- Location
- Australia
As she said, she's not going to use Doormaker all the time, but it's a handy option to keep in her back pocket.
FaerieKnight79
Verified Pixie
- Location
- The Internet
*laughs*
Oh, that was precious. Becky was trying to push for "we had no idea", only for Taylor to instead push for the Truth.
Oh, that was precious. Becky was trying to push for "we had no idea", only for Taylor to instead push for the Truth.
- Location
- The Internet?
I'm a sucker for a happily ever after. Glad she'll get to keep tweaking noses, even without a wrist mounted flamethrower teleporter. Glad to see the Chekov's gun of the very big boom paid off.
"I was elected to lead, not to read!"
A much nicer interaction than canon! I'm glad that Cherie didn't get to live in a FunBox TM under the sea!
"I of course only have the one power. It just so happens to be the best one, so I don't mind all that much."
Atropos really is magic! She's getting cops to go to therapy!
Poochie died on the way to his home planet.
Aww, Dragon's giving them the X-COM treatment? She's such a sweetie. Good luck, Contessa.
Some capes just want to watch the world burn. Those are the ones what lose their kneecap privileges.
We also would have accepted Atropos doing the ceiling cling above the elevator doors, with Alexandria and Legend being too used to her usual bullshit to even bother looking up.
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Windborne
Devourer of Stories
- Location
- Oregon
Wow, Atropos using the Anonymity in Audacity trope was hilarious. What a fun chapter. That said I do hope Ending gets Atropos a new teleport device. Doormaker would be kind of boring to be honest compared to Atropos old devices' aesthetics of shadows.
- Location
- Australia
Legend's a flyer. He looked up.
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Reminds me of a certain time when a certain security guard had a big cape meeting to deliver some info and make plans.
If there were two of you, I'd more call you the Muppet gallery in reference to certain duo.
Is that a gong I here, or Brandish' massive unobtanium balls clanging together?
"Miss Hebert, we're contacting you about your car's extended warranty..."
This is going to get confusing in their future, with MM referring to both Miss Medic and Miss Militia.
Well said.
Yeah, imagine that if it were true.
Or become the fifteenth Butcher. Or be hounded to further insanity by Butchers who all hate her. Or be driven to insanity by the frankly insane notion that the Slaughterhouse Nine would protect her somehow. And it even seems she could've been saved by Skitter before her fateful encounter with the Nine?
I read TVTropes because I like to spoil myself. Consider me spoiled of the desire to read through Worm indefinitely; needless to say, her fate in canon is what has made me back off of reading more than a few chapters so far. I much prefer people being alive and happy, and for Cherish in particular to be her name and live her name, you know?
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Okibruez
(Verified Mid-Boss)
- Location
- Dreams
Unfortunately, Ending has no carrots and only the one stick.
But to be fair, it's a really, really big stick. Nobody wants the stick unless they're crazy, stupid, or both.
My_Game_Account
Reading is magic!
- Location
- Digital world
Ya know I find it a lil odd. Accord's power expression and Ending are nearly perfect for each other in a way most others are not. Ending on going events is often a problem that cause hardship when trying to get a new ball rolling.
And stopping the new ball when it has run its course can be hard on the person who started it.
Thanks for the morning entertainment OP! Do you have a backlog or are we just blessed?
And stopping the new ball when it has run its course can be hard on the person who started it.
Thanks for the morning entertainment OP! Do you have a backlog or are we just blessed?
Now that this is winding down and the fic probably ending, is anyone else up for a series of slices-of-life featuring various Brocktonites? I probably am the only one here who thinks happy contented people ("happy" being territorially limited and very specific in this AU) are interesting to write about, which absolutely speaks to my mental state for the past decade, but anyone?
I figure Atropos can get another teleporter from Leet pretty easily.
This was a great ride, Ack. I'll enjoy re-reading it in the future.
This was a great ride, Ack. I'll enjoy re-reading it in the future.
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FaerieKnight79
Verified Pixie
- Location
- The Internet
Think about what you just said for a moment. Then realize why it makes no sense.
M. H. Fuzzball
Aperture Science-certified Horrible Person
- Location
- Sector 2814
Atropos might have been willing to put on the first teleporter, but being willing to put on a second Leet-built teleporter? She's a killer, not insane.
On the other hand, [Reverse Engineer] might have a quiet conversation with [Prototype] at the bar to get the specs, so Dragon can whip one up sub rosa to give Atropos.
Legend picked up the business card from the floor of the elevator that Atropos had just disappeared from
- Location
- Australia
Meh, I decided to see how hard I could push to get it sorted before 2025 rolled around
Epilogues incoming.
Oh, he read that subtext quite well, thank you.
ThrawnCA
Carbon-based biped
- Location
- Australia
I mean, if someone writes them, I will read them and up vote them and likely comment on them.
Do keep people like me posted; I would love to be happy for even depictions of people being happy. It's all I have going for these days.
GreydonCreed
Man of Culture
- Location
- United States
There are three rules to keep in mind when reading canon Worm.
- Everyone will always make the wrong choice. With or without powers.
- All people with power or authority will be blocked from using it or use it for the wrong, selfish or evil reasons.
- No one gets a happy ending.
ThrawnCA
Carbon-based biped
- Location
- Australia
Bear in mind that in canon, she was never cured of Heartbreaker's influence, so she was still the kind of person who would shrug at making toddlers fight to the death with switchblades.
- Location
- Australia
Part One Hundred Six: Epilogues 1
- Location
- Australia
A Darker Path
Part One Hundred Six: Epilogues 1
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
The story rolls on, even though the vast majority of enemies have been vanquished. There is very little Ending to do from this point on, and so we will allow Taylor to have her happily ever after.
There will, however, be loose ends to tie up.
Let us begin …
Sunday Morning, March 20, 2011
Atropos
Cherie and I sat on the sofa, watching the new TV spot. Dragon had done well; the flickering was just right, the voice modulation was just harsh enough, and it was almost possible to see a face within the glared-out silhouette. If I didn't know better, I could easily believe that it was real.
"We have sought refuge on the dark web for years," the darkened image intoned. "Scion has always been the enemy, but spreading the word too zealously would have made him suspicious. Instead, we sold powers to the rich and the desperate, to those who would use them and gain expertise. We wanted more parahumans in the world, to fill the ranks of the eventual army we would need to oppose him when he inevitably turned on us. But we had too few, and they were too weak, until Atropos came upon the scene. She, too, saw Scion for what he was. And he saw her. He also saw the good she was doing in the world, ridding society of the evils that plagued it. He could not abide this, and so he attacked her. But she saw him coming and armed herself against him, and so he fell."
The picture cut to the footage of me jumping at him, being grabbed, then stabbing him. Just like every other time Cherie had seen it, she shook her head. "You're nuts, you know that, right?"
"Eh." I shrugged. "It worked, didn't it?"
The picture cut back to the silhouetted footage. "With the death of Scion, our purpose is ended. We are dissolving Cauldron; no more powers will be sold. Do not attempt to seek us out. Any who seek to trade on our name are impostors, and to be avoided. This is Cauldron, signing off forever."
The TV spot gave way to an advertisement that promised flawlessly shining floors after one treatment (terms and conditions applied).
"Your dad told me that if it's stupid and it works, it's still stupid and you got lucky." Her tone was severe. "Taylor, you haven't got your teleporter anymore."
"I know." It was good, I reflected, that I hadn't fallen prey to the temptation to use it for mundane tasks, such as getting to school on time. "It died for a good cause, though."
Cherie smirked, mischief creeping over her face. "Have you seen the PHO responses?"
Danger, Will Robinson! Danger! "No, I hadn't checked yet." I gave her the side-eye. "Is it bad?"
She shook her head and giggled. At least she wasn't yelling at me anymore. "Some of them are all what the fuck, some are scrambling to join either the fan club or the cult, some of them just don't believe it, and some of them are I knew it. I just knew it. Bagrat is just flabbergasted, and Reave is very much Yup, that's the Atropos we know and respect. It's utter chaos on there, and I love it."
My threatscape hadn't bloomed with any new enemies, which I took as a good sign. In fact, most of them had dropped off it, and the rest were reducing in intensity by the minute. "At least nobody's wanting to hunt me down for murdering their god."
"Nah, that was the Fallen." She gave me a side-hug. "Nobody really connected to Scion, you know? He was just … there, but boring. Finding out he was the big bad all this time, and you show up and just gank him in the most spectacular stabbifying of all time, that's basically satisfied so many narratives. You're right on the sweet spot of 'too famous to ignore' and 'too scary to stalk'."
"Gotcha." I snorted with amusement. "So anyway, what's this about Tenebrae being hunky? Do I spot a little bit of a crush?" I gave my voice a teasing note, though I was ready to back off if she didn't follow up; I knew quite well how her previous experiences would've soured her to men in general, and to any kind of romance at all.
"Maybe." She waggled her free hand from side to side. "He's a good guy. And when I say that, I mean a good guy. He didn't ogle my ass or tits or try to cop a feel even once, he was always polite, and he's so damn protective of Miss Medic all the time." She sighed. "I just wish I could meet a guy who's not your dad who'd feel that protective about me."
"He's dedicated, I'll give him that." I shrugged. "Maybe when he's relaxed and off duty, he might be more interested in you? If you were interested, that is?"
"Maybe." She gave me a sly glance. "Or maybe I'll introduce you when you're not being Atropos and he's not being Tenebrae, and watch you blush and stutter your way through the most awkward conversation in the history of conversations."
"Meh. Not something that really interests me right now. I just want people to get on with their lives, and for Brockton Bay to be a nice safe prosperous place to live, you know?" I leaned into the side-hug, and gave her one back in return. "Because I want to live in a nice safe prosperous place, and get on with my life."
She leaned over to bump her head gently against mine. "Well, if anyone's earned it, hon, you have."
Sunday Afternoon, March 20, 2011
PRT Department 1: New York
Director Emily Piggot
"Okay, all finished." Miss Medic's tone was bright and upbeat. "You can get up now."
Emily frowned as she heard the distinctive sounds of the surgical tools going back into Miss Medic's bracers. "That's it? You're done?" Lying face down on the table with her top pulled up to her bra-line and her underwear the only thing covering her from the waist down, she had still expected far more to happen. With just a female surgical tech to assist if necessary, Miss Medic had only spent a few minutes on her; Emily had felt several pulls and jabs at her back and on her calves, but nothing like the lengthy procedure she'd expected.
"Well, yeah. If I were you, I wouldn't go jogging for at least a week, but steady walking for at least an hour a day is totally a good idea." Miss Medic nudged at Emily's elbow, then helped her sit up and pull her top down.
This was still going too fast for Emily. "And my kidneys?" Any normal surgery involving kidneys, she understood, took hours of microsurgery to carefully connect everything up.
"What, these old things?" Miss Medic grinned and picked up a familiar-looking jar from the table that would normally have held all the surgical tools. When Emily had last seen it, there'd been a perfectly normal pair of kidneys suspended in the nutrient fluid that filled it, connected by a tiny heart that was beating nineteen to the dozen. Now, the heart drifted in there, forlorn and still, accompanied by ragged shreds of what Emily belatedly recognised as having once been kidneys. "I had to take a bit longer than usual because of the scar tissue, but the new ones connected up just fine."
"Jesus." Emily stood up, steadying herself against the table. Her calf muscles felt weird, like there was too much in there, but they supported her just fine. "How many people have you operated on where they just blinked and missed the surgery altogether?"
Miss Medic giggled as though Emily had made a joke, though she'd been mostly serious. "A few." She took up Emily's pants from where they were hanging over a nearby chair, and handed them to her. "Now, you're likely to feel a bit tender around the surgical sites for the next few days. No dressings were necessary, but if you feel pain or swelling, have someone check it out. Take it easy, though, and you should be good."
Carefully, Emily stepped into her pants and fastened them up. She could feel the slight pulling from the places where Miss Medic had gone in, but it was thoroughly bearable. The first few weeks after Ellisburg had been so much worse.
"Understood," she said, then took a deep breath. "And I don't say this to many capes, but … thank you."
Miss Medic beamed at her. "It's totally okay. Glad to help." She nodded to the surgical tech, who went over and unlocked the door.
A moment later, it opened; Tenebrae stepped inside and gave her a respectful nod. "Ma'am. All good here?"
"Yes. I suppose it is." And for the first time in a long time, it really was.
Monday Morning, March 21, 2011
Lord's Port
Ash
The rusted ship hull loomed over Ashley, even though she was standing fifty feet back from it. Painted down the side of the hull and continuing in a dead straight line over the dingy, cracked concrete to where Ashley stood were two painted stripes, each a foot wide, with a two-inch gap between. One was red and one was green, for maximum contrast; the flimsy framework before her, consisting of two vertical wooden boards with a similar gap between them, allowed her to line up perfectly on the painted stripes.
"Test shot, ready," she said quietly, the headset she was wearing picking up her voice and transmitting it over the net.
"Test shot, go," the response came back immediately.
"Test shot, firing." She extended her index and middle fingers together between the two boards, sighted where the red and green stripes met halfway up the hull, and released a two-second shot, straight through the ship and twenty feet out the other side before it decohered. If the painters had done their measurements correctly, it would exit between the stripes on the other side of the ship.
A long moment passed, then the headset crackled in her ears. "Test shot, on target. Commence cutting."
She smiled in satisfaction. "Copy that. Cutting now." Aiming at the base of the hull, she unleashed her power again, the crackling beam tearing into the ship and slicing all the way through with ridiculous ease. Up and to her left, the massive cranes that were already latched onto the slice that she was removing from the ship's hull were ready to take the strain.
In less than a minute, she finished the cut; the cranes creaked and their engines thundered as the twenty-foot-wide hull section was lifted away to be scrapped more easily. Ashley stepped back to let the frame guys line it up for the next shot; at the same time, the foreman's voice came over the headset. "Hold cutting, hold cutting. Civilian on worksite, coming to speak to Ash."
"Copy hold on cutting." Ashley took a moment to grab a drink from the squeeze bottle of water hanging from her hip. While using her power wasn't nearly as strenuous as she figured slicing with an oxy-torch would be, it was still thirsty work. When she looked around, it was good that she'd put the bottle away, because it was Accord approaching her, with a lady in an evening dress and a gem-studded mask following him. If she'd still been drinking when she saw him, some of the water may have gone down the wrong way.
Memories flooded back of her confrontations with the small man back in the days of the Boston Games. She'd been young and brash, and he'd been thoroughly in control of the situation. But now it was another time, another city, and she was a different person.
"Good morning." She could at least be polite to him; from what she could understand, it was his plans that were making all this possible. Making her life here possible. "Can I help you?"
"I've been watching you." Accord didn't do small talk, or even things like hello, how are you. "When last we met, you were the epitome of chaos. Dangerous, impulsive, unpredictable. Even your powers were likely to erupt at the wrong moment. You could not be trusted."
"That's true." He hadn't sugar-coated it, because that wasn't his way, but it was still accurate as fuck. "I was a hot mess back then. Things have changed. I've changed."
Is he here to fire me?
She recalled Danny Hebert assuring her that he was the only one who had the power to do that. Of all the men she'd ever known in her life, she felt he was the first one she'd ever trusted implicitly with her well-being. His presence alongside her at the PRT building had steadied her immensely.
"That's true." The metal shards that made up Accord's mask shifted slightly as he looked up at her. "When you first came to Brockton Bay, I expressed doubt regarding your suitability for working here. Had I had my way, you would have been gone, especially after the incident with the truck."
Ashley didn't react, though it was an effort. She'd apologised at the time, and she owed Accord nothing.
His gaze didn't shift. "However, I have viewed reports regarding you since, and your work has been exemplary. In addition, footage has come to my attention that shows you risking your life to assist Atropos in destroying Scion. It isn't often that I change my opinion about people. I have changed it about you. I no longer have reservations about your presence on this work site. Keep up the good work."
Turning, he walked away again. Ashley blinked a couple of times. O … kay. I think that's the closest he's ever come to apologising to anyone. And he still can't get it right.
She watched as he climbed back into his limo, which drove away. Her headset crackled. "Civilian off site. Recommence cutting."
"Copy that," she said automatically. "Ready to recommence cutting."
Saturday Afternoon, March 26, 2011
Boardwalk
Salvage
"There you go, miss." Sal finished packing the last of the toys into the container the Followers had brought. "Will you be alright with that?"
"Yes." The red-headed girl with the shears pendant nodded seriously. "The Following has more members now, and they do not mind bearing heavy loads for the rest of us." As she spoke, a hefty young lad with a short haircut stepped in to pick up the container. As he lifted it with a grunt, his shirt sleeve shifted and Sal saw a tattoo that looked suspiciously like a swastika that had been scribbled over with a marker pen.
"That's true," the muscular young man agreed. "Our Lady in Darkness would wish us to atone for our prior misdeeds and solve more problems than we cause. So, we do what we can to help others."
"Good to hear." Sal watched as they headed back to a car where a red-headed man—possibly the girl's father—opened the trunk for the young man. Leaning back in his chair (one he'd built himself, so he knew it could take his weight), he sighed. Well, back to making toys. It wasn't that he was bored with making them, but he could do that at home (and often did). While he was on the Boardwalk, he preferred to interact with people …
"Excuse, please. You are Salvage?" The voice brought him up short. It was electronic, of a type he'd heard recently from TV news articles. Looking around, he found himself staring at an Eagleton: the first he'd seen in real life. There were three of them, actually, but only one was speaking to him.
"Ah … yeah, that's me. Can I help you?" He eyed the Eagleton, wondering if it wanted him to make a tiny version of itself, or maybe weld on a mohawk.
"Am Pradesh Eagleton. Arm is problematic." The robot turned side-on, and moved one of its arms up and down; he heard a distinct buzzing as its servos refused to move any farther. "Few repair facilities available on weekend. Can you assist?"
"Ah, sure." He stood up and came around the table. "Let me have a look at that." Close up, he figured there was definitely something he could do about it. "Looks easy enough. Okay if I take it off and have a proper look inside?"
"If you can fix, please do." Pradesh held still as Sal undid the bolts and screws necessary to remove the arm.
Once it was off, he sat down again and started going over it in detail. The mechanical aspects looked perfectly understandable to him, and he pointed out the problem to the robot. "See, right there? You've got a tiny burr in the rotator socket. Just give me a second …" He plugged the correct rotary wheel into the socket in his torso, and fired it up. Working with careful precision, he smoothed down the burr, then went over the rest of the arm, fixing the calibration where it had drifted slightly off specs. "Okay, that should do it."
"It is fixed?" Pradesh sounded surprised. "Was fast." The other two Eagletons started a conversation between themselves in what sounded like high-speed Morse code.
"Well, we'll see how I did in a second. Hold still." Getting up again, he reattached Pradesh's arm, making sure to keep track of the screws and bolts. "Okay, how does that feel?"
Pradesh flexed the arm, the shoulder socket whirring gently as it traversed back and forth. "Is very good. More capable than before. How much to pay?"
"Uh …" he paused. It had only taken him a minute or two to do, but he wasn't sure. Parian's words came back to him, from one of their strategy sessions. If you don't charge what it's worth, they won't value your work. "… a hundred bucks?"
"Is good price." Pradesh produced a stimulus card from somewhere, and Sal hastily tapped the figure into the electronic reader he'd recently invested in. When the robot tapped the card on the reader, there was an agreeable beep to show the transaction had gone through. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Sal expected them to move along, but then the next Eagleton came up to him.
"Am Gerald Eagleton. Have been having trouble with leg joint. Can fix?"
"Okay, let's have a look." As Sal got up, he had a sudden presentiment of the future, of Eagletons queued up at his table every Saturday afternoon.
Well, it'll definitely be regular work.
Saturday Evening, March 26, 2011
Palanquin Nightclub
Anne Barnes
The nightclub was pumping as Anne got out of her car. While the music wasn't quite rattling her car windows, it was definitely audible, and the lighting all over the building was rippling up and down in a very cool pattern. Taking a deep breath and smoothing her dress down, she ventured forth toward where the line was already forming.
Should I join the line like everyone else? Or should I see if they'll let me in ahead of the crowd?
As she vacillated, she was surprised by someone landing beside her, wearing slacks and an attractive blouse. "Hey, good to see you!" shouted Crystal over the general hubbub, giving her a hug and a quick kiss. "C'mon, let's get inside! Mel's probably already waiting on us!"
"But shouldn't we …" Anne trailed off as Crystal towed her toward the front of the line, hand firmly clasped in hand. She had to admit, it felt just a little exciting for a genuine superhero to take charge of her like that.
People glowered as they watched Crystal and Anne move past, but Crystal ignored them and Anne could only shrug mutely in apology. When they got to the front of the line, two large bouncers stood there, letting only a few in at a time. Crystal moved up to the closest one and said something in his ear.
His head came up and he got his partner's attention. They both looked over at Crystal and Anne, then the partner held up a phone, flicking from one image to another on the screen. He nodded, and the closer one unhooked the rope to let them through.
Grinning broadly, Crystal tugged Anne through the gap, nodding politely to each of the security guys. Anne could only imagine the outrage of those who had to wait to get in: Hey, how come they get to jump the line? And of course, the answer: They're the boss's girlfriends, dumbass.
Anne had never been in here while it was operating before, and she stared around wide-eyed. The multicoloured lighting made it seem magical and otherworldly, while the sheer number of people was a little overwhelming. Then she saw an Eagleton tromp past, the lights glittering off its polished metal carapace, and she knew she was definitely in Brockton Bay.
"Crystal! Anne! You made it!" Melanie came down the steps, clad in what looked like the same dress she'd been wearing the night they'd almost been mugged in an alleyway. She embraced Anne first, giving her a kiss that made Anne's head spin, then did the same with Crystal. Anne tried to give as good as she got, but she figured she was going to have to work at it a bit.
"Good to see you too, Mel!" Crystal snuggled in on one side of the nightclub owner, while Anne went in on the other side. It wasn't Anne's preferred situation—she liked to be sandwiched between the two—but it was still quite nice. "So, you've got it up and running?"
"We have!" Melanie gave them each a beaming smile. "Come on, I'll show you!"
Anne wasn't quite sure what 'it' was, but she was definitely open to finding out. With Melanie's arm holding tight around her waist, she allowed herself to be swept along, through the crowd (that semi-miraculously parted before them) and around a corner to where there was another bar. Except that the patrons lining up at this bar were exclusively Eagletons. The neon sign over the bar read 'The Electric Screwdriver'.
As she watched, a small conical cup-like device was handed off to an Eagleton, though she'd never seen a drinking glass glow a brilliant blue like that. The Eagleton moved away a few steps, then pressed the top of the 'glass' to its head. A few sparks jumped from the 'glass' to the robot's head, and it let out a woozy electronic, "Wooo!" Someone that Anne had at first thought was another Eagleton, but which she realised had a human head on top of a mechanical body, gave it a high-five then guided it to sit down at a nearby table.
"Oh, wow." Anne shook her head in wonder. She'd seen the file Atropos had sent Melanie, but she hadn't been sure it would work. "You did it! You made robot booze!"
Melanie grinned, clearly pleased at her response. "That we did, hon. What do you think?"
"Well, I think it's a genius move," declared Crystal. "Pretty sure you're gonna be drawing most of the Betterment Committee clientele here."
"Which is the basic idea, right?" Anne leaned in and kissed Melanie on the neck. "If they want to drink with their work buddies, this is where they'll be coming."
"Damn right." Melanie squeezed Anne, then returned the kiss, somewhat more lingeringly. "So, how about we go upstairs and watch the floor from my office? Non-alcoholic drinks, maybe a bit of dancing …?"
Anne met Crystal's gaze, and they both nodded at the same time. A little quiet time with Crystal and Melanie was a lot more attractive than the surging mob down here. "Let's go," she decided.
Melanie smiled, and they headed up the stairs together.
And if anything more than dancing went on, it was strictly between the three of them.
[A/N: Some of the dialogue from the following section comes from this apocryphal omake, by @Lycanthromancer.]
Monday Morning, March 28, 2011
Winslow High School
Greg Veder
If Greg hadn't been attending Winslow for the last couple of years, he would have not believed he was looking at the same school. Even the sports fields had been freshly re-turfed, and the parking lot had a brand-new layer of asphalt and neatly laid-out garden beds. The exterior of the building gleamed, and the bronze lettering informing everyone that they were entering Winslow High was polished to a high shine.
"Whoaaa …" he murmured, staring around in wonder as the front doors were pushed open and he entered with the rest of the tide. The flooring underfoot was attractively patterned, the walls were a gentle eggshell blue, and the lighting overhead was LED rather than fluorescent, far more pleasing to the eye.
"Hey, check it out!" Someone he vaguely knew was pointing in through the window set in the door of the Computer Studies classroom.
"What?" He got close enough to see for himself, and blinked in surprise. Not only were the desks and chairs a lot more comfortable looking, but the computers were the latest model as well. "Score!" Turning away from the door, he nearly bumped into someone, but pulled himself up short. "Whoa, sorry."
"That's okay, Greg." Taylor Hebert gave him a quick smile. "So, they've got new computers. That's really nice."
"Yeah." Even knowing what he did about her (well, he was reasonably sure) it was still easy to talk to her. "Hey, you see that stuff about Cauldron? I was totally right, all along! And I bet a few of their experiments with powers warped people's bodies and minds. They're why we have so many case fifty-three's, and super-strong villains like the Slaughterhouse Nine, and this super-Thinker boogieman that assassinates people from the shadows when they step too far out of line! And one of their first experiments was a Master who called up the Endbringers as projections to feed his own ego! They were so powerful that Eidolon had to sacrifice his powers to stop them!"
One of the other students rolled his eyes in scorn. "That's about the dumbest thing I've ever heard, Veder. Nobody could be that comically evil, that incompetent, or that dumb."
"Oh, I don't know," Taylor said mildly. "I think he could be right on the money." She patted Greg gently on the cheek, then opened the Computer Studies classroom door and let herself inside.
The door closed behind her, leaving Greg to wonder what the hell just happened?
From the way everyone else was staring at him, they didn't know either.
End of Part One Hundred Six: Epilogues 1
Part One Hundred Six: Epilogues 1
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
The story rolls on, even though the vast majority of enemies have been vanquished. There is very little Ending to do from this point on, and so we will allow Taylor to have her happily ever after.
There will, however, be loose ends to tie up.
Let us begin …
<><>
Sunday Morning, March 20, 2011
Atropos
Cherie and I sat on the sofa, watching the new TV spot. Dragon had done well; the flickering was just right, the voice modulation was just harsh enough, and it was almost possible to see a face within the glared-out silhouette. If I didn't know better, I could easily believe that it was real.
"We have sought refuge on the dark web for years," the darkened image intoned. "Scion has always been the enemy, but spreading the word too zealously would have made him suspicious. Instead, we sold powers to the rich and the desperate, to those who would use them and gain expertise. We wanted more parahumans in the world, to fill the ranks of the eventual army we would need to oppose him when he inevitably turned on us. But we had too few, and they were too weak, until Atropos came upon the scene. She, too, saw Scion for what he was. And he saw her. He also saw the good she was doing in the world, ridding society of the evils that plagued it. He could not abide this, and so he attacked her. But she saw him coming and armed herself against him, and so he fell."
The picture cut to the footage of me jumping at him, being grabbed, then stabbing him. Just like every other time Cherie had seen it, she shook her head. "You're nuts, you know that, right?"
"Eh." I shrugged. "It worked, didn't it?"
The picture cut back to the silhouetted footage. "With the death of Scion, our purpose is ended. We are dissolving Cauldron; no more powers will be sold. Do not attempt to seek us out. Any who seek to trade on our name are impostors, and to be avoided. This is Cauldron, signing off forever."
The TV spot gave way to an advertisement that promised flawlessly shining floors after one treatment (terms and conditions applied).
"Your dad told me that if it's stupid and it works, it's still stupid and you got lucky." Her tone was severe. "Taylor, you haven't got your teleporter anymore."
"I know." It was good, I reflected, that I hadn't fallen prey to the temptation to use it for mundane tasks, such as getting to school on time. "It died for a good cause, though."
Cherie smirked, mischief creeping over her face. "Have you seen the PHO responses?"
Danger, Will Robinson! Danger! "No, I hadn't checked yet." I gave her the side-eye. "Is it bad?"
She shook her head and giggled. At least she wasn't yelling at me anymore. "Some of them are all what the fuck, some are scrambling to join either the fan club or the cult, some of them just don't believe it, and some of them are I knew it. I just knew it. Bagrat is just flabbergasted, and Reave is very much Yup, that's the Atropos we know and respect. It's utter chaos on there, and I love it."
My threatscape hadn't bloomed with any new enemies, which I took as a good sign. In fact, most of them had dropped off it, and the rest were reducing in intensity by the minute. "At least nobody's wanting to hunt me down for murdering their god."
"Nah, that was the Fallen." She gave me a side-hug. "Nobody really connected to Scion, you know? He was just … there, but boring. Finding out he was the big bad all this time, and you show up and just gank him in the most spectacular stabbifying of all time, that's basically satisfied so many narratives. You're right on the sweet spot of 'too famous to ignore' and 'too scary to stalk'."
"Gotcha." I snorted with amusement. "So anyway, what's this about Tenebrae being hunky? Do I spot a little bit of a crush?" I gave my voice a teasing note, though I was ready to back off if she didn't follow up; I knew quite well how her previous experiences would've soured her to men in general, and to any kind of romance at all.
"Maybe." She waggled her free hand from side to side. "He's a good guy. And when I say that, I mean a good guy. He didn't ogle my ass or tits or try to cop a feel even once, he was always polite, and he's so damn protective of Miss Medic all the time." She sighed. "I just wish I could meet a guy who's not your dad who'd feel that protective about me."
"He's dedicated, I'll give him that." I shrugged. "Maybe when he's relaxed and off duty, he might be more interested in you? If you were interested, that is?"
"Maybe." She gave me a sly glance. "Or maybe I'll introduce you when you're not being Atropos and he's not being Tenebrae, and watch you blush and stutter your way through the most awkward conversation in the history of conversations."
"Meh. Not something that really interests me right now. I just want people to get on with their lives, and for Brockton Bay to be a nice safe prosperous place to live, you know?" I leaned into the side-hug, and gave her one back in return. "Because I want to live in a nice safe prosperous place, and get on with my life."
She leaned over to bump her head gently against mine. "Well, if anyone's earned it, hon, you have."
<><>
Sunday Afternoon, March 20, 2011
PRT Department 1: New York
Director Emily Piggot
"Okay, all finished." Miss Medic's tone was bright and upbeat. "You can get up now."
Emily frowned as she heard the distinctive sounds of the surgical tools going back into Miss Medic's bracers. "That's it? You're done?" Lying face down on the table with her top pulled up to her bra-line and her underwear the only thing covering her from the waist down, she had still expected far more to happen. With just a female surgical tech to assist if necessary, Miss Medic had only spent a few minutes on her; Emily had felt several pulls and jabs at her back and on her calves, but nothing like the lengthy procedure she'd expected.
"Well, yeah. If I were you, I wouldn't go jogging for at least a week, but steady walking for at least an hour a day is totally a good idea." Miss Medic nudged at Emily's elbow, then helped her sit up and pull her top down.
This was still going too fast for Emily. "And my kidneys?" Any normal surgery involving kidneys, she understood, took hours of microsurgery to carefully connect everything up.
"What, these old things?" Miss Medic grinned and picked up a familiar-looking jar from the table that would normally have held all the surgical tools. When Emily had last seen it, there'd been a perfectly normal pair of kidneys suspended in the nutrient fluid that filled it, connected by a tiny heart that was beating nineteen to the dozen. Now, the heart drifted in there, forlorn and still, accompanied by ragged shreds of what Emily belatedly recognised as having once been kidneys. "I had to take a bit longer than usual because of the scar tissue, but the new ones connected up just fine."
"Jesus." Emily stood up, steadying herself against the table. Her calf muscles felt weird, like there was too much in there, but they supported her just fine. "How many people have you operated on where they just blinked and missed the surgery altogether?"
Miss Medic giggled as though Emily had made a joke, though she'd been mostly serious. "A few." She took up Emily's pants from where they were hanging over a nearby chair, and handed them to her. "Now, you're likely to feel a bit tender around the surgical sites for the next few days. No dressings were necessary, but if you feel pain or swelling, have someone check it out. Take it easy, though, and you should be good."
Carefully, Emily stepped into her pants and fastened them up. She could feel the slight pulling from the places where Miss Medic had gone in, but it was thoroughly bearable. The first few weeks after Ellisburg had been so much worse.
"Understood," she said, then took a deep breath. "And I don't say this to many capes, but … thank you."
Miss Medic beamed at her. "It's totally okay. Glad to help." She nodded to the surgical tech, who went over and unlocked the door.
A moment later, it opened; Tenebrae stepped inside and gave her a respectful nod. "Ma'am. All good here?"
"Yes. I suppose it is." And for the first time in a long time, it really was.
<><>
Monday Morning, March 21, 2011
Lord's Port
Ash
The rusted ship hull loomed over Ashley, even though she was standing fifty feet back from it. Painted down the side of the hull and continuing in a dead straight line over the dingy, cracked concrete to where Ashley stood were two painted stripes, each a foot wide, with a two-inch gap between. One was red and one was green, for maximum contrast; the flimsy framework before her, consisting of two vertical wooden boards with a similar gap between them, allowed her to line up perfectly on the painted stripes.
"Test shot, ready," she said quietly, the headset she was wearing picking up her voice and transmitting it over the net.
"Test shot, go," the response came back immediately.
"Test shot, firing." She extended her index and middle fingers together between the two boards, sighted where the red and green stripes met halfway up the hull, and released a two-second shot, straight through the ship and twenty feet out the other side before it decohered. If the painters had done their measurements correctly, it would exit between the stripes on the other side of the ship.
A long moment passed, then the headset crackled in her ears. "Test shot, on target. Commence cutting."
She smiled in satisfaction. "Copy that. Cutting now." Aiming at the base of the hull, she unleashed her power again, the crackling beam tearing into the ship and slicing all the way through with ridiculous ease. Up and to her left, the massive cranes that were already latched onto the slice that she was removing from the ship's hull were ready to take the strain.
In less than a minute, she finished the cut; the cranes creaked and their engines thundered as the twenty-foot-wide hull section was lifted away to be scrapped more easily. Ashley stepped back to let the frame guys line it up for the next shot; at the same time, the foreman's voice came over the headset. "Hold cutting, hold cutting. Civilian on worksite, coming to speak to Ash."
"Copy hold on cutting." Ashley took a moment to grab a drink from the squeeze bottle of water hanging from her hip. While using her power wasn't nearly as strenuous as she figured slicing with an oxy-torch would be, it was still thirsty work. When she looked around, it was good that she'd put the bottle away, because it was Accord approaching her, with a lady in an evening dress and a gem-studded mask following him. If she'd still been drinking when she saw him, some of the water may have gone down the wrong way.
Memories flooded back of her confrontations with the small man back in the days of the Boston Games. She'd been young and brash, and he'd been thoroughly in control of the situation. But now it was another time, another city, and she was a different person.
"Good morning." She could at least be polite to him; from what she could understand, it was his plans that were making all this possible. Making her life here possible. "Can I help you?"
"I've been watching you." Accord didn't do small talk, or even things like hello, how are you. "When last we met, you were the epitome of chaos. Dangerous, impulsive, unpredictable. Even your powers were likely to erupt at the wrong moment. You could not be trusted."
"That's true." He hadn't sugar-coated it, because that wasn't his way, but it was still accurate as fuck. "I was a hot mess back then. Things have changed. I've changed."
Is he here to fire me?
She recalled Danny Hebert assuring her that he was the only one who had the power to do that. Of all the men she'd ever known in her life, she felt he was the first one she'd ever trusted implicitly with her well-being. His presence alongside her at the PRT building had steadied her immensely.
"That's true." The metal shards that made up Accord's mask shifted slightly as he looked up at her. "When you first came to Brockton Bay, I expressed doubt regarding your suitability for working here. Had I had my way, you would have been gone, especially after the incident with the truck."
Ashley didn't react, though it was an effort. She'd apologised at the time, and she owed Accord nothing.
His gaze didn't shift. "However, I have viewed reports regarding you since, and your work has been exemplary. In addition, footage has come to my attention that shows you risking your life to assist Atropos in destroying Scion. It isn't often that I change my opinion about people. I have changed it about you. I no longer have reservations about your presence on this work site. Keep up the good work."
Turning, he walked away again. Ashley blinked a couple of times. O … kay. I think that's the closest he's ever come to apologising to anyone. And he still can't get it right.
She watched as he climbed back into his limo, which drove away. Her headset crackled. "Civilian off site. Recommence cutting."
"Copy that," she said automatically. "Ready to recommence cutting."
<><>
Saturday Afternoon, March 26, 2011
Boardwalk
Salvage
"There you go, miss." Sal finished packing the last of the toys into the container the Followers had brought. "Will you be alright with that?"
"Yes." The red-headed girl with the shears pendant nodded seriously. "The Following has more members now, and they do not mind bearing heavy loads for the rest of us." As she spoke, a hefty young lad with a short haircut stepped in to pick up the container. As he lifted it with a grunt, his shirt sleeve shifted and Sal saw a tattoo that looked suspiciously like a swastika that had been scribbled over with a marker pen.
"That's true," the muscular young man agreed. "Our Lady in Darkness would wish us to atone for our prior misdeeds and solve more problems than we cause. So, we do what we can to help others."
"Good to hear." Sal watched as they headed back to a car where a red-headed man—possibly the girl's father—opened the trunk for the young man. Leaning back in his chair (one he'd built himself, so he knew it could take his weight), he sighed. Well, back to making toys. It wasn't that he was bored with making them, but he could do that at home (and often did). While he was on the Boardwalk, he preferred to interact with people …
"Excuse, please. You are Salvage?" The voice brought him up short. It was electronic, of a type he'd heard recently from TV news articles. Looking around, he found himself staring at an Eagleton: the first he'd seen in real life. There were three of them, actually, but only one was speaking to him.
"Ah … yeah, that's me. Can I help you?" He eyed the Eagleton, wondering if it wanted him to make a tiny version of itself, or maybe weld on a mohawk.
"Am Pradesh Eagleton. Arm is problematic." The robot turned side-on, and moved one of its arms up and down; he heard a distinct buzzing as its servos refused to move any farther. "Few repair facilities available on weekend. Can you assist?"
"Ah, sure." He stood up and came around the table. "Let me have a look at that." Close up, he figured there was definitely something he could do about it. "Looks easy enough. Okay if I take it off and have a proper look inside?"
"If you can fix, please do." Pradesh held still as Sal undid the bolts and screws necessary to remove the arm.
Once it was off, he sat down again and started going over it in detail. The mechanical aspects looked perfectly understandable to him, and he pointed out the problem to the robot. "See, right there? You've got a tiny burr in the rotator socket. Just give me a second …" He plugged the correct rotary wheel into the socket in his torso, and fired it up. Working with careful precision, he smoothed down the burr, then went over the rest of the arm, fixing the calibration where it had drifted slightly off specs. "Okay, that should do it."
"It is fixed?" Pradesh sounded surprised. "Was fast." The other two Eagletons started a conversation between themselves in what sounded like high-speed Morse code.
"Well, we'll see how I did in a second. Hold still." Getting up again, he reattached Pradesh's arm, making sure to keep track of the screws and bolts. "Okay, how does that feel?"
Pradesh flexed the arm, the shoulder socket whirring gently as it traversed back and forth. "Is very good. More capable than before. How much to pay?"
"Uh …" he paused. It had only taken him a minute or two to do, but he wasn't sure. Parian's words came back to him, from one of their strategy sessions. If you don't charge what it's worth, they won't value your work. "… a hundred bucks?"
"Is good price." Pradesh produced a stimulus card from somewhere, and Sal hastily tapped the figure into the electronic reader he'd recently invested in. When the robot tapped the card on the reader, there was an agreeable beep to show the transaction had gone through. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Sal expected them to move along, but then the next Eagleton came up to him.
"Am Gerald Eagleton. Have been having trouble with leg joint. Can fix?"
"Okay, let's have a look." As Sal got up, he had a sudden presentiment of the future, of Eagletons queued up at his table every Saturday afternoon.
Well, it'll definitely be regular work.
<><>
Saturday Evening, March 26, 2011
Palanquin Nightclub
Anne Barnes
The nightclub was pumping as Anne got out of her car. While the music wasn't quite rattling her car windows, it was definitely audible, and the lighting all over the building was rippling up and down in a very cool pattern. Taking a deep breath and smoothing her dress down, she ventured forth toward where the line was already forming.
Should I join the line like everyone else? Or should I see if they'll let me in ahead of the crowd?
As she vacillated, she was surprised by someone landing beside her, wearing slacks and an attractive blouse. "Hey, good to see you!" shouted Crystal over the general hubbub, giving her a hug and a quick kiss. "C'mon, let's get inside! Mel's probably already waiting on us!"
"But shouldn't we …" Anne trailed off as Crystal towed her toward the front of the line, hand firmly clasped in hand. She had to admit, it felt just a little exciting for a genuine superhero to take charge of her like that.
People glowered as they watched Crystal and Anne move past, but Crystal ignored them and Anne could only shrug mutely in apology. When they got to the front of the line, two large bouncers stood there, letting only a few in at a time. Crystal moved up to the closest one and said something in his ear.
His head came up and he got his partner's attention. They both looked over at Crystal and Anne, then the partner held up a phone, flicking from one image to another on the screen. He nodded, and the closer one unhooked the rope to let them through.
Grinning broadly, Crystal tugged Anne through the gap, nodding politely to each of the security guys. Anne could only imagine the outrage of those who had to wait to get in: Hey, how come they get to jump the line? And of course, the answer: They're the boss's girlfriends, dumbass.
Anne had never been in here while it was operating before, and she stared around wide-eyed. The multicoloured lighting made it seem magical and otherworldly, while the sheer number of people was a little overwhelming. Then she saw an Eagleton tromp past, the lights glittering off its polished metal carapace, and she knew she was definitely in Brockton Bay.
"Crystal! Anne! You made it!" Melanie came down the steps, clad in what looked like the same dress she'd been wearing the night they'd almost been mugged in an alleyway. She embraced Anne first, giving her a kiss that made Anne's head spin, then did the same with Crystal. Anne tried to give as good as she got, but she figured she was going to have to work at it a bit.
"Good to see you too, Mel!" Crystal snuggled in on one side of the nightclub owner, while Anne went in on the other side. It wasn't Anne's preferred situation—she liked to be sandwiched between the two—but it was still quite nice. "So, you've got it up and running?"
"We have!" Melanie gave them each a beaming smile. "Come on, I'll show you!"
Anne wasn't quite sure what 'it' was, but she was definitely open to finding out. With Melanie's arm holding tight around her waist, she allowed herself to be swept along, through the crowd (that semi-miraculously parted before them) and around a corner to where there was another bar. Except that the patrons lining up at this bar were exclusively Eagletons. The neon sign over the bar read 'The Electric Screwdriver'.
As she watched, a small conical cup-like device was handed off to an Eagleton, though she'd never seen a drinking glass glow a brilliant blue like that. The Eagleton moved away a few steps, then pressed the top of the 'glass' to its head. A few sparks jumped from the 'glass' to the robot's head, and it let out a woozy electronic, "Wooo!" Someone that Anne had at first thought was another Eagleton, but which she realised had a human head on top of a mechanical body, gave it a high-five then guided it to sit down at a nearby table.
"Oh, wow." Anne shook her head in wonder. She'd seen the file Atropos had sent Melanie, but she hadn't been sure it would work. "You did it! You made robot booze!"
Melanie grinned, clearly pleased at her response. "That we did, hon. What do you think?"
"Well, I think it's a genius move," declared Crystal. "Pretty sure you're gonna be drawing most of the Betterment Committee clientele here."
"Which is the basic idea, right?" Anne leaned in and kissed Melanie on the neck. "If they want to drink with their work buddies, this is where they'll be coming."
"Damn right." Melanie squeezed Anne, then returned the kiss, somewhat more lingeringly. "So, how about we go upstairs and watch the floor from my office? Non-alcoholic drinks, maybe a bit of dancing …?"
Anne met Crystal's gaze, and they both nodded at the same time. A little quiet time with Crystal and Melanie was a lot more attractive than the surging mob down here. "Let's go," she decided.
Melanie smiled, and they headed up the stairs together.
And if anything more than dancing went on, it was strictly between the three of them.
<><>
[A/N: Some of the dialogue from the following section comes from this apocryphal omake, by @Lycanthromancer.]
Monday Morning, March 28, 2011
Winslow High School
Greg Veder
If Greg hadn't been attending Winslow for the last couple of years, he would have not believed he was looking at the same school. Even the sports fields had been freshly re-turfed, and the parking lot had a brand-new layer of asphalt and neatly laid-out garden beds. The exterior of the building gleamed, and the bronze lettering informing everyone that they were entering Winslow High was polished to a high shine.
"Whoaaa …" he murmured, staring around in wonder as the front doors were pushed open and he entered with the rest of the tide. The flooring underfoot was attractively patterned, the walls were a gentle eggshell blue, and the lighting overhead was LED rather than fluorescent, far more pleasing to the eye.
"Hey, check it out!" Someone he vaguely knew was pointing in through the window set in the door of the Computer Studies classroom.
"What?" He got close enough to see for himself, and blinked in surprise. Not only were the desks and chairs a lot more comfortable looking, but the computers were the latest model as well. "Score!" Turning away from the door, he nearly bumped into someone, but pulled himself up short. "Whoa, sorry."
"That's okay, Greg." Taylor Hebert gave him a quick smile. "So, they've got new computers. That's really nice."
"Yeah." Even knowing what he did about her (well, he was reasonably sure) it was still easy to talk to her. "Hey, you see that stuff about Cauldron? I was totally right, all along! And I bet a few of their experiments with powers warped people's bodies and minds. They're why we have so many case fifty-three's, and super-strong villains like the Slaughterhouse Nine, and this super-Thinker boogieman that assassinates people from the shadows when they step too far out of line! And one of their first experiments was a Master who called up the Endbringers as projections to feed his own ego! They were so powerful that Eidolon had to sacrifice his powers to stop them!"
One of the other students rolled his eyes in scorn. "That's about the dumbest thing I've ever heard, Veder. Nobody could be that comically evil, that incompetent, or that dumb."
"Oh, I don't know," Taylor said mildly. "I think he could be right on the money." She patted Greg gently on the cheek, then opened the Computer Studies classroom door and let herself inside.
The door closed behind her, leaving Greg to wonder what the hell just happened?
From the way everyone else was staring at him, they didn't know either.
End of Part One Hundred Six: Epilogues 1
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- Location
- England
It's always an odd feeling when a fic you've been following for a long time finishes, it's quite bittersweet, having seen it grow, and End.
For all that I personally feel like Jo from Dickens' Bleak House, it's great to see that people are finally moving on with their lives. Especially Accord: even if his power-induced OCD hadn't let up some, surely his plan to end world hunger that drove him out of the civil service and into supervillainy would have its trial run in Brockton Bay by now.
Also, I don't think Ash and Accord had met and talked to one another in canon?
Also, I don't think Ash and Accord had met and talked to one another in canon?
ThrawnCA
Carbon-based biped
- Location
- Australia
Silly conspiracy theorists, everyone knows Eidolon lost his powers when Atropos killed them, not in some epic battle.
Accord drove her out of Boston. She was at several meetings of the Boston Games.
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