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A Champion in Earth Bet [Worm/Original Setting]

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Two scenes left... though the next one might run a bit long. Lots happening. XD

Also, wow. Considering everything I've written so far, Perspectives: Earth-Bet is already more than twice longer than any other chapter in this quest. I might have gotten slightly over-ambitious with it. ...It was definitely the right call to release it in chunks. :lol
 
sun tzu said:
Two scenes left... though the next one might run a bit long. Lots happening. XD

Also, wow. Considering everything I've written so far, Perspectives: Earth-Bet is already more than twice longer than any other chapter in this quest. I might have gotten slightly over-ambitious with it. ...It was definitely the right call to release it in chunks. :lol
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
Eh, if you think it's needed for telling the story, it's needed. if anything, you could call it an interlude mini-arc.:V
 
sun tzu said:
Two scenes left... though the next one might run a bit long. Lots happening. XD

Also, wow. Considering everything I've written so far, Perspectives: Earth-Bet is already more than twice longer than any other chapter in this quest. I might have gotten slightly over-ambitious with it. ...It was definitely the right call to release it in chunks. :lol
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...

Take your time.
This just adds more lore to this story.
 
All right. Just one scene left.
It's relatively short, so part of me is tempted to write it down now and upload the finished chapter... but, no. It's late, I need my sleep, and the only way I could post it today is if I don't take the time to proofread the chapter.
Definitely tomorrow, though.
 
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Perspectives: Earth-Bet
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    • PERSPECTIVES: EARTH-BET



    A few days earlier:

    Brian Clay was, all things considered, a fairly typical news anchor. A professional who went in there every day, put on a suit, read from his script, and told people what was going on while maintaining a neutral tone.

    He was finding it harder than usual this time. Granted, given how often things like the Endbringers or Slaughterhouse Nine made the news, it was often a challenge to keep the feeling of horror from seeping in. Several years into the job, he thought he'd gotten used to it. But this… this was different.

    "...when the Simurgh appeared above Brockton Bay," he recited word-for-word from his teleprompter. "Experts are discussing this break in regular Endbringer patterns, as two successive attacks have never struck the same location, and are normally separated by several months. After appearing above the city, the Endbringer teleported herself and the Avatar to another dimension, where PRT Thinkers were able to monitor their battle in real-time…"

    He had reported several Simurgh attacks in the past. Each time, the dead heroes, the quarantined cities, the inevitable yet unpredictable fallout months down the line…

    "T-The Avatar was able to defeat the Simurgh," his lips trembled slightly. "The Simurgh was destroyed in the confrontation, after which the Avatar returned to Brockton Bay."

    And then the dam broke. He began tearing up on live TV. "She's GONE!" he half-cried, half-shouted, as his voice broke and his vision went blurry. "She's really gone, ladies and gentlemen! It's all over! Oh thank God, it's finally over!"


    Today:

    Naguib moved. It could not be called walking - in truth, he was not entirely sure whether he had legs anymore, or any genuine physical anatomy. It was hard to tell. He certainly could not see any part of his body, no more than he could see where he was going. There was nothing for him to see save the unending stream of fire.

    When it had started, he had thought at first that he had died and gone to Hell. He had quickly rejected that possibility - despite being surrounded in fire, he did not feel any pain. Years later - years of never seeing or hearing anything but the constant explosion, years without any human interaction whatsoever - he was seriously reconsidering that position. Perhaps Hell was not eternal pain; maybe Hell was just a total lack of other people.

    There had been a time, briefly, early on, when it had felt like someone was moving closer. Not quite reaching him - not with the constant explosion pushing everything away - but getting close enough for him to be aware of their presence. Had that been real, or just an impression? Some time ago (A year? Two? Three? Ten?), the terrain had felt different; he could almost swear that he had been walking across a mountain, even as the explosions carved a path through it.

    In truth, there simply wasn't anything to do but move. That, and think, but he had run out of thinking material after a while. He could only ponder for so long what had happened to him (Death and damnation? An insanely unlucky parahuman power? An awful coma dream?). So, he moved. And moved. And moved.

    "Hello?"

    He moved. And moved. And mo-

    Huh. That voice in his head had not sounded like his thoughts usually did.

    "Hello? Can you sense this?"

    Strange. Very strange. On a lark, he thought "back" at the voice: "Hello."

    "Greetings. I'm afraid we have not been introduced?"

    He froze. Another voice! How could he hear it…? No, he didn't think he had heard it with his ears (his possibly nonexistent ears). It had felt more like a thought. Was he going insane? Was some parahuman talking to his mind? Was an angel speaking to him in Hell? "I… I am Naguib. Naguib Salmawy. Who are you?"

    "I imagine you probably haven't heard of me, but I am known as the Avatar. I am a superhero."

    "You mean… a parahuman? You're talking to me with parahuman powers?"

    "With telepathy. It's somewhat difficult to communicate with someone who's completely surrounded by explosions."

    At that, Naguib broke down crying. It actually took him by surprise, but talking to someone for the first time in so long had a bigger emotional effect than he had expected. The Avatar, since that was what he called himself, transmitted thoughts of support until he recovered his wits.

    "How… How long has it been?"

    "Seven years, two months, four days. There were attempts to do something for a while, but… none were successful. The best that could be done was just to get out of the explosions' way."

    Oh God. He'd… He'd wondered, at times, if the explosions that seemed not to hurt him at all were causing harm to anyone else, but, with no way to see anything, he had stopped thinking about it. "Just… just how much damage have I caused?"

    "Most of the damage happened during the first two weeks, when you were still in Cairo. After that, your wandering took you much further South. You don't move quickly, so people have plenty of time to get out of the way - buildings get destroyed, but they are usually empty by the time the danger reaches them. However," even mentally, the voice sounded utterly firm, "You have not caused any damage. Whatever forced this upon you is responsible. You've had no way of turning the explosions off. The worst you can be accused of is not standing still… and, with no way of seeing what's actually happening, how many people can you imagine standing still for seven years? You are one of the victims here, Mister Salmawy."

    That did help him calm down a bit. "So… What happens now? Is there any way of… of curing me?"

    "I promise to look into it. For now, I'm afraid the best I could do would be to stop the explosions for a few precious seconds - I'm not even sure the flames would clear up fast enough for you to see anything. What I can do - what I will do - is the following:

    "Firstly, I am going to move you to a different dimension. A different Earth, where there is no-one who could be hurt by the explosions. You will not have to be concerned about that anymore.

    "Secondly… I may be a very busy person, but I promise that, every now and then, so long as this does not prevent my other duties, I will find the time to come and talk to you."

    And Naguib cried.


    He paced through his room. It was something he had to avoid in public; him appearing nervous tended to make everyone else nervous. But when he had his privacy and had to do some thinking, he preferred to be pacing. There was actually something liberating about it, considering all the years where his legs had not been up to the task.

    There was a knock on the door. "Come in." And in stepped Rebecca.

    "David."

    He nodded. "Is everything ready?"

    "As far as I can tell. The training exercise should begin in twenty minutes."

    Training exercise. Well, that was the official excuse Rebecca had come up with. The version everyone outside of Cauldron got was that, with new Endbringers expected to arrive at some point in the future, the Protectorate was going to be holding mock battles and try to prepare for any eventuality; since no-one could predict the powers of the next Endbringers, it would fall upon him to play their role, with some backing from other capes. Using his variable powers to simulate the most unfair, overpowered enemies he could.

    The actual reason was a different story. For all that he was the world's most potent parahuman (not the most powerful person, clearly, but the most potent parahuman at least), he had been aware for years that his powers were weakening. He had noticed that these days, he seemed stronger, closer to his original power level, during Endbringer battles. He had assumed that it was the presence of worthy opponents that allowed him to draw upon some deeper well.

    Tattletale… Tattletale had disagreed with his theory. According to the young Thinker, it was not the presence of the Endbringers that empowered him, but the proximity of so many capes showing up to battle them. She had further theorized that his power was meant to recharge by drawing upon the energy reserves of other capes. She had only expressed 70% confidence in her conclusions, but… if it was true… if he was able to recharge during the mock battle…

    "I would still feel more comfortable using villains for this," he stated. "What if this takes away their powers? I should be testing this in the Birdcage."

    "The former is an acceptable risk," Rebecca waved his concern off; "your powers are more useful than those of any ten other participants. The latter is not; I do not want you getting anywhere near Glaistig Uaine."

    He sighed. "Then I at least hope this works. I have at most played a secondary role against Leviathan, I wasn't even involved with the Simurgh…" He gazed away. "I'm supposed to be the greatest hope we have. But the more he actually accomplishes, the more I feel that I have been failing everyone. Like I should have stopped all of this, the Endbringers, everything, as early as the nineties."

    "We all thought they were unbeatable," she said. "And don't minimize how much help you were against Leviathan. Besides, we still aren't certain of how trustworthy the Avatar actually is. We still need more aces up our sleeves… and between you, Flechette, Tattletale, and the new vials, we may be closing in on the silver bullets we need to save humanity."

    He nodded. "What about your other projects? The seventh Traveler?"

    "It's in motion. He is useful to the Yangban, but not useful enough to justify the problems they could have if their human trafficking was revealed. They are willing to trade him in exchange for two of our minor villains who won't be missed… after they make a deal with the Thanda to erase all his memories of his ever having been to China. Near as I can tell, the main difficulty was for Contessa to get them to think of it as their own idea."


    Doctor Volt carefully moved his "electron multi-tool" - a device that, in his mind, he often compared to a certain fictional "sonic screwdriver". The device, through extremely precise and detailed manipulation of electrostatic fields at the microscopic level, had proven a huge time-saver for his tinkering. At the moment, he had to move it with the utmost caution as he made certain upgrades to his armor; yesterday's battle had given him a new idea for the electromagnetic shield, but the fragile circuitry needed all his concentration.

    As such, three hours of work almost went down the drain when he was surprised by an unexpected voice in the sanctity of his lab. To his credit, he recovered his wits quickly, and the mysterious speaker was quickly identified.

    "Avatar." He crossed his arms. "To what do I owe the honor?"

    "A possibility that I wished to discuss," said the voice. "How would you rather handle this? Voice only? Visual? I can do both. It is also no problem at all for me to show up and talk to you face-to-face."

    The Brazilian Tinker looked around his workshop. Not a secret location, exactly, but still an official one. "Visual is fine with me."

    And lo, the image of the Avatar appeared. Doctor Volt realized that he had subconsciously straightened his own posture. He'd seen the man in person before, back during the Leviathan battle - the final Leviathan battle. The Avatar was not just the only cape to ever kill an Endbringer, he had killed two. He had also captured Wyld Hunter, which was another big mark in his favor. He was also affiliated with the Protectorate, which did not earn him the Tinker's sympathy… but, objectively speaking, the Protectorate was the organization best equipped for directing superheroes on the global stage, so he grudgingly accepted that there were actual good reasons for the "Endbreaker" to join them.

    "Thank you for your time, Doctor Volt. While I'm at it, I wish to thank you for your assistance against Leviathan."

    "Just doing my duty, though my personal contribution was fairly minor in the grand scheme of things." Even so, the sheer sincerity radiating from the Avatar made his gratitude sound like far more than just social niceties. "So… What's this about?"

    "It's about giving Earth-Bet its future back, Doctor Volt. About restoring the precious balance of civilization." The Avatar gestured, and a holographic image of the planet appeared. "Over the past three decades, criminals and warlords have been gradually taking over cities, nations even. Rule of law, human rights, the various protections afforded by civilization… these are slowly slipping away, and only half the fault lies with the Endbringers." Different locations on the globe took different shades of red, symbolizing how badly-off different countries where. He recognized his own Brazil as being somewhere in the middle of the road. "Now, no matter how bad the situation, there are always those who try to help. It is my belief, however, that they will not succeed unless they work together, to a far greater degree than they are now. The Guild," he paused, "can, in the short run at least, serve as a symbol of such cooperation. To that end, it is currently on a recruitment drive, trying to add several of the world's greatest heroes to its ranks… and take down several of the world's greatest malefactors."

    Doctor Volt considered. "I take it, then, that you've said yes, yourself."

    The Avatar nodded. "I did. But if it's just me, then it's one hero committing to being more active on the international scene. If it's me, and you, and Centro, and Sunblade, and Doctor Metal, and more… then it's a movement. It's the heroes joining forces to reclaim Earth-Bet."

    "Hm. Two thirds of the Guild's current membership are members of the Protectorate."

    "I am a member of the Protectorate myself, at least provisionally. Is that a problem?"

    He paused to weigh his words. "I don't know how things are on Earth-Gimmel, but on Earth-Bet… Between Endbringers, the global societal collapse, and parahuman warlords, there simply aren't that many functional governments left. Most of the First World was spared the worst of it. And why wouldn't they have been? They had the resources, the institutions, to mitigate the damage. This continent has not been so fortunate. Chile, as a country, is gone, replaced with a set of adjacent supervillain fiefdoms masquerading as military dictatorships. Colombia is one giant drug factory. The less said about Peru, the better. As for my country?" He chuckled bitterly. "My colleagues and I do not defend Brazil. We defend the city of Brasilia, because it is only the part of our country that our actual government still controls in more than name! The rest of it has been taken over by a gallery of superpowered criminals, some of whom allow our government to maintain an illusion of law and order; many do not bother with even that."

    He was now pacing angrily around his workshop. He went on: "And how could it have been otherwise? Bad enough that Sao Paulo was Behemoth's second target, that he turned Buenos Aires into a radioactive crater. The simple fact was, South America was somewhat shortchanged when it came to venerable democratic institutions, or in traditions of rule of law… in large part because Washington kept knocking them down! Do you realize how many coups, how many dictators, how many crimes were enabled by their hands? How many torturers and rebel-hunters were trained at the School of the Americas? How many deaths, how much suffering, all in the name of advancing Washington's interests, especially during the Cold War?!

    "And if that had not been bad enough, consider: One of my relatives is a scientist. A number of years ago, he was invited to a conference in New York. Do you know why he ended up declining? Because he realized that, on his white collar academic's salary, he couldn't afford First World hotel prices. You see… A given amount of dollars, or francs, or pound sterlings, will buy a lot more in a Third World country than in a wealthy one. A simple reality of economics. Now, consider that millions of North-American junkies are throwing all their money at our criminal cartels, and have been doing so for decades. The result? Our gangs are better funded than our governments. That they would take over, under such circumstances, was… inevitable.

    "Can you see now, with all that said, why I am… a little miffed?"

    "Of course," said the Avatar. "And I am in no way asking you to stop being offended. Injustices were committed; if this did not drive us to anger, how could anyone ever expect justice?" He then smiled. "When Leviathan attacked Brockton Bay, you did not abandon its people to their fate because of your anger. You came, you worked with Protectorate capes, and you did what you could to protect the innocent. You acted like a true hero. I believe that joining the Guild will provide you with more such opportunities to save lives, to save the world. And to be frank, while my overall opinion of the Protectorate may be a positive one, I do not wish for the Guild to be a mere extension of it. That is one of the reasons why I am in favor of recruiting heroes such as yourself, who come from outside of its jurisdiction."

    In the end, of course, the outcome was not in doubt. Even if it hadn't been the Endbreaker himself making that request, Doctor Volt suspected he would have welcomed the opportunity - if there was a chance for the world to finally change for the better, then he had every intention of contributing to it.


    "Director Piggot. Please, take a seat," said mayor Christner.

    The heavyset, somewhat intimidating woman sat down before him. "Thank you for your time," he said. "Considering how quickly events are evolving lately…"

    "I understand," she cut him off. "I also understand that the bulk of 'Endbringer reconstruction funds' are going into rebuilding the harbor. What I'd like to know is how much is going into law enforcement."

    "Well, about ten million are going to the BBPD. Enough for them to modernize their equipment, hire ten-twenty new cops, pay for additional training, and still have enough left to pay everyone on the force a helpful bonus - you know a lot of police corruption stems from how little they're actually paid." She nodded, and he went on. "Aside from that, five million are going to the rehab center. Considering your recent triumphs against the Empire and Merchants, we figure a lot of addicts will be undergoing withdrawal over the coming weeks, simply due to lack of product. In the longer run," he allowed himself a slight grin, "I suspect that crime will remain at low levels simply due to economics. Between the harbor reconstruction and the millions we're investing in infrastructure renovation, we're providing at least several months of work for a fifth of the city's unemployed. Past that, it's practically guaranteed now that someone will buy what's left of Medhall, and several businesses are making arrangements to open branches in town, which are projected to create at least four hundred jobs over the next two quarters, and probably closer to a thousand!"

    And then, of course, there were the improvements to transportation and education. For years now, the dockworkers' union had been lobbying for the restoration of the ferry services. Now, the federal government was doing them one better - they were actually greenlighting the construction of a bridge. More specifically, a bridge meant as a proof of concept for using omni-metal and carbosteel in construction. And then, there was the money going to Winslow High; last time he'd talked to the principal, she'd planned for significant renovations, two extra janitors, three security guards, and five additional teachers.

    However, he could tell that director Piggot was getting impatient. "...Of course, this will only help us so much unless parahuman villains can be contained. As such, I wanted to hear your thoughts about the future. I understand that the Avatar will not remain in town for very much longer. What happens then?"

    She briefly closed her eyes. "With the ABB, E88, Merchants and Coil all imprisoned or run out of town, all the major troublemakers are gone. Even the Undersiders have lost their heaviest hitter, leaving only Faultline's Crew. According to Forecast, the odds of the Empire returning to Brockton Bay over the next five years are below 12%, and below 7% for the next year. However, it is extremely likely that other gangs will want to carve themselves a slice of the pie - between the expected economic upturn, the elimination of the competition, and the Avatar's departure, many will see the city as the perfect target."

    He frowned. Not just because of the future risk presented, but because of his niece's involvement. Forecast, or rather, Dinah… He was eternally grateful to the Avatar for rescuing her, and more than a little furious that Coil was free and on the run. More than that, he was concerned. Parahumans led risky lives, as he had discovered since, well… On some level, he would have prefered to keep Dinah's powers a secret from everyone. But Coil had discovered them before even her family had. Perhaps the Wards were the safest place for her.

    Director Piggot went on: "To be honest, Forecast's presence, on its own, is a game-changer. While most of her daily predictions will be taken up by the PRT's Thinker tanks, that will still leave on average three questions per day for the Protectorate ENE. As such, we will not be taken with our guard down.

    "Furthermore, the additions of Kilogram and Tsunami, as well as the continued strengthening of Dauntless, mean that our forces here are stronger than ever. If we remain vigilant and maintain a good working relationship with New Wave, we stand good odds of preventing any major villain group from becoming as entrenched in the city as the previous ones were."

    "I hope you're right, director." He steepled his fingers. "I hope you're right."


    Patrols were over for the evening. Thank God. Krakow just seemed to be getting worse every month. Ever since… ever since Warsaw… the whole country had been falling apart.

    And yet, she was feeling renewed hope. People were still celebrating the death of the Simurgh. Niszczyciel - Niszczyciel, of all people - had deliberately turned himself in days after hearing the big post-Leviathan speech. Perhaps… perhaps in the long run, the world would be fine. Maybe there really were heroes out there who could handle the big problems like Endbringers, Blasphemies, and Gesellschaft. And until they did, people like her would have to keep holding on and putting out fires, both literal and metaphorical.

    "Captain Hydro. May we speak?"

    She was briefly startled. Then she realized who exactly was talking to her, and she was greatly startled.

    "A-A-Avatar…?"

    "Myself. I apologize for the surprise. Is this a bad time? We may discuss at a later date…"

    "N-no no no! It's just fine! But… What is the matter?"

    And he explained. About international cooperation. About reclaiming the world. About the Guild. About wanting her in it.

    On some level, she had trouble believing the entire conversation was really happening. That the Avatar - the avenging angel who had brought low the Simurgh - was bothering to speak to her.

    She thought back to the winged Endbringer's attack on her native Warsaw, four years earlier. Her entire team dying, unable to make any difference whatsoever against that monstrosity. The whole city, quarantined, along with most of their government. Two months later, the hidden goal revealed: A team of misguided capes, through daring and programmed luck, successfully wiping out all the records and backups of the main banks and credit card companies in the country. The immediate financial collapse. Only the emergency aid from Germany had kept the famine's death toll relatively low… and its costs, in turn, had infuriated German nationalists, further feeding Gesellschaft.

    With one short attack, the Simurgh had destroyed her homeland. She had been entirely helpless to do anything against her. This man had killed her.

    "...You don't need me," she managed to say. "I'm just a glorified firefighter." There was no point in hiding her original profession; her trigger event had been fairly public.

    "There's no 'just' nor 'glorified' about it, Captain Hydro," the Avatar replied. "You were dedicating your life to protecting others even before you received your powers. Stepping into Hell, finding someone, and coming back with them… you were always a superhero. As for your powers, I have seen your hydrokinesis. It is nothing to scoff at." He smiled. "Perhaps you are thinking that your powers seem weak compared to some of the Guild's heavy hitters. I think you undersell yourself. The Guild has, and will, face many situations where someone like you can make a big difference. Additionally, you have a proven track record of working well with others. I believe you will do just fine there."

    She paused. "You can just call me 'Hydro'. The fire department gave me an honorary captain rank after I triggered, but… it's just for show." The name had sounded cool for the first few minutes; these days it just felt ridiculous.

    He paused. "Permission to speak freely?"

    It seemed utterly incongruous that he would be asking her that, but she nodded, and he spoke: "In my opinion, captain, you have more than earned the right to be called whatever you want. Within reason of course."

    It was late, she was tired, and it was generally a bad idea to make major life decisions without taking a day to think them through. As such, she requested to speak of it again the next day.

    But she already knew, deep down, what her answer was going to be. Someone had to put out the fires.


    Working as a cape therapist, doctor Jessica Yamada had seen it all. Saints and sinners. Capes who were mentally and emotionally stable, and others who were damaged on a deep level.

    Her newest patient definitely fell under the "damaged" umbrella. But, while a single therapy session was not enough to speak conclusively, she was getting the impression that most (all?) of the damage had come before the trigger event.

    "So far, everyone's nice, but I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop," said the young Miss Hebert from her couch. "I think having the Avatar around on my first day here helped, but even so, I think Warp doesn't trust me. I think Weld is keeping at least some of them in line, making sure they play nice."

    Seeing as she was also counseling some of the girl's new teammates, Jessica had some insight into their feelings on the matter. While Miss Hebert wasn't entirely wrong, she was vastly exaggerating negative feelings toward her. Silently, she jotted another notch next to "trust issues" in her notes.

    "What makes it worse is that I can't blame them for not trusting me," Taylor went on. "Some of the things I did as Skitter, I thought they made sense at the time, but in hindsight they were really screwed up. It actually scares me a little, how quickly I became a villain." She paused. "When I first got my powers, I figured of course I was going to be a hero. But if all it took to turn me into a criminal was a few people my age making me feel included, then maybe I'm just a crappy person."

    "I wouldn't say that," said Doctor Yamada. "Loneliness and the desire for companionship are some of the strongest drives known to mankind. Besides, didn't you choose to turn away from villainy of your own initiative?"

    "I didn't have a choice. Coil was holding that girl as his drugged slave. It was our fault. Our responsibility."

    "See, I think that's a double-standard," she said, crossing another notch next to "self-loathing". "You're willing to blame yourself for the bank and the fundraiser, yet you deny having had a choice about saving Dinah Alcott. You could have let it go. You could have gone along with the Undersiders and allowed Coil to keep doing what he was doing."

    "That… That would have been wrong." The girl's tone made her tame choice of words sound incongruous; she was clearly horrified by the idea.

    "You decided that was wrong. You decided that doing the right thing and saving that girl was more important than staying in the good graces of your teammates and employer. If you're going to accept responsibility for the bad you've done, then shouldn't you also accept responsibility for the good?"

    Taylor digested that for a moment. "It seems somewhat perverse to try to take credit for asking someone else to fix a problem I caused, especially when that problem is a twelve-year-old getting drugged and enslaved. It's like wanting to be praised for clearing the lowest possible bar for ethics."

    "Maybe so. But that decision cost you. You were placed in a situation where doing the right thing was very difficult, but you did it anyway. You couldn't ignore the suffering of the Alcott girl. You say you're worried about being a bad person, and honestly, I suspect that's a concern everyone should struggle with once in a while. But it seems to me that your compassion, at least, is a strength."

    Taylor laughed bitterly. "You know, I'm not even sure I would have done it, if not…" She trailed off.

    "If not for what?"

    "If not for the Avatar giving a big Hollywood speech right after killing Leviathan about doing the right thing and reaching for the spark of heroism inside that made me cry like a five-year-old! That's what tipped me over. It's not like it was even addressed to me, specifically.

    "But then he started helping me. With the Undersiders. With the PRT. With my dad. With the Boston Wards. And always, always being so… so supportive. Like he really believed I was a hero. No, like he believed I was a fantastic hero. And every time he does, I can't help thinking… maybe he actually has a clue what he's talking about. And if he actually believes I can be that, that good… then I can't stand the idea of disappointing him."

    Her voice broke a little. "I want to be as great as he thinks I am. And when I think back to what he's told me… for a while, I believe I can be."

    Jessica kept silently taking notes. More than the Avatar's evident charisma, she suspected he was having such a strong emotional impact on her patient due to the tragic dearth of sympathetic authority figures in her life - the only one on her side in recent years would have been her father, who seemed to have grown somewhat distant following his wife's death.

    "We only have a few minutes left, Taylor, but I look forward to seeing you again next week. Is there anything else you want to talk about while we have the time?"

    The teenage girl considered. "You know, the PRT asked me to try to figure out more PR-friendly ways to use my powers. I thought that was silly at first, but I get it. Heroes don't just have to protect people, they have to inspire them, make them less afraid." She paused. "I can think of a few tricks, but… I'm not sure I can inspire anyone. Not when I'm such a mess myself."

    "In my experience, sometimes people can be inspiring because their lives are a mess. If you are going through terrible hardships, then words of encouragement might mean more coming from someone who's been where you are."

    "I guess." Taylor got contemplative. "...Do you know if Wards get involved in any anti-bullying campaigns?"

    "As a matter of fact, that can happen. You would-"

    They were interrupted by Taylor's PRT communicator activating. Jessica Yamada frowned. Whatever it was, they had waited until the exact minute their therapy session was officially supposed to be finished. Just how urgent a business was it, exactly?


    Layabaddh (or "Harmonic" when addressing an English-speaking audience) considered herself a fortunate person. It wasn't something to brag about - she just thought it was important to acknowledge to herself how lucky she was, and never take the good things for granted.

    She had been born to a loving family, growing up comfortably in the Mumbai middle class. In this day and age, you couldn't take that for granted - not when the economy was a perpetual wreck, and violence in the streets at an ever-climbing high. Growing up, she had seen too many of her friends and classmates losing someone to the violence.

    She had been blessed with a melodious singing voice, and had had both the inclination and luxury to develop her gift. And even as good as she was, she still credited luck for having successfully broken into the singing biz - well, luck, and a very persistent agent.

    Many of her friends had told her that her agent was ripping her off with the slice of her profits he was charging. She disagreed - without his perseverance, she doubted her career would have gotten off the ground in the first place. Besides, she was already making more money than she felt comfortable keeping. If she was giving half the proceeds to charity anyway, she could afford to pay her agent a small fortune.

    In truth, when her numbers had started declining, her agent had seemed more distraught than she had been. He seemed to work himself to the bone trying to keep her star shining bright. She'd tried to get him to relax a little, find a hobby… She was surprised when he apparently took her advice and started teaching himself to make cocktails. He'd had her taste one once; it had been terrible. Seeing as her powers had manifested the same day, she sometimes joked that this was the source of her powers. He hated that joke.

    He loved her powers, though, and so did she. This incredible control over her voice… she could use it as a weapon with sonic blasts, sure, but she could also use it for her shows. She had soon become a popular Garama, and even joined a government-affiliated team of superheroes.

    In truth, her duties as a State-sponsored heroes didn't revolve around fighting. Mostly, her job was boosting morale. Giving people hope. Championing good causes, from blood drives to support for Hyderabad refugees. Telling the men, women and children of India not to give in to fear. Encouraging the powered and unpowered alike to remain on the right side of the law. Near as she could tell, she was good at it.

    Which was not to say she didn't get into any real fights. She had, on many occasions… and she was still alive and well. Again, lucky. Especially that fight last year with Ankylo. It had been lucky that, despite their injuries, her teammates had survived long enough to get medical care. Lucky that her power, by somehow finding Ankylo's resonant frequency, had managed to get past the villain's exceptional resilience (and she was still fairly confident sound was not supposed to work like that). Lucky, finally, that her sonic attack hadn't outright killed Ankylo; vicious murderer or not, she would have hated to end his life.

    And at the moment, she was having the honor of meeting the Avatar in person. Yet another thing to be thankful for.

    "...and that, in conclusion, is why I believe the two of you could accomplish much good in the Guild," the Avatar concluded his stirring speech.

    She glanced at the other parahuman. Another Garama hero, albeit not one she was familiar with. From her understanding, a military cape stationed at Chennai. Handsome, in a costume that was clearly a fancier version of an army uniform, armed with an assault rifle. He had identified himself as "Multi-Hit", a speedster who could imbue his projectiles (bullets included) with extra speed.

    It seemed a bit odd for a military cape to be a Garama. Garama capes were the showy side of India's parahumans - colorful costumes, flashy attitudes, embracing the spotlight. Thanda capes, in contrast, operated in the shadows, ruthlessly. Between the Kashmir occupation, the Hyderabad refugee camps, and the Naxalite Front, she imagined a military cape would have been pressured to serve as a Thanda.

    The military cape spoke. "I'm… very flattered by your request, but also somewhat confused by it. Why come to us? I mean, no offense," he glanced at her apologetically, "but while our powers are pretty decent, they're not in the upper percentile. There's at least a hundred heroes in this country who could be more useful."

    "Power is not the only factor we've considered," said the Avatar in perfect Hindi with a Delhi accent. "Both of you have demonstrated that you work well within a team, and that you are compassionate, principled people. Harmonic's track record is a shining example of positive, constructive attitude, and as for you… you have participated in two Endbringer battles. There is also the matter of your actions in Kashmir."

    Multi-Hit chuckled grimly. "That's supposed to be a secret, but my superiors aren't as good at suppressing information as they like to think they are. That cell phone video is still floating around on the Net, isn't it."

    "It speaks favorably of your character. Our goal is not merely to fight the enemies of the world; it is to provide inspiration, role models, and hope."

    "Well, I would be very honored," said Harmonic with a smile. "Now, we both work for the government, so you'll need to talk to some people, but… I don't think they'll refuse."

    "To the guy who avenged Hyderabad?" said Multi-Hit. "It'd be political suicide."

    The Avatar offered Multi-Hit a ride back to Chennai, but he politely turned him down - which she was grateful for, as she appreciated the opportunity to get to know her future teammate better. Despite an undercurrent of bitterness, Multi-Hit was pleasant conversation.

    "I'll confess, I'm curious about what he meant about Kashmir," she said, "but if it's a sensitive topic, then forget I asked."

    "A little, but…" he shrugged. "If we're going to be working with the Guild, odds are you'll find out anyway." He looked around. "The short of it is, I used to be stationed in Kashmir. Infantry. I… refused… some illegal orders." He paused. "Well, arguably illegal. Definitely contrary to military ethics." He sighed. "It didn't go well. If I hadn't triggered, I'd probably be in a military prison. But I did trigger, so the son of a bitch who gave the orders got investigated and demoted instead." He sighed.

    She gave him her best comforting smile. "I think the Avatar - the Guild - was right to choose you."


    "Look, before this gets anywhere, I… I don't want there to be any misunderstanding. This isn't ideological. I just have nowhere else to turn to for help."

    Reactor. Dutch Tinker, considered about average in terms of power. A hero, and very, very clearly uncomfortable to even be there, having this conversation.

    "I understand," said Rhetor, leader of the Gesellschaft. "Family is sacred. If it was any of my brothers or sisters getting their entire life wrecked by one stupid mistake… Well, I'd slap them till they saw stars, but I'd still do anything I could to get them out of their mess."

    The villain gave a conciliatory smile. "Now, my friend, I understand that you have no interest in joining my people. I can respect that. I will not help you for free, but I will not ask you to compromise your principles for me either."

    Reactor blinked, somewhat surprised. That was not quite what he had expected to hear, coming to this meeting. "...You won't?"

    "God, no," said Rhetor, eyebrows raised. "Why would I want to? Anyone who was willing to compromise their principles to join me would be just as willing to compromise my principles once they were with me. I have no use for people who don't stay true to what they believe is right." He paused for a moment, letting the hero digest his words. "I will want your help, yes, but not weapons. Not tools of war. Just things that you can work on with a clear conscience." With his hands cupped on the table and his good-natured smile, he looked more like a fatherly boss than the leader of an international parahuman organization. "I happen to travel a lot by private jet, and I've had it upgraded with tinkertech over the years. I'm sure you could make a few improvements of your own, and it is not as if I use it in battle."

    "That… sounds reasonable," Reactor conceded, clearly relieved that he was not being asked to do anything reprehensible. "If you can help my brother…"

    "Consider it done. Although… There is another thing that I'd be remiss not to at least suggest." He paused again. "I assume you've done your research before a meeting like this, so you already know that 90% of Gesellschaft's activity is basically fighting crime - busting drug dealers, taking down gangs, that sort of things."

    "...Er, aren't most of the criminals you fight racial minorities?"

    "About 80% of them, yes. But that is the same percentage as those arrested by the police, simply because, either due to economic conditions or other reasons, 80% of violent criminals happen to be racial minorities." He shrugged. "The truth, Reactor, is that we simply don't have the numbers needed to make a real dent in crime. Don't get me wrong, we try to work with the official authorities, but it rarely works out. Because we're 'villains', the police will look the other way while Zicaron murders my people, or while we're fighting Argent and his thugs openly in the streets. Sometimes, judges will even let dealers, murderers and rapists go just because it was us who captured them, which in their eyes is all it takes to make it suspect.

    "But you… you are a hero. If I were to give you tips about where to find certain criminals - not capes, just common criminals - then you could arrest them, and I wouldn't have to worry about the justice system letting them go because it was 'villains' doing the arrest. Gun-runners, crack peddlers, gangsters, people we both agree need to be behind bars. Does that sound interesting? I'm not asking you to commit to anything, I'm just asking if you will want to know when my men have discovered a situation that needs a hero, so that you may investigate if it warrants your attention."

    Reactor gave it a moment's thought. "I… I suppose, sure."

    After that, there was only a little bit of negotiating to be done, and Reactor was much more relaxed than he had been coming in. The Gesellschaft would keep his little brother from going to jail, and keep in touch by phone. Eventually, the hero left.

    "I suppose he wasn't ripe for recruitment yet, hm?"

    Rhetor turned around to smile at the young girl. "Not yet, Aperçu. His timid left-of-center sensibilities still tell him that it would be wrong to side with the big bad neo-Nazis. It was necessary to put him at ease."

    She snorted. "Right. But those 'tips' you said you'd give him… I think I can guess what sort of tips you have in mind."

    "Ah, yes. It becomes hard to hold on to humanistic ideals while busting a pedophile ring run by mud people, to name but one example. After enough time spent busting the scummiest lowlifes the Netherlands have to offer, Reactor will find that he is far less defensive of the 'lesser races'," he said, making finger quotes. "Especially since, now that I've told him 80% of violent criminals are racial minorities, he'll start noticing whenever he arrests a non-white, and confirmation bias will set in."

    "And once he becomes receptive to the ideology, then he becomes so much easier to control," Aperçu grinned. "I was almost embarrassed, hearing that 80% line. Or the one about 90% of your activities. Like Gesellschaft isn't a huge criminal syndicate itself. I swear, does he just think numbers and statistics can't be made up?"

    "On a subconscious level, a lot of people assume numbers can't be made up," Rhetor explained. "And I did tell him right before that I'd assumed he had done his research before coming to see me. Frankly, I have no idea if he has, but just saying it convinced him I wasn't going to try to lie to his face. Same thing with that whole spiel about why I wouldn't want a recruit who compromised their morals: It doesn't really make sense, but it's the sort of fortune cookie nugget of pseudo-logic that sounds like wisdom to anyone who isn't much of a deep thinker. It told him that I wasn't trying to subvert him to my cause, and once that defense was down, everything was a lot easier."

    "So your power just told you he was vulnerable to made-up numbers and faux philosophy."

    "My power gives me an intuition of the right thing to say, even if it doesn't tell me why it's the right thing," he shrugged with a smile. "It told me to give him that whole 'family is sacred' bit at the start, so our Tinker is probably the sort of man who cares deeply about family and considers family loyalty the mark of a trustworthy person. It told me how long to pause, how to smile, how to adjust my body language. The intuition of how to tailor my sales pitch perfectly."

    "All those things are common sense salesmanship," Aperçu noted.

    "Oh, they are," he agreed. "I've studied rhetoric. I have some actual, non-powered experience in swaying people with words. I have learned that there are hundreds of little tricks to make people listen and believe… but unless you know someone well, it can be impossible to tell in advance which of those tricks will work on them, which will have no effect, and which will come across as rank, obvious attempts at manipulation.

    "What my power gives me, above all else, is that it removes the need for guesswork. I automatically, intuitively know which arguments to make, and how to make them. I never say the wrong thing. I am never easy to ignore. Sounding rational, appealing to raw emotion, using my audience's sense of right and wrong… Whatever works best with any one person at any given moment, I can pull it off." The power's only weakness was, it only worked on one person at a time. When addressing crowds, he had to pick one person in the audience, and hope that a speech tailor-made to sway them would also sway their comrades.

    "And that's how you can convince a bunch of people from all over Europe to be racist together despite the way a lot of them are racist toward each other's countries," she quipped. "And that makes the minions so much easier to control, doesn't it?"

    "Indeed. Bigotry tends to make one profoundly gullible and malleable," he said, giving her a knowing grin.

    Because his power told him to. Aperçu's glimpses into the future were useful, but unpredictable; her lack of control over her own precognition made it a very situational advantage, which made her somewhat insecure at times. The best way to manipulate her was by appealing to her sense of intellectual superiority. So, he let her think that the ideological aspect of the Gesellschaft was a sham, designed to control the rank-and-file. That there was an inner circle who understood it was only about power, money, and not letting any laws control them… and that of course, being a brilliant Thinker, she was a member of that inner circle. Describing to her in detail how his power let him influence everyone else, instead of making her paranoid about talking to him, made her smugly confident that he wasn't pulling her strings - after all, you couldn't be manipulated when you understood how manipulation worked, right?

    Aperçu might not be a neo-Nazi. But she had served Gesellschaft's goals well, and would continue to do so. In the end, that was more than enough.

    His phone beeped. "Ah," he said, glancing at it, "looks like Kaiser's little guest is ready to talk."

    "I'm not sure supporting Kaiser's little wargames is all that smart," said Aperçu. "The Empire capes might be more useful if you just brought them over to Europe."

    "Most of the Empire's capes are second-rate brawlers, with a handful of stand-outs like Purity and Hookwolf. Othala is useful, and Kaiser's a decent leader, but even so, the advantage of bringing that whole team over wouldn't be worth the extra attention. Besides, retreating from a city is viewed as a sign of weakness; retreating from a continent is an even bigger one, and if we brought them on board, we would be considered the ones retreating. Instead, by saving the Empire, we are securing Gesellschaft's strong image."

    There was some irony, Rhetor admitted at least to himself, in the fact that their organization, which profited from and fanned the flames of ultra-nationalistic sentiments, also derived so much strength from being one of the few truly international cape organizations. Oh, the Protectorate counted both the United States and Canada, and was in the middle of the gigantic mistake of adding Mexico… but, generally speaking, internationalism was dead.

    He still remembered the old days of the European Economic Community, and the "European Union" that all the bleeding hearts wanted to create. There had even been big plans for the European Brigade, an international superhero team to rival the Protectorate.

    Of course, none of it had ever come to pass. The Simurgh's destruction of Switzerland had seen to that. It wasn't just the loss of an entire country - it had also been the damage to the banking system. The Endbringer, in addition to effectively removing Swiss banks from the system in one fell swoop, had also ensured that sensitive information about secret bank accounts would spread - information that, he mused, had destroyed the careers of several prominent internationalist politicians. That a brainwashed cape had later gone on to murder the Serbian prime minister and start the never-ending Balkan Wars had just been the cherry on top.

    And Europe hadn't even had time to catch its breath when the Simurgh had struck again, this time at London. The entire British capital city, cut off, while the bulk of its parliament had been in session. They swore up and down that the royal family had been evacuated too quickly to be affected by the Endbringer's scream, but he had his doubts. The turmoils that had followed, the Scottish secession attempt, the bloody repression that had followed, the rise of Lord Walston… These days, Britain was halfway to fascism itself, and wanted absolutely nothing to do with the rest of the continent.

    After that, the plans for the European Brigade were… if not dead, then a joke. It still existed, but the number of capes in it barely broke into the double digits; European heroes stuck to national teams, such as the King's Men, Les Irréductible, Die Deutscheritters, Legione Difesa, and so on. In fact… it often seemed to Rhetor that the Simurgh delighted in destroying attempts to build large alliances of "heroes". He'd oft wondered if she had some plan to shatter the Protectorate.

    And then the Avatar had gone and rendered the question purely academical. Funny how quickly the world could change. Well. Gesellschaft would ride that wave of change and come out stronger.

    And then, he was standing before the viewscreen. On the other end of the teleconference was the man Kaiser's team had captured mere hours earlier.

    Accord, high-end Thinker and the mastermind who controlled half of Boston's underworld.

    Empire 88 had needed to find itself a new homebase. Boston had been the obvious choice, but the Empire was operating at reduced capacity. A well-oiled, well-planned blitz had been necessary. And that was where the Gesellschaft came in. Not in direct combat support, no - that had to be the Empire itself - but in other forms of support. Namely, the support of multiple Gesellschaft Thinkers who had offered vital intelligence for planning and executing the assault, and of Bemyndiga, their best Trump, who had boosted the Empire's capes right before the battle and was already on his way back to Sweden. ...A tinkertech-enhanced private jet wasn't much use in a fight, but it was handy for stealthily ferrying capes from country to country, after all.

    The operation had unfolded beautifully. In mere hours, the Empire had struck crippling blows at every significant villain and mercenary group in Boston. Nothing that outright broke the unwritten rules. No unnecessary deaths. Enough, however, to establish them as a new power block within the city. Enough to force everyone else to the negotiating table.

    Kaiser was a shrewd negotiator in his own right. Most of what came next, he would handle himself. But Accord… Rhetor had made it a point that talking to Accord would be left to him.

    So, he sat down, maintaining a perfectly neutral expression and a perfectly symmetric posture, as he addressed the American villain. "Accord. I apologize that our manner of meeting is disrupting your schedule, but our respective organizations simply lack the communication channels needed to coordinate such matters."

    The Boston Thinker glared at him. "Rather extreme euphemisms for assault and kidnapping, Rhetor. What are you and Kaiser doing to my city?" Even imprisoned, without any of his minions, not raising his voice at any moment, the man practically dripped menace.

    "This is damage control," he stated, maintaining an even tone. "Empire 88's operations recently suffered severe disruptions, as you well know. The Avatar's recent actions have caused some highly unprofitable chaos. We seek to mitigate it by providing the Empire with a stable base in Boston."

    "And in the process, you are disrupting my operations."

    "All change requires a brief period of disorder, even when it leads to greater order in the end. You know this as well as I do, Accord; you have had many a troublemaker executed, and it is hardly a clean and orderly process. What matters is not the chaos inherent in the short-lived process itself, but the end result. It is true that your organization and city are suffering from temporary disruption, and for that I apologize. However, it is my hope that we may negotiate an arrangement by which, by the end of the week, Boston will be more orderly than it was yesterday."

    "Explain yourself."

    "Certainly. Your organization, while the largest of its category in Boston, was not the Empire's only target. Surgical strikes were also performed successfully against Blasto, the Argonauts, Neon's Crew and the Portside Watchers. All of them have caused you varying degrees of trouble over the years. I believe that both the negotiations that are to follow, and a mutually profitable understanding between us, could play a significant role in bringing these factions to heel.

    "It is true, yes, that the Empire will require its share of the city for its operations. However, I believe both your side and mine can benefit from collaboration. You could include the Empire in your plans for the city; Kaiser is an intelligent man who values order, and he will listen. Rather than be at each other's throats, we may coexist in symbiosis: you may provide us with the efficient organization that only you are capable of, and the Empire will provide additional strength to enforce your plans."

    Accord considered. "There are a lot of ways such an arrangement could fail to produce satisfactory results. Frictions between my organization and the Empire could easily ruin what you propose. Kaiser and his cohorts could get too greedy, or merely too rowdy. Additionally, they have become targets of increased attention from the Protectorate and the Avatar, which I do not wish to see extended to myself."

    "Certainly," said Rhetor. "This is why I insisted on negotiating with you myself. I figure it is for the best if we work out all the relevant details now, rather than risk structural faults dooming what arrangement we make to a slow deterioration. Few things are more conductive to peace and order than a well-crafted contract. Furthermore, I believe that our mutual enlightened self-interest will keep us honest - the Empire and Gesellschaft could profit immensely from subcontracting certain plans to you, whereas our own Thinkers may at times provide you with crucial elements of data.

    "As for your last concern, it has been considered before we had even decided on the move to Boston. While we may lack the PRT's media resources, we are not entirely helpless at swaying public opinion. At the moment, we are working to change the public message into one mocking the Protectorate - namely, their inability to take down Empire 88 without the Avatar's assistance. Precognitive assistance assures me that the Avatar will be kept busy with other affairs, and an organization as dependent on good PR as the Protectorate will not risk looking weak by sending the Avatar to do its job in Boston - all the more so now that the Avatar is expanding internationally, making it increasingly clear that he is not merely a Protectorate agent. As such, while we will no doubt face some Protectorate opposition, it will be closer to what both you and Kaiser are used to facing. Nothing that you cannot handle."

    He certainly hoped so. He didn't want to think that last meeting with Koroleva had been for nothing.


    "The Serpent has been struck down!" Abner shouted. "The Fallen Angel has been slain! Soon, the Beast will follow! Now that God has come down from Heaven, the Forces of Evil cannot stand before His holy wrath!"

    With some satisfaction, he noted that the crowd was larger than yesterday. He could recognize several faces. Most people just listened for a minute or two out of curiosity, one or two would heckle… but some would stay and listen.

    He held up his Bible. "We have been told about all of this two thousand years in advance! It told of the Whore of Babylon, the woman drunken with the blood of saints! Reminds you of anything? The Simurgh, who twisted the minds of good men! It told of the Beast from the Earth, who could make fire come down from heaven; it was warning us about Behemoth! It told of the Beast from the Sea, two thousand years before Leviathan showed up!

    "We were warned long in advance of how terrible things were going to get! But we were also told not to lose hope, because salvation will come - and it has! Two thousand years ago, God came down to Earth in human form. He walked among us, making miracles and healing the sick, even coming back from death. We were told that there would be a Second Coming! That God would return, in person, to strike down evil and make Earth into the Kingdom of God! He is fulfilling that promise as I speak, tra-"

    And then he stopped.

    Because God had just landed twenty feet away.

    The crowd gasped. Cell phones came out. Abner, himself, found that he was now at loss for words, stringing together a number of random-sounding syllables in his abortive attempts at constructing a sentence. Finally, he recovered enough of his wits to pronounce "My Lord!" and fall to his knees.

    But, when his Lord spoke to him, it was with a voice tinged with sadness. "Please, rise. Do not bow to me."

    He got up, still unsure what to say. "My… My Lord…"

    "I am no lord. I do not rule over others. I seek to inspire, to make myself an example for others to follow, but I do not order you."

    His white cape followed gracefully as He turned around, gazing at everyone in the crowd as He spoke: "I have been an active superhero for close to a century. I know all too well how, when faced with the darkness and uncertainty of the world, men and women feel the need to make sense of it all. Many times, I have seen well-intentioned souls trying to build a religion around me."

    "And you don't want them to?" asked a young man in the crowd, sounding vaguely amused.

    "No. There is a vast gulf between adoration and understanding. My hope is not to be admired, but emulated. I wish for humanity to be brave and kind and true, not for it to be at my beck and call. You - every single one of you," he gestured at them all, "have within you the capacity to be shining beacons of hope and nobility. I am driven by the hope for any of you to become the hero I know you can be - and that heroism can manifest in something as epic as fighting the Endbringers, or as mundane as raising a child with love and wisdom. Who or what you address prayers to, if any, is far less of a concern."

    Abner gazed at the Avatar, still struggling to make sense of it all. "I… I just wanted to, to tell people… We are put on Earth to worship the Lord, and, I thought…"

    The Avatar gently placed his hand on Abner's shoulder. "You mean well. You wish to do the right thing. That is good. But any being that demands worship is by definition unworthy of it. If you wish to help, then there are countless fellow men, women and children in need of your compassion."

    And then the Avatar hugged him. He was surprised to find himself returning the hug.


    "Thank you for taking the time to see me," said Narwhal. "I know how busy your duties keep you."

    "Probably no more than yours," said Sunblade. Not that she was wrong, of course. As a parahuman member of the Self-Defense Forces, he had a busy life indeed.

    In his youth, his grandparents had told him of how hurt the country had been by the war. None of that had compared to the aftermath of the Sundering, as the loss of Kyushu had come to be called. Millions dead. Millions more stuck in refugee camps. The national economy had been shattered; in short order, the second-wealthiest nation on Earth had turned into a Third World country. Broken lives, broken futures, broken hopes, a broken nation. People went hungry in the streets. Hungry. In Japan.

    That had been 19 years ago. Normally, things should have picked up, but… they had not. It was hard to fix the national economy when the entire world's economy was crumbling, all the more so in a country that depended so much on maritime trade. Society found it difficult to deal with the disturbingly high percentage of parahumans who turned to violence and crime. The Yakuzas had grown bolder, treating the government's difficulties in coping with the situation as an excuse to step in and take control of more and more micro-crises, resolving every minor problem through bloody violence and coercion while putting themselves in a position of greater and greater influence. And of course, you had the endless parade of overpowered troublemakers making everything worse, from Skylance to Fuji-Sama to Kamikoe to Black Kaze. And that was before you factored in the problems caused by the Chinese Union Imperial. In short, it wasn't just that the Sundering had broken the country - it was that, after two decades, it still wasn't actually recovering.

    "There's that," the Canadian cape smiled. "Now, I told your superiors what this is about. We want to expand the Guild. Add in more members. You, the Avatar, Doctor Volt, Iron Snake, and more. Get more dynamic about stamping down the active threats."

    "The Guild already does that sort of thing," he pointed out. "You help out in Endbringer fights, you've done a lot to counter the Slaughterhouse Nine and Three Blasphemies, and it was the Guild that finally stopped Omerta."

    "Yes, but it's hardly enough. There's simply not enough international cooperation. The Protectorate is the best we've got, and it struggles to operate outside of its two member countries. The Brigade is practically stillborn. The Cognoscenti are all dead. If the Guild can get capitalize on membership from five-six continents and take down multiple A-list villains across the world, then it's a proof of concept. Proof that heroes and countries working together across the board can get things done." She stared into his eyes. "You're a veteran with intensive training and combat experience, and some of the best tactical skills of any parahuman I know. Having you on the team could make a big difference."

    "I'm not unsympathetic to your cause, Narwhal." Which was true enough. He wasn't sure he really bought the bit about international cooperation - countries didn't exactly fall over themselves to lend assistance, least of all today - but he had fought beside Narwhal against Leviathan five times, and he had nothing but respect for the fellow soldier. He certainly understood the desire to finally smack down some of the bigger villains - genuine victories were few and far between in his line of work, which felt less like "cleaning up the streets" than "maintaining the status quo so the streets don't overflow with blood". The idea of a Guild that could take down all the major troublemakers had its appeal, yes, but…

    "However," he went on, "first, keep in mind that it's not just my decision. I answer to the JDF, and whether I can participate in this initiative is ultimately up to them. I'll remind you, for that matter, that I am not a Tinker; my equipment is made and maintained by teammates in the armed forces." His superhuman agility and reflexes were not exactly the most impressive of parahuman abilities. He knew that. However, combined with his prior spec ops training, they'd made him deadly effective - enough that he had warranted special equipment. The plasma blade, as well as the heatproof body armor that allowed him to actually use the blade without getting burned, had become part and parcel of his identity as a cape. "Moreover, my duties do keep me busy, simply because there's an endless supply of problems for me to tackle here in my country. I'm not sure how much time I can dedicate to helping solve other countries' problems." He paused. "Of course, if the Guild lends Japan assistance with some of our issue…"

    "Like Skylance?" said Narwhal. "She's fairly high on our to-do list. So are the Three Blasphemies, Madame Lustucru… She won't be our first target, but we do intend to take her down."

    He considered. The Avatar, Strider, Dragon, and another dozen or two competent parahumans joining in to take down Skylance? In fact, merely the threat of such a force coming down on the heads of villains who became too successful? It was tempting, yes. And it would more than make up for him having to leave the country on occasions - he was not so deluded as to think he was single-handedly keeping Japan from collapsing.

    "I believe I see your point," he said. "Very well. I will support the idea, but it will ultimately be up to you to convince the JDF."

    "I think I can manage," she grinned.


    "To be frank, on some level I find this frustrating," said Jack Slash as he kicked Bonesaw. The child villainess flew a dozen feet through the air, hitting a wall and breaking it, falling on the other side; only the extensive upgrades she had made to her own biology over the years kept her alive. "You see, I have always taken a certain amount of pride in my ability to navigate the deadliest parts of the cape world despite having a fairly weak power. To trade up like this feels inelegant, somehow."

    Bonesaw, badly hurt but still conscious, got up and shot a poisoned dart at him from her fingernail. He dodged it effortlessly - he'd always had a good intuition for when to dodge, and now, it was even clearer. "Well, you've still got your power, uncle Jack."

    "I suppose I do," he said. Not that the ability to cut with knife regardless of distance was going to make that much of a difference. Granted, with his newly enhanced strength, he suspected it might be a good idea to look into a Tinker-made, unbreakable knife or two. "Besides, I suppose there's stylistic justification for making a big change for the final show."

    "Final show?" Bonesaw rushed into melee, trying to stab and poison him even as he dodged effortlessly. "You don't think we can win?"

    "Oh, we most assuredly can," he grinned. "But, win or lose, this will be our last real performance. Even if we do win and take down the Avatar, that will motivate the Protectorate to bring the whole of its forces down upon our heads, and there will be capes from all over the world pitching in. Killing two Endbringers tends to endear one to the masses, after all. At that point, our choices will be to go down fighting… or clear the board," he smirked as he exploded, reappearing fifty feet away, the explosion having knocked Bonesaw against another wall.

    The young bio-Tinker tried to go for stealth now, silently moving among the debris, hoping to hide and catch him in an ambush. Not that she stood a chance; even with walls between them, he could clearly see her heart and arteries. With an amused chuckle, he explosively teleported again, appearing fifteen feet behind her, then swinging his knife in front of him, slicing her right foot despite her subdermal armor.

    Bonesaw collapsed. Laying on her back, she gazed at him. "...You've gotten really good at this, uncle Jack."

    "True. Not to the level where I can go toe-to-toe with a member of the Triumvirate, but still, this will give me more options."

    He had little doubt this would be the greatest challenge ever faced by the Slaughterhouse Nine. It was a shame Gray Boy had died all those years ago; he would have been an asset. Jack Slash found himself contemplating the current team composition.

    The Siberian. Invulnerable. Unstoppable. The striped, cannibalistic woman had been able to hurt even Alexandria; she might actually be able to kill the Avatar.

    Mannequin. The stealthy Tinker, still one of the best assassins in the world, was another vital component of the plan. After all, it wasn't enough to kill the Avatar; they also needed to prevent him from returning to life.

    Crawler. The massive villain, no longer even vaguely humanoid, mutated and grew more powerful with each attack he survived. Having the Siberian maul him within an inch of his life would make him more powerful than ever before.

    Shatterbird. Her ability to control all sillicium-based materials (including glass and computer chips) across an entire city was going to get pushed to the limit this time around.

    Burnscar. Her fire and teleportation were, admittedly, not that great an asset. But when you played chess, using the pawns could be as tricky and important as using the rooks or bishops.

    Cherish. The girl's ability to control others' emotions was impressive, but less so than her ability to sense them, and remain aware of individual people even across a wide range. She was also a fool who believed she could manipulate the Slaughterhouse Nine. He was still working on how to best turn that delusion against her.

    Hatchet Face was not one of the Nine any more - not since Cherish had taken care of him. His ability to turn off other capes' abilities probably wouldn't have worked on the Avatar… but what was left of him still had its uses.

    And of course, there was their newest, ninth member. One whom Bonesaw had been very eager to work with.

    Speaking of Bonesaw… she was looking up at him. "Uncle Jack? You got Butcher's powers, but what about the voices?"

    "Oh, your operation worked great," he smiled. "I can't hear any of the previous Butchers. If I pay close attention, I can just barely sense their emotional state. They are… less than happy with the current arrangement, I believe."

    With that, he stabbed Bonesaw in the throat. She gazed at him in surprise, then with a calmer realization of what he was doing.

    After all, whoever killed Butcher, got the powers of every previous Butcher (and their voices in their head, too, though he had dodged that). And the man he had killed not so long ago had himself been the latest Butcher for less than a minute, but he still had a very, very handy ability.

    And then, Jack Slash collapsed that timeline, leaving only the one where he had been observing Bonesaw as she worked on her latest sadistic work of art.


    "By many people's account, you are one of the main reasons Indonesia hasn't fallen apart."

    Iron Snake considered the faintly-glowing man before him. The Avatar. The Endstopper. The Stormbreaker. And, apparently, a new member of the Guild.

    His expression grew wistful. "When I first got my powers… I was an idealistic kid who protested the Suharto regime, but I didn't want to use my powers for it. I didn't want a bloody coup or civil war." He gazed in the distance. "So, instead, I tried to be an effective, visible superhero. To do too much good, to be too popular for the government to touch me. When I spoke up against the military draft of parahumans, people listened. I figured, if me, my teammates, and like-minded heroes did more to protect the people than Suharto did, then maybe we could force his hand, democratize the country.

    "Then Behemoth showed up, and the whole situation got turned upside-down. Half of Jakarta was dead, the other half had to evacuate because of the radiations. We were lucky that it was only the fourth Endbringer attack, back when there was still an active international community - without international aid, the fallout would have been so much worse."

    "I understand the government was pretty much gone," said the Avatar, "but Red White helped the transition."

    Red White. That had been the name of the large, multi-dozen-member hero team he'd helped spearhead at the time. Naming themselves after the colors of the national flag, they had played up an image of patriotism while staying visibly distinct from the regime. So many of them had died against Behemoth… but most had survived. And indeed, he could still remember the two highly intense years that had followed. Defending the Jakarta refugee camps, putting out a million different fires, supporting the new, (mostly) democratic government as it gradually formed and established its authority, taking down countless villains and would-be-warlords… But, by the end of it, while the country was diminished, traumatized, and struggling, it was still a country.

    Of course, even after those two years, things had hardly been smooth sailing. Life just kept throwing an endless supply of villains at them. Iron snake and his teammates had fought many, and lost many. He had stopped counting dead friends at some point, but he had never stopped fighting. Even after his wife (and long-time teammate) had died, he had fought on, defeating the Surabaya Syndicate. Even as it sunk in just how badly villains outnumbered them on the national stage, he had fought on, killing Silent Echo and arresting her minions. Even as he turned forty and could no longer deny the starting decline in his health, he had fought on, rescuing the president from the General. Even as Plague's virus was killing thousands across East Java, he had fought on, cutting a swath through her teammates.

    Indonesia was bloody, battered, an increasingly violent and deadly place where poverty and hopelessness were ever rising… but, it was true: Without him and many others like him, things would have have been far, far worse.

    "Yes," he finally said. "We did. But most of the men and women involved are now gone." Shifter, killed by Behemoth at Ankara. His beloved Gunshot, caught in the fireball of a gang's exploding ammo depot. Divine Flame, tortured to death by Silent Echo. Blink, in some ways the most painful loss, turning his back on them all to join a villain gang; he suspected dealing with Plague had been what had finally broken him.

    He caught himself woolgathering. "Ah, I'm not saying there are no great heroes among the younger generation. Molecule deserves every bit of praise she gets, and Cascade is both a good man and a powerful cape."

    "I'll take your word for it," said the Avatar with a slight smile. "However, it is you whom the Guild wants in its ranks for now. Your worth has been proven a hundred times over. Your principles are irreproachable. Your combat prowess remains highly impressive. And, most importantly, even as your team composition evolved over the past two decades, you have always been noted as working well with others, both in and out of the battlefield."

    And then, Iron Snake found himself pondering. What did he want?

    As a child, he had wanted to be a great hero of justice. When parahumans had become more and more of an accepted reality, he had dreamed of being a superhero. When he had started learning pencak-silat and discovered he had a knack for it, he had dreamed of being a martial arts champion.

    Then, that one competition. The injury. The doctor telling him he would need years of therapy to walk again, if ever. And then, triggering, with a pool of power that he could allocate at will between enhanced strength, super-speed, and regeneration. In hindsight, it had been truly fortunate that the doctor had been a family friend willing to falsify medical records, or keeping his identity secret from the regime would have been impossible.

    When he had gotten his powers and helped found Red White, he had had new, updated dreams of being a great hero of justice, of a peaceful transition toward democracy and freedom. After Behemoth, he had dreamed of restoring the country, making it a place where his family could live in peace. After Gunshot had died, he had dreamed of making Indonesia safe for their daughter and the rest of her generation. After Divine Flame's death and Blink's betrayal, he had dreamed of keeping Indonesia from collapsing within his lifetime.

    It seemed that his dreams were getting smaller with each tragedy. Going from wanting a shining, golden future, to at least wanting a decent one, to at least wanting it to not be a nightmare. It was one thing for men to become more cynical with age, perhaps, and while he wasn't old yet, he could no longer be called young… but, he could clearly see the diminished hope among the younger heroes too. Even champions like Molecule and Cascade were mostly hoping to keep the situation from deteriorating, rather than hoping to actually improve it.

    But. Leviathan was dead.

    The Simurgh was dead.

    Kabul's Purifier and Namibia's Moord Nag were in prison.

    And five days after Leviathan's death, Blink had turned himself in.

    For the first time in what felt like forever, there was hope - not vaguely, not faintly, but everywhere - that the world might be better a decade from now than it was today. That today's children would be adults in a decent world.

    So, if this new and improved Guild was the next step toward that hope… how could he possibly turn that chance down?


    "Thank you again for your time."

    "No thanks needed. It's my pleasure, Dragon."

    Doctor Metal meant it, too. She generally considered herself one of the best Tinkers in Western Africa. Her power armors provided an excellent blend of protection, firepower, mobility, sensor coverage and versatility. She had gone up, solo, against entire teams of capes and won.

    But Dragon? Dragon was often considered the world's greatest Tinker, and Doctor Metal did not begrudge her the title one bit. Not after seeing her in action. They'd collaborated on suit design a number of times, and while the Canadian Tinker had always treated her ideas with respect and gladly incorporated them when they were worth it, she still felt Dragon had made the lion's share of contributions on such occasions.

    "You're too kind. How are things back in Harper?"

    She swallowed back some bitterness. "Reasonably fine, I suppose. I'm still trying to organize the saner local capes, but you know how it is - there's always a majority of lunatics and assholes among parahumans. At least I managed to run Omen out of town."

    Of course, there was no mention of the fact that she had little desire to be in Harper. She was a woman of the Ivory Coast. For all its flaws, she loved her country and always had. Her years in America, getting her engineering degree at the MIT, had been largely characterized by homesickness. When she had gotten back home, and was once more struck by the vast gulf in wealth and standards of living between her country and the First World, it had not made her want to leave again - it had made her want to improve her country's lot.

    And why not? It was one of the most prosperous nations on the entire continent, and she was a brilliant engineer. She had set out to open her engineering firm in Abidjan, providing technology for infrastructure, for security, for industry, for a better future.

    Perhaps she had not turned the whole country around, but she believed she had done some good. However… no matter how effective the technology she worked with was, it kept nagging her that there existed technology completely beyond her understanding. She had had the opportunity to observe and analyze tinkertech a number of times, and no matter how she turned it in her brain, she couldn't make heads or tails of it.

    Her research into the subject had finally lead her to them. To the people who claimed they could sell power in a vial. She had been dubious, but… they had been persuasive. And she had the money. She had wanted Tinker powers. They warned her that, while they could obtain a vial with increased odds of Tinker abilities, it was always a gamble, and the odds were slightly worse than even. Luck was on her side, that time.

    Becoming a Tinker had not really made the frustration go away. Even now, her understanding of Tinkertech was still painfully limited. So, she had gotten in touch with the Cognoscenti - a massive collaboration of Thinkers from central and Southern Africa. She had hoped that, with their insight, tinkertech could truly be reverse-engineered, and then eventually mass-produced. The idea of police forces bringing villains to heel with her power armor designs had been a tempting prospect.

    Of course, the Cognoscenti had died to a Simurgh plot soon after, and their loss had sent shockwaves throughout the continent. Wars, instability, economic crashes. That instability only lead to the rise of more and more villains and warlords. It looked like her country needed engineers less than it needed heroes - and so, she had started going out there, in her best power armors, fighting villains in the streets.

    It had quickly turned out that, even when you had an armor that could survive anti-materiel rifle shots, fighting superpowered criminals on your own was still very dangerous. So, she had joined the Troupe Ivoirienne, a government-sanctioned hero organization that worked closely with the police. Working with other capes was not always easy, but it was always worthwhile. For three years, she had worked with them, taking down Frelon, la Nonne Rouge and others. Neighboring countries might descend into warlordism and parahuman feudalism, but the Ivory Coast, never!

    Yet for all her efforts, the country had not been doing well. Maritime trade had collapsed years ago. Land trade was dying, as various commercial partners were forced to turn inward. Villains made running business harder - her favorite restaurant had been permanently turned into a super-gravity zone by a villain seeking to extort protection money, and one of her business rivals had seen their headquarters destroyed by collateral damage when rival cape gangs fought each other.

    The situation had been untenable. Something had to be done to save the economy. When the government had announced its plan to nationalize multiple industries, she had disagreed with the plan, but could see the reasoning behind it. When her own company had been among those nationalized, she had invented several dozen new swear words, but ultimately accepted it, and tried to at least ensure it would do good for the national infrastructure. When the government had nationalized the country's largest Internet service provider…

    ...That had been when fucking Essaim showed up. "Swarm". The crazy bitch who had somehow managed to create an entire cybernetic army with that crazy "smart gel" of hers. Who had hired a number of mercenary villains, and overthrown the government.

    So, she and the rest of the Troupe Ivoirienne had shown back to fight the good fight. No dice. Swarm had been ready for them. With ambushes. With snipers. With heavy weaponry, well-organized capes, and that goddamn smart gel. With nerve gas. Doctor Metal had been fortunate to get out alive, carrying two poisoned teammates with her. Neither of them had survived.

    She had tried to get help from the rest of the country. Again, Swarm seemed to be a step ahead. What all those years of conflict and villains had failed to achieve, Essaim had accomplished: Turning the Ivory Coast into yet another warlord's domain.

    She had had to swallow her pride and flee the country. Not far. To the neighboring Liberia. To the town of Harper, close to the border. Liberia had, years before, broken down into a confederation of regions that were run either by warlords, or what was left of the local authorities. She had worked with local capes to try to make Harper one of the better places. Keep down the villains. Protect civilians from those who would prey on them. Help the people enforce the democratic consensus. She had thought it would be easy, considering that Harper's population was not one hundredth that of Abidjan, but it seemed that whenever she managed to drive some villains out, new challengers flocked in. People often thanked her for making the city a relative haven of safety… but it was relative indeed.

    And through it all, she had desired nothing more than to liberate her homeland from the crazy bitch. Easier said than done. Swarm was a megalomaniac, but she was a smart megalomaniac. As for support from the international community, it couldn't be relied on - not just because everyone had their own problems, but because in the eyes of so much of the world, being taken over by a parahuman warlord was just something African countries did. She suspected most First Worlders couldn't tell the difference between the Ivory Coast and Mozambique. It was as if they thought the entire continent was just one homogenous whole, that could be regarded as a single country - never mind that the continent was big enough to contain all of North America and still have room left for China.

    So, she had started showing up to Endbringer battles. She had considered it before, almost decided to attend, then ultimately decided that she was needed too badly back home. But… trying to stay home to fight local battles had failed. If more heroes had gone out to help fight the good fight in foreign lands, perhaps more of them could have counted on foreign assistance in return. Perhaps, if she helped others save their country, she might find some ears that were sympathetic to the plight of her own.

    Her first fight against Behemoth had been a major kick in the perspective. Finding help for her homeland, important as it was, pretty much had to take a backseat to… to saving the world from those monsters. What was the point of saving the Ivory Coast, if the entire world burned around it? She had made it a point to attend every Endbringer battle since then. She had collaborated on some tinkertech projects with Dragon. She had entertained the notion of joining the Guild.

    Well. Considering what Dragon had asked to meet her about… it looked like she was going to get her chance.

    She smiled at her Canadian counterpart. "But, you didn't come here to talk about Harper. So, tell me more…"


    Centro had been at the office when the call had come. Celo, one of her fellow Argentinian superheroines. She'd thought at first that this was about the business with the Cartel de las Sombras, but, no - this was Guild business. Guild business that the Avatar was involved in, and wanted to have words with her about.

    Celo had assured her that there would be no need for a face-to-face meeting; the Avatar could simply contact her telepathically. That had not made her less uneasy, and she requested that Celo just put him on the phone, as soon as she had made damn certain she had some privacy.

    "My apologies if I'm being difficult, but in this line of work, you just can't be too careful."

    "I understand. With that said, it is a pleasure to speak to you. Celo and others have spoken highly of your work."

    "Not too many others, I hope," she said with a humorless smile. "Celo said this was about Guild business?"

    "Indeed. The Guild is currently on a recruitment drive. It has recruited additional Tinkers, Blasters, Movers, Brutes… and, quite frankly, it could use an additional Thinker."

    "It sounds like you are among the new recruits."

    "I am indeed. I believe that, if heroes are to reclaim Earth-Bet from villains and warlords, then we must work together across national barriers. I believe that governments for the people, of the people, must support each other, or be drowned in the tidal wave of parahuman feudalism… if the Endbringers don't get us all. I believe that a stronger, more international Guild can achieve a number of key victories across the globe, and show the way to the rest of the world. I believe that, if we are to have any hope of winning the good fight, we must join forces."

    She paused. "I am not committing to anything as of yet, but just to be perfectly clear: If I were to throw my support behind the Guild… then it would be completely off-the-books. No official record. No acknowledgement before the media. As little acknowledgement as possible before anyone. My ability to do my job is very much dependent on secrecy."

    "Believe me, I understand. I've lead a global superhero team during the Cold War. I know that some people require discretion."

    "Hmph. Do you know what my power is?"

    "I know that you are able to project your voice into the minds of others regardless of distance, and can transmit different messages to several people simultaneously, suggesting some multitasking ability. More importantly, on the occasions when you've participated in Endbringer battles, you've displayed some enhanced awareness of the battlefield, which suggests your true power is a Thinker ability of some sort. Its exact nature I can only speculate on, of course; Celo wouldn't tell me, and Guild members who have their own theories keep them to themselves. I am certainly not going to press the issue."

    "Good. Fighting for justice in Argentina means fighting in the shadows."

    That was no exaggeration. Argentina had actually been doing pretty well, when it had all started. The 1980s had seen democratization, an improving economy, and general hope for the future. The early parahumans had been an exciting curiosity; the most visible one in the country had been Cosecha, a plant-Tinker who had been working on genetically enhanced crops.

    She had read many an analysis of parahuman history. She knew that some placed the end of the "Golden Age" in December 1992, when Behemoth had first struck. Others placed it in the "Three Years of Hell" - starting in November 1999 with the Sundering of Kyushu, continuing in September 2000 with the Siberian's murder of Hero, and concluding in December 2002 with the Simurgh's first appearance in Lausanne. (Of course, it was mostly the American public that placed Hero's death on the same level as the two most devastating Endbringer attacks in History… but, she supposed she understood the value of symbols, and Hero had been very symbolic.)

    From Argentina's point of view, though, the so-called "Golden Age" had ended in the mid-90s. Part of it had been inevitable social conflict, like the ever-divisive question about the role of parahumans in the military. Part of it had been the contested 1995 elections, when the losing presidential candidate had accused the winner of relying on parahumans to rig the vote; to this day, she still wasn't certain if there had been any truth to it. The largest part, however, had been the rise of the criminal cartels. Drug money had been making them powerful before. In the late 80s and early 90s, they had struggled as the old guard clashed with parahuman villains. By the mid-90s, however, the villains were solidly in charge, and greedily grasping for ever more power. The police chief of Córdoba had been brainwashed by a villainous Master, which had only been discovered a full year after the fact. Cosecha had been abducted and forced to create more lucrative breeds of the coca plant for the drug cartels. Calculadora had defrauded over fifty thousand people of their life savings, then somehow managed to pressure the authorities into pardoning her.

    More and more, the chief issue affecting the country had been the government's inability to face the villains. And so, the government made villains its priority. A major team of heroes was formed. Fundings and military support were offered. Parahuman consultants were hired, from within and from abroad. A few photogenic victories were won, such as the arrest of Calavera.

    And then, in September 1997, Behemoth had showed up and destroyed most of Buenos Aires. The government was gone. The national hero team, in shambles. The country, ripe for the taking.

    And taken it was. The crime cartels wasted no time whatsoever, sabotaging humanitarian efforts with one hand while funding their own with the other. To gain a measure of legitimacy, several of the larger cartels went to some of the surviving generals in the military, throwing support behind them, making it look like it was the army that was taking charge… but in truth, by that point, the soldiers' paychecks were being signed by the villains. By 2000, those who had been criminals years earlier were now the new government. Those who opposed them were declared outlaws on various charges.

    She had been a rookie journalist at the time - had been in the media just long enough to see their freedom of speech get ripped apart, to see them turning into mouthpieces for the new regime. When the article she had written about Celo's heroic contributions had gotten squashed, she had come to the realization that there was no place in Argentina for a reporter to seek the truth anymore.

    That was when she had started seeking ways to be more than just a journalist. To become someone who could fight the villains on their own turf.

    Cauldron, in many ways, was the biggest mystery she had ever encountered. That she could not investigate them chafed, it truly did, but they had made it entirely clear that they would find out, and would crush her like an insect. Even now that she had powers, she still had to pick her battles carefully.

    And her powers were certainly useful. She referred to it as "the list". Touching someone, however briefly - even just brushing against them - was all she needed to add someone to the list. The list was sadly finite, with only 27 spots on it; when she wanted to add another person, she needed to remove one of the 27 already in it, and needed to touch them again to add them at a later date.

    As long as someone was on the list, however? True, she could speak to them from a distance without opening her mouth. But, far more importantly? She could see through their eyes. Hear through their ears. Distance was no limit. Multitasking was no limit. Right now, she was simultaneously watching from 28 perspectives. Among them were her boss at the newspaper, who had taken another bribe last week; Carlos, the former security guard who now worked as a minion for the villain Inaudito; Martin, the accountant for the Cartel de las Sombras; Viciosa, the villainous Shaker, whose civilian identity she had managed to discover and "bump" against last month; Represalias, the rookie would-be-heroine, whom she was observing to see if she was worth working with; and many, many more.

    She had a mask - a full-body suit, even, to avoid leaving DNA evidence behind. She only used those when meeting face-to-face with some of the few heroes she considered safe to collaborate with. Most times, when she was doing superhero work, she was in her civilian identity, figuring out who was worth adding to her list, figuring out ways to approach and touch them however briefly, and then using the knowledge she had gained to bring villains down, almost always through proxy. Like last year, when she had discovered Bruma's weakness to electricity, and informed Celo. Or when she had arranged for the Córdoba Quatuor to learn how the Cartel de las Sombras was cheating them, causing a major falling-out between the two gangs.

    When she had participated in Endbringer battles, she had usually tried to shake hands or something with a number of Movers while there was time, and then she worked in the command center - she could spot Leviathan or the Simurgh through their eyes, and assist in coordination like a second-rate Dragon. Much as she hated Behemoth, however, she had never participated in battles against him; her usefulness would have been more limited against a slow-moving foe who could be seen from almost any distance.

    Of course, Leviathan and the Simurgh were dead now. Wyld Hunter was out of the picture. And if the Avatar had been willing to go up against Moord Nag and the Purifier… could she leverage Guild support against the Argentinian criminal regime?

    The possibility, to the very least, seemed worth considering.


    "With the Avatar, Doctor Volt, Captain Hydro, Harmonic, Multi-Hit, Sunblade, Iron Snake, Doctor Metal and Centro, the Guild's effectives rise from twenty-three to thirty-two. Naturally, the Avatar's presence also significantly raises the team's average power level, even if the median remains nearly unchanged," Number Man commented as they walked through the base.

    Doctor Mother nodded in acknowledgement. "We will have to keep monitoring this situation closely. Contessa is optimistic, but the Avatar's ability to fool precognition means we cannot rely on her path to victory as much as with parahumans. Still, it plays in our favor that he is partial to capturing villains alive; I'd much rather have Moord Nag in the Birdcage than dead." After all, who knew which parahumans could prove vital on the day of the final battle?

    "We may also want to consider where the Protectorate ought to place the Avatar following Brockton Bay. Even if he ends up spending most of his time working on international issues with the Guild, he is still presumably going to remain affiliated with a Protectorate branch in one city or another."

    "Alexandria and Legend have been giving it thought," she said. They walked in silence for about twenty seconds. "Any noteworthy trends, meanwhile?"

    "The situation surrounding Kabul is unsurprisingly tense," he replied, "though none of the neighboring warlords have committed to a course of action. Presumably, they fear that seizing the city might earn them the Avatar's ire. Some of the financial movements surrounding Starfall's assets suggests that he is hoping to offer the city material support in order to be accepted as its lord-protector; if the other warlords do not join forces against him, his plan will likely succeed. In that eventuality, Starfall will likely become the central potentate of the Afghanese regions, which would have 55% odds of raising stability.

    "In Mexico, most of the cartels are gearing up for war, expecting the arrival of the Protectorate to be a major challenge to their operations. The exception is Lord Cognito's organization, which instead seems poised to pit its rivals and the Protectorate against each other.

    "With the deaths of Leviathan and the Simurgh, investors are growing bolder. I expect this will be the first quarter that sees growth in the global GDP since 1999, though this could obviously change depending on how things develop with the Endbringers."

    She was still going over the various implications in her mind when he switched topics: "Meanwhile, I will confess to some curiosity concerning recent vial production."

    She took a moment to gather her thoughts. "Tattletale's insight into the process has been helpful. I've learned more from those three sessions than Manton and I were able to figure out in our entire first year of studying the Entity's remains. In particular, I now have a much better understanding of what will or will not create a Case 53. As such, with the more recent vials, I have significantly cut down on the proportion of Balance formula, increasing instead the power-granting components. Every vial made in this manner has produced parahuman abilities multiple standard deviations above the norm, including Lightspeed, Roster, Leonardo and Fezāton."

    Indeed, all four of the recent Cauldron capes had developed impressive abilities. Lightspeed had developed enhanced durability and proportionate strength that placed her in the Brute 6-7 range, speed that allowed her to run at mach 1.4 and casually dodge any non-powered melee attack, and seemingly limitless stamina that let her use all of her speed and strength for hours on end with no sign of fatigue. Roster had gained an awareness of all parahuman powers within a two-mile radius, which told him both what they were and where they were located in real time. Leonardo was a Tinker of seemingly average power at first glance, but whose versatility quickly proved exceptional; he had the ability to choose his Tinker specialization, which he could change once every 24 hours. As for Fezāton, his ability was a bit of a grab-bag. He had omnidirectional, through-wall vision within a range of 180 yards. He had perfect aim with thrown objects. He could make objects he threw phase harmlessly through anything between them and their intended target. And he could increase their mass by three orders of magnitude until right after impact.

    "That is encouraging," Number Man agreed, "though I'm curious about Lightspeed's selection. She doesn't fit our typical operating procedures. She didn't seek Cauldron out. She never tried to purchase powers. Slipping someone a vial without their knowledge is not unheard of, but it is rather different from our standard approach."

    "Alexandria's idea," she supplied. "A target of opportunity, really. Lightspeed caught both her attention and some of Los Angeles's with her good samaritan act. She has already demonstrated a heroic personality along with the ability to think and act in do-or-die situations. Additionally, everyone, herself included, will simply assume that the fire was her trigger event. Besides, that woman made her career working for a suicide prevention hotline; the desire to save others is a central aspect of her personality. As I said, a target of opportunity."

    Lightspeed was being assigned to the Los Angeles branch of the Protectorate, under Alexandria's watch. The others were more standard stories.

    Roster had been an FBI investigator who had seen one too many case fall apart due to villains. In frustration, he had started looking for ways to gain power, not actually expecting to find anything… and had found one of the trails of crumbs Cauldron deliberately left for people like him. He had purchased a power-granting vial. And now, his Thinker ability made him an enormously valuable asset for the New York Protectorate, who were for now using him to secretly catalog the city's hundreds of villains (and learn a few surprising facts about the powers of some of its heroes). The idea of temporarily bringing him over to Las Vegas had been brought up, considering the way Thinker powers seemed to rule the city's parahuman scene, but of course, the risk of unpredicted villainous action was urging caution for now.

    Leonardo was an Italian 19-year-old who, as a child, had been among those evacuated from Naples following Leviathan's attack. His family had been among those fortunate enough to survive and bounce back. He had a history of volunteering at the local soup kitchen, and had sought out Cauldron after an Arab friend and former classmate had been hospitalized by local Gesellschaft sympathizers. He was now in the process of joining the Milan branch of the Legione Difesa, Italy's governmental hero organization.

    As for Fezāton, he was a Japanese college student. A personal history of civic-minded dutifulness, donations of time and money to charity despite struggling himself… What had driven him to seek power had been the death of his boyfriend, who had become collateral damage in a gang war between rival villains. He had expressed a desire to make the streets safe again, to fight alongside the heroes and the police who were struggling to prevent this sort of tragedy from happening.

    They had sought power, been contacted by Cauldron, and paid a small fortune for their vial (not because Cauldron needed the money, of course, but because that helped weed out the candidates who lacked commitment). Normal enough…

    ...except that she and Contessa had gone to greater lengths than usual to ensure that the vials went to heroic recipients. Cauldron preferred heroes; the percentage of capes who took up the heroic mantle was far higher among Cauldron capes than among natural triggers. But they had been willing to empower villains. Partly because it was difficult, even with Contessa, to predict what someone would do with powers before they actually got them. Partly because villains, too, had a role to play. Cauldron's mission was to save mankind across countless parallel worlds; the collapse of Earth-Bet's civilization on the way there was a hindrance, but not in itself an unacceptable end result.

    But… things were changing. The Avatar was changing them. By killing the Endbringers, and causing them to step up their game.

    Before he had showed up, it had been about gradually building up their parahuman forces. Heroes in the Protectorate and similar organizations across the world. Villains who could be collaborated with, in control of various cities and fiefdoms. Villains who might be useful but couldn't be allowed to roam free for years, in the Birdcage. Gradually expanding this immense potential army that might, hopefully, save the world… and using what they had to prevent the Endbringers from ruining everything. They lost many, many heroes to the Endbringers, but new ones appeared faster… for now. Number Man believed they were hitting diminishing returns, and would reach saturation within years. Soon enough, society would be in such a sorry shape, and villains so numerous, that their battles would set ablaze what the Endbringers had not destroyed yet, and the parahuman casualties of their infighting would outpace the rate at which new ones appeared.

    Except… the Avatar had killed Leviathan, then the Simurgh. And while he had claimed the existence of further Endbringers… there was now a very real possibility of killing them all. At which point… well, Earth-Bet would still be a terrible mess, full of villains and warlords. But without a city getting devastated every three-four months, there could be some stabilization. There would be more time to build an even larger parahuman army. Provided the Endbringers were defeated.

    And so, it was now a short-term priority to shore up Earth-Bet's heroic forces. Give the Protectorate and its homologs more powerful capes who would fight against the Endbringers, and contain the tide of villainy. So, when she had created the new generation of vials, she had placed more stringent criteria than usual on their recipients. Only people who had a probability above 75% of becoming heroes.

    It was not a long-term policy that Cauldron was committed to. But for now, it looked like the smart play.


    Synergy, teamwork, and delegation. In Poseedor's mind, such were the keys to the Four Ghosts of Santiago's success.

    His own entrance into the world of capes had not been spectacular. During the final days of the Castro regime, he had been convicted for the murder of his mistress, and condemned to execution - ironically, that had been before he'd ever killed anyone; he was virtually certain that her husband had been the real culprit. But when the execution had come, and he had felt life leaving… he had opened his eyes, and discovered he now was in the body of his executioner. No-one around him seemed to even realize at the time that something had gone amiss.

    At first he had thought he'd become some sort of ghost possessing others, before realizing he'd become a cape. With the benefit of hindsight, he was not certain if he had triggered during the execution, or when he had first been condemned. Regardless, that had been a fearful period - for months, he had been stuck in that man's body, trying and failing to hide from everyone around him that something was wrong. An impossible task, since he didn't have any of the memories of the man he possessed.

    Then, finally, the revolution had come. Some cape had assassinated Castro, and the whole country was in turmoil. The new government made promises to punish the crimes of the previous regime. Men had shown up to bring him in for questioning. With his rather poor previous experience with being arrested… he had panicked, and gotten violent in his attempt to flee. He'd been shot, and once again, found himself in the body of his killer.

    That had been when it had truly sunk in that he had a power. Granted, at the time, he had believed it was the ability to possess the body of whoever killed him; it was only further experience that taught him he actually possessed the nearest available person. With that realization, had come a new burst of confidence: If he couldn't be killed… then he could get away with anything.

    Less than a month later, he had gone on his first armed robbery attempt. Despite his newfound confidence, it had ended disastrously - the police had captured him alive. He hated prison. It had taken him several weeks before he'd finally managed to get a guard to kill him. At least, the lesson was learned: In future operations, he knew to escalate the violence to lethal levels very quickly, so that his enemies would not have the option of taking him alive.

    That was how Poseedor had started becoming one of the most feared villains in Santiago de Cuba - the man who couldn't be killed, who would steal your body if you even made the attempt. Being feared made it easy to get money, power and respect. Over the next three years, he had built himself a solid position, and gone through eight more bodies (not counting the times he'd ended in the bodies of women, cripples and children; he'd always made to sure to destroy those quickly and move on to something more fitting).

    Then one day, he'd discovered that someone had stolen from his cash reserve during the night. He admittedly didn't have much security, but he had thought the fear he inspired made that unnecessary. So, he'd looked into it. He'd persuaded a Thinker to discover the culprit. It turned out to be some fresh-faced kid, barely eighteen, who'd recently triggered with Stranger powers. The kid could make himself undetectable - at will, he became completely invisible, made no sound even while shooting with a rifle, and became so utterly odorless even guard dogs were unaware of his presence.

    His first thought had been to kill the kid. He already knew by then that possessing a cape wouldn't give him their powers, but he wanted to make an example of anyone who had the gall to rob him. But… that ability… it could prove useful. And so, when the kid, lying on his back, staring the gun in front of his face and crying like a baby, had begged for his life… he'd granted it, and offered a partnership. And that was how Poseedor had joined forces with Espectro.

    A year and a half later, their duo had clashed with a trio - three villains called the Dominadores, who believed their Master powers allowed them to take on anyone. They clashed over territory, money… and so, Poseedor and Espectro had killed one of them. It had not been that hard; the Dominadores were relatively new to this, and he had been a cape for over half a decade. The remaining two Dominadores were now under heavy stress, so he had approached the one he felt could be safely talked to; Horror, as she called herself, could affect everyone within a zone with a radius of up to fifty meters, causing them to experience mind-numbing terror for the next few minutes. He offered her partnership, pointing out how much more effective he and Espectro had proven than her surviving teammate. She'd agreed, and helped them kill the last of the Dominadores.

    With Espectro and Horror at his side, his team had become a force to be reckoned with. The other Santiago gangs gave them a wide berth. The police and its heroes treated them with kiddy gloves. Their chunk of the city was one of the largest any gang could claim.

    Then Mil Ojos had shown up.

    Mil Ojos, at the time, had been a promising new heroine, whom the government had ordered to help restore law and order in Santiago. Her Tinker specialization was surveillance drones; she was able to crank out hundreds of small bots the size of a mouse, each one equipped with mics and cameras (and, later on, a one-shot poison needle). She had given them a swarm intelligence of sorts that allowed them to cover much of the city and maintain efficient surveillance, correlating what they saw and heard using a heuristic algorithm to decide what was worth to bringing up to her attention.

    When he'd realized she was establishing surveillance on his city, he'd considered simply having her bumped off… but she'd surprised him by contacting him first. Not to make threats or demand that he turn himself in, but to ask for a spot on his team - crime, after all, paid so much better than hero work.

    With Mil Ojos on board, the team had named themselves the Four Ghosts of Santiago. The government, however, did not take her defection lightly. They ordered their heroes to make the Four Ghosts a top priority. They sent in reinforcement from Havana, including Invencible himself.

    He still laughed when he remembered the look on Invencible's face when he had walked up to the A-lister hero, and simply slashed his own throat in front of him. Of course, he had been using the body of a child at the time, for once, taking everyone by surprise. Horror had sent the others running, with Espectro picking many of them off. When the dust had cleared, the heroes of Santiago were broken, and its Four Ghosts stood triumphant. They had followed up by raiding city hall, mostly to mark their territory.

    The four months that followed had been a period of consolidation. Improving Mil Ojos's surveillance network. Crushing any further heroic opposition. And, mostly, fighting other villain gangs for dominance. But the Four Ghosts worked well together, and had synergy: They had an immortal leader who could take down any cape regardless of Brute powers, an undetectable thief and assassin, a woman who could send whole teams and crowds running in terror, and a spymistress who could root out the whole city's secrets and observe their enemies in real time. Four months and a massive pile of corpses later, the only remaining gangs in the city where those who acknowledged their sovereignty.

    That was where delegation came in. There were only four Ghosts after all, and they did not wish to share power by adding further members. Instead, they divided up the city, handing over territory to the weaker gangs who ruled in their name and paid tribute. There were currently 44 other villains in the city - operating in Santiago might mean being under the Four Ghosts' thumb, but it also meant freedom from the government and the law; ultimately, still a good deal for many villains. The system had been working for three years now, allowing them to live like kings.

    He wondered, at time, if this was the highest they would go. If they could take Santiago, a city of over four hundred thousand souls… could they take over Havane? The rest of the country? But… they had not originally set out to conquer Santiago. The government had pushed, so they had pushed back, and won. Perhaps it was best, for now, to consolidate their power base. The country was anything but stable, after all, and the Havane government might fall apart any month. And if that happened… well. The Four Ghosts might well step up to the challenge of grabbing all the pieces.

    "Poseedor! Get your ass moving! We have a situation!"

    He jolted at the familiar voice over his earpiece. "Ojos? What's going on?"

    "Step outside and you'll see what's going on! He's here! Flying right above town square!"

    "Who?"

    "The Avatar!"

    If nothing else, that got his attention. He ran outside.

    The figuring flying up in the sky had the right build, and was glowing just like the Avatar did on TV, but it was also hundreds of feet up. No wonder everyone in town seemed to be dropping what they were doing to watch. "Ojos, you positive it's the Avatar?"

    "Yeah, I've got zoom on a lot of my drones. If it's not him, it's his fucking twin brother. I dunno what he's up to. He's just floating up there with his arms crossed. Like he's trying to glare this town off the map."

    That… wasn't promising. The Four Ghosts and the gangs that served them could take on anyone the Havane government could throw at them. But fighting the guy who iced the Simurgh? That did not sound promising. Well… His hand went to the gun in his holster. He supposed if he could get close enough to the Avatar, he could shoot himself, possess the guy, and be done with it. But that would require actually getting close, and that was a losing proposition so long as the Avatar stayed up high.

    "FOUR GHOSTS OF SANTIAGO!" The booming voice made him and everyone else flinch. "For years, you have kept the people of this city under your heel. Your reign of terror ends today! You have one last chance to end this without violence. I am giving you ten minutes to surrender peacefully. After that, I will resolve the situation in any way necessary."

    "Shit shit shit shit shit," he muttered to himself. He then forced himself to calm down. He'd need to get close to the Avatar. But the Avatar might know enough to watch out for him. So… he'd need sufficient amounts of ambient chaos to pull it off. "Ojos, get every single cape in this city, and get them toward my positions. We're gonna give this bastard a Santiago-style welcome."

    "On it, boss."


    "...On it, boss."

    Mil Ojos felt consciousness returning, even as she heard the voice talking. A voice that sounded exactly like she did on recordings.

    Also, why was it so dark, and why couldn't she move, and… Oh. She remembered.

    She had been at her station, surveying the city (to the extent that her personal touch was required - most of the drones' job was automated), when everything had suddenly stopped working. The computers, the music, the electric lights - everything had been turned off. She had looked around in shock, only to see three people appear in her room. One of them she instantly recognized as the one, the only, the world's greatest Tinker, Dragon. The second one she had more trouble placing, but he'd been familiar… oh, right. Strider, the big-shot teleporter who always got people to Endbringer battles. The third, though…

    "Toldja. All electricity in the room, drained for the next couple minutes," he had said, with a Brazilian accent. And then he'd zapped her.

    And if she couldn't move or see… containment foam, maybe?

    "...get to your dockside hideout, fortify yourselves, and…" the voice that sounded exactly like hers kep talking. Giving orders and directions to the various gangs. It occurred to her that it probably wouldn't be be too hard for Dragon to take over her apparatus, her drones, her whole network… but it would take time. Just how long had this been in the works? Regardless, it most likely meant that the rest of her team was flying blind, while remaining blissfully unaware of it.

    Fuck.


    Espectro ran toward town square. Poseedor's orders had been clear. If he managed to get close enough to the Avatar… then Espectro was to shoot him. Poseedor, that is.

    Truth be told… he wasn't comfortable with it. Killing the Endbreaker? That… that was just wrong. It wasn't like killing Invencible. This was more like stabbing Saint Michael. Kinda made you question if you were really on the right side. ...Of course, if he had to choose between killing the Avatar or going to jail, well, that made the choice a lot easier.

    "Espectro?" Mil Ojos's voice came in. "Listen. I've got an idea. Before you get to town square, I need you to pick one of my drones. Can you see one?"

    "What for?"

    "No time to explain, just do it!"

    Just barely avoiding a collision with a civilian (one of the challenges of running while invisible), he managed to find a drone and pick it up. "Now what?"

    "Take it with you to Poseedor. Like I said, I have an idea."

    He grunted in annoyance and resumed running.

    And then he got hit by a blast of water.

    He fell to the ground. He looked up, seeing some white woman in a costume he didn't recognize. How had she seen him? He looked down. Still invisible. He looked at the drone. He'd let go of it and it had been carried away by the water…

    ...The water. It was still moving. Surrounding him. It didn't matter if he was invisible, the empty space he left in the water was plain as day to the hydrokinesist.

    Fuck.


    Horror had been chilling at the Oasis Lounge, chatting with Grieta's Crew, when shit had hit the fan.

    Poseedor had called her on her earpiece, telling her to join him at town square, and be stealthy about it - after all, her power was one of the few things that might drive the Avatar away at least temporarily. (Or indefinitely. It was harder than one might think to predict who would or wouldn't get a heart attack from her power.)

    But she was barely out of the building when something suddenly projected her up in the sky.

    Briefly, she screamed in surprise. Then she saw a group of people moving into the Oasis Lounge. A tall woman, wearing nothing but force-fields. Someone in a bulky power armor. Some Asian guy with a lightsaber. And several more. There to get Grieta's Crew?

    And then she realized someone was floating in the air next to her. Presumably the one lifting her up telekinetically, keeping her too far from the ground to use her power on anyone. The Avatar.

    She blinked. "...Aren't you on the other side of town?"

    "Not really."

    She used her power on the area containing him. Only half a second afterwards did she realize how stupid that was - making him panic right now was most likely to cause her a fatal fall. Not that it mattered, as he didn't seem in the least affected. And then his hand glowed, about to blast her.

    Fuck.


    Where the hell was everyone?! Poseedor looked around frantically. Barely ten of the city's villains had arrived so far. Mil Ojos kept telling him they were coming, but…

    Meanwhile the Avatar kept getting closer and closer to the ground. Less than eighty feet now.

    He looked around. Most of these capes would be useless against the Avatar, but some of them… "You, you, and you. Hit that bastard with everything you've got."

    Not that it helped. The Avatar did not melt. He was not temporarily paralyzed. And judging from his unchanging expression, he probably wasn't suffering from sudden amnesia. Nothing was working.

    "FOR FUCK'S SAKE, WHERE IS EVERYONE?!" he bellowed in frustration.

    "Getting their ass kicked all over town," said the Avatar. "Don't you get it? I'm the big, shiny distraction. While you've been focusing your attention on me like the big dumb moron you are, the Guild has been going in teams, picking off most of the villains in this city. Just about done now."

    "No," he said, "Mil Ojos would have said something…"

    "Ha! She was the one we took down first! We placed her under surveillance yesterday, and had her replaced right before I showed up here."

    No panic. He couldn't afford to panic. "You. Don't play your fucking games. I don't care if you killed an Endbringer, I…"

    "You're really slow on the uptake. We already have someone playing a fake Mil Ojos. It's not much harder to play a fake Avatar, while the real one's kicking ass on the other side of town. Amazing what tinkertech can do, right?"

    There was a blur, and the Avatar was replaced by a woman he didn't recognize. "Name's Celo. And you're under arrest, you son of a bitch."

    Before he could retort, an ear-splitting sound struck him. It wasn't just loud - it felt like he was getting hit by a wall of solid air, a hundred times in a single second. As he and most of the other villains fell to the ground, he saw an Indian woman who had apparently moved in behind them while Celo had been talking. He saw a man, moving too quickly to distinguish his features, rapidly striking a Brute who hadn't fallen to the sonic assault even as Celo dived toward the ground. He saw the (real?) Avatar flying in. He saw an Indian guy arriving in at super-speed, with a foam sprayer aimed at him. And then he saw nothing else.

    A few minutes later (or so he thought, barely holding on to consciousness), he heard a female voice. "Yes, president Rios, we have them all. Santiago is Cuban again."

    Fuck.




    Terror Drone Two was bathing in magma.

    That in itself was not unusual. It always hid in the depths of the planet between attacks. However, this time around, it was being more active about it.

    The interloper had upended the status quo. First by killing Terror Drone Thirteen, then Terror Drone Seven. Contributing to hope and stability among the humans. Those were not conditions conductive to the cycle.

    That the Thinker had died, leaving only the Warrior, did not matter. That the cycle was doomed regardless of their actions did not matter. The Terror Drones were programmed to maintain an environment conductive to the cycle, and that was exactly what they would do. Furthermore, they would learn from each other's mistakes. Terror Drone Thirteen hadn't used all his power against the interloper from the start, and then had tried to flee. Terror Drone Seven had tried to rely on its ability to predict the interloper, and had fought him alone.

    None of these mistakes would be repeated.

    And so, Terror Drone Two bathed in magma, many miles below the area humans designated as Yellowstone. Magma whose flow it had, in recent weeks, redirected. Created constant currents that always brought him more and more molten rock, even as he drained it of heat and energy. Accumulating it. Preparing for battle. Readying itself.

    Just like Terror Drone Five and Terror Drone Sixteen.


    With the liberation of Santiago, the Guild had given Cuba a much-needed breath of stability. Over the course of the following week… [Pick 3]

    [ ] ...the Guild followed suit by liberating Kolwezi from the monstrous Madame Lustucru and her minions.

    [ ] ...the Guild, working with the Japanese authorities, took on Skylance and her organization.

    [ ] ...the Guild invested significant time and resources in tracking down the Three Blasphemies.

    [ ] ...the Guild began looking for the Slaughterhouse Nine.

    [ ] ...the Guild began gearing up for war with the Gesellschaft.

    [ ] ...the Guild and the Avatar, capitalizing on their recent success, promoted international cooperation between heroes and nations.
     
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    • Aaaaand we're done. And holy crap did this chapter end up being long.
    ...Gonna need to scroll down a bit to get past the previous snippets, I'm afraid. ^^'

    Voting options will be up later, because I think I enjoy having some discussion of the update before votes get to dominate the conversation. :p
     
    The most infamous murderhobos haven't been idle, I am decidedly vindicated pushing for teamwork as a higher priority, and Behemoth is up to no good.

    Pretty sweet stuff.
     
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    Jack now have Coil and Butcher power.........

    Ah, sucks. We need power neutralizer for that one. Did we have one in the teams?
     
    No sucks about it, it's just something to deal with. Honestly makes me happy, in hindsight, that we joined this team. We could still probably win on our own still, but given the other objectives of protecting lives and such, minimizing collateral damage, the Slaughterhouse 9 could have been horrifically troublesome if we were alone.
     
    And fuck the four ghosts. "I'd rather kill the Endslayer, potential salvation of the world, than go to jail"

    At least the S9 don't pretend to be anything less than monsters, these four punks are just disgusting, pathetic shitstains.
     
    Nice to know Cauldron is, in their own coldly pragmatic way, trying to help the overall situation and not just standing by, or worse, seeking to maintain the status quo.
     
    I really like all this world building. Not only is t fascinating, it really gives you a perspective on how much shit we have to do to clean things up entirely...and how we're genuinely making a difference in more ways than one.
     
    sun tzu said:
    PERSPECTIVES: EARTH-BET
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    22k words, holy fuck.
    sun tzu said:
    Training exercise. Well, that was the official excuse Rebecca had come up with. The version everyone outside of Cauldron got was that, with new Endbringers expected to arrive at some point in the future, the Protectorate was going to be holding mock battles and try to prepare for any eventuality; since no-one could predict the powers of the next Endbringers, it would fall upon him to play their role, with some backing from other capes. Using his variable powers to simulate the most unfair, overpowered enemies he could.

    The actual reason was a different story. For all that he was the world's most potent parahuman (not the most powerful person, clearly, but the most potent parahuman at least), he had been aware for years that his powers were weakening. He had noticed that these days, he seemed stronger, closer to his original power level, during Endbringer battles. He had assumed that it was the presence of worthy opponents that allowed him to draw upon some deeper well.

    Tattletale… Tattletale had disagreed with his theory. According to the young Thinker, it was not the presence of the Endbringers that empowered him, but the proximity of so many capes showing up to battle them. She had further theorized that his power was meant to recharge by drawing upon the energy reserves of other capes. She had only expressed 70% confidence in her conclusions, but… if it was true… if he was able to recharge during the mock battle…
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    Lisa's helping the Protectorate get Eidolon up to max potential...
    sun tzu said:
    . We still need more aces up our sleeves… and between you, Flechette, Tattletale, and the new vials, we may be closing in on the silver bullets we need to save humanity."
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    New vials?
    sun tzu said:
    "Endbreaker"
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    I like this title. Will make ending the quest a bit hard though.:V
    sun tzu said:
    You see… A given amount of dollars, or francs, or pound sterlings, will buy a lot more in a Third World country than in a wealthy one. A simple reality of economics. Now, consider that millions of North-American junkies are throwing all their money at our criminal cartels, and have been doing so for decades. The result? Our gangs are better funded than our governments.
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    That's true of real life.
    sun tzu said:
    He frowned. Not just because of the future risk presented, but because of his niece's involvement. Forecast, or rather, Dinah… He was eternally grateful to the Avatar for rescuing her, and more than a little furious that Coil was free and on the run. More than that, he was concerned. Parahumans led risky lives, as he had discovered since, well… On some level, he would have prefered to keep Dinah's powers a secret from everyone. But Coil had discovered them before even her family had. Perhaps the Wards were the safest place for her.

    Director Piggot went on: "To be honest, Forecast's presence, on its own, is a game-changer. While most of her daily predictions will be taken up by the PRT's Thinker tanks, that will still leave on average three questions per day for the Protectorate ENE. As such, we will not be taken with our guard down.
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    Thinkers are bullshit.
    sun tzu said:
    "To be frank, on some level I find this frustrating," said Jack Slash as he kicked Bonesaw. The child villainess flew a dozen feet through the air, hitting a wall and breaking it, falling on the other side; only the extensive upgrades she had made to her own biology over the years kept her alive. "
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    *incoherent rage*
    sun tzu said:
    Bonesaw, badly hurt but still conscious, got up and shot a poisoned dart at him from her fingernail. He dodged it effortlessly - he'd always had a good intuition for when to dodge, and now, it was even clearer. "Well, you've still got your power, uncle Jack."

    "I suppose I do," he said. Not that the ability to cut with knife regardless of distance was going to make that much of a difference. Granted, with his newly enhanced strength, he suspected it might be a good idea to look into a Tinker-made, unbreakable knife or two. "Besides, I suppose there's stylistic justification for making a big change for the final show."

    "Final show?" Bonesaw rushed into melee, trying to stab and poison him even as he dodged effortlessly. "You don't think we can win?"
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    What are you two on about?
    sun tzu said:
    "Oh, we most assuredly can," he grinned. "But, win or lose, this will be our last real performance. Even if we do win and take down the Avatar, that will motivate the Protectorate to bring the whole of its forces down upon our heads, and there will be capes from all over the world pitching in. Killing two Endbringers tends to endear one to the masses, after all. At that point, our choices will be to go down fighting… or clear the board," he smirked as he exploded, reappearing fifty feet away, the explosion having knocked Bonesaw against another wall.
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    Only one cape explosively teleports. Butcher.
    sun tzu said:
    The young bio-Tinker tried to go for stealth now, silently moving among the debris, hoping to hide and catch him in an ambush. Not that she stood a chance; even with walls between them, he could clearly see her heart and arteries.
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    Jack Slash is the Butcher.

    sun tzu said:
    And of course, there was their newest, ninth member. One whom Bonesaw had been very eager to work with.

    Speaking of Bonesaw… she was looking up at him. "Uncle Jack? You got Butcher's powers, but what about the voices?"

    "Oh, your operation worked great," he smiled. "I can't hear any of the previous Butchers. If I pay close attention, I can just barely sense their emotional state. They are… less than happy with the current arrangement, I believe."
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    Ok, just so everyone knows,
    Butcher #1: super strength, enhanced durability, agony infliction at range, passes passenger on to his killer upon death
    Butcher #2: circulatory-system-specific ranged X-ray vision (bloodsight, if you prefer) plus Butcher #1's powers of course)
    Butcher #3: both previous Butchers' powers plus danger-sense, super-strength
    Butcher #4: inflicts wounds that fester and refuse to heal (plus all previous Butchers' powers)
    Butcher #5: unknown (plus all previous Butchers' powers)
    Butcher #6: explosive teleport, super-strength (plus all previous Butchers' powers)
    Butcher #7: unknown
    Butcher #8: reshape inanimate matter with a touch (EDIT: June 5 2016 -- specifically "earth and sand")
    Butcher #9: inflict berserk status on opponents, super-strength
    Butcher #10: unknown
    Butcher #11: super strength
    Butcher #12: Feel No Pain (EDIT Mar 24 2016 - also enhanced durability and super-strength)
    Butcher #13: super strength
    Butcher #14 (the artist formerly known as Quarrel): spatial distortion effect, guarantees attacks will always hit (unless out of range)
    It's bullshit.
    Communicator's even more bullshit than most people realize, too.
    sun tzu said:
    With that, he stabbed Bonesaw in the throat. She gazed at him in surprise, then with a calmer realization of what he was doing.

    After all, whoever killed Butcher, got the powers of every previous Butcher (and their voices in their head, too, though he had dodged that). And the man he had killed not so long ago had himself been the latest Butcher for less than a minute, but he still had a very, very handy ability.

    And then, Jack Slash collapsed that timeline, leaving only the one where he had been observing Bonesaw as she worked on her latest sadistic work of art.
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    ... Jack Slash now has the Butcher, AND COIL'S POWER?



    sun tzu said:
    Red White. That had been the name of the large, multi-dozen-member hero team he'd helped spearhead at the time. Naming themselves after the colors of the national flag, they had played up an image of patriotism while staying visibly distinct from the regime. So many of them had died against Behemoth… but most had survived. And indeed, he could still remember the two highly intense years that had followed. Defending the Jakarta refugee camps, putting out a million different fires, supporting the new, (mostly) democratic government as it gradually formed and established its authority, taking down countless villains and would-be-warlords… But, by the end of it, while the country was diminished, traumatized, and struggling, it was still a country.
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    Interesting.
    sun tzu said:
    Of course, even after those two years, things had hardly been smooth sailing. Life just kept throwing an endless supply of villains at them. Iron snake and his teammates had fought many, and lost many. He had stopped counting dead friends at some point, but he had never stopped fighting. Even after his wife (and long-time teammate) had died, he had fought on, defeating the Surabaya Syndicate. Even as it sunk in just how badly villains outnumbered them on the national stage, he had fought on, killing Silent Echo and arresting her minions. Even as he turned forty and could no longer deny the starting decline in his health, he had fought on, rescuing the president from the General. Even as Plague's virus was killing thousands across East Java, he had fought on, cutting a swath through her teammates.
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    Ouch.
    sun tzu said:
    Doctor Metal meant it, too. She generally considered herself one of the best Tinkers in Western Africa. Her power armors provided an excellent blend of protection, firepower, mobility, sensor coverage and versatility. She had gone up, solo, against entire teams of capes and won.
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    Power armor? Sweet.
    sun tzu said:
    he situation had been untenable. Something had to be done to save the economy. When the government had announced its plan to nationalize multiple industries, she had disagreed with the plan, but could see the reasoning behind it. When her own company had been among those nationalized, she had invented several dozen new swear words, but ultimately accepted it, and tried to at least ensure it would do good for the national infrastructure. When the government had nationalized the country's largest Internet service provider…

    ...That had been when fucking Essaim showed up. "Swarm". The crazy bitch who had somehow managed to create an entire cybernetic army with that crazy "smart gel" of hers. Who had hired a number of mercenary villains, and overthrown the government.

    So, she and the rest of the Troupe Ivoirienne had shown back to fight the good fight. No dice. Swarm had been ready for them. With ambushes. With snipers. With heavy weaponry, well-organized capes, and that goddamn smart gel. With nerve gas. Doctor Metal had been fortunate to get out alive, carrying two poisoned teammates with her. Neither of them had survived.

    She had tried to get help from the rest of the country. Again, Swarm seemed to be a step ahead. What all those years of conflict and villains had failed to achieve, Essaim had accomplished: Turning the Ivory Coast into yet another warlord's domain.
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    Nasty, nasty work. Reminds me a bit of a certain other crazy-bitch Tinker with a love of explosives.
    sun tzu said:
    She paused. "I am not committing to anything as of yet, but just to be perfectly clear: If I were to throw my support behind the Guild… then it would be completely off-the-books. No official record. No acknowledgement before the media. As little acknowledgement as possible before anyone. My ability to do my job is very much dependent on secrecy."

    "Believe me, I understand. I've lead a global superhero team during the Cold War. I know that some people require discretion."

    "Hmph. Do you know what my power is?"

    "I know that you are able to project your voice into the minds of others regardless of distance, and can transmit different messages to several people simultaneously, suggesting some multitasking ability. More importantly, on the occasions when you've participated in Endbringer battles, you've displayed some enhanced awareness of the battlefield, which suggests your true power is a Thinker ability of some sort. Its exact nature I can only speculate on, of course; Celo wouldn't tell me, and Guild members who have their own theories keep them to themselves. I am certainly not going to press the issue."
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    Telepathy? That's very useful.
    sun tzu said:
    She had been a rookie journalist at the time - had been in the media just long enough to see their freedom of speech get ripped apart, to see them turning into mouthpieces for the new regime. When the article she had written about Celo's heroic contributions had gotten squashed, she had come to the realization that there was no place in Argentina for a reporter to seek the truth anymore.

    That was when she had started seeking ways to be more than just a journalist. To become someone who could fight the villains on their own turf.

    Cauldron, in many ways, was the biggest mystery she had ever encountered. That she could not investigate them chafed, it truly did, but they had made it entirely clear that they would find out, and would crush her like an insect. Even now that she had powers, she still had to pick her battles carefully.
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    Interesting story.
    sun tzu said:
    And her powers were certainly useful. She referred to it as "the list". Touching someone, however briefly - even just brushing against them - was all she needed to add someone to the list. The list was sadly finite, with only 27 spots on it; when she wanted to add another person, she needed to remove one of the 27 already in it, and needed to touch them again to add them at a later date.

    As long as someone was on the list, however? True, she could speak to them from a distance without opening her mouth. But, far more importantly? She could see through their eyes. Hear through their ears. Distance was no limit. Multitasking was no limit. Right now, she was simultaneously watching from 28 perspectives. Among them were her boss at the newspaper, who had taken another bribe last week; Carlos, the former security guard who now worked as a minion for the villain Inaudito; Martin, the accountant for the Cartel de las Sombras; Viciosa, the villainous Shaker, whose civilian identity she had managed to discover and "bump" against last month; Represalias, the rookie would-be-heroine, whom she was observing to see if she was worth working with; and many, many more.
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    Now that's appropriately bullshit.
    sun tzu said:
    "With the Avatar, Doctor Volt, Captain Hydro, Harmonic, Multi-Hit, Sunblade, Iron Snake, Doctor Metal and Centro, the Guild's effectives rise from twenty-three to thirty-two. Naturally, the Avatar's presence also significantly raises the team's average power level, even if the median remains nearly unchanged," Number Man commented as they walked through the base.

    Doctor Mother nodded in acknowledgement. "We will have to keep monitoring this situation closely. Contessa is optimistic, but the Avatar's ability to fool precognition means we cannot rely on her path to victory as much as with parahumans. Still, it plays in our favor that he is partial to capturing villains alive; I'd much rather have Moord Nag in the Birdcage than dead." After all, who knew which parahumans could prove vital on the day of the final battle?
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    Cauldron's still Cauldron.
    sun tzu said:
    She was still going over the various implications in her mind when he switched topics: "Meanwhile, I will confess to some curiosity concerning recent vial production."

    She took a moment to gather her thoughts. "Tattletale's insight into the process has been helpful. I've learned more from those three sessions than Manton and I were able to figure out in our entire first year of studying the Entity's remains. In particular, I now have a much better understanding of what will or will not create a Case 53. As such, with the more recent vials, I have significantly cut down on the proportion of Balance formula, increasing instead the power-granting components.
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    Lisa's helping Cauldron directly? That's obscenely useful.
    sun tzu said:
    Every vial made in this manner has produced parahuman abilities multiple standard deviations above the norm, including Lightspeed, Roster, Leonardo and Fezāton."

    Indeed, all four of the recent Cauldron capes had developed impressive abilities. Lightspeed had developed enhanced durability and proportionate strength that placed her in the Brute 6-7 range, speed that allowed her to run at mach 1.4 and casually dodge any non-powered melee attack, and seemingly limitless stamina that let her use all of her speed and strength for hours on end with no sign of fatigue. Roster had gained an awareness of all parahuman powers within a two-mile radius, which told him both what they were and where they were located in real time. Leonardo was a Tinker of seemingly average power at first glance, but whose versatility quickly proved exceptional; he had the ability to choose his Tinker specialization, which he could change once every 24 hours. As for Fezāton, his ability was a bit of a grab-bag. He had omnidirectional, through-wall vision within a range of 180 yards. He had perfect aim with thrown objects. He could make objects he threw phase harmlessly through anything between them and their intended target. And he could increase their mass by three orders of magnitude until right after impact.
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    Lovely. What a lovely bunch of bullshit powers.
    sun tzu said:
    But… things were changing. The Avatar was changing them. By killing the Endbringers, and causing them to step up their game.

    Before he had showed up, it had been about gradually building up their parahuman forces. Heroes in the Protectorate and similar organizations across the world. Villains who could be collaborated with, in control of various cities and fiefdoms. Villains who might be useful but couldn't be allowed to roam free for years, in the Birdcage. Gradually expanding this immense potential army that might, hopefully, save the world… and using what they had to prevent the Endbringers from ruining everything. They lost many, many heroes to the Endbringers, but new ones appeared faster… for now. Number Man believed they were hitting diminishing returns, and would reach saturation within years. Soon enough, society would be in such a sorry shape, and villains so numerous, that their battles would set ablaze what the Endbringers had not destroyed yet, and the parahuman casualties of their infighting would outpace the rate at which new ones appeared.

    Except… the Avatar had killed Leviathan, then the Simurgh. And while he had claimed the existence of further Endbringers… there was now a very real possibility of killing them all. At which point… well, Earth-Bet would still be a terrible mess, full of villains and warlords. But without a city getting devastated every three-four months, there could be some stabilization. There would be more time to build an even larger parahuman army. Provided the Endbringers were defeated.

    And so, it was now a short-term priority to shore up Earth-Bet's heroic forces. Give the Protectorate and its homologs more powerful capes who would fight against the Endbringers, and contain the tide of villainy. So, when she had created the new generation of vials, she had placed more stringent criteria than usual on their recipients. Only people who had a probability above 75% of becoming heroes.

    It was not a long-term policy that Cauldron was committed to. But for now, it looked like the smart play.
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    Hm. Not a whole lot of good, but not an insurmountable amount of mad either.
    sun tzu said:
    But the Four Ghosts worked well together, and had synergy: They had an immortal leader who could take down any cape regardless of Brute powers, an undetectable thief and assassin, a woman who could send whole teams and crowds running in terror, and a spymistress who could root out the whole city's secrets and observe their enemies in real time. Four months and a massive pile of corpses later, the only remaining gangs in the city where those who acknowledged their sovereignty.
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    Good thing we're taking this lot down.
    sun tzu said:
    "FOUR GHOSTS OF SANTIAGO!" The booming voice made him and everyone else flinch. "For years, you have kept the people of this city under your heel. Your reign of terror ends today! You have one last chance to end this without violence. I am giving you ten minutes to surrender peacefully. After that, I will resolve the situation in any way necessary."

    "Shit shit shit shit shit," he muttered to himself. He then forced himself to calm down. He'd need to get close to the Avatar. But the Avatar might know enough to watch out for him. So… he'd need sufficient amounts of ambient chaos to pull it off. "Ojos, get every single cape in this city, and get them toward my positions. We're gonna give this bastard a Santiago-style welcome."

    "On it, boss."
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    *cracks knuckles* Let's dance, boy.
    sun tzu said:
    She had been at her station, surveying the city (to the extent that her personal touch was required - most of the drones' job was automated), when everything had suddenly stopped working. The computers, the music, the electric lights - everything had been turned off. She had looked around in shock, only to see three people appear in her room. One of them she instantly recognized as the one, the only, the world's greatest Tinker, Dragon.
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    How's Dragon physically there?
    sun tzu said:
    It occurred to her that it probably wouldn't be be too hard for Dragon to take over her apparatus, her drones, her whole network… but it would take time. Just how long had this been in the works? Regardless, it most likely meant that the rest of her team was flying blind, while remaining blissfully unaware of it.

    Fuck.
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    sun tzu said:
    And then she realized someone was floating in the air next to her. Presumably the one lifting her up telekinetically, keeping her too far from the ground to use her power on anyone. The Avatar.

    She blinked. "...Aren't you on the other side of town?"

    "Not really."

    She used her power on the area containing him. Only half a second afterwards did she realize how stupid that was - making him panic right now was most likely to cause her a fatal fall. Not that it mattered, as he didn't seem in the least affected. And then his hand glowed, about to blast her.

    Fuck.
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    I laughed heartily.
    sun tzu said:
    "FOR FUCK'S SAKE, WHERE IS EVERYONE?!" he bellowed in frustration.

    "Getting their ass kicked all over town," said the Avatar. "Don't you get it? I'm the big, shiny distraction.
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    sun tzu said:
    "Ha! She was the one we took down first! We placed her under surveillance yesterday, and had her replaced right before I showed up here."

    No panic. He couldn't afford to panic. "You. Don't play your ficking games. I don't care if you killed an Endbringer, I…"

    "You're really slow on the uptake. We already have someone playing a fake Mil Ojos. It's not much harder to play a fake Avatar, while the real one's kicking ass on the other side of town. Amazing what tinkertech can do, right?"

    There was a blur, and the Avatar was replaced by a woman he didn't recognize. "Name's Celo. And you're under arrest, you son of a bitch."
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    That explains the difference in speech patterns and vocab.
    sun tzu said:
    A few minutes later (or so he thought, barely holding on to consciousness), he heard a female voice. "Yes, president Rios, we have them all. Santiago is Cuban again."

    Fuck.
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    That was glorious.
    sun tzu said:
    Terror Drone Two was bathing in magma.
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    Behemoth. What'cha got?
    sun tzu said:
    And so, Terror Drone Two bathed in magma, many miles below the area humans designated as Yellowstone. Magma whose flow it had, in recent weeks, redirected. Created constant currents that always brought him more and more molten rock, even as he drained it of heat and energy. Accumulating it. Preparing for battle. Readying itself.

    Just like Terror Drone Five and Terror Drone Sixteen.
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    I'll just leave these on Yellowstone super-erupting erupting here. And Behemoth is probably going to make it bigger, and then stop holding back on his Dynakinesis.

    Amazing work suntzu. Now, I believe that's enough distraction, back to stats.
     
    The powers obtained by the Butcher are nerfed versions of the powers of the previous Butchers.

    Jack can still be beaten. A strategic use of "Lolnope Precogs" should mess with the Timeline Splitting, and then it's just blasting him to pieces(if the Avatar can't become the Butcher, which I am unsure about), or finding a way to put him down non-lethally. Easier said than done, but with the Avatar lacking a Shard to feed Broadcast info, it should be just as doable as with the previous Butcher, since the only new powers this iteration has is Jack's Edge and Coil's Timeline Splitting, of which the first should not be effective against the Avatar, and the second should get a BSoD when Fate Manipulation is used.

    I am also rather interested as to why Coil's power seems identical, when it should be nerfed. Perhaps there is something we haven't seen yet?

    I also don't think Crawler can get any better from the Siberian's attacks. The Siberian simply tears through the target, ignoring everything in its path. There is no way for Crawler to develop a resistance to that, because he'd have provoked the Siberian into doing so already, if that were the case. By attacking Bonesaw, for example. Crawler will just keep getting torn apart and regenerating, because there's nothing else his power can do.
     
    Well, the Siberian can be "beaten" in an "unstoppable force means immovable object" type contest, like with Clockblockers time stopped cables against a Siberian projection.

    That would require some pretty odd biological adaptation, though, on Crawler's part. Possibly an impossible adaptation.
     
    Akasha said:
    I am also rather interested as to why Coil's power seems identical, when it should be nerfed. Perhaps there is something we haven't seen yet?
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    Bonesaw repressed the collective's voices, so she probably took away the nerfing.
    Akasha said:
    (if the Avatar can't become the Butcher, which I am unsure about)
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    It's probably like if the Simurgh killed the Butcher.
    The Simurgh would not inherit their minds. Butcher's powers would likely go to the nearest available parahuman. Given the Simurgh, probably the most inconvenient parahuman.
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    So yeah, we're either stuck with keeping Jack Slash alive like Cherish in canon, or we kill him and the next Butcher gets a collective that doesn't drive them insane.

    Anyone else feel like giving Taylor a boost?
     
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