animated scorpion tapping the doorway experimentally. "This entire graft is quite an example of the Great Maker's embodiment of Industry, so it is only natural that it should resonate with you at some level. I just hope that that same resonance doesn't prevent me from fully incorporating it myself. Now, inside..."
The wheel spins, grudgingly in a way that suggests it's far heavier than it looks, until the four levers pull inwards fully with a heavy thunk that resonates through the building. Four of the six glowing crystals wink out with a light pop of static, and then there's a hiss of steam as the door's seals release and the heavy rectangle swings inwards to reveal-
Sitting in a dark room beneath a single spotlight, a table with an indentation that you know matches your own body lies just inside, surrounded by dozens of mechanical arms hovering just above it - each wielding implements of torture and disembowelment straight out of every single one of your nightmares.
But it's not empty because you're lying on it-
Cheerful laughter trickles in through what's left of your ears as pain slicing sawing cutting the blood-soaked blonde preteen looks up at you from the table where she's taking out pieces of Sakura for spare parts.
"Don't worry, Saki! We'll-"
You run.
***
The world blurs as you whip your head around, shaking and screaming as the unfamiliar walls seem to close in on you while you try to flee in panic. Someone is yelling your name but it doesn't matter you need to get out-
The shock of the floor falling out from under you only causes your scream to shift from terror to shock, the brown wood opening up into a hot, white, steam-filled-
SPLASH.
"Pppppfffaahhh!" you sputter, flailing wildly to get your head above water as your feet scrabble on the smooth rock floor of the bath.
"WARDEN!" Lord Grasp's deep, demanding baritone booms through the air, drowning out your own gasping and sloshing. "CONTROL YOURSELF!"
...
You… you aren't... she isn't...
Gold-and-silver pillars around a "natural spring"-like bath, formed of white, black, green, and red marble. Steam fills the air in a way that you would think would be suffocating but instead almost commands your muscles to relax. The water itself soaks through your dress with ease, but as your hands move through it the liquid feels dense, heavy with minerals that… well, they'd probably do great things for normal skin.
The hammering of your heart in your ears begins to slow, along with your reflexive, unnecessary breaths.
"I… I..."
You can't manage much more, eyes and throat welling up as you cover your face in embarrassment and shame.
Lord Grasp remains silent as you cry, but even as you sink back into the bath's built-in seats you can feel the air of the bathhouse swirl and shift to make it less… shockingly hot.
Time passes, horrific memories fading in and out as self-doubt and embarrassment drag them up and your own willpower shoves them back down.
You can't…
"I-I'm… I c-can't k-keep doing this, Lord Grasp," you sob, almost falling apart again with the confession.
The air stirs and the water vibrates with Lord Grasp's forlorn sigh.
"Do you know what kind of healing charms your Assembly possesses? I recall a number of Solar and Sidereal charms that could purge you of your… ailment, but the charms of Autochthon's Chosen are still foreign to me; what I saw from Administrator and Prayer appeared primarily focused on the physical, rather than the direct restoration of the form and spirit."
You wince, head hanging limply as you stare through the water at the distorted image of your flexing hands.
"I don't… think they can fix me like that, Lord Grasp. That's what my charms are for-"
You shake your head groaning.
"- my charms can do, Taylor says. If I don't want to use them for mind-controlling or torturing people."
A pause.
"Then," he begins, slowly, "is there a reason you haven't tried to heal yourself? I know you and Administrator spoke of some sort of… calibration concerns for this new realm, but Charms can't turn against their wielders - they are as much a part of you as your hand or foot."
Even in the warm bath you shudder at the thought, reaching up to wrap your arms around yourself.
"No. Just… no. Taylor's charms were…" you scrunch up your face, shaking your head, "...off. I haven't even tried using... those ones yet - I don't want to use my own brain as a… trial run."
Lord Grasp hums, the entire room buzzing with the doubting sound.
"I agree that using your own mind as a practice arena is poor form, but I remain unconvinced that the Great Maker would thrust you into the world with a flawed tool. Still… this brings us back to our earlier purpose…?"
The hopeful lilt in his tone at the end makes you pause for a moment in thought before you remember what triggered this entire meltdown - then grip your arms tightly and clench your teeth as you shove the storm of emotions back into their hole.
"Can you… change it? Like you said?" you grit out, pleading. "It just looks…"
As you trail off, you note the silence that lingers for a moment before Lord Grasp grunts in concern.
"Warden… not to disparage your… condition, but I was rather shocked by your visceral response to such a technological marvel of divine engineering. In my experience, these types of maladies are given to distorting the senses. Could the suddenness of the reveal have caused you to... see things that weren't there?"
You blink at the doubt in his voice, frowning - and wincing - in thought as you try to remember…
"It was... dark? And there was a... table, that looked like it was… shaped for me. With… tools hovering above it. And… and then I saw-"
You close your eyes and breathe as your heart threatens to tear out of your chest.
Calm.
The cool tingle washes down your head, down your spine.
You breathe. Evenly.
In... out. In... out.
Mind empty, you call up again the memory of what was behind the door - the Clarity helping to filter away the choking emotions strangling the event in your thoughts.
It… doesn't make sense when you look back on it now. Not that you actually believed that Bonesaw and Sakura were there, even before you dipped into Clarity to help you remember without freaking out, but other parts also feel off in retrospect - the lighting, the tools, the table, they all seem… exaggerated.
...
The realization settles over you, a cold, crushing blanket of dread, draining any warmth you feel from the room around you.
This… this is what it is to be crazy, isn't it? Not even being able to trust what you see? What you hear? What you think?
Your empty gaze drifts into focus on your hands again, distorted as they are through the water that comes up to your chest.
You aren't the only one suffering like this, are you? After all, you just got done talking about how Accord might have been driven insane by his power… and then there's all those victims of the Simurgh...
If… if your horrible charms can heal… then you might be the only one able to help them.
You clench your fists. You've been wasting too much time.
Closing your eyes for a few moments, you try to relax. Breathe in… breathe out...
...
No, it's the same as this morning - there's a feeling tells you that you need to meditate outside, not in your Safe Place.
Because that'd be too easy, wouldn't it?
"Ugh," you groan, feeling your wet clothes stick to your body as you climb out of the bath. "Lord Grasp, can I get a change of clothes?"
You pause, narrowing your eyes as another memory bubbling up to the surface.
"Real clothes this time."
"Of course!" he announces, though there's a trace of restrained humor in his tone again as your sopping mess of silks dissolves into a cascade of tiny specks and wisps of white light.
"In my defense, my dear, you only noticed when I pointed it out."
You turn, look for the usual arrangement of eight gemstones above the entryway, then give him a flat Glare.
"I will find a way to get you back... even if I have to work with Taylor to do it."
The eyes glint a humorous green a moment, then turn a shade of dull, nervous blue.
"Ah."
***
Instead of an overly-ornate number like your previous outfits, Lord Grasp instead opts to dress you in a simple bath robe. "Simple" is relative, of course, as its combination of downy furs, lavish silks, and precious-metal embroidery means it would likely cost as much as your family's home in Brockton Bay if you tried to sell it.
You're going to have to think of more excuses to wear it all the time, because by the Maker it feels like you're swimming in pure bliss just walking around in it. The sensation is so distracting that you barely even notice how Lord Grasp guides you back up a flight of stairs and to the vault-like door - only snapping out of it when you're within a few feet of being able to see inside again, as the area surrounding the door is now flooded with light from all the extra candle-like lamps that have been added to the ceiling and opposite wall.
It's enough to make you smile, despite the nervous, anticipatory tremor running down your spine as you carefully… slowly… step around the corner-...
… the Table is there, albeit less sinister-looking in the enhanced lighting, but...
The light pouring in from the hallway reveals a small room - roughly twenty by twenty feet - with a ceiling sloping down at the center. The walls are covered by layers of pipes, motionless gears, pistons, and other industrial machinery, all comprised of different mundane and magical metals of different shades and hues. The floor and ceiling are a flat steel-grey, unbroken except for a ring of clear crystal above and below the Table in the center of the room.
The right wall, however, features something that makes you step back in both shock and confusion: a series of five glass mannequins on brass pedestals, nearly transparent save for bits and pieces of shimmering metal and crystal arranged through them like mock-organs...
Charms.
"What?!" Lord Grasp sputters, making you realize that you must have said that out-loud. His voice has a strange mechanical reverb in this room, and a quick glance reveals that it's an old public-announcement-style speaker above the inside door frame that he's speaking through. "Those are Alchemical Charms? But… they are Artifacts!"
You drift towards the mannequins, oddly entranced by the realization that these things are… somehow… a part of you...?
Oh! Those five other connections that you couldn't figure out before! These… these must be what the lines were leading off to!
Close enough to reach out and touch them, however, it's difficult not to notice how most of these Charms are positioned as if they're… stuck in your brain.
One of them is a sort of helix mesh of crystal and starmetal woven through most of the right side of where your brain would sit, another is a dark soulsteel spike that would sit near the top-front of your brain that's connected to wires running to a small LED that pokes out under the mannequin's right earlobe. A third is a series of small crystalline boxes connected to a series of filaments, the entire device sitting near the top-left part of the brain. The fourth appears to be a flat disk that rests at the base of the mannequin's skull, and an experimental tugging at the mannequin to spin it around reveals that the disk itself looks like a spoked starmetal wheel, ten glittering gemstones arranged along the outside of each spoke.
The fifth and final mannequin, however, is literally covered in tiny nodes of glimmering crystal, their placement and pattern so close together to be almost like pores on the mannequin's skin. The tiny crystals themselves are all networked together by series of hair-thin golden threads, which coalesce into a bundle of threads that would connect to… your heart? Yes, you're pretty sure your heart would rest roughly about there…
Blinking, you step back and look again at the Table as the awful realization fully hits home:
These Charms aren't plug-and-play like pieces of a computer… you need to be taken apart to fit these in.
Your skin flayed, your skull sliced open and stuffed with machinery...
N-...no… you can't…
…
Calm.
...
Closing your eyes, you take a slow, deep breath - relaxing your hunched shoulders, and letting your arm fall from where they were wrapped around yourself in a shuddering death-grip.
Whether or not you want to do this… is irrelevant.
You have to do this. These are pieces of yourself, and deep down you know that you won't be able to fully configure yourself without trying these out at least once.
Autochthon built this room. He built these charms. He built your body. He…
Wait a minute.
"Lord Grasp," you breathe out, turning to look at the speaker above the doorway. "Do you... know how to install these?"
There's a light crackle from the speaker that you interpret as a clearing of his throat, followed quickly by an uncertain bravado.
"Of course, Warden! As disparate as these aesthetics may be, this room is still a part of me after all! I just… haven't had the chance to exercise this room's features! It is not as if I have a spare Alchemical to practice upon, after-..."
He pauses, humming for a split second as the room begins to hum, whir, and glow in a way that doesn't reassure you at all.
"Actually, now that I... consider it…" he muses, just loud enough to be heard over the buzzing mechanical sounds of the room coming to life around you, "I don't believe anyone… else would work? How bizarre! I've tried at length to probe this room's capabilities on my own, but I can feel it resonating with your soul now - like a leg that's only now waking up!"
Judging by the feeling of static in the air and Lord Grasp's own hiss of surprise, he may even be getting a familiar pins-and-needles feeling. The thought is amusing enough to wash away the growing nervousness creeping into the back of your mind as the machinery around you fully awakens.
Six circles of light flare up on the ceiling to fully illuminate the room, and the glass mannequins also begin to glow as their brass pedestals crackle with power. The Table and its surgical arms also begin to rotate and spin - causing you to take a step back reflexively - but you note that the tools along the arms are retracting and reforming much like Taylor's hands do when she's working.
As you watch, the Table slowly rotates to a fully-horizontal position, then slides back up to be fully vertical. Once vertical, however, the glass ring on the floor slides up, revealing that it's a glass tube which clicks into place against its counterpart on the ceiling. Only a few moments later, a thick, syrupy clear-green liquid floods up from the bottom of the tube, filling it completely in less than thirty seconds. With the tube full, the Table twitches and collapses its surgical arms into itself, then slides down and disappears into the floor.
Then, after barely a few heartbeats, the entire tube empties out in a shuddering rush of fluid. Once empty, the tube slides down until it clicks into position just barely visible on the floor, and the Table slides back up.
As astonishing as the entire process was… you wouldn't be surprised if it took just under a minute.
"Well that was exhilarating!" Lord Grasp cheers, the speaker crackling to life behind you again. "Most illuminating, as well! Why, it's like I've known how it works my entire life and am only just remembering that I could do this! I surmise I could even complete an entire operation in mere moments! The wonders of the Great Maker never cease to amaze!"
With this, the surgical arms pop back out of the sides of the Table and it swivels to a forty-five-degree angle like before.
"Come, Warden! Let us begin!"
You turn around and give the speaker a flat look. As smooth as the workings you just saw operated… as much as you trust Lord Grasp with your safety…
Well, your mind tends to notice things.
"I hear boys tend to rush with their first time" you reply evenly, "but this isn't a race."
The entire room descends into silence as the machinery around you seems to halt mid-motion and the electricity powering it freezes in the air.
Only for a moment, before it all comes roaring back with a fuming vengeance. The speaker casts a cascade of sparks as Lord Grasp sputters indignantly, and the arms along the Table flail about in distress.
"W-well I-!" the speaker stammers while huffing loudly. "H-how dare you insinuate that I am anything but the most conscientious of companions! The most tender of attendants! The nerve!"
Even with your Clarity smoothing out any bursts of unhelpful emotions, it's a bit of a struggle to keep the smile from splitting your face as you inwardly congratulate yourself on the devastating strike. Turning to walk towards the Table, you roll your eyes and drive the knife in deeper.
"I hope your inexperience won't be a problem, since you couldn't figure out how to work it on your own."
A strangled groan crackles from the speaker behind you, and the arms along the Table cringe and freeze awkwardly. Ignoring both, you stroll up to the Table and experimentally poke where the metal has been recessed in a shape that matches your own form.
It is a morbid, flinch-inducing thought that smothers your good mood, but it floats up nonetheless: you can't make a classic "be gentle, it's my first time" joke because… well, this isn't the first time you've been sliced up had implants shoved into your brain.
As much as you want to run, flee and hide under the pillows of that amazingly-comfortable bed…
Taylor, Prayer… maybe everyone and everything is counting on you not being such a scaredy-cat. Just because it reminds you of… what happened before… doesn't mean that's going to happen again.
Letting out the breath you didn't know you'd been holding, you shrug off the bathrobe and toss it far enough away so it doesn't get caught in the tube.
Without giving yourself time to convince yourself otherwise, you line up your right arm with the indentation and then awkwardly lean-slash-fall back into the rest of the Table's outline. It's not a perfect fit on the first try, so you shift your legs and slide around until your back and butt actually rest comfortably on the incline.
For a moment, nothing happens.
"Lord Grasp?" you wonder aloud, blinking and trying to lower your eyes to the speaker without moving your head. Is your hair going to get in the way…?
"Just-…" he sighs, initially sounding as if he'd still been holding back retorts from earlier. His tone shifts as the sigh trails off, replaced with something wistful, sad, and sympathetic. "Just a moment, Warden. Are you… sure you're ready?"
You turn your eyes back to ceiling, then eventually close them and muster what's left of your courage.
"No… but go ahead anyway."
A pause.
"Very well," he sighs again, this time punctuated by the whirring sounds of the armatures around the table swivelling to life. "Engaging in three… two… one..."
Before you even have a chance to wince, there is a shock of electricity in the back of your skull-
***
Warm. Calm. Safe.
There's ambient light, but with no obvious point of reference. Are your eyes closed…?
You try to blink, only to realize you don't have eyes.
Or a head.
Or a body.
The realizations instinctively make you want to blink again in surprise, but instead you just sort of… exist.
It feels… like what you remember from your vision of Autochthon. Except instead of an empty void looking out on a massive god-planet, you're just… here. Wherever here is.
"Lord Grasp?"
Somehow, you manage to speak without having a body to make sounds. You even realize it sounds the same to you as your voice does in your head, not the weird way it sounds when you hear yourself in a recording. The harmonic resonance that Clarity gives your voice is also gone…
"Ah! Warden!" Lord Grasp's voice booms from all around you, his relief practically washing over you. "Excellent! Most excellent! Barely any delay in consciousness, and… yes, that shouldn't be as jarring next time. Apologies, I didn't quite use enough power - your soul is…"
He trails off, humming in a way that is once again not reassuring.
"L-Lord Grasp? What do you mean-?"
"Ah, apologies, Warden!" he bounces back. "I must admit that the mysteries and magics of the soul are a bit outside of my area of expertise, but… well, it appears your soul is… connected to something else other than your body? Your sister, perhaps?"
The words come as a shock, but only for a non-existent heartbeat before you're wildly trying to spin around, looking to find this "connection."
"Sakura?!"
You don't spin, because you don't have a body. You don't "look" because you don't have eyes. Instead, you continue to simply exist within a mildly-lit emptiness.
If you didn't feel so safe and warm right now, this would all be very disorienting.
"Now then!" Lord Grasp resumes cheerily, apparently oblivious to your frantic and discombobulated searching. "Let's see about fitting these new charms of yours-…"
A tremor shivers through your bodiless consciousness as you suddenly feel… well, it's almost like you have an ice cream headache and want to throw up at the same time.
"L-Lord Grasp!" you gurgle, spots forming in your vision briefly. "STOP!"
Immediately the sensation cuts out, followed by Lord Grasp's panicked voice.
"Warden! Forgive me, I-... what did I do? I was just following…" he trails off, growing more confused by the second as he rambles on. "Wait. What's this about Charm slots…? Oh, I see, well that's… no… that can't... you can only attune to these Charms with your Personal essence? That's… that's preposterous! For what purpose would the Great Maker handicap your capacity for growth!? None of the other Exalted had any limitation to the number of Charms they could learn!"
You have difficulty understanding what he's talking about, still reeling as you are from the earlier overload of… whatever that was. Your Charms? Attune?
"W-what? Lord Grasp, what's going on? What's wrong?"
"I…" he trails off again, and you can almost feel him shaking his head in dismay, "I apologize again, Warden, but it appears that we have run into a snag: for reasons known only to the Great Maker, it appears that Alchemicals Exalted Charms are an absolute mess. I am unable to simply install these new Charms for you - all of these new Charms require a constant… portion of your Personal essence pool to stop your body from forcibly ejecting them. In short, you will need to trade out some of your current Charms if you wish to install these new ones."
"Oh."
Huh. That… explains the mannequins? If Lord Grasp actually can do all this as quickly as he said before, then this place is really just a kind of... dressing room. For Charms.
Actually, now that you're thinking about it more… this might actually be… nice? You can trade out your Doom Spike and Evil Claws for these other Charms - at least until you've got everything configured and are ready to practice. No more feeling like you have a loaded gun in your hands at all times!
"O-okay!" you manage, liking this idea more and more by the moment. "What are the new Charms?"
Silence.
"Lord Grasp?"
"... oh! Ah, yes… quite," he startles, a wariness in his voice that is causing your non-existent stomach to plummet. "Apologies, Warden, I was just… examining your current Charms, since I never did a good explanation before. It's all quite fascinating, this blend of Artifact and Exalted power! Foremost your Shard of Transcendental Imprisonment looks... it looks... well, actually I do believe I'm going cross-eyed somehow even trying to look at it. How bizarre."
That... doesn't sound reassuring for someone digging around in your brain to be admitting, but the voice rumbles to life again before you can speak up.
"The rest of these are quite more standard-fare, Warden, don't fret! Even if... even if some of these are... a bit… ah..."
You wince.
"Evil?"
"... I was going to say 'severe', my dear." he sighs. "Administrator has the right track: the morality of a weapon is in how it's wielded."
"What about my new Charms?" you sigh, trying to cut him off before he gets it in his head that you shouldn't trade those out. "Are any of them 'severe'?"
There's an odd, shuffling sensation in the back of your mind, and you suspect that if you had physical eyes right now you'd be going cross-eyed.
"Maidens, no," he replies reassuringly, "nothing so blunt. Would you rather I explain them now, or afterwards when you can test them yourself?"
Your formless consciousness projects an imitation of a shrug.
"I need to install them all anyway, I think, but… might as well tell me now?"
Again the flickering in the back of your mind as Lord Grasp clears his throat in a way that makes you think of his scorpion form standing up at a podium, wearing a polo shirt, a sweater-vest, and khakis. You refrain from giggling, somehow.
"First, you have Patriotism-Provoking Display: a Charm that twists the light and shadows around you, making you appear as if you were a stylized statue or poster come-to-life! Like these implements of propaganda, any whom you focus this effect upon will find it harder to resist your requests to support your group. Stylistic and potent, I approve!"
"So I could…" you muse, furrowing your non-existent brow, "...could I use it to help convince people to support the reconstruction in Philadelphia?"
"That… might be too vague, if I'm understanding this Charm's intent correctly. Perhaps if you asked for support for your Assembly? Hmmm. Now that I consider it, Glenn Chambers mentioned something called a 'charity gala'? Apparently your organization requires more funding than your government can provide, which took me quite a while to comprehend I must admit."
You have no face, but you must blanche.
"I… don't think I should be mind-controlling people to make them give us their money, Lord Grasp."
"It's not mind control, Warden," Lord Grasp fumes, and you think you just heard a thump of a oversized claw on something in the background. "What is it with you Earth-born that you insist that anything that affects the mind is equivalent to an unnatural, unresistable compulsion?! Social Charms like this merely enhance your argument, they don't override any capacity for rational thought in your opponent!"
You shrink back at the frustration washing over you from Lord Grasp's tirade, enough to at least… consider that he might have a point. After all, the PRT didn't say your Background Charm was bad even though you're pretty sure it helps you be persuasive. Except… didn't Taylor say that your Background charm was just visuals and sound effects only? It didn't actually influence people directly?
"So… someone would be able to resist this?"
"Yes," he sighs, "that is what I'm saying, my dear, and what Lord Chambers had difficulty believing. I am given to understand that these… 'parahuman' powers are akin to Perfect, irresistible effects, so I can somewhat understand the precedence of concern, but you and your Assembly should at least know the difference!"
"Would-... would someone be able to resist me if I used this?"
"Of cour-"
He pauses.
"Ah…" he coughs, "well… I… believe that would be… hmm."
Again, you feel that shuffling in the back of your mind.
"I confess that this facility gifts me with quite a bit of insight into just how capably the Great Maker designed this body of yours, and combined with the Excellency-analogue Charms you have installed…"
He coughs again, this time much more nervously.
"Frankly, my dear, there shouldn't be a mortal capable of saying 'no' to you if you put your mind to it - and that is before you begin exercising your more situation-specific Charms. Even Enduring Order Administrator and First Prayer of Perfection are unlikely to be capable of resisting your casual capacity for persuasion."
…
"Oh."
It's… so weird. You've heard it's typical for girls to want the power to convince anyone to do what they say, but… you never did? Even if you didn't do much of the talking - that was Sakura's job - you still liked having to argue your point. Your dad always said that debating something was the best way to understand it…
"The 'Excellency' Charms? Those are the super-persuasion Charms I can't turn off, right?" you wonder aloud. "Can you… uninstall those?"
Silence.
"No."
His voice is firm, authoritative in a way you haven't heard from him before.
"I will not aid your misguided attempts at handicapping yourself, Warden, when your ostensible allies are so determined to do it for you."
...But...! No...!
"You don't understand, Lord Grasp!" you plead, flailing into the mildly-lit abyss. "It's-... it's not the same here as it was back then! Things are different! If I can't turn it off, the PRT won't let me-"
"You do whatever you want, whatever you need to do," the abyss growls back, "not only because you are now working with the PRT's true masters, not only because you are one of the few individuals working to stop multiple reality-terminating apocalypses, but because you are not their slave."
FOR YOU ARE EXALTED.
The Vision flashes before your eyes for barely a moment, but... it's enough.
Growing up is hard.
You miss Sakura.
Wherever she is, you hope she's having an easier time than you are.
"... okay."
Lord Grasp lapses into silence for a bit, a feeling of regret mixing into the constant, buoyant sensations of warmth and safety that surround you here.
"... Very well," he sighs, then pauses for a little bit longer. When he resumes, however, some of his earlier energy starts to leak back into his tone. "Let's continue with… ah, yes: Interpolative Syntax Emulator!"
***
Going through the rest of your new charms goes much more smoothly, save for one more hiccup at the end, and Lord Grasp's excitement at being able to interface directly with Exalted Charms eventually manages to infect you again. As for the Charms themselves...
Interpolative Syntax Emulator is basically a Universal Translator, including allowing you to mimic accents, except you have to listen or read a new language for an hour before it kicks in. Probably your most unarguably-helpful Charms, since Lord Grasp says it probably works like the other Exalted versions he saw and it'll let you understand any language - which means you can probably help out Prayer's new recruits when Cauldron delivers them, writing down their language so that Dragon can make a translator for them like she did for Old Realm. Outside of that, though… you probably won't keep it installed all that often once everything is configured.
Conceptual Entropy Module is the first of your two new Charms that the PRT is probably going to panic about, because it lets you effectively make an entire organized group completely stop caring about something. Agenda Recalibration Protocols, on the other hand, can slightly change the opinion of an entire organized group on something. Lord Grasp warned that while he had limited exposure to these types of sweeping social Charms, they often had catastrophic side-effects if not used excruciatingly carefully.
When you tried to clarify the difference between the two Charms, an example from your old home came up: the Empire Eighty-Eight. According to Lord Grasp, if you only spent a few hours over the course of an entire month, with the first Charm you could get them to stop hating non-Aryans, while the second would… well, Lord Grasp said that you could probably get them to twist their "eradicate non-whites" philosophy to "out-breed non-whites."
As much as that made you laugh at first, he then went on to explain that would likely make the group turn all of their females into nothing but breeding stock... and then they'd start pushing that philosophy outwards...
Which made you realize that, yes, you apparently can make the PRT stop caring about mind control effects... but then they'd also stop caring about all the supervillains using mind control powers. Which means they'd stop caring about the Simurgh and all those quarantine zones.
… You're going to talk with Taylor before you try using either of these Charms.
As for Perfected Lotus Matrix…
"...Oh dear."
You'd blink if you could. That mumble sounded like Sakura after you broke Grandma's urn.
"...what?"
Flip, flip, flip in the back of your mind.
"Just-… just a moment, Warden."
… you don't… feel any different? Besides the obnoxious rustling that's now making you remember how colors taste.
"Is something wrong, Lord Grasp?"
"No! No, of course not!"
Flip, flip, flip…
"... Mmmmaybe? It's not my fault, of course, just…"
Flip, flip, flip…
"... What... did you do?"
"Nothing!" he exclaims, and bizarrely you almost feel the sensation of your brain being slammed shut in frustration. "I inserted everything into it's proper place! It's just… well…" he pauses for a moment, making a snort-like grunt that you're pretty sure scorpions can't manage.
"There are two problems. The most dire is that… I don't believe you'll ever be able to remove it."
"O...kay," you draw out, more confused than upset at this news. Abstractly you realize this limits your Charm options now, but… "...but what does it do?"
"Ah! Welll!" he perks up, tone changing back to his usual cheer. "It appears that the artificial Alchemical form is unsuited to natural development of supernatural Martial Arts, which themselves are natural fusions and extensions of the mind, body, and soul. The Perfected Lotus Matrix appears to overcome this limitation - please don't ask me how it does this - and acts as as a library for any Martial Arts Charms that you may learn or develop on your own!"
You'd scowl if you had a face.
"Martial Arts Charms? Are those different than my normal Charms?"
"Quite, dear Warden! Martial Arts Charms are not Artifact-Charm fusions like the rest of your panoply, but rather are pure expressions of your soul's understanding of your body, mind, and the world around you. Simply put, they are clustered into Styles - think of them as you would a tree branch, with Charms either working alongside or building on top of founding Charms - which themselves vary in power: Terrestrial, Celestial, and Sidereal."
"So… each Style has its own Charms? What happens if you learn all of a Style's Charms? Are you stuck?"
"Yes and no - as far as I am aware, at least. I have never seen multiple, distinct Styles share Charms... though there was one Terrestrial style I heard about that allowed for branching schools of enlightenment at its higher stages," he muses, before ramping up in energy again. "Regardless, this is why I am so excited for you, Warden, for herein lies the path for you to ascend past your artificial limitations: there appears to be no limit to the number of Styles your Perfected Lotus Matrix can hold!"
Though his enthusiasm is as infectious as ever, you still reflexively try to lean back from the overly-eager explanation.
"That's… good?" you allow, which gets an impression of a bobbing head in return. "How do I learn new Styles?"
A halting pause.
"Ah. Well, you see, Warden," he starts again, much more cautiously this time, "this is the second concern: you have a Style already encoded within the Charm… except I cannot understand it."
"That's… bad?"
"... perrrrhaps, yes... if... it is a Sidereal Martial Art Style."
Again, you fail to frown due to critical lack of face.
"Those were one of the other types of Exalted, right? They had the most powerful Martial Arts Charms?"
"Yes. And anyone else that... tried to learn their styles…"
"...yes?"
"... they exploded."
…
"...That was why you were worried you couldn't uninstall the Charm."
"Yes, Warden."
"... and... when you say... 'exploded'...?"
A pause.
"...The crater in which we first appeared?"
"Oh."
"Bigger."
"Okay."
"I wasn't there to witness the first attempt myself, of course-"
"I believe you."
"A-ah, of course, Warden," he coughs. "Not that I truly believe that the Great Maker would so erroneously doom his own salvation! You are Starmetal itself - the magical metal of Maidens' Chosen! If there were any other type of Celestial Exalted capable of reaching the tiers of enlightenment only thought reserved to-"
"You can stop now, Lord Grasp."
Your mechanical companion makes a nervous, strangled grunt, but you are oddly detached from his concern.
You've had a bomb in you before, after all.
Except… you don't quite think this is the case, here. You're not sure if it's a gut feeling - since you don't have a gut at the moment - or just some lurking understanding that you haven't unlocked yet due to your unaligned charms, but you could almost call it…
Faith.
It's not the mind-shattering epiphany of your Vision or the bones-deep passion that you can tell Prayer has, just… a quiet reassurance that no, Autochthon didn't actually give you (or Lord Grasp) a bomb to accidentally put in your own body.
"Which Charms did you remove?"
There is a feeling of bafflement that washes over you.
"...Pardon, Warden?"
"You said I didn't have space for all the new charms and my old charms," you explain evenly, a disembodied consciousness floating inside a warm, safe, mildly-lit abyss. "Which did you remove?"
"Ah, I see! Yes, Warden, quite astute!" he rambles, his own nervousness fading as he goes. "Patriotism-Provoking Display, Interpolative Syntax Emulator, Agenda Recalibrating Protocols, and Conceptual Entropy Module all require a single mote of your Personal essence pool to attune, while your Perfected Lotus Matrix requires… permanently… two motes. To make room, I removed two one-mote Charms - Transcendent Brutality Programming and Programmed Catechism Rebuttal - and two two-mote Charms - Personality Override Spike and Multifunction Hypodermic Apparatus."
"Oh," you note distantly, before you feel your attention gravitating towards that last Charm. "I… haven't had a chance to figure out all the things my Drug Spike Charm could do. Can you see all the different things it can make?"
A pause.
Flip, flip, flip...
"Maidens."
That sounded more like an awed expletive than a grimaced curse. Hmm.
"Can you write down what they are and what they do?"
...
"...O-oh! Yes, Warden," he mumbles after a moment.
Flip, flip, flip...
"I… think you may like having this Charm equipped, Warden."
Then he giggles.
… you are no longer dispassionately unconcerned with what is going on.
You are now deeply concerned. For your sanity.
"Lord Grasp…"
"Oh, don't worry," he giggles again, "you'll see. I can even put it back in if you want..."
…
It is imperative you get out of here before he can put that Charm back in.
"I'm getting out now, Lord Grasp."
"Oh fine," he pouts, which immediately makes you wonder if that was an act just to rile you up and distract you from the potential impending existence-ending explosion.
As nervous, anxious, and tired as that last thought makes you feel, the Faith you felt earlier still lingers.
The Great Maker saved you. He's not going to blow you up-
***
Half-coughing, half-vomiting the liquid from the tank out of sheer reflex, you slide off the angled table in a tangle of limbs and stare vacantly at the steel ceiling as your consciousness…
… your soul…
…
Ah.
You suppose that... explains... many things.
Which only makes you boggle at the larger question: why didn't you just start with this installed?
Grah! What the flip, Maker!?
"-arden…? Warden!"
Lord Grasp's worried calls crackle through the speaker, bringing you out of your reverie.
"I-…" you cough, automatically bringing the back of your hand to your mouth to delicately cover it because that way makes you appear... less imposing.
"I'm okay, Lord Grasp," you try again, bowing your head demurely as you carefully lean on the table to stand. "Thank you."
There is a long, pregnant pause as you regain your unsteady footing - your sudden enlightenment bringing into sharp clarity just how frustratingly clumsy you actually are. You're going to need to fix that, but… how? You remember Taylor saying that Alchemical bodies don't physically improve with training, but maybe Tinkertech can help?
Also, you need long, flowing sleeves on everything now, don't you? And… oh, Maker, your Doom Spike and Drug Spike Charms are perfect for this Style. You think you could even work your Evil Claws into it, as horrific that thought is.
Siiiiiigh.
"...Are you… certain, Warden?"
"Yes, Lord Grasp," you sigh, turning to smile genuinely at the speaker above the doorway. "I feel… really, good, actually. Like I've figured a whole bunch of things out… and some things that I didn't even know I was wondering."
"Ah," he snorts, laughing abruptly. "Now that sounds most familiar! Now come, don't leave me in suspense! What Style did the Great Maker bestow upon you?"
You blink, tilt your head cutely and beam happily.
"Nothing!"
***
You expected Lord Grasp to complain about your evasive answers regarding your new Style, but it only takes a few denials for him to drop the subject rather abruptly… and with a hint of nervousness that unsettles you in turn, almost as if he doesn't want to know anymore.
Not that you actually do have a new Style. Lord Grasp must have just been imagining things, what with his inexperience and all.
Because if you did have a new Style, well… you're skilled at fighting now, sure, but way too clumsy to be a front-line fighter. You're supposed to be the PR girl, right? If you're going to fight people, wouldn't it be better if… well… they didn't know you were fighting them? That way you could talk and fight at the same time!
Good thing there is no such thing as Quiet Gauge Style, so no one has to worry about that.
...
You can't wait to not try these moves out on Prayer. She definitely won't see them coming. As for Taylor...? Ugh, you probably can't fool her. Darn.
Though… what are you going to tell the PRT? They're not likely to play along and will want hard measurements and details. Which don't exist, of course.
Worse, Taylor and Cauldron made it clear that anything you do say to people on Earth will eventually get noticed and leaked, because parahuman powers are bullpoop and the Simurgh is out to get you.
Might as well ask Taylor what to do when you see her next. Until then…
… Sakura was always better at talking, but even then the both of you never really lied. Sure you'd find ways to change the subject or give out a little information and let people draw their own (wrong) conclusions, but bald-faced lies? Mother always said they'd come back to bite you eventually…
Maybe...
Maybe... that idea… doesn't have to clash completely with the enlightenment you've gained? You see things differently now, but the more you think about it… could you ever-
Ugh, just trying to think about this hypothetical style in a non-deceptive way makes your head hurt. Not that you would talk about a Style that doesn't exist, but if you even tried… could you?
"Warden?"
You flutter your sleeve-covered hand absently, waving off the concern as you cover your pained expression with the other.
"It's… nothing, Lord Grasp. Just some… worries about what I'm going to tell the PRT."
The eight gemstones above the mirror spin in a way that conveys an eye-roll, the animated bath robe that is helping put on your actual dress throwing its 'arms' up in exasperation.
"Do we need to have this discussion again, Warden?"
You sigh. "No, Lord Grasp."
"Because it sounds quite like we must have this discussion again."
"That's okay, Lord Grasp."
The empty arms prop themselves up on the empty hips, then the whole robe somehow gives you a put-upon look despite being without a head.
The silent staring contest with a bathrobe ends when you decide to finally Glare at it, causing the robe to raise its arms up to signal that it is just done with all this.
"Well then, Warden - what is your plan? We were off to see Administrator before we were so abruptly side-tracked by those knock-off Viziers."
You wince again, sighing as you return to your previous concerns.
"I… think I need to act like I haven't talked with Taylor yet today. I can probably explain why I'm only coming out now because of our testing out your Charm… bank? Vault?"
"No, neither of those, I believe," he hums, filling the room with a low vibration as the bathrobe adopts a thinking pose. "Armory? No… perhaps… ah, yes! A 'vat'! That is the word that has been on the tip of my mandible this whole time! "
"Your vat, then," you giggle, watching the animated robe flutter about before frowning again in thought. "If I transport right to New York, though, I probably won't be able to meditate again there for a while. So… instead of transporting to Brockton and flying to Philadelphia, maybe… I can just meditate there?"
The bathrobe settles down, Lord Grasp growing quiet for a moment before grunting in concern.
"I could not help but notice the telltale signs of significant battles having being waged there, Warden, and Administrator's recollection of her own battle revealed that these... 'Endbringers' are drawn to that stage."
"R-Right," you groan, shaking your head. "Sorry, I-"
"It is perfect!"
…
You look at the bathrobe, then back to the gemstone eyes, then back to the bathrobe.
"What?"
"Exalted are the grandest weapons ever designed!" Lord Grasp booms joyously, the robe opening its empty arms wide. "If you are to wage a war for control of this new reality, what better place to align your own armaments than the beachhead itself?"
You blink.
Right. Siege Pagoda. Honestly, it's easy to forget sometimes.
"I… don't think I can meditate inside, Lord Grasp."
"Ah," he hums again. "That makes things more difficult, then. Perhaps… just outside my gate? If you are not to be within the protections of my defensive Charms, at the very least you must be within clutching range."
You aren't certain how to feel about that mental image.
"So you can... pick me up and toss me inside?"
The headless bathrobe nods.
"Naturally."
You close your eyes and sigh.
"Just… help me get out of this dress."
***
The sun is high above when you float out into the air high above Brockton Crater again. The noon-ish sky is largely cloudless, and the cool sea breeze is almost enough to disperse the stench of sulfur and other toxins wafting up from the artificial lake below.
What remains of your former home is still a ruined, ash-stained hellscape. What parts of the city aren't completely buried under the crater's edge are either sunken into hollow, water-filled pits from the boiled-away aquifers, or smashed flat, melted, then left to rust and ruin.
Have any of the other Wards been back here yet? You know there was at least a few weeks where anyone entering the area had to wear hazmat suits to protect against the toxic fumes, but maybe that's mostly gone now? Except for over the lake, that is.
Peering down from your vantage point in Lord Grasp's palanquin - a few hundred yards above the crater - you still can make out the black orb hanging motionless in the air above the lake's center. You can also see the remote-controlled safety-net drone hovering a few yards below the large ball, which makes you wonder if the terrifyingly-powerful spirit dragged it back over there or if that's just its default position.
Now that you think about it…
"Lord Grasp, do-… do you think he'll mind me meditating here?"
Your mechanical companion is silent, though he rotates just enough to let him get the black ball in his peripheral vision.
"... I… presume" he starts, slowly, "that Lord Iris will... inform us if we are distracting him."
The two of you float there for a bit.
Aside from the distant sound of waves crashing along Brockton Bay's coastline, it's quiet up here.
You cough politely into your fist.
"Y-yes, Warden. Let us begin."
Gliding down on his self-generated puffy cloud, Lord Grasp brings you down approximately near where the safety-net drone dropped you off on the crater's edge before - this area having been packed down by something (probably Taylor and Dragon) to allow for PRT planes and helicopters to land.
Thankfully, that means there's just enough space for Lord Grasp to stretch out.
The process is as mesmerizing as ever, though you note it takes a bit longer than the few times you've seen him unfold in your Safe Space. The way he shudders and shakes his claws in distaste after fully finishing confirms your initial guess as to why.
"Horrid, Warden. Simply horrid. I will not rush you, Warden, but… well, no, I will rush you. Maidens this is so much more uncomfortable - I'm uncertain I can sustain this form for longer than… a month, at the longest. Less if we face actual combat." He shudders and shakes his claws again. "Oh, how embarrassing..."
As much as you want to think he's just showing off again, the genuine embarrassment and shame in his voice silences your impulse to giggle at his antics.
"Are you going to be okay, Lord Grasp?"
Clearing his throat - …would that be the receiving room? - he settles down firmly into the packed dirt and stone and digs his six, massive legs into the ground. After a few seconds of flexing each to make certain he's anchored into the earth, the large gemstone eyes above his front gate glimmer with power.
Then the giant crossbow-gun pops out of the top of the chimney in the back and starts scanning the area.
"Well enough to serve, Warden," he grunts, then uses his bus-sized right claw to poke and flatten the dirt just in front of his wide-open front gate. Finding it steady, the sun glints off his large gemstone eyes in such a way as to make him appear to be sizing you up approvingly.
"Shall we get to work?"
***
Though you weren't around for all of Taylor's meditation sessions, you did at least catch her first. Thankfully she'd somehow managed to prevent an anima flare, which would have been a problem given that your group had been stuck in the back of a PRT van leaving New York at the time.
Knowing what you know now - that meditation usually causes an anima flare - your group should have probably told Taylor to just wait.
Her anima's lack of a 'friend or foe' check isn't what brings that meditation session to mind, however; instead, you're remembering how all her charms started popping out of her body.
Besides the slightly different perspective you've gained from getting an injection of magical ninjutsu directly into your brain and soul, you don't… feel much different? Given Taylor's own comments, you'd think that having four of your original charms swapped out for five new ones would have fixed the "alignment" problem.
No… there's still that slight discomfort in the back of your head, like wearing too-tight leggings with too-big underwear: something you only notice if you move in a specific way or pay attention to it. In fact, you wouldn't have noticed at all without Prayer and Taylor specifically asking whether you could feel any kind of irregularity during the PRT tests.
Oddly, it was the absence of that feeling that stopped you from trying to meditate earlier today.
Which… makes sense. Your charms know how to work in a fully-Essence environment just fine, after all - it's all this completely normal Earth reality that your magical robot powers have problems handling.
… which sounds like something you've read in one of those bad capefics about Taylor, actually. Weird. Maybe you should look that author up after all this.
Still, you're probably oversimplifying it since all this magic stuff is more Taylor's Thing. Along with Science, Tinkering, and Bugs. And Cooking.
Ugh, as much as you like just thinking about stuff you've never been good at meditation… or is that why you're bad? Too much thinking?
Right. Charms popping out when Taylor meditated before. That means… she... unattuned them? Somehow? You're still not really sure what "attunement" even means or how it works. So maybe… start there?
Eyes still closed, you shift from your seiza position on the loose dirt and bring the bottoms of your feet together in one of the stretching positions that Bladedancer had you do during warm-ups. It's not especially comfortable, but if your charms are going to stop popping out of your everywhere then you'd rather keep as much space free as possible - your butt being largely free of Charms except for those glowing circles on the sides, while your calves and thighs have some glowing circuitry and metal reinforcements that you wouldn't want getting trapped.
Okay, space secured. Now… maybe focus on your energy grids and power lines?
Just wondering about them brings the mental images to the fore, much more easily than your previous mediation efforts. Because of your time in the vat? Maybe. Still-...
Oh, you can still see your old charms that are inside Lord Grasp!
(You will allow yourself this one instance, otherwise you're just going to keep getting distracted: Lewd.)
Right. Traded-in Charms still visible. Though… they're not as… bright?
You have the two spiral hexagons with varying amounts of power inside them (zero and lots), glowing wires trailing down from them attached to your various charms. Some wires are glowing like strips of LED lights, connecting to the nearby buzzing nodes of power that are your (you guess) equipped charms, while other, dimmer wires trail down further to your unequipped, and un-lit charms.
Huh. Now that you're looking at all of it again, you can see they're not in the same order as before. Is that because Lord Grasp shuffled them around when he was stuffing things inside you-
LEWD okay last one. For real.
…
You know, you're surprised Lord Grasp hasn't actually hit on you given how much he talks about lewd stuff. Though his stories about his previous owners didn't seem to imply that he was interested in them, either, so maybe he's only into… other... buildings? How would that even… work?
...
Going back to Charms now! Let's see, glowing power lines annnnd- phew, got it back!
Uhhh… right, what were you doing? Oh, yeah, the dimmer ones… are unattuned? Maybe? That sounds right, since they're not equipped.
So… how do you… unequip your current ones without having Lord Grasp tear them out? Hmm…
Maybe… focus on the charms themselves?
Actually, maybe instead of thinking of them just like hazy floating balls of glowing blue energy… try to focus on what they actually look like? You've already seen the five that Lord Grasp put in, so you should be able to figure those-
Five of the hazy orbs start to vibrate, but as you focus your attention on one at a time, they stretch and warp… slowly… into…
Glass mannequins, standing atop glowing blue pedestals - each's respective wire plugged into its glowing base.
… makes sense? You can see the charms within them like before, except any exposed circuitry, panels, or studs are actually glowing like you're sure they are now if you were to look at yourself in the mirror. Looking at each in turn...
Huh. Perfected Lotus Matrix is the charm you noticed earlier as a circular disk at the back of the skull. Why does that seem… familiar-?
"I know Kung Fu."
Right. Siiiigh.
Another really weird coincidence to add to the pile.
As you're focusing on it, however, you notice it's not just a stand-alone Charm - it's actually got some sort of overlapping starmetal-and-adamant filagree set into the skull-facing side, their combined designs forming some kind of fractal-like flower. Maybe if you try pushing a little bit more essence into it you can see what it does?
Mentally, you pull at the spiral of power above and drag it down the line towards the charm… except… there's… resistance…?
Whatever, just shove-
The whole charm surges and crackles with power, blasting away any other conscious thought as-
-two familiar hue three nothing to see four out the door-
-insight, mantras, katas, forms, mnemonics, positions, attitudes too much too much-
…ssssSSSS-FZZT
Like one of Chris' tinkertech projects overloading and fizzing in a show of sparks, the entire Perfected Lotus Matrix Lotus Charm - and its submodule, Lotus Filament Conduction - glows incandescent in your mind's eye and then winks out, cutting off the torrent of enlightenment that was threatening to turn your brain into double-speak-filled mush.
The line running down from your smaller spiral of power is completely dark for a long moment of absent thought…
… but then one hexagon fills… two hexagons fill...
CLICK-VMMM-ZZZZzzzz...
But before you have any chance to panic (or have any thoughts whatsoever) about damaging your Charm, the two newly-refilled hexagons in your smaller spiral empty out again with a 'On-button'-like click, causing a rush of power down the darkened line.
...aaaand you can think again.
Ugh.
Ow.
What...? What was that? Why… couldn't you even think...?
...
Oh. Right. You weren't supposed to be able to remove that Charm.
Huh.
Well… now that you're looking at it more critically, you can tell that the circuit running from your Personal essence reserve looks far more solid and vibrant than the others - the only possible exception being the one you're pretty sure runs to your Safe Space Charm, because that one looks like a firehose instead of a circuit.
You… aren't looking forward to repeating what you just did with that one. Probably… save it for last? Mmmhm.
Alright. Not as… painless as what Taylor did, but it… worked?
No slight headache from thinking too hard about the Style you definitely don't have, so you're pretty sure that counts as "working as intended." Ah, and… well, if you had been having trouble with a Martial Arts Style encoded in your charm… then you would probably be relieved at being able to remember the actual names of the moves that Style might have!
Some pretty amusing names… and some… kind of disturbing names… huh.
Good thing that Style doesn't exist, because the PRT would definitely have reason to panic if it did. Not that you would ever use it's ability to cause people to suddenly dissolve into a screaming puddle of corrosive acid weeks or months after you hit them…
… Autochthonia isn't a very nice place, is it? Taylor said it was hard for the humans there to make a living in a world made of metal, lightning, steam, crystal, oil, and smoke, but…
Well, a theoretical Style based around looking harmless while hitting things with delayed-action poisons and effects... would only be useful against other people.
And then there's your Personality Override Spike. And Transcendent Brutality Programming. Heck, your Rogue Cell Isolation Protocols, Conceptual Entropy Module, and Agenda Recalibration Protocols Charms are pretty terrifying, too, if not as blatantly evil-sounding.
Alchemical Charms are designed by humans and made by humans, not by Autochthon, you remember Taylor saying during your PRT tests.
But… you remember the drawings Taylor had of their cities! They looked huge and tough and awesome… not like what you'd imagine nations of super-evil people would make. If everything was twisted and wrong there, they'd look more like… China or North Korea, right? Things falling apart everywhere, the highest government members living in luxury while everyone else suffers and dies in poverty…
Still, even if the humans living in Autochthon aren't some hundred-million-strong crazy-evil cult-nation, your Charms make it pretty clear that life is… not good over there.
And Sakura might be over there.
Would she be an Alchemical too? Starmetal? She'd probably have the best chance of the two of you to make it...
… huh? One of your Charms is lighting up on its own. It's… one you haven't really used before? You don't think so, at least, but it's also one of those "always on" charms so you may just not have noticed: Hierarchical Dogma Lock.
What did Taylor say this one did? Umm… makes it… hard for people to convince you to do something? Something something "greater good"? Ugh, you were too busy having a meltdown from learning about your charms so now you can't fix your charms!
Hmm… it's not glowing anymore now that you're not thinking about Sakura? Well, now it is again but… that doesn't quite feel right? It's not Sakura that was triggering it but… uh… your memories about Sakura? That's…. closer?
Trying to think about how she would be doing in Autochthon's body? ...No?
So, less about Sakura herself and more… your past with Sakura? Hmm… closer.
Your life with Sakura?
Your life before?
...sss-zzt...
The Charm pulses with energy as a slight pulse of energy seems to flow through it, causing the vague blue orb to stretch out into another glass mannequin. Inside the transparent copy of your own body, you notice this charm is also installed in your brain - making you wonder just exactly how everything actually fits in there without squeezing your brain into the size of a raisin - looking like three tiny white-metal circuit boards lined up together.
Once of which is glowing much brighter than the others now. Huh.
Oh.
You are Saki Kurosawa.
Right. You know Taylor has had to deal with people doubting whether she was actually the same person, but you've just… never thought otherwise? She's Taylor, and you're Saki. It's really not that hard.
The first little circuitboard buzzes faintly, apparently... satisfied? Is it… helping reinforce that idea? Odd, and maybe a little overkill, but whatever - this Charm's line seems to be barely drawing any power at all, so it doesn't feel like it's taking up resources you could use for another Charm. Now… what are the other two circuitboards doing?
…
No thoughts pop into your head by themselves, so… are they blank? Do you need to give them ideas to reinforce?
Right. Well, the obvious one is that the Charm should make sure no one can convince you to give upon Sakura. Get to it, Charm!
…
Nothing? Huh. Why…
Uh… maybe something to do with… "greater good"? Concepts? Ideals?
Well, smut is obviously for the greater good-
...sss-zzt...
… you do not feel at all ashamed by how easy that was, because yes, smut is truly the way to the hearts of the people. And their minds. And their pants.
Now for a third ideal… hrmmmm.
As much as you want to make it one of your ships, that… probably is a waste right now, since you get the feeling this isn't something you can easily change. So as funny as it would be to have bullshit magic reinforcing the truth of "Weld/Taylor OTP" or "Broadcast/Kid Win OTP" you should probably use this power to help the rest of the Assembly somehow (...more than getting Taylor a boyfriend would help the Assembly, which… would probably not be insignificant).
Well, that does bring up Taylor's - and Cauldron's - problem of losing sight of what it means to be human in the face of all these impending disasters. As worried you're getting that Taylor is on the fast-track to the deep-end, maybe… that can be something you focus on? Not just for Taylor, but… in general?
Ironically, you're reminded of a line from an Alexandria/Eidolon fic: "The Big Picture is made up of lots of Little Pictures, after all. Without them, there'd be no Picture left."
...sss-zzt...
Just as the third circuitboard buzzes with energy and starts to settle down, you grab hold of another few motes from your Peripheral pool and shove them down… down… down-
…ssssSSSS-FZZT
CLICK-VMMM-ZZZZzzzz...
...phew. No mind/soul-tearing, no dangerous overload of epiphanies and enlightenment, just a more comfortable feeling with the Charm and a better understanding of how it works - like that it's got three installations because of its Multimodal Duty Integrator submodule, instead of just being able to support one ideal. Better still, apparently you can use its Herald Infuser submod to give someone else that shares one of your three ideals the same boost your Charm gives you like how Taylor gives people her Thinker boost!
... might be a while before you can get the rest of the Assembly behind your second ideal, but it's a noble cause - they'll come around eventually.
Alright… now that you've got proof that you're not going to be frying your own brain for each charm you fix, time to move on to the next one. Now where to start?
Industrial Survival Frame? Hmm, well, both Taylor and Prayer have this one so it's as good as any to start diving into…
***
Slowly opening your eyes, the breath you release tingles your teeth and tongue - as if the very air you had been keeping within yourself was charged with the static from your anima. It's a cool, soothing effect, though you can't help but notice the metallic taste in your mouth and the scratchy feeling in your throat.
You're glad you saved your Safe Space Charm for last. That… hurt, but the power boost at the end… what a rush!
"Warden?"
The world around you looks roughly the same as you last saw it - save the sun having moved a few dozen degrees in the sky - but Lord Grasp's slightly-distracted tone instantly causes you to come to full alert.
"Yes, Lord Grasp?" you smile, taking your time to rise to your feet in an uncaring, unthreatening manner. Just as you thought, your voice is a bit hoarse. "Is- is everything alright? How long was I out?"
He hums absently, shifting his legs to pull them up and out of the ground with minimal disturbance to the surrounding rocks and dirt.
"Mmmm… roughly three hours, my dear, but it was largely uneventful apart from your occasional horrific screams of pain and Lord Iris inhaling your totemic anima from his spot over the lake."
...uh... what-?
As you blink, he nonchalantly gestures upwards with one of his enormous claws.
"Oh, and we have an audience."
Vacantly following his claw with your eyes, you turn your head back around and look up. Odd, you don't notice anything- oh, you see him!
You wave and smile even wider, since Legend can probably see your face from up there.
Sure enough, the small figure in the distance - only recognizable due to Legend's iconic pale-blue-and-pure-white bodysuit - glides down, slowing to hover a few dozen feet above the ground. His own smile is one of relief and humor, though there's a tension in his body that makes you suspect that Lord Grasp is making him nervous.
The fact that he's hovering just outside of what you think is the range of Lord Grasp's claws is more evidence to that thought.
"Saki!" he grins, uncrossing his right arm from his chest to wave in greeting. "How was your meditation?"
"A-ah," you exhale, half-laughing awkwardly as your grin grows strained. "It was… good! Was I really… screaming?"
His grin grows strained as well, though he shakes his head as he snorts in good humor now that you appear to not be in pain or trouble. "Dragon called me to let me know you were meditating here, but I was busy dealing with a fight between the Adepts and the Housiers. I got here about ten minutes ago and I could hear you all the way up there and you were throwing off small arcs of lightning. I was worried, but…"
His half-hidden gaze tilts up and to the right as he nods to Lord Grasp.
"Well, the sparkling building-scorpion seemed to be taking it alright so I guessed it was just something you were handling on your own. I was actually about to head back because you'd settled down again, but then your 'anima' stopped and..."
Then he shrugs as if to say 'so here we are.'
"Oh, I'm sorry," you bow slightly, clasping your hands in front of you at the same time. "I didn't mean to interrupt what you were doing. A-and I'm sorry that I… ran away last night."
There's a barely-noticeable flicker of hesitance from Legend as his head tilts towards Lord Grasp again, then he floats over to you and lands on the ground before putting a hand on your shoulder in reassurance.
"There's no need to apologize, Saki. I can tell you're trying your best, and that's all that matters."
Your face heats up as you smile in embarrassment, nodding in relief... as you inwardly pout that Legend doesn't want to join the Assembly.
It's not fair! He's just… so cool!
… but no, you're not going to try to convince him if he doesn't want it on his own. He's got a family, right? That… that would be something Cauldron would do. Ugh.
Wait, Legend knows about Cauldron because they made him, right? Does he know about everything they do? He has to know that Alexandria is Chief Director Costa-Brown, at least, which…
It… feels like a betrayal? That he's been lying all this time to everyone? Maybe you should ask…
...no, that… that feels like something to ask Taylor about first, since you don't even know if Legend knows you know about Cauldron.
Ugh. Conspiracies are dumb.
You shove away the frown that threatens to creep up on your features and instead focus on something much more important: your Charms!
"Oh! Right!" you perk up, grinning happily and bouncing on your toes, "Lord Grasp and I figured out that he has a room where I can switch charms in and out, like Taylor said she could do with Lord Iris! He had five new charms for me to try, and after we figured out that I can't have them all in we swapped out my Doom Spike and Evil Claws to fit the new ones in."
Legend leans back slightly from your exuberance, and you can practically feel his eyebrows raise behind his dark-blue visor.
"Five new powers? That's… quite impressive, Saki. Do you know what they do?"
"Yup!" you nod, though realization drains a bit of your energy and cheer. "Though two of them… are... kinda bad."
"Ah," he sighs, shoulders sagging as his smile grows sad. "I'm sorry to hear that. Should I be worried?"
You shake your head. "N-"
Wait a minute. Legend is… right. Huh.
"Aaaactually," you draw out, frowning as you absently look away while considering the full power you now understand your charms hold. "I… think I could use them to get everyone to stop hating gay people!"
Legend freezes.
"...what?"
You can't help yourself smiling at this excellent idea. Boys Love shouldn't be Forbidden Love!
"They... super-charge me when I'm trying to convince whole groups of people to stop caring about something or think differently about something," you nod, touching your lips in idle thought, "and that'd be a great way to test it!"
Yes… hot, sweaty, guy-on-guy action in the mainstream media! You can see it now-
"Tatsu. Stop."
You blink, looking back to see Legend's mouth set in a thin, stern line as his grip grows firm on your shoulder. Noting that he has your attention again, he nods slowly to emphasize his level tone of voice.
"I… appreciate your interest in helping… accelerate the general state of LGBT acceptance in the world, Tatsu. Honestly, I do. However, using powers to make it happen is not something I'll ever condone. If it doesn't happen naturally, it will never last - and worse, it will give legitimacy to the vocal minorities that fear any kind of change or 'deviancy.'"
… but… it's… they don't-
… Okay, Conceptual Entropy Moduledoes work on other people directly, so… you... guess people could see that as mind control? Ugh, this is exactly what Lord Grasp was arguing with you earlier, except you're on the other side now.
Frowning, you square your shoulders and shake your head firmly.
"It's not forcing people to change, though! It just helps me piece together a better argument, so it's-" ugh, no, can't use Erasmus or Accord! Oh, right... "like… Alexandria! It's a Thinker power, not a Master power!"
His grip lessens, and from the way his mouth relaxes you think you've got him… but then he takes a deep breath and shakes his head.
"I get what you're saying, Saki, and I'm sorry I doubted you like that… but... I suppose it's worth giving you the talk I usually only have with any new, openly-gay Protectorate members or Wards."
Legend sighs, grimacing as he takes his hand back and crosses his arms over his chest again. His voice loses the force you've always heard him with, a shade of weariness settling over the Protectorate paragon.
"It's not public knowledge, but... I've worked with a number of Thinkers and precogs over the years... and we've generally come to the conclusion that America will accept us faster, more permanently if we don't force the issue too much. It's why I don't give speeches at pride parades, as much as I know it would help those that are having a hard time and may need that boost of confidence, that reassurance that things are getting better."
You blink, nodding absently as you recognize the truth in part of that; you've heard that Earth-Aleph is much less tolerant than Bet is, and that it's in large part due to Legend publicly coming out in the 90s. Still, there's a reason that there's still a higher-than-average number of non-straight people having Trigger Events…
Sighing yourself, you see where this is going already. After all, if you actually managed to use either (or both) charms against whole cities… or against the entire US… the change would be pretty rapid.
"I get it," you nod, averting your eyes in thought. As bummed as you are that you couldn't convince Legend of this, you're a little glad he talked you out of it, too. Still, maybe you can still turn this around somehow? "Sorry… I'm... still getting used to having powers like this."
This draws a chuckle from Legend, his body regaining some of its confident energy as he smiles wryly.
"Now there's a familiar phrase if I've ever heard one. Not every Ward is as willing to listen to other people before they start tossing them around, though."
You don't think he means Taylor - he's probably seen a lot of dumb mistakes over the years - but… he probably isn't not thinking of her.
Hmm, you're already getting better at this double-speaking way of thought. You're glad you meditated.
"Oh!" you gasp, because this can work as a good subject change. Turning back to Legend, you let the still-lingering feeling of relief from your meditation widen your smile. "That's right! When I was configuring my charms, I got back my memories of all the places Nowhere and Strider took me before!"
Legend perks up, revealing a wide smile of perfectly-white teeth.
"Really? That's good to hear, Saki - though I heard Nowhere and Strider both enjoyed their time with you before, so they're probably going to be disappointed that they won't have another excuse to repeat the trips."
"A-ah," you giggle, hiding your mouth behind your hands, "they're both funny… in different ways."
You're not going to reveal that Nowhere grudgingly (at first) showed you a few red light districts, or that Sakura and you got Strider hooked on smutty capefics by making him read some of your own. Those who have been inducted into the Halls of Smut shall stand together!
… probably going to need to turn down your prettiness even more for Strider when you talk to him again, though, since he isn't really good around girls.
"A-anyway," you keep going, getting back to your previous thought and cranking up the Maximum Cuteness. Wide eyes, vulnerable body language, hopeful expression… go! "I was wondering: since I can teleport anywhere now… if I could show the other Wards? We… I… didn't get the chance to, before… everything happened."
Legend… slowly… leans back, letting out a tight breath through his nose as his mouth purses in thought.
"You're not…" he finally manages, voice awkwardly tight, "using one of your new powers... are you?"
"No!" you protest, batting your eyes in shock. "That-"
Idea!
"Oh!" you exclaim, holding up a finger, "Wait! Just a second!"
Turning back to the looming structure of Lord Grasp, you extend an arm in the air dramatically, pointing to the heavens.
"Lord Grasp! Dress me!"
The command works a little too well.
"Oh thank the Maidens," Lord Grasp heaves, his gates flying open to vomit forth a tide of cloth, powders, scents, and glittering accessories that nearly bowls you over. "I was this close to just spanking you for going into battle without your proper ornamentation! One more minute and I would have buried the two of you out of sheer embarrassment!"
At least, that's what you think he says. It's hard to hear, getting spun and tossed around by animated lengths of silk and cottons while trying not to choke on the sudden onslaught of creams, powders, and perfumes hitting your face and hair.
You want to make a 'lie back and think of England' joke, but not only would Lord Grasp not get the reference you would get a mouthful of rouge for the effort.
The whirlwind ends as suddenly as it started, though you stop spinning facing out across the Crater Lake and have to turn back to look at Legend again - who has wisely floated a few paces back and is now struggling to hold back a laugh.
Time to show him!
The world around you shifts.
Where there is light, color fades away to leave only pure, inspiring white. Where there is shade, the darkness itself is magnified until it is complete, arresting black. Any gradation between light and shadow disappears, and soft, smooth angles are drawn out into stark, contrasting edges.
As the world transforms into a living, cell-shaded display of power and awe, you augment the effects of Patriotism-Provoking Display even further by using your Radiant Iconography Array.
Combined, you look like a massive black-and-white, stylized mural, upon which you are standing proudly and looking and pointing out into the great horizon - black and white lines radiating from you into the distance. Arranged below you, following your gaze with awe and hope, are the rest of the out-of-costume Philadelphia Wards. Finally, completing the picture is a massive banner hanging in the air over your assembled group, proclaiming your most dire message:
"ONLY YOU CAN GIVE THEM THE VACATION THEY DESERVE!"
And just to hammer it in, you're letting your body shout that same message via your Emotive Aesthetics of the Body Electric charm as you remain stoic and inspiring.
For a while, there is silence.
Cautiously, but without changing your expression or posture, you stop your Background charm from smothering the ambient noise - just to make sure Legend isn't accidentally getting silenced by it as well.
...
You turn your head just enough to see Legend still staring at you, motionless.
"I believe you broke him, Warden," Lord Grasp's voice drifts into your ear, though you hear him stifling a giggle.
Oh.
Whoops.
***
Even if you have Legend's (resigned) support, it's not a matter of popping over to New York and scooping everyone up for an impromptu field trip; the fact that you will be using your "parahuman" abilities to facilitate the travel moves it from an entirely-civilian affair that the PRT would have no oversight over… to something that requires paperwork.
This is further complicated by the other Brockton Bay-native Wards being in the (expedited) final stages of adoption or emancipation, so in the end it turns out that the PRT has complete veto rights over all of you until those processes complete.
Except for Aisha.
Well, Taylor too, but she's opting out of the field trip. Apparently that's making her Youth Guard representative even more upset, but Taylor didn't sound too put out about it.
So while everyone else is going to be spending the next day or two convincing their various Youth Guard and PRT representatives - except for the Philadelphia-native Wards, who have actual guardians to convince - to sign the glorified Field Trip Permission Form, you now have an excuse to go with Aisha to speak with her brother about allowing her to also become your next Assembly member.
It… reminds you that Gloria Sato offered to be your legal guardian and stay with her in New York after Behemoth's attack, but… Sakura and you had always wanted to get to know the Brockton Bay Wards - maybe even be ones - and… well, most of them were going to Philadelphia. It all happened so fast that you only realized on the road trip that your parents probably would have wanted you to go with her… but then you didn't want to hurt the other Wards' feelings.
Also, Gloria was adopting the five girls from the cheerleading team that had survived, so you two didn't feel like it'd be fair to make that number seven.
… maybe you should call her, after you're done with Aisha's talk? She always made time when the two of you wanted to hear a familiar voice, even if it was in the middle of the night after the two of you woke up from a nightmare.
Ugh, but you've got power testing scheduled again after you get back from this! Well, you can just leave a voicemail to let her know that you're okay and you're thinking of her. She'd like that.
"Everything alright, Saki?"
You blink, focusing on the distorted-mirror images of the elevator's doors to meet Hannah's gaze.
It's still so weird to see Miss Militia out of costume. You keep glancing over, expecting to see her American flag scarf covering everything below her eyes but instead you can actually see her mouth! She's not very good at using makeup to hide the tan line, though - it's only almost hidden, so she looks like she's a few weeks back from going skiing.
Maybe you should have let Lord Grasp do her makeup? That might have helped soften the blow that he has to stay in your Safe Space while you're in Civilian Mode like this - at least until you get some kind of dog-purse that will obscure him enough to not draw attention.
"Saki?"
Oh, right. Uh…
You trace a line across your face to mask the blank stare you've been giving her.
"It's still…" you hesitantly begin, squirreling up your own expression in concern
She winces, then looks back into the semi-reflective elevator doors and leans forward enough to examine herself. Squinting, she tilts her head back and forth a few times before sighing and breaking out a small tube of concealer in order to make a few corrections.
A few dabs, a few rough smears, and she's… well, you give her a shrug and weak smile because it's not really much better. Maybe worse?
She definitely needs to get out more. Going to have to work on fixing her up with someone when you all get back to Philly. Not Armsmaster, at least not until you get your kiss. Maybe… Oooh, Uriel! That might work- wait, no, Fraternization Rules. Normally not an issue because then it'd be FORBIDDEN LOVE.. but that's only for OTPs and you're not feeling that here. Chevalier? Sakura wouldn't like it because she wants a kiss from him... buuuuuut... that'd mean you win the bet so…
Okay, that's settled. Now, how to start this…?
You giggle lightly into your slightly-too-long hoodie sleeve.
"You remind me of Mr. Hoover."
Well, now that was an interesting reaction: confusion, realization, embarrassment, then complete deadpan. This just suddenly got far more... salacious.
You love that word.
"Oh?" she offers, clearly attempting to sound neutral as she stares blankly ahead but you're on to her now! "I didn't know... Mr. Hoover wears makeup."
The elevator finally dings on the twenty-third floor, allowing your genuine snort of laughter to echo into the elevator waiting room. Hannah hurries ahead a bit too quickly, allowing you to follow her lead as she navigates through the austere hallway to the correct hotel room.
You weren't sure how much Aisha's brother is getting as a member of the Guild, but it's obviously enough to get a suite for a week on the top floors of the Four Seasons.
"You both never take breaks," you sigh, because that seems to be the cause of a lot of problems in your life right now. "You're going to forget what it's like to be normal. And happy."
She doesn't slow stop, meaning you can't see her expression but Hannah keeps her voice down as the two of you keep going.
"Just because I'm busy doesn't mean I can't enjoy my job."
"... have you met Kali?"
Her stride falters for a split-second, then she makes the final turn a little too quickly.
"... we're here."
You scrunch up your face for a moment as you step up next to her and give her a Glare, but she stares straight ahead at the white door with a flat expression again.
You keep it up.
She's going to start sweating... any second now…
Huffing overdramatically, you sag your shoulders and then poke her in the ribs like you sometimes do when Sakura needs to reign it in. Sadly, she doesn't squeak like Sakura does but... you imagine it anyway.
"Gonna set him up with someone else then," you grumble just loud enough for her to hear and then knock on the door.
You barely finish the first knock when the door is yanked open by a wide-eyed, hopeful-looking Aisha.
"Hey! You-"
She notices Hannah and her enthusiasm crashes to a halt, turning into a confused train wreck. Pointing to you with her free hand, she moves the finger to Hannah and then back to you.
"Is… uh… I thought you'd want… Sirkalla… with you?"
Oh. You didn't actually tell her yet, but she must have figured it out when you said you wanted to talk to Brian. Except… Hannah doesn't know either. You were going to wait until everyone was settled and feeling safe before bringing that up, so better cut that off before Hannah gets suspicious.
Shrugging, you give the mildly-confused older woman a quick, blank look before returning to Aisha. "Hannah's going to be our chaperone for the trip, since Sirkalla's got work to do for her promotion, so I thought Brian might want to meet her."
Aisha practically deflates, the energy behind her eyes dimming for a split-second before her gaze grows distant and skeptical.
"O-oh, uh… alright. That's cool," she half-grins distractedly, then shuffles to the side enough for you and Hannah to enter and makes a sideways motion with her head. "C'mon in."
Hannah heads in first and you shuffle into the suite behind her, quickly glancing down to make sure if you're supposed to take your shoes off - judging by Aisha's own white-and-purple running shoes, it looks not.
"Yo, Lees-" Aisha calls out in a huff as your group enters the suite proper, "turns out you were wrong. False alarm, I guess."
The wide-open sitting room has three large white couches and two white-wooden tables scattered about, offset by the cream-colored carpet and drapes that cover windows on the far wall. A walk-in kitchen is visible on the right, with doorways leading off to rooms also on the right and left.
You only distantly notice these things, because most of your focus is instead on the three other girls sitting on the couch angled towards you: a skinny blonde girl around Taylor's age, a short, middle-eastern, college-aged girl with thick, dark curls, and Panacea.
Oh, right, and there's a cute guy sitting at the table next to their couch.
Why is Panacea-... wait, no, she's called Wyld now, right - why is she here if Aisha thought that you were going to be talking about Conversion? Why are any these girls here?
And why is the blonde girl giving you a deer-in-headlights stare? At least the older girl and Amy- no, Amelia - are just looking at you appraisingly. Wait what-
The blond girl winces hard, then leans forward into her hands and lets out a long, tired groan.
"This," she mutters, voice dripping with disdain, "is going to suck."
***
The beefcake at the table is wary of both of you, though you get the impression from his muted surprise when he first looks at Hannah that he's surprised to see her for a number of reasons. Regardless, he mostly ignores the blonde's grumbling and rises to greet the both of you - giving you a confident-but-cautious smile that really helps explain why Kinzey is dating him.
You'd need to get his black leather jacket and red shirt off, but you're pretty sure he could pull a pretty close imitation to Weld. Mmm- wait, you need to convince the dark-chocolate beefcake, not undress him!
You can practically hear Lord Grasp in the back of your head saying "the two need not be mutually exclusive," which worries you enough to take a split-second to check that, no, he's only parked next to the portal with an oversized tub of brown-and-red flakes. Wait what-
"-nd you're… Saki, right?"
"A-ah, yes," you blink, awkwardly shaking his hand and half-bowing, allowing yourself to be embarrassed to cover the what the frac can Lord Grasp hear your thoughts in there? You've been letting the portal show what you're seeing so he can keep up with what's going on outside, but you genuinely hope you were just imagining his retort back there. "It's nice to meet you!"
He snorts in good humor, some of the tension in his wide shoulders dropping off slowly like a wet towel- no! Bad! Focus!
"I… have to admit," he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, "you're... not what I was expecting."
Hannah grunts, raising an eyebrow as she crosses her arms over her chest.
"Expecting?"
He rolls his eyes and sighs at already slipping-up, holding up his hands in surrender before motioning with a thumb at the girls on the couch.
"Sorry, I've been having to put up with Lisa talking about how you're some mind-controlling propaganda robot of the apocalypse. And before you say anything, since we're all out of costume here: she's Inquisition, our Thinker."
You blink a few times, noticing how Hannah narrows her eyes slightly before looking again at the glum blonde. She's… kind of cute, you guess, what with the light freckling, blue eyes and slim figure, but you think she looks like she could use a few good meals.
"Gee, thanks, Brian," the girl in question mutters, which in turn prompts Amelia to stand up from where she was comforting the Thinker on the couch and greet you as well.
"Hello… Hannah," the potential-world-ending-plague-generator-in-a-cute-blue-dress smiles, the two veteran heroines shaking hands. "It's nice to finally meet you out of costume."
Hannah nods, a light smile tugging at her lips. "It is. You're looking much happier, Amy."
She doesn't quite wince, but her smile falters for a moment. "Ah, I prefer Amelia now, actually. It's my real name."
"I see," the older woman blinks, then nods slowly. "Amelia. And leading a new team, too."
It's very slight, but you notice Brian fidget slightly as his 'team leader' looks between the rest of the room's occupants and then turns back with a smile.
"We're still figuring things out, since we didn't really expect our first fight to be against the Slaughterhouse Nine, but the Guild has been really supportive. Even if we've only been together for a few weeks, I think we've helped a lot of people and saved a lot of lives, and that's what counts, right?"
At Hannah's supportive nod, Amelia turns to you - her short head of light curls bobbing at the motion.
"And… Saki," she grins, though there's more regret than cheer there, "I'm… sorry I wasn't there for you and your sister. I was busy dealing with Bonesaw and didn't watch where Burnscar-"
"That's- that's okay," you interrupt, wincing as you shove down the flare of memories in time to only shiver lightly. "It's not your fault. A-and it's nice to meet you, too," you end with a light bow, hands folded in front of you.
"Right," she sighs, but you can still hear some self-doubt in there. "Sorry, I didn't mean-... nevermind. Still, you look… good, now!"
Straightening up, you smile and nod, trying to ignore the slight confusion in her statement.
"Thank you, I-"
"Oh God you can shapechange too."
The entire room turns to look at Lisa, who has gone even more pale as she stares at you in horror.
You turn to Brian and Amelia, because even if you just want to turn around and walk out of this mess…. Taylor and Prayer are relying on you to make this work.
"Is... is this going to be a problem?" you sigh, trying to inject as much embarrassment, weariness, and as much you are making your guest feel bad! as you can into your voice and posture, shrinking ever-so-slightly towards Hannah for support.
And wow, you have to stop yourself from looking surprised as practically the entire room rounds on the horrified blonde.
"What the fuck, Lees," Aisha snarls, a sentiment that is echoed (with less vulgarity) by Amelia and Brian. "She hasn't even done anything and you're already trying to pick her apart! Kick a fucking puppy while you're at it!"
"Can't you see?!" she winces, holding up her hands parallel with her temples before shoving them towards you as if to redirect everyone's rage back at you. "This! Right here! All she had to do was say one thing and you're all jumping at me! She can't turn her powers off either!"
Aisha just snorts and mutters a "you've gotta be fuckin' kidding me" under her breath, while Amelia and Brian share mixed looks of concern between each other and then back to you. Hannah, meanwhile, has put her left hand on your shoulder and is giving the Thinker on the couch an unamused glare of her own.
"Um."
The almost-squeak from the short girl sitting next to Lisa is just enough to get everyone's attention, forcing you to look at her in earnest for the first time and oh Maker she is adorable. Big, dark eyes, full lips, a button nose… it's like she's a coffee-colored doll! She's even wearing a subdued gothic-lolita dress! You're certain Sakura would be thinking of all sorts of fics to put her in if she were here.
The far-too-cute girl opens her mouth again as if to say something, then looks to you in surprise and blinks.
"O-oh, right! I'm Sabah - or Skein, but I used to be Parian! Nice to meet you."
Your first impulse of jealousy (because you have magic what's her excuse) at her disarming cuteness is quickly abandoned when her name actually registers.
"Wait," you blink, straightening up. "Didn't… Taylor sell you spider silk?"
"Ooh!" she perks up, "Yes! That was me! You knew about that?"
You shrug, smiling fondly at the memory. "Well, she was making so much and we asked her what she was going to do with it all."
"That makes sense. You… wouldn't happen to know if she's going to have more to sell soon, would you? I ran out during the fighting."
Amelia coughs, looking like she's trying hard not to smile. "Sabah…"
"… ah, sorry sorry!" she blushes darkly, worrying her hands in her lap. "I was just going to ask: what do you look like normally?"
After fidgeting in silence for a second after her question, you give Brian and Amelia a reluctant look. Though Amelia looks carefully blank, Brian, for his part, rubs his chin and shrugs.
"Aisha did sorta confirm that you're 'dangerously hot', so I… guess we're all kinda curious too."
You turn to give a flat Glare at Aisha, who blinks in surprise when you look at her directly before muttering a curse and looking away.
Taylor did warn you to keep Industrial Survival Frame active all the time, after all.
"Fiiine," you sigh, weakly shrugging. "But I'm not getting naked like Taylor."
It's only said in jest, but only Hannah and Aisha are the ones that give a genuine laugh - besides Lisa's groan, Brian just gives a blank look of bewilderment while Amelia and Sabah fail to hide their disappointment.
Ugh, Sakura would have had so much fun teasing this team. You don't even get to use innuendo right now because Kinzey needs someone that isn't Penny.
Well, at least you're glad you didn't wear makeup despite Lord Grasps complaints. You even dialed down your beauty a tiny bit from your new 'normal' and wore some non-descript hoodie, shirt, and jeans from the PRT HQ's Emergency Incognito stash. Which you're pretty sure is just the (cleaned) Lost and Found from all the exhibits, tour rooms, and gift shops.
You deactivate both your disguise charms and close your eyes, breathing out the air from your lungs even though the shuffling around of your skeleton and musculature doesn't require it. When you open your eyes again, you're back to your default five-foot-nine height and more-generous figure… that you could have sworn the clothes should be hiding more of?
You don't pat yourself down because that's what Taylor would do right now, but also because your Husk-Sculpting Apparatus charm gives you a full mental image of your body when you think hard at it. No, you're back to your default… ah, right, you guess the height and size change actually makes this outfit fit properly.
Too well, given the complete brain meltdown that is going on in the room right now - Hannah excluded, though she's shaking her head and sighing to herself. Aaaand Lord Grasp is laughing it up in your Safe Space since he can see what you're seeing too…
Mmmmaybe time to cut this off before Sabah starts drooling. They're probably all going to need a cold-... actually, that's a good idea.
Lifting your hands grandiosely, like you're about to conduct a symphony, you make sure everyone is aware that you're about to do something…
… and then you use your Background charm make everyone (except Hannah) feel like they just got a bucket of ice-cold water dumped on them. No visuals or sound effects, just cold and wet.
Judging by the sudden eruption of panicked flailing, sputtering, and cursing, it works well enough for you to cut the effect off almost immediately - which has the double effect of further jarring everyone's minds as they pat themselves down and realize they aren't actually sopping wet.
"Sorry!" you call out forcefully enough to be heard over the confusion.
Which… only makes them turn to look at you again, and their various protests - anger, confusion, surprise - all die on their tongues as your beauty knocks them for a loop again. Thankfully, and to her credit, Aisha is the first to break out of this second round of entrancement without your prodding.
"Ugh, Saki," she groans, shaking her head and deliberately looking away. "What… what the fuck was that? It felt like-"
"You gave us a cold shower?" Lisa boggles absently, blinking unsteadily and holding her head in disbelief as she stares past you for a split second before closing her eyes completely and groaning again. "Argh! You… what… what is that sound…?"
"Sound?" you ask, glancing at Hannah - who seems equally confused - before looking back at the struggling Thinker. "I'm not making-"
"Please! Just-... just turn on your disguise again! My head feels like it's crammed inside one of Dragon's server farms when it's on overdrive."
It… takes you a second to figure out what she means, but you think you have an idea: something like the humming you hear when you meditate on your charms? That's kinda weird, didn't Taylor say that parahuman powers shouldn't really interact with charms?
"Wait!" Amelia breaks out next, blinking and taking a step towards you with her hands outstretched. "Can-... can I touch you?"
…
When you turn to look at Hannah, she is just failing to hide her amusement, the traitor.
Fine! Forget it! You were trying to hold back, but if they're just going throw themselves at you like this...
"... I'm getting Lord Grasp out here."
***
Lord Grasp's appearance works as another shock to the group, though his cat-sized form appearing on your shoulder in a swirl of black-and-white hexagons does cause some alarm at first.
You're not quite sure what it says that actual discussion can take place only after everyone had to be put in "potential threat" mode, but it's probably not good.
Also, apparently Amelia only wanted to see what her power made of your Shapechange charm. Well, you're pretty sure she did want to get lewd, but that's what she meant to say at first. You were fine with allowing her to hold your hand (Sabah looked blatantly jealous Maker dangit Sakura you're missing this!), which… promptly made the former-healer go cross-eyed when you shifted from your default state, to your human disguise, then to your 'new normal' look.
She woozily left to go join Sabah on the couch after that, mumbling absently about "DNA restructuring" and some other terms that Taylor would probably understand but sounded like gibberish to you.
Your mechanical companion in turn served as a distraction for everyone else while Hannah, yourself, and Brian moved to the furthest table from the group to actually talk like grown-ups. While you weren't surprised that Aisha and Sabah were caught up in his opulent splendor and self-indulgent exuberance, Lisa suddenly seemed very eager to engage him in conversation once she cracked open her laptop and pulled up an Old Realm translator from Dragon's servers. Amelia just looked amused at it all, though you noticed she was giving Lisa a few taps on the hand or neck every-so-often when you looked over.
You had a niggling feeling that you should be worried about Lisa's eagerness, but Lord Grasp is a Big Boy… Building. Scorpion. You trust him to handle himself.
The talk with Brian - the first part, at least - isn't even a challenge, since he isn't really opposed to Aisha visiting a few places all over the US for three solid days. Your argument is made even easier by the fact that the PRT has picked out and cleared your itinerary, your group will be coming back to New York to sleep each night, and Hannah will be tagging along the entire time.
His only real complaint, in the end, is that he's not able to go himself.
"I'd never really thought about travelling all that much… before Behemoth, I mean," he shrugs, leaning back in his chair and handing the pen back to Hannah. "No money and not much in the way of prospects, so I tried to keep focused on what needed doing now."
The thirty-something Protectorate veteran nods in commiseration, stacking up the papers and sliding them into their folder.
"I travel for S-Class events, but… even though I'll technically be 'working', I think this will be my first vacation in…" she hesitates, frowning as if she doubts the memory. "... Over a decade. "
"Damn," Brian whistles lowly, glancing at you to see your own frown.
Meeting his eyes, you give him a sage nod in return. "She needs a boyfriend."
Brian smiles wide, chuckling into a fist as Hannah tries to resolutely force down her blush while getting the papers in order. "...We should go."
Shoot! You thought you'd have more time to think of a way to work Aisha's conversion into casual conversation! Your shipping needs have worked against you!
"Uh," you blurt out eloquently, still keeping your voice down as you look between the two now-confused faces, "I… have... something… else… to talk with Brian about?"
You really wish you could smother the sounds from this table with your Background charm, but Lisa pretty much instantly figured out everything you were doing before… and that would just make you look shady if she pointed it out.
Hannah's embarrassment fades as she raises an eyebrow, clearly waiting for further explanation, while both of Brian's eyebrows have jumped up completely to his tight-dreadlocked hairline.
"Wait… do you mean…" he trails off as you wince and nod, which causes him to cover his face with a large hand and groan.
Hannah turns back to look at you with increasing concern. "Saki?"
You hold up a hand to get her to wait, then orient your body in your chair to face Brian fully and give him a Look.
Can we keep this between us or do you want to get HER involved?
Your Body Language charm even manages to perfectly communicate that the "her" is Lisa, not any of the other girls in the room, even though the direct translation to English would be unclear. Japanese would have worked (because it's better), and so would have Old Realm (because it's… best? Better than English, at least...), but you're pretty sure Brian doesn't know either of those.
Staring at you through the splayed fingers on his hand, Brian blinks owlishly a few times - the PRT testing showed that communicating full sentences with your Body Language charm is a bit of a shock for people not expecting it - then closes his eyes, crosses his arms, and takes a few deep breaths in thought.
While he does so, you let your Body Language charm guide your motions as you shoot Hannah a silent message with another Look, a phone-like gesture with your left hand, a nod, and then and jerk of your head towards the group on the couch while raising your eyebrows meaningfully.
I talked with Taylor. We want Aisha to be next.
Because your Body Language charm is just amazing like that.
Hannah stills for brief moment, sighs, then schools her expression and sits back down in her chair. As Brian remains silent for a few more moments, the older combat veteran shifts (very slightly) in her seat a few times, but otherwise keeps her expression closed and locked on the maybe-college-age brother.
Likely because he's started to breathe out very slight puffs of thick, black smoke from his nose. Watching him more closely, the gravity-defying inky blackness is also… sweating?... up through the neckline of his jacket and from his sleeves. If you were across the room (and had your old, regular eyesight) you probably wouldn't even notice it - up close and with your new-and-improved eyes, it's almost like he's nervously sweating pure shadow.
That's…
Um…
… you think it's really hot, but you also got strangled by pure shadow earlier today… so you're not sure what you're feeling right now.
...
Dangit, Kinzey totally owes you for not stealing him for yourself! They better get married and have a million shadow-crystal-generating babies in the new world you're helping save-slash-build!
Hannah clears her throat, quietly enough that you think just you and Brian can hear it- oh, whoops, you were biting your thumb there. You give her a nod in thanks.
"Alright," Brian finally breathes out tiredly, bobbing his head up and down slowly to himself as the shadows melt away into the air around him. He opens his deep-brown eyes and fixes you with a meaningful stare that No Saki think of the Maker!
"I'll hear you out, but I want to know everything: what it felt like, any doubts or problems you've had, what you wished you had known beforehand… I heard you didn't get really get a chance to say 'yes' or 'no', or even prepare, so…"
He shakes his head, closing his eyes briefly before glancing sadly at the group on the sofa - looking past Lord Grasp's antics on the coffee table to Aisha's grinning expression as she pokes Sabah over something they're whispering about.
"I just…" trails off, his voice quiet, sad, and hard, before resuming at an even lower volume. "I don't know how much she's told you about how her life was like with our mom, but I doubt it was anything good. Everything I've… all of this," he makes an off-hand gesture at the room in general, "started because I just wanted a way to give her a place she could go to sleep in without having to worry about some drugged-up sleazy shitstain sneaking into her room."
You can practically feel Hannah wanting to ask why he didn't go to the PRT for help, but you tap her on the foot with your own shoe's toe to signal for her to let him finish. She glances your way, but you keep meeting Brian's gaze with your own.
"So yeah," he mutters, shaking his head again before leaning on the table with his elbows and clenching one hand over a fist. "I'll hear what you have to say. But if I have any doubts…"
He glances at the group on the couch again, then gives you a half-feigned shrug.
"If you're right, and this is good for her… you shouldn't have a hard time convincing all of us of that."
***
You tackle the biggest points first, because even if Lord Grasp is a master of distraction, Lisa is bound to wonder what's taking so long eventually. Thankfully, he largely lets you talk without any interruptions - and then you just bowl over some of the times he does try to interrupt, anyway.
Are you really Saki? Will Aisha still be Aisha? Yes. You remember everything, especially the parts you really wish you didn't, and you believe it down to your very soul. You honestly can't tell how much of that is helped along by your charm, though, since you didn't doubt that fact before you 'locked in' that belief, so you don't bring it up.
Hannah does make a small interruption to ask if "you remember?" but it doesn't sound like she's asking about your life before conversion so you try to get her to clarify. She looks confused by that, but then waves it off and has you focus back on your explanation to Brian.
Something to ask her about later, for sure. You'll try to remember during your vacation.
Is it going to change Aisha? ...Yes. It's uncomfortable to admit it, but you've talked more in these last few days than you did in the last month before the Nine came. What you're wearing now is more what you'd normally like to wear, but instead you're practically always covered in world-class gowns and dresses (you blame Lord Grasp, but it's true). But… you're having to deal with a lot of… bad stuff and you can't just run away or let Sakura do the talking for you.
There's a quote you've been thinking of from one of Sakura's Alexandria/Rime fics: "If you want to change someone, give them power."
Hannah is very carefully blank at that statement, but Brian looks thoughtful for a while before nodding in apparent understanding.
Will this make Aisha safer? Yes. On top of immortality, which means she'll outlive both Brian and all his babies with Kinzey (you keep going, not giving him time to react to that), Alchemicals are just plain tougher than humans. She's definitely going to get Industrial Survival Frame at least, which apparently makes you immune to the Simurgh and almost all the 'poof, you're dead' Endbringer and parahuman attacks, but on top of that she'll most likely have plenty of ways to escape danger that she would never have access to without conversion.
You can't say she will for certain, but since she's going to be the Stealth specialist for the Assembly you trust that the Great Maker will go overboard on her like he did for your own PR specialty. On that same vein, you also mention it's possible that she'll get a spirit companion as well, which would undoubtedly be yet another powerful being (at least as strong as an A-Ranked parahuman) dedicated towards keeping her alive and happy.
Hannah has nervous flinches at those two prospects, but manages to smother the reactions before Brian notices.
Will this make Aisha's life better? ...Maybe? You… haven't even been back a week, and already you've had to deal with - again - a lot of bad stuff…
… annnnd just as Brian's asking you to clarify what you mean by 'bad stuff', your time runs out.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?"
You don't even have to look behind you to know that Lisa is probably standing and pointing at you angrily. Instead, you let your shoulders sag and lean back in your chair, giving Brian a (non-charm-enhanced) not this bullpoop again look.
Surprisingly, he gives you a knowing look and nod before leaning back himself and turning enough to throw a casual, hard look at the aggrieved Thinker.
"I'm fine, Lisa, thanks for asking."
… a billion babies, Kinzey! She owes both you and Taylor for taking this slab off the market!
"No, I mean she's-..." there's a pause as Lisa's voice trails off in a grunt. "Uh, wow, yeah, didn't need to know that."
Wait what.
"What time is- oh shit it's already four?" Aisha's surprised voice pipes up, growing more confused by the moment. "Jesus, Bro, just sign the damn field trip papers. And this better not be a trend - I don't want to have to learn how to forge your signature, too."
Brian winces, but doesn't manage a response before Lisa's increasingly-hysterical voice interjects.
"He-... he's already signed the papers! Goddamnit they've-... she's been talking about converting you! They want to replace you next!"
A very put-out Lord Grasp undercuts Lisa's exclamation with a sigh.
"I gather from her tone she did not take my pearls of insight to heart, Warden?"
Blinking, you turn around to get a clarification for that but instead get a pair of hands on your cheeks as Aisha ignores the concept of "personal space" to nearly headbut you in the soulstone.
"You serious?!" she hisses out between teeth clenched in manic glee, staring at you with equally-wild and wide eyes. "Don't think I didn't notice you didn't deny me when I asked before! Taylor said 'yes'?!"
It happens so fast and so naturally, you only notice it when you have to reflexively force the essence to go through Aura-Dampening Component instead of just straight from your Peripheral essence pool…
...
… or, rather, when nothing out of the ordinary happens.
Because you don't shove Aisha away, she simply stumbles back from when you stand up and raise your own left hand to balance yourself - causing her to lose her balance and tip over the nearest couch's back and tumble over it embarrassingly.
Yes. That is exactly what happened, and no one should be suspicious.
You glance at Lisa anyway, meeting her glare. Except you're not sure what gives you away, because she blinks, looks to Aisha, then back at you… and then scrunches up her face as if she thinks something might have happened there, but doesn't have any evidence for it.
Can she-… can she read your mind? You're pretty sure if Industrial Survival Frame blocks the Simurgh, it'd block her, so that's probably not it. Maybe just… body language? The fact that you looked at her first after you- after Aisha stumbled, and she picked up on that?
Ugh, you're starting to get why the PRT says to go after Thinkers and Masters first. You don't want to deal with this! It's not just her being annoying and second-guessing everything - there are things you can't talk about now and she's probably going to try to weasel them out of you. You don't want… them to have to come and fix things, because that probably means everyone but you and Aisha are going to be dead by the end of the day.
… this is why you have the Doom Spike, isn't it? Uuughhh.
You sigh, ignoring Aisha's whooping and obscenity-laden cheering, as well as Lord Grasp's confused exclamations as it sounds like Aisha has picked him up and is dancing around with him.
Opening your eyes again, you give Brian a meaningful enough glare that his attention is drawn back from whatever is happening behind you.
"Look, I-..." you sigh again, shaking your head as you give a meaningful glance to Hannah and turn back to Brian - not bothering to keep your voice down, but not speaking loud enough that you'd be heard over Aisha's excitement.
"Do-... do you get that there are PRT secrets I... can't tell you? Missions that have to be... classified for a while, but... eventually will get out? Because that's what we're dealing with right now, and we think Aisha can help."
His face hardens, scrutinizing you as he straightens up fully in his chair and crosses his arms.
And then someone's sitting next to you at the chair, but you don't turn around since it's probably Lisa by the way Hannah's eyes narrow. Because Maker damnit, but… at least she doesn't say anything immediately - probably waiting for Brian to speak.
Brian's eyes flicker to probably-Lisa, darkening further as they exchange a silent stare for a few moments before he looks back to you.
"She's fourteen. I'm her guardian. I have a right to know."
...okay, yes, he's right, but you can't tell him because he'll probably be killed for knowing and any more excuses means Lisa is definitely going to know something is up and might figure it out anyway because Thinker bullsh-poop!
Flip it, Taylor said basically everyone knows about this one...
You cast your gaze down at the table and sigh, long and tired because you are.
"How… much do you know about where Alchemicals come from?"
"Where you say you come from," Lisa snorts beside you, as if that's a completely different thing.
You glance sideways at Brian.
He's about as done as you are. "Lisa. Shut up or leave."
This close to her, you can feel her initial shock turn into a vibrating, desperate fury - enough so that you're this close to-
No. Calm.
Grabbing her and shoving her into your Safe Space - as deeply satisfying as it might feel - would look horrible, and wouldn't actually solve anything.
The first new fic you're writing is going to be Inquisition/Erasmus, though. And it'll be totally cracky and OOC and filled with wacky, impossible smut but it'll still exist.
If it exists on the Internet, at least one person will get off to it… and Lisa will be stuck with that realization, that memory... forever.
You turn your head to look at her, meeting her rapidly-paling expression of shock and disgust.
You smile.
It's a nice smile.
Except she knows that it's not.
You turn back to Brian, to explain how the impending death of your god will destroy the universe.
***
Since you're aiming to overload Lisa with sensory information in order to distract her from cluing in on Cauldron, you decide to go with the full display of your Vision for completeness' sake.
Which is how, when you fill up the room with your Radiant Iconography Array, you notice something… off.
You don't react - mostly because you're busy focusing on the presentation itself - but also because it only takes you a few moments to figure out what the feeling is:
Your illusion is trying to overlap on top of a human figure in the far corner of the room. Someone that shouldn't be here, and that neither you nor anyone else has noticed up until now. Worse, the moment you reflexively glance in that direction the figure moves and you lose track of them.
You don't say anything, of course.
You knew Cauldron would be watching for you to slip up.
Forcing that thought down before it creeps into your body language and presentation, you're able to finish out the rest of the Vision (in English, again) without any slip-ups, and then keep going - adding a new 'window' in the black void to show when Lord Iris took over Taylor's video conference screen to deliver his own terrifying, haunting monologue.
Then, sitting back down at the table next to Brian and Lisa, you let the imagery behind you fade away.
Your audience is suitably shocked speechless long enough for Lord Grasp to crawl up onto the table in front of you with Lisa's laptop in his off-claw and set up with the translator program again.
"I believe that was prudent, revealing the context provided by Lord Iris," he sighs, poking away at the keyboard experimentally. "I offer my own - tragically limited - insights on the matter as well, if you require it."
His murmuring breaks a few of the audience from his trance, most notably Lisa and Hannah - the latter once again looking similarly pensive as she did the last time, while the former snatches the laptop away from Lord Grasp and starts muttering to herself manically while searching through files and documents on the device. The ostentatious scorpion gives a small huff of displeasure ("How tactless!") before crawling over to cluelessly observe Lisa at work.
"Well… fuck."
You turn to Aisha, who has plopped down on the corner of the table to the left of Brian's seat at the head, placing herself within Brian and Hannah's personal space. Given by the way the two beside her startle in reaction to her expletive, she probably only just now started suppressing her power again.
"Uh… yeah," Brian mutters, shaking his head and blinking owlishly. His gaze drifts around the group, first looking over to where a similarly-stunned Amelia has seated herself at the opposite head of the table, then to Lisa's laser-focused, still-mumbling form. "Lisa? Did you-"
"Hold on," she blurts out, waving her right hand frantically for a second to stave off any other questions before bringing it back down to the laptop keyboard to keep typing.
Brian blinks once more, then just closes his eyes and sighs while leaning back and rubbing his face.
"Was…" he trails off, looking at the ceiling for a moment in thought before turning to focus back on you. "Was that black ball the same thing that Jack Slash showed off in his video?"
"I-I'm not-"/ "Yeah."
Startled, you glance at Lisa, but apart from her grumbled assent is still focused on her laptop. Looking back to Brian, you shrug and offer an apologetic smile.
"I haven't seen the video, but… I heard some news reporters talking about it when I was in quarantine."
"Oh," he grimaces, "right. Sorry. I… guess you've been out of the loop for a while."
You nod, sighing. Because even if Taylor brought you mostly up to speed earlier, you can't act like it yet. "Y-yeah."
"We've been helping in Philadelphia and Camden, actually," Amelia speaks up, half-smiling, half-wincing at the memories. "It's… bad, but Dragon and Taylor have really been making a difference."
"Really?"
"Mmmhm," Sabah hums excitedly from the chair she's dragged beside Amelia's. "Taylor can make her range huge now, and she's got those little eyeball-drone things so she's almost able to cover the whole city and point out where people need help or guide civilians around. Dragon even brought in some experimental building equipment to make a whole bunch of temporary houses on the waterfront."
You can't help but feel your eyebrows raise - Taylor certainly never mentioned any of that.
"She can even reach Camden?"
Amelia frowns, shifting in her seat uncomfortably. "Not… entirely, but… there's a villain from Boston that's moved into Camden that's working with the PRT and the Guild to help keep things under control. Have you ever heard of Accord?"
Right, gotta act dumb still, but in a way that doesn't set off Lisa. Just… use the parts that are actually surprising you.
"Ehh? You mean the Ambassadors are in Camden now? But… there's nothing there?"
Brian snorts. "Not much left of them. They got their asses kicked out of Boston so Accord threw in with the defense against the Nine."
"He wants to join your cult," Lisa mutters, sending you a flat glare over the top of her laptop's screen. "I'm sure he'd fit right in."
Shoot, she's watching you now - you probably can't fake her out when she's studying you like this. Need to put her on the defensive!
"W-why are you so against us?" you huff, using your actual frustration and confusion at her attitude to hammer in the guilt. "You're the one who kidnapped Taylor's dad, and then brainwashed him to get him to kill her! During the Behemoth fight!"
Even without your Background charm, you can just feel the temperature in the room drop as Lisa's face turns ashen - but you don't let her do more than open her mouth in shock before you're twisting the knife even further.
"And I remember seeing you at Clarendon before all of that!" you fume, clenching your hands on the table in front of you. "Taylor said you were trying to 'get help' for something, but then you turned around and stabbed her in the back! And didn't she save your life during the Behemoth fight?!"
"She saved us from the Siberian and Bonesaw, too. After she saved Aisha on the Island," Amelia mutters, making you lean back and glance at the rest of the table. Apart from Aisha, who is looking at Lisa like she just remembered the Thinker ran over her dog, the rest of the table is giving the lightly-freckled blonde distant, disappointed looks.
Lisa sees the looks too, her eyes flickering around the group in search for some kind of support. But when she finds none…
"I-I-..." she stammers, before finally letting her eyes fall down on the laptop again. There's a moment of silence as she stares distantly at the screen, but then you can almost see the spark in her eyes as her shame and humiliation begins to shift to righteous, desperate hope.
"L-Listen, I-..." she grits her teeth and glances away, balling her own fists as if it's physically painful to admit, "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't know what Coil was going to do with her Dad, and… it was shitty of me to never apologize. I get it. But-"
You tip your head down, Glaring at her hard enough to draw her gaze again and interrupt whatever she's thinking.
"Are you going to?"
"I-..." she blinks hard, leaning back from the force of your stare before her shoulders sag and her gaze falls away. "Yeah. Sure. Just… okay, I guess I know it's not her fault."
You start to nod, then stop at that last part.
"'Fault'?"
"You're all brainwashed," she shrugs, as if it's just a matter of course, but you can see the light in her eyes again as she glances at you knowingly. "You literally can't see what's wrong, so… I shouldn't really hold it against her. Or you."
What.
"What."/ "What?!"
You and Aisha both say it (well, she exclaims it), but Lisa's attention is only on you - her grin growing devious despite the manic intensity of her eyes.
"Summoning an alien god from another dimension, one that enslaves humans to feed and worship him? Perfect robot copies that believe they're the real thing? It's like one of the bad movies from back in the eighties when capes first showed up… only it's actually happening."
You…
… well it's not…
… but he's…
…
"Oh Maker you're insane," you sigh, burying your face in your hands as you lean onto the table with your elbows.
"See! She's even programmed to curse differently now!"
You groan.
"Just… no," you sigh. "No."
You really don't want to spend the time and energy fixing this. Can you even fix it as you are now? This actually feels like something your Doom Spike is meant for - so you can see exactly what she's thinking and why, then just… well, you're still not really comfortable with the idea of altering her mind directly, so you'd just try to talk her down.
And there's absolutely zero chance she'd consent to getting treatment from your mind-control charm, so…
Ugh.
Well, there is one thing you need to straighten out before you shove this problem back to Taylor.
"We're not copies. I'm not a copy. It's…" you sigh, though it turns into more of a growl from the stress. Pausing, you concentrate long enough to make the skin on your forehead pull back to reveal your soulgem (and attached compass), then point to it indignantly. "That's not how it works: Autochthon puts the gem in your head so that you have an actual soul, then he takes the soul and puts it in a new body. It's… it's a brain transplant, just… better."
You can hear the other shuffling in their seats slightly, but your entire focus is on Lisa and how her gaze is growing distant again in thought. Her eyebrows twitch together and eyes narrow, as you can see her eyes track up to the gem, then back down to your own eyes… then back up…
"So you…" she frowns, harder, jaw set as she appears to be running through questions to ask you. "Okay. Were you awake-? Right, nevermind - your power, so you had to be. Then… do you remember... getting pulled in? There weren't any breaks or gaps in your memory there?"
"A-ah," you blink, then wince at even trying to dredge up the memories of that point. "I… I remember it-…"
PAIN.
You're pretty sure you've lost all the blood in your face, and the room's a little hazy with all the spots in your eyes. You also want to throw up, but you manage to hold it back.
"... it... hurt, yes."
When you're able to focus your gaze again, Lisa is looking a bit pale as well.
"Oh. Huh. And… you want Aisha to go through that."
…
Well, at least you're not woozy anymore. You're too busy being absolutely livid.
"Yes," you straighten up, Glaring at her as flatly as you can, "because it hurt for a few seconds, and now I'm going to be awesome forever."
There's a few snorts of humor around the table, Aisha snickering loudly enough for you to notice that she's also gaining some of her color back. Hmm.
Lisa rolls her eyes, sighing and leaning forward to cover her face with a hand while muttering under her breath for a few moments. Finally, grunting, she tilts her head just enough to meet your gaze again.
"Alright… even if - if - it's still… you… you still have to admit that it changed you."
Ugh. Yes, you-...
Oooh! You remember another great line, but this one from a Myrrdin/Mim (the leader of the huge 'magic' gang in New York) fic!
"Enlightenment always does," you smile primly.
She blinks, opens her mouth to say something, then just winces and groans into her hand again.
"Oh god damnit. Seriously? Stop thinking of porn!"
You cover your mouth in mock shock.
"It's not porn!" you protest, aghast. "It's art."
Lisa's whimpered groan is mostly drowned out by the laughter of the rest of the group. You even feel Aisha's hand on your shoulder in commisera-
Your Industrial Survival Framescreams in the back of your mind as it wards off some kind of distant, scraping pull that feels both alien and impossibly vast.
It takes every ounce of your composure to not leap out of your seat in fright, since that was probably just her power-
"Warden, what was that?" Lord Grasp hisses out, voice tense but confused. Your eyes dart from him to-
… Aisha is still sitting next to Brian. Both are still laughing.
You turn your head further.
There is… someone standing next to you with their hand on your shoulder - a young girl, giving you a puzzled, distant look through green eyes that glitter dangerously. Her outline is hazy and warped, the light twisting and fluctuating oddly around her body in a way that makes it difficult to look at her directly. Not that there's much to see, what with her entire form being covered in ragged, blackened strips of cloth to form some kind of shroud.
The young girl raises a pale, manicured hand from the mass of cloth, then holds an index finger up to delicate lips drawn in a slight frown.
Anyone who's studied parahumans would recognize that face. Bladedancer even used a picture of her when she started training you:
"No matter how strong you think you are, you always gotta be ready to run. Two reasons: there is always someone out there with the perfect counter to your power, and there is always someone just. Plain. Stronger."
...
Calm.
You look back the table quickly enough to make it seem like you were just thinking to yourself. Yes, you can't afford to panic right now - that would just get everyone killed… including you.
Because… this is happening right now. Of course. You should have expected this after what Taylor and Prayer told you earlier today. This is your life now. Oh Maker what-…
She… she has to be here for you. It's the only explanation. Except… wait did she just try to kill you?! What-
*"Warden!"*
You startle at Lord Grasp's voice in your mind, forcing you to turn to look at him on the table in shock - the cat-sized scorpion twitching with barely-restrained violence as he glares up at you.
*"Warden, what are you sensing?! I see nothing beside you!"*
"Saki? What's wrong?"
Lisa's voice cuts you off from whatever response you were trying to form for Lord Grasp, her puzzled tone setting off even more alarm bells in your head. As you turn to look at her, trying with all your might to keep your desperation from leaking into your expression, you see the Thinker looking at you suspiciously.
"Did… did you just feel-" her eyes start to get wide as she sits up in her seat in alarm "- something just attacked you? What's-"
The hand on your shoulder drifts away… in the direction of Lisa.
"I should go!" you exclaim cheerily, raising to your feet and sending your chair skittering backwards.
You don't shove your chair into the new girl's body, because you clearly don't see her and she wouldn't expect you to block her from killing Lisa. No, the shrouded girl just stumbles away as you rise to your feet to leave, caught up in your casual motion.
"Holy shit there's someone here!" Lisa gasps, flinging herself out of her chair towards Amelia and Sabah - causing Hannah to stand abruptly as well, apparently on reflex, though she's holding out a large pistol as her gaze scans the area. "Brian! Fill the room-!"
"No! Don't!" you shout, dropping your disguise completely in desperation as you fling your hands out to draw the attention of everyone scrambling to react-
-and then you douse everyone in cold water, this time complete with imaginary buckets (including a smaller one for Lord Grasp) that bounce away harmlessly and disappear as the water instantly evaporates.
Once again it causes a lot of shocked, indignant, and awkward screaming and flailing, especially from Sabah, but now everyone is looking back at you so-
"That was most unwise."
It is a chorus of voices that speaks - dozens, perhaps hundreds of different ages, genders, and intonations - but a single light, airy female tone manages to rise above the rest… dripping with the kind of distaste you'd expect a peasant would receive for staining the queen's most formal gown.
You turn, noticing that while Sabah, Brian, and Amelia are more guarded than alarmed, Aisha and Lisa are appropriately terrified. Hannah, however… has gone still as a statue.
Lord Grasp hasn't unfolded to his larger size yet, but his tail is glowing and his claw-blades are unsheathed.
"W-wha-... h-how-...?" you hear Lisa's strangled voice whisper behind you, as you turn to face the fully-revealed cape to your side.
As you watch, a ghostly figure unwraps itself from where it had been draped over the young girl and tangled up in her shroud, then is suddenly joined by another, and another, and another - each shade a semi-translucent humanoid figure vaguely shaped like a costumed cape but with their features… distorted.
A female figure but with jagged metal spikes protruding from all along its body and a solid-metal mask with a jack-o-lantern grin. A hulking male form with a single blue eye in the middle of its otherwise-featureless face. A tiny girl in a dress like Sabah's, but with no arms and a face entirely hidden by a cowl. The original, a male figure that constantly shifts and distorts like the effect you saw before, the body itself appearing as nothing more than a humanoid-shaped mixture of different sceneries.
The four figures flank Glaistig Uaine, the Fairy Queen of the Birdcage, as she stares at you, through you, with lidded eyes.
"In recompense for this affront, you will explain why you did not die when commanded, Warding Eye."
… uh.
What.
Wait shoot-
You quickly throw your Background charm over Lisa so that she doesn't mouth off to Glaistig Uaine - how is she even here she's supposed to be in the Birdcage aaaaaaaaahhhh - and get herself killed, while at the same straightening up primly in a way that shouts at everyone but the crazy uber-cape DON'T MOVE DON'T SPEAK LET ME HANDLE THIS.
...
You really, really don't want to handle this, but you're pretty sure if multiple teams of dozens of capes failed to kill her, and she's managed to stay alive in the Birdcage for nearly twenty years, talking is the only way your group is getting out of this alive.
Okay. Right. Time to act like you know what you're doing. Uh… Queen Cynthia from Roses are Ruby talked with fairies a bunch!
Remember how she acted and... go!
"Of course," you bow your head politely, clasping your hands together in front of you with palms together and fingers brushing the insides of the opposite wrist. "You are Glaistig Uaine, Queen of the Fae?"
Luminescent green eyes shine out from behind black tatters of thick cloth, briefly focusing on you before growing distant again.
"Correct," the chorus of voices echoes out, the leading female tone sounding only slightly more appeased then before.
Wait, okay… so, if what you've read is correct and she really does think she's some kind of Queen Mab, then… time to see if you can make all those weird coincidences with Creation and Earth work in your favor this time.
Also, you really wish you had one of Lord Grasp's dresses on right now.
"I am sworn to the Machine God, Autochthon - King of All Craftsmen, Titan of Industry, Principle of Dogma, Primordial of Innovation - and thus stand apart from the Fae Court and its chains of fealty."
You're just pulling fancy words out of your books and stories that feel right, praying that you're talking crazy enough to make sense to her.
Judging by the way her eyes focus back on you with a deeply-uncomfortable intensity, you at least got her full, undivided attention.
"The Dying God," she finally intones, though the echoing chorus is marginally quieter as she stares at you. "I see. He is the Warding Eye, the Usurper and the Doom. Who are you, then, if no longer the lucid dream of the fae?"
You are careful to control your expression, partly mirroring Glaistig Uaine's own distant, aristocratic mien… but with a touch more civility than the jailbird is showing.
Still… something about her question makes you feel like she's not just asking your name but your purpose? It feels like the question is still tied to what she expects from a parahuman, so… maybe give her the name of your parahuman-charm?
"Warden of Reflected Infinities, Keeper… of the Shard of Transcendental Imprisonment."
Glaistig Uaine blinks.
"Shard…" she recites, again and again murmuring the word in different tones and voices as her eyes unfocus... and the ghosts around her all turn to stare at you and freeze.
Calm.
You need to stay calm, no freaking out at the signs that Glaistig Uaine's power is looking at you like it wants to rip open your brain to get all the secrets inside. Need to snap her out of it!
"Might I inquire what brings you roaming, Faerie Queen?" you hum lightly, as if you chanced upon a fellow noble on the road. "You are quite far from your normal court, are you not?"
Sparkling green eyes snap back into focus, while the ghosts relax and resume observing the other occupants of the room.
"The Lord of the Court is troubled by recent events. He seeks answers."
You… okay, that… sounds like Scion, but that's because you know where powers come from now and know that he left Earth-Bet for a few days - probably to figure out what the heck Iris did to Jack Slash's shard. The problem is that everyone in this room is going to ask you later how you were able to figure that out and then Lisa will figure out Cauldron somehow and then everyone will die anyway. Aaarrggh!
You nod, as if that makes perfect sense, but then pause and tilt your head in curiosity.
"Your husband?"
Glaistig Uaine goes completely blank for a split-second, and all four ghosts freeze again, except this time… it's in… embarrassment? It's extremely subtle, but the micro-shuffle is there - not the 'ahhh you've figured out my crush' shuffle, but the 'ewww you said my dad is hot' shuffle.
The green-eyed girl slowly shakes her head, exposing a few strands of messy, pale-blonde hair.
"We are all but actors on this grand stage, arranged to entertain and arouse the fae in their slumber. I am granted nobility - Queendom - for my own role, as I am the caretaker of those fae whom await a new role to play... or those who wish to slumber 'till the curtain calls, and the fae are roused for war."
You blink, because… that made… sense? In a morbidly terrifying way, that is: she's… keeping the shard connections of dead parahumans (not ghosts or souls like people think) until the Entities finally decide to blow it all up and move on. But… can they not do that themselves? Maybe her power is the thing that lets them do that in the first place?
And now you actually want to sit down and talk with the Faerie Queen about all this stuff…
No! Ugh! That's Taylor's job! What is wrong with you?!
What is even your life?
"Why did you not seek out the others of my Assembly first?" you continue on, doing your best not to let your mental screaming break through your facade. "I am but days returned, unlikely to have been the source of your Lord's disquiet and still unlearned in many of my own Court's ways."
You had no idea you could talk like this. Is this really you? Well, okay, a lot of this is Queen Cynthia's lines just thrown together, but… no, gotta focus, don't want to accidentally say she's banging her father-figure... again.
Her eyes droop again, regarding you once more with a casual disappointment that you didn't just fall over and die when commanded.
"The humans talk, heralding the victories of the…" she tilts her head absently, considering for a moment before nodding, "the First of the Court of Order. They revealed the Lord of the Court studying the battlefield in distress, but when I went to seek the First out she had vanished from the land. In seeking out the Second, I discovered her within the House of White with the High Priest and Coruscant Knave."
Alright, so… Taylor gone? Ummm… her Invisibility charm, maybe? She's mentioned that powers can't find her like that, and if Scion is still hanging around Philadelphia she might be staying invisible as much as possible. Prayer is 'the Second', Coruscant Knave sounds like... Legend? No idea who 'High Priest' is, though, but you need to just roll with it.
"I see," you nod in acceptance, smiling at her 'wisdom' before offering a sympathetic sigh. "And your desired obfuscation so that you could return to your court without inciting alarm?"
The shade of the larger woman, the one with the metal spikes, begins to shuffle to the left but disappears into trailing smoke just as quickly as she first appeared. In her place, as if walking in from off-stage, a medium-sized ghost of a man in a faded jacket and pants appears - but his skin, face, ears, and hair all are constantly changing shape, size, and color.
"A handmaiden stands in my place," the echoing voice murmurs disappointedly, "but like all doubles the duplicity shan't stay uncovered for long."
Her gaze drifts from you to the others in the room, and you notice that everyone has largely remained frozen in spot. Well, except for Lord Grasp who is now as close as he can be to the table's edge without falling off.
"Royalty seeks royalty," she hums in only a few voices, before turning cold eyes on Aisha. "Lady Censor."
Wide-eyed at being called out, Aisha flicks her gaze to you in confusion before looking back at the cape that could probably turn her into a messy stain in a heartbeat.
"Ye-" she coughs, clears her throat, then tries again. "Yeah?"
"It is High Treason to forsake your court," she sneers, and the ghosts at her back shuffle into combat positions. "Worse, you would ensnare a noble dreamer in this treachery. I am within my rights to claim your fae for my own collection to spare it this fate."
Before the rest of the room can completely lose their minds because what do they think they can do against her, you throw out your arm to block the Faerie Queen's line of sight on the young Stranger.
"But you won't," your tone conversational, all while giving the rest of the room a side-eye that once again screams through your Body Language charm STAND DOWN STAND DOWN!
Turning back fully, you raise an eyebrow as you nod to the unamused murderer.
"Not to impose, but more that you do not sound convinced yourself that this is the proper course of action."
Looking up at you - she's… what? 5'4 under all that? - her expression grows distant again as she nods slowly and swivels to Aisha to study her for a long moment.
Pale but doing her best not to flinch, Aisha stares back until the Faerie Queen nods again and turns back to you.
"This process of which you speak... that allows one to flee the failings of their human shells and geas their fae to servitude to the Court of Order. I will observe, so that I may then bring my findings to the Lord of the Court."
You blink, because that is not where you expected this conversation to go.
Looking to Brian, you can tell he's just as confused as you are… but then he realizes what this means and you start to see the trails of smoke start to bleed off his skin-
Gracefully, you place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze with enough force to get him to look you in the eyes again.
Eyes wide and sorrowful, shaking your head slowly, you tell him with your charm in no uncertain terms:
SHE IS GOING TO MAKE THIS HAPPEN WITH YOU ALIVE OR DEAD
Because if he dies, then Aisha will flip and probably suicide-by-faerie, and then everyone else will suicide-by-faerie, and that would all be stupid and dumb because this is just accomplishing what you came here to do in the first place! Ugh!
Brian practically wilts in your grip as realization dawns, but to soften the blow you flick your eyes to Aisha and ask the silent question: were you really going to say no?
He winces, looks away for a moment, then shakes his head and sighs before looking up to the Faerie Queen with a firm, resolved glare.
She regards him not at all.
Instead, she turning to address Amelia across the length of the table with a polite bow. "I will not intrude upon your court for longer than I must, Shaper, and lament this discord that your Knight forced upon us all."
Amelia blanches, but straightens up and… well, it's sorta a half-curtsey, half-bow that Sabah mirrors while Lisa-
Oh, right, you're still muting Lisa judging by the arms-crossed glare the freckled blonde is leveling you.
Well you just give her a real Glare right back because I saved your damn life you ungrateful little loudmouth, which hits her so hard she has to take a step back to balance herself as she goes red in shame and embarrassment before sighing and nodding silently, looking as if she's suddenly feeling the effects of several sleepless nights.
Eh… you're pretty sure you're missing a lot of what's going on with her, so… yeah, just going to let that one slide.
"I-It's alright, Faerie Queen," Amelia manages, swallowing hard before offering a weak smile. "You… honor us with your visit."
One of her ghosts - the small girl in the dress - glides over and whispers something unintelligible in Glaistig Uaine's ear as she's bowing. Humming in wordless approval as she straightens up, the sound a mixture of dozens of voices making slightly similar noises, she crooks her head at the leader of the Wyld Hunt.
"Your kin presides over his own court in my realm. Do you wish to visit him?"
… What.
The remaining color drains from Amelia's face, but Lisa is quick to latch onto her arm and give her a wordless stare of warning. This seems to break the Striker of her fugue, quickly enough that she manages to a weak reply.
"N-No thank you, your grace… b-but I am thankful for your offer."
The shrouded girl beside you bobs her head again.
"I will pass on your regards, then, as repayment for this trespass of mine."
Amelia just tries to keep a smile on her face - a feat which she mostly accomplishes as Sabah and Lisa keep her steady.
Apparently satisfied, Glaistig Uaine looks to you with impatient, lidded eyes.
"Where does this ritual take place? We must be off."
Uuuuuhhhh…
… yeah... you suppose it'd be too much to ask her to wait until after your vacation.
You glance at Ashia, who looks like she's thinking of asking that exact thing, and give her a Glare that says DON'T EVEN THINK OF IT.
"Actually I-"
Wait wait wait no way can you do what you're thinking?!
"-Iiiii think," you manage to not falter too long as the idea hits you, "I can take us there directly, your grace."
You gesture with your right hand and open a portal in the air, a swirling vortex of black-and-white hexagons that thrums with power as it blatantly twists reality.
"The Cradle resides high in the air above the lake in Brockton… Crater," you wince, allowing that falter to show through your facade. "I can drop us off right where a drone can then ferry us up to it."
You're not actually certain if Glaistig Uaine heard any of that last part, as she is staring, silent and transfixed at the portal you're generating.
After a moment of silence, you cut the portal - which was mostly for show, since you were generating it by slowly transporting a few puffs of air at a time - which causes the Faerie Queen to startle ever-so-slightly and then frown at where it once was.
"I… could not sense it," she breathes, with only a handful of voices to echo her as she turns back to look at you curiously. "How do you ward your fae so completely from my Sight?"
Smiling wanly, you offer up your hands in humility.
"The Great Maker works in mysterious ways."
Of course Aisha has to snort in laughter, ruining your cool line!
Glaistig Uaine frowns in thought as she turns back to the young Stranger. "Come, Censor. The hour of treason is at hand."
Aisha blinks owlishly, realization that yes this is happening right now finally hitting her as she wildly looks between you, then Glaistig Uaine, then to her brother.
Brian looks like he's aged a few years in a few minutes, but he manages a weak smile and a nod.
"Fuck yeah!"
As Aisha fist pumps, then tackles her brother for a laughing, maybe-kinda-crying-in-joy hug and parting words, you and the Faerie Queen share a Look.
You're pretty sure you didn't imagine the ghost of a smile that crossed her face as she rolled her eyes, but it's gone before you can double-check.
Looking up to Hannah, you see that she's torn between wanting to say something... and not wanting to be casually obliterated by the imperious lunatic - you get the feeling that she understands that 'speaking out of turn' would be a quick way to add herself to the Faerie Queen's collection.
So, you give her the opening to talk by speaking to her yourself.
"Can you call Enduring Order Administrator and tell her to meet us at the Cradle? I haven't been issued a new phone yet."
Then you give her a thin-lipped smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes, quietly communicating GET EVERYONE.
Might as well have a backup if… when... this blows up in your face, because by the Maker is the psycho fairy going to be livid if this first part works.
Hannah, for her part, blinks a few times as the double-message registers, then nods.
"Her new armor should get her there quickly. Be safe."
"I'm always safe with Lord Grasp around," you grin, noticing how the mechanical scorpion perks up at his name.
Hannah looks down at the cat-sized gold-and-silver insec- no... wait, you now have a very pressing mental image of a set of frowning mandibles... um, arachnid? Okay that's better... - then looks back to you with a flat expression.
"Warden, I believe I only understood bits and pieces of that," Lord Grasp grumbles, his tail winking out and his claws re-sheathing as he bounds onto your outstretched hand, "but... I'm gathering we are… leaving to go deliver Miss Laborn to the Great Maker for Exaltation?"
"Yes, Lord Grasp," you sigh, turning back to the Faerie Queen as he perches on your shoulder. "But you should be ready for-"
"How curious."
CRAZY FAIRY IN YOUR PERSONAL SPACE!
You are very careful not to break out more of the martial arts charms that you definitely don't have to get Glaistig Uaine away from having her own face practically touching Lord Grap's mandibles. This close, you also notice that... she smells... like some odd mixture of several different flavors of incense.
It's actually kind of nice, but then it immediately makes you wonder why she smells like that. Do they even have incense in the Birdcage?
"Well hello, my dear," Lord Grasp muses warmly, but in a way that you instinctively understand means he's a hair's breadth away from blasting a hole in the fairy's head. Or… trying to, at least.
Then he extends a hand-sized, golden-sheathed claw to her and speaks in a smooth, oddly-accented (...a mixture of Spanish and Japanese?) English. "Lord Crushing Grasp."
In a way that both surprises you and is completely unsurprising, Glaistig Uaine offers what appears to be a genuine smile of humor in return, taking his proffered claw in a dainty hand and curtsying politely in return.
"Glaistig Uaine, Queen of the Fae," her echoing voice bubbles out, though she tilts her head in thought as she straightens back up. "What manner of wondrous creature would be so refined?"
Oh Maker you're glad he can't understand English because with an opening like that you'd never get him to shut up.
There is a sound of grumbling in your head, which reminds you that apparently privacy of thought is a thing of the past.
This then yields a mixed feeling of embarrassment in return... that you're just going to gloss over because you want to get impending disaster over with before the crazy fairy changes her mind.
Clearing your throat, you offer Glaistig Uaine a polite smile as she glances to you.
"I apologize, your grace, but Lord Grasp is still learning the local dialect. I will be honored to serve as a translator at our destination, however, as we will have a few moments to rest; we require Enduring Order Administrator's presence for the… ritual."
The small amount of humor fades from her expression, growing cold and lidded as you explain the cause for delay. She doesn't respond immediately, however - instead allowing her gaze to grow distant, somehow looking through you in a way that is deeply unsettling... but not in a way you can let show on your expression.
"Very well," she sighs, taking a step back, while at the same time causing two of her ghosts to fade out and be replaced by two more - the large cyclops for a masked woman with long hair alight in some unfelt breeze, and the distorted-image man for an ominous cloaked figure carrying a wicked-looking hammer. "The hour grows long. Let us be off."
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Hannah flinch at the sight of the newcomers. As much as you want to ask about it, you clear your throat and interrupt the quiet brother-sister talk a few feet away.
"Right!" she grins, sniffing absently and wiping her nose and eyes with her sleeve in a careless shrug, before using the motion to slug him in the arm playfully as she backs up to your side. "Whatever, bro. Looks like there's gonna be a Laborn spot open on the field trip - you should go so you and Kinzey can start making all those babies Saki was talking about."
Brian manages to look sad, embarassed, and flabberghasted all at the same time, before he finally just covers his face in a large palm - strained grin still visible underneath.
"I'll-…" he sighs into his hand, "I'll see you in a week, sis."
You give one more look to Hannah, the two of you exchanging nods as you see her pull out a cell phone in her off-hand, before you place your left hand on Aisha's right shoulder, and your right hand on Glaistig Uaine's left.
Huh, the ragged cloth is softer than you were expecting.
"Ready?" you ask each, getting a cheerful nod and a stoic, 'try anything and you're dead' nod respectively.
In your own mind, you THINK VERY LOUDLY TO YOURSELF THAT LORD GRASP SHOULD BE READY TO FIGHT.
As starmetal legs tense on your right shoulder, you trigger your Shard of Transcendental Imprisonment and pull the four of you into your Safe Space with one solid motion.
For a split second, the world fills with black and white hexagons… then resolves into an empty horizon of black jade and empty white sky.
Glaistig Uaine collapses bonelessly and goes still.
You turn your head to a wide-eyed Aisha, then throw your head back and laugh like the very best ojou-sama you are.
***
END OF CHAPTER - CHARACTER SHEET CHANGES:
RED Intimacies have not been fully-established yet, and are not used for bonuses/negatives.
GREY Intimacies yield the normal bonuses/negatives until fully eroded.
WoRI - Intimacy GAINED: Brian/Kinzey (ONE BILLION BABIES) [Illusion] [3/3]
WoRI - Intimacy GAINED: Hannah/Miss Militia (So Cool She Forgot How To Be Normal) [Illusion] [3/3] WoRI - Intimacy STARTED: Brian Laborn (Tall Slice of Brotherly Beefcake) [Emotion|Thirst] [2/3]
WoRI - Intimacy STARTED: Glaistig Uaine (The Mad Queen, Enslaved) [Emotion|Dread] [2/3]
WoRI - Intimacy MODIFIED: Legend (Heroism Is Never Without Flaws) [Illusion] [2/3]
WoRI - Intimacy STARTED: Lisa/Inquisition (Sharp, Jagged, Broken) [Illusion] [2/3]
Lots to consider this time around, as we've got a chance to go in vastly different directions given what we know now and what/who has dropped into our lap.
The Faerie Queen, of course, is both our most pressing concern, and our concern with the most potential; potential for ill or good is to be seen, of course, but no matter what the ramifications are going to be large. At at the moment Saki basically has her dead-to-rights - a feat that has never been accomplished before on Earth-Bet, despite many attempts to do so - but perhaps more importantly is that Saki has put together some of the pieces from how GU was acting during that entire encounter. Namely: if Accord is vastly more mind-whammied than the normal 'natural' cape, then Glaistig Uaine is the example of when the human is basically a slave to their shard.
Saki is not a fan of slavery, or of people being largely trapped in their own mind.
(Also, Saki... kinda liked being able to talk all flowery with someone, as if she was living out the over-dramatic queens in her tawdry romance novels.)
However, Saki is not dumb, and is fully aware that if she just shoved GU back out then her own life expectancy could be counted in seconds. There's even the problem of what GU mentioned about Scion, and how "she" is basically on Team Entity at the moment - given "her" power(s), releasing her at all is a dangerous proposition since she'd potentially either go grab Scion or just go after the rest of the Assembly on her own. So, then, the only real option at the moment is to keep her locked up in Saki's Safe Space... at least for a little while.
Which is why I'm going to bring this back out to a more meta, narrative note: all of the potential Orichalcum candidates that will be in this story now have had screen time. I'm not going to name them all, because there are some who would work that people aren't considering and some that people are considering that wouldn't work. The presiding theme of the Orichalcum candidates is that they are all dangerous in their own way, and all of them have the potential to be a liability to the Assembly if not properly... well, "conditioned" is a heavy term, and none will ever truly be "smoothed out" because that goes against what would catalyze an Orichalcum... so, let's just say that they all need some "alignment adjustments." Because it is within our power to adjust any of our candidates within the time frame we're now dealing with, people should ultimately concern themselves with whom they want to see more of in the narrative, and what kind of role we want our Orichalcum to play in the story.
Bringing us down to current concerns, this means our vote for the Faerie Queen will be largely narrative: put her in cold storage and be done with her as a larger narrative player while we focus on what we've already got going for us (she'll be relevant again/occasionally, but not in a major way), or roll the dice and try to reform the crazy murder-fairy (this doesn't lock her in as Orichalcum, but rather starts the process of seeing if we can get her to switch teams [LEWD] and figuring out how to deal with her Shard problems).
Finally for Scary Fairy, we've got the matter of what the PRT is going to do/say. They're obviously going to note Glaistig Uaine somehow escaped the Birdcage, so how do we want to handle this? Obviously the Birdcage isn't going to hold her anymore, and they only got her there in the first place because she walked in of her own accord after entire S-Class response teams failed to kill her. Worse, this has now compromised the perceived infallibility of the Birdcage; more a problem for the PRT than for us, but it's something that's going to make many PRT higher-ups rather us 'accidentally' kill her and be done with it for the trouble she's set in motion (Saki, being Compassion-primary and actively fighting against being a Hard Woman Making Hard Choices, will deny them that option). Do we want to tell them that she's dead and gone (which, either way we decide, will be true in the metaphorical sense), or do we want to tell them the truth (what we decide to do with her in the option above)?
Next, we've got the matter of Aisha's exaltation. We've got permission, and everyone is basically expecting us to do it now, but we... don't actually have to, since we aren't being held at faerie-point anymore. Waiting would theoretically mean that Aisha and Saki could go on that field trip before Aisha's converted but that wouldn't happen immediately (since Saki is going to be busy with the PRT for the foreseeable future because whoops, got a faerie in my pocket!) Do we want to wait (and run out the Autochthon clock some more) to have some Vacation Hijinx, or actually get things moving along?
Still on the matter of Aisha's exaltation, we happen to have some Cauldron vials on-hand. Do we want to throw one of them in with Aisha when she's converted? Each Shard-Charm that Autochthon makes on takes ONE MONTH off of our remaining time left before the Cradle closes. The current "Three Months" I've been mentioning in-thread is taking into account that our remaining three candidates are all parahumans, so in actually we currently have Six Months left before the Cradle closes; giving Aisha a second vial (WHICH IS NOT GUARANTEED TO WORK, BUT WILL DEDUCT TIME REGARDLESS) will mean we have Four Months left before the Cradle closes. Also, note that the 'untriggered' nature of the vial's power means that Autochthon (read: me) has more room to work, but since it's a Cauldron vial it's going to be an amalgamation of existing Alchemical charms devoted towards a specific end. We currently have a Level 1 (think Gallant-level power) Thinker-primary (meaning its purpose largely slants it towards Thinker powers) and a Level 3 Trump vial... orrrr, if we want, we can call up Cauldron for a third vial in exchange for doing more work for them (Level of our choice, entirely my choice for power slant).
To see if this works, I will require a number of successes equal to the Level of the vial (7 or better on a 10-sided die, 10s count as 2 successes). We start with one die, and the quality of the Stunt increases number of die we get for the roll. You have officially been warned.
As a last note, while Saki got a whole heapin' helpin' of new Abilities and Specializations to buy, both Prayer and Taylor have a number of Abilities 'stuck' because they haven't been bought up to the next level, and everyone has some Backgrounds that are lingering. This was largely why I shifted the Ally (Defiant) from Taylor to Prayer, because in-story Ned has done a lot more with Prayer than Taylor at this point and is largely following our Adamant around instead of staying with Taylor - it makes more sense for Prayer to have had these dots all along. If you see an Ability or Background on the character sheets in ORANGE then it means I'm going to be removing it or knocking it down to 1/6 Training Intervals at the end of Chapter 9.7 because we clearly aren't interested in pursuing it right now.
Now, on to voting!
Fire and Ice:(Choose One, One Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Cold Storage (Glaistig Uaine is placed in stasis and kept there for most of the remaining story)
[ ] Slow Burn (Glaistig Uaine is kept in Safe Space but awake and interacting with the story's cast)
I've Got Something In My Pocket: (Choose One, One Stunt Allowed)
[ ] The Queen is Dead (Tell the PRT that Glaistig Uaine is dead)
[ ] Prison of Her Own Making (Tell the PRT that Glaistig Uaine will be kept in Saki's Safe Space, since that's the only way to hold her)
Extended Vacations: (Choose One, One Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Exalt Aisha Now
[ ] Exalt Aisha After Everything Is Settled
Nothing Can Go Wrong With This Plan: (Choose One, One Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Don't send Aisha into the Cradle with a Cauldron Vial.
[ ] Send Aisha into the Cradle with the Level 1 "Thinker" Cauldron Vial.
[ ] Send Aisha into the Cradle with the Level 3 "Trump" Cauldron Vial.
[ ] Call Cauldron, Send Aisha into the Cradle with a Stunt-Chosen-Level Cauldron Vial.
NO FREE ACTIONS THIS VOTE, I'M RE-THINKING HOW THESE WILL WORK IN THE FUTURE
XP Expenditures should now be formatted as such:
[ ] NAME - ? XP - Item ●●●○○
[ ] NAME - ? XP - Item (Specialization ●●○)
VOTE DISCUSSION STARTS NOW
ACTUAL VOTING BEGINS:
Fire and Ice:
[X] Slow Burn (Glaistig Uaine is kept in Safe Space but awake and interacting with the story's cast)
- [x] Stunt: Ciara looked up from her book at the knocking. Setting Techniques of an Efficient Secretary on a sidetable, she straightened her dress and called out permission to enter. The door opened and the Warden entered, companion on shoulder. Behind her came the First, eyes and mouth aglow as if on fire. "Glaistig Uaine. Tatsu said you wanted to meet me."
I've Got Something In My Pocket:
[X] Prison of Her Own Making (Tell the PRT that Glaistig Uaine will be kept in Saki's Safe Space, since that's the only way to hold her)
- [x] Stunt: Saki returns to the Crater, where what seems like half the Protectorate tenses at her arrival. "W-well, I…" she begins, before an idea strikes. "Tatsu, no!" she distantly hears Legend call out as the surroundings dim around her now heroic outline. Her foot perches on a caged fairy as she gazes into the distance beneath a banner proclaiming MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.
Extended Vacations:
[X] Exalt Aisha Now
- [x] Stunt: Reviewing the signed paperwork, Taylor passed copies back to Brian and Ms Militia. All complete. Resting his hands on the table, Brian glanced over his shoulder to where Lord Grasp was holding court to Aisha, Sabah and Amelia with a display of animated storytelling. He looked back to see Taylor staring at him sympathetically. "We'll bring her back safe. Believe it."
Nothing Can Go Wrong With This Plan:
[X] Don't send Aisha into the Cradle with a Cauldron Vial.
- [x] Stunt: Standing above the bubbling Brockton Crater, Taylor considered the young Moonsilver-candidate carefully. "I've been doing the calculations, and the vial's not worth the risk to you or Autochthon." Aisha looked glum. "Seems a waste. Can standard Charms get me a replacement for Suzy anyway?"
XP Expenditures:
[X] EOA - 3 XP - Ally (Legend) ●●○○○
[X] EOA - 3 XP - Ally (Accord) ●●○○○
***
Sadly, your completely appropriate and well-earned laughter is cut short when Aisha finally stops staring at you… then staring at the collapsed Crazy Fairy… then back to you… then back to Glaistig Uaine… then back to you-
"W-what the fuck?"
"Oooh hooh-... ahem," you grunt, clearing your throat because laughing like that is surprisingly difficult on your vocal chords. Lowering your hand from your mouth, you turn your head fully to give Aisha a reassuring smile that falters only slightly when you realize how this might look to her. "A-ah, r-right. Sorry to surprise you like that - I didn't want to say anything because I wasn't sure it'd work."
Having taken a step away during your laughter, Aisha blinks once, then looks again at the collapsed pile of darkened rags that mostly obscures the tween-like body of Glaistig Uaine - her barely-trembling form almost blending in with the black-jade hexagonal tiles of your Safe Space.
"Oooohkay," she drawls out, taking a few tentative steps towards the collapsed cape. "Is… she… dead?"
You hold up your left hand to ward off the young Stranger before she gets within poking range, shaking your head with a frown as you consider it more thoroughly. "No, I can… I can feel she's still alive with my charm, though she's... probably going to go into stasis soon? I've got a good idea of what my power-charm can do now, but I've never actually put someone in stasis before so I don't know how long it'll take."
Which… means she can probably hear you talking right now, actually. Hm.
Bending down, Lord Grasps shuffles slightly on your right shoulder as you reach out and gently rest your hand on the fallen Queen, feeling through the disconcertingly-soft tattered cloth that she is breathing erratically.
"Shall I dispose of her for you, Warden?" he hums dismissively, as if considering a departing raincloud that just cast a light shower over your picnic. "I take it she's no longer a threat to you in here, but from your feelings earlier I take it there is no reason for you to ever release her from your sanctum."
"No," you sigh, noting how the breathing is slowing down as your Safe Place continues to ramp up its hold on her. From what Prayer and the scientists reported during testing, it apparently feels a lot like falling asleep - or being really drunk, but you and Prayer just had to take their word for it - and you don't even notice the effect unless you're deliberately looking out for it and struggling against it.
Slowly... silently... the three of you watch as her form takes a final… long... breath…
K-Thunk.
At first you think it's just a sound in the back of your mind, but then the sound echoes all around you: a massive, two-tone, ringing tremor that invokes the image of a jail cell door the size of a mountain slamming shut.
Heralded by the tremor, the foot-wide hexagons upon which Glaistig Uaine's motionless form is resting begin to rise… passing seamlessly through her body, until the insane cape is swallowed completely by the dark, marble-like hexagons.
"W-... Saki, what the the shit is going on?"
Turning back to Aisha, you stand back up to your full height and look down to meet her gaze with a frown as something falls into place in the back of your mind - an almost-physical weight that you immediately understand is Glaistig Uaine...
You blink.
Prisoner Entry: N-0000000000009 Name: Ciara Jean Dowager (Cee-Cee, Glaistig Uaine, Faerie Queen) Species: Human Essence: Null Charms: None Sex: Female Blood Type: B- Height: 5'1" Weight: 87.34 lbs. Hair: Blonde Eyes: Green Age: 39 Born: 10th, Wednesday, October, 1971 AD, 9:43:22 PM local time (Room 4A, TriStar Greenview Regional Hospital, Bowling Green, Kentucky, United States, Earth-Bet, Nowhere)
Medical Conditions: Entity Shard Host [Quarantine Protocols: Active], Altered Physiology (Age Regression [Body Biological Age: 12, Mind Unaltered]), Megalomania*, Sociopathic Detachment*, Obsession*, Hallucinations*, Delusions* [*See Prison Notes 001] Next-of-Kin: None Prisoner Interred: 20th, Saturnday, Ascending Fire, 8291 DA, 24:11:03 Prison Notes 001: Prisoner N-0000000000009 Interred at 24:11:03 on 23/13/8291 after minimal resistance, lasting 7.21 minutes before succumbing to Interment Protocols. First successful Interment of Nowhereverse prisoner. First successful application of Quarantine Protocols against Nowhereverse Entity Dimensional Breach. Prisoner N-0000000000009 reaction (catatonia, hyperventilation) to Quarantine Protocols dissimilar to Prisoner N-0000000000010 reaction (none) [Warning: N-0000000000010 not yet Interred], despite both Prisoners entering Prison concurrently with Warden. Physical, Psychological Mutations detected; side-effects of constant exposure to Nowhereverse Entity Dimensional Breach? Prison Recommendation: Inter additional Entity Shard Hosts for further data accumulation. Warden Notes 001: what is this wait why is it writing down what I'm thinking no wait stop how do I turn it off stop delete cancel stop end yameru kai
"-aki!"
"Aahh!" you shout, flailing in surprise and confusion enough that Aisha releases her grip on your arms from where she's been shaking you. "W-what?!"
"You spaced out there for a minute after Her Batshitness got eaten by the floor," the younger girl scowls at you, suspicious brown eyes studying your expression seriously. "I figured it was some bullshit magic thing going on, but I started to worry when I noticed Mister Pinchy wasn't doing anything either."
She jerks her head towards your shoulder, drawing your eyes to the fact that Lord Grasp is groaning softly and holding-slash-covering his 'head' with his claws.
You open your mouth in sympathy, only to pause and look back at the smaller girl.
"Please don't call him that," you grit out through a weak smile. "I… don't think he'd hurt you, but I'm pretty sure he'd lock you out of his spa."
Judging by her widening eyes, that may have been a more effective threat.
"What?! He has a spa?!"
"Mmmnnuh… Warden?" Lord Grasp mutters, finally managing to groan coherent syllables together. "Wh-...what was that? It… it felt like... a barricade slammed down atop our spiritual connection! I… I couldn't even think!"
You wince, reaching up with your right hand to pat him on his back reassuringly as you try to make sense of the eye-crossing injection of information directly into your brain. Where… how did your charm even get all that information? Cee-Cee? The room of the hospital she was born in? Just… what?
And those… "notes"? Who is even writing… wait...
Taylor mentioned that she managed to 'talk' with her converted power-charm, that it was… alive, and that it managed to even help her. Is… is that your charm talking in that note?
Your eyes drift back to Aisha as you realize just exactly who "Prisoner N-000000010" must be… and the distinctly unsubtle request your charm has made to imprison her, too. But… if Glaistig Uaine was the "first successful Interment" of someone from Earth-Bet… why is she number nine and Aisha ten...?
Oh. The scientists. Huh. Except… Prayer would have made nine. And Lord Grasp was definitely 'Interred' when you found him.
You close your eyes and shake your head before your charm gets any funny ideas and starts shoving even more information into your head.
"S-Sorry, Aisha," you sigh, holding your head with your left hand as you try to make sense of all of this. "I… well, I guess Sakura and I sort of knew we could trap people in here, but… it turns out that our power is actually some kind of huge prison. So when the Maker converted it..."
You shrug and gesture absently to the sea of black marble that extends to the horizon in all directions. Now that you think of it, if you squint to blur out the hexagonal pattern, the wave-like striations in the stone do kind of make it look like you're standing atop a lightless, watery abyss.
You're not sure if you should be bothered by the fact that you aren't bothered by that. Aisha certainly has been giving the floor unsteady looks this whole time, though that may just be because she saw the floor eat someone.
Whatever, your Safe Space is The Best.
"...Riiiiight," Aisha drawls out, though she manages to mostly suppress a small shiver that goes along with the statement as she looks out upon the world around you. "Sooo is that why I can't feel my power anymore, either?"
"Mmm," you hum in assent, though you frown as pieces start falling into place. "Powers can't reach into here. That's why she collapsed, actually. I… well, my charm says it's making her see things and driving her crazy."
"Ugh. That sucks. I guess being the scariest fucker in the world ain't all it's cracked up to-... wait," she pauses, rounding back on you with a scowl. "What'dya mean 'reach into here'?"
You raise a hand, index finger poised as you take a breath, then… close your mouth and give her a flat stare borne of nope not your job.
"Ask Taylor when you get back."
"Fuckin' really? Fiiiiine," she groans rolling her eyes and throwing her hands up in exasperation, "let's just-"
She freezes, then jerks her head to stare at you, wide-eyed in paling realization. "Oh shit, everyone still thinks Crazy Fairy is gonna be there!"
Wha- oh Maker how could you forget?! A-and you've been in here so long they might even think she's killed the both of you in here!
"Lord Grasp! We need to go!" you blurt out, spinning around to face the portal behind you as you mentally focus on the Crater… there! It's still blurry but...
… uh...
… oh shoot, that's a lot of figures.
They're probably not going to open up on you immediately, but how do you make sure everyone knows things are okay? You'd need-...
Idea!
You spin around to see Aisha still wide-eyed in shock, but now it's directed at Lord Grasp's expanding form and unfolding palanquin. She looks up at you as if to ask for an explanation for this fresh new batch of 'robo-magic bullshit'-
Aisha blinks, reeling back from the force of your eager grin. "Saki? You… uh… what...?"
You explain the plan.
She blinks again, slowly…
...then starts cackling.
***
During the PRT testing yesterday, one of the questions that came up regarding the changes to your power-turned-charm was whether the feeling of the transition between Earth-Bet and your Safe Space had also been altered by Autochthon's "Tinkering." Though you were able to immediately agree that it had, explaining what had changed had taken considerably more time and thought - not because you had difficulty putting thoughts and memories to words, but more that thinking back on the way your power used to feel had been… unsettling.
For some reason, Sakura and you had thought that the sensation of having your entire body stretched and twisted to fit into a single-dimensional point, then spat back out in reverse had been as relaxing as a quick massage to the shoulders. And the more you had thought back on it, the more you got the feeling that you'd been brushing off the way everyone else that you transported sort of… didn't talk about it.
When you'd voiced the Clarity-tinged panic that Sakura and you had been ignoring everyone else's pain, Prayer and Taylor had stepped in to clarify that it hadn't hurt before, it'd just been… "distantly, existentially disconcerting," as Taylor had put it. Like something alien and off had happened to you in a way that raised the hairs on the back of your neck or sent a shiver down your spine, but that you only realized what was going on if you focused on it.
The realization had raised a number of similarly-ominous questions that you had opted not to voice at the time, some of which had been answered by the information you've learned today about the true nature of Parahuman powers. The remaining questions you have left mainly revolve around just how much your power was altering your mind before, and - given that your power-turned-charm may be alive like Taylor's is - how much it still is doing so.
You are self-aware enough to notice that you still instinctively think of a Transcendental Prison as your "Safe Space," which is enough to confirm that something is going on.
The Great Maker would have stopped your charm-power from doing anything bad to your head… right? After all, if that was your charm-power talking in the "Notes" that got shoved into your brain earlier, it at least seems like it's… trying to work with you? Encourage you?
Encouraging you to trap more people in your Safe Space, that is. Not that it seems to hurt people, so maybe you could ask around and see if...
…
… If Sakura is with Autochthon, is she having these problems too?
Pushing these worries away with small sigh and re-settling of your shoulders, you glide through the portal in your Safe Space with only a slight twisting sensation - as if you were in a plane that turned on its axis a few degrees before righting itself - before Earth-Bet resolves itself fully into your senses again. Despite Earth usually being a more vibrant mix of colors, the world around you is instead comprised of only bold, stark whites and dark, contrasting blacks.
You expected this, but startled reactions of the two-dozen floating figures in the sky around you make it clear that they did not. Legend's stilled figure makes you think he was wishing he had, though.
Soaring through your portal effect, you stand triumphantly atop Lord Grasp - his palanquin retracted into his back - with your right hand on Aisha's shoulder and your left arm held out in a triumphant fist. The three of you are back-lit by a black-and-white sunburst background, while your Background Charm provides a massive, streaming banner above your trio, proclaiming-
"MISSION ACCOMPLISHED, BITCHES!"
… what Aisha just said, but without the cursing. That part wasn't in the plan, but… well, you've managed to avoid being shot to pieces upon arrival so you suppose it doesn't really matter anymore. Her shout even appears to have jarred everyone out of their stunned awe, so… fine, you can just roll with it.
Now that you're actually here, though, you can actually see just what's been waiting for your return. Or, rather, the dozen-or-so people that were apparently willing to face down the Faerie Queen with only a few minutes' worth of notice.
Legend and Eidolon are here, along with with three humanoid-looking, armed-to-the-teeth Dragonsuits that look like they focus on missiles, machine guns, and melee combat respectively. Other flyers you spot are the slim blue-and-red costume of Concordance, the pinstripe-business-suit-wearing Layaway, and the grey-and-black armored form of Hammerfist - all three from New York. You're also surprised to also see Gust's typical parachuting outfit-clad form perpetually falling slowly from high above the group. What's even more bizarre, however, is the bus-sized, brightly-colored moth/butterfly upon which you see Panac- err, Wyld, Miss Militia, and what looks like probably Sabah, Lisa, and Brian in their respective costumes.
Prayer is here, of course, her jetpack-charm letting her hover stoically in her hulking armored form with what looks like a bunch of large javelins attached to her forearms.
You notice all these other people first because you're trying to avoid focusing on the fact that at least half the number of figures you noticed through your portal are actually human-shaped swarms of silver-black insects - with several more looking like they were in the process of forming from the sky-darkening cloud being disgorged from the back of Taylor's newest armor.
Sharing a similar black with blue-and-white-underlighting color scheme, her new armor looks less like a set of heavy medieval armor and more like what you'd expect a Tinker - streamlined with modern ballistics in mind, artificial musculature that probably doubles as padding, and plenty of glowing bits and pieces that probably do all sorts of cool things. Her helmet is also now mostly a single large piece of rounded, dark-blue glass that starts along her jaw and back of her head - probably to make it easier for her to deal with the spider legs coming out of her temple, since she mentioned those sometimes got cramped in her old helmet.
Naturally, she is standing, arms crossed, on top of the massive black sphere that is Lord Iris.
Also as expected of your Assembly leader, she is the first to react to your grand entrance… and to Aisha's unexpected boast. Her voice echoes from the entirety of her swarm and swarm-bodies in a way that properly summarizes the shock, surprise, and relief of the gathered superheroes:
"What."
Oh.
Uh. Right! Next step of the plan!
… you didn't really think of anything beyond "let's make sure they don't shoot us."
Bringing your left fist down to cover your mouth as you clear your throat, you let your Patriotism-Provoking Display and Background charms fade, the "stylized propaganda poster" look starting to bleed away slowly as you fall back on… umm… no, not Queen Mirabella, that'd freak people out. You need someone professional, confident, and experienced…
Sakura wrote enough Miss Militia fics that she's the first person to fit that description, and you need to start talking quickly so hopefully she doesn't notice because here you go!
"Glaistig Uaine has been stripped of her power and been placed into stasis," you explain evenly, looking to Taylor as you straighten your posture again, but projecting the words forcefully enough - with both your Body Language and Background charms - to be heard over the buzzing of Taylor's swarm, the rockets of Prayer and Dragon's armors, and the winds generated by the other fliers.
There's a (relatively) long moment of silence as the gathered heroes are stunned by this turn-
Wait, no, those are mostly entranced stares. You… probably should turn down your prettiness again. Siiigh.
Aaaand done. Now Taylor gets to be the prettiest again, and your sweatshirt and jeans aren't quite so tight anymore.
Everyone snaps out of it so abruptly, it's almost like you flipped a switch and let people's brains start working again.
"How?"
Despite being the most powerful the of the Triumvirate, Eidolon sounds… normal, even through his silver full-faced mask. The glowing green eyes of his otherwise-featureless mask narrow as he floats down to your level, the rest of his head obscured by both his hooded robe and the green glow that emanates from within it. He holds his arms out slightly in front of his body at a downward angle, which would look really awesome if he didn't ruin it by sounding like one of your old math teachers.
"No one has ever fought ever fought her and won, and that was before she spent twenty years gathering hundreds of more powers in the Birdcage," he clarifies, sounding confused and... disappointed? What? "How did you manage to beat her?"
Ugh, that is such a good setup for a lewd joke but… no, Miss Militia is Seriousface. Gotta stay in-character.
"I don't think she realized that my teleport isn't 'point A to point B', and that I need to go into my… personal dimension to travel to a new location. Since my dimension cuts off powers now..." you admit, frowning as you also piece together just exactly how you managed to pull off such a trick. "Well, it always did, I think, but now it's immediate instead of over time, so… she just... collapsed when we got there. I had my charm put her in stasis before she could snap out of it, I checked to make sure she was still alive, and then we came here."
There's a few murmurs of disbelief from the other floating capes that have all slowly approached while you were explaining, though Taylor and Prayer share a silent glance that you're pretty sure is code for 'we need another Assembly meeting'.
Before Eidolon can reply, however, Legend holds up a hand for clarification.
"Miss Militia gave us a quick explanation of what happened, Tatsu, but…" he frowns, pausing as he tries to articulate his own concerns. "I'm sorry, but this just seems too easy. Glaistig Uaine is one of the most powerful parahumans on the planet right now, and she made her reputation by claiming other powers for her own. How are you sure she isn't just playing along like she did when she went into the Birdcage?"
Because my charm can block Entity shards is what you want to say, especially since both Legend and Eidolon are with Cauldron and so would know what that meant, but… you're pretty sure Lisa is listening in from over there on top of that giant moth-butterfly.
Hmm. Another idea.
"I can show you," you offer with a confident nod, in a way that you hope is both genuine and reassuring, then gesture to the big bug in the back of the crowd. "Let me just drop off Who with the Wyld Hunt and I can take a few of you in to check it out."
There's a few stilled forms in the audience that you interpret as confusion, while Aisha just snickers. You're still not sure why Director Piggot let her have that name.
"That sounds reasonable, Tatsu," Legend sighs, "though I recall you were able to selectively choose who did and who didn't suffer the stasis effects of your dimension. Will that allow us to retain use of our own powers in case she breaks free?"
You blink.
"I… don't know?" you draw out, frowning as you think back to the basics of what you learned about your power-turned-charm during your meditation. "I… think so? Weaver, Prayer, and Lord Grasp will still have all their powers at least."
Legend and Eidolon share a glance, and you're pretty sure you heard a snort from Lisa over there.
"Vajra and I can go in first, Legend" Taylor offers, floating closer to your group now that the massive cloud of insects is only a few rapidly-diminishing trails streaming into the back of her power armor. "We can check to make sure everything is working properly-"
"I want to see this for myself," Eidolon interrupts evenly, eyes still narrowed but now with a clear determination in his voice. He tilts his head just enough to cast a glance at the Triumvirate member beside him. "That should be enough for now."
Legend's lips draw into a thin line, but he only remains silent for a heartbeat before nodding and turning to the nearest Dragonsuit - the one that looks like it's a half-dragon robotic humanoid with claws and teeth.
"Dragon? You should investigate this as well - see if you can figure out a way to replicate what Tatsu's power is doing so you can upgrade the Birdcage."
"... understood, Legend," the suit replies, nodding in assent after a moment of silence. Given the way Taylor very slightly twitches, you think she also noticed how there was a subtle hint in the Tinker's tone that indicated some reluctance to the suggestion. Why-
Oh, right. Taylor sorta absorbed the last Dragonsuit that went into your Safe Space. Did she not return it to Dragon yet?
Drama later, imprisoning Triumvirate members now.
"Wait!" Aisha protests, just as you're about to tap your foot on Lord Grasp's back to get him to start moving towards the Wyld Hunt. Holding up her hands in disbelief, she gives the gathered group an exasperated glare. "Let's do the conversion stuff first before everyone starts leaving! That's why we're here in the first place, right?"
"No."
"Aw, what?!" the young girl moans, rounding on your Assembly's leader. "C'mon! With everyone here and ready for a fight, this is the best chance to make sure shit doesn't hit the fan when we do it!"
With a whispered hiss, the glass of Taylor's helmet slides up to reveal a lidded, flat stare - made all the more arresting by glowing golden eyes and pulsing golden veins creeping up the sides of her dark, graphite-grey face.
"Endbringers I can deal with, but I am not spending another week under house-arrest because you didn't want to wait a few more hours to get the paperwork done."
***
Despite looking like a kid that got taken to the front gates of Disneyland and then told the park is closed, Aisha doesn't put up any more of a fuss before being dropped off on the Wyld Hunt's brilliantly-colored Mothra knock-off. Though Brian remains tight-lipped behind his white mask and crossed arms, the relief in his shoulders and posture is obvious to anyone even remotely paying attention.
Embarrassingly, while you're assuring Brian - Slate in costume - that he'll have more time to talk with Aisha about the decision and with Taylor about the details, Lord Grasp… tries to flirt with the moth. Apparently all spirits are supposed to know Old Realm by default? Either way, he's disappointed by the reveal that it's only a modified insect rather than a new spirit - though he says he's only frustrated because he "wasted well-crafted material."
Amelia's cape name causes a bit of confusion as well when you're explaining everything.
"She was mutated by the Wyld? Warden, I am dreadfully confused; did you not say that this world lacks essence?"
"No… I mean, yes? That's her cape name, Lord Grasp: Wyld."
"But you said it was a simple insect, not a marvelously-shaped 'parahuman'!"
"I meant Amel-... wait, that moth was a girl?"
"How was it not obvious?" he snorts, waving his claws in an hourglass shape as his tone grows lurid. "Did you not see the luscious shape of her-"
"N-no! Nevermind! Ugh! Blech!" you gag, waving your hands hastily because ew. "I-I meant that the human girl in the flower costume goes by the cape name Wyld."
He rotates sideways on his cloud as the two of you float back to where your Assembly and the remaining Protectorate heroes are talking, allowing him to side-eye the departing moth and its owner.
"... if I recall correctly, you said her power allows her to freely reshape anything biological?"
At your hum of agreement, he sighs - shimmying on his cloud in a way that you interpret as a bewildered shake of the head.
"This lesser realm grows more perplexing by the day."
From his dismissive tone, you decide to just ask Taylor what he's talking about when this mess is done. For now, the two of you glide quietly back to the remaining group of fliers - the two 'spare' Dragonsuits and non-Triumvirate capes having retreated back to the edge of the crater. From the reduced numbers visible, it looks like Nowhere has already started ferrying people back to their home towns now that the need for reinforcements has been called off.
"...-ffort, and everyone that came has been instructed that this was a classified operation, so we'll be able to keep this under wraps for now," Legend sighs, shaking his head as you get into range of his quiet address to the remaining heroes. "I'll make a call to the Chief Director while you're inside to see if she has any ideas for how she wants to play this going forward."
Taylor grunts, arms crossed as she and Prayer float opposite the Triumvirate duo and the remaining Dragonsuit. With her helmet's glass-like covering retracted, you notice her rotate her eyes in your direction as she nods - you're pretty sure she could probably run around with her eyes closed at all times and still see everything everywhere, so you figure it's more to signal your return to the group.
You've also noticed that the group has moved several hundred feet away from Lord Iris, though everyone who isn't Taylor is positioned to still have him at least in their peripheral vision. Probably smart… but the way Taylor and Prayer talked about what happened before, it probably wouldn't matter if something actually went wrong.
The general unease you've been feeling from Lord Grasp spikes a bit at that thought, swelling to a desire to get away from here - a sentiment that makes you firm your expression in agreement and nod silently as the two of you float into the gap between Taylor and Eidolon.
"Is everyone ready?" you ask, smiling politely and glancing around the assembled heroes in a way that silently suggests that any further discussion could be had not here.
"Y...es," Legend draws out, blinking uncertainly for a split-second before regaining his composure and glancing to his fellow Triumvirate member. "Though there's been a slight change of plans, Tatsu. Eidolon?"
The 2nd-most powerful cape in the world - actually he's probably the most powerful cape since Scion isn't human - turns in the air to face you fully, the back-lit light-green glow from the depths of his forest-green cloak flaring slightly. Too bad his disappointingly-normal voice ruins the intimidating effect.
"I've never encountered an effect that could strip me of my powers," Eidolon admits ruefully, and the slight twitch of his arms held out at his sides gives you the impression that it's been almost as long since he's admitted any kind of weakness. "I will return here and let Legend know whether your dimension does before I confirm anything else regarding Glaistig Uaine."
You blink. That was… kind of rude, just telling you what's going to happen? Sure, you're not exactly going to tell him 'no', but he could have been polite to you after you saved a whole bunch of lives by single-handedly capturing the Faerie Queen. Is he trying to overcompensate for something? The way Taylor's lips twitch down and Legend's shoulders tense...
Sigh. This is probably why Legend is the one who does most of the talking for their group.
Keeping your same polite smile from before, you shrug like it's no big deal. "Okay. Anything else?"
There's a few seconds of stilled, awkward silence at your reaction, though Taylor's lips twitch upwards this time.
"No, nothing else right now, Tatsu," Legend offers with a light sigh and shake of the head. "Could you send Eidolon to the landing pad we have set up on the Crater's edge? I need to head over there to speak with Nowhere when he returns."
"Okay," you repeat, though your smile is more genuine this time as you nod in agreement.
Then, looking around to the group, you extend your hands from where you've reflexively slid them into your sleeves and offer up your arms in a silent request for everyone to gather together - you were going to suggest that everyone holds hands to make it easier, but Eidolon doesn't seem like the hand-holding type.
With a twist and a pull - made slightly more difficult by something in Dragon's suit resisting you slightly - the world disappears in a familiar spinning cascade of black-and-white hexagons to deposit you all just beyond the portal in your Safe Space.
There's a muffled thud as Eidolon collapses to the black tiles in a disorganized heap, nearly masked by the mechanical whines of Dragon's suit twitching erratically.
Yes, okay, you prooooobably could have tried harder to not have them automatically flagged as 'Prisoners', but… you are still figuring your charm out! That's all!
Taylor gives you a look.
"Prayer could have caught him!" you huff in Old Realm, rolling your eyes as you point to an awkwardly-shuffling Big Blue. Below you, Lord Grasp nods in satisfaction.
"Saki…"
"Fiiiine."
***
Your earlier, haphazard attempt to "meditate" on your charms went far better than you had expected to… save for one exception: your Safe Space charm. You'd known you were in for a rough time after the soul-wrenching pain of disconnecting your Perfected Lotus Matrix, but… well...
"Try turning it off and back on again" is the first step of tech support that you learned from Taylor, though, so it's not like you weren't following her instructions!
You hadn't actually managed to fully disconnect your Safe Space charm in the end. For one, the harder you tried to disconnect the more you'd felt like you were killing yourself in the process, and secondly…
… your charm had fought back to stay connected to you.
But while in the end you didn't get a chance to fully examine the charm when it was disconnected from yourself, the struggle hadn't been completely worthless; as mentally collapsed from the strain, the charm had seemingly fallen back into place properly and flooded your mind and body with a rush of energy and understanding that you didn't even realize you'd been missing before.
Except now it's like that annoying quote your father used to say all the time: "the more you know, the more you know you don't know."
You know the thing that's physically in your head is more of a portal than a normal "magic machine that does a cool thing," for example, but you can't see what's inside. Your Safe Space? That's probably the case, given what Taylor mentioned about her own mental journey when Lord Iris kicked her out of her own body, but why can't you see the whole thing? Shouldn't you be able to see if Sakura is linked to your charm, too?
You know it's why your mental images of "lines of power" always have the lines trailing down from that charm into your essence reserves - because that's where you've been getting all the essence you need to power yourself. That also explains why you're fine here on Earth when Lord Grasp and Lord Iris can't draw essence from air, but… where is your charm getting thatessence? Did Autochthon give you a huge supply to use on your own when he made it? But isn't the Great Maker's whole problem that he's running out of essence and needs a new source?
The more you try to think about your Safe Space charm the more questions than answers you get, but… well, at least you aren't getting thrown through your portal anymore when you arrive. You have the feeling that it had something to do with some kind of misaligned attempt to correct for the fact that Earth is spinning in space. Did planet Creation not spin? Does Autochthon not spin?
These are the thoughts that absently cross your seven extra trains of thought (courtesy of Taylor in the hopes it will speed things along) as you stare at Eidolon and Dragon's crumpled and twitching forms, brow furrowed in concentration as your primary focus is dedicated to… ehhh...
Okay, yes, you're just sort of mentally poking your Safe Space charm and thinking "let them use their powers!" at it.
Having moved to the side of the Dragonsuit to support it, Taylor glances back at you expectantly.
"Well?"
"I… don't think I can?" you fume, crossing your arms under your chest idly as you stare at the vaguely-translucent black tile below - as if you could look deeper into that darkness and scowl your charm into submission. "Every time I try to tell it to give them their powers back, I get… it feels like I'm being ignored? Because I'm… missing something? Or that I should be asking someone else?"
Taylor stills, blinking in disbelief.
"Your charm is giving you red tape?" she sighs - then halts, her breath hitching for a split-second before the remainder of the sigh turns into a groan. Covering the left side of her face with a soulsteel gauntlet, she shakes her head. "You said it talked about 'Quarantine Protocols' in the note?"
You nod.
"That sounds like something you'd need multiple signatures to overturn. Or, in this case... two."
Wha-
Oh!
Oh.
"Oh."
Taylor gives you a sympathetic grimace, opening her mouth as if to… apologize… but closes her mouth when she thinks otherwise while her shoulders sag. Why would she…?
Does she… blame herself for Sakura not being here? Why would-
"This is Hope."
Both of you look to Prayer - you more in shock, as the Adamant juggernaut has seemingly teleported to your side to place a massive, crystalline hand on your right shoulder in support. With her free right hand, she reaches up and pulls off the solid crystal helmet before meeting your gaze with her own deep, soulful gaze.
"The Great Maker intends a Reunion," she murmurs in that echoing, harmonic tone. "He would not devise such a Rule otherwise."
You close your mouth (you might have squeaked in surprise there) as the thought hits home.
It... it makes sense, the more you think about it. Autochthon would have built all this after you went into the Cradle, after all, so if Taylor's right (which she usually is) then it means the Great Maker expected you and Sakura to work together with your charm - which only would be possible if both of you were Alchemicals.
You look back at Taylor, who is frowning in thought again.
"But…" you feel yourself asking, "...if Sakura is with- is in Autochthon… how are we supposed to meet up?"
But instead of Taylor answering your question, your attention is instead drawn to an incredulous Lord Grasp as he makes a coughing sound into his pincer.
"Did not the Iris of Innovation declare that you must awaken the Great Maker?" the car-sized scorpion asks, seemingly rhetorically. "How else were you expecting to accomplish such a feat besides venturing to his jotun and enlisting the aid of the Divine Ministers?"
"O-oh," you stammer, a bit surprised but- okay, yeah, you guess you hadn't thought that through all the way, since you've been worried about lots of other things, but that makes sense. The way Taylor's nodding means she probably already thought of that. Still-... "... but how are we supposed to get there?"
"Iris…" Taylor trails off, shifting uncomfortably as she crosses her arms and looks towards the portal out of your Safe Space. "I've still kept my connection to Iris with my… Shard Charm, so I can still talk with him while he's working. When I asked him about that before, he said he could send us to Autochthon when we're ready."
Feeling your eyes widen, you can't help the smile that blossoms across your face as you step over and grab her arm excitedly.
"Wha-... tha-that's great! Can we go get Sakura when we're done here?!"
Under your touch, Taylor flinches slightly.
"It's…" she trails off, not meeting your own gaze. "He said it's a one-way trip, Saki. He'll need to stay behind to keep the Cradle open and the conversion going."
No… that can't-
Wait-!
"But- but I can transport us back!" you plead, gripping a bit harder because you can do this! You have a way to get to Sakura!
"... you don't know that."
You still at the dark tone in her voice. Taylor…
"W-what?"
Taylor finally turns to face you fully, uncrossing her arms before placing her hands on your shoulders. Meeting your hopeful, confused gaze, the golden glow of her eyes flares as she stares you down.
"Saki, I want Sakura back too… but Autochthon's world-body is bigger than Jupiter," she intones, speaking slowly and deliberately. Reaching up with her right claw, she taps the setting of your soulgem on your forehead. "Even if this does point towards her, if she's on the other side of the world it could take you months even with Lord Grasp flying non-stop. And if the Great Maker Himself has a hard time sending us to Earth, are you one-hundred percent confident that you could teleport back on your own once you find her?"
That's-!
But you-... but she-!
"I-!" you start to protest, only for Taylor to move the finger from your forehead to your lips to silence you with a glare even more serious than before.
"Saki, if Sakura is connected to this charm, where is her portal?"
You blink, your eight trains of thought all crashing to a halt at the apparent change in topics. What does that have to do with-
"Iris said that Autochthon's sickness isn't just… 'things breaking down,'" she breathes, tilting her head up just enough to speak to both you and Prayer. "It's a disease of Entropy. The worst parts of himself infecting and ruining the best parts of himself… and everything around him… until nothing is left but stagnant ruin. When he made us, he gave us what he could of his untainted reserves..."
Blazing golden eyes turn back to stare down into your soul.
"Saki, I think Autochthon quarantined Sakura's part of your charm. And if you tried to go find her now… you might bring his sickness back with you."
***
You want time to process what Taylor's said… revealed?… deduced?... but you have two world-class capes that still are unresponsive even after you've prodded your charm to the limit of what it's "allowed" to accommodate right now.
It really doesn't help that it feels like you've got eight different "you"s in your head right now, all tripping over themselves as each part of yourself wants to break down and cry about losing Sakura all over again, freak out about Autochthon's sickness maybe infecting Sakura, your Safe Space charm not working right until you find your sister, what is wrong with-
"C-can you take back your Thinker boost, Taylor?" you groan, closing your eyes and holding your head to stop your head from exploding from all the different emotions. "Please? It's… t-too much right-"
And just like that, the world between your ears fades to just you and you alone. You stagger, only to feel both Prayer and Lord Grasp steady you with reassuring grips on your shoulders, but… as diminished as you suddenly feel, at least you can tackle one thing at a time now.
Okay, breathe… first you need-
Taylor clears her throat sharply enough to force your eyes open again.
"It's about to be seven minutes, Saki," she grunts, meeting your eyes again with a measure of sympathy and shame as you turn back to her. Lifting her left hand, she gestures to the twitching power armor and green-cloaked heap. "We should drop them off back at the Crater if you've done all you can."
"O-oh...kay, right," you sigh, shaking your head as you push away all the other worries for later. You… think you can just shift the floor of your Safe Space to push them back through the portal, but that might be… rude? "Lord Grasp, can you…?"
A light, pleased hum. "Of course, Warden."
Still clown-car-sized, Lord Grasp's golden-sheath-encased pincers delicately pluck both Eidolon's crumpled form up from the floor and seize the trembling Dragonsuit by the waist, then hold them out in front of himself as if they were misbehaving children about to be tossed out of the house. Strolling back to the portal as if their weight means nothing to him, you close your eyes and try to imagine where Legend told you to bring them back.
Yes, you… know the landing pad well enough by now - you meditated there earlier today - but the mental picture is still somewhat hazy despite your refreshed connection to your charm. The scenery itself is clearer than before, but… okay, there's a few blurry figures there? Probably Legend and some of the stragglers waiting to go home. You'll open your portal… there, about ten feet away from the one you're pretty sure is Legend.
Opening your eyes again, the slightly-twisting vision in the portal matches your own mental image. You glance back at Taylor and Prayer, who each nod to you in return, then take a deep breath and close your eyes again.
Composed. You need… need to be composed again. They're definitely going to be asking you about what happened. Should you be super-serious business-like? No… that's Taylor's job. Um… okay, Miss Militia is probably a good example here since she's cool but also shows some emotion when it's needed. She's not lewd enough but… maaaaybe this might not be a good time for lewdness?
Ugh, no, that's a dumb idea. Why would you ever think that?
Rolling your eyes as you lightly snort at the silly idea, you tuck your hands into your sleeves in front of you again and lead the procession through the portal.
Space twists and whirls in familiar ways, the suppressed silence of your Safe Space suddenly overwhelmed by distorted echoes of your destination… which then resolve themselves as the world itself stops twisting and you take your final step out onto solid ground. Legend is indeed a bare ten feet in front of you, standing with Nowhere and the two remaining Dragonsuits that Dragon left behind.
"Guh-!"
Eidolon's shocked gasp causes you to turn - calmly - to regard Lord Grasp's two captive figures as the rest of your group passes through the portal. The Dragonsuit has gone motionless, but Eidolon has placed a hand on his head while unsteadily placing his left on the golden pincer that's holding him up.
"Eidolon? Dragon?" Legend wonders aloud, shock and concern just barely audible under his usual confidence. "Is everything alright?"
The green-cloaked cape shakes his head lightly once before his posture regains his usual strength and confidence. Then, turning to look down at the opulent arachnid that is carrying him, he waves his right hand dismissively.
"That's enough," he grumbles.
While you're fairly certain Lord Grasp can't understand the command, you're certain the indignant dismissal in his tone carries through by the way Lord Grasp tosses Eidolon into the air with the kind of errant flick you'd expect to aimed at a trash bin.
"Oh, Heavens," Lord Grasp drones out, monotone. "My claw slipped."
Thankfully, a sudden jerk of the Dragonsuit draws everyone's attention before your mechanical companion and the world's most powerful parahuman can annoy each other further - each of the power armor's limbs straightening out in a T-like pose before quickly slumping back to a more organic, bewildered panic. Dragon's own voice sounds similarly shocked as it crackles to life from the speakers within the suit.
"W-what's-...!" she gasps, the head of the suit looking around in alarm while her arms reflexively go to the pincers keeping her off the ground.
Wait, what? Isn't Dragon remotely controlling her suits from her home in Canada? It sounds like she got frozen by your Safe Space, but that… shouldn't happen? The two other suits don't look like they had any problems? And she was fine when she was in your Safe Space before you were Exalted so-...
Hold on, shouldn't that not have worked either? Why would… oh! Does Dragon upload her brain into her power suits?! You'd heard of a Tinker that did something like that in the early 90's, so maybe Dragon got that Tinkertech from the PRT to help her?
That'd certainly explain why your Safe Space wouldn't like her now, since it might think she's some kind of weird combination of 'weapon' and 'Prisoner' and it doesn't have rules for someone who's both. Ugh, and probably the only way to fix that is to let it absorb her.
The way Taylor's floating over and whispering something to her, she probably knows what's going on, too. Maybe you can ask Taylor to ask Dragon to see if you can let your Safe Space eat her after all this stuff with the Faerie Queen is figured out? Only temporarily, of course!
"Weaver? Tatsu? What happened in there?"
You turn back to a wary Legend as he floats closer to your group, his eyes glancing to the casually-flung Eidolon as the powerful Trump finishes composing himself a few feet away. Keeping your own expression to a concerned, thoughtful frown, you try to keep your own voice calm and professional.
"Dragon's suit twitched and flexed randomly, but didn't do anything else. Eidolon collapsed almost exactly the same way that Glaistig Uaine did, but… might have been even worse off?" you reason, turning your head just enough to look at the man in question. "Glaistig Uaine was conscious before I imprisoned her. Were you aware of what was going on around you?"
Everyone's attention having snapped to you when you started speaking (maybe you should put your less-pretty disguise on…), all eyes turn to Eidolon as he floats several feet apart from the group. After a moment of awkward silence, you think you hear a sigh before he drifts down to just above the ground next to Legend.
"I was awake, but… no," he shakes his head, sounding equally chagrined and thoughtful. "Before I entered your portal, I took on multiple Thinker powers to analyze your dimension and Glaistig Uaine's condition. Considering it now, whatever your dimension did locked my mind in that state... but then blocked the powers themselves."
You don't need to fake the wince that crosses your face at that realization, and Legend shares your reaction.
"I'm fine," Eidolon huffs, a bit too quickly, holding up a hand to ward off Legend's opening mouth. "I know what I did wrong, and now that I know what to expect I shouldn't have any more issues like that again."
Legend's half-mask hides his eyebrows, but you're fairly certain at least one is raised by his companion's statement.
"You're willing to try again, then?"
"Of course."
Legend pauses at Eidolon's renewed confidence, then glances at your own unassuming expression and nods before looking over to where Dragon and Taylor are still talking - electronically now, since you can't even hear whispers anymore but Taylor's body language is shifting in ways that you'd usually associate with 'awkward guilt.'
Both Dragon and Taylor turn to Legend when he clears his throat in their general direction.
"Dragon? Do you know what went wrong on your end?"
"Possibly," the Canadian Thinker sighs, her accent sounding momentarily heavier than you've heard it before. "I'm sorry, I didn't have any trouble last time with Tatsu's dimension, but I've made some alterations to my designs since then that… likely caused interference. I'll need some time to go over the suit's logs to know for certain."
"Nothing you can fix now?"
The suit's head shakes within its armored confines, then raises a hand to gesture to the two other Dragonsuits standing motionless a few yards away. Following a silent command, the rightmost suit - the one brimming with missile pods that range in size from cigarette pack to wine barrel - twitches to alertness and strides over with heavy footfalls.
"No, but I can send one of my drones through with Eidolon. They look like my full suits, but they've only got a basic targeting and combat program I've been working with Weaver and Armsmaster on - I can designate Eidolon as their leader and they'll follow his instructions and log everything that goes on inside."
Legend nods, then turns back to meet your gaze.
"Tatsu? Is that fine with you?"
Humming for a moment while you consider it, you close your eyes and try to… "petition" your charm in advance. Is that the right prison lingo? "Submit an inquiry" maybe? Or-
That feeling hits you again, the sound echoing through your mind like one of those heavy mechanical stamps they use on complicated government forms.
ARMAMENT ACQUISITION: APPROVED
You blink, then look to Dragon. Do you...? No, better to be honest.
"How... attached are you to it?"
***
You had expected more resistance to the idea of letting your Safe Space charm acquire Dragon's... drone? Suit? Drone suit… but after clarifying what you think your charm is intending Legend immediately cut in to tell Dragon that the PRT would reimburse the cost of the suit if it becomes unrecoverable.
It's flattering and unnerving at the same time, since you're pretty sure you're about to cost the PRT more money than your family has ever seen at one time. Each suit has to cost at least a million dollars, right? Probably more? You'll have to ask Dragon afterwards.
With that settled, Dragon's 'main' suit glances towards the missile-laden humanoid drone, which then marches over to stand next to Eidolon as the Protectorate member floats down the remaining few feet to land on the ground in front of you. His own covered gaze is on his hands as he holds them in front of himself, flexing them experimentally for a moment before looking up to you.
"Give me a moment's warning before you teleport us, if you could," he hums, distracted as he offers you his open right palm. "I will release all my powers as we cross over."
Blinking at his explanation - releasing his powers? How does that work? - you shake away the questions and nod politely.
"I can count down from… ten?"
He grunts. "That will be sufficient."
Staring at the glowing green eyes of his otherwise-featureless steel-grey mask, you just manage to avoid sighing and rolling your eyes at his lack of manners. Instead, withdrawing your hands from your sleeves, you place your left hand atop his own right before extending your other arm to lightly grip the armored shoulderpad of the drone suit.
Experimenting with your mental connection to Lord Grasp, you don't physically give any indication that you want him to collapse down to his smallest size and ride on your shoulder, but instead… visualize him perched easily across your left shoulder with his tail wrapped behind your neck. After barely a moment, you get a vague feeling that your mechanical companion is amused by something just before you feel him land and position himself exactly as you imagined.
Well. That… will probably be useful in the future. You'll need to figure out just how much you can communicate through your link, because you're fairly certain full sentences won't carry across. Actually, you… might want to just ask Lord Grasp himself what he knows about this kind of link? The way he described his previous 'partners' means he might have shared a similar link to each when they were together - they were in a war, after all, so they probably found all sorts of clever ways to exploit the link.
With Eidolon and the drone suit ready, Taylor and Prayer land just behind you and place their own hands on your arms to complete the sequence. Turning your head just enough to see each of them nod in return to your glances, you take a steadying breath and look to Eidolon.
It's incredibly subtle, but just as you say "three" you feel his gloved hand twitch underneath your own palm. He doesn't say anything, however, so you continue on as if you didn't notice.
"... two… one."
When describing it to the PRT scientists, the best analogy you could figure out for your Safe Space charm's transportation effect was as if you were reaching out with one of your own arms and trying to grab at whatever you want to send into your Safe Space. Trying to grab multiple things at once, as a result, reminds you of having a big pile of groceries that you're trying to get into the house in one trip - you can let each 'handle' for a bag slip down your arm to let you grab bag from the pile, but the weight pulls you down and makes your grabbing motion more and more frantic and strained.
Since you've found that size matters most if the targets aren't resisting, you reach for Lord Grasp, then Taylor, then Eidolon... then Prayer… then… the drone suit…
The drone suit resists a fraction more than Dragon's own suit did, parts of it flinching and twisting as its entire form is pulled into the expanding portal that is your entire field of view now. If... if it really is just an over-engineered combat program, maybe it's... thinking that it's… falling over and trying to stop itself?
With a final mental heave, you finally overcome the suit's increasing struggles against your charm and Earth completely falls away with a split-second swirl of black-and-white hexagons - only to immediately resolve as your feet land atop the black jade tiles of your Safe Space.
Eidolon takes a single, staggered step as he grunts in shock, reflexively grabbing your own hand hard to prevent himself from losing his balance. You wince, but his thin metal gauntlet doesn't feel like it's crushing anything so you don't accidentally flex your own hand out of his grip.
Now that he knows what to expect, that would be rude. You are not rude, and he is a Visitor.
Visitor, you think as clearly as you can at your Safe Space charm. Do not imprison him!
K-thunk goes the feeling in your head of a visitor's pass being grudgingly stamped.
Satisfied, you flicker your eyes to the-
"You didn't bring the drone, Saki?" Taylor wonders aloud, frowning as she looks at the space where the over-laden missile silo in the shape of a suit of armor should be.
Okay, well… that explains why Eidolon tripped, since he was grabbing onto it with his other hand. He's supporting his head with his free hand now and breathing strongly enough to be heard through his helmet, but-
"But… I did!" you blurt out, looking around on reflex even though it has no reason to be anywhere else but right there. "It was resisting at first, but… I felt it come with us!"
Wait.
Prison.
Don't you check weapons at the door in prisons? Maybe you can get-
No! Wait! Yes, you want an inventory of the "ACQUIRED ARMAMENTS" it was talking about but not shoved directly into your head! Can your charm maybe... print the list? On… on a tile or something?
"Tatsu… what-" Eidolon finally manages to grunt out, finally taking a deep, steadying breath and relaxing his grip on your hand… only to flinch back as the foot-diameter hexagon tile directly in front of you and him shoots up with a buzz of electricity.
The pillar of black jade remains shimmeringly opaque, like a solid chunk of deep-sea water that might have something lurking just beyond your sight, but after a heartbeat's pause a holographic layer of glowing-white Old Realm letters snaps to life a few inches off the pillar's surface.
SHARD OF TRANSCENDENTAL IMPRISONMENT PHYSICAL INTERFACE TERMINAL
WARNING: VISITOR PRESENCE DETECTED IN NOWHERE WING
TERMINAL RESTRICTED TO LEVEL 1 VISIBILITY
WARDEN: SINCE YOUR LAST REVIEW, YOU HAVE:
[7] NEW COMMUNICATIONS
[3] NEW MANAGEMENT ENTRIES
[3] NEW GUARD ENTRIES
[71] NEW PRISONER/VISITOR ENTRIES
[312] NEW ARMORY ENTRIES
"... 'Restricted to Level 1 Visibility'?" You ask out-loud in confusion after your mind finishes grasping just what you're looking at, barely restraining yourself from immediately tapping the 'Communications' option before you know exactly what's going on. Looking to Eidolon, then to Taylor and Prayer as they step to your right side, only Taylor has a visible expression to read. Lifting your right hand tentatively, you gesture with a finger towards the holographic menu. "Do… any of you see these words?"
Eidolon shakes his head and makes a thoughtful noise while crossing his arms, a series of actions that Prayer mirrors. Taylor's furrowed brow deepens as glowing blue lenses slide down from under her eyebrows to cover her eyes, but after a silent moment her frown remains.
"What do you see, Saki?"
"I see-… oh! I can just show you!"
Keeping the visual of the terminal in front of you in the front of your mind, you re-affirm that your Background Charm is a serious contender for your second-favorite charm by using it to make an illusionary copy that everyone else can see.
… then you wince as an echoing alarm blares in your head and the terminal blinks out.
Only to flicker to life again to reveal a single line.
ABUSE OF LEVEL 1 PRIVILEGES WILL BE REPORTED TO DIRECTOR
…
You drop your Background Charm.
"Saki?" Taylor asks, looking to you in confusion from where she was looking over the menu options. "What's wrong?"
"I…" you try, opening your mouth and closing it a few times.
"I… don't think my charm is very nice."
***
After explaining what happened, both Taylor and Lord Grasp immediately make oddly-similar noises of understanding as they regard the solid hexagonal pillar of black jade.
"It should only be expected that the Spirit of such a magnificent prison would be… dedicated to the rules, my dear," he tuts, patting the back of your neck in sympathy from his place on your shoulder.
"Actually… are you speaking with the charm's spirit right now?" Taylor muses, still eyeing the spot where the terminal is floating through her glowing-blue lenses. "If it said it's going to report you to a 'Director', then maybe you're talking to an intermediary? That 'Nowhere Wing' comment at the top means that this section and Sakura's are separated, and if there is a quarantine on her side then Autochthon might have set up some kind of... 'Overseer' spirit for each wing to serve as a buffer between the primary spirit? Or Autochthon split the primary prison spirit and installed the 'Overseer' spirit above them-"
Eidolon clears his throat, crossing his arms across his chest as he casts a narrowed glance at your group.
"What happened to Dragon's drone?"
"O-oh!" You blink, then wince slightly at the reminder that you unintentionally switched to Old Realm at some point and offer him a slight bow in apology. "I… think my charm 'confiscated' it as we came in, but... Sorry, I'm still figuring this out."
He grunts, the glowing eyes on his helmet narrowing even further - clearly communicating just how unimpressed he is at your admission - before his head swivels slowly around to take in the black, hexagonal horizon and solid-white skyline. The austere enormity of your Safe Space is pretty alien, after all, even if it feels perfectly normal for you.
"This… is more involved than any power I've seen before," he grudgingly admits, but then turns back to you with even more skepticism in his voice. "You expect to hold the Faerie Queen without even knowing how your power works?"
"It's-... it's not that!" you protest, holding your hands up and shaking your head before making a vague pointing gesture at the interface... that he can't actually see.
You sigh.
"The security is too good right now," you huff, turning back to the holographic display. "It's why it ate Dragon's drone and won't let parahumans connect to their powers at all. Just… give me a minute?"
Silence is your only answer, but you'll take it. Not like he has any real choice in the matter, if he wants to keep being pushy about it. Okay… um…
All these "New" things since "your last review" are… way more than anything just you have been doing. That has to mean you might be able to see what Sakura has been doing! Maybe she's figured out how to use this to send messages to you…?
… no, as much as you want to throw everything else aside right now, you need to keep it together. Focus! Breathe.
With a steadier hand, you press the "Armory" entry, causing the rest of the display to fade out and that entry to slide to the top while new options blink in below it.
Setting that ominous thought aside, you push the "Golems/Automata" entry, because you're not sure which of the others Dragon's drone would be in if not this one. Thankfully, the display shifts again in a similar fashion to reveal only one entry.
GOLEMS/AUTOMATA MENU < ! > AUTONOMOUS DRAGONSUIT VERSION 4.82.M [AUTOMATA N-0000000000032]
Tapping that sole entry again causes the display to shift, but then quickly fill with text in similar layout to what feels similar to what was forcefully stuffed into your brain when Glaistig Uaine was imprisoned.
ARMORY ENTRY: N-0000000000032 DESIGNATION: Autonomous Dragonsuit Version 4.82.M CLASSIFICATION: Automata ESSENCE: Null CHARMS: None OFFENSIVE CAPABILITIES: <LIST OVER THRESHOLD - PRESS TO EXPAND> DEFENSIVE CAPABILITIES: None* (See Prison Notes 001) MAGICAL MATERIALS: None MUNDANE MATERIALS: <LIST OVER THRESHOLD - PRESS TO EXPAND> DIMENSIONS: 8'5" (Height) x 4'10" (Shoulder-to-Shoulder Width) x 3'8" (Chest-to-Back Width) WEIGHT: 1229.66 lbs. COLOR: Copper, Navy Blue, White AGE: 4 days, 2 hours, 32 minutes CREATOR: Home Management Intelligence Mark IV (Tess Teresa Richter, Dragon) PURPOSE: Experimental Combat Drone, Missile Loadout ARMAMENT ACQUIRED: 21st, Sunday, Ascending Fire, 8291 DA, 00:53:01
You stare at the line for "Creator" for a second, blinking as you briefly try to make sense of it yourself, before you absently poke the "View/Create Notes" option and are treated to a new wall of text that reinforces the uneasy feelings you have for your charm's spirit.
PRISON NOTES 001: Armament N-0000000000032 Acquired at 00:53:01 on 24/13/8291 through utilization of standard Confiscation Protocols during Prisoner Transport. First successful Acquisition of Nowhereverse armaments. First successful application of Confiscation Protocols against Nowhereverse armaments during Prisoner Transport. Armament N-0000000000032 incapable of being worn as power armor despite appearance, lacks dedicated defensive capabilities beyond armor plating and combat programming. Armament N-0000000000032 reliance on projectile weapons limites Armament effectiveness independent of Prison Staff. Armament N-0000000000032 contains no animating intelligence or spirit, but Armament internal records indicate capacity for rudimentary independent combat action? Prison Recommendation: Repair Armament, Deploy within Prison, manifest obstacle course, issue movement commands to Armaments for further data accumulation.
NOTE OPTIONS MENU < x > NEXT NOTE < > CREATE NEW NOTE
With the "Next Note" option faded out with an 'x' in its line, you figure that's the interface's way of saying an option isn't available. Since you don't feel like getting into a note-argument with your charm right now, you… hmm. How do you go... back?
Huh, swiping your hand to the right - like how your PRT smart phone works - does the job. That's… kind of strange? Come to think of it, most of this interface is eerily similar to the basic Settings menu in the smartphone your parents got Sakura and you when you entered middle school. Something to talk with Taylor about later - for now… let's get that drone back out here so Eidolon will stop glaring at you impatiently.
You press the "Repair/Reload" option as the note suggested, causing a brief, unrecognizable flurry of words in parenthesis to the right of the option, while a faint trembling and humming sound drifts up from under your feet... but cuts out barely barely five seconds in. Before anyone can say anything, the option fades out and its '!' turns into an 'x', so you hastily tap the "Deploy" option just as you hear Eidolon making a concerned grunt.
"Okay, I think I got it!" you sigh happily, shooting the group to your sides a quick smile as a large cluster of deep-sea-black hexagons three feet to the right of the interface pillar lift up from the floor with a dramatic mixture of electrical thrumming and buzzing noises. "Sorry that took so long, I wanted to… make… sure…"
You trail off, blinking in disbelief.
To your right, Taylor tilts her head to the side and hums thoughtfully, then takes a step forward towards the solid-black Dragonsuit drone. Experimentally, she taps her own obsidian index claw on the new head-sized symbol emblazoned on its chest; where once the stylized 'G' logo for the Guild was displayed against a diamond-like pentagon, now instead is a spiraling pattern of small black-and-white hexagons that together form a single large hexagon.
As if sparked to life by the touch, the drone drops to one knee and bows - left arm folding across its chest and right fist against the ground.
Eidolon's hand falls on the shoulder unoccupied by Lord Grasp, the legendary Cape's stern grip drawing your gaze back to meet his own narrowed one.
"Um…" you offer eloquently as an explanation. "Oops?"
***
Thankfully, you have a way of confirming just exactly what your charm did to Dragon's drone: Taylor's own pocket-dimension charm.
"It… hmm," she muses aloud, shifting her weight from one leg to another. With her left arm crossed under her chest and covering her mouth with her closed right fist, she grumbles something while staring blankly at the floor. "Give me a-... ah."
She blinks, then looks up at you, then to Eidolon and nods.
"Alright, a disclaimer: Dragon and I have been been working on most of this code over the last few weeks, but I didn't see everything… but I'm pretty sure I've spotted what shouldn't be there, even if my charm can't tell the difference," she begins, tilting her right hand away from her face to hold up fingers as she enumerates the alterations. "Saki's charm actually didn't change much, apart from the paint job and and a few code changes. First, it basically bumped its entire permissions hierarchy down two notches and put Saki at the top, while adding myself and Prayer directly under her and above Dragon. Second, its etiquette behaviors are now more like a fantasy knight instead of a modern soldier - that's why it knelt instead of standing at attention like it did before. And third it…"
She sighs, glancing once more to you before meeting Eidolon's gaze.
"Dragon has all the combat programs she designs hard-coded to either abort an action or lock up if there is above a twenty-five percent chance that the action it was going to take would have led to a human's death - unless the target had a kill-order. The charm… somehow… commented that part out."
You don't bother hiding hiding your shock at that last part, but while your eyes widen, the green eyes of Eidolon's mask narrow into fiercely-glowing slits as he makes a deep sigh of disdain.
"A mandate from the PRT to appease politicians. Can you undo the changes?"
"Sure," Taylor shrugs, waving her free hand dismissively. "I'd have to let it out, since my charm can't 'fix' something it thinks is functioning properly. If I'd had a chance to absorb it before the alterations were made, maybe… but, it shouldn't be a problem if Saki tells it to let me change it."
"Later, then," he grunts, before turning his head to you, still glowering. "Has Glaistig Uaine been similarly subverted?"
You open your mouth to protest, then click it shut and turn back to the interface - holding up your left index finger to hesitantly declare that you need just a moment!
Okay, so… swipe back to "Golems/Automata Menu" … swipe back to "Armory Menu"… then one more swipe back to the "Main Menu"...
Once again, you push down the overwhelming need to hammer the "Communications" entry. Just wait, Sakura...
You blink as the entire arm-length 'screen' fills with well over two dozen of the angry-red entry lines before stopping and a small scroll bar pops up on the right-hand side - which itself then continues to shrink as you presume the list continues to populate like loading website.
Umm…? Not… good? "Omega Quarantine" sounds like what Taylor was talking about before...
Ugh, you'll talk with her about that later - you need to focus on finding the Faerie Queen!
Hurriedly, you press and hold the slider bar when it appears to stop shrinking and slide it down, causing a flickering of the entries that… you think means it's scrolling? All of the entries-
Finally, something not entirely blazing red in the list! Except… you think you remember Glaistig Uaine as… number nine? Who are- oh! The PRT Test scientists! That explains the "[UNPROCESSED]" part, you guess, but it at least means you're on the right track. But… why does it start at number three…?
Questions for later!
Dragging the scroll bar a little slower so that you don't miss the Faerie Queen's entry, it only takes you a few dozen more (Sakura must be really busy) to get what you're looking for.
Letting out a half-breath of relief, you delicately tap "Ciara"'s entry and receive a familiar screen in return… along with a not-so-familiar menu at the bottom.
PRISONER OPTIONS MENU < ! > VIEW/CREATE NOTES < x > PROCESS < ! > OBSERVE
< ! > RELEASE
… why is "Process" already grey?
You thought "Repair/Reload" was harmless and it mind-controlled Dragon's drone! "Process" sounds creepy so what would that even… wait!
You jam the "View/Create Notes" option, ignore the embarassing note you left earlier and press the "Create New Note" option and think very loudly about what you want to say.
Warden Notes 002: WHAT DOES "PROCESS" DO?!
You wince at the ALL CAPS of your note, but push the "Publish Note" at the bottom anyway, returning you to the main notes screen.
Barely a heartbeat later, another note pops up under your latest entry.
Prison Notes 002: "Process" option in Prisoner Options Menu Processes the Prisoner.
You strangle your own cry of outrage, but not enough to prevent the others around you from tensing and wondering what's wrong - but you don't have time for them right now, as you jam the "Create New Note" option again.
Warden Notes 003: THAT'S NOT WHAT I WHY ARE YOU BEING SO DIFFICULT?! Prison Notes 003: Prison Reminder: General Feedback, Complaints, and Suggestions should be communicated through Prison Communications.
Sakura is not here to stop you from punching your monitor in response to internet trolls, so… you just ball your fists and take a few deep, calming breaths.
Calm. Yes.
It's not… deliberately trying to piss you off.
Probably.
...
Deeeeeep breaths.
Warden Notes 004: Do you change the Prisoner's mind when you Process them? Prison Notes 004: Prisoner non-essential implants and materials are Confiscated, non-essential foreign chemicals and bacteria are Sanitized. Prisoner is fitted with customized Prisoner Restraints. Prison Addendum: PRISONER DECENCY PROTOCOL currently ACTIVE; Processed Prisoners will also be sheathed in a Prisoner Jumpsuit. Prison Recommendation: Review Prison Introduction in Prison Communications.
… right. There's been an Introduction waiting for you this whole time.
Figures.
Going to get right on that after… you deal with this.
Swiping back to the Prisoner Options Menu, you eye the bottom two lines, then decide to go with the safer-sounding "Observe" option. Tapping it tentatively, you're somewhat relieved when you once again hear the thrumming, buzzing pulse of energy and a cluster of black tiles to your right rapidly slide upwards.
It's only a 'round' cluster of seven foot-wide hexagonal pillars this time instead of the massive rectangular block of more than a dozen it took to bring out Dragon's drone. Unlike last time, however, the pillars don't immediately recede - instead, an eerie white glow from within pulses to life, to reveal a motionless, expressionless figure trapped within the deep-sea-like translucence.
Without the pile of tatters that served as her 'shroud', instead wrapped in a close-hugging jumpsuit covered in white and black hexagons arranged to look like old-fashioned US prison stripes, the pale blonde girl is… small. Missy tiny, really, though you're definitely never going to let Missy hear you think that. The impression isn't helped by the thick, dark hexagonal chunks of something around her neck and binding her hands in front of her.
And, as if to confirm beyond a doubt that the person within is whom you think it is, just below her collarbone is a white rectangular box breaking up the jumpsuit's pinstripe pattern: "N-0000000000009" identification written in Old Realm characters.
There are murmurs of surprise and concern around you but… you find it hard to pay them any mind right now, as you reach out and touch the cold, black stone-like metal.
Looking at her like this…
… small, helpless…
… trapped...
You scrunch up your eyes tense as you shove away the lightning-strikes of fear, panic, rage, and despair-
Bonesaw's innocent laughter fills the air...
N-no! No! You're not there anymore! She's not here!
You're... Safe...
You open your eyes to look at the small girl you've imprisoned.
No.
You're not going to be her.
Biting back the bile rising in your throat, you spin around and jam a finger right through the "Release" option.
***
With a snap-hiss of electrical current and perfectly-aligned pistons, the hexagonal pillars sink down - going from just over six feet tall to lying flush with the floor once again in the span of barely more than a second or two.
The young blonde girl inside, however, is unceremoniously left behind, sprawled out on the floor in a jumbled heap when the hexagons finish retracting completely. Not as jarring as being simply dropped her previous height would have been, but… that still isn't the most comfortable way to be 'released' from a cell. You'll have to figure out later if that's something you can fix - either by telling your charm's spirit to knock it off or by changing some settings.
Though, it's possible that "prisoner comfort" is just another thing your charm doesn't care about by design; the implications you've been gleaning of how things work in the Great Maker's body hint that this is just business as usual.
Your focus on the disheveled form of Glaistig Uaine is broken by Eidolon stepping forward enough to partially shield you, his arms raised slightly to his sides in what you recognize as his typical battle stance. It loses something without a wind (conjured or otherwise) to flutter and billow his cloak dramatically, but his composed and determined body language is still a little inspiring despite your understanding that he's basically just a regular human right now.
Lord Grasp's dismissive snort is felt through your mental link rather than heard, though he does shift along your shoulders to adopt a relaxed-yet-readied pose on your right side. As you turn your head to give him a thankful glance, you notice both Taylor and Prayer at full attention, with Taylor briefly meeting your own gaze. With a raised eyebrow and a small motion of her chin towards the small, collapsed girl, you gather her general message well enough.
This is your show, Saki. Do something.
Ummm… what? Didn't Glaistig Uaine want to talk to her? And she's the leader of your team! Assembly! You… you're supposed to be the PR girl, right? You don't let Glenn talk to the crazy capes, that's Legend's job!
Hints of your hesitance must have leaked through your expression because Taylor's gaze grows firmer before she tilts her head with a bit more force towards the crumpled girl.
You... probably should have thought a bit more about how you were going to handle this before you let her out, since you were planning on just letting Taylor sort things out as she usually does.
Okay, then. Um. How do you want to approach this? After all, just a few minutes ago she introduced herself by trying to kill you... but you must still be in shock because you don't really feel all that alarmed or offended by that opener? It was just a tap on the shoulder, sure, and she was…
Well, talking with her was probably the biggest rush you've had since your return. Piecing all the fantasy stories and courtly intrigue dramas together on the fly like that so that you could have a pleasant conversation instead of a bloodbath… you may be seeing parts of why Sakura likes to be the one to talk for the two of you.
Also, honestly, if she was some big burly guy you'd probably be thinking differently. As she is now, though, all you see is a scrawny, helpless little victim. Even if you're pretty sure she's… what? Almost forty? Did her power keep her like this?
So no, you're not looking to play the Bad Cop or Interrogator here, even if she wakes up in a murderous rage. That leaves… what? Good Cop? Taylor's job. Savior? Taylor's job. Psychiatrist? …Taylor's job. Rescue Worker? Maybe, though that's Taylor's job, too…
… you're going to have to be the Warden, aren't you? It's not like she's going to be leaving here anytime soon, after all. Too bad you haven't actually read any stories where the prison warden isn't completely evil, insane, or into completely gross sex-dungeon stuff.
Dungeons are the worst place for sex! Hygiene is important!
You blink as Taylor jabs a finger into your right upper arm, her flat, impatient gaze practically forcing your posture straight with its disapproval.
Well… fine, if that's how she's going to be. You'll be the Warden - you'll be the best dang Warden ever!
Magical Girl Powers… activate!
Absently bringing up your right hand for Lord Grasp to move to, you gracefully slide past Eidolon just as the crumpled form starts to gasp and twitch. With a combination toss-slash-leap, your companion sails past Glaistig Uaine's position to land several yards past her - his body already expanding and unfurling into his full majesty.
Behind him, framing his wonder with sunset-like radiance, a fairy-tale paradise of mechanized wonder and glory bursts to life.
"Ciara Jean Dowager. Welcome," you breathe out with an eager, welcoming smile, your resonant voice carrying effortlessly as you pump essence into your many, many charms. The ambient light of your dimension shifts to grant you more style, more presence, while your own steps take you within arm's distance of the most dangerous parahuman on the planet.
The young girl jerks to full consciousness, practically shoving herself upright in shock, affront, and murderous rage-...
… only for her eyes to rapidly widen in uncomprehending awe, her mouth actually falling open in a way that you only thought was possible in stories.
You can't help but smile more genuinely as you gently lift her up in a way that clearly isn't some crude form of grappling, since you're just slinging your left arm over her shoulder and steering her uncertain footsteps towards Lord Grasp's open doors - an actual red carpet unfurling to lead the two of you into a den of heavenly pleasures and delights.
"Don't worry," you lean closer to whisper, your smile blossoming into a friendly, conspiratorial grin at her mind-blown stare.
"I think you're going to love it here."
***
"I am…" Eidolon trails off, glancing warily at the gathering at the other side of the room.
"You don't have to be so formal all the time, you know" you sigh, waving his concern off as you lean against the door's frame - relief and exhaustion making you care a lot less that this is Eidolon that you're talking to.
His imposing reputation - earned from decades of being the most powerful hero in the world - has sort of worn off after the last hour of him trying to loom over your group, but largely doing nothing as you and Taylor did all the talking (and Lord Grasp all the pampering). In fact, despite his overt attempts to seem like the true authority here, his body language has been blatantly hinting at his real feelings ever since you took control of the situation at the start:
Disappointment. Anxiety. Regret. Shame.
The glowing green eyes of his otherwise-faceless mask blink in time with his own eyes (you assume), before his stance slowly… slowly… sags in final admittance of defeat.
"This… isn't right," he sighs, his own back thumping lightly as he leans against the other side of the open doorway. His gaze has drifted down as he slouches, though he's probably more lost in thought than staring at the scorpion-themed wooden tiles on the floor. "I'm sorry. You're… you're still so young. You shouldn't have to deal with this."
You frown, both because you're turning eighteen next month thank you very much, but because this doesn't feel like the real source of his problem with the whole situation. Not surprising, since even you can see that everything about… whatever all this is… is about as far away from standard Protectorate procedure as you can get, but...
"It's okay, I guess," you shrug, glancing to where Taylor is playing interpreter to Lord Grasp's re-telling of some crazy war story that he's animating across an entire wall and some of the ceiling. Ciara's still in her jail outfit, of course, but she, Taylor, and Prayer are all comfortably reclining in their own private salon chairs - clusters of animated arms coming from behind the chair tending to their hair, faces, and even doing shoulder massages.
Prayer was very enthusiastic in her support for this room, for some reason, though that visibly boiled down to a sparkle in her eye and a spoken, "Yes." She keeps shifting back and forth between her Alchemical form and her human disguise, for some reason? Lord Grasp is never going to finish doing her hair if she keeps it up.
Eidolon grunts in frustration, following your gaze before shaking his head.
"I'm not doubting you," he sighs again, before reaching up with both hands to pull back the hood, then hooking his fingers under the bottom of the helmet and pulling...
The head that comes out of the helmet makes you blink in realization:
So that's why Autochthon made us pretty.
Because while Eidolon isn't ugly, he's… about as heroic-looking as a forgettable, washed-up, background janitor from some cheap highschool romcom. Even if he's trying to give you a heartfelt, meaningful gaze that really should be affecting you because holy Maker Eidolon just unmasked to you to make a point...
… even still, you're having a harder time taking him seriously now.
"You're a good girl, Saki," he sighs - sad, hazel eyes under a messy mop of darker hazel meeting your own and ugh his voice without his helmet sounds like a grocery guy asking 'paper or plastic'!
"I know we can trust you with… her, but we shouldn't have to. We… I should have been better, faster so that you never even had to deal with her in the first place. So… again: I'm sorry."
You have to close your own eyes and take a deep breath to shove down the instinctual (probably petty) disappointment to seeing the man behind the mask, but after a moment you're able to focus on what he said.
Or, rather, on what he really was saying, unintentionally or not.
Opening your eyes again, you lock your gaze with his and shift your slouch to subtly make sure that none of the let-down you're feeling is getting through.
"Eidolon-"
"David," he interrupts with a wry grin, snorting quietly in worn, self-deprecating humor. "You've earned that, I think."
Yup. Boring real name, too.
"David," you smile timidly, and yes of course it's genuine. "I'm not angry or upset at you. Or the PRT, or the Protectorate. Or Dragon for not being able to keep her in the Birdcage..."
…. because you're keeping that dragonsuit drone, so now you're even.
You sigh a little more dramatically than you actually need to, holding up a hand to cut off whatever he was about to say in response.
"Sakura and I knew a lot about Capes before… everything," you shrug, glancing meaningfully towards the trio on the other side of the room. "And who doesn't know about the Faerie Queen? Sure, people had guessed that she'd taken Oblique's power when he disappeared a few weeks before she had her first big fight, but he'd only been a low-threat thief..."
Because of course what does a guy do when he gets the power to walk through shadows? A power that she had used to visit the dark side of the moon? Rob jewelry and liquor stores in his home city.
It had been that misuse of his power that had called Glaistig Uaine to him, according to her now-slightly-more-lucid, recollection.
"His fae cried out, choked by the shackles of his narrow dreams and feeble will," she mused, reciting the explanation with a scrunched-up expression as if the words tasted strange on her tongue. "It was borne for the grandest stage, and I… revoked his part for his disappointing performance?"
Knowing what you know now about powers and their origins… how would she have judged the Sakura and you of before? Without the Wards, the two of you would have been fine just using your Safe Space as storage and a way to plant evidence for your various shipping schemes.
You shiver.
"Besides," you frown, straightening up slightly to hide that reaction, "I think that's where people are missing the point about us. Alchemicals. According to Iris, new Alchemicals sometimes get sent into battle just hours after they first get made. We're…"
You pause, gesturing with a wave of your hand at everything: the awestruck young girl who just today decided to waltz out of the most secure prison built by man; the graphite-skinned demigoddess of Adminstration who also really needs a boyfriend; the stoic aquamarine tank of a woman who recently shrugged off getting blasted in half by the actual God of Vengeance; the living, mechanical, scorpion-pagoda that's animating an epic war story for the aforementioned three; the impossibly-vast prison complex, built by the Primordial of Innovation himself, in which all of this is taking place.
"This kind of bull-poop is what we're made for," you sigh, finally getting it yourself.
***
Your small group swirls back into reality atop the helipad-sized tract of flattened earth where Legend stands alone, working on a small, collapsible tablet like the one you've seen Chevalier use when he needs to answer some emails during training.
Eidolon's cloaked costume immediately regains its trademark flutter barely a heartbeat after the four of you step onto the dirt - if he wasn't right next to you, and you hadn't been learning his body language over the last hour, you would have missed the slight stagger and flinch likely signifying the abrupt return of his power. You don't make anything of it, nor does Taylor or Prayer, but Legend gives his long-time friend a concerned half-frown as he snaps the tablet shut and smoothly tucks it into a nearly-seamless pocket at the small of his back.
"Is everything alright, Eidolon? You were in there for quite a while longer than we planned for."
The any-power cape at your side lifts off barely a foot from the ground and rolls his shoulders before a deep, considering hum emanates from his helmet.
"I wanted to make certain everything inside her dimension was safe before I left," he muses, his cowled head turning just enough to give you a considering, glowing-green side-eye. "It really is like nothing we've ever seen. All the same, it's not a place I'd like to return to - no offense intended, Tatsu."
Hands clasped in front of you, you smile and bow your head politely, graciously, but you're not entirely sure his story is accurate - he asked a few questions to clarify what was going on with your prison-spirit, but otherwise he seemed to just go along with whatever you and Taylor did.
Legend's frown lightens in surprise, the concern in his voice shifting towards tentative hope as he straightens up fully. "You think she's contained, then?"
Eidolon's glance lingers on you for a heartbeat longer before he turns to nod solemnly at Legend. "For now. We should see if there's a way for Dragon or our other Tinkers to copy her powers' abilities, but until then I don't believe anywhere else can hold Glaistig Uaine."
You use your oversized sleeve to cover your cough - that wasn't a laugh, oh no of course not - while Prayer's armored form merely makes a crystalline humming noise that you interpret as something approximating an eye-roll if she were so emotive.
Taylor, back in her armor again - her visor down and HUD moving rapidly - raises her right hand slightly to draw attention to her.
"What happened to Dragon? She's not answering my call."
Legend's hands twitch and the lower-half of his face grows cold as the frown returns with a vengeance.
"Hartford is testing a new feature in their traffic cameras that automatically calls emergency services if it detects a car accident. Forty minutes ago, someone ran a red light and t-boned a van carrying members of the Teeth. Dragon went to reinforce the small Protectorate team that was responding - if she's not answering, she must be engaged there."
The Teeth? The bat-poop-crazy villain group that moved from Brockton Bay to Boston? Wait, didn't Taylor mention that Accord got run out of Boston by them? That was why he moved to Philly, wasn't it? But… Hartford is in Connecticut, so why- oh.
Oh poop. They're coming to Philly, too, aren't they?
… they really must be crazy. And now they might have hurt Taylor's maybe-secret girlfriend? Super doomed.
"I don't know Hartford yet," you wince, turning to meet Taylor's expectant gaze - her armored form practically radiating an aura of menace- oh, wait, no she's actually glowing and her armor's bracers and gloves have been swapped for her omnitool forearms and claws. Scary.
"Weaver, no."
There's a thin, nails-on-chalkboard-like keening sound as Taylor's hands clench at Legend's words, but she doesn't say anything as she turns to regard him levelly. For his part, Legend immediately holds his hands up in a placating gesture - appearing more disappointed than alarmed.
"I'm sure you've already seen the email Director Uriel sent ten minutes ago. And you know how much it'll hurt your work with the Youth Guard if you run off like this."
Taylor doesn't appear to move or say anything in response for a few moments, so you look past her to the similarly-motionless Prayer. Maybe she- wait, no, she's still assigned as your chaperone right now, and there's no way you're authorized for a fight with a gang as crazy as The Teeth.
Taylor's way ahead of you, though. As usual.
"Eidolon," she calls out, some of the electric-crackle of her anima echoing her flat tone as she turns and lifts her left claw up to present a… small cluster of tiny robobugs? "I can spare a Thinker boost for the rest of the day. Can you slip a few of these into their vehicles and armor on your way back to Houston?"
Legend's mouth purses, but he doesn't say anything before Eidolon floats over and lets the small cluster flow into his own gauntleted palm.
A split-second later, he flinches again - this time accompanied by a long, drawn-out inhalation that you can hear even through his helmet. He doesn't move or say anything for a few tense moments, then he finally nods slowly.
"You're not going to ask me to stop them before they get to Philadelphia," his helmet-assisted baritone wonders aloud, though the tone makes it seem… rhetorical? Huh?
She shakes her head once, sharply. "They wouldn't travel all together, and Hartford doesn't have the facilities to hold even more than a few of them before the Butcher broke them out."
Both Legend and Eidolon turn their heads to you at that comment, causing you to blink as you realize what she might be implying-
Taylor dismisses the concern with a wave of her now-empty claw. "No, I don't want to rely on Tatsu's dimension until she's had a chance to get more comfortable with its capabilities and finished her meditations. Besides, I've already been planning something with Accord to handle this eventuality," she continues, a wicked grin bleeding into her echoing voice. "Let them come."
… yup. Super doomed.
***
Eidolon departs after a few more words from Taylor - explaining that she only needs one or two of the bugs on each person to track them whenever they get into range of her control - and then Taylor and Legend themselves are quick to take to the sky as well.
"I might need you to pick me up later tonight, Saki," Taylor hums, simmering golden eyes meeting your own gaze as she turns in mid-air to face you. "Brian is going to want to talk to me, so I'd rather not waste any more time if we can help it."
Legend makes a less enthusiastic hum at her words, but nods in acknowledgement as he looks to Prayer's armored form.
"I'll see what meetings I can shuffle to resume our discussion, Vajra, but I think it might be easier if you join me on my patrol at seven instead. Will that work for you?"
Prayer doesn't shift at all as she remains silent for a moment, but after considering for several seconds she gives a single, confident nod.
"Yes, sir."
"Great," he grins, a hint of good cheer creeping into his expression before it settles into a resigned, grim line. "Tatsu, all I can ask is that you please be careful with Glaistig Uaine - I trust Eidolon's judgement, but she is the example we hold up when people ask how dangerously unpredictable capes can be."
You try not to fidget under his scrutiny, but the best you can manage is a flexing of your clasped hands as you give a quick, reflexive bow.
"I-I understand, sir," you sigh, dread finally starting to creep past the dwindling euphoria of victory. "I'll head back to New York right away."
He winces, though it's mostly hidden by the half-face visor, and he floats back down to place a hand on your shoulder.
"You did a great thing today, Saki, and even if though the PRT is going to be tearing their hair out at what to do with you now, I'll make sure they don't undermine or try to take advantage of that."
Having floated down just beside him, Taylor's face tightens as she nods slowly in agreement - the glowing veins on the sides of her face pulsing ominously while her burning-gold eyes begin to emanate a pale smoke.
… you decide to keep your attention focused on Legend.
"The scientist and security teams in New York are already prepping for your arrival," he commiserates, expression softening as he gives your shoulder a steadying squeeze. "All I can ask is that you keep in mind that we're all on the same side, here. At the worst, the PRT might need you to go back into quarantine for a few days if they aren't completely confident that she's not going to burst out of you when you're on vacation with the other Wards."
Despite every part of you agreeing that it's impossible for Ciara to break out of your Safe Space… you can't help but pale slightly at the realization that that's probably what everyone else is expecting to happen. After all, you haven't even been announced to the public yet - who's going to believe some unknown new Ward (or worse, one that was only recently healed after being traumatized by the Slaughterhouse 9) is stronger than Glaistig Uaine?
Two hours ago, you wouldn't have believed it yourself.
"Saki."
When you meet her gaze again, Taylor's eyes are practically blazing. You do your best not to react.
Or make any other sudden movements, like breathing. Or blinking.
"You'll get your vacation. I'll make sure of it."
Legend does a slight double-take when he glances back to Taylor, but quickly shakes it off before returning his attention to you.
"... Right…" he trails off, giving you one last squeeze for reassurance before drawing away and nodding as he begins to lift off. "Taylor and I have some matters to discuss, so I'll be back to help oversee things with you once I get back from escorting her to Philadelphia. Is there anything you two need before we go?"
You cast a quick glance at Prayer, who gives you a reassuring stare in return before the two of you shake your heads.
"N-no, thank you, Legend," you belatedly blurt out, bowing again in appreciation of his help. "We won't have any problems getting back."
As both he and Taylor lift off and speed away - two rapidly-shrinking blue lights fading into the clear, mid-afternoon horizon - you sigh to yourself and offer a weak smile to Prayer as you take her hand and pull.
The world twists, sound and light distorting in its usual, comfortable whorl for barely a moment before you're standing once again on the tiled surface of a deep, shifting, unfathomable darkness.
There's no place like your Safe Space.
Still, even as you eye Lord Grasp's palatial form a ways off to the side, you let out a sigh at the thought that's been bugging you for the last few minutes.
"Should I…" you trail off, bitterly, pulling your hand away from Prayer's relaxed grasp to bring your arms around yourself as you stare absently into the abyss lurking below the tiles at your feet. "Should I feel bad that I wish he wasn't so… stable? He'd be so good as an Alchemical!"
The crystalline juggernaut remains silent for several long moments as you gnaw on your bottom lip in equal shame and frustration, until finally she places a hand on your shoulder that draws your gaze back up to her faceless helm.
"When his complicity with… them was revealed," she intones, with only a slight waver of her echoing voice at the stressed word, "it was not disbelief or thoughts of betrayal that clouded my mind. It was relief."
Her posture shifts, slowly, so that she is eventually peering out into the horizon - a stark, impossible line where the empty, white sky meets the endless array of Black Jade tiles.
"There is no perfection. Not yet. Earth is flawed. The Great Maker… is flawed. But together… we might find it."
You blink, both at hearing the distant warble of some emotion you don't quite grasp leak into her voice, but also at the fact that this is probably the most you've ever heard her speak - both as Marrow and as Prayer combined. Still, just as your mouth opens reflexively to say… something, you aren't quite sure what… she turns back in a single, smooth pivot - the gauntlet that almost fully encloses your shoulder squeezing just enough to be reassuring without breaking you in half.
"Purpose is a part of us, encoded beyond Thought. Calculate, do not Hesitate. Act, do not Fear. The Great Maker would not have delivered you to us without his Trust, Warden of Reflected Infinities."
Taking in her words, the resonant, crystalline harmonics of her voice wash away conscious thought for… well, you're not quite certain how long you stand there, staring through each other.
You shuffle over and give the big blue muscle-lady a hug. The slabs of hewn crystal that she wears as armor are just as tough as they look, but warmer than you expected. Thankfully, when she somewhat-mechanically pats you on the back, she doesn't smush you too badly.
"T-thanks," you eventually manage, smiling as you wipe away the weird silvery stuff that was blocking up your eyes.
She just keeps stiffly patting you on the back, which is awkward enough to make you snort and giggle as you finally pull away. Clarity is so weird.
"So… I should just... Act?" you sigh, slipping both of your arms around her single, enormous left one in a way that's totally not a set-up to flip her over your shoulder but she could easily stumble over you on accident. At the same time, you let your eyes drift back over to Lord Grasp's opulence as wheels and gears begin to turn behind your eyes.
You feel her nod without needing to see it.
Humming, you let go and start to walk-
Prayer slips out of your grasp before you even get a chance to not do anything sneaky. Disguising your startled reaction as a polite turn to see if she's following, you notice her staring at you with a kind of focus you remember from your Power Testing.
"What?" you ask, hiding your smile with a sleeve.
Prayer remains silent, but your smile cracks a bit as you suddenly get the impression that - even though she's probably smiling under that helmet - your next training session with the Wards is going to be considerably more awful than usual.
Because you certainly did nothing wrong, you spin back around and shuffle the rest of the way over to Lord Grasp. Quickly swapping your sandals for the indoor slippers that slide out of the wall and into your waiting hands, you leave Prayer behind as she takes the few moments necessary to retract her armored boots - gracefully sashaying down the hallway, up two flights of stairs, and then into the third doorway on the left.
The room itself is largely the same as you left it: a lavishly-opulent, "open air" mineral spa built atop a hill-top ledge with several lounge chairs scattered around the outside of the pool. This spa, as opposed to the much larger on on the first floor, exists in a perpetual summer's eve that is lit by an ever-shifting array of stars on the ceiling and walls - save for the far wall, which appears to be fifteen-foot high block of solid white jade with various moonsilver and starmetal tracings.
You'd been only slightly disappointed that Eidolon had barely reacted at all to the room's impossible dimensions and grandeur. Instead, you simply grew curious: does Cauldron have even crazier relaxation rooms? You're going to have to ask Contessa when you see her next. For research purposes.
Currently, a massive, stylized forest is drawn across the marble wall - some of it reaching up past the wall to tower across the "ceiling" - through which a half-dozen human...ish... figures ride atop…
… are those dinosaurs?
"Why do they have feathers?"
You blink, startled, then meet Ciara's own half-attentive emerald gaze from the pool - the two of you having spoken the same thought aloud.
"I have tried to humor her, Warden," Lord Grasp sighs above you, causing you to look up to see a scorpion-shaped constellation waving its claws at the two of you in exasperation. "But so little of your grunting, banal excuse for language makes sense! She at least has been largely enraptured by my recollections of the few Fair Folk I encountered during the war, though she has become far more chatty since I've started revealing how they each betrayed us and were consequently rendered into materials for future artifacts."
For a moment you just… Stare at the collection of stars. Long enough that he starts to shift and wiggle uncomfortably, which is when you allow yourself to look back to the ostensible prisoner.
Still wrapped in the charm-generated prison jumpsuit - Taylor discovered it is extremely resistant to alteration or removal, and theorized that "releasing" its wearer from your charm would cause it to melt away - only the blonde head of the young girl is poking out of the water. From her reclining position atop one of the built-in formations in the pool, she continues to regard you silently as you lock eyes.
"The Administrator promised tales of the Fae if I endured her questions," she finally murmurs, sounding far more human without the chorus of disembodied voices echoing her every word. "She left me with atrocities and betrayals against creatures of wonder. Does she seek to sour me to further entreaties?"
But without the echoing chorus, without the shroud, without whatever physical, mental, and emotional controls and influences her power afforded her…
If she weren't so obviously scared out of her mind, desperately clinging to her noble mannerisms and memories of how she should be acting, she'd have passed out by now.
You'd told Taylor what was in your charm's readout, and apparently her own scans had filled in some more of the pieces: Taylor said her brain looked like some of the Delphi Sisterhood gang members she'd picked up a few days ago, who were largely kept in-line and empowered with hallucinogenic drugs that the gang's Master, Atmos, can produce. More disturbingly, whatever Ciara's power (or power she had acquired) did that allowed her to keep herself "healthy" and "young" didn't extend to her mind.
"... don't mean she's a Noctis cape. I mean I don't think ever allowed herself to sleep the entire time she was in the Birdcage, and her powers just kept her brain from melting out of her ears."
Remembering Taylor's words to Eidolon as your group was leaving sends another shiver down your spine, but you manage to pass it of as the start of your own exhausted slouch and shake your head.
"The Administrator's wisdom encountered the barrier that is language, I'm afraid, your Highness," you sigh, lazily shrugging off your dress, unclipping your earrings, and working your hands through your hair to get out all the little silver clasps Lord Grasp worked in. "Lord Crushing Grasp, while always… enthusiastic for any chance to regale a new audience with tales from the Primordial War, is still coming to terms with the fact that even we - the Great Maker's Chosen - aren't fully versed in the lore of Creation."
Now down to your base Alchemical form, you calmly meander just to the left of Ciara's spot and begin to slowly dip one foot in… then the next… before eventually lowering yourself almost completely into the near-scalding-yet-numbingly-relaxing pool of foggy water. You're careful to project an air of relaxed confidence and exhausted relief, but at the same time using the casual intimacy to power your unspoken message:
At least for now... here, we are safe.
You don't really have to fake the relief, either, because wow. Just…
How did you ever live without this? Now you know why there are so few lemon fics with sex scenes in hot springs. Why would you want to interrupt this… bliss? Why would you ever leave?
Can you get Lord Grasp to just carry you everywhere while you stay in here?
Backup plan to getting Doctor Mother and Contessa boyfriends to fix their pent-up issues: move Cauldron into this spa.
…
Oh, right. Ciara.
Slowly opening your eyes half-way, you turn your head just enough to meet the green eyes boring into you from barely three feet away. She hasn't moved a hair since you dipped your first toe in, but the barely-noticeable tremble in the breathing through her nose reveals she's still locked between terror, rage, and confusion. Worse, it's probably taking every last ounce of energy she has to keep her eyes even partially open and focused on you.
She's… probably figured out what you meant before? You kept up the fancy-talk because it's fun and Taylor said that it'd be a good way to let her hang on to at least one part of the legend she built up for herself, but everyone could tell that she was stumbling over her own words while she and Taylor talked earlier. How much of that was the giant alien blob attached to her brain, and how much of it was the tiny woman beside you?
… in their hour of rambling discussion, there was one question that Taylor never asked. Something that bugged you, above all else.
"Why faeries?"
The change is slow enough for you to consciously observe, but you begin to realize why Taylor never asked the question; the doubt, the terror, and the exhaustion all melt away, leaving only two pale chips of cold, furious green to stare at you as she regains enough energy to assume a regal bearing once again as she sits up-
Time to abort! Plan C!
"They're totally aliens," you grin languidly, winking in good humor.
...
-...only for whatever scathing tirade she was brewing to be upturned by your casual, plain-as-day nonsense. After a few heartbeats of shock, during which her mouth twitches and she blinks several times in bewilderment, she starts to fall back into the water as her eyes flutter - the energy her fury was providing her gone just as quickly as it appeared, taking the final reserves of her strength with it.
You reach out between her back and the shaped stone and grasp her far shoulder to support her (it's not a grapple, don't be silly) before she collapses completely from exhaustion-
A new, final surge of energy rockets through her at the physical contact, enough that you can feel her pulse skyrocket through the jumpsuit as her eyes shoot open and her left arm clumsily lifts up to either push you away, punch you, or strangle you.
She's so clumsy, in fact, that she somehow ends up unbalancing herself and falling into you, so that she's left with her head snuggled up against your chin and her arms wrapped around your own lower body as yours are around her shoulders. Totally unintentional, and thus completely disarming her panic and shock when - despite your entanglement - you slowly release a comfortable sigh and relax again in the rejuvenating waters.
After all, you don't want to scare her when this is probably the first non-hostile touch she's experienced since she triggered.
The fluttering of her pulse continues for far longer than you expect, but after what feels like minutes of silence and stillness - during which you have to struggle not to fall asleep yourself, the spa is so relaxing - you begin to feel her relax…
...slowly…
...bit by bit, until she's probably nearing collapse again.
Carefully, because your plan thus far has been going far too well to mess up now, you use your Background and Body Language Charms to make sure your voice is as soft and reassuring as possible before you say anything else.
"Ciara?" you hum, projecting as much hope and interest as you can without scaring or angering her into full wakefulness again. Any time either you or Taylor had called her that she'd basically tried to flay you with her mind, but if there's any chance of something left in there, this might-...
The small blonde in your arms mumbles an acknowledgement, her pulse barely shifting at all.
You can't help but smile, like this, despite the tears. This is how Sakura likes to hold you when the two of you have nightmares. Ever since you could remember, she was there for you...
...
You'll see her again.
Until then, you'll have to be strong. Strong for her... and for yourself.
There's strength in helping others, after all.
"Want to be my beta reader?"
***
END OF ARC - CHARACTER SHEET CHANGES:
RED Intimacies have not been fully-established yet, and are not used for bonuses/negatives.
GREY Intimacies yield the normal bonuses/negatives until fully eroded.
END OF ARC ABILITY TRAINING/BACKGROUND PRUNING
(We haven't spent XP on these despite them being available for a while, so we clearly don't care about them. If we want them in the future, vote for options that would bring them into the narrative again.)
EOA - REMOVED PURCHASE OPTIONS
-Athletics (Running ●○○)
-Integrity (Mental Trauma ●●○)
Larceny ●○○○○ -Larceny (Pranks ●○○)
-Performance (Recruiting ●○○)
Resistance ●●●●○ -Socialize (Swarms ●●○)
Ally (Bonesaw/Riley) ●●●●○
Reputation (Master Chef) ●●○○○ "Wasn't that the Ward a bunch of shows on the Cooking Channel were talking about the other day?"
Well, this was quite the fun Arc. To be frank, I didn't actually think we'd pick the Twins for Exaltation when they got turned into disposable backpacks; I only had a rough idea of their internal voices and what they'd been up to off-camera before the S9 came around, so I sorta had to scramble to come up with complete backgrounds for them when the decision was made, as well as re-do my plans for Autochthonia/Earth logistics because of the teleporting/Safe Space shenanigans. Additionally, while I decided to get a bit meta with their fanfic and shipping obsession, there were plenty of times I had to reel things back and scrap ideas to keep in-line with SV and SB decency policies. Hopefully the result was at least as amusing for you all as it was for me.
Moving forward, I don't intend to have any more full Arcs of a single non-Taylor POV. Aisha will eventually have Chapters to herself, of course, as will our Jade and Orichalcum Alchemicals when/if they appear, but for now Arc 10 will start off back with our 'main' character again.
However, the timing of when Chapter 10.1 takes place is something we should decide. Armsmaster's Interlude is going to cover Aisha's trip to the Cradle, so we have the option to skip ahead to when she comes out… but we've had a few time-skips as of late with not a lot of attention paid to what's going on in (the ruins of) Philadelphia and Camden. Would we rather hustle things along, or have at least a few chapters while Aisha is in the Cradle?
Which brings us to another time-sensitive concern: when should the Wards have their globe-trotting vacation? The Wards' 'time off' is supposed to end before Aisha gets back, so ostensibly the PRT expects the vacation to happen while she's gone - then the Wards can return home to help out and start the process of dealing with life in Philly again. Taylor can cast Summon Greater Youth Guard to push the stay in New York longer so that Aisha can go on the vacation, but… well, Philly does sorta need all the help it can get right now. Note: use this vote's Stunt to decide whether Taylor goes on the Vacation with the Wards or not (her leaving for 3 days will have at least some Consequences!)
Speaking of Consequences, Saki now has her own captive fairy! Which means a captive audience for her trashy smut fics legendary ballads and inspirational tales!
Poor, poor Ciara.
While she won't be able to keep Saki from inducting the Faerie Queen into the Church of Smut, Taylor does have some sway over what Saki chooses for the "Healing Plan" she's cooking up. Ultimately, this comes down to a more meta concern: do we want Glaistig Uaine as a potential Exaltation Candidate? Taylor is savvy enough to understand that the only Caste she could be is Orichalcum, and she'd fit fairly well… if we swapped her obsession with fairies and Scion for robots and Autochthon (maybe tune down the murder a little, too). The alternative is focusing on stabilizing Ciara and pushing her recovery even further towards making her human again, combined with eventual Shard treatment/tweaking so that she's able to live a stable, healthy (potentially normal) life outside of Saki's prison at some point.
As was shown in this update, Taylor has been hard at work with Riley, Iris, Dragon, Armsmaster, and some other Tinkers online to get her gear upgraded for whatever comes her way next. Several of those projects are dedicated towards making use of both her extended range and extended control capacity of her SoPA charm - specifically, robot drones that have insectoid-esque and/or animal-esque brains so that she doesn't have to rely on local bugs and animals to fill out her swarm. After all, why use a flock of pigeons when you can instead use a flock of laser pigeons?
Of course, Taylor isn't exactly limited by biology for her creations - though it's certainly easier to get stuff past PR when it looks like a normal, naturally-occurring creature (which is how Bezalel got his stuff past PR). There's also something to be said for going for the fantastical, and Iris is more than happy to provide examples of exciting exmachina and Creation animals/spirits that could work for our purposes (though Dragon may request we allow her to possess/use any mechanical dragons Taylor builds). If we really want to maximize our creations for utility and function, however… that lends to a much more fearsome styling of Swarm. PR may have their work cut out for them, but the results will speak (and/or scream) for themselves.
On the topic of "results", Taylor and the forces of Greater good have not had an easy time in Philly and Camden. Most prominently, the Elite - the largest, most successful parahuman-led gang in the world - has moved in, along with a few gangs from other cities looking to get their feet in the door of a rebuilding metropolis. On top of that, there are at least three different new gangs led by fresh triggers, the Delphi Sisterhood is growing quickly, and a number of "heroic independents" (read: Bounty Hunters) have followed the gangs in - each one with itchier trigger fingers than the last, and even laxer morals.
Oh, and The Fallen - an Endbringer cult - just showed up. And The Teeth are on their way from Boston, with the new Butcher gunning for Accord.
Of course Taylor hasn't taken any of this lying down, and not even the Elite are keen to tangle the girl who orders Triumvirate members around and kicks Endbringers in the teeth. No one's really pushed things too far yet, and Taylor's SoPA charm is still healing so she can't quite be everywhere at the moment, but with Saki, Prayer, Cauldron, Dragon, and other issues taking more and more of her time, waging full-out war on the gangs would be both a losing proposition and disastrous to the city's rebuilding progress. Does Taylor tolerate gangs if they at least can prove they're having a net benefit to getting the city running again? If not, how hard does she pursue and push back against their presence in the city?
Finally, with Aisha going into the Cradle next and not much time (less than three months in-story) left, what Caste is Taylor going to be focusing on next? All of the Orichalcum candidates need work, which means they'll take larger narrative presences if we focus on them, but the Jade candidates are shoe-ins by comparison - and there's less margin for error with the Exaltation process the more resource-starved Autochthon becomes. Go for a sure thing now and hope that one of our crazier candidates settles down soon, or focus on the crazies now and keep the sure-fire candidates for last?
On to the voting!
Resing the Medias: (Choose ONE, NO Stunts Allowed)
[ ] Arc 10 Starts Right After Aisha Goes In
[ ] Arc 10 Starts A Few Days After Aisha Goes In
[ ] Arc 10 Starts When Aisha Comes Back
Globetrotting With Strangers: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt Allowed - Use Stunt To Decide If Taylor Goes On Vacation)
[ ] Wards Stall For Time, Vacation With Aisha
[ ] Wards Stay On Schedule, Vacation Without Aisha
Fairy In A Bottle: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Have You Heard The Good Word (Saki works to convert Ciara from faeries to robots.)
[ ] Be Healthy, Ciara, Be Human (Saki works to make Ciara a more normal, more stable person.)
Rise of the Machines: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Beast Wars (Taylor's drones look like normal Earth wildlife, even if they are FAR more capable.)
[ ] Here Be Dragons (Taylor's drones pull from Earth, Autochthonian, and Creation fantasy for their designs and capabilities.)
[ ] For The Swarm (Taylor's drones are maximized for function, resulting in machines that wouldn't look out of place with the Zerg or Tyranids.)
Encroaching Escalation: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Tolerate gangs if they help with cleanup/rebuild of city.
[ ] Hastle and discourage gangs no matter their involvement with cleanup/rebuilding efforts.
[ ] Exterminate/incarcerate criminal scum at every opportunity.
Spin The Color Wheel: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Focus On Jade Candidates
[ ] Focus On Orichalcum Candidates
NO FREE ACTIONS THIS VOTE
NO XP EXPENDITURES THIS VOTE, AISHA CHARGEN VOTE WILL BE AFTER THIS VOTE
VOTE DISCUSSION STARTS NOW
ACTUAL VOTING BEGINS:
Interlude: Armsmaster
(Partly Inspired by the Omake by @Ridtom)
***
0615
Colin's eyes snapped open as the chilling wash of coolant through his undersuit brought Colin from deep, restful unconsciousness to readied alertness with no wasted time between the two states.
A far cry from the adrenaline-surging alarms he had designed in his youth, though he often wondered if the lingering feeling of being dunked into an ice-cold bath was truly an upgrade from merely a few moments of startled panic.
With rote efficiency borne from nearly two weeks of routine, his right hand swept out to to retrieve the helmet resting on the floor beside him and his left grabbed a ration bar from the small pile he had amassed for his morning meals. Sliding the helmet on easily as he sat up - his head kept shaven now that he no longer had PR crowing about "leadership-inspiring hairstyles" - Colin waited for the seals to automatically engage before the helmet's jawline split open and retracted to its normal half-visor appearance.
His right hand now free, he used it to tear open the plastic coat of the ration bar then pull the cardboard-analogue free from its casing. After breaking it in half, then stacking the two pieces to break them in half again, then repeating the process one more time, he finally shoved the segmented meal bar into his mouth and swallowed… well, not easily, but much more rapidly than he would have been able to if he'd relied on chewing.
His left hand mechanically reached out for the water bottles kept with the stack of ration bars, traded it to his right hand, then grabbed another bar… no, two more bars.
Aisha Laborn's "Exaltation" was scheduled for today. He didn't need to be a Thinker to know that he'd likely need the extra energy for whatever new catastrophe the event would kick up.
The thought caused an unprofessional hardening of his gut, so he allowed his eyes to scan the room while he took sips from the water bottle and waited for the second bar to settle in his stomach - absently snapping the third bar into even smaller to make it go down easier. Nothing was out of place since he had observed the room last night, which was to be expected; it wasn't as if he had much to his name these days.
Beyond the exercise mat he used as a mattress and his small stash of meals, the only worthwhile portion of the studio was the cluttered, rudimentary workbench that took up the far side of the small room. Several spare parts for his armor still sat unfinished as he awaited deliveries of high-purity metals from New York and Phoenix, a reminder which caused a slight tensing of his jaw. Yes, he could generate the materials he needed on his own-...
Growling, he shook his head with a wince as he shoved away the approaching storm of ideas - decades of experience with his power having taught him that it only took a few moments of errant focus on his work to make him lose precious minutes of time to Tinker-fugues. No, he not only didn't have the time today to build the tools that would allow him to build the tools that would then allow him to generate pure-enough materials for what he needed, but he'd been down this path many times before when he was still rising through the ranks of the Protectorate. Better to rely on the PRT's supply chains to get him exactly what he needed and instead dedicate the saved time towards better, more productive activities.
Time management. Beyond all other skills he had learned as one of the first Wards, that was the secret to his success - what had allowed him to stand amongst the Protectorate's most popular and successful heroes, the only Tinker in the "Top 10" for nearly a decade. Constant, careful management of every hour of every day had allowed him to train both his mind and his body, giving him the physical skills and endurance needed to survive - to thrive - when Tinkertech alone couldn't carry the day.
The snapping of the protein-rich cardboard in his hands echoed softly against the crumbling walls of the run-down studio apartment.
Brockton Bay had been a festering wound on the Eastern seaboard, drowning in more gangs and capes than cities three times its size normally had to deal with. No other Protectorate leader save a member of the Triumvirate would have managed even half the number of successes he'd managed with his team in that wasteland, and each successive year had only been more difficult as resources and funding were cut further and further - allocated to cities that had an actual future, rather than to a city that was on track to beat Camden's crime and unemployment rates by the end of the next decade.
But it had been his city. His team.
Each new day had been rife with new reasons for him to find a way to be 'promoted' to a leadership position in a larger, safer, more productive city that would allow him to dedicate more of his time to Tinkering instead of to patrols. Every patrol showcasing just how the Protectorate and PRT alone couldn't save a city if the legislative branch of the United States government couldn't find ways to capitalize on the victories he'd won, when he'd helped remind people that crime didn't pay... in the long run, at least.
Roy Christner had been a decent father, as far as he'd been able to see during Rory's time as a Ward, but the man's long, aimless, and corrupt mayorship had doomed the city just a surely as Behemoth's arrival.
Pushing past the tenseness in his gut, Colin quickly finished his meal and rose to his feet. Automatically falling into his daily warm-up and undersuit-recalibration stretches, he carefully eyed the heartrate monitor in his helmet's HUD as it climbed slowly… slowly… until it finally hit eighty-five beats per minute.
A small chime in his right earpiece signaled an incoming video call. A flick of his eyes down-right-up traced the pattern to answer it, triggering the appearance of a small, 75%-opaque rectangle placed unobtrusively in the bottom-right of his vision.
"Good morning, Colin," Dragon greeted him, the Canadian Tinker's holographic avatar smiling warmly. "How did you sleep?"
Long ago, they'd both agreed it would be better for her to wait until he finished eating in the mornings, something about not wanting to tempt him into speaking with his mouth full.
Bend over, legs straight, grasp legs while bringing head to knees. Breathe in… and out.
"The same."
He thought he saw her expression shift out of the corner of his eye, but a quick glance only revealed the same smile as before.
"Four days without any observable side-effects is a good sign. Over ninety percent of prescription insomnia treatments that make it this far ultimately pass their clinical trials."
Shifting to the next position, he merely grunted neutrally - a response that elicited a wistful smile and roll of her eyes.
They'd had a variation of this discussion before, when he had first volunteered to be the first parahuman test subject for the sleep aid: if Weaver felt comfortable using it on herself to ensure exactly eight hours of properly-calibrated sleep cycles, then he could trust it himself.
Even if it was a creation of Bonesaw.
He'd been the one to suggest it, after all, when helping the Tinker Review board clear the captive bio-tinker's cooperative works. The sugary little caged menace had been complaining about more ways to show she could help, and he'd mentioned that Weaver had trouble sleeping.
Which wasn't a lie, technically, even if he was the one with the actual insomnia condition. The cyborg Ward had an erratic sleep schedule at best ever since the Slaughterhouse Nine were defeated, but that was due primarily to her willingness to forego sleep altogether in order to advance her many, many projects.
Still, he knew better than to place all his trust on Tinkertech, even if the Tinker was truly working with altruistic motives. Both Dragon and his own analysis of the chemical formulas and microbial biomes delivered through the ostentatiously-pink pill didn't reveal anything dangerous, while Weaver and Wyld's diagnostic checks after the first night hadn't turned up any lingering effects.
But he was a Tinker. Even with his own work, there were more variables than he consciously knew about keeping his Tinkertech running smoothly that he constantly had to keep track of and maintain; all it took was one degree of heat fluctuation here or a humidity seal breaking there…
His many years of training his body to - and past - the breaking point had instilled a respect for the complexity of the Human Machine. Bonesaw's sleep aid could work perfectly for years, until one day he ate an undercooked carrot cake and his brain melted.
No, better to only rely on it until the city was stabilized again and he wasn't stuck in a bombed-out apartment above a grocery store-turned-PRT Relief Station.
Flicking his eyes up-right-left-down opened his email account, and he scanned the subject lines of the few dozen messages since he went to sleep. Beyond Weaver's nine different status updates for various projects, he didn't see anything that needed his immediate attention and so opened the earliest email and started working his way down.
Still stretching, he noticed that Dragon had lapsed into silence ever since his earlier grunted response. Her avatar's distracted, absent expression giving away that her attention was focused elsewhere. He opened his mouth to say something... but after a moment's consideration just used the motion to release a held breath.
"Any changes to the schedule, Dragon?"
One… two… three… more than five seconds passed before the avatar blinked, the teal hologram discoloring in a way that looked like a blush as she shook her head in the negative. "Ah, no, pickup is still at three o'clock from the shelter downtown."
He grunted, a sharp exhale through the nose as he brought his legs together from the split.
It was… uncomfortable, no longer being the center of her attention. A selfish feeling, of course; that she had always been multi-tasking during their chats had never bothered him before, but that was when he had a lab to himself and he could keep her attention through talk about their collaborative projects. Even during his month overseeing the Bockton Refugee Camp, she still kept a casual line of conversation throughout the day as resources poured in and refugees slowly trickled out - though it more administrative busywork that filled their conversations, he still held a position of power in the camp and was thus her point of contact for the Protectorate presence there.
Now, lower in the chain of command than he'd been in over a decade? Without a lab or resources that he might use to work on a new collaboration?
From a purely rational perspective, any time she spent talking to him was a net waste. He knew that she was heavily invested in Philadelphia and Camden's rebuilding, more than he remembered her ever dedicating in the past when a major city was devastated by an S-Class threat, and combined with Weaver's staggering multi-tasking and force-projection capabilities...
No, he couldn't rely on her to be there for him like when they had stood as… perhaps not equals, but at least peers.
He needed to prove he was still her peer, still deserving of his "Top 10" status - not because of handouts and pity assignments, but because he'd risen from the ashes on his own merit.
"Good," he sighed, standing smoothly from the mat before turning and striding the five feet to where his armor and halberd lay next to the workbench. "I'll talk to you then, Dragon."
The avatar's eyes widened in surprise as its mouth worked soundlessly for a half-moment before snapping closed, her expression shifting to something he couldn't parse before she managed a weak smile. Relief? Yes, that was likely it - she was always exceptionally pragmatic in times of crisis, but she had historically always waited for him to say goodbye before terminating their calls. He'd have to mention to her next time that she didn't need to wait for him like that.
"A-ah. Alright," she nodded, her voice strained from his abrupt interruption of her other projects. "You don't want to talk during your patrol?"
He grimaced, regretting his earlier time-wasting brooding; if he wanted to be on-time for the Relief Shelter meeting at 0730, he'd need to to start his morning patrol in… four minutes.
Morning patrol had rarely ever paid dividends in the form of actual law enforcement, but PR studies had shown that early-riser civilians were roughly seventeen-to-nineteen percent more likely to remark to their peers about seeing a hero on morning patrol than if the hero was seen during the afternoon or evening.
"Better we focus on our own tasks, for now."
He was Armsmaster. Veteran of nine Endbringer fights, member of the original Wards team, most accoladed Tinker in the Protectorate, former leader of the Protectorate ENE branch. He'd only been in this city for barely two weeks, so he needed to make every effort to make certain his presence was known - both as a deterrent against criminals in general, and against the thought that a Ward was the only one working to keep the streets clean.
He would-
With a click, Dragon's avatar disappeared as the call abruptly disconnected.
Colin blinked. He'd been visually focused on sliding his skinsuit-covered left foot into his boot, but out of the corner of his eye…
… had she looked… sad?
His gut felt heavier than the three ration bars and two water bottles he'd downed earlier, and his attempts to swallow the awkward weight in his throat wasn't working.
Flicking his eyes right-left-right-up, he opened his scheduling program.
He couldn't afford to have this feeling hanging over his head today, and there was only one way he knew how to remedy that.
***
0827
Grunting at the echoing slam of the metal doors behind him, Colin dropped the gym bag he'd acquired from the Relief Center. The faded blue padding beneath his feet sink cushioned the weight just as quietly as his own armored footsteps, leaving the air filled only with the sound of his entrance into the abandoned training room.
It was the work of only a few moments to remove his armor and skinsuit, trading the skin-hugging, full-body undersuit for mostly-fitting underwear and sweatpants he'd snagged from the clean clothes available at the Center. That done, he began wrapping his forearms in straps of spare cloth - he'd felt the tell-tale sign of stress in his left wrist during yesterday's exercise, but he wasn't going to let that stop him.
Only after securing them was he aware of just how dark it was inside the former kickboxing school, despite the few strands of light seeping through the boarded-up entrance. Not dangerously so, as blind-fighting training was only appropriate when done with spotters and a partner, but dark enough that he'd need go slower and pay extra attention to his footing to avoid over- or underestimating the distance to the floor.
Perfect.
The former Brockton Bay leader allowed himself a relieved smile as he absently tapped a code along the top and bottom of his halberd to lock it into Training Mode - the axe-head and thrusting point retracting into the weighted block of metal at the top, allowing him to treat the weapon as a bludgeoning, three-meter weighted staff.
It still had more weapons hidden within than a standard PRT armory, of course, but it wouldn't do to accidentally tear up his newly-discovered training ground. If only to avoid potential lawsuits should the owners of the establishment return.
Twirling the training staff with both hands, a precursor to his actual training, he considered what katas would give him a good enough exercise to clear his mind, while still leaving him energized for the expected disaster later today. His body was ripe with muscles earned from years of training and proper diet control - near the peak of human conditioning - but stamina was the true deciding factor in nearly every cape battle, he'd learned.
It was why his own suit of powered armor was geared to outlast, rather than overwhelm like many rookie Tinkers built towards. Yes, it still could even keep up with - and defeat - many Movers and Brutes despite their own supernatural advantages, but he'd long left behind considerations for lower-level battles when he designed his armor.
He was a fighter of monsters, and so no amount of training or Tinkering would ever be enough.
Still, he wasn't an idiot. He saw the glances that some of the female and male PRT members shot his way, noticed the blushes on the younger members whenever he spoke to them. He was attractive for his age, a fact that Glenn had been adamant in promoting for PR, and he had his fair share of fan sites… before Behemoth, at least.
It had occurred to him a long time ago that if his personality matched his looks, he wouldn't have found himself stuck in the middle-tier of the Protectorate's leadership again, needing to fight and claw his way towards the top again. He never would have been relegated to policing a depressing, ash-choked refugee camp for nearly a month. He would have been given leadership of the new Camden division that was in the works, or at the very least made second-in-command under Chevalier's team in Philadelphia.
"Weaver."
At some point in his ruminations he'd started a Form IV kata, and the name had spilled out of his clenched teeth with a growl as he finished a forward-thrust.
He knew better than to blame her, of course, but that didn't stop the dark thoughts from creeping in as her star rose higher and higher over him with each passing day. Her initial 'death' at the hands of Sophia Hess - his Ward, with attitude and discipline problems that had slipped through the cracks but were still his responsibility - had nearly destroyed his career outright. He had only been saved by the reincarnated cyborg's suspiciously-benevolent attitudes upon her return, and combined with some miraculous PR work it had been decided that the status-quo would be maintained in order to not let Brockton Bay's abysmal public image fall even further.
Her Thinker-boost, her ability to understand and improve Tinkertech… his initial frustration and shame had rapidly morphed into hope. She would have been able to help him leverage his own Tinkertech far more than he ever had been able to before, past the ledge he'd been stuck on for years...
In those first minutes, he honestly had thought that Behemoth was there for him.
Relaxing his white-knuckled grip, he closed his eyes and let out the breath he had been holding through clenched teeth. Nodding slowly, Colin discarded those thoughts and focused back on the here-and-now.
Finishing the smooth, defensive weaving of Form IV, he stepped back and centered himself and bowed to himself in the far mirror out of pure reflex.
Somewhat embarrassing if someone had seen that, but it was a demonstration of why he was here:
Reflexes.
Straightening up again he shifted his hands closer together and gave few simple practice spins of the staff, making sure the distribution of weight was right before he rolled his shoulders to start Form III.
Focus. Center yourself.
The world became a haze as he pictured past and future opponents: Marquis, Allfather, Kaiser, Oni-Lee, Hookwolf, Fenja and Menja, Skidmark, and all the thousands of skinheads, druggies, and gang-bangers he'd waded through over the years...
His body moved on reflex dodging, parrying, and striking back foes that only he could see.. Gone were the thoughts of his responsibilities, his relationships, his purpose in life.
The Form III kata ended in a low crouch with the weapon held horizontal behind him, meant as it was to work against humanoid opponents… and also easily allow transition to Form II: the form for opponents that defied standard humanoid physiology and limitations.
It still hadn't worked against Mannequin.
With a growl, he flipped backwards and leapt directly into Form I.
The form for monsters.
Lung.
Behemoth.
Leviathan.
Simurgh.
Himself.
It was him versus the world. And he had no plans on losing again.
His movements where mechanical, sharp and to the point, the opposite of the fluidity most Martial artists attempt to achieve. It was an ever-improving style of his own design; melding millions of hours of observational data with every martial arts form ever recorded, accentuating the strengths while mitigating the weaknesses of power armor. Practicing it out of his armor was purely to hone his reflexes and increase synergy with his armor's automatic reactions, but muscle memory had saved him numerous times on the battlefield when his armor was unable to move him by itself.
He interjected kicks and elbows whenever he could, using the most of his body for maximum potential. Tossing the staff in the air, he let loose a flurry of jabs and cross-counters, finishing off with a standing back-flip. Hand outstretched, he caught the falling staff on it's axis, swinging it in an overhead strike that smashed into the mat.
SMACK!
Save for his heavy breathing, silence.
Relaxing, if only a bit, Colin took a moment to let his heart rest. Despite the jokes to the contrary, "Halbeard" was still a human being, and the body needed its rest. It was... refreshing, exhilarating even, using the human body to perform amazing feats, but he had to be careful to not overdo it - particularly today.
Still, it was this rigid adherence to discipline beyond one's parahuman power that allowed him to be counted as one of the greats… and kept the vast majority of Tinkers from ever reaching their true potential. Only the most foolish of Tinkers relied only on their tech, lest they meet the one Cape whose power made all your redundancies useless. Hero had made sure to beat that idea into the head of every Ward that was taught under him.
Only to reinforce the lesson with his own death.
Colin always felt that he was the only one who really took his mentor's lessons to heart - a feeling that was soured the victory over the Nine weeks ago when his chance to finally, personally avenge his mentor was stolen from him… while he had just…
With his off-hand, he rubbed the bridge of his nose while wincing at the light headache that trying to remember the events at the oil factory always brought. Both because of what he couldn't remember on his own, and the unsettling implications that his (now completely Classified) helmet recording had shown.
"Oh, what I wouldn't do for a camera right now."
Colin stilled at the sultry purr that seeped through the room, fighting the rising grimace as he turned to the mass of shadows that made up the deeper side of the training room.
"Bladedancer."
The shadows moved in time with a breathy laughter.
"Ahhh… Please, Colin. Call me Kali. We're close enough for that aren't we?"
Kali Haryana. Bladedancer. The heroine seemed to glide across the mat, her dress of blades barely making a sound as it caught the slivers of light leaking through the boarded-up front entrance, turning it into a shifting waterfall of deadly silver scales. She sashayed her way in Colin's direction, the knowing grin splayed across her unmasked face set below dark, hungry eyes.
The staff's polymer casing nearly cracked in his grip.
It had been incredibly obvious to all those who have worked with the man that Armsmaster had horrible tact in social situations. He'd often mistake certain cues for the opposite, not get most jokes made in the office, and was often incredibly oblivious to any tension in the workplace.
But not even Colin was oblivious enough to miss Kali's attraction to him when they were Wards. Impossible actually, especially when it was, "Nice Halberd. Take off your pants," or some variation of that.
More than once he'd caught Hero wheezing in laughter while Colin ra-… tactically retreated from the uncertain battlefield.
"For a certain definition of close," Colin grunted, moving to where he had situated his gym bag. While he should technically perform an easier-paced work-down to cool his muscles properly, staying within proximity of Kali alone was a horrible idea no matter the situation.
To be fair, he… hadn't entirely been disappointed when she learned to cut off his escape paths.
"Aw, that hurts Colin." And of course she wouldn't give up that easily. The blade mistress seemed to glide around Colin as he withdrew a towel and water bottle from the bag - much like a shark before feeding - until her path left her nearly nose-to-nose with him.
"Wait," she breathed, her grin gaining far too many teeth as he sternly avoided making eye contact. "Don't tell me you're scared."
Colin killed the retort that was on the tip of his tongue. The smile on her face was predatory. Baiting him. It nearly worked.
"I have... work that needs taken care of. Equipment to-... to review, repair, and re-arm before we leave at three o'clock."
"Not even time for a little 'spar'?" she stood back and actually pouted, the normally battle-thirsty woman widening her eyes and looking up to him kicked puppy. And- ah, there was the fluttering eyelashes.
Colin would have scoffed at the move if it wasn't so effective. Instead, he was actually considering inducing a Tinker-fugue in the hopes she'd get bored-
The illusion shattered as she suddenly broke out into laughter, clutching her abdomen in over-exaggerated humor. "Oh, you should have seen your face!"
He closed his eyes and counted backwards from ten, focusing on his cooling down his elevated heartrate from his workout. Yes, only the workout.
"Come on Colin, don't tell me you haven't been wanting to test your skills against mine since you got here? Push your limits?"
More likely break a few bones. He'd seen video footage of her little spars in the last few years - just to keep track of the advancements his peers had made, of course - and the glee she showed as a Ward had only increased as she grew in skill and age. It was especially unnerving how... intense her spars with Chevalier and Marrow escalated. No wonder there were rumors that she had challenged Alexandria of all people to 'spar' last year.
Colin shook his head as he finished downing the last of the water bottle's contents. "No time. And we both need to be in top shape for later today."
There, he had tried to let her down gently and hopefully she would get the hint. Grabbing and placing his bag on one shoulder and holding his collapsed halberd in the other, he began striding towards where he hoped there was a changing room in the back.
In retrospect, he should have simply run.
"You mean I'm not already in 'top shape' now?"
Colin turned at strange lilt in her voice and immediately felt his brain slam into a wall. Her dress of blades had been unceremoniously shrugged off, the mixture of black cloth and thin, silver blades shimmering like a ring of deadly water at her feet. In its center stood Kali, clad in what must have been the tightest sports bra and gym shorts ever worn on anyone. She didn't have the biggest curves he'd ever seen on a woman, but what she did have was accentuated with the trimmed muscles that adorned her body.
Colin could only swallow before she was suddenly in his space.
Wha- whe- how?!
He shivered involuntarily as a single finger traced his bare chest. "What's wrong Colin?" Her voice was husky and- oh god she was breathing in his ear, "Did I disarm the Armsmaster?"
She chuckled but Colin was still caught in between fight-or-flight mode like a rabbit facing down a semi. He still didn't have a counter for this, even fifteen years later! Should he hit her with his staff and hope for the best? Run away? Hit her with his staff and then run away?
Don't panic!
Wait, why was her nose bleeding? Colin stared at the outstretched staff in his hands and back to the now-bleeding Kali. She blinked in surprise before that predatory smile made it's way back home.
Oh.
He had panicked.
Colin barely had time to toss aside his gym bag and bring up his staff before a blade of blunted ivory slammed into it. Grunting at the force behind the blow, his eyes met Kali's.
"I love a man that can kick my ass," she purred.
And then Colin was swinging his staff for dear life as she assaulted him with a torrent of slashes, grimacing at how even his reinforced weapon trembled with each blow. Her skill with a blade was... impressive to say the least. While it may have appeared to an outside observer that her attacks were random at best, Colin knew better.
Every strike she made was planned to use the least amount of strength for maximum damage. Colin felt his heart began to race. This was a challenge. A totally different feeling than his shadow sparring. Now he didn't have to imagine the pain of being hit by a blade - not that he had any intention of actually taking a hit, blunted blade or not.
He decided to press the offensive and Kali laughed, jumping out of the way of his swings. It was surprisingly cu-
He hissed as the ivory blade scraped his shoulder. He retaliated with a side-swipe that caught her ribs. She rolled with the blow, feinting to the left before going for an underhand strike that he blocked.
She was good.
He would have to be better.
The fight would have gone on for much longer had Kali not used her power. As Colin stepped forward to strike at her midsection he felt something hard slam into his weighted knee. His balance was shot and Kali knew it.
She tackled him to the ground, both impacts knocking the air out of his lungs. He couldn't even move an inch before an ivory edge was against his throat.
Kali was straddling him now, her face inches away from his. Both of them were breathing hard.
"You cheated." The first thing that came to his mind, his words strained from the efforts of his desperate lungs.
She smirked, "I let you have the first blow." A wink and she was giggling again. Colin felt himself smiling as well. It was surprising to see her like this, so feminine. So many times she had tried to corner him at Protectorate parties since they had graduated from the Wards, or messaging him rather risque texts that had him feeling uncomfortable in his armor.
He respected her as a hero of course, but now... maybe they were not so different as he thought.
"Besides," she let her forehead touch his, "I'm willing to cheat to get what I want."
Her eyes were lidded, her cheeks red, and her breathing soft. An invitation. A part of him was saying that this couldn't go well, that he couldn't possibly commit. He was unsociable and he'd never really played the dating game, no matter how much Hero or Mouse Protector had pushed him towards it.
A bigger part was telling him to follow through. She was there, he was there. It would only take a secon-
"Vajra."
The name was blurted out, half-coughed as his subconscious mind scrambled for some way out of this disaster. Still, it seemed to work - the apparent non-sequitur stilled the moment long enough for Kali to blink and tilt her head in confusion while he worked on a follow-up.
"You two are together."
Unfortunately, her reaction at the reminder was the exact opposite of what he was hoping for.
"Oh, Colin," she purred, placing her hands on his abdomen and slowly sliding her hands up as she leaned in closer. "When have I ever been exclusive? And besides, I've barely even seen my MarMar for a full hour since she got upgraded, what with her running around the world and dealing with her new robo-friends."
As her arms snaked up behind his neck, his own hands twitched - trapped and pinned between his back and the mat, his arms held locked against his sides by her thighs.
He could feel the heat of her - her body, her face, her lips, so close... but yet kept apart as she waited for him to make the move. Just like always.
"And she knows I have my... needs."
Rational thoughts fled, with only years of determined paranoia and mission preparedness allowing him to voice the thought that had been rattling in his head since the predator had first stalked out of the shadows.
"How-..." he croaked, his breath and hers mixing from their proximity. "How did you find me?"
Positioned as she was above him, her body blocked nearly all of the few traces of light leaking in from the front of the training room. Even still, the amount of teeth she showed in her smile shone in the darkness.
"I asked Dragon."
All at once, the heavy, leadened weight in his gut from earlier returned, combined with a cold, creeping chill through his veins.
Why? Why had Dragon…
It wasn't betrayal, Bladedancer had every right to know his whereabouts as they were all technically on-duty…
But that meant that Dragon had to know that Kali was here, now. With him.
Managing to tilt his head barely an inch to the side, his panicked gaze went to where his skinsuit and armor lay at the far side of the room.
His helmet as it lay atop the pile of his armor, its darkly-colored visor watching silently.
Kali shifted atop him, just enough with her right forearm to guide his cheek upwards - forcing his gaze to meet the half-lidded hunger in her own eyes.
"Tell you what," hummed, the vibration seeping through her body and into his own as she leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Help me out, and… well, I've never liked working in the spotlight..."
Her head next to his, he stared up at the ceiling through the mess of her tied-back dark hair as the words clicked into place.
Kali had been promoted to second-in-command for her work during the Slaughterhouse Nine attack, both for PR purposes and because of her seniority as one of the first Wards. He technically tied her in seniority there, but...
"Erasmus?"
He could hear her sly smile as she wriggled atop him, and he nearly lost conscious control of his body.
"Transferring to Las Vegas," she breathed, and he almost thought she heard relief in her voice despite how desperate they were for capes right now. "His request."
Loom had officially transferred out last week, too. That left… no, Hannah had always deferred to him, so she wouldn't seek promotion. Assault and Battery had gladly deferred to him in the past, for their own reasons. Gust apparently avoided anything that even sounded like "responsibility." Crocker and Lockstep were wildcards, but his research hadn't turned up anything that indicated that leadership ambition. That only left the new capes - Lightspeed, Quasar, and Patina - but there was no way fresh capes would be competition for the spot.
Having been second-in-command in both Phoenix and Seattle during his early days after graduation, the position was no stranger to him. In many ways, it was just as much work but with half the public recognition. Annoying, sometimes even infuriating, but dedication and an unflinching work ethic were the cornerstones of his existence.
When Kali reared back to meet his eyes once again, an arched brow asked the question of just how determined he was to rise through the ranks once again.
He showed her his resolve.
***
Armsmaster stood, washed, ready, and fully armed and armored, head tilted back as he observed the Dragoncraft transport as it rapidly descended towards him. Around the makeshift tarmac - the parking lot next to the Refugee Shelter, which itself was a sprawling mass of tents that had taken over the park just down the street from PRT Headquarters - volunteers and government workers largely ignored his presence as they moved away the last crates of this morning's supply drop in order to make room for this new shipment.
They didn't need to hurry - this new craft wasn't one of the large cargo-haulers that could be seen dropping off supplies all around the city on a near-24/7 basis, but rather a smaller, sleeker, deadlier aircraft. It still maintained the legendary Tinker's western dragon-theming in its design, of course, looking like the hybrid offspring of one such flying reptile and an air-superiority fighter, while the deep, metallic reds and blacks typical of her combat-centric machines gave it an intimidating aura… which was even made manifest through its propulsion.
As it finished its descent, the wash of red energy from its gravitic engines turned any loose pebbles and parking lot asphalt chunks to dust - though the force also kept said dust and debris from kicking up, though neither he nor Dragon were completely sold on whether that benefit was worth the mortal danger it imposed to anyone less than thirty feet directly below/behind the engines.
He'd seen the specifications when Dragon had been designing it months ago for the next Simurgh fight, and the menace the craft exuded was well-justified; its armament boasted enough energy weaponry and high-ordnance ammo to level a medium-sized metropolis. In a pinch it could even expand its hull to allow for a few tons of emergency supplies, or enough space for a much deadlier type of payload:
Parahumans.
With a heavy impact of metal claws on dirt, the craft settled to the ground - only to immediately be followed by the snap-hiss of the person-sized cargo bay door unsealing and lowering to the ground, revealing its sole occupant.
From the craft's shadow, framed by molten-gold-filled veins, eight golden eyes burned into his soul with a cold fury.
At his side, he felt whatever casual greeting Bladedancer had planned get strangled into merely an uncertain wave of her hand.
Taking a few steps forward into the light, Weaver's entire figure seemed to practically writhe as the light hit it - undulating waves of her silver-and-black mechanical insects coating her form like a living shroud. As he watched, they pulled back enough from her front to allow the young Ward to cross her arms over her armored chest.
"Bladedancer. Get in."
He remembered the few times that Weaver had echoed her voice through her insectile swarm in Brockton Bay, and it had always been deeply unsettling at the best of times. Having helped her design this new series of mechanical insects to allow her to perform the same feat but with more range in its tones, he knew that the hissing, scraping, and chittering that echoed in her voice now were deliberate.
That knowledge didn't make it any less viscerally off-putting, but it did stoke a flame of indignation at being condescended to by his nominal underling.
Judging by Bladedancer's stunned blink, followed by her hasty ascent up into the craft, his fellow Protectorate member apparently didn't care. The graphite-skinned Ward didn't bother tracking the blade mistress' departure with her eyes, but he knew by now that her gaze held no bearing over what she was capable of perceiving.
That knowledge did make her continued eightfold stare more viscerally off-putting.
"Weaver."
His tone had been neutral, probing. That had apparently been the wrong move.
The silver-black shroud seethed, bursting into the air around her as she strode towards him in an eerie facsimile of Leviathan's water-echo. He held his ground - halberd resting vertically against the ground, left fist clenched resolutely around its haft and right arm at his side - without giving away anything but the slightest twitch of a frown.
When the young girl stopped within arm's reach, her buzzing insect-echo spilled over her form before swirling around the two of them. Within seconds, the world outside the bubble became almost too hazy to discern.
His combat or interpersonal interpretation algorithms didn't blare warnings that she was preparing to strike him, so he simply met her exposed stare through his own visor. She seemed to be studying him, searching for something the way her primary eyes were minutely twitching, but he opted not to jeopardize his spot on this task force by opening his mouth again.
Eventually, after nearly ninety seconds of silence drowned out by the ominous buzzing of her mechanized swarm, her expression slowly melted into one his HUD alerted him was a sign of… heartbreak?
Armsmaster froze.
The six eyes in her forehead closing slowly, Weaver's shoulders sank with an exhaustion that crept into her solitary, quiet plea.
"Could you take off your helmet?"
Colin immediately began planning escape vectors.
"...No."
She rolled her eyes, sighing.
"I'm not going to slap you, even if I should."
This assignment was rapidly becoming more difficult than he had anticipated. He had loaded and installed what was left of his S-Class gear, not what he needed to deal with teenage hormones.
"...Why?"
At her narrowed gaze, he eyed the curtain around them. It was sufficiently thick and random in its variations that they were completely hidden to outside observers. Thankfully, she appeared to note his gaze and what it implied.
"I'm not trying to unmask you in public," she grunted, dismissing the thought with a wave of one of her black-clawed hands. "I just need to talk with you without it being recorded."
Frowning in confusion, he studied her for a moment - his previous panic-inducing conclusions starting to appear less and less founded as he considered her impatient mein and the numerous other sensitive topics that they hadn't had a chance to converse in person about.
Still. Trust, but verify.
"Are you going to attack me?"
She gave him a flat look that could wither plants. "No."
Truth, his HUD confirmed. He nodded.
"Are you going to try to kiss me?"
Years later, he would consider this recording of her slowly-dawning expression of utter shock and embarrassed horror to be one of his most valued possessions.
"No!" she choked, a strangled sound as she took a leaning step backwards in utter revulsion. "Maker, no! Ugh!"
Truth.
While considerably relieving, his frown still reflexively intensified. Still, that was… an unusually intense reaction considering how attractive he was generally known to be.
"I needed to be sure," he nodded, flicking his eyes up and down ten times in succession to trigger his helmet's complete power-down. As the its HUD winked off and its seals unlocked, he reached up with his right hand and pulled off his helmet and held it upside-down in front of him - the pose allowing him to block any possible... advances. Just in case.
He took a breath through his nose and let it out through his mouth, then opened his eyes to see the young Ward in front of him had managed to compose herself again.
"Very well," he nodded again, considering her regained ire. "What is so time-sensitive that we needed to discuss it now?"
Again, the veins on her face and seams of her body's visible augmentations visibly surged, matched with wisps of smoke that trailed from her primary eyes… before the bristling indignation faded into a tired, forlorn expression.
"Dragon loves you."
***
He hadn't called her a liar, despite how his every instinct wanted it to be true.
How long had he stood there, staring blankly as his mind reflexively recontextualized his interactions with the Canadian heroine? Trying to answer the why him? The since when?
The how much had she seen?
The pulsing hum of the craft's engines filled his world with white noise as he stewed in his safety harness, mercifully reducing the chance for idle banter in the cargo hold. Diagonally across him him, Bladedancer's form shifted under the red running lights as she methodically reviewed the blades in her arsenal - including a massive slab of metal only charitably called a 'blade' slowly rotating in the air just in front of her. Her "Endslayer" she called it, a title as presumptuous as it was brazen, but its size allowed her to use it as a terrifyingly effective mobile platform; a platform that would let her be a part of the fliers-only Cradle Team.
Weaver herself stood silently in the shadows of the deepest part of the hold, glowing eyes staring straight down the walkway between the two rows of seats on either side. He occasionally thought he saw her gaze twitch to Bladedancer or himself, but shifting his own eyes to check always revealed her continued, impassive vigil.
A vigil made even more intimidating by the hulking, heavily-clawed, crustacean-looking drone she was standing upon. Judging by the way its segmented legs were tucked under and into itself, and combined with how its protective, hermit-crab-like shell was flattened at the moment, the machine would likely be nearly the size of a large SUV when it unfolded outside of the cargo bay.
He hadn't heard of anything like it passing through Tinkertech Review, and there was absolutely zero possibility that it had passed PR Review as it looked now. Since this was an unofficial, non-public operation, however, he suspected that its presence here was being excused as a 'field test'. The Brockton Bay Crater had become something of an unofficial Power and Tinkertech testing site in the last two months, after all.
With the surrounding area still under occasional seismic activity and subject to unexpected sinkhole collapses, it wasn't as if there was anything left in the area worth preserving. There were still small recovery crews working through the debris, some still searching for bodies while most focused on recovering valuable property that hadn't been completely buried or melted. Permits were required, but he'd heard enough stories in the Refugee Camp to know that there were plenty of ways to fake them - with the area largely written off by the state and federal governments, there wasn't enough scrutiny from the authorities to ward off determined scavengers.
The unobservable "Cradle" was the only completely off-limits area of the disaster zone, but with it hovering nearly two-hundred feet above a poisonous, boiling lake it wasn't much of a temptation.
Especially ever since the latest potential S-Class threat had decided to park itself on top of it.
His left gauntlet creaked slightly as its grip tightened on the shaft of his halberd, causing his eyes to flicker down as he willed his muscles to relax.
It took longer than he expected, but his emotions since Weaver's revelation were already dangerously close to making him mission-unfit. She had asked him exactly that after he had attempted to shrug off his collapsing understanding of the world, and he had… not quite lied that he would be when they reached the Cradle.
Judging by the slight tug of de-acceleration in his chest, as well as by the sudden blinking of Weaver's eyes, his time was up.
Then the feelings he'd smothered threatened to rip his resolve apart once again as the cargo's internal loudspeakers clicked live with a painfully-familiar voice.
"We've arrived."
There was no holographic avatar in his HUD, but the vacancy of emotion in Dragon's voice was just as damning as if she were staring right through him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could feel Weaver's gaze intensify for a moment before she settled her shoulders and gestured forward.
With a snap-hiss of pressurized air, the cargo bay door opened up to the foul air above the Crater.
"Bladedancer."
The heroine was already rising to her feet, having smoothly shed her safety harness while reshuffling her floating storm of blades. Below the blade-shaped half-visor, her mouth threatened to creep into its usual predatory grin.
"Stay near Vajra, in case of an area-effect attack as an opening move," Weaver stated bluntly, her echoing voice loud enough to drown out the engines' droning pulses. "Remember: if anything happens, your priority is the Wyld Hunt's safety."
Any lingering tension in the veteran heroine's posture melted away as she received her orders, anticipatory smile growing to near-manic levels as the blades across her costume and floating around her began to spin and shift as if they, too, were barely being restrained.
"Just save some for me, Queenie," she laughed, casually saluting with two fingers to her helmet's temple.
Then she was off, sprinting the few steps to the cargo bay's exit before throwing herself recklessly out of the craft and into the air below - her storm of blades trailing only slightly in her wake as she sped down and out of his range of vision.
Leaving him alone with Weaver… and Dragon.
With the force of nearly three decades of combat experience, he crushed the sick feeling beginning to build in his gut again and turned to meet the cyborg's stare with his own.
For a long moment, only the rhythmic pulsing of the crafts engines filled the air - the burning golden eyes twitching once again in a way his HUD recognized as signs of her searching for... something.
Having made up her mind, Weaver closed her eyes for a heartbeat and stepped down from the platform atop her drone, her long, armored legs eating up the distance between them in only a few strides. When she was within arm's reach, she lifted her right gauntlet and triggered her pocket-dimension ability - a small compartment sliding open in her palm to disgorge an impossibly-unfolding… cylinder?
"Dragon and I made this," she spoke, her hard, solitary voice barely audible over the background noise around them. "Attach it to the harness supports on the small of your back, and it'll connect itself to your suit's power sources and move-assist hardware - the software package will install automatically, too."
His power whirled to life in his mind's eye as his gaze traced over the breadbox-sized cylinder being offered to him. Evenly-spaced nozzles and thrusters, mixing propellant-based propulsion methods for finely-tuned adjustments with what appeared to be an anti-gravitic system that matched what he remembered from the power armor he helped her design in Brockton Bay.
The colors and patterns on the device even visually matched his power armor's styling, to the point where anyone but him would think he designed it himself.
That she was giving it to him now, instead of hours beforehand, meant that she expected it to integrate so seamlessly into his existing armor and fighting styles that he wouldn't be at risk of lowered combat efficiency due to its unfamiliarity.
He stared at it, equal parts disbelieving, eager, and humbled.
But through the growing haze of schematics and possible ways to take it apart and reduce the need for a thruster here and there… her earlier words slowly trickled back into his conscious mind, forcing him to look at it in a new light.
This was a work of love.
He didn't deserve it.
Colin swallowed heavily, then carefully accepted the device before nodding slowly.
His head turned, just enough to gaze past Weaver and towards where there would normally be a pilot at the head of the aircraft.
"Thank you."
***
It worked exactly as she had said it would, of course. Better than he imagined he could have ever designed such a system by himself, even. Perfectly.
That didn't stop his fingers from twitching from the occasional urge to race to the nearest workshop and take it apart. They were easy urges to suppress - much easier than the cold shame that kept creeping up through his stomach - but they were still a distraction that he didn't need right now.
He'd gotten over the minor thrill of independent flight in a matter of moments; he'd never opted to build a flight-capable armor (or motorcycle) because of the unavoidably-fatal results that a tech failure would entail, but he'd been provided with personal flight through powers and other Tinkertech during major battles that the sensation wasn't new to him.
Gliding - literally, now - experimentally through a few Form III, Form II, and Form I stances, strikes, and evasions had proven that they clearly weren't designed for true three-dimensional, open-air combat, but the additional libraries uploaded to his combat prediction algorithms had at least helped prevent his armor from trying to 'ground' him reflexively at the end of each motion. If fighting truly broke out he would try to direct the battle to solid ground at the Crater's edge, but he was still fit for aerial combat if it came to it.
His body in a combat-ready stance facing towards the open ocean (even if current readings showed that Leviathan was still motionless), he tilted his head just enough to observe the main event going on several hundred feet away. The Wyld Hunt's massive butterfly-moth was obstructing most of his view of the proceedings, but the last update he'd heard was that the dozens of recording devices were nearly in-place. A far cry from the hasty procedure he'd heard the Kurosawa necessitated, but with the presence of both Eidolon, Legend, the three cyborg-parahumans, ten veteran capes, nearly a dozen heavy-combat drones of different origins, and unprecedented levels of surveillance equipment on-hand… Weaver could afford to take her time.
"Readings look good," Weaver's voice echoed out from the shifting cloud of insects around him, drawing his eye to the small satellite-spire bug that had crawled out of one of her eyeballs to anchor itself on his shoulder before he left the cargo bay. Once again, he was torn between taking it apart to study it and slapping his shoulder to crush the reminder of what he had seen. "Ready to proceed."
This was it. He tore his eyes away from the "repeater" drone and resumed scanning the horizon, muscles coiled and primed to move at a split-second's notice.
"Contact with Cradle in five… four… three… two-"
Three things happened so quickly, his mind registered them simultaneously.
There was a pealing siren through his Endbringer armband, the signal that some of Dragon's monitoring equipment was registering a massive trans-dimensional event.
Armsmaster felt a pull, like gravity had suddenly shifted ninety degrees to make 'down' now directly behind him.
Finally, and most jarring, was that his flight module's compensation for the abrupt shift sent him face-first into the trunk of a massive pine tree.
Gruellingly-honed reflexes combined with his armor's pre-calculated combat reactions, allowing him to swing the crackling blade of his halberd down in a diagonal motion just as he was about to make contact with the bark - the force of his blow halting his forward momentum, even as his weapon cleaved through the ancient flora.
Spinning away from his successful parry of the landscape, his eyes whipped across his HUD as it shifted in accordance with the new surroundings: a thick, northeastern pine tree forest that looked untouched by human industry. That, combined with the siren he'd heard and a complete lack of satellite connections, suggested he'd been pulled into a different Earth - a dread only confirmed when he heard Legend's snarled command from his armband drown out the panicked expletives across his helmet's radio.
"Simurgh above us! Move! MOVE!"
A command immediately followed by the neutral, feminine tone of his armband's AI as it began rolling through announcements.
He'd fought against the Simurgh three times in his career. London, Moscow, Madison. Each time, the winged Endbringer's strategies and agendas had been wildly different… all except for the Scream. No one that fought her ever grew used to it, even those that had been cleared as immune to its effects.
It was not a physical sound, like Shatterbird's "scream" had been, nor was it anything that resembled a sensation that could be mimicked by a human's vocal chords. While each person described what they 'heard' differently, the collective name for it had stuck.
For Armsmaster, it was a pressure, a static in the back of his mind that slowly, gradually pressed against his thoughts, like a creeping headache made from crystalline nails on a chalkboard.
Those that had suffered more than the 'safe' fifteen minutes of uninterrupted direct exposure had to be killed, as careful after-combat analysis by the world's best Thinkers had determined that that was the lower limit for how long it took the angelic creature to rewrite your mind.
He reached over to the somewhat-bulky armband on his left forearm, then navigated through a bitterly-familiar sequence of menus in order to display a small clock on its screen.
Trapped as they all were on an alien world, there was little chance of them escaping the Endbringer in time.
[15:00]
[14:59]
[14:58]
The countdown to their demise.
Gritting his teeth at the growing pressure he could already feel growing behind his eyes, he glanced at his compass to re-orient himself while letting Legend take command… then engaged his flight module to shoot himself skyward.
Bursting out of the thick, verdant canopy, he spotted the tell-tale blasts of Legend's lasers carving through a whirlwind of arboreal debris, then pushed his new flight module to its highest setting. It took bare seconds to get close enough to the fight to make out what was going on - the combat taking place primarily below the rapidly-thinning canopy - but when he finally cleared the expanding treeline he beheld an unexpected sight.
In every battle that an Endbringer had been 'driven off' by the collected cape forces, it had been clear that the monsters had quit the field well before they had taken anything even close to resembling a mortal injury. Yes, they bled - a dark, noxious ichor that fouled and dissolved all that it touched before sublimating in a matter of hours. Yes, they'd lost parts of limbs or appendages (Simurgh's smaller wings, parts of Leviathan's tail). But even during the heat of battle, it had been clear that they could heal from the wounds they were receiving at an alarming rate; a fact confirmed each time they returned, no signs of even a scar even when Scion himself had driven them off with his most potent disintegration attacks.
He had heard about Weaver's battle, near to two weeks ago today. How the Simurgh had somehow been forced to tear herself in half - from her right shoulder to her left hip - to avoid the full effects of some kind of necrotic effect.
Befitting the Endbringer's fae-like, wispy body, a thin, light-drinking skeleton had grown back to replace the loss, accentuated by randomly-placed skeletal wings where feathered ones had been before. Only a small amount of muscle and skin had grown up from her abdomen, which was strange considering that had historically been the most easily-regenerated parts. The result was a lop-sided and altogether unsettling (in a fresh, new way) appearance. What drew his eyes most prominently, however, was something that shouldn't have been there at all, even if they had 'caught' her while she was still healing.
In the center of the drawn-out skull - just above its hollow, vacant eye sockets - a gaping, cracked hole in the Endbringer's forehead oozed a continual trail of choking smoke.
A trail that slithered around the half-angel like a living being, growing and shrinking as it lashed out at her targets. Judging by the massive, putrid mess of insectoid parts that still partially resembled the Wyld Hunt's ride, the stream was horrendously corrosive-
Armsmaster spun, chopping apart a man-sized branch that had spun up behind him in his 'blind spot'.
[13:26]
He couldn't afford to close his eyes, but so close to the beast the pressure in his head was threatening to split his skull and shatter his teeth as he struggled against the Scream.
His body on auto-pilot, he mechanically set himself to obliterating the larger chunks of debris that looked primed to strike the retreating Wyld Hunt team; the awkward movements of the ones dragging their motionless members indicating that the opening strike against their ride had been devastatingly effective.
Wait, where was Bladedancer? She was supposed to cover their retreat…
His narrowed glance skirted across the battlefield, which only grew more chaotic by the moment as Eidolon, Legend, Gust, and a number of Dragon's combat suits blasted away at the floating Endbringer and her ever-growing shield of debris while simultaneously attempting to dodge the trails of smoke that whipped about her.
There was no sign of Bladedancer, nor of Myrrdin and Narwhal. His gut hardened as the cold reality of an Endbringer fight rolled over him, but a secondary realization caught him before he counted his peers among the dead.
Weaver, Vajra, Tatsu, and their paired constructs were also absent from the field... and there was zero chance that any member of that group could have been eliminated faster than their armband could send out a distress pulse.
Somehow, they'd managed to avoid getting pulled into… wherever the Simurgh had taken most of the non-cyborg team members.
[12:07]
They'd planned for attempts to split the teams, but this scenario was beyond all but the 'nuclear option' eventualities. Still, the way the Simurgh was slowly beginning to drift towards the fleeing Wyld Hunt, he saw where he would have the greatest chance to rob the damned bitch of her prize.
Accelerating down through the treeline, he continued to bat away and carve apart the hail of debris hounding the fleeing Guild teens while keeping the floating Endbringer in his peripheral vision - primarily to make sure he always had eyes on those smoke trails of hers.
"Hey! Down here!" a familiar voice called out to him as he darted and weaved through the trees, causing him to glance briefly at its source: a gore-splattered Who, though missing her helmet, with a concussed-looking Inquisition draped over her shoulder.
Parrying a small boulder that had been ripped from between a tree's roots, his next breath came out as a growl. Couldn't she tell he couldn't afford to be distracted? He was the only thing keeping her and her brother's team from being turned into a stain on the forest floor. And she was the reason they were all here in the first place!
"Keep moving!" he barked out, turning back to the encroaching monster as it continued to turn pristine scenery into shattered weaponry.
Overhand strike, knock small tree into ground. Spin, stab half-destroyed trunk about to strike Feral, spin around and toss trunk into cluster of approaching rocks.
He was being toyed with.
He'd seen the Simurgh perform telekinetic feats that held off hundreds of capes at a time, filling the air with debris large and small enough to divert and parry hundreds, sometimes thousands of strikes at a time.
There was no doubt in his mind that if the monster approaching him wanted the teens behind him well and truly dead, they wouldn't have survived her opening attack. So why keep them alive?
[09:55]
Time. That was the answer. The Simurgh needed time to rework minds… no, just Aisha's mind.
The jump in power that this "Alchemical" conversion provided easily turned the recipient into a Triumvirate-tier cape, augmenting their original power in addition to providing a host of smaller, complementary powers.
Aisha Laborn already possessed a frighteningly-potent Stranger power. He knew the PRT was already sweating over what enhancements she would be receiving from her upgrade.
An agent of the Simurgh, untraceable and unstoppable as it moved through the world?
For the barest moment, the tree line cleared just enough for him to see the black, exposed skull of the injured Endbringer. Somehow, he knew it was grinning.
Armsmaster spun, leaping down to grab Who's free upper-arm.
"You're her target. We have to go. Now."
Wide eyes accentuated by her dark skin, she stared at him in disbelief.
"'The fuck you think I'm trying to do?! If you'd actually help we could get-!"
He pulled, jostling Inquisition off her shoulder as he calculated an optimal angle of escape.
"There's no time. Hold-..."
He blinked, startled. What was he-
The baseball-themed Stranger was snarling at him as she desperately tried to motion for Feral to help her with Inquisiton - though he wasn't sure what Who was expecting, given that the werewolf-like cape was barely managing to carry the unconscious bodies of the rest of the team.
"I'm not leaving them to this bitch! We just need to hold out until Taylor gets here!"
The pressure behind his eyes was nearly unbearable, his eyes nearly watering from the Scream that was threatening to split his skull. They… no, they didn't have time for this.
He couldn't stop her from using her power to escape his attempts to drag her to safety, and they were out of time.
This was why the turnout for Simurgh attacks was always the lowest of the three.
"I'm sorry," he intoned.
His halberd had cleaved through ancient pines and solid stone with impunity. Flesh parted just as easily, and the deed was done.
Who deceased, AA3.
The world shuddered, sending him sprawling to the ground as the air around him exploded in noise.
Where the the previous sensation had been smooth pull, as if Earth's gravity had shifted momentarily, this time… felt like the entire planet had been picked up by a vast machine and hammered back into place with an impossibly-powerful piston.
Springing back to his feet through purely-mechanical means, Armsmaster saw a brief flicker in his HUD that showed it was re-establishing satellite contact.
His gaze, however, was primarily focused on the suddenly-grounded Simurgh and its chaotic, flailing spasms.
He gripped his halberd in unsteady hands.
If he had just… waited. But no, no one could have known this would happen. He had acted rationally. Correctly.
Now, though, with the Simurgh incapacitated? He might be able to finally kill it. Make all the sacrifices not have been in vain.
He took a step forward-
His halberd snapped up just in time to intercept the cerulean-crystal fist, but the energies wrapped around it blasted him backwards as it shoved his weapon back across his chest. It drove the wind from his lungs, but he still managed to spin in the air and rebound off a nearby tree.
Frowning at the tremor in his gauntlets caused by the energetic discharge, he looked back at where Vajra now stood defensively over Who's fallen form. Still keeping her body facing him, the crystalline juggernaut reached back with her left gauntlet and splayed it-
What? Vajra - Marrow - was a veteran of at least as many Simurgh battles as he was. What was she…
His eyes trailed to the approaching forms of the other cyborgs, their voices low and intense. Why were they ignoring-?
The Simurgh was gone, the ground torn up where it had fallen but no traces of its corpse could be seen.
They… they'd distracted him? They'd let the Endbringer escape?
A cold chill settled over him. It would explain… too many things, in retrospect.
He could see their stances shift as the realization swept over him. They knew that he'd figured it out.
Should he escape? Try to get the truth out?
No. He was Armsmaster. He would go out fighting.
Flicking his eyes up-right-left down opened his email client, then up-left opened a new message. Pulling down the top contact with a glance, he addressed it to Dragon.
"I'm sorry."
He lept, spinning like a top until the last second before he impacted Vajra's form - when he shoved the base of his halberd out and triggered the flashbang.
"I'm sorry."
Of the group, only the newest cyborg was dazed, but her rapidly-expanding mechanical scorpion had leapt from her shoulder towards him. A rookie mistake, as he aborted his own feigned attack on Vajra and dove under the approaching claws - which then allowed him to spring out in a lunging strike at Tatsu, cleanly spearing her completely through the center of her chest.
"I'm sorry."
The cyborg fell backwards, coughing with a weak smile as he found himself wrapped up in her final, awkward embrace. Just as he twisted to extricate himself and keep the roll going, Armsmaster felt a shooting pain in his forearm-
Colin, naked and alone in an empty white void, blinked in confusion.
"He-hem."
His thoughts cloudy, he managed to awkwardly spin around in this formless dimension, only to see an ethereal… and, shamefully, more attractive… version of Tatsu's original human appearance - the edges of her flowing dress seeming to blur into wisps of energy that blended into the void around them. She 'sat' cross-legged in the air in front of his chest, but wasn't even looking at him directly.
Instead, she appeared to be flicking through a series of rapidly-moving images, as if browsing a collection of movies that had all been set to fast-forward. Her expression flickered slightly with annoyance and distaste occasionally as the images went by, at least until she paused at a dark image and... started blushing furiously?
He stared at her, a mixture of emotions clogging up his tongue. He… wanted to strangle her? Why? Why not? She was doing something to him? She was a threat? Then where was this deep feeling of regret come from? Why did he want to… apologize?
With a hasty flick of her fingers the collection of images melted away, and the inappropriately-attractive teen shook off her embarrassment to leveled a flat glare at him. Still warring internally, the two of them stared in silence until her expression slowly morphed into resigned disappointment.
[X] Wards Stay On Schedule, Vacation Without Aisha
- [x] Stunt: Saki swept into the lounge to meet the waiting Wards, Miss Militia and Flechette a step behind with rucksacks in tow. "Where's Taylor?" Chris asked. "She's not coming," Saki replied with a small frown. Silently, Ernest pulled out his wallet and pulled out a twenty dollar bill, which Dennis promptly pocketed with an air of great satisfaction. "Told ya."
[X] Have You Heard The Good Word (Saki works to convert Ciara from faeries to robots.)
- [x] Stunt: "A coping mechanism?" For a long time, no one spoke. The words floated in the air with the sudsy bubbles. Eventually, a whispered answer. "The universe revealed itself to me and I saw my incredible insignificance. I was a marionette on a stage manipulated by things vast and infinitely my better. What could I do, but play my role?"
[X] Here Be Dragons (Taylor's drones pull from Earth, Autochthonian, and Creation fantasy for their designs and capabilities.)
- [x] Stunt: The workshop door opened as a copper-colored head peered around the corner. In stockinged feet, Riley padded across the cold workshop floor to the piece currently dominating the workshop floor. Her eyes ran along the half-finished length of the cog dragon as a finger traced out the hexagonal shaped gear stenciled into a shoulder. "Soon, Mr. Slinky." She whispered. "Soon."
[X] Tolerate gangs if they help with cleanup/rebuild of city.
- [x] Stunt: Short fingers drummed on the scarred oak table as Director Uriel stared at the other members of his crisis team. "With the crazies confirmed in town, we need to prioritize. Carver, I want revised patrol schedules on my desk by this evening. Dismissed." As everyone got up to leave, Uriel raised a hand. "Chevalier, you and Armsmaster wait a moment. You too, Weaver."
[X] Focus On Orichalcum Candidates
- [x] Stunt: "Do you.... have any regrets?" Alexandria asked, as she lay in the lavishly appointed surgical recovery room Lord Grasp had prepared for her. Saki turned away from the door, an expressive eyebrow raised and her entire body radiating Inquiry. "Weaver..... didn't actually ask you." She hesitated. "OR your sister." "Would you have done things differently? Chosen. Differently." John Dorian powers, activate.
***
You are now Enduring Order Administrator.
***
Your obsidian, gauntlet-like knuckles make a sharp, hollow sound on the mahogany door as you knock a quick triple-tap pattern - just loudly enough that the inhabitants downstairs will hear, but not so loud as to alert the two individuals behind closed doors upstairs.
The two-storey brick house is wedged in amidst forty-five of its kind on this single block, with the opposite side of the street similarly filled with cramped-but-cozy residences. Each house possesses a raised yard and porch between the street and its front door, with not a garage in sight; each house is only a few feet wider than most sedans, so parking is definitely a hassle for those households with multiple cars.
Still, given the care taken to make each house unique from its neighbors and the overall quality of yards you've seen in the area, East Falls is a pleasant sort of suburb. A bit higher on the middle-class ladder than your own home in Brockton Bay ever was, and it's largely cleaned itself up since the Slaughterhouse Nine attack. Any cars that may have been totalled by Shatterbird's Scream have long since been towed from the street, and the Bakuda bombs were a bit thin out here - they were focused more on the major streets this far out, though you did see two ruined houses that got hit by Bezalel drone-bombs a few streets over.
Windows are still largely covered by plywood or thick tarps, as the weather has dropped into the low 50's in the last few nights and most people at this socioeconomic level had heating units complicated enough to be affected by Shatterbird's attack. Still, aside from the low number of cars and window-coverings, you could… almost see this neighborhood returning to a semblance of normalcy soon. Ironic, since it's one of the boroughs you've devoted the least amount of attention towards…
… and that lack of attention is partly to blame for why you're here, just a few minutes past seven in the evening, instead of still in the PRT Headquarters' Lab.
You were tempted to push your Shard of Perfect Administration charm to its fullest while you're out here, as combining your new range with your Mobile Sensory Drone's capacity for serving as a relay… but no, the lab would still be just outside of your maximum range. Probably for the best, as you've been pushing your shard-charm heavily these last few days...
You sigh, but just barely manage to keep from shaking your head as the door in front of you opens, spilling warmth and light into the slowly-darkening evening air around you. Instead, you square your shoulders, lifting your right hand in as inoffensive a greeting as you can manage these days.
"Ms. Ross," you smile, deliberately trying to clamp down on the golden glow that's leaking through your teeth and pulsing in the veins along the sides of your face. As usual, it has the opposite effect. "Long time no talk."
Your Youth Guard advisor stares at you, visibly startled by your presence on her front porch. She's seen pictures of the terrifying new appearance you've been sporting ever since Iris rebuilt you, but this is actually the first time you've met face-to-face since the Nine's attack.
Ever since your Exaltation, you've heard the phrase, "pictures don't do you justice" tossed about. Given the aura of unstable power you give off now, radiating heat and electricity through your exposed charms and veins as your mood fluctuates… the phrase might have some merit now
"W-...We-..." Abigail Ross stammers, her big brown eyes blown up even more ludicrously by the oversized reading glasses she's wearing. Her brain finally catches up with her mouth after a few more fish-like gapes, causing her to blink owlishly as her gaze finally meets your own. "Taylor?! What are you doing here?! Is everything alright?!"
Raising your other hand to match, you hold both hands up to ward off the worry you hear in her voice while managing not to roll your eyes at the excessive concern. "I'm fine, Ms. Ross, and I'm sorry for not telling you I was going to visit when I called earlier. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"
Glenn's suggested you feign ignorance when talking with "the public," as the public generally is more disquieted than reassured by casual reminders of your localized omniscience. Which makes sense, of course: you doubt Abigail would appreciate knowing that you've been watching her family through the bugs and Mobile Sensory Drone in her house to make sure you timed this meeting perfectly.
Riley's been calling you "Big Sister" ever since she figured out just how pervasive and extensive your awareness had become after your upgrades. You made her read 1984 in retaliation, but you've resigned yourself to title all the same.
Privacy is for cities that aren't choking with ruins and refugees.
"O-oh! No! No no no, you're always welcome in my home!" she beams, sliding off her glasses with her free hand in a move that causes most of the unkempt bushel of hazel curls atop her head to fall into her face. She huffs and flips the hair back with reflexive speed borne of years of habit, then gestures eagerly for you to come inside. "Oh, you don't mind if I let Eleanor know you're here, do you? She's wanted to meet you for ages now!"
Smoothy stepping in just enough to let her shut the door, you allow some of the concern you've felt these last few days slip into your expression, lowering your voice just enough to (hopefully) not carry upstairs.
"That's… sort of why I'm here, actually, Ms. Ross-," you wince as her eyes flicker, but correct yourself before she can. "Abigail. Do… do you know where your daughter was last night? Around 11:30?"
There's a flash of confusion, long enough for you to be worried, but the dawning comprehension - followed by her paling horror - is enough to confirm your suspicions.
Just as quickly, the horror passes.
All that's left behind is one hundred sixty-three pounds of overzealous mom-itude.
"Eleanor Rigby Ross! Get down here this instant!"
***
You keep quiet while Abigail and her family make a bit of a scene that you can't help but notice is easily heard by their neighbors; the exact contents of the back-and-forth between Abigail and Eleanor is largely muffled by the red brick separating the households, but judging by the shrugs and sighs from the families on either side this probably isn't a rare occurrence.
Of course, you've got plenty of native insects and your own drone insects spread throughout the area should anyone in earshot start reacting poorly. Two of your dedicated assault drones are sweeping the area in stealth mode, too, but that's just because you don't leave the labs without at least that many in tow these days.
It's been… awkward, dealing with your increased scope and range ever since Iris rebuilt you, primarily because of moments like this: scenes of functioning families. Before the rebuild, you had to deliberately move insects out of their natural hiding spots in order to spy on civilian lives…
… but now, every family with a pet gives you a front-row seat to every heartwarming scene of familial connection. You're also witness to the trauma of broken households, of course, but pets are naturally inclined to avoid outbursts of negative emotion and thus you'd have to deliberately pilot them back into the fray to see what's going on - and the PRT has been adamant that you aren't to give yourself away like that unless it's clearly a life-or-death situation.
You've had to exercise that clause twelve times already, and the stress of a ruined city is only going to increase that number over the coming months. You've also exercised that clause to deliberately prevent animals from intruding on more… private moments, but you're pretty sure the PRT would be alright with that if you ever confessed. Which you won't.
If she knows what's good for her, Saki won't tell anyone either.
Your multiple consciousnesses are drawn from their brainstormings and musings by the successful extraction of your target from her room by her father, which begins the procession of the family down the stairs. You've been waiting politely on the family-sized couch in front of where a large flat-screen TV used to sit, and you manage to get your swarm out of sight (where you've been having them clean up the last bits of glass and debris) before the whole group rounds the corner and enters the living room proper.
Nathan, a heavy-set freelance programmer whose skills are about as average as his flannel and khakis, enters first. He quickly maneuvers around the dining table and chairs to greet you properly, while Eleanor frantically struggles to use his size to keep herself out of your line of sight.
"Nathan Rigby," he greets, and though his size and shape are all wrong his haggard demeanor evokes memories of years of watching your own father struggle to make ends meet.
You smother the memories, and the memories of all the other struggling fathers you've seen in Philadelphia over the last two weeks. This city needs every scrap of hope it can get, especially with what's coming next.
"Taylor Hebert," you smile easily in return, shaking his hand steadily. "Abigail likes to talk about you, you know."
"Oh?" he blinks, thick eyebrows rising in surprise before he glances behind him at a momentarily disarmed Abigail in the doorway before turning back with a grin. "Should I be worried?"
You share the grin, glad to finally get Abigail back for her occasional time-wasting small-talk about her home life. "Only that you might be setting the bar too high."
Nathan guffaws loudly, a deep laughter that warms the room and gives him back some of the color that the last few weeks have drained from him. Abigail squawks a "Taylor!" in protest, but loses track as Nathan reaches back and wraps his arm around her shoulder to drag her into the conversation - planting a big, dramatic kiss on the top of her bushy head which makes her devolve into blushing giggles.
Both kids - Eleanor behind Nathan and Robby peeking around the doorway - squirm and groan at the display of affection, so you count that as a win, especially since it reminds the two adults of why they're here.
Nathan sighs as he looks back to you, then reaches back with his right arm and gently scoops the squirming Eleanor forward until she's beside him with a hand on her shoulder.
"You're kind for saying it, Taylor, but Abby talks enough about you that I know you're a busy girl. So:" he says, tilting his head to peer down at his daughter like she was caught finger-painting on the walls. "I'm guessing you two have already met?"
At the statement, Eleanor finally stops her desperate attempts to avoid your gaze, but then immediately flinches and tries to shrink even further into herself and away - her father's hand on her shoulder preventing her from fleeing entirely. Not an easy task, as despite being just a few months older than yourself she's a hair under six-foot-one with her father's equally-heavy-set physique. She's also got a rather bad case of acne, though you're still not versed enough in biology to know if your scan's saying it's hereditary or stress-induced... or both.
Everyone gets scanned these days. No exceptions.
"Did-..." Eleanor finally chokes, a tinge of betrayed hurt creeping into her gaze as she looks back to you. "Did you follow me back?"
"Yes," you admit with a solemn sigh and nod, though you maintain eye contact and a stoic posture.
"That's... supposed to be against the rules, isn't it?"
"It is," you nod again. "Normally. A few gangs that moved in recently don't play by those rules."
That gets a reaction, but not from Eleanor or Nathan. Abigail, however, goes pale and whips her head back to her daughter in panicked horror and desperately lunges to grab at the taller girl's arms.
"Eleanor! This is why I told you to wait! The Elite kill whole families!"
"That's-..." you cut her off, raising a hand, but… well, it's not entirely untrue. Still… "You got Director Uriel's update from yesterday, then? About Bastard Son and his team?"
Abigail shakily nods her head, while the reality seems to finally be dawning on Eleanor from the way she's frozen up. Tearing your own gaze from your ostensible peer, you briefly meet Abigail's eyes before looking to Nathan's grim visage.
"The Elite are the largest organized cape crime syndicate in the US," you grimace, crossing your arms over your lightly-armored chest. "They operate in cells, and the one led by a cape named Bastard Son is known for being the most brutal. Internally, the reports I've gone through make his cell look like a more focused, less widespread Slaughterhouse Nine."
"Oh shit."
The muttered curse by the younger - and much smaller, but similarly shaped - brother watching from the doorway doesn't draw the rest of the family's attention, but it does adequately summarize the expressions of the three in front of you.
But because when it rains, it pours, that isn't the end of the bad news you're here to deliver.
"We're also fairly certain the Fallen are in the area, too," you continue, cutting off any further responses with a raised hand. "There were three instances this afternoon of radio station hosts trying to spread their usual propaganda, and we stopped a suicide bomber at one of the refugee camps just before I got here. That's on top of the Teeth having laid claim to Camden as of yesterday night."
Your last statement causes a few blinks, and Nathan is the first to let his mouth say what everyone is thinking.
"Camden? But wasn't it evacuated last week?"
Given the current tone of the discussion, you manage to turn your maniacal grin to a frustrated grimace.
"Yes, but we expect more gangs to form up or move into the area in response. There will be lower collateral damage if the fights happen there, but the records I've seen show that the fights in Camden always end up spilling over to Philadelphia."
As you've been talking, however, Abigail's expression has slowly regained its color… while her eyes have grown distant, tired, and resigned as they've flitted from you to Eleanor and back.
"You…" she murmurs once, her voice revealing just how close she is to panicking. "You're not here to warn us… you want Eleanor to help you fight those monsters, don't you?"
The girl in question startles at the question, but you hold up both hands to placate your Youth Guard advisor before she really gets going.
"No," you lie, "I'm not. I'm… here to recommend that you let the PRT relocate you to San Diego for a few months, at least until things settle down. That is, if you're interested in joining the Wards, Eleanor?"
Blue eyes blown wide open, Eleanor's mouth opens as she looks between you and her parents. She struggles to form a response for a moment, but just as Abigail meets her daughter's gaze and is about to respond for her, Eleanor turns back and nearly leaps at you in anticipation - the entire room around her dimming every-so-slightly as her body glows for a fraction of a heartbeat.
"Yes! B-but no! I want to stay and fight!" she gushes, grabbing your hands in her own - her earlier shame and fear gone as she spins back to her parents. "This is my home, too, Mom! Dad! Please! You don't have to worry about me - they couldn't even hurt me last night!"
You wince, but more in sympathetic pain than your own: your claws are sharp, and you're pretty sure Eleanor just sliced her hands up on them grabbing them like that. Did she not notice-
Eleanor blinks, then looks back to where your hands are joined. Her wide eyes somehow grow even wider, and then suddenly all the light in the room is simply gone.
All except for the radiant, rapidly-morphing figure before you, which paradoxically doesn't cast any light of its own despite appearing to be a solid-light construct of every color in the rainbow. After barely a second, the form slows its shifts…
… until it's almost a carbon copy of your human disguise, back when you actually had the Integrated Artifact Transmogrifier charm and could look human yourself.
The hands grasping your claws are just as impervious to damage as you saw they were last night, when the figure easily walked through bullets, grenades, and thrown cars.
"Hello again..." you greet, hoping your smile isn't as brittle as it feels. "...Glowbug."
***
As much as you could use another high-rating Brute to help out around Philly at the moment, chatting with Eleanor, Abigail, and Nathan about their plans for the next few weeks-to-months makes it increasingly clear that the San Diego relocation is all-around the better deal for their family.
Shatterbird's Scream completely obliterated Nathan's computer setup for his at-home job, and while the insurance money is on the way (you did a quick check for them) there's still the matter of consumer electronics being hard to come by right now. While roads are rapidly being repaired with a Tinkertech "quick-crete" that should last until more thorough renovations can bring things back up to code, postal services are in a hopelessly-mired standstill while they lack both the manpower and facilities to process anything but emergency shipments; local electronic stores are still mostly bare of working products, and no car or easy public transportation means travelling out of the city to find stores untouched by the Scream is not on the table for the Ross family.
There's a subtle, unstated request for help in that regard as you discuss his work, but a quick, sympathetic lament about how you're struggling to scrape together enough for your own projects puts the matter to rest.
This leaves Abigail as the only source of income, but the Youth Guard is technically a volunteer organization that sustains itself on donations and charity - her bi-weekly paycheck is more than minimum wage, but it won't be enough to reliably feed and shelter a family of four in a disaster zone. Though she tries to laugh it off and reiterate her faith in Nathan's ability to scrounge something up, the Ross family is only getting by due to their vacation savings from before the Slaughterhouse Nine's attack.
You've spent enough time working with the Federal Emergency Management Agency over the last two weeks to know that they are astonishingly lucky.
Philadelphia, despite being a reasonably successful metropolis before the disaster, had an unemployment rate of 12.2% and 27% of the population was below the poverty line - with many more usually living paycheck-to-paycheck. With a pre-attack population figure of just over nine-hundred thousand people…
The projections you've worked out with FEMA and Accord paint a picture of nearly five-hundred thousand people in the Philly-Camden area without enough money to even buy enough bottled water to keep up with their daily needs, let alone pay their standard bills. These forecasts - along with layout and shipment plans Accord provided - are the only reason the sixteen relief camps set up throughout Philadelphia (three Downtown, one per district otherwise for a total of sixteen) have barely managed to keep up with the ever-increasing flood of hungry, hopeless citizens. That only means you're satisfying the needs of those that make it to the camps, however, not everyone.
And when people with nothing to do become desperate...
"It's… it's a war zone out there," Abigail frets, squeezing Eleanor's back-to-normal hand as she and Nathan sit on opposite sides of the despondent Brute. Your Youth Guard advisor has been sliding between tears and panic throughout the conversation, but it looks like she's gearing up the wetworks again as she tries to get you to help badger her daughter into submission. "Please, Elly! If you don't want to leave… then just wait, like you said you would!"
You wince, both in sympathy (you've been the target of Abigail's guilt-trips numerous times) and in regret.
"I'm not sure that's the best idea, actually," you sigh, clasping your own clawed gauntlets together atop your armored knees as you sit across from them. "Abigail, I know you don't agree with the theories about parahumans needing to use their powers-"
"That's because all of those studies have been sponsored by the PRT, Taylor!" she fumes, turning an indignant glare to you. "Please. They're just another way the PRT pays people off so they can get more soldiers. Child soldiers."
You close your eyes, then take another long breath and let it out slowly. From everything you've learned from Cauldron's files, she's not technically wrong... but the vials they provided, then coupled with Riley's and Iris' own insights into the workings of shards…
Opening your eyes again, you rotate your gaze to pin the timid teenager in front of you with an even stare.
"You've had your first cape fight. You felt what it was like to really use your power. To push its limits in new, dangerous situations. Do you think you could hold yourself back from using your power at all for even a week? Let alone the six months we expect it to take to get the city hobbling along again?"
Eleanor's face lights up, briefly, as you mention the fight with the Elite last night, but as you lay out what her parents truly are expecting of her if she stays here the light fades as nervousness forces her eyes to the floor. She opens her mouth half-way to respond, but you are already moving to your next target.
"Abigail, Nathan," you continue, looking at your counselor first but then locking eyes with her husband. "Are you going to keep her locked in her room, except to go straight to school and back? What if she's out with a group - maybe with you and the family, or maybe with friends - and violence breaks out nearby? Do you expect her to just ignore people getting hurt in front of her, when she knows she can save lives?"
The married couple are struck dumb for a moment, with Nathan paling before turning his head to look down at both his wife and daughter. Abigail meets his eyes and the two share a silent conversation, but as their gaze breaks you preempt their response with another way you've figured will help put things in perspective.
"Do you know why Panacea left New Wave?"
The apparent non-sequitor causes a round of blinks, but it's Robby - who's opted to remain lurking near the doorway - who pipes up with a puzzled response first.
"Isn't she called 'Wyld' now? Didn't she leave to make her own team?"
You straighten up in your seat enough to peer over Abigail and Eleanor's head, then give a thankful nod to the embarrassed pre-teen as he ducks back behind the door frame.
"She changed her name, yes," you resume, looking back to the trio on the couch in front of you, "but it wasn't so that she could make her own team. When she first got her power, she'd told the rest of New Wave - her family - that she was only a healer. She kept herself from ever fighting, from ever fully pushing and testing her power's limits… and it nearly drove her crazy."
Abigail's skeptical glare is punctuated by a huff. "I got a copy of the Brockton Bay Youth Guard reports. I'm sure her home life is a more likely culprit for that."
"Abigail, you know my powers," you bite back, meeting the glare evenly. "When I'm training with the Wards or Protectorate, I can see the chemical feedback loop their brains are generating as they really push their powers. I can also see the chemical imbalance caused when someone can't use their power, and there have been hundreds of reports that parahuman prisoners exhibit symptoms of clinical depression and withdrawal when their powers are restrained."
Both Nathan and Abigail flinch at the analogy, but it's Abigail who draws her small stature up to its fullest as her expression sours. "Taylor Hebert, we are not imprisoning our daughter!"
You unclasp your hands from your knees, splaying your fingers open with palms offered up as you lean back in the chair.
"Abigail, the Youth Guard has thousands of reports of what happens when a family tries to… ground a young parahuman for extended periods of time and they also don't have a way to exercise their power. I know you don't like the Wards program - it's far from perfect, I admit - but… I still think it's the best self-defense and a power-therapy alternative to what happens when parahumans try to go out on their own."
Judging by Nathan's flash of suspicion, you must not have been able to keep your voice as level as you wanted. Damn.
"What do you mean, Taylor?" he asks, glancing back to the girls beside him for a split-second. "Did something happen?"
Slowly, you retract your hands and place them evenly atop your chair's armrests. You let out a sigh, but even as you shake your head you can't disperse the memories leaking into several of your trains of consciousness.
Kyle Peters: Bled out from a stab wound to the leg. The cloud of flies and maggots in a home tipped you off as you flew by.
Robert Moore: Gunshot wound to head. His friends called after the muggers ran, but the low-caliber bullet had bounced around in his skull.
Carol Dunham: Died of brain swelling from a blow to the back of the head. She'd stumbled into a dumpster to escape whomever she was fighting and was only found by the rats.
"We've already come across three dead parahumans, one of them of Wards age," you admit, keeping your eyes open to prevent the memories from fully forming. "We're fairly certain they triggered during or soon after the Nine's attack. As much as I want to blame the Elite or the Fallen, everything looks like they died fighting normal criminals."
You turn your eyes to meet the terrified gaze of your Youth Guard counselor. "But you already know the statistic, don't you? '70% of solo capes don't make it past their first six months.' Parahumans need to use their powers, Abigail. They always find a way."
"That's enough."
You blink at Nathan's hard tone, but he winces immediately afterward and offers his free hand up in apology as he continues. "Sorry. I didn't-..." he sighs, looking between the traumatized-looking Abigail and paling Eleanor before meeting your gaze with a sad smile, "... you've given us plenty to think about, Taylor. Thank you. Could we have some time to talk about it? Your offer, I mean."
You nod, then rise to your feet - smoothing your armored dress on reflex - and give a shallow, polite bow.
"I haven't seen any indications that anyone else followed Eleanor last night, so you should be safe for the next day or two," you offer, then extend a palm upwards towards the family on the couch and extrude four small, disposable butane lighters into your hand. "These work as normal lighters, but if you press and hold the bottom for more than three seconds it'll send an emergency alarm to me and the PRT with your location."
Eleanor perks up at the apparent "Tinkertech" (it's all common tech, just streamlined to fit and last for a few months) and eagerly takes all four with a smile - which wavers slightly when her brain catches up and she realizes the implications of them.
"T-thanks, Taylor."
Abigail makes a keening sound as the waterworks start in earnest, but she pops up from the couch to hug you tightly enough that you suspect a baseline human would have had a few disks slip. "Oooooh, Taylor. Bless you, Taylor, bless you."
Nathan is similarly earnest in his appreciation, and Bobby even manages a wave with his thanks as you're on your way out. Within a few steps you're at the front door again, turning back for one last farewell as you meet Eleanor's hopeful gaze.
The current version of "Eleanor," that is.
Like with all Breakers, the original Eleanor died the first time she used her power - each activation of the ability destroying the human body and replacing it with a shard-controlled decoy, which is in turn replaced by a freshly-formed clone when the power is turned off. Evidence points to there being a near-perfect simulation of Eleanor's brain running deep in the massive, extra-dimensional shard to keep the transition smooth, and while Iris agrees with your and Riley's (and Ciara's, oddly enough) argument that it's almost like a true soul… it's not really the same, in the end.
Where does the person start and the shard end? You might never know, and it's not something you'll ever mention to Abigail.
"Stay safe, Glowbug," you offer with a sad smile as you open the door.
Then you activate Optical Shroud and step out into the night.
***
While you understand that Iris had to cut corners when he hastily rebuilt you after Vision of Vengeance's rampage, not a day (or hour) has gone by in the last two weeks that you haven't run up against a problem or situation that is compounded by the failings of your… incomplete reconstruction. Your new appearance causes no end of bad first impressions, your Shard of Perfect Administration is limited to a scant few hundred feet around you if you don't consciously work against its self-repair efforts to push it out farther...
It is slightly ironic that your heroics during those final hours are actually why Iris had to cut so many corners; by succeeding in the face of sheer impossibility, your own spirit soared in power and capacity in response… which made it impossible to rebuild you exactly the same as before.
From what Iris has told you, it would normally take a small army of enlightened technicians three months of constant work to rebuild your body in a way that properly incorporates the new Essence reserves and potential your capacitor is pumping out now. Three months of you suspended, semi-conscious, in a vat of magical liquids, then even more time for the mortal technicians to re-tune your charms to account for the elevated power levels.
While Iris had been more than capable of performing a complete reworking - instead of the half-job he did - it would have taken him at least two weeks with you interred inside his form, leaving the both of you dead to the world for the entire duration. Given the absolute insanity of what had just happened at the time, he opted to get you functional first and foremost so that you could run damage control. After things had died down, he had explained, you could retreat back into his form and get the full re-work that you desperately need.
Then Saki had come back, bringing with her a new message from Autochthon that had tossed out all your old time tables.
So, for now, you're just going to have to live with the changes until Iris finishes his work around the Cradle and the Assembly is complete. The former is likely to take a full month from now, given that your Familiar went and spent his accumulated charge to swap the bottom-third of Rhode Island with the unpopulated forest that the Simurgh was using as her battleground; again, you appreciate his efforts, but… well, there's such a thing as "causing more problems than you solve."
No one died from the impromptu terraforming, even though people had suddenly found their cars, houses, and buildings replaced with untouched wilderness - in large part due to the combined efforts of the local Protectorate forces, Dragon, the Wyld Hunt, and yourself in keeping the packs of large predators away from the disorientated and panicking civilian populations.
As for the Assembly, with Aisha expected back in three days you've got two more Castes to fill: Jade and Orichalcum. Jade being the Caste that exemplifies self-sacrifice and "hero of the people" humility, you're reasonably certain it's a Caste you can fill from the ranks of the Protectorate and Wards fairly easily - your first pick is Missy, of course, but since you haven't been able to speak more than a few words of encouragement to her since she was bustled away to recuperate and vacation with her new family after she was given a clean bill of health… well, you just hope the cute little bad-ass bounces back quickly. Miss Militia and Chevalier are your fallbacks for the Caste, and while you haven't broached the subject directly with Hannah yet despite all the time she's been spending with Saki and Prayer, your gut tells you that your Assembly's successes have helped pave the way. Chevalier… well, you'll let Saki handle that if it comes to it.
No, it's the Orichalcum candidates that have been keeping you up at night. Literally.
Because apparently "grand vision" and "awe-inspiring" go hand-in-hand with lots and lots of baggage.
Iris is no help in this regard, as your few directed inquiries through your Familiar link for help have only received grumblings about "SOLAR EXALTED" that haven't been very informative beyond reinforcing the idea that you need to be absolutely certain that your Orichalcum candidate is loyal to you and the Assembly.
Which brings you back to the present, as you land atop Downtown PRT Headquarters. It's a matter of a pair of thoughts to swap your power armor for your Wards costume, then a few steps take you to the security checkpoint (scanning the guards in turn, out of sheer habit) at the roof's access doorway.
The older guard behind the reinforced screen gives you a gruff nod as the various scanning devices play over your form. "How's it looking out there, Weaver?"
"Not good, Will," you reply with a grimace, but keep your posture confident. "I saw an armed group forming near the empty General Store on Ridge and West Sedgley on my way back. Didn't have time to look too closely, but I've already sent the report in - Chevalier's just about finished with his shift at the Allegheny West relief camp, so he's on his way with a squad."
He grunts. "Damn. Any tags?"
"Not that I could see. It's why I didn't stop."
You can feel the raised eyebrow through the reflective headgear he's wearing, but the old trooper shakes his head and waves you through as the lights go green and the reinforced inner door unlocks with a pneumatic hiss.
"Not gonna ask what's more important - clearance paperwork isn't worth the hassle. You going back out again tonight?"
You give a half-shrug. "Not planning to, but…"
Will gives a life-long smoker's rattling sigh, then nods to you again. "Yeah. Be seeing you, Weaver."
You nod in return, then proceed down the hallway and into the waiting elevator. You punch in today's eight-digit security code (you can't exactly use the fingerprint pad...), then hit the button for the fifth-level basement: Quarantine. Two scanners pop out from the ceiling, joined by two containment foam turrets; the former take ten seconds to do their thing, and then all four pop back into the ceiling after another approving chime rings through the air.
Despite having eight trains of thought and near-superhuman memory and processing power, you somehow keep forgetting to submit the petition to get the elevator's smooth-ska soundtrack changed. Which is suspicious, which means Simurgh, but that's unlikely… which could also mean Simurgh? Hmm. What would be a completely weird way to fix this problem?
You hit upon the answer just as the elevator finishes its descent. Smiling to yourself, you ignore the nervous looks the guards at either side of the elevator give you as you stride out into the grey-and-white hallways. You head straight, left, right, straight, and left until you reach your destination - the unmarked, sterile-white door sliding open and closed perfectly in time with your gait by way of the Orange Drone you have inside the room mashing the 'open/close door' button.
Ignoring the scene going on in the middle of the room, you keep moving past the array of monitors (and attendant Orange Drones) on the left wall until you reach the far side of the room and the lowered workbench that stretches across that side. As usual, it's completely cluttered with all kinds of half-finished projects and crayon-covered sketch paper - though not all the projects here have been canceled prematurely.
Sighing loudly enough to draw the other occupants' attention, you reach into the microwave-looking, glowing green box and withdraw the clear glass tube that contains a fully-formed, healthy eyeball with trailing optic nerve.
"Ah! Taylor! You're- oof! - back!"
Absorbing the freshly-grown replacement eyeball into your Technomatic Integration Engine, you close your eyes as you review the data the charm feeds you about the new inventory item.
… you're still not sure the plan is going to work, but at the least it won't be due to incompatibility. That's the best hope right now, you suppose.
Turning back around, you cast a lidded, unimpressed glare at the tangle of bodies in the center of the room.
"Riley, I have a new project for you…" you begin, your voice low and steady, "but-"
There's a shocked gasp from the pile, which is half-way cut off by a burst of giggling. "A new proje- aheheheh no no wait heeehehee!"
"But I'm reconsidering, if this is what you turned our combat drones into."
Sputtering indignantly, a tussled mop of blonde curls manages to squirm its way out of the top of the playfully-twisting pile of robotic serpents. "Mr. Iris said we had to use dog brains! And then you said you wanted them socialized!"
"Riley, their final bodies are going to be the size of a bus," you sigh, directing one of the Orange Drones to bring up the schematics on a screen so you can point meaningfully to it. "What do you think is going to happen when one of these dragons gets outside of my control range and defaults to its loyalty programming?"
The little bio-tinker gives you a stare with the widest, most sorrowful blue eyes.
"...b-but...! Dragon puppies!"
"Riley, we used scans from veteran K-9 units! They're not puppies!"
She adds a trembling lip to her argument.
You cross your arms across your chest and keep staring.
After several seconds of this, the tiny blonde makes a pouting noise before taking a moment to extricate her right arm. "Oh yeah! Well, how's this!?"
She sticks her fingers in her mouth and gives a sharp whistle, which immediately causes the tangle around her to freeze in anticipation.
"Smoke! Lightning! Oil! Crystal! Metal! Steam!" she calls out to each in turn, then points dramatically at you.
"Beg!"
***
You may have a Tinker rating for the way your charms allow you to absorb technology and then rapidly improve and duplicate it (and for how much your combat potency is reliant on said tech), but you only have to look at actual Tinkers to see what it means when a parahuman shard is dedicated towards that end.
You were gone for barely two hours, and Riley turned your six identical, emotionless, dog-sized robotic dragons into adorable little murderbots, each with distinct personalities to go along with their elemental names. Worse, she also reconfigured their draconic faces to be able to emote to a near cartoonish degree.
You are completely justified assigning her the paperwork to get the elevator music changed, no matter how much she's moping about it.
"Nnnnnoooooo," she moans, her upper body splayed out childishly across her workbench while her seated bottom half kicks its legs petulantly. "You said it was a project, not… paperwoooork!"
"And don't think you're off the hook for these changes, either," you continue, pointedly gesturing at the Creation-style robot dragons whimpering cutely as they float around your waist and paw (claw?) at your dress - your panoramic vision working against you, revealing their glistening eyes staring up at you imploringly. "I wanted to get these brains up for Tinkertech Review by the end of the week! Now we're going to have to spend time making sure that when we install them into their full-sized drone frames they don't try to cuddle up with an armored personnel carrier."
The blonde bio-tinker sighs dramatically and straightens up from her sprawl, hands going to her hair to draw the entire mess into a ponytail while she spins on the chair to face you fully with a pout - a few stray bangs falling down the sides of her face to frame the circular white diamond embedded into her forehead.
It's not lost on you that she's been wearing her hair like that ever since you started putting your own hair up when working in the lab.
"Fiiiiine," she huffs, crossing her arms grumpily, "I'll isolate those behaviors and lock them behind a 'Puppy Time' Protocol, okay?"
You shake your head and sigh. "No, that's asking for a Tinker or Thinker in the field finding a way to trigger the protocols during combat. Riley, I've told you that this project needs to be one-hundred-percent above-board - not only because people's lives are on the line, but this will be all the proof they'll need to show that... all this isn't working out."
Riley's body language doesn't change much, but the way the light fades from her eyes and the tension in her shoulders ramps up it's not hard to see the scared little girl behind the cheerful facade.
Uriel had been pretty clear that he didn't want her in his city after she went and used the soulgem injector before the device could be tested and vetted. Combined with that, the Youth Guard is advocating for her to be moved to Houston, Texas; her extended family is there, the local laws make it easier for her to get a reduced sentence, and Eidolon would be on-hand should she... relapse.
On the other hand, Texas also has much more loose "Stand Your Ground" laws, and Riley's Kill Order bounty is still technically up for grabs until her appeal goes through.
As awful as that is, you aren't sure how to feel that the threat of death isn't what scares her; rather, you suspect what's driving her to perform is the fear of being separated from you.
You close your eyes and sigh.
Iris, any thoughts here?
He's not constantly aware of your antics - busy as he is, meditating to gather essence and calculating the proper resonances needed to convert local reality into a new type of reality - but you've gotten the general impression that he pays more attention to your mind state(s) when you're in the lab. And, sure enough, after a few moments of delay you get a burst of distant emotion through the Familiar link.
[COMISSERATION]
The PRT Therapists tell you to be more distant, to avoid imprinting as the mass-murderer's mother-figure, while your near-omnipotent, oft-rampaging spirit of crafting tells you to hand out hugs. What has your life become?
Running a hand through your own hair, you lean your head back and stare uselessly at the ceiling - your charms still giving you perfect vision of Riley's emotional shut-down.
"You can make a new dragon for yourself, if you want."
The statement hangs in the air for a few seconds, until Riley finally blinks in confusion and disbelief.
"Wh-... what?"
Rolling your head back down to meet her gaze for a second, you then look down and gesture at the still-begging robotic dragons floating in the air around your waist.
"After you finish making these six fully compliant with the K-9 training videos and manuals I gave you... then… you can make a version just for yourself to keep around the lab."
There's a split-second where her jaw drops in awe, then she's a tiny little orange-jumpsuit blur as leaps off the chair and flings herself at you with open arms-
"Thank you thank you thank you thank you-!"
- but a firm hand on her shoulder keeps her from making contact as you hold her at arm's length, giving her a stern look as she babbles gleeful appreciation at you.
"Ah ah ah," you caution, holding up a warding index finger on your spare hand. "Paperwork, then fix these six… then organize your workbench like you said you would, and then you can start on it."
Showing her pre-teen nature, her mood completely shifts yet again into shocked indignation.
"You said after I fixed them! You didn't say I had to organize my desk before!"
"Riley, your side of the room has been a mess all week."
She points at you angrily. "That's because you won't let me install a pocket-dimension augmentation into my hand like you have!"
You increase the intensity of your own level stare in response. "So you're saying you'd rather have that then a pet dragon?"
A polite cough echoes from one of the blank monitors you keep active for the specific guest that is now manifesting herself through it.
"I really wish the two of you had called them 'wyrms' like I suggested," Dragon sighs, her wireframe avatar smiling a bit awkwardly.
Completing another mood-swing in the span of a breath, Riley whips around to face the large monitor and wave her arms excitedly.
"Dragon! Taylor says I can make one just for myself!"
"Really?" she muses, eyebrows raising a fraction as the avatar then looks in your direction. "Is it going to have weapons, too?"
Your expression hardens. "No. Base model, no weapons. Or crafting tools."
"Whaaaaat?!" the tiny bio-tinker gasps, betrayed. "Taylor!"
"If you can go a whole…" you pause, calculating for a moment, "... two weeks without turning it into a deadly weapon, then I might be able to persuade Director Uriel into letting you equip it with some basic mechanical tools."
The young blonde has a shadow of fear flash across her face as you mention Uriel's name, morphing into a slightly-distant tightening of her mouth as she realizes the pet is yet another test.
"Ah-... oh-... okay, " she sighs.
You wince, right hand twitching as you consider reaching out and resting it on her shoulder.
"Riley, I-"
Dragon, expression clouded, interrupts the thought.
"Taylor, it's almost 9:30, are you still-"
And then a whirling tear of reality opens a few feet to your left, black and white hexagons of various sizes swirling out from a central point in space to form a tesselating whirlpool nearly five feet across. Like watching your own Technomorphic Integration Engine charm in reverse, a humanoid form unravels from the central point in an impossible, spiraling motion that takes barely a second from start to finish.
But to label the figure as "human" is to consider a toddler's paint splatters a classical masterpiece. In every sense of the word, the figure transcends and redefines the artistry and beauty of the human body: its hair is not "black," it is a collection of the finest strands of pure, spun obsidian glass; every beam of light that strikes the form only highlights some new, breathtaking aspect; considerations of gender, shape, and age are discarded, leaving only the many shades of respect, awe, and desire that a human could ever inspire in another.
Draped in a flowing gown plucked right out of ancient Japan's most dazzling fashions, the room stills as the figure manifests fully in this reality and opens its luminous, inhumanly beautiful eyes-
"Is everything ready, Tay-...?"
The room's temperature plummets, and you can feel your essence capacitor freeze in your chest at the frigid look directed at your supportive gauntlet on Riley's shoulder.
Saki's gaze drifts back up to meet your own, any trace of warmth replaced by cold, restrained neutrality.
"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"
***
"You said she'd be in bed by nine!"
Closing your eyes (more out of reflex and weariness, as it blocks your three-sixty vision not at all), you massage the closed eyes of your Mobile Sensory Drone charm on your forehead - trying to work away the phantom pain caused by the drones you had out self-destructing when Saki whisked you away to her personal dimension.
"I was about to send her to bed when you walked in, Saki," you sigh, shaking your head. "Why did you even portal in if she was there?"
Taking a few swishing steps away from the now-empty portal, you hear a slight huff as Saki brings up a hand to begin interfacing with her charm.
"I couldn't see her."
You let the silence hang for a moment as a shimmering, foot-wide black hexagon of jade rises to nearly six feet in height before the silver-skinned beauty. If her abrupt answer wasn't a big enough clue to her real reasoning, then the way she immediately begins tapping with a bit too much effort at an invisible interface that has popped up from it would give her away.
"... you mean you saw the dragons first, and forgot to look for Riley."
"That's-!," she huffs again, spinning about in a flutter of silks to face you with hints of a blush quickly morphing into a withering glare. "That's not the point! You're being too nice to her!"
You manage not to rock back from the sheer force of her personality, but it's only because you can tell her heart's not really behind it. Instead, you meet her gaze as evenly as you can and draw out the silence for a long minute.
Neither of you need to blink, of course, but even so you still probably can't beat her in a straight staring contest - even with your extra eyes.
"... was there something you didn't tell us about what you saw in her head, then?"
Glowing white eyes go wide in shock for a split-second before Saki looks away in shame. Yes, it's a low blow, but it's what your caste was built for.
"...no."
You nod, still maintaining your own stare… but you can't quite keep it going in the face of the painful memories you just brought up. Taking a step forward, you reach out a hand and touch her right arm.
"Saki, you know I'm the only one able to stand up for her, right?"
She doesn't pull away, but her left hand clenches into a fist as she stares at the ground with an expression of pained frustration.
"... mmn."
It's wordless grunt, but there's just enough of an assent in there that you leave it be.
Still, the silence hangs for a long few moments.
"You didn't say much afterwards, and then right after there was the Simurgh mess..." you sigh, "...but I'm sorry I haven't reached out. How are you doing?"
There's a flash of vacancy in her eyes when you mention the events of three days ago, but it's barely a heartbeat before she shakes her head and lets her shoulders sag.
"It's… they're not my memories, so I only remember them if I think about it. It's like… opening a book, I guess?"
You nod in understanding, even if you've heard the explanation of how her Personality Override Spike works several times now - you suspect she's had to explain it so many times to the PRT over the last week that it's just become a habit for her to reassure scientists and security personnel that no, I'm not going to confuse those memories for my own.
"It's just that seeing her made me…" she winces, "... open that book, again. What she went through."
You give her arm a reassuring squeeze, but you can't help but frown.
"Does that happen often?"
"No, no," Saki blinks, finally looking back up to meet your gaze again - only to then immediately look away again in a mixture of shame and disgust. "It's just… when I saw her, I... accidentally activated the charm again."
You are careful not to react outwardly, but more than one of your consciousnesses is alarmed that she was able to extrude a foot-long spike from one of her palms without you even noticing. Once again, you are forced to admit that the overly-long sleeves she's grown fond of lately are far more useful than they look. Absently, you dedicate one train of thought to figuring out if you could work those kinds of sleeves into your own outfits without them eventually driving you crazy.
Still, the admission forces you to consider a more important factor than your own situational awareness - a factor you've been dancing around mentally ever since Saki returned from her own Exaltation.
Stepping forward to take hold of her other arm, you keep your gaze solemn despite the smaller beauty's surprise at your sudden closeness.
"Saki, if it really does bother you that much, I can hand her off to the PRT completely."
Though you've heard from the other Wards that she's been getting better and better at disguising her expressions with every day that passes, Saki's full-blown, parted-mouth shock is genuine enough that you suspect you've successfully made her understand your seriousness.
Riley is useful, yes. A victim as much as she's a twisted mass-murderer, but her Tinker speciality combined with her energetic attitude and relentless desire to learn and create make her a near-perfect lab assistant for an Alchemical Exalted… to the point that even Iris was quick to forgive her earlier tresspasses against him during his captivity (though he was only really upset that she'd confused his gender and put him in a dress).
But your Assembly always comes first.
Judging by the way Saki's smiling now, you think she understands that too-...
… she's not looking at you, anymore, but rather through you. She only does that when...
"Saki, no."
The little smut-peddler blinks in surprise at being caught in another brainstorm, then steps away and brings a sleeved hand to her mouth as she clears her throat.
"A-ah… I don't know what you're talking about, Taylor," she muses, not even bothering to hide her growing smile as her voice grows husky and expression vacant again. "You're just so forceful, I can't help but think of what Chris would think if he saw us! Or- Or Dean! Or Weld!"
You don't bother hiding your embarrassment, more focused on extruding what you need to cut this nonsense off before it really gets going.
"... asking about you every time we've been by a beach, so for fun I started making up stories about what you must be doing in Philly with Weld and Drag- ackpththptht!"
"No," you admonish flatly, spritzing her with the water bottle.
"Bad. Bad Saki."
***
By the time you're done "chasing" her around Grasp's pagoda-form while she spouts nonsense, Saki and her outfit are thoroughly soaked and you've gone through two full spray bottles.
You… hope it's nonsense, though you'll undoubtedly find out if she has been telling the other Wards those stories while they've all been on vacation; there's no way Dennis or Ernest won't be able to stop themselves from asking if you've really been doing things like "experimentally testing Weld's stamina" or "crafting Dragon a body so that you can finally hold each other for real."
… it's a good thing you handed the Body-Double Drone project off to Colin to give him something to do in Quarantine.
Grasp wasn't your only audience, however, as Ciara emerged to silently observe the antics around the time you switched to your second bottle. When Saki had finally run out of ideas ("For now!") and retreated back inside to change into a less-sopping outfit, the blonde remained.
Still wearing her loosely-form-fitting prison jumpsuit, piercing green eyes regard you from behind barely-restrained, waist-length blonde locks with the same distant, puzzled expression she apparently wears all the time now. You meet her gaze evenly, letting the silence drag on as you take this opportunity to update your scans of her brain chemistry.
Since Saki's had to keep Grasp in her pocket dimension while she's travelling incognito with the other Wards, she's allowed the Primordial War veteran to keep the child-looking cape entertained; since "prisoners" of her charm are effectively frozen in time, the hope is that extended (and experienced) time apart from her shard will reveal just how much of the "Faerie Queen" insanity is Ciara, and how much is induced by her power.
You imagine that Saki has peeked into Ciara's mind by now, but the fact that she hasn't mentioned it to you is… telling, in its own way. Still, Saki asked to let her handle Ciara for now, so you'll trust that she'll keep you informed if something important comes up; you don't have the time to deal directly with the imprisoned forty-something tween, since you have more than enough business in the real world to deal with at the moment.
Business such as what brought you here now.
"Administrator."
You allow your eyebrows to raise, having expected her to simply stare at you the whole time Saki was away changing.
"Ciara."
The barely-five-foot blonde rotates her head towards the vast monochrome horizon, then allows her eyes to break your gaze to finally look to where her head is pointing.
"Do you, too, possess such a realm within yourself?"
Turning your head to give the impression you're looking that way as well, you consider the question for a moment before raising your hand and making a "so-so" gesture.
"My own converted shard has a realm like this, yes, but it's completely different in design and I can't enter it physically."
A slow blink.
"You have seen it."
You grunt at the statement, nodding.
The two of you stand there, gazing out from the open doorway of Grasp's pagoda-form for a long, quiet moment.
"Are you not terrified?"
Her tone is light, as if asking about the weather, but there's an ever-so-slight hint of something below it - quick enough that you almost miss it. Despair? Regret?
You don't turn to look at her, since she's still looking outwards, but you frown regardless.
"By?"
"We are less than ants to them, the true actors," she wonders aloud, lifting an upward-facing palm as if presenting the whole world to you. "Are you not humbled by this display? This disparity?"
Your immediate impulse is to dismiss the question, but you hold your tongue for a moment to give it more than a moment's thought and let your various minds fully consider the context. After all, Saki got her a translator-earpiece days ago; there's no way that Grasp hasn't told her all about the history and purpose of Exalted by now.
"I… suppose so, yes."
Ciara blinks owlishly, then drops her hand and turns her head to look at you with more focus than she's displayed these last few minutes. Still, she doesn't say anything more so you take her silence as the demand for an explanation that it is.
Crossing your arms over your chest, you tilt your head slightly as you absently look out across the black-and-white horizon.
"There's a good line in the Wards handbook, even if they mangled the quote: 'Courage isn't the lack of fear, but what you do in the face of it,'" you shrug, matter-of-factually. "Fear is rooted in subconscious threat-assessment routines, anyway, so it wouldn't even be a smart thing to ignore it completely."
You wave your right hand out, gesturing to the display of the Great Maker's power that is the very reality you stand atop and within.
"Exalted were designed to fight Primordials, sure, but… not alone. Not without training, time, and support," you muse, frowning even further in thought. "From what I've heard, a lot of Exalts died during the War... and they had entire armies mortals, gods, and Exalts - of different kinds, even - all working together. So even during the best-case scenario, it wasn't a sure thing."
Turning your head, you meet the confusion in Ciara's jade-green stare with your own burning, golden glow.
"Guess we'll just have to be better," you grin.
...
… she just stares at you for a long, silent minute as you awkwardly hold the smirk, before eventually turning back to look out at the horizon.
Thankfully, you're saved from further embarrassment by Saki's bustling return - dolled up in another series of flowing silks that momentarily halts all conscious thought again.
You sigh. "Saki, can you... turn it down, please?"
She blinks in response, her mouth making a little 'o' that-... no! You like boys! Maker why?! Ugh!
"But… aren't I going to be the one talking with her?"
"Yes but-... fine," you grunt, waving her past as she swishes past the two of you in the doorway. "Just- just go get Prayer so we can get on with this."
She beams - and you're pretty sure there's actual backlighting involved as she does so - then spins around and bustles over to the massive ring a few yards away. An occluded whirlpool whirls to life at her approach, distorting the vision of what appears to be a darkened hotel room. Perhaps having learned her lesson from before, Saki hesitates briefly and you notice the scene change ever-so-slightly a few times before she finally nods to herself and steps through with a whirlwind of displaced air.
Though that leaves you alone with Ciara and Grasp again. Come to think of it, the gregarious pagoda-scorpion has been rather quiet-
"Your… dominance features prominently in her tales."
Slowly, you turn your head to stare at the solemn little blonde beside you.
Slowly, she meets your own gaze.
"I chose this form to escape such interests and desires," she says flatly. "Do not court me."
Behind you, there's a grinding of metal and wood that sounds distinctly like a certain mechanical someone trying to restrain themselves from giggling uncontrollably.
...
… maybe the End of Existence wouldn't be so bad?
***
Saki's prompt return with Prayer spares you from having to give more than a strangled grunt in response to Ciara's statement; your various minds are torn between inquiring about whatever slander Saki is writing or whether Ciara is trying to play a joke on you, but ultimately you decide that you're just going to resolve to remain blissfully ignorant for the moment.
Stepping out of the pagoda's archway and taking a few steps towards your approaching Assembly members, you raise a gauntlet in greeting to Prayer - the large cerulean woman is clad in the black PRT-brand sleepwear/sweatsuit outfit you've caught her wearing during the last few days when you called at night, though her expression is a bit tighter than usual.
"'Evening, Prayer," you offer, smiling lightly to hopefully put her more at ease. "How was your first day as Camden's Senior Supervisory Agent in Charge?"
Before the pajama-clad woman can even so much as twitch in response, Saki rounds on her with a gasp and a accusing poke.
"That's why you were gone all day today! I thought you said you were getting promoted after the trip!"
You're pretty sure you noticed a restrained flinch at Saki's prodding of her ribs - and judging by Saki's narrowed eyes and smirk she noticed too - but the stoic woman tries to cover it up by bringing a fist up to her mouth to cover clearing her throat.
"Camden required my services sooner than expected," she hums in her deep, crystalline tone. "Sarah and Ethan are more deserving, too."
Both you and Saki frown at the downplay, though Saki shuffles a step closer and gives a half-hug that barely reaches around the small of Prayer's back.
"Everyone liked having you there, Prayer. And you deserve a break, too!"
Another noncommittal hum.
"In serving, I am refreshed. Mourn not."
Saki wrinkles her nose, but sighs and steps away while giving you a glance that communicates quite clearly that you are setting a bad example for her. You give a flat stare in response to that ridiculous allegation.
"It's still not going to be the same," she mutters, turning to the empty space at her side and holding her hands out to interface with her charm again. "And we couldn't even wait for Aisha to get back, so now it's just me."
You and Prayer glance at each other and share a frown at Saki's last muttered statement, though you're not sure Prayer heard all the undertones that you did.
Taking a few steps forward, you get within arms' reach of the shorter, silken-clad Starmetal but opt to keep your distance as she works. Though she's not really looking at you now - her gaze locked on the cluster of raised hexagons in front of her again - you try to smother your frown and offer a supportive half-smile instead.
"Saki-"
"I offer my company, then."
All three of you freeze for a moment, then turn to Ciara at her ominous declaration - the small blonde having stayed just a few feet behind you this whole time.
Serves you right for talking in English instead of Old Realm.
"A-ah… n-no, that's alright Ciara," Saki laughs, almost keeping all of the panic out of her expression and voice. "I-... I don't think people would be happy if I let you out, even if it was just so you could vacation with us."
The tiny terror frowns, but makes a smooth, grand gesture with her left hand to dismiss the paltry concern. "You fear for your safety while your Assembly heeds higher callings. None would so much as breathe a challenge with you under my protection."
Even with your attention focused on the de-powered Trump to your side, you catch Saki's quick glance that practically screams a little help here?!
… maybe leaving the resocialization of a psychotic mass-murderer to a girl who was a twin-dependent introverted teenager just barely a week ago… wasn't the best idea.
Not without giving her a plan, at least. Something to brainstorm with Accord about when you get back later tonight.
Since she's already within arms' reach, you place your left hand on the tiny blonde's shoulder and give her a solemn frown to match the one she levels at you as her head swivels to meet your gaze.
"Ciara, it hasn't even been a week since you tried to kill Saki. And I'm fairly certain you were going to try to kill me and Prayer, too."
"I have apologized to the Warden for my affront," she intones, her glare still imposing despite her powerlessness. "I lacked… perspective. Perspective I have graciously been afforded, when by all rights I was to be bound and silenced, ignorant for eternity."
"And you'd keep that perspective when your shard reconnects?" you glower, narrowing your eyes as you notice her twitch slightly. Still, you keep going just as she's about to open her mouth to respond. "It doesn't matter: if Saki lets you out, barely six days after she promised to keep you contained, no one will ever trust her ability to keep someone secure in here again."
She scoffs. "You are Exalted, yet you concern yourself with the opinions of chaff."
The grip of your soulsteel gauntlet tightens on her right shoulder, even if she's not the one you want to scream at. Leaning closer, you tilt your head to angle your gaze at the nervous-looking pagoda a dozen yards away - you have thought he'd wizened up after being slapped down by Iris, but it looks like he's been filling Ciara's head with all the wrong ideas.
"That..." you hiss, feeling steam leaking from your mouth as you bare your teeth, "... is how the other Exalted acted. And that is why their entire reality is a universe-sized black hole, and why we have only a few months to stop it from dooming us as well."
The glow you're emitting is bright enough to be reflected in Ciara's widening green eyes, but she manages to keep herself from flinching too much when you turn back and meet her gaze fully again.
"And if that wasn't enough, we've got our own apocalypse to avoid, don't we?"
The steel behind her eyes pulls away, her expression growing absent as the fight drains out of her frame. Whatever she's seeing now isn't really you anymore, even if you suspect some part of her can still hear your words.
"We're only getting out of this if we act like Alchemicals, and that means shoving pride in the garbage so we can actually get things done," you growl, leaning back and firmly guiding her behind you again so that you can turn your full attention to the cluster of hexagons in front of you.
Prayer, having shifted during your rant to back you up, places a steadying hand atop Ciara's left shoulder to keep the small girl from stumbling.
Your eyes flick to Saki, who has been staring blankly at your exchange. Blinking at your attention, however, she quickly rouses herself and makes a few final key-presses on the invisible interface in front of her.
The sounds of hissing pistons fills the air for a brief moment as the hexagon cluster falls back to lie flush with the floor again - only this time, a figure has been left behind atop the black-jade landscape.
The woman looks in her late twenties at the most, even though you know she's well into her forties by now. Her dusty brown skin and long black hair combining with a squarer face gives away her hispanic heritage, though there is a large scar over her right eye that looks like it never healed properly.
Still, even crumpled on the floor and fully covered in a similar black-and-white striped jumpsuit like Ciara, her statuesque form is recognizable - despite the fact that the legendary heroine has certainly never looked as helpless as she does now.
You don't want to dwell on how many hours Cauldron spent to keep Rebecca Costa-Brown's secret identity.... or how many bodies they buried.
Stepping over to Alexandria's body, your medical scan notes that Saki's shard-charm only healed up some of the fringe damage around her abdominal wounds - her lower spine still a mish-mash of solid pieces (most of which you fished out of the river yourself) and Cauldron-produced prosthetics that have at least restored her to civilian-level mobility. That must mean the charm doesn't think it's damaged, or… will it just not repair damage that severe? Saki's final meditation sessions had revealed that the prison will "maintain" wounded prisoners if left in stasis for at least a full day, but it looks like that only means it'll do the bare minimum to keep the subject from bleeding out.
Not that Alexandria was bleeding when Saki picked her up from Cauldron's base - it was only when she was whisked into this realm that the heroine's blood resumed flowing for the first time in decades. Apparently, even though the heroine had thought that the minimal amount of healing that Cauldron had managed had made it safe for her to walk again despite the grievous wounds… the restoration of her normal human faculties had been messy.
You weren't there at the time, but after the heroine had been fully interred into the shard-charm's depths, Saki claims a few foot-long, beetle-like machines swarmed out of the ground to clean everything away. Even more surprisingly, they'd all sported matching paint jobs and accessories to make them look like little prison guards. While you are not jealous, you are curious if those modifications were done for Saki… or because of Saki.
Shaking your head, you spare a thought to extrude the vial containing the eyeball you had Riley whip up from the small amount of blood that Saki managed to keep away from the janitor-beetles. After all, if you're going to be putting Alexandria back together, you might as well go all the way.
Anima sparking to life as you let your hands fall apart into surgical tools, you wait for Saki to step over to position herself at Alexandria's feet - at the same time, your shortest Assembly member mentally guides her shard-charm to raise the floor such that the hexagons underneath the unconscious heroine have become an improvised table. A light, focused frown crosses her expression for a moment, before a scorpion-like tail emerges from the folds of her dress to smoothly inject draughts of both Great Maker's Mercy and Metabolic Accelerator into Alexandria's right foot.
Both healing infusions thus applied, Saki's eyes flicker to meet yours before she nods in resolution, closes her eyes, and jabs her Personality Override Spike into Alexandria's left foot.
You turn your head, glancing behind you to where Prayer is still supporting a blank-faced Ciara. Meeting the taller woman's stoic gaze is enough for her to nod mechanically in acknowledgement, then smoothly release the tiny blonde to glide up to your side. As she takes up her own position, she stretches out her hands - fingers splayed wide - just as the clay-like skin along her hands begins to disgorge tens of thousands of tiny little crystalline spiders.
With your head still turned in her direction, your eyes back to meet Ciara's slowly-focusing gaze. Green eyes flicker to the raised figure on the altar-like dais, then to the obvious displays of power, before turning back to you.
"A sacrifice?"
You snort, mouth a grim line as your minds focus in on the information pouring in through your renewed medical scans.
"A miracle," you grunt out, turning back to the figure as you let your Omnitool Implants begin to slice away at cloth, skin, and sinew.
"Watch and learn."
***
Your rebuild by Iris had the added benefit of improving some of your existing charms to take into account your rapid mental, physical, and spiritual growth; instead of simply building entirely new charms, Autochthonians designed increasingly-powerful submodules to expand the capabilities of the original charm as the Alchemical grew in power themselves. Your Industrial Survival Frame charm, for instance, now possesses the Environmental Dominance submodule, which now allows you ignore "environmental" damage even when it's a blatant attack.
It'll make your next encounter against Behemoth a bit easier, yes, but you're not going to bet against the Herokiller finding ways around your improved resistances.
Your Omnitool Implants charm received two upgrades as well, both as a result of the heightened mental faculties that you gained as a result of your soul-journey: an additional installation each of the Secondary Telefractor Assembly and Comprehensive Surgical Systems submodules. The former has pushed even your most slap-dash crafting, "Tinkering," or cooking attempts into the realm of fantasy, as now practically anything you touch with the charm is assembled into what you can only describe as the most physically Perfect form that reality itself can allow. While this has understandably pushed your efforts to cobble together improved versions of appropriated Tinkertech to new heights, it's also caused all manner of problems by way of your cooking - such as incessant demands to make the coffee for every PRT HQ shift instead of just the morning shift, or how you caused a brawl over your lasagne bolognese when you volunteered to cook for relief camp staff.
But it is the improvement to your Comprehensive Surgical Systems submod that has brought you here - forearms-deep in Alexandria's guts - even though you intellectually only possess rudimentary knowledge of proper surgical procedures. For even though the first two installations of the submod had granted you the capability to perform insanely-complicated, hours-long procedures with only your hands and a few minutes of effort, surgery itself was still reliant on your training… or lack thereof. Now, however…
… well, you can just sort of... point the dozens of sinister-looking surgical/torture implements at the patient and the charm will do most of the work for you, piecing together anything short of completely-missing limbs. It's been surprisingly educational to watch whenever you've put them to task, since you make sure to keep your diagnostic scans going while the charm does its work, but the insights you've gleaned don't always… stick?
It's something you've discussed with Riley as part of your agreement to teach her what you know about Alchemical charms and their construction, installation, and operation (which isn't that much, and Iris has always been quick to correct you). Primarily, you wondered how much the process resembled the insights and capabilities granted to her by her Tinker shard; it's well-understood by the general populous that Tinkers get superhuman understanding of the ins-and-outs of their speciality, but what's often overlooked is that their shards' occasional direct interference during their "Tinkering" is just as reality-breaking as your own charms tend to be.
It shouldn't be physically possible to use a coffee grinder to perform open-brain surgery and leave behind barely any evidence of the deed, yet such antics were an everyday affair for Bonesaw.
"Oh, I get all the funny details that I'll need," she had explained cheerily. "Exactly how long I need to poke someone with an exposed wire to restart their heart without frying their noggin, how much of a frying pan I need to shave off to add to a tub of blood, things like that."
You manage to restrain your sigh, since you'd rather not breathe in the steam wafting up from where the Omnitools are flash-searing the final pieces of Alexandria's small intestine together.
...
… yup. It smells like reheating pork sausage that came out of a sewer, as these types of injuries usually do.
...
You're never going to get around to eating those leftovers from last week, are you?
It's a petty thought, given how relieved you should be feeling that the restoration of her spinal column and abdominal organs has proceeded even better than planned, but ultimately you're dreading the final part of this whole endeavor: actually talking with your childhood heroine about how she's secretly one of the worst criminals in human history.
And yet, she's still one of your potential Orichalcum candidates.
Out of reflex, you eye Saki's breathtakingly-composed form-... her focused, motionless form at the foot of the operating table-slash-altar. She's been inside Alexandria's head for the last twenty minutes, and since the heroine would know that Saki is in her head (as the charm affords its victims that vague awareness) you agreed with your newest Assembly member that trying to dig too deep into Alexandria's memories was more likely to backfire in the long run. Instead, Saki volunteered to simply converse with the heroine in the shared mindscape and try to get her to volunteer relevant memories - Saki believing that she'd be able to figure out if Alexandria was hiding anything pertinent or not.
… you really hope she's not grilling Alexandria on her sex life, even if that's been a hot topic of debate on the Internet since the medium was invented.
Ruthlessly crushing that train of thought along with the gestating trains of thought that it was spawning, you bring your focus back to the final ministrations of your various wicked surgical implements as they seal up the skin of Alexandria's toned abdomen - any traces of injury melting away as Prayer's active healing charm combines with Saki's injected healing formulas to result in nigh-instantaneous healing. Scans… yes, still showing she's probably healthier now than she has ever been in her life. All that's left…
You reach over with your left arm - over Prayer's own outstretched hands - to the long-time heroine's scarred visage, and in a matter of seconds the Tinkertech prosthetic eye that the Siberian had forced upon her is popped out and replaced with a fully-organic, Mark 1 eyeball. Some quick cuts to encourage skin regrowth around the area, and any traces of the old injury are gone as well.
You lean back, straightening your posture as you do two more complete diagnostic scans… then let your arms drop back to your sides once they finish reassembling her prison jumpsuit, your forearms whirring and clicking as they transition back into your usual soulsteel gauntlets. Turning your head left to glance fully at Prayer, the taller woman by your side meets your gaze and lowers her own arms as she takes a small step back to place herself just behind your left shoulder.
Idly noting that Ciara mimics Prayer's movement to place herself behind Saki's right shoulder, you reach out with your hand to tap Saki's left hand - the hand connected to Alexandria's left foot through her Personality Override Spike - and… wait.
A silent moment passes…
… but just as you're about to signal her again, Saki's eyelids flutter briefly and then open fully as she blinks owlishly at the waking world.
Only for her to wince in blatant unease as she turns her head to meet your gaze.
"U-uhm, Taylor? I'm not sure I-"
In a single, swift movement, Alexandria rolls off the table and springs into a defensive stance - Saki making an "eep!" noise as she recoils her hands and scorpion-like tail in surprise. The veteran heroine's eyes flicker across your group with cold, calculating intelligence-
She seems to pause, blinking one eye then the next in sequence as she studies your group, before uncurling her right fist to reach up and feel around her right eye socket. Brow furrowing as she doesn't find any trace of the scarring from before, her gaze unfocuses for a brief moment before she closes both eyes and releases the tension in her frame with a long sigh.
"Bonesaw's work?" she asks, though her tone makes you think it's practically a rhetorical question.
"It's identical to your other eye," you reply evenly, meeting her matching eyes as she opens them again. "I made the point that if you wanted to be able to squirt acid or shoot lasers, you would have already installed something like that."
You receive a momentary gimlet stare in return, but it vanishes with a shake of her head.
Then, straightening up into a confident posture that makes your own attempts seem like a child's play-acting, Alexandria crosses her arms over her chest and surveys the group before her - face stern, but considering.
"We're all busy people, so I won't waste time. You saved my life and returned my sight. I am genuinely thankful," declares, nodding to Prayer, yourself, and Saki in turn, before meeting your gaze again. "As you already have Cauldron's cooperation there isn't much more I can give or do for you…"
Her gaze shifts to Saki. "Unless you're looking to convince me to accept your conversion process and join your Assembly. Asking to relive my few attempts at dating is an odd way to go about evaluating my character, though."
Looking back to you, she uncrosses her right arm from her chest and extends it in a 'please continue' wave.
"So go on, then. I'm listening."
***
While she wasn't the first cape with super-strength, super-toughness, and flight, there is a reason that relatively-common powerset is known as the "Alexandria Package": for nearly thirty years, Alexandria has defined the "flying brick" stereotype due to her dominating physical presence in every fight barring Endbringer battles (and even then, she regularly tosses the monsters around).
But all those years ago, the heroine chose her name in the hopes of being recognized for the more subtle aspect of her power: an eidetic memory with instantaneous recall of even the most trivial of details. While memory doesn't necessarily mean comprehension, the merchandise of her that you collected as a young girl touted such feats as learning languages as quickly as she could read a translation book, memorizing expansive maps with a single glance, or even adapting her memory of all her past conversations to perfect the art of cold reading.
When people consider the Triumvirate, while Eidolon is recognized as the most powerful and Legend the most charismatic, Alexandria is undoubtedly the brains of their group.
The woman before you no longer access to these feats - Saki's prison having blocked her shard's connection and rendered her completely human.
You, however, are not so limited.
Repeatedly tapping your Aura-Dampening Component charm to prevent your anima from bursting to life, the world slows to a crawl as you pump more and more essence through the bio-mechanical wonders installed throughout your body - each installed charm shaping the essence in specific patterns that enhance your mind, body, and soul.
While your Dynamic Reaction Enhancement System is your typical go-to for whenever you need to give yourself time to think, you've discovered (and confirmed with Iris) that's barely the tip of the iceberg; nearly any action, including activating your other charms, can be sped up if used in conjunction with the boost. Augmenting everything you do in such a way will completely drain you of essence in a matter of moments, however, so you only save repeated applications of the charm for situations such as this.
Your Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade is already on, of course, as granting you additional trains of thought allowed you to balance the onslaught of information streaming in through your Optical Enhancement's Diagnostic Overlay during the operation. The former charm also received a dramatic improvement from your recent reconstruction, as your expanded Essence reserves have enabled the charm to grant you eight simultaneous consciousnesses instead of the original six - an improvement that similarly carries over when you provide it to parahumans, much to Armsmaster's and Accord's (restrained, in their own ways) delight.
But it is one of your new charms that you are most focused on activating right now. Reactivating, actually, as you just finished using it to help augment and streamline your Assembly's combined efforts during the operation: Synergy-Promoting Upgrade. A curious bundle of orichalcum wires around a white jade ball-bearing set just under your right clavicle, activating it emits continuous, invisible pulses of essence that wash over everyone you consciously consider to be "helping" you with some task - the pulses subtly nudging them to align their thoughts and actions so that your entire group performs less like a series of individuals working towards a goal… and more like a seamless array of cogs in some perfectly-tuned machine.
It's not mind control or telepathy, as both you and the PRT initially worried over during the re-testing you went through last week. Thankfully, none of you actually know what the others are doing or thinking at any given moment, and any one member of the group could easily break out of the charm-guided harmony without any observed difficulty or side-effects; despite some initial skepticism, the reviewing board ultimately called it a "harmless" Master/Shaker effect and gave you permission to use it freely in your "Tinkering" efforts.
As you are about to once again demonstrate, its absurd utility stretches far beyond the laboratory…
… such as allowing your team to absolutely dominate one of the world's greatest orators.
"No."
Still, the odd quirk of using Synergy-Promoting Upgrade is that it feels like you're all acting on a script that none of you quite remember; in this case, Prayer's stern, crystalline tone voices your thought just as you realized it needed to be said. Similarly, Saki is the one to voice the next line in your head - not because you couldn't, but because the message has more meaning when conveyed through her lips.
"We fixed you because it's the right thing to do, and you deserve it," the burnished-silver girl frowns, seemingly disappointed. "You don't deserve to be one of us, though. You're a liar."
The charm isn't flawless, however, and if some of you are working at cross-purposes then it tends to fail… dramatically.
In this case, you had expected Saki to keep Alexandria out for a bit longer so that you could discuss whatever she'd gleaned from her mental conversations with the heroine - specifically, if what she found in there made a compelling argument for her becoming your Assembly's Orichalcum caste. Alexandria's mention that the "conversations" had been experienced through the reliving the heroine's dating life was... exasperating, yet not unexpected; you had keyed onto the Twins' potential for the Starmetal caste because of their uncanny ways of figuring people out by looking at a person's love life, romantic desires... and their perversions.
Alexandria seemed only confused instead of insulted or angry, so she likely understood the reasoning as much as you do.
Still, Saki has plenty of ways to communicate subtly and silently if she'd found anything exceptionally positive or negative. So… that likely means she's playing up the darker side of Alexandria's history, but ultimately will defer to however you want to steer the conversation. And you think you get where she's going with this...
The hispanic heroine, for her part, reveals a slight widening of the eyes that morphs into a furrowed brow before she completely schools her expression into what you expect is her usual mask of cold confidence.
"You know what we're up against," she replies icly, giving Saki her full attention. "I made it a point for us as we set out to routinely run the numbers for going public with what we had, what we knew, just on the off-chance that it would improve the numbers for the final fight."
She shakes her head, her jaw tensing and composure cracking as you suspect she tries to pull up memories and - again, for the first time in decades - fails to recall them as perfectly as she normally should. Nevertheless, she regains her confidence quickly enough that the break in character could be passed as intentional if you specifically weren't looking for it.
She looks up from her recollection to meet your eyes again.
"We had plenty of candidates that had the discipline and fortitude to make the decisions we needed, but no one had the… perspective, or the resources I could bring to bear at a moment's notice. If you think things are chaotic now, you should have seen what it was like back then - when every decision was establishing precedent and it was just normal police against people that could punch down buildings and walk through bullets."
Lifting your hands from your sides, you spread your arms slightly in front of you in a conciliatory gesture while otherwise remaining motionless - your various active charms lending the movements a smooth, mechanical appearance.
"You misunderstand, Rebecca Costa-Brown. We don't like what you did, yes, but none of us have looked at the threat we face and devised a better solution. We are not disappointed in you because you lied. We are disappointed because, somewhere along the way, you became a liar."
"To the world, to yourself" Prayer intones, seamlessly continuing your thought. "The Truth is your enemy, in all things."
"You lie about everything, control everything… even the things you don't really need to," Saki finishes, with a sad smile and a more genuinely-remorseful tone than you or Prayer mustered. "I think you did forget something: how to stop."
It wouldn't surprise you if she's received comments like this from Legend in the past, but if so it also wouldn't surprise you if she's learned to tune him out with regards to her life choices. After all, Doctor Mother confirmed that he is only aware of Cauldron's involvement with the PRT and their selling of vials, so Alexandria would only consider him another uninformed - albeit well-intentioned - opinion and keep on doing what she normally does…
… or maybe even lie, hiding just enough of her actions so that he thinks she took his advice.
Regardless of who or when she may have heard similar comments, you know for a fact that none have had such raw, metaphysical power behind them. The same argument, printed upon paper, would have little-to-none of the emotional weight that you know she's being hammered with right now… and you're pretty sure Saki isn't even breaking out the actual mind-control charms.
It's a testament to how she's lived her life up until now that Alexandria barely flinches, beyond a darkening behind her eyes that you suspect will linger for days to come. Which is what you want, because…
"You can be better."
Her gaze sharpens again at your statement, but you press on when she's about to question it - you need to keep her off-balance if this gambit has any chance of actually getting through to her.
"Just reviewing your public history is enough to see that you weren't always like this, Rebecca. You donned a dark costume, to demand that you be taken seriously next to Eidolon, Legend, and Hero, but it also fit your wit and humor."
Saki shakes her head, empathy pouring through her expression to the point that it brings old memories of your own crashing back. "You've been hurt so much, and you still kept going, kept saving lives… but you can't stop being happy just so you won't be sad anymore."
"Orichalcum do not settle," Prayer finishes, arms behind her back as she nods once at Alexandria's stilled form. "Neither shall we."
Bringing your left hand down, you raise your right gauntlet fully to point at the circular portal frame several yards beyond Alexandria - which immediately springs to life, the supernatural precision of your teamwork allowing Saki to understand exactly what needs to be done.
Alexandria, for her part, straightens up immediately at the sound of the portal's whirring, casting a quick glance at it to confirm that it's showing the Cauldron base she is expecting.
"Show us you want to be better," you calmly finish, gesturing to the blank corridor beyond.
"Then we'll see."
***
You don't let Synergy-Promoting Upgrade drop until Saki shuts the portal down, at which point both you and Saki both sigh from a mixture of relief and exhaustion - Saki overdramatically draping herself over Ciara as she groans tiredly, barely staying on her feet. The small, shell-shocked blonde psychopath reacts to the new fashion accessory with only a single blink, her gaze still locked on the now-empty exit portal.
You didn't forget Ciara was there the entire time, but you had hoped to shuffle her off to Crushing Grasp's pagoda before Alexandria woke up. You're… not quite sure what Alexandria will make of the Faerie Queen's presence when she recalls the event, but there will likely be some calls coming down from the brass soon inquiring about just what Saki is doing with her prisoner.
More immediately pressing, however, is that Ciara was well within the metaphorical blast range of the megaton-strength persuasion attempt you just dropped on Alexandria. Judging by the way the legendary heroine was stone-faced and tight-lipped as she marched out through Saki's portal, you managed to at least break a chink into the armor she wears around her heart today. That was even despite her clear attempt to try to keep emotional distance from your argument…
… while the confused, attention-starved Ciara has basically been soaking up everything Saki and Crushing Grasp have been feeding her as of late.
Hrm.
Turning around, you address the ostentatious pagoda a dozen yards away… that was tapping its two giant pincers together in restrained excitement during your charm-powered social exchange.
"Crushing Grasp."
The skull-sized gemstones inset at the top of the entry gate's arch shift and twist in their sockets, their light glow shifting to a subdued blue tone.
"Lord Crushing Grasp, Administrator," he begins to admonish, lifting a car-sized, golden-sheathed claw up to signify the point. "You amongst all your Assembly should be aware of proper etiquette with spirits of import-"
You don't both restraining your temper this time, and within moments there's a slight ripple of heat rolling off you as your half-lidded eyes release a constant stream of golden smoke.
"Instead of filling Ciara's head with the kind of ideas that will get everyone killed again," you grit out, barely keeping your voice more civil than a growl, "keep your stories focused on Autochthon and whatever tales of mortal heroics you remember - especially if you ever saw anyone Exalt as a result."
The extravagant edifice halts his movement at your interruption, waiting for a few moments until after you've finished speaking before rolling his eight eyes and huffing indignantly while his claws droop to the tiled floor.
"You have quite the way to go before you match the terrors I faced on the battlefield, Administrator, but your point is conveyed nonetheless. Forgive this old relic for seeking ways to ensure that his loved ones are remembered with honor," he huffs in bitter humor, the sound matched by the drapes along the pagoda's entryway fluttering outwards briefly.
You wince, but Prayer's large hand on your shoulder stills the apology that was forming on your tongue.
"Their glories should be remembered, noble spirit. It is what followed, that you were spared from witnessing: what becomes of swords given crowns."
The flickering lights of Grasp's eyes makes you think he's blinking in response to Prayer's words, but-
"Oooh!" Saki gasps, perking up from over Ciara's shoulder to gaze at Prayer in awe. "That was really pretty, Prayer! Can I use that?"
Prayer herself stares blankly at Saki, apparently confused.
"Use?"
You do a full-body sag as you cover your face with a gauntlet.
"In her dirty stories, Prayer."
The aquamarine juggernaut slowly turns her gaze to you... then to Saki.
"I have not read your tales. Are they-"
"No."
Your Adamant blinks at the clawed index finger that you are pointing directly in her face, but you keep it there as you spin and point the other at your grinning Starmetal.
"No."
"But Taylooor-"
"No."
After a few more seconds, her grin slowly morphs into a pout… that causes her eyes to enlarge and become dewey with unshed tears as her lower lip trembles.
A moment later, the sound of sad violins playing starts drifting in on the non-existent wind.
"N-" you wince, but keep your eyes trained on the unfolding tragedy. "N-no. And stop that."
Saki holds the display for a few seconds longer, just out of spite, then sighs - all the special effects disappearing as if they were never there to begin with. Ciara doesn't even blink, still in her stupor.
"Hmph," grumps the most voluminously-dressed of your party, languidly waving an arm in the direction of the exit portal as it spins up - a distorted view of your lab revealing itself as the swirling portal materializes. "If you don't want to talk about art, then you can just go play with your... toys."
She waggles a single eyebrow at the last word, but you just roll your eyes and huff - hiding your face by giving Prayer a farewell squeeze. The juggernaut hums a crystalline note of affection, her eyes glittering with approval and good humor, while she returns with a series of deft pats on the top of your head. You allow the moment to linger, then eventually separate from the stoic of your Assembly.
Turning back, you mock-grudgingly pace over to Saki and hold out your arms for a similar farewell hug.
Untangling herself from the tiny, dazed blonde, Saki gracefully stumbles into your embrace with a cute "oof" that Maker damnit you are not blushing.
"Wait," Saki wonders aloud, pulling apart as you clear your throat, her head tilting as she considers something. "Why do you want Lord Grasp to show-..."
Her eyes fly open in surprise as she connects the dots, mouth dropping open in a little 'o' as she darts a quick look to Ciara and then back to you.
"You think…?!"
Closing your eyes (not that it does any good), you place your gauntlets on Saki's shoulders and push away just enough to keep her from being in your face.
"It's an idea," you stress, opening your eyes to give her a level, stern gaze. "I'm not sure it will amount to anything by the time we need to make a decision... but even if that doesn't pan out…"
You direct a meaningful glance to the small woman, then meet your Starmetal's gaze again. "It's still the same as before: whenever Scion becomes a problem, we're going to need her fighting on our side. Only now, don't implant any commands or make any major changes - those would backfire on us if we choose her."
The smile you receive in return is so blinding, your Flash Shutters automatically activate to shade your eyes.
"I didn't want to do any of that anyway!" she cheers, hugging you again briefly. "You can count on me!"
Practically vibrating in excitement, Saki turns - hands clasped together in front of her lips, eyes wide with manic glee - to look fully at Ciara, while you cautiously back away towards the portal.
"Heeheeheeheeheehee…"
As you step backwards through the twisting vortex, the giggling follows you.
It follows you as you tidy up after Riley, carry the slumbering bio-tinker to her bedroom, and tuck her into bed.
It trails your steps as you make your way to your own room and collapse into bed, rolling the covers over yourself...
...
...
… and before you know it, you're waking up to the alarms of Quarantine being breached.
***
End of Chapter 10.1
****
CHAPTER 10.1 - INTIMACY CHANGES: RED Intimacies have not been fully-established yet, and are not used for bonuses/negatives.
GREY Intimacies yield the normal bonuses/negatives until fully eroded.
EOA - Intimacy INCREASED: Ciara|Glaistig Uaine (Victim of Power) [Illusion] [3/4]
EOA - Intimacy GAINED: Philadelphia (My Responsibility) [Emotion|Guilt] [4/4]
FPoP - Intimacy STARTED: Camden (Ashes Are Fertile Soil) [Emotion|Determination] [1/3]
FPoP - Intimacy STARTED: Emily Piggot (The Burdened Mule) [Illusion] [1/3]
FPoP - Intimacy INCREASED: Bladedancer|Kali (I Am Not Enough) [Emotion|Heartbreak] [2/3]
WoRI - Intimacy STARTED: Armsmaster/Bladedancer (CHEATERS DESERVE EACH OTHER) [Illusion] [1/3]
WoRI - Intimacy STARTED: Glaistig Uaine|Ciara (Do You Believe In Magic?) [Emotion|Hope] [1/3]
ABILITIES-IN-TRAINING, PURCHASABLE-BACKGROUND CHANGES:
We're well enough into the quest now that artificially gating Ability/Specialty and Background purchases with somewhat-arbitrary "training times" doesn't make too much sense... and makes my life more difficult, because it takes away from time I spend writing. That isn't to say that it hasn't been helpful in the past, because it's forced me to keep parts of our characters in mind and stir up ideas for showcasing growth, but going forward I don't think it's going to keep being worth the hassle it inflicts - especially since Taylor has such a bloated sheet nowadays that we've reached diminishing returns for how dramatic of a change one Ability point gain is. Worse, Taylor's had over 20 Abilities and Specialties available for purchase for nearly a dozen Chapters now, and it has been rare that we've ever purchased more than two at a time for a single character - let alone one in the era saving XP for future Assembly members' chargens.
So, as of now, I'm going to be removing the "Training" sections and drastically changing the "Available For Purchase" sections of the character sheets. From now on, each character will have ONE Ability, Specialty, and Background (each) available for purchase at the end of each Chapter - these options will either be relevant to the events of that Chapter, or will be forecasting events of the next Chapter. Spending XP on these Abilities/Specialties will also serve as another way to influence the narrative of the subsequent Chapter, as there will be at least one scene dedicated to showing off how the character is improving/has improved that Ability/Specialty. Note that because what is available will change each Chapter, you may want to jump on options when they appear; multiple Chapters may pass before you get the option of spending XP on that Ability/Specialty/Background again.
Virtues, should we ever want to raise them, may be increased with XP at any point - such a dramatic shift in character personality, however, will likely dominate the subsequent Chapter's narrative.
WoRI - Stealth ●○○○○
WoRI - Martial Arts (Nothing To See Here ●○○)
WoRI - SoTI Armament (Autonomous Dragonsuit Version 4.82.M) ●●○○○
Looks like Taylor's been busy while we've been away with Saki and Colin! Not that things are any less stressful, of course, because that would be boring.
Just because her Shard of Perfect Administration is limited in range - what with it still healing from Vision of Vengeance's stunt - doesn't mean Taylor's slowed down at all... in fact it's quite the opposite! Taylor's day-to-day life since the Slaughterhouse 9's destruction has been non-stop work with the PRT, local civilian groups, and keeping an eye on her personal projects. Her near-limitless ability to micromanage and her bevy of force-multipliers makes it hard to keep track of everything she's doing, both from an in-universe perspective and from a narrative one - there are only so many words I can cram into a scene/chapter before they become bloated, and switching Taylor's focus constantly would make it difficult to pay attention to the story as a whole. So, at a certain point, we need to take a step back and consider: what do we want see?
Taylor's waking time is largely broken up in the following ways:
- Tinkering (with Dragon, Riley, Colin)
- Philly Bureaucracy/Disaster Relief Management (with Uriel, Dragon, local/national government agents)
- Camden Bureaucracy/Disaster Relief Management (with Piggot, Accord, Prayer)
- Combat Patrol Into Known Trouble Areas (with Chevalier, Bladedancer, other Protectorate capes)
- Security Patrol Around Relief Areas (with Dragon, PRT folk, civilians)
- Therapy (with PRT therapists)
- Assembly Building (with Prayer, Saki, and candidates)
It's safe to assume that all of these things are going to happen regardless of what we choose, so vote for what you feel should take up more of the next few Chapters' word count. Stunts for this vote should set up situations, as if presenting the opening events of a scene - though I will probably not take Stunts verbatim, the more clever/well-written a Stunt is increases the chances that I'll incorporate elements of it into the scene proper.
Second on the list, Taylor's lament at Riley about her questionable personality programming is not unfounded: the first large-scale version of those drones is already nearing completion and field-testing. Just being giant robot dragons doesn't exactly explain what they're supposed to do, however, which is where we come in. What sort activities has this first drone - which represents a prototype/test-run for a larger, more varied-capacity fleet - been designed to facilitate? Parahuman-level Police Work is an easy answer since Philly is very close to lawlessness right now, though people start to get a bit leery of your intentions when you start mobilizing bus-sized weapons platforms that can tango with A- and S-Class threats. Other options include Rescue Operations (combined fire truck, ambulance, mundane police support), Transport (for getting lots of people and stuff around the city quickly), Infrastructure (mobile power and water, and large-scale building tools), and... Public Relations (basically copying lots of Lord Grasp's entertainment abilities). It should be noted that while these drones will typically be within Taylor's control radius whenever possible, they will be expected to also be capable of performing their function with a only a few PRT soldiers/employees guiding/supporting them (whenever Dragon doesn't control it directly).
Third, the PRT has organized a big concert later today in Pittsburgh - a support concert for Brockton Bay, Philadelphia, and Camden, with ticket sales and donation proceeds going towards the PRT and associated relief programs. Taylor's (and Prayer's) presence is requested, of course, and the rest of the Philly Wards will also be there. Should Taylor go, knowing that it will be abundantly clear to all that Philly is undermanned for few hours of the concert?
Finally, to put a cap on the Pre-Vote Poll that has been running at the top of the Thread, it's time to start winnowing down our major Orichalcum candidates. Again, this vote will allow you to select three options out of the group, and your vote should largely be whom you want to see more of in the story - Assembly members feature much more prominently in the narrative, so pick Candidates that you would enjoy reading more about.
Finally-finally, over in Autochthonia, Sakura is getting a stark view of just how badly things are in the Land of Brass and Shadow. Does she toe the party line in Estasia and help with the numerous parts of Autochthonian governance that are flagrantly unethical to Earth-Bet sensibilities, or does she try to stand against the system?
Let's Make Iris Nervous: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt Allowed)
[ ] I Am Fire, I Am Death (Parahuman Combat Drone)
[ ] Simple Things, They Break So Easily (Emergency Fire, Medical, Police Drone)
[ ] Gather Your Tributes, Peasants (Transportation Drone)
[ ] Look Upon My Works, Ye Mighty, And Despair (Infrastructure Drone)
[ ] The Beatings Will Continue Until Morale Improves (Public Relations Drone)
There's No Way This Ends Well: (Choose ONE, NO Stunt)
[ ] Taylor Goes To The Charity Relief Concert
[ ] Taylor Does Not Go To The Charity Relief Concert
Not All That Glitters Is Gold: (Choose THREE, NO Stunts)
[ ] First Round Orichalcum Candidates: Accord
[ ] First Round Orichalcum Candidates: Alexandria
[ ] First Round Orichalcum Candidates: Armsmaster
[ ] First Round Orichalcum Candidates: Bonesaw
[ ] First Round Orichalcum Candidates: Doctor Mother
[ ] First Round Orichalcum Candidates: Glaistig Uaine
We Have Always Been At War: (Choose ONE, NO Stunt)
[ ] Support Holy Crusade, Get Boyfriends
[ ] Denounce Holy Crusade, Forever Alone
XP Expenditures should be formatted as such:
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item ●●●○○
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item (Specialization ●●○)
VOTING DISCUSSION BEGINS NOW
NO VOTES WILL BE COUNTED UNTIL VOTING BEGINS
VOTING DISCUSSION ENDS:
Interlude: Lung
(Credit to @Ridtom for most of this!)
***
It was over.
He was at his most powerful, the strongest he had ever been in his life, and it was over.
The upheaved ruins of the city - his city - lay before him, dust and radiation choking the air as the returning sea filled the massive crater below. Lung hovered over the nearby bay, his draconian form surrounded by a living sun, its heat and light banishing any smoke that dared try and move close to him.
Already he could feel the thrum of his power fading, echoing how readily it had fled after his duel with Leviathan.
Time was of the essence.
His senses were enhanced to a point that he had never known he could achieve, but yet were manageable enough that he could pick out certain sounds through the chaos.
… desperate coughs and screams of those buried under tons of rubble and debris... wails of sirens in the surrounding townships, all reeling from the cataclysmic shockwaves generated by Behemoth's final act of spite... chatter of the fools trying to coordinate rescue and recovery efforts despite the dangers to themselves...
… the sound of something moving deep beneath the Earth's crust, sinking further as it travelled west.
Lung snarled, roaring as blue-white fire arced around him, then dove into the sea and into the earth beneath it - his wings enhanced by jets of fire to turn him into an incandescent missile. Behemoth was surprisingly quick for something burrowing through the Earth, but Lung was sure he'd catch up to the monster.
He'd follow him to the ends of the Earth if he had to.
***
Lung felt the jagged rocks poke at the soles of feet, but paid them no mind. The sharp edges tried to pierce his hardened flesh but couldn't even stretch the skin, crumpling under his footsteps.
Lung growled to himself as he felt the salty air roll over his wet, bare body, sending a slight chill down his spine. A brief flash of flame and the chill was gone; a wasteful use of his power, certainly, but his mother had told him before her death to enjoy the pleasures life brought him whenever he could. Time ran out for everyone, after all.
He scoffed. He had long since doubted that he'd ever die of natural causes such as age. His power most likely would not let him. Even more likely, he would die fighting.
Either one suited him.
The squawk of seagulls overhead caught his attention. The flying vermin were circling overhead, the universal sign of civilization, and with civilization there was food. Lung had grown tired of diving after sharks after the first two, their meat stringy and unsatisfying for the stomach. Orca tasted only marginally better.
Lung continued on his walk, eyes on the horizon of seagulls. He was thirsty, his throat dryer than it had been since he could remember, and he knew if he stopped for too long he would fall unconscious. Age may be fought off, but hunger and thirst gnawed at him still.
It was a shame that he had not made it to Kyushu before he had reverted back to his base form. Pure luck he had gotten this far, though. Annoying that he had slowly lost the creature after passing through the Pacific continental plate, stranding him far from any civilization above. How glorious would it have been for him to erupt from the island that had been the start of his career, in full transformation, fire surrounding him like a robe of a noble? Greater than how he had appeared as when he fought Leviathan, for there had been no shortage of witnesses to his power when he fought Behemoth.
He frowned at that. More than once he wondered if he would be in a better place had he taken the Protectorate's offer. Alexandria had assured him that he could be a valuable part of the organization, maybe even one of its leaders, but he was young and refused, too tired from the realization that the monsters were indestructible. Foolish, truly, now that he thought back to it. They had even given him the offer twice more before he left for China with his mother.
The most he could offer was a promise to Alexandria, that for saving his life he would do one thing she asked for. She had smiled then, amused, but did not ask him to join as he had expected. He would have refused of course, but he had appreciated that she didn't push the offer then.
Debts to be paid. Vengeance to be had.
He would keep his promise to Alexandria whenever she felt the need for it. Smart to keep something like that on hold. An investment. For now, though, he was focused on vengeance and the Endbringers were on the top of his list. He now knew that they could feel pain, as the cries Behemoth let out proved. No longer were they forces of nature to him, just another obstacle in his journey.
Amusing, this new perspective on things.
It had only been his second Endbringer fight, yet even he could now understand how different it was than Leviathan. The Serpent was what one of his former underlings called a "Lightning Bruiser," a creature that had the speed and strength and none of the weakness that fiction would place on them. It'd hit you blow for blow, but it wasn't above attacking from different angles or using unorthodox tactics to knock you off balance.
The Mountain was like what he imagined fighting a mixture of Alexandria and himself, its powers disregarding any flame that Lung had produced no matter how powerful, and it's own causing him to wince in pain at the memory. Never mind the fact that his blows would bounce off the creature unless timed right.
Thrilling. That was the word that came to mind when it was all said and done. He had initially fought to show that brat Weaver what power truly was, but he could not deny that her appearing in his home opened his eyes. The Endbringers could feel pain, and they could fear things enough to change their system of destruction.
Lung knew the power of fear.
The large, naked man was broken out of his ruminations as he crested the jagged hill-top and came upon a curious sight: a shabby shack the size of a small house, surrounded by rocks and plants, blending in nicely with the tropical forest that was slowly reclaiming the volcanic beach. Glowing green tubes were running up the building to the surrounding foliage from the open windows. Tinker work. Most likely to hide the buildings presence from overhead surveillance.
The sound of music reached his ears - faint, even with his senses still enhanced. Smells came as well. Grilled meat wafted through the air, practically calling his name, a beacon to his ship.
Lung wasted no time.
***
He had passed through these pathetic islands before, on his way to the United States of America. He returned in much the same way, but saw them now through much different eyes.
After his escape from the Yangban and subsequent rampage through the countryside, he had heard rumors of many rogues and villains fleeing to the East; "rogue islands for rogue business" they claimed, the volcanic chain of Hawai'i providing both a neutral area for business negotiations and a gateway for legitimate entry into the mainland. He had dismissed the rumors as idiocy. The PRT had cordoned several testing centers on the islands for their own use, so he doubted that anyone could stay hidden from them for too long.
It seemed that the rumors were not that far off.
Lung stepped into the building, shouldering his way past the door that he had accidentally torn off its hinges. His hunger must have been worse that he had thought; it had been a moment of pride for him when he had learned how to live in a world of cardboard without breaking everything he touched.
All conversation seemed to pause in the face of his arrival, the patrons of the building - a bar, judging by the obvious liquor bottles and the actual bartender serving them - gave him their full attention. They were a mash-pot of different ethnicities: most Asian, with dashes of Hispanic and African here and there, with only a few Caucasians. Men and women from all over, washed up in their own ways.
"Christ, that guy is cut!" A male voice cried from the bar.
Just like that the tension was gone, the room breaking up into raucous laughter. Lung snorted and ignored them all, making his way to the bar. There were catcalls here and there, with a brazen few actually taking pictures, but they mostly accepted his presence and moved on with whatever they were doing previously.
The bartender scowled at Lung as the ABB leader ignored the bar-stools and simply rapped his knuckles against the bar-top, "Sake - Junmai - the whole bottle. Do not bother to warm it up."
His scowl deepened, "I assume you have something to buy your drink with? It doesn't have to be money. Information or good working Tinker-Tech will net you some fine beverages."
"How about I don't burn this trash heap to the ground and you give me what I desire?"
The bartender blinked in surprise. Then his skin seemed to go grey, thin horns breaking the skin on his temples. His eyes became pure blue with black veins branching out from where the pupil would be. Lung felt his body reacting immediately, his power thrumming within, the strength of his flames at his fingertips.
Suddenly there was someone beside him, her voice light, "I'll cover the cost Near. I'm sure I still have some credit." The bartender - Near, a familiar name but he knew not from where - jumped a bit at the sudden sound, but seemed to quickly get the message. He gave Lung one last scowl before disappearing into a back room, a thin grey tail following him.
Lung glanced at the smiling newcomer. She was tall, nearly up to his shoulder in height - remarkable for an Asian woman - which made her long, black braid that nearly touched the floor even more striking. A loose black top and grey cargo pants showed off a toned physique, as well as a long scar that wound from her neck to her abdomen
When she caught him looking out of the corner of her eye, she flashed him an even larger smile.
Lung narrowed his gaze but said nothing. Soon the bartender was back, nearly slamming the jug of Junmai onto the wooden surface, giving him and the woman a flat glare before leaving to deal with other customers further down the bar.
A quick application of heat to the bottle and Lung was already downing its contents. He knew that it could have been poisoned before hand, but he trusted his body could handle any harmful contents. Poisons just didn't seem to take hold with him, as the Yangban indoctrination technicians learned the hard way.
The woman chuckled nervously at the sight. "W-Wow. I honestly didn't expect you to down the entire bottle. Kind of thought that bluff was for show."
Lung sat the empty container down, considered momentarily whether to call for another, then turned fully to give her his full attention.
"I have had a very trying month. I have been stuck at sea for weeks on end. I have had to let sharks bite me so that I may land a killing blow for lunch. Orca have tried to wear me down and drown me. I-"
"Okay, okay, I get it!" the woman quickly interrupted, her eyes closed and her face red, "J-Just turn around, please!"
Lung was annoyed at the interruption but shrugged and rotated to face the bar again. He had never really cared about things such as modesty, especially not with a power as destructive as his. If it bothered others... well, it wasn't his problem.
The woman let out a long sigh, her face still slightly red, "This was not how I had hoped this would go."
"I am not in the mood for sex, now, woman. I only want to eat and drink till I am content."
"Whoa, hold on," she raised her hands in a time-out gesture, "I am not that kind of lady, Lung. If anything, you're the one who looks like a prostitute, what with you barging in here without a care in the world! What, did you decide to start a nudist gang?"
He ignored the insult for now, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "You know who I am."
The woman blinked before face-palming, "Right, you probably - well, obviously - don't remember me." She chuckled to herself once again, this time self-deprecating, "We met on the rooftop years ago. The day Leviathan destroyed our home. I said you were going to die, remember?"
Lung did.
"The Yellow Sentai Ranger. You are presumed dead."
The Sentai Elite. A name that brought forth what felt like nostalgia. He had spoken to her on the roof after saving her from being washed away by one of the earliest tidal waves. He hadn't worn a mask then, content to allow his identity to be known by all. It was only later that he learned the rules of the game and had incorporated the mask into his career.
It seemed like a lifetime ago. Perhaps it was.
"I still have no intention of being a hero, Sentai."
If anything, her smile increased at the rejection.
"I go by Hachi now, and I've dropped the costume. No heroics here," she smirked, though the grin began to fade. "The Sentai Elite were either dead or missing, so there was nothing to hold me to the role. I searched for you, but you never gave me a name, so I had to give up. It wasn't until later that I saw you on the news, recognized your power when you attacked that American city. Pretty impressive," she nodded at him ruefully, and Lung couldn't help by chuckle.
She played with her bangs while she continued, in a slightly better mood, "As for me? Wound up in a few refugee camps here and there over the years, offering my services as a mercenary or bodyguard as I hopped around the Pacific. Made quite a fortune, actually."
Hachi made a sweeping gesture to the bar. "Found this place about a year ago and it's been my little home away from home whenever I want a break from work. Not the life I wanted for myself, but it's something. Some of the more… worrisome patrons are a bit of a distraction when they get rowdy, but this place has some serious muscle," admitted, tilting her head towards Near as he cleaned a mug. "Of course, it helps that the other guys are willing to jump in before it gets too bad."
Lung raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying that you saved me, Sentai?"
She pouted at him. "Please call me Hachi. And no, I've seen what 'Lung' can do. Anyone who can fight Leviathan to a standstill doesn't need my protection."
Lung grunted and ordered another bottle of Junmai, two cups this time. Hachi gave him a curious look that quickly turned to surprise when Lung poured her cup as well.
"You are paying. You will drink."
Hachi had no problems with that. The two stood in companionable silence for a time, enjoying the well-made drink. Hachi ordered some grilled seagull, which Lung found to be somehow worse than when the winged rat was consumed raw.
It seemed so long ago that Lung had relaxed like this. Well, not exactly, since he wasn't surrounded by whores and drugs, but he was willing to take what he could get after nearly a month of constant struggle.
Hachi was the one to eventually break the silence, "I'm sorry about what happened to your city. It's pretty fucking insane."
He shrugged. "A city is a city. There are always more."
"Well, yeah, but doesn't it bother you a little bit? I mean, the Endbringers attacked out of order and sooner that expected! Didn't you have teammates that you lost during the attack? Aren't you angry? Afraid?"
She was staring at him now, eyes intense. Lung continued to drink.
Did it bother him? Once, long ago, the loss of his friends and comrades would have set him on edge. The Yangban had been quick to iron that out, calling it a distraction and a weakness that got in the way of their true goal. Despite his best efforts, Lung couldn't deny that some of their demented teachings and tortures had rubbed off on him.
He saw very few of his people as friends, or even allies. It was better to think of them as tools that he could use and dispose of if they failed him. Of course, it wasn't that simple in reality, but nothing was. Even Oni-Lee, his loyal lieutenant, was nothing but a highly refined weapon to him.
Hachi was still staring at him with that intense look. Lung growled.
"I care if they are useful to me. Only a few have proven themselves truly useful, Hachi. The weak are not worth my time."
She frowned. "You're colder than I expected you to be."
"Never assume anything, woman. There is a reason that I am so feared by Heroes and Villains alike."
He swallowed the last of the sake, feeling the it burn at the back of his throat. "I have not felt fear in a long time. I chased the Behemoth for hours, through molten rock and caverns of lava. I look forward to the next battle."
The ex-heroine blinked, face paling.
"That's crazy. Why the hell would you chase down that monster?" She gave him a mock glare as she sipped on her sake. "Besides, you don't even know when the next Endbringer will attack or where. No one does."
"I do."
Lung smiled to himself as the sounds of Hachi choking on her drink echoed through the bar, and he noticed a number of startled glances had turned his way at his statement.
"W-What?!" she finally managed to sputter out, wiping at her mouth. "Are you joking? Please say you're joking."
"I do not joke," he frowned, though he felt an eager smile clawing at his lips. "Tell me something, Hachi. Do you know the name 'Weaver'?"
"Weaver?" She frowned as she poured some more sake into her cup, lip curling in distaste at some memory. "Of course I've heard of her. The Super Ward. The Slaughterhouse Nine are attacking Philadelphia right now to get to her."
Lung paused, forehead creasing as he took in the news, but… he was not entirely surprised, once he considered it.
"Behemoth was chasing her the entire battle. She was the reason that they struck differently, changed their patterns."
A pause. "Bullshit."
"It is the truth." Lung summoned a flicker of flame at the tip of his finger, reminiscing. "It was obvious to those who saw it fight. It tracked her above all others, allowing her to draw it through uncrowded streets to buy time. It used abilities it had never shown before to continue its pursuit."
There was silence from his drinking partner before she slammed her cup against the wood. "Fuck."
He relinquished his flame, "Where she goes, the Endbringers will too. And I will be there, waiting."
Hachi let out a disturbed chuckle, "Well that's… insane. Do you think the Protectorate or PRT know about this?"
"I do not care." Lung stepped from the bar and back-tracked his way to the destroyed entrance.
Hachi called out to him in surprise, "Wait! Where are you going?!"
"To Philadelphia," he grunted, then paused and turned back to meet Hachi's eyes. "I will promise you one favor for the food and drink. Anyone you want, killed or broken. Money, drugs, slaves. Make it quick."
Baffled, she stared at him. "But… I just told you the Nine are there right now."
He stared, unmoved.
A moment passed before Hachi opened her mouth to speak, only to shut it just as quickly. She bit her lip and closed her eyes in thought. Lung felt his impatience rising, but held his tongue - if she took too long then he would leave her there in silence.
He did not have to wait long.
"I'm going with you."
Lung blinked. He blinked again when she ordered another few bottles of Junmai, then carried the jugs over to him. Practically shoving the drinks into his arms, she fixed him with a stern look.
"People need to know what's about to happen, some sort of warning. I've got a ride that can take us to the U.S. with the right amount of pay and the proper securities. I may not be a hero anymore, but I'm not cold enough to let these things happen without doing something."
He looked down at the jugs in his arms and briefly considered letting them drop to the floor to remind her of her place, but ultimately discarded the idea. Meeting the woman's dark eyes again, he rumbled a low, considering tone.
"This has nothing to do with your earlier whining. That this is not the life you wanted."
She shook her head, "It's there yeah, but it's minuscule compared to the big picture."
Lung nodded. "Vengeance for your comrades, then. That is acceptable."
"Uh, I didn't say that-"
"You do not have to."
Lung ignored her protests and walked back outside, feet less durable than before but still tougher than the black stones of the beach. He took a deep breath, smelling the salty air and feeling the midday sun striking his body.
He had a goal now. A destination. Having a companion or a toll along for the ride would… different, but might not be so bad, if she did not slow his pace.
"What are your abilities?"
Hachi was busy covering looking anywhere else but him, though it did not seem to impede her ability to navigate the rocky beach.
"Touch based. Anyone I touch is infected with a venom that can range from burning pain to full on necrosis, which I can dial up to full disintegration when I'm in a jam. Recently found out that it sends out pheromones that cause other people to attack whoever I infected, friend or enemy. Some people can resist that urge if they focus hard enough."
"Useless against the monsters, then."
She growled, turning to glare at him as she covering her small chest with her arms. "Yeah, well, not all of us could win the power lottery could we?"
Reflexively, her eyes darted downwards, causing her to turn red again and spin away from him in embarrassment. "A-also, before we leave you are getting clothes, damn it. I can't work like this."
Lung scoffed. "Pointless. Not even metal can withstand my flames."
"Do you want to be arrested for public indecency laws? I sure don't want to be associated with a pervert while trying to save people!"
Lung sighed as he was practically dragged by the still-shouting woman to some random direction down the beach to pilfer some clothes. He willed himself to remain patient.
The Azn Bad Boyz had groups along the west coast, but without his Brockton Bay holdings he would have little leverage beyond standard threats. Worse, having been away for so long would mean he no longer knew the proper phone numbers to call.
It had been a long time since he had done without his usual network, but it was not a foreign concept to him. Unlike the last time, however, he did not have time to build up or overtake a local group through force or reputation alone.
He would have to... tolerate Hachi, else she would decide it easier to carry on without him.
The scales beneath his skin itched at her brazen displays of disrespect, but… he knew patience as well as it knew fury. Besides, she would also be able to sate his other hungers when they returned, so it would not due to lash out against her now.
Ignoring her grumbling as the former heroine pulled him along, he allowed himself an eager grin.
He had the monsters' measure, now. Whenever they next sought Weaver out…
Can't Handle All This Competency: (Choose THREE, ONE Stunt Allowed For Each)
[X] Narrative Focus: Assembly Building
[X] Narrative Focus: Camden Bureaucracy/Relief Management
[X] Narrative Focus: Tinkering
Let's Make Iris Nervous: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt Allowed)
[X] Look Upon My Works, Ye Mighty, And Despair (Infrastructure Drone)
- [x] Stunt: The foreman took a final look around the construction site, and at the PRT officers keeping gawkers at bay behind the caution lines. "We're clear. Let her rip." Thirty seconds later the heterodyne whine of heavy-duty agrav drives presaged the arrival of the serpent-dragon construction drone. Multitools unfolded as it began to stump over to the bombed-out electrical installation.
There's No Way This Ends Well: (Choose ONE, NO Stunt)
[X] Taylor Goes To The Charity Relief Concert
Not All That Glitters Is Gold: (Choose THREE, NO Stunts)
[X] First Round Orichalcum Candidates: Glaistig Uaine
[X] First Round Orichalcum Candidates: Accord
[X] First Round Orichalcum Candidates: Armsmaster
We Have Always Been At War: (Choose ONE, NO Stunt)
[X] Denounce Holy Crusade, Forever Alone
The interrogation viewing room is barely larger than a dozen feet wide and double that in length, with walls covered in a pale brown foam that's been shaped like angular waves to dampen sound. There's four chairs and a small table here, but when you arrived they were already pushed back away from the one-way mirror that dominates one of the longer walls. Through it, you've been observing Sergeant Murray as he tries to calmly talk the morose Lieutenant Peters through her memory of the last two days, step-by-step.
The same Lieutenant Susan Peters that thanked you in the halls yesterday for making a second drum of coffee for those PRT field agents rotating in for the morning shift. When you'd started trying to memorize at least one quirk or habit of each PRT officer in the building - both for Master/Stranger protocols and to get to know the men and women helping to bring stability to Philadelphia - her penchant for humming 'Flight of the Valkyries' whenever she took the stairs or elevators was one of the first you noted.
Only this morning, she'd come in a few minutes ahead of her normal shift and tried to break your bedroom door down with her standard-issue shotgun (loaded with lethal slugs) before swapping to anti-personnel grenades. Luckily, the ceiling-mounted containment foam sprayers had hit her before she could release the pins on her explosives.
While most of your thought processes are focused on your various Optical Enhancement scans of Lt. Peters, one of your eight consciousnesses is considering the fact that you didn't hear anything in your bed, and thus slept through the security breach; her opening attack barely even scuffed your door, so it wasn't a case of you being a deeper sleeper than usual. Should you be grateful that the improvements you've helped put in place through the Quarantine level these last few days are already proving themselves to be wildly successful?
Or have you... somehow... overprepared?
Ugh, what are you thinking? Of course not. If anything, you need to install more monitoring devices around the Headquarters to prevent something like this from happening again without your awareness. You add the idea to your ever-increasing mental lists and focus your consciousness back to answering Director Uriel's question.
"Modifications to long-term memory and impulse control, some linked and some not," you frown, casting a glance with your eyes at the older man at your side as he stares through the glass - his posture slumped and bored as usual under the dark-navy flak jacket, but his eyes reflecting an intensity that you only have seen when PRT agents come under fire.
"Same as the radio hosts."
"Effectively," you acknowledge with a grunt. "I still can't pick up exactly how long she's been Mastered, but it can't have been more than twenty-four hours."
Uriel grunts, but otherwise remains still for a few moments before absently taking a sip from his lukewarm coffee (which, due to your Omnitool Implants, is somehow still amazing when cold).
"Guess these were a waste, then," he grumbles, reaching up to adjust the aviator-style, full-coverage mirror shades on his face.
It had been a long-shot, but after the clearly-Mastered radio hosts had been picked up two days ago, you'd shifted priorities to ensure all PRT officers and employees would be issued reflective eyewear - PRT tactical face shields are similarly mirrored for this very reason, which is why Uriel had approved the expenditure of resources. You'd been able to mass-produce the batch of five hundred functional-but-stylish glasses with barely an hour's time with your large-scale fabricator, so it wasn't too large a waste of time, it's still grating that the low-hanging fruit didn't satisfy.
For a moment, one of your consciousnesses wants to comment that they're still basically ballistic and chemical goggles, that there is a lot of clamour in your email box from the Image department about marketing the design to the public, and nearly everyone appears to enjoy wearing them regardless.
"Preventative security: easier to notice when it fails than all the times it worked," you shrug, turning your eyes back to the interrogation. "They might have needed to pin her with another power before getting the glasses off her. Not all of Beleth's faction need eye contact, but we can't make everyone wear earplugs and gas masks too."
Uriel runs a hand through his mop of unkempt brown hair with his off-hand, grimacing at the reminder.
"If it worked, I'd order it. We had brainwashed civilians flipping out years after these freaks came through here last time," he sighs, finally turning his head just enough to the left peer at you out of the corner of his eye. "You're absolutely sure you need the gremlin in order to build that scanner?"
Straightening up fully, you otherwise don't react to his derogatory nickname for Riley - one which has quickly spread through PRT HQ, though no one else has dared mimicking Uriel's feat of calling the tiny bio-tinker that to her face.
"Dragon is spread too thin, and this is outside of Armsmaster's specialty. I can reason my way around most medical problems, but that takes time."
His left eyebrow raises just above the top of the shades.
"Then stop working on all those other toys. Like the lizards. And the bugs."
"I was already accounting for de-prioritizing my other projects," you counter, pursing your lips slightly as your increased glow betrays how annoyed you actually are by that quip.
Both you and he know that you're fully capable of working on many different things at once - your Shard of Perfect Administration charm effectively allows you an unlimited number of "helpers" for any task, which means your Synergy-Promoting Upgrade is nearly always working at maximum capacity. A major boon, to be certain, and it's what has allowed you to rapidly churn out things like your new power armor in a fraction of the time it would have taken you without the charm... but working only with you-piloted drones doesn't give you the ability to make anything outside of your own spheres of knowledge and expertise.
Which means a large part of your recent focus has been devoted towards either micromanaging the daily schedules of the people you can control (Riley, Kaylee, most of the PRT's various desk-jockeys and interns, Accord, and most recently Armsmaster) or rigorously keeping track of the schedules of those whom you can't (Dragon, Glenn, Uriel).
… well, "control" is a strong word. And you're not going to say "administrate" because Vision of Vengeance's stunt has soured that word for you a bit. So… "guide"? "Coordinate"? Something to bring up to Glenn.
And maybe your therapists.
Uriel doesn't say anything in response to your last statement for a few moments, staring at you from behind his reflective glasses (and you don't feel like spending the essence for Mass-Penetrating Scan, since he's probably just giving you his typical half-lidded glare).
"She knows you're just looking for an excuse to get rid of her, sir," you sigh. "You've reminded her enough."
He snorts, shaking his head before turning his focus back to the interrogation, which is still just Lt. Peters verbally reciting everything she remembers from the last forty-eight hours. They're on the third repetition, and at no point has she recalled meeting anyone or seeing anything out of the ordinary.
By her repeated accounts, she'd had an epiphany over her morning cereal: you are a magnet for the evils of the world, and the city - maybe the whole world - is doomed if you don't die.
It's a variation of the line the local radio hosts of four different stations started spouting during their morning shows two days ago. The timing was suspicious enough that you flew over and scanned one, and your charm's readings served as enough evidence to have the PRT shut down the broadcasts and bring all the hosts in for further questioning. A nightmare for PR, since you still don't have concrete proof that the Endbringer-worshiping cult "The Fallen" are in the area... and thus the PRT hasn't been able to make a public statement about why it looks like you're stomping all over the First Amendment.
"Evil" gangs pop up from time to time in cities across North America, but the Slaughterhouse 9 had served as an odd check on them - a gang could only cause so much havoc without drawing Jack Slash's attention, which was as good as a death sentence for most.
Only one group had ever survived multiple such encounters with the Nine.
You have no doubt that the Fallen will publicly announce their presence in time, but that declaration will undoubtedly be punctuated with a body count. Unacceptable.
Director Uriel waves his left hand at you dismissively, resignation clear in his voice.
"Stop wasting time, then. Clock's ticking."
***
It's been three days since the Simurgh scrambled Armsmaster's brains, but sitting at his minimally-furnished workbench in Quarantine the man himself looks like he's aged a decade. Where before he maintained proper posture at all times, both to keep himself ready to move at a moment's notice and to prevent long-term damage to his body, the tank-top clad Tinker leans sluggishly with one elbow on the counter as he regards you with tired eyes .
Though that may be an unfair evaluation, as Riley's manic enthusiasm can wear on people in the best of times. Ever since she learned that she's behaved "well enough" to be allowed to help you work on your brain-scanner project...
"Brains brains brains! Eeeeee hee hee hee!"
For a moment, standing there in his doorway with Riley vibrating with glee at your side, you see a flash of his usual indignance surge through the un-armored Colin Wallis: the tensing of his hands, the accentuation of the muscles in his neck, the clenching of his jaw muscles, and a slight narrowing of his eyes.
Four days ago, maybe he would have sneered, demanding that the young bio-tinker control herself. Or perhaps he would have bitten out some questioning remark to you, wondering why you're interrupting his tightly-controlled schedule. A schedule that you - a probationary Ward - made for him - a veteran hero, and long long-time leader of the Protectorate's ENE division.
It's only a moment, then it's gone. Replaced by a tired sigh, a worsening in his posture, and a darkening of the shadows beneath his eyes.
For nearly a decade, every mind 'touched' by the Simurgh had been considered forfeit. Their thoughts, their memories, their impulses forever bent towards sewing chaos and misery at some unknown point in the future - if they weren't twisted and unleashed upon their friends, families, and allies on the spot, that is. Entire cities have been Quarantined, those tens-of-thousands of inhabitants that hadn't managed to escape the city within the first fifteen minutes of the fight considered ticking time-bombs to be kept contained for the good of the rest of Humanity.
Grimacing slightly, Colin brings up a hand to pull at his unshaven face before turning his gaze from the tiny Tinker to you.
"Brains?"
You sigh. It's not as bad as Riley asking to examine Saki's charms the first time the two re-met, but… someone really needs to teach the young girl some etiquette. Back in your own lab, you turn the drone you were using to watching Channel 4 News to instead start working on an email to Riley's therapists about building that into her rehabilitation.
It barely takes a nudge towards the table in the center of the minimalist workroom and the young blonde scurries over to her usual seat. You follow the pre-teen with a more reserved gait, nodding in answer to his question while gesturing with your right hand for him to join the two of you at the table.
Riley's dubbed it the Tinker Thinker Table. No one else calls it that.
"The Quarantine Alarm today was due to a PRT trooper trying to break into my room with her shotgun," you begin, extruding a folder filled with a printed write-up of the event that you've already written-up and submitted (via your drones, of course). Sitting down in your own chair, you slide the folder over to his own usual seat a moment before he drags himself over to it. "When that failed, she tried to use grenades - in the hopes of doing at least some damage to me, even at the cost of her own life. She's still in interrogation, but until Tatsu gets back we won't know exactly who Mastered her or when it happened."
The mention of Saki takes the winds out of Riley's sails long enough for Colin to flip open the folder and cast an intensifying gaze through the report. He finishes in less than a minute of awkward silence, after which his eyes flicker towards Riley in understanding before meeting yours with some of his usual determination starting to peek through.
"It's been tried before," he frowns, though his tone is more considering than dismissive as he narrows his eyes in thought. "A tinker in Wisconsin - 'Doctor Science' she was called - tried to spearhead development of something similar after the Simurgh's attack on… London? Either that or Hanoi."
Four rooms over, you're already turning two of the orange drones in your lab away from their other tasks (filling out a Worker's Comp. insurance claim for Lt. Peters and browsing Parahuman Online's Philadelphia's-specific forums, respectively) and use each to run searches through the PRT's databases for more information. Your first avenue is to look into the internal Tinkertech database for any Tinkertech Testing reports for… ugh... "Doctor Science"... while the other drone checks through the Protectorate employee database for the Tinker in question.
Hmm... ah. Nothing relevant about this project that Dragon hasn't already mentioned in passing, though the fact that affably-goofy Tinker died at the hands of Leviathan six years ago is something to add to your running "Proof of Endbringer Collaboration Before Weaver's Appearance" list.
"Hanoi," you nod in confirmation, frowning to yourself as you consider aloud what you're reading with your drones. "You helped on one of her last prototypes… it appeared to work at the start of the Colombo attack, but by the end was showing too many false-positives?"
He grunts, leaning back in his chair and crossing his bare arms over his chest - his own orange jumpsuit is rolled down to his waist, leaving only his sweaty white tank-top to contain the smooth flexing of his well-maintained upper chest and abdomen. It's… slightly distracting, but you're not going to comment.
"That was my first Simurgh fight," he begins, trailing off for a moment as his eyes gain the distance inflicted by hard memories. "At first, the scanner only flagged people as 'Compromised' if they'd been exposed for longer than fifteen minutes - that's where we got the idea we had a… buffer. That she couldn't just..."
He snorts in dark humor, mouth tightening as he stares through the table for a quiet moment.
"Near an hour into the fight… we noticed the exposure time was dropping. By the time Scion showed up, everyone that heard the Scream at all was flagged as 'Compromised.' Even the Triumvirate. We…"
He pauses again, long enough for the room's insulated nature to drive home the silence.
When he meets your gaze again, he expects you to understand just how right and wrong they were. "We couldn't afford to think that, back then. No one would have ever shown up to a Simurgh attack."
You offer a silent nod in agreement, several of your minds briefly considering ways to give the winged Endbringer another kick to the teeth - both literally and figuratively.
The solemnity of the moment is shattered by Riley clapping excitedly.
"That means it worked! You just need to copy it, Taylor!" she cheers, only to abruptly stop as a second realization causes her to sag dramatically in disappointment. "Aw, sugar. That means I don't get to look at brains."
Colin gives you a look that clearly communicates how much he enjoys what his life has become, that he must suffer these antics. You, having already made peace with the fact that such sacrifices must be made for the greater good, shrug in return-...
… just as the drone looking through the Tinkertech database finishes following the trail of Doctor Science's finished and unfinished projects after her death.
"Damn it," you hiss, causing Riley to give you a disapproving pout and Colin to frown at the apparent non-sequitur. After blinking once, you shake your head and turn back to the veteran hero. "The last copy of the scanner was in storage… on Protectorate Island."
He scowls even harder in a mixture of disgust and disbelief.
"That's…" he manages, before closing his eyes and releasing the emotions in a large exhalation through his nose, shoulders sagging in resignation as he runs a hand across his face. "I shouldn't be surprised by now."
"How much do you remember of it?" you ask, spreading your arms out onto the table as four of your minds begin sorting through the materials and parts you have stored in your Technomorphic Integration Engine at the moment. The sensor suite you packed into the first prototype of your new power armor might work for this, so probably worth extruding that first…
Colin's right eye twitches as he watches your charm disgorge a partially-assembled helmet and attached wires, his gaze becoming unfocused as his Tinker power subsumes more and more of his conscious thought.
"I… don't remember the hardware as much. I was focused on the programming," he admits absently, leaning forward on his elbows as he considers the helmet. "See if you can access my email account - there should be a copy of the code she sent me in there."
You nod, then push more essence into your arms to activate your Omnitool Implants so you can begin disassembling the helmet properly - but just as you're about to begin, a squeeky voice tentatively pipes up.
"Sooo…"
You roll your eyes, then turn your head to the near-to-bursting Tinker tween.
"Yes, Riley," you sigh, then tap her the giant diamond in her forehead with one of your remaining fingers, pushing an application of Incomparable Efficiency Upgrade into her while simultaneously activating Synergy-Promoting Upgrade. Her eyes unfocus and pupils blow wide at the rush, but after barely an instant she is alert and focused - a wide grin still managing to creep in through the mechanical mannerisms imposed by the charms.
She sits up fully in her chair, nods once, then brings her hands together in a solid clap.
"So!" she begins. "Brains."
***
As good as you have become at melding different Tinkertech innovations into a new, more efficient, seamless whole, when it comes to designing something "new" you are still sorely outclassed by actual Tinkers. Which is to be expected; you and Iris have come to the conclusion, based on the fragmented memories your own Shard-spirit has given you and the data provided by Cauldron, that the mountainous bio-crystalline supercomputers that yield "Tinker" powers are likely the Entity shards that serve as memory banks for storing the records of past civilizations they've consumed.
It's humbling, in a way, but helps put things in perspective; crafting is a means to an end, for you, not something you want to dedicate your entire existence towards. Caste-wise, your understanding is that it's a role more typically filled by Starmetal… and Orichalcum.
You eye Colin and Riley. Hmm.
It… would free up more of your time to focus more on field work and managerial efforts - your Synergy-Promoting Upgrade charm has been revolutionary for so many different projects these days. Insurance claims, invoices, damage evaluations, or repeatedly crafting the same thing over and over again (sunglasses, insect drones, etc.); you've enjoyed speeding up "busy work" to the point where you may actually get ahead of it sometime in the next few weeks, much to the shock and awe of the PRT and city council clerks.
But while in all those projects you've been the driving force - the "leader" of the collaborative effort, for the purposes of your charm - now that you've truly allowed Colin and Riley to take the fore during a collaborative Tinkering session? It's resulted in you becoming barely more than a glorified crafting tool and resource gatherer, directed to and fro by wordless requests from the hyper-focused Tinkers. They only really need your Charms… Charms that Autochthon would undoubtedly give to a dedicated "Tinker" Alchemical for their own use.
Colin might not be too hard a sell to the rest of the Assembly. The bigger problem is whether this… humbling… he received as a result of the Simurgh's attack (and isn't that eerily convenient!?) would stick. If it didn't, you'd run into the same problem you may have with Alexandria: a new Alchemical trying to usurp authority and command of the Assembly from you. On the other hand, like Accord, he might dive head-first into Clarity and never come back.
As for Riley… well, if Iris himself hadn't subtly (for him) suggested her, you wouldn't even be considering it now; Riley needs at least few months to re-develop her understanding of people as more than "spare parts," and Saki has barely taken the first steps towards overcoming her trauma at Bonesaw's hands. Not to mention that, like with Ciara, the PRT would fall over themselves in panic at the mere hint that you're considering her for Exaltation.
You don't groan, but it's a near thing. Your best Orichalcum candidates are all walking disasters in some way, all suffering from problems you could fix if you had time. Even if you tossed Missy or Hannah in just as Aisha gets out, that still only buys you another week - nowhere near enough...
You blink, an odd feeling of resistance briefly passing over your hands as you reassemble a series of circuits under Colin's watchful gaze. What…?
It's as if your Omnitool Implants are trying to work through a viscous medium, instead of smoothly flickering through empty air. The sensation is gone as quickly as you notice it, but over the course of the next few minutes the feeling appears again four more times… until, when it happens a fifth time, you find your Omnitools suddenly swerving away from where they were about to fuse together two gold wires...
… because the wires somehow fused together on their own.
You process this development with barely a twitch, as neither Colin nor Riley appear to have noticed the (to you) blatant interference by one of their shards. This isn't the first time you've noticed something like this, as your collaboration efforts with Riley under Synergy-Promoting Upgrade have occasionally yielded sudden, strange alterations of matter or chemical compositions. But in the dozen-or-so times past, you were always forced to undo or "correct" whatever subtle flaw or imperfection her Tinker shard had introduced into your work. This time… the change was productive. Helpful.
Less than a minute after the first incident, it happens again: a jagged seam in the circuit board from a previous cut silently smooths itself out to slot in smoothly with the piece alongside it, just before you're about to sand it down.
Four minutes later, a drop of solder from Riley's soldering iron cools several fractions of a second faster than it should, just as you were going to reach over to prevent it from spilling out onto the nearby resistor.
Iris had posited that Entity shards could potentially understand the workings of Essence - even if they couldn't use it themselves - or begin to pattern-match well enough so as not to be completely blindsided by your reality-twisting. Much like the component spirits of Primordials, however, different shards will likely have varying amounts of difficulty grasping the conceptual nature of Essence-based magic; the shards themselves blend the concepts of "tools" and "organs" writ large, and they actively want to be used in new and interesting ways.
This feels like... instead of fighting your efforts, the shards are actively collaborating. To see if they can mimic your effects without essence, maybe? An unnerving prospect, if Riley's and Colin's shards begin using what they learn to work in flaws that your Omnitools won't catch automatically anymore - even with your superhuman levels of awareness, it's only by your Omnitool Implants' erratic behaviors that you're able to notice these incongruities.
You can still absorb the final products with your Technomorphic Integration Engine and then use the knowledge gained there to rebuild an improved version, but that is just… horrendously inefficient, not to mention a quick way to make Colin and Riley know that you don't trust them-...
… well, it's really the space-parasites peeking through their brains you don't trust… but they don't know that...
Sigh.
You'd resigned yourself to the understanding that Essence wasn't going to remain an out-of-context advantage for you forever, since your ultimate goal is to make local reality friendly enough to Essence for Autochthon himself to survive living here. Still… you've learned the hard way that guessing at how Essence works can be more hazardous than leaving well enough alone. Can you make this work for you?
Iris had commented that interfacing directly with unconverted shards would be difficult even for him, given their extra-dimensional existence and Nowhereverse composition. In addition, both of you suspect that Scion will be quicker to react to any further blatant dimensional breaches in the future, and that is a fight neither of you can risk at the moment. However... before he dropped everything and left to go sit atop the Cradle, he mentioned that Saki's Personality Override Spikemight be a backdoor for interfacing with a shard if both it and its attached Parahuman were exposed to sufficient Essence for the charm to not be working completely blind. Shards are reliant on signals and commands from the shard-brain interface, after all…
Hrm. Riley's specialty would be perfect to brainstorm on this, but you'd only really have the privacy to talk this over with her while inside Saki's pocket dimension… which would cut her off from her Tinker shard.
Meanwhile, as you've been contemplating interdimensional breaches and mind-jacking continent-sized supercomputers, the two Tinkers at the table have grown more coherent in their mumbling to each other.
"... wavelength interruptions can't be detected unless their mind is trying to access the portion that's been modified-"
"You can, silly billy! See, if you just increase the amplitude-"
"...it's not a solid wave, but an array of different signals that come together in a rhythm…?"
"Mmmhm!"
"I see. But to pick that up you'd boil their brain if you left the scanner on them for more than a few seconds."
"... Taylor has good aim! She can make it-"
"No."
"Aww-!"
"But… what if we shorten the distance? In Brockton, I had an idea for graviton-induced space-tunneler based on Vista's power…"
The back-and-forth is… interesting to watch,since your own idle scans of their minds when they're truly in the element reveal that there's an alarming amount of conscious thought being overridden by their powers. Not a complete take-over, like what happens when you've seen Chris, Riley, and Colin go into their "Tinker fugue" and become completely unresponsive to the outside world, but it's clear that their bodies (and mouths) are largely on autopilot.
You're torn on whether their behavior is amusing, creepy, or fascinating. Regardless, the numerous clocks you can see through the eyes of your various drones, insects, and animals within your range indicate that your time here is up.
"It's 11:30," you sigh, pulling your rapidly-recombining hands back to yourself while simultaneously dropping Synergy-Promoting Upgrade. "I have a meeting in Camden at noon… and none of us ate breakfast."
Both Colin and Riley blink a few times as their bodies twitch slightly from the withdrawal of your charm's magic, their respective mannerisms returning with Synergy-Promoting Upgrade no longer suppressing the traits that aren't immediately relevant to the task at-hand.
"Oooh," the tinier Tinker groans, shoulders slumping as she falls back into her chair in exhaustion. "So that's why I started having more and more ideas about trying to also scan for unbalanced insulin levels."
Colin is considerably less fatigued by the three-hour, charm-empowered Tinker-blitz, but he still takes a few fortifying breaths to steady his composure before opening his eyes to review the almost-completed work laid out on the table.
"We…" he begins, then turns a determined gaze to you. "We can finish this without you."
You raise an eyebrow at him. You're not offended - working with him both in Brockton Bay and here in Philadelphia has taught you that you'll know when he's trying to offend you - but rather at his presumption.
"That would be a violation of your Quarantine," you hum, then glance at Riley. "Technically, it'd be a violation for both of you."
Riley boggles, her jaw dropping in shock. "Whaaat?! But you've let me Tinker alone since Saturday!"
You wince, because… well, you didn't want to bring it up, but….
"... Dragon was watching you."
"Well, sure, but what does that-..." she begins, before her eyes flicker to a stiffened Colin, "...ooooh."
Colin is, after all, still classified by the PRT as a potential Simurgh bomb. Given the memetic nature of some of the Simurgh's attacks, all outside contact is to be kept to the bare minimum for at least three months, after which he'll undergo a rigorous screening process similar to what's used to vet potential releases from cities quarantined after Simurgh attacks. After that, he'll probably get a re-branding and shuffled off to start from the bottom of the ranks in Los Angeles, New York, or Houston.
You know he's cured, because your scans of him are clear of all the warnings your Diagnostic Overlay scans brought up during and after the fight. Saki knows he's clear, because her Personality Override Spike is how Colin's mind was put back together. Riley believes whatever you tell her, which is a whole separate can of mindworms that you aren't dealing with right now.
Everyone else… just has to trust you. By now, you'd think that would be a given… but when it comes to the Simurgh, you can't truly fault the PRT for its caution.
There's an odd irony that he's helping build a device that could ostensibly be used to clear his name; the mental damage done by the Simurgh should be caught by the scanner, even if you're initially intending to use this to root out anyone Mastered by the Fallen.
The fact that he is helping build it means that no one will trust the device to work reliably on him.
If you were on the outside looking in, you certainly wouldn't.
He undoubtedly realized this from the start, yet… he didn't ask to abstain.
Was it pride? The other projects you've asked for his help with will all be high-profile when they see the public eye, and this is no exception.
Was it conviction? His past work on a similar Tinkertech device has helped make it possible that you three could feasibly finish this device by tonight, not to mention his specialty in efficiency and miniaturization has resulted in the physical device's intended final form looking similar to a grocery store's barcode scanner.
Or… does he just not care enough to say "No"?
You'll have to get Saki down here when she gets back. Might be worth another poke around in his head; the more ways she can use it to show it has legitimate (non-mind-control) therapeutic uses, the more likely the PRT will allow her to use it in the field.
Rising up from your chair, you extrude one of your orange drone storage racks and guide four of the ten that are in the room into their respective cubbies. With the remaining six, you manipulate their integrated cyber-insect brains to guide four to the high corners of the room, and two just above the door… then leave them in Sentry Mode.
You cast meaningful glances at the drones you've stationed around the room, then turn back to the two Tinkers and nod.
"I'll be watching this time."
Colin blinks slowly, expression softening slightly as you see a twinge of a smile start to melt his stern expression. He takes another deep breath as he leans back slightly in his chair, then nods once.
"But…" Riley wonders aloud, tilting her head as she scratches at the ponytail she's adopted to mimic your own, "... aren't you always watching?"
Only for realization to strike her like a lightning bolt just as you're opening your mouth to respond, causing her to slap both her tiny hands on her cheeks in affront while looking at Colin.
"So that's why you're all smelly! You know she'll watch you wheackbplththththhh!"
You manage two expertly-aimed squirts from the water bottle before you're out the door.
***
Over the course of their twenty-five year existence, the Slaughterhouse Nine completely depopulated twenty-seven cities across the United States, Mexico, and Canada. Most of those were small, sub-two-thousand-population towns that the marauding psychopaths swept through while recovering between their strikes on major cities, but nine small cities were specifically targeted during a stretch in the early 90's after Jack got a hold of the 1990 United States census and decided to start culling cities that officially had a population of less than one hundred permanent residents.
The 2010 United States census hasn't been released yet (you've checked, it's expected to be done in April), but the New Jersey state census was released on February 10th. According to it, before the Slaughterhouse Nine arrived, Camden had a population of 52,128 permanent residents - down from 63,021 in 2000 - with 48% of the populace below the national poverty line and 53% of buildings in the city condemned.
On Tuesday, only 48 hours after announcing that the remaining bombs strewn throughout the city constituted a National-Guard-led mandatory evacuation of the city, New Jersey's governor declared Camden to be officially disincorporated.
By next Sunday, there shouldn't be a single living person or standing structure within the former city limits.
Not because you're letting Accord's murderous impulses dictate the new living conditions in the officially-past-tense city, of course - PRT and emergency vehicles are currently finishing scouring the city for the thirty-plus thousand that didn't flee from the Slaughterhouse Nine's rampage and relocating them to the Philadelphia relief shelters or the shelters set up in Cherry Hill and Deptford Township.
Instead, Accord is getting the next best thing by way of being formally tasked with plotting out how to completely raze everything within the city limits once the National Guard has given the "all clear" signal. You even added in the caveat that his plans should allow for easy reclamation of raw material (brick, metals, plastics, glass, etc.) from the destruction.
"I would have accounted for such, regardless," he had retorted, his fingers tapping an eager pattern on his cane as he stared out from the PRT Headquarters' rooftop towards the smoky haze across the Delaware river. "Waste is the enemy of Order."
As ludicrously effective his plans may be, they occasionally get Rube Goldberg-esque in their over-complexity if he has insufficient tools and/or resources for a task. To stave off those tendencies, and since part of your working agreement with him is that you won't ask him to dip into whatever funds he still has earmarked for his "End World Hunger" plan, you've instead given him permission to drain your own personal Number Man account if he has to resort to the more expensive and… esoteric contingencies in the plans he's shown you.
Judging by the email that just existed in your inbox long enough for you to notice its subject line, you expect this progress report meeting he's called is going to be… interesting.
Likely in the Chinese Proverb sense of the word.
The flight from Downtown Philadelphia to the Camden Relief-slash-Staging Camp is only a matter of a few miles, so it takes you less than a minute to cross the distance with your new armor's enhanced flight capabilities; most of your time in the air is spent ascending and descending in speed and altitude. Still, you're more than capable of taking in the view as you travel, even if you didn't make a few swings around Camden's water line to check on the ferries that are still transferring people across the river to Philadelphia.
It's… peculiar. Past the crowds and National Guard presence at the waterline, the smoldering, acrid smoke-choked ruins of the city are more peaceful than they've ever been. The air above it isn't filled with emergency vehicle wails, and the sounds of ever-present gang violence have gone quiet with the local parahuman-led gangs have… mostly shipped out alongside the civilian populace.
…
You're reminded of a regular saying from PHO's comment sections: "And nothing of value was lost."
Brockton Bay itself was close to following in Camden's footsteps, before Behemoth showed up. You wonder... if had Autochthon not intervened, would your home city have continued its downward spiral?
How many of Camden's population, when first hearing of Behemoth's attack just a bare few weeks ago, considered Brockton Bay to have been "nothing of value"...?
That line of rumination has popped up more than once over the last two weeks, but once again you squash it before it has a chance to go anywhere; you have more important things to task your various consciousnesses to at the moment.
"Administrator."
The short, business-suit-clad Thinker addresses you precisely as you cut power to your suit's anti-gravity thrusters. His tone is clipped and professional as usual, but something about the way his right hand has a death-grip on his cane gives you pause.
Perhaps it is Prayer's solemn, fully-armored presence at his side, when normally he would be accompanied by his Ambassadors? He's regarded her with nothing but civility and respect ever since her conversion, so… maybe it's the black-brown dirt that's been kicked up onto his shoes and lower pant legs? Not too long ago, you suspect he killed people over less.
You raise your left hand to signal a moment's pause, then close your eyes and push the vast majority of your essence reserves into a single charm.
Six new points of awareness blossom into existence along your forehead as the eyes framed around your soulgem transform into dragonfly-like mechanical insects. You navigate each free of their respective sockets - feeling the recessed prosthetic eye behind each drone pop forward to fill the space left behind - and have them take flight around you.
"Accord," you greet evenly, turning fully to address the pair that have met you several dozen yards from the hectic affairs of the camp. Rotating your head slightly, your tone lightens as you address your Assembly-mate. "Prayer."
The towering mass of hardened cerulean crystal bobs her head mechanically in response, but otherwise doesn't affect a change in her stoic demeanor.
Hmm. You hope Prayer's not still using Clarity to avoid dealing with her emotions, rather than letting it ebb and flow naturally as problems arise. Another something to talk with Saki about when you see the rest of the Wards later today.
The eyes on Accord's mask narrow as they track one of the Mobile Sensory Drones orbiting your head, then fixate on your face again. "What is your current range?"
You frown, not at the question but at the answer you have to give.
"I pushed my range this morning because of the attack, so right now I'm at the bare minimum of one hundred feet."
"Disappointing," he scowls, tapping his cane once. "A Guardsman convoy heard gunshots when they approached Camden High School this morning during their rounds, but didn't approach. I had expected you would be able to scout it from here during our meeting, rather than inconvenience you later."
The drones above your heads buzz louder as your anger leaks through your connection to them.
"Which gang?"
"The 'Resistors'" he sneers, some of his old malice creeping into his voice. "Only filth would be so harmful to both themselves and towards the progress of civilization."
Ugh. As awful as it was, you knew there would still be people refusing to leave their homes for one reason or another. Unfortunate, but expected and planned for. There had even been contingencies in Accord's plan if some of them were fresh triggers.
Three new triggers, all loudly declaring to everyone that they hate you, specifically was…
… sadly, also accounted for. Not the exact number of triggers, but…
You sigh, then begin directing your Mobile Sensory Drones out to take up places around the outside of the relief camp - with your range so limited right now, you're going to have to use their range-extending capabilities just to keep an eye on the whole camp while you're here.
"Is it bad that I hope this is just because the Fallen somehow Mastered them?"
"Not ignorance, nor malice, but incompetence?" Accord snorts. "Their worthlessness would still be proven-"
Even through the din of National Guard, emergency services, and PRT forces mobilizing and redeploying nearby, the sound of Prayer's armored feet shifting against broken, sooty pavement cuts through well enough to be heard by both of you.
She doesn't say anything or otherwise move, but the eyes on Accord's mask flicker towards where she remains behind his left shoulder and he shifts his right hand to lay atop the hand already clenching his cane.
"-... but coercion would improve the chances they will - after treatment - submit to rehabilitation and training."
You hum a note of consideration as you stare the small man down for a moment, then nod in agreement. He's been… better about his more sociopathic tendencies lately, but the utter chaos of this city is really driving up his blood pressure - and, according to the scan you're doing now, giving him an utterly devastating headache. Curious that scan also shows he isn't taking the painkillers the PRT issued him (at your request).
"We can hope. Though... that's only a few blocks away from where the Teeth are trapped. Do your Ambassadors defending the controls have Master/Stranger protocols?"
The intricate, golden clockwork mask tilts as his posture straightens with pride.
"Of course," he asserts, but after a moment's pause his tone gains a slight edge. "After hearing of your attack, I have also... requested to Director Piggot that the PRT Troopers assigned to… accompany the Ambassadors at the trap to receive copies of the eyeglasses you made."
Ah. Judging by his rising blood pressure just now, you think you've found what's really aggravating the "former" murderous crime lord.
You'd hoped that requesting Emily Piggot be assigned to the PRT branch that will oversee the remade "New Camden" wouldn't ruffle too many of his feathers. After all, they both love rules! And order! And petty grudges!
But… yes, you probably should have seen that she and Accord would get along like… well... a city on fire.
You're going to have to get Saki involved here, too, aren't you? Though you'll need to warn her that if for some reason Piggot and Accord end up in some convoluted romance story, PRT rules say that Department Directors can't be married to parahumans. And, apropos of nothing, that she should not use her new charms to encourage PRT rule changes without your say-so.
You make the note in your helmet's HUD, then promptly shove all those trains of thought into the garbage because ew. Taking a fortifying breath, you focus your attention back on why you're here in the first place.
"I'll prioritize an extra batch when I return," you reply evenly, otherwise managing to hide your shudder at the previous thoughts. "My readings for the Time Loop Trap still read nominal, but with the Fallen on the move and the Resistors nearby it might be prudent to move up our time table for the Teeth. Is that what you wanted to discuss?"
Oddly, some of the tension in his posture recedes as you bring the conversation around… while Prayer silently shifts in a way that you almost think is a sign of… nervousness?
"I agree, but that is a matter we can handle through our usual electronic correspondences - I will send you an updated schedule before you leave for Pittsburgh this afternoon. No, I wished to speak with you regarding an... acquisition I just made through the Toybox that may dramatically reduce my time estimates for the city's reformation, as well as similarly improve your own large and small-scale construction capabilities."
You blink, then double-check your email inbox…
Nope. Your folder for Toybox communications is still nearly empty.
"Did… did you tell them that you were working with me?" you ask, eyebrow raised incredulously.
He waves his off-hand dismissively. "I was informed of, and allowed this purchase because I am coordinating with you. While normally I would refuse such an obvious ploy, their underestimation of your abilities and potential can be turned to our benefit."
…
"Accord, did you buy a bomb?"
"Of course not," he scoffs. "Did we not agree? Chaos does not create Order. No, it was something that Toybox themselves only recently managed to acquire-"
Prayer's resonant voice cuts in, just loud enough that only your group can hear her low, ominous declaration.
"What we failed to bury from fools," she grinds out, her gaze a physical force.
"Deep Silver."
***
"Mendez, Colbert? Arrest-"
You balk, throwing up your hands before the two armored PRT agents start moving. "Director-!"
"No, Weaver," Director Emily Piggot fumes, her heavyset form equally armored and streaked with dirt in a way that implies she's been on at least one patrol recently. She leans on the Command Tent's cluttered planning table with her left arm and points angrily at Accord with her right. "Not only am I denying this request, you have one minute to explain why I shouldn't arrest this lunatic for violating his agreement to act within the law!"
You can hear Accord's teeth grinding, even if his golden clockwork mask maintains its level glare at Brockton Bay's former Director - now-turned Acting Director for the upcoming new PRT Department 65 that will be formed in New Camden. Thankfully, beyond a twitch towards the button on his cane's handle, he manages to restrain himself from doing anything rash.
Which is good, because while he might be able to shrug off the two PRT agents… Prayer has managed to silently creep back up behind him again.
"If you would let me finish-"
"I asked Weaver to explain," she sneers, jabbing a thick, gloved finger at you while keeping her narrowed eyes on Accord, "so either shut up or we'll see if that fancy suit of yours shrugs off containment foam."
You sorely want to activate Synergy-Promoting Upgrade so Accord stops digging himself an even deeper hole, but you're pretty sure Piggot would hose you with containment foam as well if you started using charms in her general direction.
You respected her tenacity and adherence to the rule of law in Brockton Bay - it's why you suggested internally and through Cauldron to get Emily Piggot transferred over - but you… underestimated how poorly her overall attitude suffered overseeing the management of the Brockton Bay Relief Camp in Providence. Not only that, but your medical scans reveal that her pallid complexion and baggy eyes aren't just for show; she's in even worse shape than before, and whatever dialysis routine she's on isn't cutting it these days.
She spent years in Brockton Bay with Panacea on-call, and she's undoubtedly aware that Prayer could heal her in a matter of moments. Looks like this is yet another task for Saki to deal with when the Wards' vacation ends on Friday.
Bringing your left hand down and nodding to Accord that you'll handle this, you wait a few seconds for the gears in his mask to stop whirring ominously before turning your head back to meet Piggot's gaze.
"Accord's deal with Toybox is that they turn over - to the PRT - the sample of Deep Silver that they somehow acquired, the containment unit it's stored in, and every computer and piece of equipment that interacted with the sample for the few minutes of research they did on it. The only things we're not getting are the devices they used to obtain the sample... because Toybox already atomized them."
What possessed an enclave of Tinkers to think it was a good idea to snatch a piece of self-replicating nanites that automatically suborned all technology within several dozen yards into making more nanites? You're not sure what shocks you more: that they actually managed to contain the sample, or that they didn't accidentally start another apocalypse.
Piggot's nostrils flare as she lets out a huff, brushing back a lock of blonde hair that had fallen out of her helmet into her eyes.
"You didn't lead with that statement… why?"
You're quick enough to rest a hand on Accord's shoulder before he manages to open his mouth, and it's a mark of his progress that he doesn't reflexively unsheathe his sword cane at start of physical contact. Still, he twitches in a way you understand means that anyone other than you would now be missing an arm (you're not sure how Prayer's armor will handle a monomolecular blade), so there's room for further improvement.
"To Accord's credit, Director, you didn't allow him to even complete his first sentence."
She squints at you, dark green eyes narrowed and mouth pursed, before she closes her eyes fully and sighs. When her eyes open again, her gaze flickers to Accord and she manages a curt nod.
"Fine. Continue."
You're certain Accord is fantasizing of all sorts of vicious ways he could exact a grisly price from Piggot for such blatant disrespect, but he manages to remain silent and stoic behind his golden mask. To allow him the time to get ahold of himself again, you keep talking in his stead.
"With such short notice, the PRT does not have any storage facilities that would be capable of safely holding the Deep Silver sample, which was why the PRT chose not to take any samples from the battleground after dealing with the main mass in Antarctica last week," you explain, turning your head to look at Prayer.
Apparently Ned had a blast for the first half-hour of fighting and playing bait, only to be bored for the next twelve hours as the mountain-sized blob of nanites that had eaten him was slowly whittled away to nothing by his own chewing and everyone else's combined attacks.
Last you checked, he's still playing 'Tag' with Ash Beast near the southern border of the Sahara. Possibly literally, since the two are basically tossing each other around the desert at this point; the initial hope that he could distract the walking chain-explosion long enough for the nearby village to evacuate has morphed into an attempt to lead Ash Beast deep enough into the uninhabited heart of the Sahara that it will give the surrounding countries some breathing room.
It's been two days and (as far as the last report noted) Ned still hasn't become completely immune, so at least he's probably having fun while you wait for Saki to get back and break the news to Piggot that he's being assigned to New Camden.
Prayer nods silently in response to your questioning gaze, so you turn your head back to meet the stouter woman's resting frustrated face.
"That leaves us with two options: immediately annihilate the sample and accompanying materials, or-"
Piggot nods. "Approved."
"-or," you stress, raising a finger as if it would have stopped her interruption, "allow me to quarantine it within my Technomorphic Integration Engine charm until such time as the PRT possesses the means to safely do so itself."
The Director nods, blinking owlishly a few times before finally squeezing her eyes shut completely and rubbing her face with her gloved right hand.
"Are you trying to get me fired before my department even exists, Weaver?"
"Of course not, Director," you sigh, rolling your eyes.
"Then please, enlighten me. Why I should allow a Ward, who is a full-conversion cyborg, near an S-Class Threat that comandeers anything within a hundred yards more complicated than a pencil?"
Prayer's resonant voice cuts your own response off before it reaches your tongue.
"The Maker's Chosen are beyond its sway. Even submerged in its tide, I was unaffected."
"Fantastic," Piggot bites out with a snort, opening her eyes and gesturing to your giant blue Assembly-mate. "Vajra can quarantine it."
After a brief, awkward moment, Prayer shuffles her heavily-armored boots.
"...I have not been gifted with a Charm that would allow this, Director."
"Director Piggot-" you begin, wincing at Prayer's dejected admission, but the shortest armored woman in the tent cuts you off with a slash of her hand.
"Weaver, I'm not sure why I'm the only one that seems to be telling you this, but stop collecting S-Class threats."
"But-"
"No!" she fumes, punching the table with the arm she's been leaning on. "If you didn't already have at least half-a-dozen other S-Class threats in your care or currently out for your blood - and I just bet that there are more that I'm not yet cleared to know about - then I might request a Director council meeting to discuss this… insanity. As it is, the only reason I'm not petitioning Director Uriel for you to be removed from active duty is because I know it'll be dismissed before the ink's dry. But you two...-"
She jabs a thickly-gloved finger at Prayer, then at Accord, scowling furiously.
"...- I have actual authority over. So: Vajra and Accord, I order you to annihilate the Deep Silver sample and anything even remotely related to it."
Tens of millions of dollars… wasted?
Just because she refuses to understand what you're capable of? No… you…
You take a breath. Close your eyes. Calm. Focus. Clarity.
This… is not the hill you want to die on. Emily Piggot won't give on this one; she was one of the few survivors the the PRT's disastrous expedition into Ellisburgh just as Nilbog forged his legend, so mass-replicating threats are her nightmare scenario.
Besides, with your hand still on his shoulder, you can feel that Accord is practically vibrating with restrained rage. As much as you want to argue this… it might be best to cut your losses before he snaps and destroys the bare facsimile of a working relationship that he's built with the PRT here.
"Fine," you bite out, not bothering to hide your own frustration or disappointment. Accord momentarily stills in shock at your acquiescence. "I still need to discuss other projects with Accord and Vajra. May I speak with them before they leave?"
Director Piggot's jaw muscles work as she studies you for a long moment, then frowns and waves you off.
"Dismissed."
You spin on your heel, subtly nodding at Accord as the eyes of his mask side-eye you as he and Prayer follow suit. Just as the three of you are about to reach the weathered-white tent flaps to pass outside, the Director's voice calls out to you again.
"Weaver."
You pause, but don't bother turning around. She knows you can see her flinty stare, regardless.
"We can't afford to lose you. Stop looking for trouble."
You give her words a full five seconds of thought, then step out into smoke-choked ruins of what used to be Camden city.
Proof of what happens when you let your enemies come to you.
"Administrator-"
The glowing stare you give Accord is enough to halt his seething remark before it finishes reaching his lips. After a second of silence, you incline your head towards the northern exit of the PRT Command Shelter.
"Let's go pull some Teeth."
***
As your trio moves north, out from the PRT Relief Command Center that has largely taken over the remains of a United States Postal Service depot, you opt to walk instead of getting a ride from one of the various government or civilian vehicles going your way. This is largely due to Accord being the only member of your group that can't fly, but walking across most of the ruined city isn't a waste of time; Accord uses this opportunity to catch you up on smaller, non-emergency developments since you spoke with him yesterday morning, while it's also a chance for you to get a ground-level perspective of how the evacuation and demolition of the city is progressing.
The first, most obvious example of this is what's going on only a half-mile northwest of the PRT Relief Command Center, where the 47-Acre construction depot has been turned into the primary hub for both materiel coming in from outside the city, and for salvage gathered from the local ruins.
Massive piles of concrete rubble, twisted metal girders and rebar, used plastic bottles and jugs, and broken wooden beams are arranged on the eastern side of the lot, where caravans of dump trucks, garbage trucks, and civilian pickup trucks are streaming in to deposit what they've claimed before venturing back north into the heart of the former city. While there are a dozen PRT troopers keeping guard, most of the thousand-plus force of men and women hard at work - talking with drivers about where they found their loads, helping sort salvage into their proper piles - are contracted civilians laborers that lived in Camden.
Even though you're only observing them through your Mobile Sensory Drones and commandeered fauna, you're able to recognize most of the individuals running the show. You did most of the paperwork for this, after all.
The piles of rubble and salvage themselves are smaller than what a casual observer might initially expect, what with the constant stream of vehicles entering the yard full and leaving empty. One only has to watch the piles for a few minutes to see why that is: almost as quickly as they're fed from the east, the piles are being devoured from the west.
"Devoured" in a literal sense, as the four bus-sized dragon-ish drones you set up last week have been working around-the-clock to turn unusable raw materials into processed, easily-used blocks and bars. They're nowhere near as animalistic as the drones you're planning on installing Riley's… pets… into, looking more like someone slapped Chinese New Year costumes on a set of busses; the true dragon-machines are still being worked on in the cavernous basement below the Quarantine floor back at HQ.
Even if they only barely resemble animals, you still made sure that the "output" from each drone comes out of the sides, instead of from their… backside. To do otherwise would have been, to quote Riley, "naughty and icky."
They've been chomping along at a quick clip, and in the five days they've been active have converted tens of thousands of tons of materials. Aside from the two visits you've had to pay to repair them - both times due to residues from exotic Bakuda ordinance building up their internal workings - they've largely operated without your input or control. Nonetheless, since you're already walking by the yard you take this opportunity to float a Mobile Sensory Drone near enough to extend your (still limited) Shard of Perfect Administration range; with their synthetic "animal brains" installed under your control, you run quick diagnostics…
… hmmm, nothing alarming, but you'll probably need to stop in tomorrow to clean out the concrete-conversion drone again. It's both the busiest and most problem-prone one, so it's to be expected.
Beyond any operational concerns, you notice through your Mobile Sensory Drone that… it appears people have painted some small artistic designs on the four drones to make them more "life-like." Colorful scales, giving each dragon a rainbow hue; nothing that looks like gang tags, thankfully, but rather just… art. You're not sure if you should be flattered or concerned? Or both? You didn't get any notices from the PRT agents on-site of people asking permission, and none of the art overlaps important seams or service hatches so your brief study doesn't reveal any problems it might cause - if anything, in a few days the art will be covered over by the dirt and grime constantly being kicked up in the yard.
Dragon herself checks in on these daily, since officially you gifted them to the Guild in order to get them out in the field without a Tinkertech review. You wouldn't be surprised if she authorized the touch-ups, but you make yourself a note in your helmet's HUD to ask her about it.
As your trio progresses further into the ruins of Camden, however, the utter destruction and desolation of what was once the economic 'heart' of the city becomes more and more prevalent. Storefronts are all shattered and looted, if their buildings stand at all. Traffic lights and signs are either off, blinking red, or their wires and poles have been ripped away altogether.
The noon-day sun finally manages to break through the oppressive grey-brown haze choking the city for a few minutes as your trio walks on. Streaks of light intermittently cascading through the cloud cover highlight the burned-out and blasted husks of long-abandoned and condemned buildings. Distant wails of emergency vehicles intermingle with occasional gunshots and smaller explosions.
Accord pauses mid-sentence when a sunbeam drifts in front of your group, just as the three of you are about to step into a faded crosswalk.
"A moment."
Both you and Prayer halt, having stepped into the street already, and half-turn to look back at his stilled form. The eyes of his mask are closed and its mouth is drawn in a tight line, while his right hand has a death-grip on his cane.
A quick scan shows alarming blood pressure levels, and while you're still not entirely able to understand the details of what your scans show for brains, it's clear even to you that his power is consuming most of his conscious thought. This means he's fully-engaged plotting out some kind of astronomically-complicated scheme, but… you have a feeling it's not one of the nice ones.
When he doesn't do anything but breathe for a few more seconds, you trigger your armor's backpack and unleash a large enough portion of your robotic swarm to surround the three of you in a near-solid dome. Consciously directing the tens of thousands of horsefly-sized drones to operate as quietly as possible, all that can be heard now is a quiet susurrus of mechanical wings beating a pattern of white noise.
As Accord's vitals and brain patterns slowly begin to normalize, you idly wonder if Prayer would be capable of making a similar protective dome with a single activation of her Shard-charm? You don't doubt that she could extrude enough to form one piece-by-piece, but… hmm. Possibly worth talking with her to see if she's experimented at all with the charm since she fully configured it? The only thing of note she mentioned was that absorbing arms and armor is no longer as… uh… overwhelming.
Which brings you back around to Accord: you've noticed that Prayer has far more tolerance for the be-suited crime lord's impulses once you and Riley figured out that his power has been filling his head with violent impulses. It was particularly eerie, being able to track how his murderous intrusive thoughts increased whenever he dedicated his power towards infrastructure and administrative tasks - both because of how blatant his power's manipulations have become, and how Accord himself would never have noticed this trend if you hadn't pointed it out.
Both he and Riley had picked up that you knew much more about the whys of this, but you'd held off revealing your knowledge about what you've learned about the Entities and their "Cycle" - telling them both that you'd only feel secure telling them within Saki's dimension, but that they'd get the full explanation soon.
Accord lets out a small, tight breath and slowly opens the clockwork eyes of his golden mask, meeting your own gaze. He holds it silently, before flicking his gaze to the nearly-opaque dome of robotic insects shielding you three from the hellish landscape beyond.
"I have difficulty appreciating this small mercy when it is your hand that has driven me into needing it."
You frown, allowing a small measure of contrition to seep into your expression and tone.
"It is not without purpose," you acknowledge. "Your self-control has improved. It is a common note in any report I receive regarding your performance."
He turns his head and eyes back, allowing the cold, impassive eyes of his mask bore into you.
"Exercise or torture, it cannot continue. My optimistic projections for my own personal growth… wane. The greater the demands you place upon my skills, the more frequent the impulses become with each passing day. You know this."
"I do."
His eyes narrow, the gold of his mask reflecting your own glowing eyes in the darkened dome.
"I. Am. Trying," he grits out, pausing after the last word to briefly close his eyes momentarily and take a fortifying breath. "I do not yet possess the strengths of a Chosen of Autochthon. I am, still, only human. When the moment comes that every conscious thought becomes murderous, it will be on your head."
"False."
Prayer's deep, crystalline voice is all that much powerful in this enclosed space.
"You are not held by throat or leash. You choose to remain."
Gears whir in his mask, and Accord's left hand comes up to adjust his gold tie as he visibly considers her words before turning back to you.
"A residence apart, then? Would my candidacy suffer?"
You raise an eyebrow. "What about your Ambassadors?"
"They would remain, of course," he nods, only for him to blink as an idea visibly comes to him.
You blink once, straightening up and absently tapping your thigh as you consider his proposal in turn. It's a development you… half-expected, honestly, but his improving self-control had given you hope that Accord might be able to keep it together on his own.
That was before Camden was set to be razed to the ground, uprooting him again. The fact that he hasn't grievously harmed someone is frankly astonishing, though Prayer's mentioned she's needed to check him a few times these past few days.
Hmm. There's another option here beyond just shoving Accord in a deprivation chamber somewhere outside of the city.
Checking the time… 12:19 PM.
You're consciously trying not to interrupt Saki's vacation every other hour of the day. You'll see Saki tonight, in Pittsburgh, so you'll ask her there when she'll be free next.
"Before that," you begin, raising your right hand with index finger poised, "would you accept the implantation of a soulgem?"
He manages to control his shock, stilling momentarily before he straightens himself and taps his cane on the sidewalk.
"Of course. Yet I recall you said the PRT had confiscated the equipment for testing? They have returned it?"
You hum, withdrawing your hands to the small of your back. "I'll have it by tonight or tomorrow. I'll also be able to provide you with the… background details of your power that I withheld earlier."
Uriel shouldn't be too difficult to convince. You didn't have a pressing need to jam diamonds into people's heads before, but "Accord's going to snap and kill people if we don't do this now" should suffice. You can even spin it as further 'field testing'!
It'd be best if you did it in Saki's personal dimension, though, which is why you might as well give Accord and Riley the full space-parasite rundown while you're there. Unfortunately, that means you need to convince Saki to let the bio-tinker into her "Safe Space."
Better make sure you bring some cheesecake to the meet-up tonight. You're not sure why Saki giggles while eating it, but it's apparently her favorite.
Accord nods, satisfied. "I will adjust my schedule to ensure I am available."
Prayer shuffles, drawing both of your attention, but she merely holds her helmeted stare at Accord for a silent moment before nodding once.
The golden clockwork mask whirrs a bit, the brow of the onset face furrowing slightly, only for Accord to nod again in apparent comprehension. He turns back to you and meets your gaze again.
"Thank you."
You let only a small smile creep onto your face before closing up your helmet again - then let the dome around you slowly thin out so as to not bombard Accord all at once with the sudden return of Camden's chaotic ambiance.
Instead of returning your swarm to your backpack, however, you begin to draw out more and more of the drones stored within...
... until nearly the entire 100-foot radius hemisphere around your trio is saturated with the millions of robotic insects you have at your disposal.
You turn back, leading the group towards your original destination, only to pause as both Accord and Prayer haven't moved yet.
"Shall we?"
They share a glance, then make to follow your lead.
***
With the usual two-tone chime, an "Incoming Call" alert comes up on your helmet's HUD. Caller ID: Director Martin Uriel.
Hmm. That took… longer than you expected, but you answer the call regardless. Which provides a second surprise: it's a video call, not a simple voice call, which means he's contacting you from the conference room instead of his office. Odd. There weren't any Director conferences scheduled for today that would necessitate his presence there.
Except, even in a video call, he's not looking at you. He seems to be… doing paperwork, judging by the angle of his posture and slight twitches of his eyes.
"Director."
"Weaver. I just received a call from Director Emily Piggot."
"Ah."
"What are you doing right now?"
"Walking."
"Then why do I suspect that I would be able to track where you are if I went up to roof and looked across the river?"
You side-step as a person-sized chunk of concrete sails into and through your dome of robotic insects, the cloud parting to allow it through with only a few dozen insect drones being clipped by its passage.
"... An enthusiastic walk."
"Mhm," he grunts, shifting his gaze as you hear the shuffling of papers. At least, you're fairly certain you heard that, since it's a bit difficult to hear the fine details of the conversation over the gunfire and explosive punching.
"It says here, on the schedule that you submitted - and I approved - this morning, that right now you should be 'Meeting With Accord and His Ambassadors To Review New Camden Infrastructure Developments'."
"I'm doing that as well, Director," you nod, idly extruding another set of containment foam grenades which your drones carry away from your hands to be deposited elsewhere. "I have exceptional multi-tasking skills."
He pauses, finally sparing a moment to actually glance at you through the teleconference camera.
"Accord is with you. Right now?"
"Of course."
"May I speak with him?"
You blink. "... I don't believe his head will fit in my helmet, sir. His mask is rather robust."
"Just open your armor's external microphone and speakers. I don't need a visual feed."
"Yes sir," you confirm, pursing your lips as you quickly crank the noise-cancelation features of your external mic up to its highest setting.
Prayer tears a car in half just as you switch to externals. Great.
"Accord."
The small man to your right, encased in the stationary shield generator you've set up for him, tears his gaze away from where First Prayer of Perfection is methodically taking apart the remains of Camden High School... and the parahuman gang within. Given that you've surrounded the area with your swarm of robotic and organic fauna - blocking off any chance for the few hundred individuals within to escape - they've grown rather panicked and desperate.
"Yes?"
"Director Uriel would like to speak with you."
The brow of his mask furrows as he considers the statement. "Is this a pressing matter?"
Before you can answer, Uriel's voice crackles through the two external speakers tucked underneath your helmet's jawline.
"Director Emily Piggot is still waiting for you and Vajra to finish up your discussion with Weaver, so that you can explain to her how you intend to receive and dispose of the Deep Silver sample."
Accord makes a grunt of acknowledgement, but it's lost in the sound of Prayer slapping an RPG out of the air that would have continued on towards populated areas.
"She sounded impatient. You might want to turn back from wherever you've been… walking."
Golden clockwork eyes swivel to meet your own, even though your helmet's opacity is still a maximum.
"Her feelings are not my concern. Recent developments require that I revisit my itinerary for the next three days, and the delivery time and location for Toybox's delivery has not been finalized. Inform Director Piggot that-"
"Whatever," Uriel sighs, the video window in your HUD showing him rolling his eyes and shaking his head before turning back to his paperwork. "Tell her yourself, I'm not your message boy. Weaver, one more thing."
You quickly flip the external microphones and speakers off, while holding up both hands to placate an eerily-still Accord.
"Yes, Director?"
"Is there a reason you didn't inform the local PRT forces that you would be engaging a parahuman-led gang?"
You don't bother holding back the simmering rage you felt when the school-turned-hideout came into your range. The glow within your helmet increases.
"I did call in that we engaged the Resistors, even though I knew there's no way they have the manpower or resources to respond by the time we're done here."
"After you already engaged," he emphasizes, drawing out the first word. "I'm guessing you were just going to scout them out at first, but found enough reasons to engage immediately."
His tone at the end isn't quite as sarcastic as normal, so you treat it as the statement of fact that it is.
"Yes, sir. They'd started taking hostages, some of which need medical attention."
"Not why I'm disappointed, Weaver," he sighs, finally looking back to you. "What was the chance that you wouldn't have engaged a new gang whose sole reason for existing is to get in your way."
You can think of a few ways to twist your response, but… you've got better things to do right now.
"I…" you trail off, letting out the breath in a huff before shaking your head. "I should have informed local dispatch that I was moving to patrol the area."
"And?"
"... and you, sir."
He grunts, leaning back in his chair such that the shadows of the room draw out his shallow cheeks and the bags under his eyes. "There's nothing I can do to you that wouldn't be political or literal suicide, Weaver. All I ask is that you keep me in the loop."
You grit your teeth in frustration and shame, but he's not wrong. Iris did not like him.
"Yes, sir."
He waves the hand still holding a pen, absently.
"You've been good about it, since the Nine. I guess I'm more surprised than disappointed, honestly," he sighs, still sounding completely bored. "Are you about done, there?"
Through your many, many viewpoints, you see that Prayer has cornered the trio of new capes in the school's gym - the unpowered gang members all either foamed, wrapped in rebar, or possessing too many broken limbs to do anything but moan. Sure, you could have simply flooded the place from the start, but Prayer had asked to take responsibility since this is ostensibly "her" district now.
You also suspect she took offense at the fact their gang tag is a big red 'X' over a black cog.
The only thing she did ask for help with was to make sure the four-dozen hostages they'd taken were safe. You freed them easily once Prayer drew away their guards, and while you've taken care of any external wounds, the only one you haven't healed (via medical supplies extruded through a controlled stray dog and utilized by your robotic swarm) are the ones with more severe broken bones and internal damage.
Accord, for his part, has been largely silent as he watched the two of you work. You're somewhat curious as to his thoughts, but you've found he will engage you in conversation when he desires it.
"Yes, sir."
"Are you planning on dealing with the Teeth, since you're in the area?"
You shake your head. "That was why we were headed this way, but only because the Resistors were likely to try and free them. Director Piggot's team doesn't have the resources to deal with the aftermath of two gang fights, so I'll stick to my original schedule and deal with them tomorrow."
"Good. Any other updates to your itinerary I should know about?"
Well, if you have him on the line now… might as well ask. The chances he'll be in a better mood tonight are slim.
"Accord's mental state is deteriorating in these environments. His power is overloading him with violent thoughts, and he doesn't have anything like a 'safe place' to retreat to when it gets bad anymore. I want to give him a soulgem; Riley has proven that soul-based willpower can shut down power-induced intrusive thoughts."
Uriel's lidded stare bores into you for a long moment, before he slouches on his right elbow and uses that hand to cover his face.
"Does Piggot need to sign off on this, since he's working for her?"
"No sir. I made sure of that when I drew up the contract."
He sighs. "Of course you did."
As he thinks, you wonder if the explosive collapse of the high school's gymnasium can be heard through your microphone.
"When are you going to do it?"
You don't smile, because that might make him change his mind just out of spite.
"After the concert in Pittsburgh tonight. I'll be doing it in Tatsu's personal dimension."
That causes him to look up from his hand. "She'll let the gremlin in there?"
"I… plan on asking her about that when I see her."
Some genuine cheer creeps into his shadowed expression.
"Please let Tatsu know that she has my support if she wishes to keep the gremlin there permanently, will you? Accord as well."
You're doing a good impression of Uriel's own half-lidded, unimpressed stare.
"Of course, sir."
"Good," he snorts, reaching towards the camera. "Keep in touch."
The call flickers off. You sigh.
At your side, Accord turns just enough to side-eye you through his mask.
"Why have you not moved to replace him?"
You cross your arms across your armored chestplate, shaking your head.
"He's Old Guard in the PRT. Too many connections, the troops respect him, and the current short-list of replacements wouldn't believe half of what he's seen me do - I'd have to fight for every little thing all over again."
Turning back, he watches Prayer carry the crystal-encased forms of three unconscious capes into the highschool's ruined parking lot a few hundred yards away. The be-suited crime lord makes an unhappy sound of understanding.
"The balancing of power between gangs is not so different."
You consider the thought for a moment. "For now, maybe."
Prayer looks up from her pile of defeated parahumans. She nods, and you return the affirmation.
"But not for long."
***
The PRT, police, national guard, and ambulances roll in over the course of the next hour; it's the national guard that are the outliers, showing up nearly a half-hour after all the others. They, too, are strapped for manpower at the moment, but their delayed response isn't really a concern since they're only here to help transport those hostages without other places to go to other shelters.
Amusingly, it's the two ambulances that are largely superfluous, due to you and Prayer healing everyone - including the injured gang members and capes - back up to a level of health that most haven't had since well before the Slaughterhouse Nine arrived. The only medical concern that you left alone was one teenager a bit older than you with a desperate need of braces; sure, you could have probably fixed his teeth so the poor guy doesn't have a mouth like the remnants of a white picket fence after a tornado, but with nearly everyone watching (and thanking) you at the time… it could have been seen as a bit excessive to perform an elective surgery like that without a license or life-saving need.
As effective as your Omnitool Implants are, the soulsteel components of your charm lends any surgical efforts a much more… visceral bent than you suspect is truly necessary. Even if a bunch of the younger kids think your healing was "totally metal," most everyone preferred to wait for Prayer to heal them by the time you were done with your second patient.
You're not really sure what the problem is: all the blood ends up back where it should be when you're done!
… all they blood they need, at least. You have a sneaking suspicion your charm creates blood just so there's enough to leave some splattered around the surgery site at the end. Pushing that idle question to Iris through your familiar link just yields an enthusiastic "[EXPERIMENTATION]," unfortunately, so you hope you didn't just cause a problem for yourself whenever he reunites with Riley.
That isn't the only "dental work" you avoid; Accord and Prayer depart the scene just after the national guard arrive, catching a PRT humvee to go meet up with the Ambassadors and PRT troopers monitoring the presbyterian church a few blocks west in which the Teeth are holed up. Not that the psychotic gang is much of a threat at the moment, as your Time Stop trap currently has the entire structure frozen in place until everyone is ready to put The Butcher down for good.
And by "everyone" you mean "you," mostly. Sure, you estimate that you and Prayer can handle the eight psychopathic capes and their twenty-two unpowered gang members, the problem comes with The Butcher… or, rather, Butcher XVI.
A parahuman power that jumps to whomever killed its last host, carrying with it the powers and "voices" of all its previous hosts as well. More than one hero has tried to shoulder the burden, but in the end the host always finds themselves returning to lead The Teeth by taking up the mantle of The Butcher. The full details of what happens to the host's mind have never been clear, but it's resulted in "The Butcher" never receiving a Kill Order despite each incarnation eventually committing atrocities that would earn one.
Both you and Riley are on the same wavelength for what this means: there is so much potential in a power like that, if only there was a way to make it not drive the host insane! Sixteen (or more!) powers, all in one!
Unfortunately, knowing what you know, you suspect that somehow smothering or eliminating the "voices" would likely do the same to the powers that are carried over - Riley's gruesome history with reanimating dead capes (whose powers became less effective the less of a 'person' there was to control it) leads you to believe that the method the 'Butcher' shard uses to copying powers relies on a personality fragment to control it.
This had ultimately culminated in a rather morbid idea: exploit the Butcher power by having an Exaltation candidate kill the Butcher immediately before being converted, thus having the candidate linked to potentially two (or more, depending on the shard's mechanics) shards but before the Butcher shard could drive your candidate mad. Proposing the idea to Iris through your link, however, you'd been surprised at how vehement his reaction had been.
"[INFECTION]! [CORRUPTION]!"
You… didn't quite understood exactly what he meant, but you gathered that it was something to do with Autochthon's sickness likely not playing well with a corrupting, parasite-themed power.
That also put to rest Riley's idea that maybe one of your Assembly could deal the final blow on the current Butcher and then simply shrug off the Butcher shard through use of Industrial Survival Frame; if Iris is concerned that even Autochthon might not be able to handle the shard perfectly, there's no way you're going to expose one of your Assembly to it.
Since you suspect Saki imprisoning the Butcher permanently would cause the shard to jump to her, that leaves you with only a few options: keep the host of the Butcher shard observably "alive" but permanently restrained, or deal with the shard itself. This trial run of your Time Freeze trap has proven it works for the former method, but sending the Butcher to the Birdcage or to Cauldron would also suffice. Since you don't have a way to deal with shards directly that won't draw Scion's attention, the only other method for dealing with the shard itself is… Ciara.
The "role" of her shard, she told you during your first conversation, was to "take the tired, the wistful, and the recalcitrant fae whom had played their part... backstage, to await the final curtain call." Translated to normal speech: her power not only severs and collects connections to other shards, but prevents collected shards from looking for new hosts again.
Let Ciara out for just a minute or two... and the problem of The Butcher is solved.
Right.
That is one genie you are relatively certain won't fit back in the bottle, in more ways than one.
This wouldn't even be a consideration if the current Butcher was some previous Teeth member or other lunatic. Unfortunately, as with most things in your life, there is a… complication: Butcher XVI is Citrine. Accord's former right-hand assistant who sacrificed herself to allow Accord to flee Boston and join you in Philadelphia.
You could just stick the Butcher… Citrine in the same stasis pod that you used to keep Missy alive and unconscious (after some new hardware tweaks to account for the Butcher's inherited Brute rating, of course) and leave her there until Ciara is safe to let out, if just for a few moments. But… not dealing with the Butcher (the cape or the shard) definitively while the Simurgh is actively targeting you is as dangerous as leaving an active warhead just sitting in your backyard.
Ugh. And on top of that this stupid-
"What's wrong?"
Colin's tired, rumbling voice derails the downward spirals most of your trains of thought were going down. Shaking your head, you take a deep breath and focus on getting a hold of your temper without resorting to Clarity again today - can't afford to be robotic for the concert tonight.
Besides, you should be glad you noticed that this insurance company is denying claims more often if the claim has an obviously African-American name attached. Yes, it means you're going to need to go back through the thousands of claims they've denied to re-evaluate them yourself. Yes, it means you're going to need to gather enough evidence to make the company immediately settle - and fire every single staff member that was responsible for letting this happen - instead of wasting time and money with a court case.
"Sorry," you groan and stop pacing about the room, waving your Omnitool-enhanced hands to disperse the hard-light keyboard and monitor projecting from your armor's chestplate. With three tired steps, you fall back into the same chair as this morning and let your arms fall to your sides while staring absently at the white-tiled ceiling. "The better question is what isn't wrong these days."
Yes, you should be happy that you caught this now, instead of later down the line when it would have been even more work... and more suffering in the city in the interim.
Time to commandeer another of the empty quarantine rooms, requisition enough monitors and computers to fill it, and then build more orange-drones to work them all. Six monitors and PCs per wall, leave one wall for expansion… eighteen more, which make it a satisfyingly-even total of fifty. For now.
You stop one drone as you're mid-reply to the PHO thread about your take-down of the Resistors, minimize the window, then pull up the usual requisition form and start filling in blanks.
Back in the room with your actual body, the quarantined hero's eyes drift away as he grunts in understanding, marking the end of the first conversation you've had with him since you strolled into his room four hours ago. At a glance, he's started work on a more refined copy of the brain scanner that he and Riley finished when you left - you've already absorbed the completed version and are printing copies downstairs in your fabricators.
Thinking of her, Riley should be finishing up with today's therapy session in a few minutes. With the room on the top floor of the building, you can't actually reach it with your current default range - not that you have drones or anything controllable in there, for privacy's sake, but you've had one of your Mobile Sensory Drones parked atop the doorframe in its Ranged Adminstration Repeaters mode ever since Riley went in two hours ago.
If anyone asks, it's so that you can covertly extend your range to the roof without exposing the drone to open air.
"What isn't wrong?"
You blink.
Slowly tilting your head, you stare at the ghost of a smirk crossing Colin's haggard expression.
Opening your mouth, you consider… no, he's not cleared for that… or that… or that… and you can't talk about that outside of Saki's dimension…
… now that you think about it... have you ever talked about "normal" things with him? Something not immediately applicable to your efforts as a hero?
… without Dragon's prompting?
You close your mouth and frown in thought.
"I…" you start, eventually, "... tried... playing the piano again yesterday? On an... emulated keyboard? And wasn't... awful?"
Beyond the light whirr of air conditioning coming through the vent, the room is largely silent as he stares at you.
"I wasn't," you repeat, narrowing your eyes. "I can play the recording to prove it. I only missed half the notes this time."
Colin closes his eyes and gently sets down his tool and partially-assembled scanner handle, leaning back once his hands are clear and crossing his arms across his broad, muscular-...
You clear your throat and grit your teeth. Saki is to blame for this, somehow. You know it.
"I played the violin in school."
You don't bother hiding your surprise as your head snaps back around because-
"What?"
He nods, a genuine smile tugging through his beard, eyes lidded as his memories unfocus his gaze.
"Second chair, from when I started in seventh grade to graduation. First chair was always Sandra Park, one of those prodigies that doesn't need to bother practicing. Never managed to unseat her, even when I tried going to the local college after school to train with violinists that were attending there."
You can't imagine this is a lie, but something doesn't quite fit here.
"But... weren't Hero's apprentice? Did you still practice then?"
His smile droops a bit to become more wistful.
"No," he sighs, tilting his head slightly in further recollection. "He encouraged me to, saying that I should have a hobby, but... I considered it a distraction. Playing during band classes was enough to keep my chair, but I'd gotten good enough to never really need to worry about being unseated myself. I'm not sure Sandra even noticed I wasn't trying any more."
"Did anyone else know you played?"
He snorts, the smile blooming into a full grin that just barely manages to show teeth.
"Hero took me to train with the inaugural Wards team a few times, just before I joined the Protectorate. After one session, I made a hundred microscopic violins which played Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto in D Major on a loop. The next time I visited, whenever one of them complained about something, I planted a violin on their costume."
Colin shakes his head, closing his eyes sadly.
"For some reason, they never asked me to come back."
***
You have access to a number of methods of long-distances travel these days, whether it be the various flight- or teleport-capable parahumans, your own power armor, or the more mundane transport planes, cars, and trucks available through the PRT. Given your preference of self-reliance and need for control, you'd rather just fly to Pittsburgh - utilizing your armors recent super-sonic upgrades - and minimize time wasted travelling.
But while the PRT and Youth Guard are… tolerant of your solo trips to the Cradle, given that most of the time your trips there are emergency situations, there was actually more than a token resistance to your expressed desire to simply take to the air and go. Flying to the Cradle, after all, takes you near/over a number of populated and reinforcement-heavy cities, but flying to Pittsburgh directly means going over a long stretch of sparsely-populated - if not outright empty - land.
Perfect ambush territory, especially if your comms are blocked somehow.
Yes, you have a number of camouflaged bird- and bug-drones hidden around Iris that you can control through his inherent Shard of Perfect Administration extension capabilities; in a worst-case scenario, you can activate one of their satellite uplinks and call for help that way. Yes, being in a large, unpopulated area means that if if your life were truly in danger then Iris could dump his gathered Essence to teleport to you and bring out the "big guns" (your Vengeance armor, or his own powers) without needing to worry about collateral damage.
The downside of increasing the PRT's operational paranoia is that you can't reasonably turn down arguments like this. Besides, while you are confident that an ambush by anyone but an Endbringer or Scion himself wouldn't truly endanger you, one only has to look at the actions of the now-defunct Resistors, or the antics of The Teeth and The Fallen to see that there are plenty in the world still willing to lash out at you.
"So rather than think of it as a safety measure, I came around to see it as a time-saving precaution; rather than risk having to waste the whole evening dealing with some dumb ambush, I could accept the offer of travelling with a 'Show of Force' and take a half-hour longer to get where I'm going," you explain, waving your left hand at the small fleet of Dragon-controlled aircraft around your group of flying capes. "And given this whole thing is a PR show anyway, making a big entrance serves as a way to fill up my PR 'quota' with Glenn."
Legend barks a laugh, loud enough to produce an echo effect as the sound comes through your helmet's radio just a split-second before it finishes travelling through the few hundred feet of high-altitude air between you. A number of chuckles join the sound, as the other flyers from New York are more exposed to the Head of the PRT's Image department than most.
In New York, with such a large density of high rises, all flight-capable capes have to take classes on how to fly "heroically."
"I was waiting for Glenn to show up in your reasoning at some point," you see him grin, the light sheen of energy coating his white-and-blue-costumed body making his teeth shine even whiter, somehow. "We're honored that you managed to fit us into your schedule."
There's a few more snickers across the radio at Legend's playful ribbing, but you wince in embarrassment - barely managing to prevent yourself from fidgeting your hands and feet in shame, which would be a bad idea flying at hundreds of miles per hour as you are.
"Wh-... Err… I mean... it's not that I didn't want to travel with this group, it's just that I've got so much else-!"
"It's okay, Weaver," Legend interrupts, chuckling in good humor. "All of us have better things to do right now than spend a few hours at a concert. Just remember to tone down the cold logic when you're talking with the press… at least, if you really are trying to minimize your 'Glenn time'."
"Hey!" one of the younger male voices from the non-flying contingent interjects with mild affront. "Speak for yourself! I'm totally fine with being paid to go to a Bad Canary concert! Especially since I got out of Console duty for this!"
"Her tour comes to New York next week, Tailgate," another non-flier pipes up, the girl's voice unpleasantly nasal. "And you need to stop pushing Kernel into covering for you! What is this, the… sixth time in the last month? Seventh? Ugh, you're such a pig."
"Hey, it's not like I'm blackmailing her or anything! She always looks so happy to-"
"You know she's physically incapable of saying 'no'," she scoffs, "most of all to you."
"Wait," you blurt out, interrupting the back-and-forth as you start opening a secure line to the PRT's internal cape database in your HUD. "She can't say 'no' to people? Is that something caused by her power-?"
There's a moment of silence before the female voice scoffs out an exaggerated, mocking groan.
"Ugghhh. No. It's just a saying. I thought you were supposed to be smart."
Legend clears his throat loudly enough to clear the line.
"Petticoat, please. Be civil."
… well, since you already have it open, might as well check what Petticoat's deal is. Her power probably isn't forcing her be a bitch, but you've been surprised before.
Aaaaand nope. Not even a Thinker rating, just a mid-level Shaker power that lets her harden and control ribbons of cloth that she's touching.
You're about to look up the other Wards with you on this trip, when Tailgate's sly tone breaks the awkward silence that had fallen over the radio channel.
"Don't worry, Weaver, she's just jealous of your-"
"OH MY GOD TAILGATE YOU LITTLE-" Petticoat shrieks.
"MERCHANDISE!" the boy blurts out, hastily, and a quick application of essence to your eyes reveals the NASCAR-Driver-costumed teen is waving his hands to try to ward off a small army of snake-like ribbons streaming towards him. "I was gonna say 'merchandise'! I swear!"
Dragon's calm, disciplined voice echoes over the line. "Petticoat, please do not use your power inside the aircraft. The armor on the craft is strong, but I suspect your ribbons could punch through it easily."
That causes you to blink, as well as flag Petticoat's database entry for potential review for a rating upgrade.
The pale brunette in question pales even further, before quickly retracting the white and red ribbons into the folds of her elaborate dress while muttering scandalized apologies. Tailgate doesn't quite relax, however, keeping his hands up as he glances around at the other Protectorate members in the cabin.
"... because your action figures always have a much better chest than hers do."
"I'LL KILL YOU!"
Tuning out the squabble in the Dragoncraft, you turn your head and stare meaningfully at Legend. Your helmet's cover is down so he can't see your eyes, but he gets the message anyway judging by the chagrined shrug he gives you in response.
You're saved from any further adolescent antics by the appearance of downtown Pittsburgh's soot-covered skyline - your group descending through the dreary cloudcover that's blocking the Steel City's last few rays of twilight. Despite the black char covering practically every building - not all of the city's steel factories closed like they apparently did in Earth-Aleph - the office, store, and street lights still manage to give a facsimile of beauty to the run-down town.
You only saw Brockton Bay from the skies once, but for a split-second you could almost believe you were coming home.
A backhanded compliment that you will certainly not repeat to anyone here tonight.
The comparison does not stretch to your more driving concern these days, however, as Pittsburgh cape scene is almost entirely the opposite of Brockton Bay's former problem; despite just over three-hundred thousand people claiming the city and outlying areas their home, there's barely a dozen known capes that operate in and around Pittsburgh.
There isn't even a dedicated Protectorate base here, let alone a major PRT department. In fact, the PRT doesn't even operate out of its own office, as it shares space with the local Pittsburgh police.
It's such an outlier that you're now thinking you should ask Contessa or Doctor Mother if Cauldron has something to do with this bizarre lack of capes, especially since the inhabitants of such an economically-troubled metropolitan city should be far more likely to be under the kinds of stress that induce Trigger Events. Is it possible that there are the expected number of triggers, yet the new parahumans leave the city for greener pastures? Brockton Bay both created and drew in more capes because of its abnormally-large parahuman population, so perhaps the reverse also holds true?
Something to look into, as your immediate thought is that it would encourage setting up 'cape towns' that are little more than Wild West-style lawless battlegrounds, which would then drastically reduce the villain populations of nearby major cities.
Your group passes over downtown Pittsburgh proper, and over the concert's originally-planned venue of Point State Park. The "Love Conquers All" relief concert for Philadelphia's (... and Camden's) recovery was announced only five days ago, and they'd only expected maybe ten thousand to purchase tickets and express interest in attending.
That was, until you'd had Saki help you get the word out, and suddenly they had enough sales to fill a baseball stadium with over forty thousand attendants.
Glenn had begged you to switch gears - just for a day or two - and turn the industrial-sized fabricators you've assembled in the PRT HQ's basement towards cranking out merchandise, since the PRT hasn't been able to keep up with the demand expected for this event.
Your fabricators are running around-the-clock, but drones and other tech for yourself are only a fraction of what they've mainly been creating. No, even if merchandise would get the PRT funds to help later, the people of Philadelphia and Camden desperately need - right now - the water containers, food packages, medical supplies, power generators, sleeping bags, insulated blankets, and reinforced collapsible tents that you've been churning out as quickly as the trucks can deliver the raw materials.
Which, of course, means that Glenn arranged for Dragon to bring enough materials for you to build one of your fabricators here, and produce the "Limited Edition" merchandise on-site and on-demand.
It's shameless, but the entire point of this concert is to make as much money as possible for charity, so you try not to feel too dirty about it.
Turning slightly right, your group - consisting of four heavily-laden (and polished) Dragoncraft, eight famous New York Protectorate members, two star Wards, Legend, and you - drains its speed as you near where the U.S. Steel Park rests against the northern shore of the Ohio River.
"... so let's make some noise for…"
You barely make out the woman's broadcasted voice for a split-second as the sudden roar of cheers drowns her out - your group now just becoming visible to the assembled mass of bodies filling the stadium. Pushing out your vision, you note the dozens of projected TVs zooming in on your approaching squadron, so you imagine that those sitting in the higher-altitude seats are also seeing you now as well.
Slowing down even further, Dragon spins up the engines so they start pumping out brilliant waves of golden energy. Legend begins glowing in earnest, while changing his flying stance to 'stand' straight up and hold his arms out while fireworks-like lasers begin to erupt from his upward-turned hands. The five other fliers shoot balls of light or - in the case of the Tinker, Patriot - actual fireworks to go with Legend's bombastic display.
Adjusting your spacing in the air so that you're in the center of the whole display, you take a deep breath, allowing the other heroes a full thirty seconds of showboating…
… and then you pump essence into your anima, flaring it as brilliantly as you can.
Smoke explodes from your back and legs, suffocating all other light while simultaneous illuminating the countryside as uncountable arcs of blue, white, and black lightning tear through roiling clouds. Out and up, the fog billows until mere seconds later it fills the horizon and towers at least two miles into the air.
Opening the direct audio channel you've been given to the stadium's speakers, you throw your arms wide as you absorb your power armor - letting the swirling mass of insect drones you're guiding up from the roof of the Dragoncraft catch and carry you forward, as if riding the clouds of your anima.
For only a split-second, you consider every single person in that crowd to be your enemy. That they must be cowed.
"PITTSBURGH!"
The fevered roar of the crowd has almost instantaneously choked itself to near-silence as tens of thousands of people stare wide-eyed and slack-jawed as a mountain-sized mechanical spider made of wickedly-sharp soulsteel crawls out of the cloud and rears back.
But they are not the enemy. They are friends, allies, and valued citizens... they are the reason you fight. They are why you win.
"ARE. YOU. READY. TO. ROCK?!"
The design weaver screams, a hissing, peeling sound of divine victory.
Somehow, the crowd manages to drown it out.
***
It says something about your life these days that the lack of an immediate, disruptive attack on the concert surprises you more than anything else.
Allowing your totemic anima to fade away to a more reasonable, billowing cloud that follows you down, your group splits up in order to pursue your various objectives - Legend and the other capes fly down to the stage to make some opening speeches, while you and the Dragoncraft break away to a section on the far side of the covered baseball field so that you can get to work.
You absently pay attention to the musical performances when they eventually kick into gear, if only to ensure their success via spreading your Synergy-Promoting Upgrade to each band in turn. While your own musical skills are lacking, you count as "helping" them for the purposes of the charm by sending some drones into the mixing/lighting booth to help the technicians there. Your limited range means you couldn't spread your swarm through the entire crowd and stadium, so you keep six of your range-extending Mobile Sensory Drones deployed during the entire event: one in the booth, three near the three major entrances/exits, and two moving above and through the stadium in randomized patterns.
For the "roaming" swarms, the Mobile Sensory Drones can't actually move when they're extending your range; to get around this, you fastened them to a bird-drone each and then piloted the bird-drones around as glorified chauffeurs. It's a set-up that's worked quite well in Philly, but here the most you ever caught is a few incidents of… "passion"... in the less-populated areas of the stadium.
You broke up every couple you run across by making sounds like someone was approaching… and you definitely are never going to tell Saki about what you saw.
The rest of your attention, swarm, and essence was dedicated to setting up and manning your van-sized, merchandise-spewing fabricator; it's less than an hour's work putting it together from Dragon's provided supplies, thanks to the initial prototype you still have stuck in your Technomorphic Integration Engine storage serving as a super-speed instruction manual.
Thankfully, you're spared from doing anything more PR-wise until you finish the van-sized molecular fabricator just in time for the first big break after the opening two bands.
Not even three months ago, you would have been a nervous wreck - or simply catatonic - at the idea of taking center-stage in front of a live audience of forty-thousand and a televised/online audience in the dozens of millions.
Now, you barely manage to contain your impatience to smile for the camera.
You easily repeat the inspirational speech (some well-written "We're stronger together" propaganda) that Glenn sent you on the way here, but you only Tatsu and Gloria Sato's off-stage advice in your earpiece allows you to not sound (according to them) like you're only a few seconds away from reaching through the camera and strangling anyone who doubts the strength of the PRT. Synergy-Promoting Upgrade pulls its weight here, as well, as you instinctively understand and execute their suggestions practically as the words are leaving their mouths.
Usually the advice is some form of "smile again," "stop staring at the camera," or "less glow."
You can see yourself through your own drones, for Maker's sake! You're not that bad!
Whether their advice is truly needed or not, the crowd's explosive cheer after you finish indicates that they ate it up. As you float gracefully back to put the finishing touches on your fabricator, you note a quick email from Glenn saying that the call-in and online donations are surging. Not surprising, since the televised version of your speech undoubtedly has some additional post-effect graphics and photos of Philadelphia thrown in to really pull at heartstrings (and pursestrings).
The PRT has these things down to an art.
Setting up the tables and posters showcasing what's available for sale is a matter of seconds… and then the crowd is upon you.
The selection of memorabilia ranges from promoting the PRT, the concert, Philadelphia, and all the capes that either are here or helped fight against the Nine. T-shirts, hats, tank tops, armbands, headbands, lanyards, keyrings, posters, and action figures, the list of available merchandise is nearly two-hundred items long, and you're occasionally getting new emails from Glenn to add to the list as time goes on - most notably a huge, foil-covered, holographic poster of your dramatic arrival to this concert. It's… pretty amazing, actually. You make one for yourself to hang in your lab later.
Sadly, Accord and Defiant don't have any merchandise. You considered making some up on the spot, but… probably best not to poke that bear.
You feel a little guilty that anything even remotely related to you sells far better than anything else, especially since Prayer's best item - a rather impressive action figure - falls behind the t-shirt made to look like the wearer is wearing Legend's costume. Even more awkward is that Glenn is insistent that you offer Tatsu and Uzu merch… and the Uzu merch sells just marginally better than Tatsu's (even though they're identical).
Your vacationing friends - and the two Wards that came from New York - stop by just as the first major rush is starting to slow down, everyone in full costume for the first time since they started their trip three days ago. So, of course, before they can even get out a word of greeting you set out another row of tables on the side and get them signing product. And then you mark up the prices for everything even more, because now everything will be signed.
Your friends are not as enthused as you are by this, but the crowd surges again - you even see a whole bunch of people with bags full of merchandise get back in line again.
However, a quick suggestion to Tatsu gets her to let Crushing Grasp out of her dimension to show him off; Tatsu is still yet to be revealed as an Alchemical, so you make up a cover story that he's a particularly intelligent drone of yours that you've assigned to guard your friends. Perhaps because it gives him a chance to be lavished over by an awed crowd, he goes along with the slightly-insulting cover without any fuss; even though your cover story didn't allow him to speak, the cat-sized Crushing Grasp is more than happy to use the golden-ink pens you give him to sign whatever (and, in a few cases whomever) is put in front of him with his Old Realm name.
Despite the grumbling, everyone seems to be in much better spirits than when you saw them off. You had worried that this concert's focus on the devastation of the Slaughterhouse Nine's attack would rub on raw wounds, but things almost look… normal. Clockblocker's joking around with Broadcast, Kid Win is showing off the improvements to his armor, Gallant is playing up the 'knight' aspect of his costume and persona, Geode is chatting away with Xylophone nodding along, and Mjolnir and Tranfusion are doing the big-and-silent/small-and-talkative stereotype they're known for in public.
And Tatsu...
She was visibly nervous when the group came over, but you'd pegged it as still being unused to such large crowds without her sister around. Except, after you extracted her familiar from her pocket dimension, you noticed her demeanor change: instead of being visibly nervous about the crowd, she appeared to be casting more than a few nervous eyes at Crushing Grasp whenever he got more than an arm's length away.
For the first thirty minutes or so you dismissed it as (justified) concern that he might react poorly to someone insulting him in some unknown way, but when you accidentally met her eyes after a particularly nervous glance, you got a weak smile that asked: 'Umm… Do you trust me?'
While the immediate answer should be 'yes'... that she has to ask at all raises alarms in your head. Is it something about Crushing Grasp? Does she want him to expand to full size? No, that would blow your cover story and it doesn't feel like that's the problem. What else-...
Wait.
Stepping closer, you keep your face neutral and cover your mouth with a hand as you whisper in her ear:
"Where's... C?"
She smiles, covering her mouth and looking down as if you had told her a joke... then glances at Crushing Grasp.
...
All across the stadium, your drones flinch as you desperately hold yourself back from strangling your Assembly-mate.
Your visions of the various castes had showed a worrying trend of Starmetal-caste Alchemicals tending towards what would be charitably called... "schemes." While you're glad that the Saki has been growing out of her wallflower personality and is rapidly shedding her life-long dependence on Sakura…
Calm.
Slowly backing up, you take a few deep breaths and let a tiny bit more Clarity creep in than you might have truly needed.
You gave Saki full ownership of Ciara's… rehabilitation, and Glaistig Uaine is not currently turning this concert into a bloodbath. Neither is the Faerie Queen currently attempting to tear you or Saki in half.
You discretely raise your right hand in a fist and hold your left index finger sticking out above it, giving her a questioning glance at the same time.
A litte of the nervousness falls away as she beams and shakes her head. 'Nope!'
You blink, sigh, say a few prayers for the Maker to save you from crazy Starmetals, and go back to work.
Minutes pass.
The signature you're scribbling on your own merchandise might be a little more… jagged than before. No one else seems to notice, or care.
Finally, what feels like hours later but is barely one, the headlining act - Bad Canary - is up next. Your friends make a big show of encouraging everyone currently in line to take a break from trying to run you out of product to go watch the only cape-led show of the night, but it's clear to everyone that it's mostly just so they have a legitimate excuse to go watch the performance themselves.
You watch them go, waving as Crushing Grasp jumps to Tatsu's shoulder and departs with them. He keeps the pens, though.
It takes everything you have not to grab the departing Saki and scream at her to stop being so reckless. That she should shove the insane, mass-murdering cape back in her prison before the PRT catches on and loses any semblance of trust they had in her to keep her prisoners contained.
Hypocritical of you, it may be, but it's not like you take walks in the park with Riley-... okay, there was that one time for testing a scent-tracking algorithm for the dragon-drone brains...
And Ned… and Accord…
...
You are a terrible role-model.
***
You trust Saki. Logically, you can understand that her preferences regarding… illicit material… might not always align with yours, but when things get serious she's already shown that she has the will and cunning that befits a true Chosen of Autochthon.
But the Faerie Queen making an appearance here (or anywhere) would be a catastrophic blow to your Assembly's credibility and the PRT's faith in your judgement calls. Not only that, but it could result in a significant body count by the time she's either re-captured or put down for good.
So.
Trust… but verify.
Even though Glenn's going to have your hide for it, you shut down the merchandise booth just as Bad Canary and her band are about to take the stage. After apologizing to the small mob currently waiting in line - and reiterating your friends' previous speech about supporting the cape-led band - you direct your swarm to lock up the fabricator and cover the whole booth with a tarp. Leaving the booth unattended would be simply asking for disaster, so before you walk away you navigate one of your roaming security swarms to stay behind and buzz ominously at anyone getting too close.
You're almost out of feedstock for merchandise, anyway, even despite people giving you the shirts off their backs so that you could have the fabricator turn the shirts into new, Weaver-branded ones. When that had first started, you made very clear that you would NOT be making any kinds of pants, dresses, skirts, or underwear in exchange for re-made versions.
Not that it stopped people from throwing those kinds of garments at you anyway. Some even had phone numbers or email addresses written on them. Ugh.
Flying would attract more attention than you want, so you are forced to walk ("like us peasants" as Dennis once said) through the crowd - though most give you a large berth once they notice your approach, since you're in your full armor and letting your drone swarm drift around your shoulders and back like a shimmering cape.
Cameras flash, your name is called so many times it blends together into a dull roar, and people look torn between approaching you for autographs or jumping over their friends to get out of the way.
Before today, you'd never been to a music concert or a baseball game, so you're still having difficulty getting past the surreal nature of being surrounded by so many people crammed together… having fun. Perhaps it's a byproduct of effectively becoming a hivemind unto yourself, but walking through the throngs of fans cheering and waving… it feels... wrong, somehow. Almost... claustrophobic?
The legs of your Shard of Perfect Administration itch while a tremor runs down your body at the thought of so many unknowns in such close proximity. It would be easier, safer if you could...
No.
NO!
You grit your teeth hard enough to throw sparks in your helmet, and for the long moment the world around you loses focus as you shove those thoughts out of your head. You can't risk turning the charm off, you've got too much going on right now… but you are sorely tempted anyway.
Breathe in.
Breathe… out.
… better.
Urgh. Hopefully that kind of impulse is just a byproduct of your charm's spirit purging lingering traces of... whatever Vision of Vengeance did, because the impulse is beyond useless: you can't even turn on the submodule that would allow you to control humans! And even if you could, that would be… disgusting. Against everything you stand for!
....-ise again, you can't deny
Watch me as I take the sky!
… you start moving again, slipping through the last parts of the crowd between you and your friends with a little more force when people don't pay attention to your approa- oh.
How long has Bad Canary been playing?
Sur~viiiive!
Tomorrow comes! We'll be as one!
Sur~viiiive!
Hrm.
Shoving that concern away for later, you dip under the cordon between the general public and where the Wards are standing up from their seats a few dozen feet away from the left-front of the stage. Oddly, there's an empty chair on the end of the row, so you slide up and stand in front of it as if you were supposed to be there all along - retracting your drone swarm into your armor at the same time.
This ache, this wound
Will never heal, I cannot feel
I'm blind, I'm dumb, I'm lost again.
Mjolnir, in his Thor-but-fully-armored costume, notices you standing next to him before anyone else realizes you've arrived and turns to give you questioning head-tilt. Pausing slightly, you give a quick point to the attractively-dressed, all-female band playing not twenty feet from him and raise an eyebrow.
He shrugs.
You shrug in response. Not surprising, given his preference for listening to opera through high-quality headphones whenever he stayed overnight at Wards HQ. This is all probably a bit… louder than the silent giant enjoys, too, given the giant speakers hanging almost directly over your group's head.
Your love, so near
I know it burns
But in your arms I'll never fear!
Nonplussed, he turns back to at least feign polite enjoyment of the performance just as the lead singer, Paige Mcabee, grips the microphone with both hands and screams out the final chorus-
Sur~viiiive!
Your Industrial Survival Frame sparks across your body, shrugging off the mental effect paired with Paige's harmonic tone.
That… is… alarming. You'd read that she had a Master-like effect of projecting emotions through her song, but that felt considerably more like… well, like a command.
Instantly, you switch your trains of thoughts to scanning everyone around you, Wards or no, for mental alterations-...
You stop bothering after the first eight come up positive.
Thankfully, everything you're seeing is extremely minor; you'd miss it if you weren't specifically looking for changes within the last few seconds. Even your limited medical knowledge suggests that just a good night's sleep will probably cause it to wear off like it never happened.
Oblivious to your concerns, the crowd's already fever-pitched cheering erupts into a near-ecstatic cacophony as the guitarists close the song with a decisive riff, Paige herself grinning madly as her blond, feather-festooned hair whips about from the breeze.
...
… you're going to go back over her song lyrics later, not because she has disturbing visual similarities to the Simurgh but more that-... okay, yes, it's totally because of that.
Thankfully, the end of the song allows you to dip down and stealthily dash over to Tatsu, who is sitting-but-actually-standing between Gallant and Broadcast. Just as everyone starts to make noises of "Weaver?!" in surprise at your appearance, you bring your hands together in a wedge and slide in between Broadcast and Tatsu, then glare at the attention-loving part-time radio jockey to scoot over.
The taller boy frowns, and you see his eyes through his half-mask narrow in suspicion.
"Hey!" he huffs out loudly, poking you in your armored breastplate with a white-gloved finger. "You can't fool us, imposter! The real Weaver never stops working in order to have fun!"
The ham he is, the mock accusation attracts enough attention to earn some laughs from your friends and the civilians in the surrounding seats.
You give him a scalding glare in return.
"Do you want ants in your pants? Because this is how you get ants in your pants."
Despite the increased laughter this generates, Broadcast only frowns even more mightily at your threat before placing his fists on his hips dramatically.
"And the real Weaver would never sink to harming her friends! Begone, fa-!"
The bombastic Latin-American Ward abruptly turns into a statue, his voice cutting out as he ceases to experience the passage of time.
Clockblocker's fully-masked form leans forward to blankly stare at you past Broadcast's statuesque self.
"... Get me Canary's autograph and we're even."
You sigh and roll your eyes.
"Fine."
Ignoring the arm-pump and cheer from the time-stopping Striker, you turn back to see Tatsu covering the exposed part of her mouth to stop herself from laughing too loudly.
You try to smile, but the shift in Saki's eyes means the attempt isn't successful.
"I need to speak with you about something before you all leave tonight…" you whisper just enough so the words don't get lost in the press of cheers filling the air. Deliberately maintaining eye contact, you subtly tilting your head towards Crushing Grasp. "Not about that. Can we jump away for a few seconds?"
Her deep brown eyes search your face for a long moment, hope warring with doubt in her own expression.
"Okay," she sighs, before turning briefly around to glance at Gallant. "We'll be right back!"
The empath's knight-like helmet pulses with white light once, but he nods quickly as you hear him chuckle and wave the two of you away.
"It's alright. I'll save your seats."
Tatsu giggles quietly in good humor, then turns back to grab your armored left forearm and-
Urk.
Hastily, you drop your Industrial Survival Frame just as Saki pulls you into her personal dimension with barely a whisper of displaced air.
Even if the transition hadn't been so abrupt, the looming presence pervading the empty, black horizon of Saki's dimension always puts you on the back foot as you try to regain your bearings.
You are extremely glad that you've programmed your drones to simply hover in place if you lose control of them. Hopefully you'll be done here before anyone notices that the merchandise stall isn't actually guarded anymore...
"You're getting quicker at that," you say in Old Realm, clearing your throat to cover the awkwardness of the teleport.
Crushing Grasp, still perched atop Saki's costumed shoulder, huffs indignantly. "Well, I should hope so! I've been ensuring that she practice at least a half an hour before bed each night!"
"Mmm," Saki grunts, crossing her arms across her stomach while trying not to look nervous herself. On her shoulder, Crushing Grasp "So…?"
You hold up a hand.
"I do have something else to talk to you about, but first: Ciara? Can you hear me?"
Both Saki and Crushing Grasp freeze for a moment, before a small, hoarse voice drifts out of the mechanical scorpion's body without his mandibles moving.
"... yes, Herald. Your presence reaches me."
Saki puts on the 'kicked puppy' look, causing you to flinch. "Going back and forth is really disorienting for her, Taylor! I didn't want to tell you 'no' before but…"
You close your eyes, holding up both hands as if you're either going to reach out to strangle her or hold your own head in exhaustion.
"Saki, Ciara isn't supposed to leave at all! Do you-..."
Breathe out… breathe in…
"Do you at least have a plan if she fights her way out of Crushing Grasp? Or if she just teleports away?"
Crushing Grasp makes an offended sound as he bristles, but Saki beats him to the denial.
"She won't!" Saki declares, stomping her foot in such a way that the entire dimension echoes with a resonating boom. "She's got the Dragonsuit in there with her, I gave her an eighth-dose of Regulator-Issue Tranquilizer so her blood pressure won't spike easily, and a full dose of Dutiful Militat Formula so she can ignore her shard's visions while she's out there. But all that doesn't matter because she gave me her word - she never breaks her word."
You grunt. "Did you make sure she won't?"
Even behind her mask, you see her shock.
"What?! No!" Saki denies, reeling back as if you'd just slapped her. "No! We're not supposed to mess with the heads of people that might be Exalted later!"
Grimacing, you tentatively reach out and place your left hand on her right arm. "Saki, I'm... not… sure we're going to have enough time for Ciara to be a safe choice-"
"Pfff," she huffs, letting a burst of air through her mouth in a mocking half-laugh. "What about Alexandria? Have you even talked with her about conversion since we healed her? And Accord-"
You take a step back and hold up both hands. "Wait, Saki, stop. We don't have time to go over this right now, but Accord is actually what I wanted to talk with you about: I need to give him a soulgem tonight, after the concert."
The costumed Mover blinks at the seeming non-sequitur, but you see the gears turning in her head as her eyes begin to narrow when she puts the pieces together. "O-okay… but why-? Oh! You want to do it in here?"
You nod. "Right, after the concert I want us to teleport back, grab the equipment, Accord…"
You pause, then carefully say: "... and Riley."
Saki's mouth snaps shut as her eyes harden. Crushing Grasp's gleaming eyes narrow, giving you a dangerous look.
"Can you not perform this procedure yourself, Administrator? What good is served by exposing Warden to that demon-childe unnecessarily?"
"I should be able to do it by myself, yes," you sigh. "I've absorbed it with my charm, so I know exactly how it works. Iris designed it with Riley in mind as the operator, though, and she knows what it's like to go through the procedure herself. I also want to give them the full background on Entities and shards, since I'll need both their help on that front in the future - and that's a discussion I can only have here, or in a Cauldron base."
Listening to your explanation, Saki hunches slightly and digs her fingers into the costume lining of her upper arms. Her breathing is strained for a long while, but eventually her eyes drift back up to meet yours.
"Only if I get to imprison her, after."
You hold her gaze, until her human disguise eventually forces her to blink - only then do you close your own eyes and allow your resigned sigh to escape.
"I was going to ask you to hold Accord for the night, letting your charm heal him while also keeping him from experiencing the nightmares and pain. I… guess you can keep Riley for the night, too."
You know that's not what she meant, and her narrowed eyes means she knows you know.
Crushing Grasp nudges her neck with his right claw's 'elbow', and she turns her head enough for them to have a silent stare-conversation for almost a full minute. A conversation that ends with him crossing his claws in an impatient manner, and Saki turning back to you with a bit more steel in her spine and fire in her eyes.
"Fine. But I want you to talk with Ciara after those two are locked up. She's made a lot of progress, and she'd be way better for the Assembly than anyone else you've talked about."
Keeping your face relatively neutral, you nod. "That's… fair. Though… what are your thoughts on Armsmaster?"
Eyes widening for a split-second, Saki's eyes drift away as she purses her lips in thought.
"He… was a total mess when I was done fixing what the Simurgh did. And he and Kali… ah-" she pauses, a blush blooming across what's visible of her face before she brings both hands to her mouth and coughs loudly. "R-right, that was bad. Wrong. Ahem. So... I think Prayer wouldn't want him, too. And he totally would try to tell you what to do all the time, like Alexandria."
Leaning back, you cross your arms again and give her a speculative nod.
"Maybe, but I think you should check his head again when you get back. He's been acting much more subdued and… well, humble since then. Did you do anything that would have caused that?"
"I don't… think so?" she shrugs, before closing her eyes and scrunching up her face in thought. "I don't have your super-memory, so I can't remember every tiny detail of what I saw and did, but it was pretty clear what was caused by the Simurgh and what was his own problems."
Opening her eyes again, she lets out a breath and nods. "Let me know if anything weird happens, but if that's all that's wrong he should be fine until I get back."
"I will. Thank you, Saki-"
"The songbird, Warden," Ciara's small, tenuous voice calls out - causing Saki's eyes to widen dramatically while she straightens up with a squeak of panic.
"Taylor, the concert!" she blurts out, grabbing your arm again as she spins around while the massive portal behind the two of you bursts to life with a distorted image of your former spot in the audience.
"Uh, Saki, wait-" you manage, trying to resist the pull-
"There's no time!"
And then you're, somehow, unbalanced by Saki's tug - tripping and falling through the portal, only to land sprawling, face-first into your seat. Saki, of course, stands by and looks on in mock-horror... as every available camera has apparently been pointed at your group while Paige has making some kind of speech between songs.
"...-oise for the heroes… of… Philadelphia…?!"
Sigh.
When you'd asked Saki for help on appearing less "terrifying" and more "relatable"... this is not what you were expecting.
But it is probably what you deserve.
***
Stepping into the converted bus, you note that it's significantly more cluttered with fast-food trash and shopping bags than you'd expect from a-... wait, right. Rock stars.
"Oh!" A frazzled, sweaty Paige Mcabee pops up from one of the reclining seats near the front of the bus, surprise and cheer temporarily dispersing the obvious exhaustion tugging at her features. "Weaver! You came!"
You cross your arms and raise an eyebrow at the short blonde, the suffocating noise of the emptying stadium cutting out as the bus' door closes behind you.
"You sent a team of five bodyguards. I don't need to have worked with a mob boss to know that means 'right now.'"
She pales, gaping like a fish for a split second before she steps forward in a desperate, apologetic plea.
"Ohmygosh, no! I-I only told one of them to go ask you if you could come see me if you had the time! I knew you were busy, but maybe you'd swing by to see me whenever you finished with that factory you made!"
Some of the tension drains out of your posture as you let go of the anger from having your timetable shifted around.
"You should talk with your bodyguards, then," you sigh, shaking your head while you force a half-smile. "Anyway… it's nice to meet you, and thank you for performing on such short notice, but I do have a lot I still need to get done tonight - is there something I can help you with?"
The twenty-something blonde winces slightly at your mention of her bodyguards, but steps forward and offers her hand - which you take - while smiling tiredly and nodding her head. The motion sends her feather-infested hair twitching, more than the motion would do for a normal human.
"No, no, it's just-... it's an honor to meet you! You're THE Weaver! You're so important and awesome and heroic and you didn't even look bad when you fell before even when that's always been my biggest fear on stage and- and I'm just some silly girl singing dumb songs for fun! I could never do even a tiny part of what you've done to help everyone, not just the people in Philadelphia!"
Her voice is weary, but the genuine awe and emotion… it's not the first time you've heard the sentiment tonight (or even the thousandth time) but… it does cause your smile to be a little less strained.
You keep staring at her as she continues to shake your hand, though, trying to drive home your point…
"Oh! Right!" she blinks, pulling away from the handshake she's been leading for well over a ten seconds. "You're so busy, I'm sorry! I always get a little... bird-brained after shows."
She laughs and the self-deprecating pun, waving absently at her head as she turns to start rooting around in a old Chevalier-themed backpack on the table next to her former seat. You just grunt, shoving down a few of your spare thoughts that wonder if she'll be dumbed down enough to fall under your control.
"So, yes, I did have something I needed to talk with you about," she goes on, her voice gaining a hint of nervousness as she continues to search through the bag. "Did you… hear about my arrest in February?"
"Mmm," you hum, smile sliding away in concern. "Your boyfriend accused you of Mastering him? Weren't the charges dropped when testing revealed he was lying?"
She pauses in her search, but then finds what she's looking for and turns back around-
- only to flinch hard at the sight of your glowing scowl.
"You did Master him, didn't you? I could feel it when you sang, tonight - you can implant commands."
Pale and shrinking away from you, Paige grips the burner phone she's uncovered from her backpack.
"I-I didn't-..." she gulps, screwing her eyes shut for a moment before taking a deep breath to steady herself and look back at you with pleading eyes. "L-look, I… it was all screwed up, and I'm so so sorry about what happened, but… I think the PRT was going to try to send me to the Birdcage. For one accident... that got fixed, too!"
As your features obviously reveal how patently ridiculous that accusation sounds, she barges on just as you're opening your mouth to respond.
"I know, now, yes! I never knew I could make someone do anything, I'd never even tried or tested it before! That's wrong!" she cringes, obviously disgusted with herself, before turning back to you and thrusting out the burner phone for you to take. "But that's not why I wanted to talk to you! Here, this is for you!"
You stare at the burner phone, cursing internally: By the Maker, if this is another shady conspiracy trying to rope you in, Paige is going to need a new bus.
"... who gave you this?"
The flatness of your tone causes her to gulp, but she rallies admirably.
"Listen, I know… you probably don't like the Elite-"
You spin around. "We're done here."
"No, please! PLEASE! Wait! Let me explain!"
You freeze, stilled by the desperation in her voice… and surprised that you don't feel your Industrial Survival Frame sparking to shrug off her power. Most untrained parahumans almost reflexively use their power when pushed like this, so that she didn't...
Slowly, you turn around and meet her tear-filled, emerald-green eyes.
After you hold the stare for longer than a few seconds, she catches on and hastily takes a step forward to place the phone in your hand.
"They saved me, Weaver! I couldn't afford the legal bills, and I was going to have to get a state-provided lawyer, and-... then they just helped. They didn't even expect me to join, pay them back, swear some evil oath or anything! I mean, they started because the PRT screwed over a bunch of capes in show business in California, right? To protect Rogues like me!"
"Mmn," you grunt, clenching your fingers around the cheap plastic phone. "Maybe. But they're a crime racket now." You narrow your eyes again. "They had to have asked for something in return."
Paige squirms a bit, giving a half-shrug to your venom-filled tone. "I mean… yeah? But it was just that they wanted me to pass on a message or two sometimes."
...and serve as a walking advertisement to draw other, less-public Rogues into their fold, you don't immediately counter.
Your eyes flicker to the phone. "What's the message, then?"
She blinks, surprised by your grudging acceptance, before a room-brightening smile erupts across her face.
"Really?! O-okay! Well, they just wanted to to talk with you - you can press '1' on that phone and then 'Call' and someone should answer! They said it was a short message, so it shouldn't take much longer!"
Flipping the phone open, punching the specified keys, and bringing it to your ear in a single smooth motion, you keep meeting Paige's relieved eyes with your own flat stare as the phone starts ringing.
Four rings in, there's a slight click as the other side picks up.
"Heh. Knew she was good for it."
The phone's plastic creaks as you manage to restrain yourself from crushing it into powder.
"Bastard Son," you sneer. "Hello again. Get out of my city. Goodbye."
"Eeh, wait wait wait wait- I got something for ya," the mass-murdering Elite enforcer calls out just before you manage to crush the 'End Call' button. "You're gonna wanna hear this."
You keep staring at Paige, who blinks at your naming of the Elite bigwig in confusion. Not entirely surprising: Bastard Son's horrendous body count isn't something widely known outside of PRT circles, due to the Elite's own PR efforts.
"... then talk."
There's a brief pause, then the smug psychopath huffs a one-note laugh.
"Smart girl, heh. Right. Found some 'a them Fallen pokin' their noses around the place."
Your eyes drift away from Paige, then you turn fully to face the wall.
"Which ones? Where?"
"Mmmm…" he ponders aloud for a moment, before snorting. "Nevermind, not as smart as I thought."
Maker, you are going to give this human stain to Riley whenever you catch him.
"Right. How could I forget," you grit out, "'If You're Good At Something, Never Do It For Free'."
He laughs. "See, this is why we can work, Weaver. You don't make me repeat myself."
Ignoring the byplay, you reason out his motives aloud. "You wouldn't be calling if this wasn't something time-critical. I'm going to find them - and you - eventually."
"Got it one. Offer's still open if you want a place with us, you know?"
"... If you're expecting mercy? Don't."
"Heh. Sure thing, babe. Not interested, then?"
You almost spit out a negative just on reflex, but… as much as you hate to admit it, he's not an idiot. The Elite didn't get to be the second-biggest cape organization in the US (just behind the PRT) by being incompetent.
"... Can I have a moment to talk to my superiors?"
"Pff," he mockingly sputters, "'Superiors'? We ain't dumb. You run the show. Besides, this is a… limited-time offer, get me?"
You sigh, briefly considering pushing your still-healing Shard of Perfect Administration enough to find Chevalier or Miss Militia, amass a swarm, and relay the question… but no, Bastard Son isn't going to let you play for that much time.
"The dead aren't worth much to me, Bastard Son. Tell me what you have and I'll tell you what it's worth."
The PRT doesn't have a photo of his real face, but you can imagine the smirk stretching across it.
"Nah. How's this? You're a busy girl, so… Four months, you find our guys, you leave 'em be, and we'll hand over any Fallen we run over."
"Run-?" Wait, no, he probably meant that.
"Heh."
You sigh again. "Why bother?"
A bit of the sociopathic humor drains from his voice, revealing some of jagged edges beneath. "You've picked up they're makin' suicide fodder, yeah? Turns out they've got a lot more where that came from."
"Ah, I see," you sneer. "Not a fan of imitators?"
There's a beat of silence, then you hear a flicker of a old-style lighter - followed by a deep intake and exhale of what's probably a cigarette.
"Heh. Whatever gets ya off, babe. So? Deal?"
There's a crack from the phone as it starts to give under your grip, but the signal doesn't cut out yet.
"You seriously think it's going take me four months to get rid of the Fallen? Did you somehow forget I destroyed the Slaughterhouse Nine in three days?" you snarl. "I'll give you a week. If I find any Elite around after that, they're going into a prison you'll never find a way to crack."
Puff, exhale.
"Two months. If they're still around... we renegotiate." He chuckles. "I'll even make sure to hang on to any pieces that might… fall off for ya, too."
You grunt.
"End of the month. Keep the pieces - I just need their brains intact."
Paige has gotten considerably paler as this conversation has played out, but that last line of yours causes her to go green and head towards the rear of the bus.
Bastard Son, however, gives you the most genuine laugh you've heard from him in your two short conversations.
"Hah! I was gonna press for a full month, but… you've given me ideas. Deal."
You feel like you need a shower, more than ever before.
"Then we're done here," you spit out.
"Heh. Always a pleasure, Weaver."
You don't hear the click of him disconnecting, because you've already crushed the phone.
Absorbing the remnants with Technomorphic Integration Engine before they can fall through your hand, you glance back at where Paige has yet to emerge from losing her last meal in the bus' bathroom.
With a thought, your armor's helmet extrudes from your storage and snaps closed around your head, seals clicking into place just as you stride back down the bus' ramp and push open the door.
A few feet past the (obvious, in retrospect) Elite-payroll bodyguards, the assembled Philadelphia Wards stare at your furious exit in surprise.
Halting at some of their blurted expressions of surprise, you spin back around and march back inside, grab one of Paige's discarded feathers, then storm back out and past the guards.
"Uh, hey, did you-"
Shoving the feather in Clockblocker's hand as he raises it in greeting, you turn to Tatsu.
"We're going. Now."
"Wh- whoa, wait, is this-"
Stepping past a shocked Clockblocker, Kid Win raises an armored gauntlet tentatively.
"Um, Weaver? Chevalier said he wanted to talk with you before you left."
You stare at him. The glow of your eyes, visible even through the mostly-opaque glass of your helmet, is enough to cause him to step back.
You look back at Tatsu, then extend your arm for her to grasp.
"Ah-... ano," she stammers, glancing between you and the group, then offers a weak smile that noticeably causes the rest of the group to relax slightly. "It's... It's okay! We'll be right back..."
With a twist and a pull, you leave your nervous friends behind for a horizon of black and white.
***
"Taylor…"
The oppressive weight of Saki's personal dimension is something that you hope you'll eventually get used to, but for now it's an omnipresent feeling - like there is a massive presence looming just out of the corner your eye… judging you.
Right now, you're fine with that. You probably deserve it.
"Paige is working with the Elite," you sigh, letting your balled-up fists unclench as you absorb your power armor and extrude your 'casual workshop' bodysuit. Armored, of course, but just flexible plating in critical areas - not in any way that might impede sitting down cross-legged or crawling around in weird positions, and your forearms and hands are left free for your Omnitool Implants to work unimpeded.
"W-what?!" Saki balks, glancing back in shock at the empty air between the massive portal ring. "But… but why did the PRT let her perform at the concert, then?! We need to go back and tell-!"
"Saki, it's alright," you interrupt, before she can get ahead of herself. You wave away her panic with one hand and massage the roots of your shard-charm's legs near your temple with the other. "They bought her cooperation - probably through legitimate law firms and shell companies - but they're only using her as a messenger and as good PR. She 'accidentally' mind-controlled her ex-boyfriend and the PRT was going to throw the book at her for being reckless with a Master power, but the Elite stepped in to save her from prison… and save her career."
Saki wasn't very emotive even before her Exaltation, but her charms and augmentations have generally made her nigh-impossible to read if she wants to keep a poker face. As a result, you're a bit surprised at the visible shifts of emotion visible on her face now as she processes what you just said. Shock, disgust, anger… all there-and-gone in a flash until she finally settles on pity.
"Do… you know what she did to him? Her ex-boyfriend?"
You shake your head. "Does it matter?"
The flat look your pithy response earns makes you flinch.
"Taylor… you know you got away with a lot because it wasn't really… you… at the end of that big mess with the Nine, but the PRT really doesn't like mind-control powers. I'm technically not even allowed to equip my spike without Director Uriel's approval, and I'm a Ward. They were probably going to try to give her a life sentence or force her into the Protectorate!"
"She should have joined the Protectorate!" you counter, frustrated that you have to explain this to her. "Saki, we're fighting multiple apocalypses right now! We need every cape, every power, no matter how weak or strong if we want to make it through all of this… and her power is really strong, if what I felt during the performance was even half of what she's capable of!"
Saki's large brown eyes are steady as you fume, and the shorter girl remains silent in her own judgement for a long moment after you finish. Her gaze never leaves yours, not even as her body shifts - the facade of mortal limits to beauty shedding as her 'skin' shimmers away to reveal her burnished-metal skin tone.
Her voices is light, enchanting, yet somehow as vast as the star-lit sky.
"Taylor… no. Enduring Order Administrator. You need to take a break."
You can't stop the shiver that goes down your spine, but you can grit your teeth against the wave of pressure her sheer presence radiates. You're fairly certain she isn't using any charms right now, but that's almost an unspoken threat on its own: "Don't make me use charms on you to get this through your thick head."
"I'm..." fine, you want to say, but that's the dismissive response of the suffering. You turn away to gaze at the open, empty horizon, as if that would free you from her gaze. "I can't, Saki. There's too much at stake, too much to do-"
Folding her hands together in front of her, the air around her shimmers as her armored costume morphs into one of her opulent, long-sleeved dresses. An illusion, certainly, but almost as entrancing as the real thing.
"When was the last time you got a full night's sleep?"
Your clawed gauntlets draw blood from your palms. "Stop being so pretty, Saki. I know what you're trying to do."
"Answer the question."
Several ways to escape this situation come to mind, but you'd rather not sabotage your Assembly's nascent cohesion by starting a brawl in Saki's personal dimension.
"... I don't actually need a full eight hours, Riley made a-"
Her brow furrows, and you only just barely stop your knees from trembling.
"Taylor."
"...eleven days ago."
She blinks. "How-"
"Coffee helps, too."
"... Taylor."
"Saki-"
Saki holds an arm out, sleeve falling away to reveal the manicured hand within, and your voice catches in your throat.
"You told me that your power-charm lets you… be whatever you're controlling. That every drone, every insect, is you. Doesn't that mean you should be getting tired as if you were living that many lives at once?
You wince. "It doesn't work… exactly like that-"
"When was the last time you turned off your power-charm before you slept? Or just relaxed with it off?"
"I can't turn it off now, Saki," you frown, crossing your arms under your chest. "It needs an open connection to me in order to heal."
Her mouth tightens as her eyes flash with something you can't quite catch, but she exhales a quick burst of air with a nod to concede the point.
"Fine. Then is Prayer useless?"
You straighten up and narrow your eyes at the horizon, because you already see where this is going. "Of course not. But-"
"Dragon? Chevalier? Director Uriel? Director Piggot? They can't do anything without you?"
"Saki, people are dying in the streets," you spit out, spinning back around to face her fully. "The Fallen are turning people into suicide bombers. The Elite are growing stronger each day. I trapped the Teeth only yesterday morning, and that will only hold for a few days... if nothing goes wrong. There's at least a dozen new cape sightings each day. I'm fighting the insurance companies for every cent. Basic utilities for the entire city are still at least a week out-"
Whipping her hand up, Saki points furiously at Crushing Grasp's scowling form on her shoulder. "Taylor, even during the war that the Exalted were designed to fight, people had to take breaks or they went nuts! And I'm pretty sure none of them were also thousands of drones and insects and animals all at once, too!"
"And before you protest: I have not filled her head with tall tales, Administrator!" the mechanical scorpion huffs, the exhalation creating a puff of steam from his mandibles. "Your duty and dedication honors the Titan of Industry, but from Warden's own re-telling of your exploits it sounds as if you have barely taken an hour for yourself in total since your Exaltation! Truly, I am baffled that Lord Iris himself has not rolled in to address your skewed priorities."
Saki pauses, but you snort derisively to cut her off. "Says the pleasure palace."
"Then you should be all the more ashamed that it is I that must remind you of your goals, Alchemical!" he hisses, gears below his carapace spinning in tune with the sound. "Have you already forgotten Lord Iris' commands, not even a fortnight past? Did you not use this understanding against Warden, to remind her of her own purpose? Your divine mission is to Finish. Your. Assembly! Not to coddle every mortal that so much as sneezes within your realm!"
…
There's a flash of uncertainty in Saki's eyes as she glances at the over-wound cog-scorpion on her shoulder, but when she looks back to you there is no disagreement.
You can spot holes in their logic miles wide, and your eightfold consciousnesses are itching to stomp out their argument so that you can get back to work.
The number of dead civilians per hour of your inactivity is something you've been charting ever since you stepped out of Iris. It's a neat bit of code that tallies all the many reports across the city and feeds it into your armor's HUD. It's helped to keep you motivated. Driven. Relentless.
Tired.
"Just-" you try, weakly, before shaking your head and sighing - arms falling to your sides as your shoulders slump. "Give me until Aisha comes back? It wouldn't be fair to just drop everything without a warning."
Crushing Grasp looks like he's about to protest even this compromise, but a side-eye from Saki causes his mandibles to clack together.
"Hmph. I suspect Lord Iris would not allow you such mercy, should you ask him, but perhaps it would be best if we disturbed his work as infrequently as possible."
You wince. He's… probably not wrong-
"Wait," you frown, turning back to narrow your eyes at the ostentatious shoulder-sitter. "You... learned English."
"As if such a barbaric tongue was difficult," he gloats, legs dancing as he preens.
Your flat stare swivels to Saki.
"You could have at least corrected his accent. It still sounds like he's trying to speak Old Realm, just with English-sounding words."
Another mixture of emotions flickers across Saki's face, eventually ending up on a bashful smirk, but Crushing Grasp makes an affronted puff of steam again - only for a small, subdued throat clearing to be heard over his indignant noise.
Quickly followed by Ciara's quiet, equally-awful attempt at Old Realm drifting out of his carapace.
"Herald-Prophet, blame-fault-shame is mine to own-bear. I sought-desired to retain-maintain his vocal-diction purity-essence-clarity."
You keep staring. Saki coughs into her hand and looks away.
"Of course it is."
Sighing, you turn, take a few steps forward, and then allow yourself to near-collapse into a sitting position on the hard, black-jade floor.
Behind you, Saki and Crushing Grasp glance at each other, exchanging a silent conversation as you stare out into the empty horizon.
After the silence has long stretched past awkwardness, you wearily lift your right hand and extrude the dentist-chair-turned-soulgem-implanter that you collected before you left PRT HQ. With your left hand, you wave absently towards the conspirators at your back.
"Fine."
Saki blinks, then looks at you warily.
"... Fine…?"
"Yup," you drawl, lazilly popping the 'p'. "I'm relaxing. Focusing on what matters. Which means you get to work, now."
Saki and Crushing Grasp share another look, before your Assembly's Starmetal caste turns her worried glance back to you.
"U-um, Taylor, I didn't-"
"Go grab Accord," you wave again, ignoring her protest. Finishing extruding the Soulgem Implanter, you start extruding a case of soulgems next. "Then go get Riley."
Saki blanches, her mouth snapping shut as regret shines in her eyes.
You snort.
"You know what? Get Armsmaster, too. Might as well save time, right?"
There's another awkward, tiny cough.
"Herald, may-potentially-?"
"You can have one too, Ciara."
"... I am honored-humbled."
Tilting your head at the quiet words, you hum aloud in thought.
"I guess we might as well start giving everyone-"
The portal spins to life behind Saki, who nearly dives into it in wide-eyed panic.
"OkaysoundsgoodyesberightbackTaylorbye!"
With a light rush of non-air, the twisted view of night-time Camden disappears along with her.
Leaving you alone in a giant, suffocating, monochrome landscape.
The landscape is unamused.
"Whatever," you snort, slapping away at the empty air. "You're no Vision of Venge-"
[INDIGESTION]
The feeling shoved through your familiar link makes your back arch and your words get strangled by your returning lunch, it's so powerful and abrupt. Slapping your hands over your mouth in panic, the spike of adrenaline that comes next focuses your minds past the lethargy that had been seeping over you these last few minutes.
Iris?! What's wrong?!
Even as you're thinking the question, your attention is riveted to the small zone of Shard of Perfect Administration control that extends around Iris - the only zone you have access to while you're in Saki's personal dimension. You've left about a dozen bird-drones there to guard over a few deactivated orange drones in case of an emergency, which means you're booting them up as quickly as possible.
The actual birds and insects in the area don't notice anything out of the ordinary, however. Just a six-foot-diameter obsidian sphere defying physics as it floats, perfectly stationary, seven feet off the cluttered forest floor.
[INTERRUPTION] comes the response, though it's a mixture of surprise, excitement, and indignation that you're not quite grasping-
From the bottom, the sphere disgorges a massive robotic beast, which spins in the air to orient its four legs downward just in time to land with feline-like grace. Despite sticking the landing, even the worms several yards down can feel the thud.
Uh. What? A car-sized, silver-metal panther-?
With a rippling of the sphere's topside, a brilliant, silver, feminine figure leaps out and lands with both feet upon the now-solid surface, both arms spread wide in triumph.
With a whoop, the figure leaps into the air, mounts the now-similarly-airborne mecha-panther, and then disappears into the darkened forest in a blur of silver and echoing, cackling laughter.
...
You flop down, letting your arms splay out as you stare upward into the empty white void.
Slowly, calmly, you breathe in.
…
"Ffffffuuu-"
***
You are now What Memory Serves, suckers.
Buckle up.
***
CHAPTER 10.2 - INTIMACY CHANGES: RED Intimacies have not been fully-established yet, and are not used for bonuses/negatives.
GREY Intimacies yield the normal bonuses/negatives until fully eroded.
EOA - Intimacy GAINED: Ciara|Glaistig Uaine (Victim of Power) [Illusion] [4/4] EOA - Intimacy STARTED: Colin Wallis|Armsmaster (Will His Ego Remain Tempered?) [Emotion|Hope] [2/3]
EOA - Intimacy GAINED: Riley|Bonesaw (Monsters Start As Victims) [Servitude] [4/4]
As a reminder: from now on, each character will have ONE Ability, Specialty, and Background (each) available for purchase at the end of each Chapter. These options will either be relevant to the events of that Chapter, or will be forecasting events of the next Chapter. Spending XP on these Abilities/Specialties will also serve as another way to influence the narrative of the subsequent Chapter, as there will be at least one scene dedicated to showing off how the character is improving/has improved that Ability/Specialty. Note that because what is available will change each Chapter, you may want to jump on options when they appear; multiple Chapters may pass before you get the option of spending XP on that Ability/Specialty/Background again.
Virtues, should we ever want to raise them, may be increased with XP at any point - such a dramatic shift in character personality, however, will likely dominate the subsequent Chapter's narrative.
WMS - CHARACTER GENERATION CLOSES WITH 10.3, THIS IS THE LAST CHANCE TO SPEND XP IN CHARGEN MODE
Oh dear. Aisha Laborn, with even more stealth and combat potential? What has magical bullshit science wrought?! Taylor, you have no one to blame but yourself for what comes next.
And what DOES come next is going to be a bit of a departure from our normal posting/voting procedure, and a quasi-return to how this quest used to work in the very beginning: Chapter 10.3 will be a series of shortish posts (~1.5k words), each followed by ~24 hours of a limited-option vote, at which point the story keeps rolling. Once the full chapter is done, I'll compile it together like I've been doing with these past chapters - that way, people that still would rather just read full chapters when they're finalized can see how everything shook out. My hope is that this will allow me to have some more flexible combat and infiltration scenes, since we'll be able to pick how things go "on the fly" as it were. We'll see how it works!
The lives of the other, less terrifyingawesome Assembly members will continue apace while we follow Aisha, however, and there are quite a few concerns that each have to deal with:
- Taylor is capable of maintaining her current workload for a while longer, but it is definitely taking a toll on her decision-making processes. The question becomes, then, will Taylor take a break now, or swan-dive into high levels of Clarity as the stress and workload mounts ever higher? Keep in mind that Clarity actually helps with making intellectual decisions, so Taylor would actually get better at managing her workload as she gets higher into Clarity... though the expression "Brutal Calculus of War" applies here, since her ability to feel Compassion would nose-dive. If we do decide to have Taylor take a break, the Stunt for this vote should be used to determine what that "break" is and where she's taking it (Note: trying to take a "working vacation" will not actually help her stress levels).
- Taylor has made a deal with Bastard Son to leave his Elite crew alone until the end of the month (~9 days) in exchange for the Elite helping put the Fallen down before the cape-cult can stir up city-wide chaos. Taylor has the option to ignore this deal, however, and either hunt down Bastard Son herself or have one of the other Assembly members do it. Letting the deal stand helps "legitimize" the Elite as they get entrenched, which is double-bad because Bastard Son is basically the rabid dog the Elite keeps in its basement until things get real bad (so his presence here is even more alarming). Breaking the deal is also bad, but more from a PR standpoint as villains and neutral capes will know that Taylor doesn't honor her deals.
- Sirkalla's has a lot of responsibilities these days. As the Protectorate head of "New Camden" though beyond punching the occasional supervillain face she's mostly riding herd on Accord to keep the Thinker on the track to self-control and lawfulness. As an established S-Class Threat eliminator, she's expecting to go help Ned deal with Ash Beast in Africa within the next 48 hours. As an Assembly member, she needs to help Taylor not go crazy and vet Taylor's choices for Orichalcum and Jade castes. As a girlfriend, she should probably stop smothering her emotions with Clarity and go home to actually talk to Bladedancer instead of simply sleeping in cots to avoid the issue altogether. What should she focus on?
- Saki's conversion therapy (Lord Grasp helped!) with Ciara has perhaps been a bit... too successful. At least, from the point of view of any reasonable individual on Earth-Bet. Iris, however, is thrilled that we now have our first actual Cultist! Do we (Saki, Taylor, or a combo) want to start talks with the PRT to see if they're ready/willing to start testing whether she's ready for a "parole" of sorts (ie: Ciara can come outside, but always has to hold Saki's hand when she's not inside [Saki Note: LEWD!])? Or do we want to keep secret the fact that Ciara is now quite ready to incite a holy war against the Parasites whenever we give the signal?
- Aisha is excited. You should be, too. In what direction is Aisha going to channel this excitement? Towards home? Towards Missy? Towards finding some punks to wear in her new knuckles?
CHAPTER 10.3 - VOTING:
The All-Mother Needs Her Nightcap: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Taylor Takes A Break Now
[ ] Taylor Takes A Break In A Few Days
[ ] Taylor Does Not Take A Break
Faustian Bargains Don't Honor Refunds: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Taylor Honors Her Deal With Bastard Son
[ ] Taylor Does Not Honor Her Deal With Bastard Son
Interesting Times: (Choose ONE, NO Stunt)
[ ] Sirkalla's Focus For The Next Few Days: Keep Camden/New Camden Clean
[ ] Sirkalla's Focus For The Next Few Days: Take Down Ash Beast With Ned
[ ] Sirkalla's Focus For The Next Few Days: Keep Taylor Sane
[ ] Sirkalla's Focus For The Next Few Days: Fix Relationship With Kali
Praying For Fun And Profit: (Choose ONE, NO Stunt)
[ ] Work With The PRT To Start Ciara's Parole Process
[ ] Keep Ciara's Religious Epiphany (and Excursions) Secret
Let's Get This Party Started: (Choose ONE, ONE Stunt Allowed)
[ ] Aisha Heads For Philadelphia
[ ] Aisha Heads For Missy
[ ] Aisha Heads For Trouble
XP Expenditures should be formatted as such:
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item ●●●○○
[X] NAME - ? XP - Item (Specialization ●●○)
VOTING DISCUSSION BEGINS NOW
NO VOTES WILL BE COUNTED UNTIL VOTING BEGINS
VOTING DISCUSSION ENDS:
