Part Twenty-Three: Bad Decisions, Good Decisions
- Location
- Australia
A Darker Path
Part Twenty-Three: Bad Decisions, Good Decisions
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Sunday Afternoon, January 9, 2011
Next to Westlake Park
Taylor
As Dad braked the car briefly, I pulled the door open, slid in, and removed my hat and mask almost in one motion. We moved off again, and I fastened my seatbelt then put my glasses on. "Well, that's done," I said with some satisfaction.
"Good to hear," Dad said. "I saw Dragon's suit flying away. I'm guessing she's taken Riley away to finish up that part of the plan?"
"Yup. But there's a new problem. And it's going to be in New York. You up for a road trip?"
"So long as you're okay with getting back here around midnight," he said at once. "Is one of the gangs in New York prepping something big?"
"Not immediately, but give them time." I leaned back in my seat, pulled out my phone, and started typing into a text box. I wasn't quite sure what the programming language was called, just that it did really fun things to the PRT's computer systems. As far as I was concerned, invisibility was more a case of preparation than powers. "This thing we're going there for, it needs to be nipped in the bud tonight."
"That's concerning." As he spoke, he concentrated on his driving, taking a series of turns designed to get us on the highway south. "Are you going to be killing someone?"
"Not if she's smart."
Five Hours Later
Conference Room A, PRT ENE Building
Director Piggot
Despite knowing that she was firmly in the right when it came to the PRT's protocols toward Atropos, Emily felt as though she'd been singled out for inquisition by her peers and superior. The wallscreen was showing a split image, with Rebecca Costa-Brown in the middle, with Director Wilkins of New York and Director Armstrong of Boston to her left and right.
For the occasion, Emily had Armsmaster and Renick flanking her, visible in the tiny inset window in the top corner of the screen. Her deputy had a laptop open in front of him so that he could perform any checks she needed done. Armsmaster, of course, had an HUD in his visor that could do the same.
"Good evening, Chief Director, Director Wilkins, Director Armstrong," she said smoothly. "What would you like to know first?"
Interestingly enough, it wasn't Costa-Brown who spoke first, but Wilkins. "I think I speak for all of us when I ask exactly what is going on in Brockton Bay?"
Wilkins wasn't her superior officer, so Emily turned her attention to Costa-Brown. "Before I throw this open to the floor, did the Chief Director have a question for me?"
The expression on Costa-Brown's face was barely a smile. "To be honest, I was curious about the current situation there as well."
Emily nodded to acknowledge the question. "Right now, we're bagging and tagging the remains of the Slaughterhouse Nine. And let me tell you, Crawler needs a lot of bags." They were actually using a shipping container to store the monstrous cape's remains, but she thought a little humour might serve to lighten the mood. "Apart from that, we really don't have any other parahuman issues to deal with at the moment. The local criminal capes are either keeping their heads down, leaving town, or both."
Armstrong raised his eyebrows, miming surprise. "So, you aren't counting this Atropos among the number of your local criminal capes? Have you already arrested or recruited her?"
She knew damn well he was aware this was not the case. "Neither," she said flatly. "She's too dangerous to even attempt the former with, and she has rebuffed repeated suggestions to come in and speak with us. However, she has initiated ad hoc teamwork with our newest Ward—he was in a strictly undercover role, though she saw through that in less than a minute—and with Dragon, achieving her goals both times with terrifying ease."
"And you're okay with this?" Wilkins' tone was a little stronger than before. Emily felt that she could rapidly become tired of the woman's voice. "She's not just a murderer, she's a serial killer! Parahumans like her are the very reason the PRT exists!"
"Director Wilkins, you need to moderate your tone," warned Costa-Brown. "This is neither an interrogation nor a court-martial."
Emily allowed herself a tiny smile. "No, it's okay, ma'am. Director Wilkins has evidently forgotten that parahumans like Jack Slash are the reason the PRT exists. If villains of that stripe weren't out and about, dragging society down, then we wouldn't be needed. And neither would someone like Atropos."
Costa-Brown raised her head slightly. "This almost sounds like you're condoning her actions. Is this the case?" she asked, her voice non-judgemental … for now.
"Not condoning, no," Emily said. "And I wouldn't tell my troopers or our heroes to go the route she does. But … she gets results. I can't ignore that. Our crime figures right now are literally the lowest they've been since I took up this position. Between that, and the fact that anyone she took seriously in a fight would die, right now the smart move is to stand back and mop up the pieces."
"She's murdered five capes who never had a kill order against them." Wilkins looked like she wanted to shout, but wasn't quite prepared for the consequences. "That's so far against our directives, it's ridiculous. You need to be bringing her down immediately!"
"At least six capes and two dozen unpowered people, actually." Emily didn't let herself show the satisfaction she felt in correcting Wilkins. "Most of whom she gave clear warnings to, or who were aggressing on her, before she initiated hostilities. Plus, the Slaughterhouse Nine. You did watch the unedited version of that, didn't you? All the way through?"
For the first time, Wilkins looked on the back foot. "I skimmed it, just to make sure they were dead. Why?"
Emily allowed the steel to come into her tone. "Watch it, carefully. She went into that fight with a pair of shears, a pistol, a ball of string, an M67 frag grenade and a fire extinguisher. Forty-two minutes later, every member of the Slaughterhouse Nine was dead. They never stood a chance. I'm not sending my men up against that."
Armstrong cleared his throat. "There was the issue of Dragon's assistance …" he mentioned diffidently.
Emily rolled her eyes. She'd studied the footage. "Dragon's presence just made it easier. Without her, the grenade would've taken care of Crawler, a single shot through the side of the van would've disposed of Manton, and Atropos could've disarmed Slash without needing to shoot the knife out of his hand. The way she did it, she was deliberately showing off. And the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced she specifically chose this method to further dissuade the PRT from getting in her way."
"Nobody's above the law," insisted Wilkins. "She needs to be brought to heel. Right now, she's making you all look like idiots. Making us look like idiots."
"Wait, who's the sixth cape?" interjected Armstrong. "I'd only heard about five. Oni Lee, Coil, Kaiser, Lung and Skidmark." He winced as he said the last name; evidently, he'd watched the footage of that one. It left bruising on the psyche.
Emily took a deep breath. This was going to be tricky. "Our probationary Ward, Shadow Stalker. Violent vigilante before she was drafted. Reportedly a bully. She was going far off the rails, threatening either Atropos or someone she cares about. Atropos said she warned Stalker twice. Then she killed her. This happened in the school, out of costume. Exactly four blows landed, all on Stalker. Two of these would've killed her in relatively short order, but Atropos finished her off with a kick to the chest that stopped her heart."
Costa-Brown showed no reaction, which wasn't surprising. The report of Atropos admitting to the murder had undoubtedly landed on her desk at some point. However, the other two clearly hadn't been kept in the loop.
"She killed a Ward? Out of costume?" Armstrong was astonished. "Why are we only just now hearing about this?"
"Because as a Ward, she was a potential embarrassment, if not an outright liability," Emily said, trying not to grit her teeth. She'd been through Blackwell's file on Stalker, and the number of complaints that had gone absolutely nowhere, or resulted in a minor slap on the wrist, had been horribly illuminating. The little shit must've thought she was bulletproof. "Right now, the public's view of Atropos is leaning very strongly toward 'if she killed someone, they deserved it', which is a not inaccurate reputation, all told. So, if they find out that she killed a Ward, the first thing they're going to ask is why that Ward pissed Atropos off. And as all the evidence points toward Stalker actually provoking her own murder, I'm strongly disinclined to let the public—and the media—in on it. So, as far as the PRT ENE is officially concerned, Atropos had nothing to do with Stalker's death."
"You've got to be shitting me." Wilkins gripped the desk and leaned forward, so that her face was enlarged in the camera view. It wasn't a flattering look for her. "Atropos just handed herself to you on a silver platter. Can't you see that?"
Emily could indeed see what she was referring to. It was in no way a smart move. "Don't go there," she cautioned her fellow Director. "That way cannot end well." She flicked a glance at Costa-Brown, who was sitting there impassively as they went head-to-head. She wants to see how this turns out.
Wilkins shook her head. "Jesus Christ, Piggot. I thought you were tougher and smarter than this. If Atropos and Stalker went to the same school, all you have to do is cross-reference the complaints to see who put in the most, then we have our suspect. Then we put pressure on the friends and family, and she falls straight into line. From loose cannon to valuable asset under our control, in one easy step." She peered at her screen as she began to type. "Okay, what do we have here?"
"Wilkins!" shouted Emily. "This is a very bad idea! She's given us a pass so long as we don't attack her! This is an attack! I'm warning you, back the fuck off!"
"Oh, please." Wilkins snorted derisively. "This is a high-end encrypted conference call. I don't give a damn how good her Combat Thinker rating is. How's she going to even find out it happened?" She kept typing. "Huh. Okay. This shouldn't be too hard to narrow down. Emily, seriously, you should be thanking me for doing your job."
And then, with a suddenness that froze the blood in Emily's veins, Atropos walked into view behind Wilkins. Those damned shears were in her hand, twirling gently as she approached the New York PRT Director from behind.
Armstrong sat up straight, his eyes widening. Even Costa-Brown showed signs of alarm. "Wilkins …" Armstrong managed. "Behind you …"
Wilkins glanced upward and to her right—checking her inset image—then she sneered. "Ah, yes. You told us about her hacking skills. Good trick, but I happen to be in New York, not Brockton Bay. Also, my office door has a secure code lock on it. She's no doubt piggybacked on the hack she's already got connected into your local building security. But if I look around, she wins because she made me think she was there."
"Wilkins …" Costa-Brown spoke carefully. "Don't make any sudden moves. I've taken training in spotting illusions and deepfakes. That's not a video insertion. She's there."
"With all due respect, Chief Director," Wilkins said. "Atropos may have the rest of you bluffed with her bogeyman bullshit, but there's no way she could actually be here. I'm not afraid of pixels on a screen."
Atropos, who had paused during the discussion, suddenly moved. Her arm snaked around Wilkins' head, hand cupped under her chin, and pulled back. At the same time, the gleaming steel blade of the bodice shears ended up poised over Wilkins' left eye, the point so close it was brushing her eyelid each time she blinked. Emily judged that if those blades were as sharp as she suspected, it would take very little effort to drive them through into Wilkins' brain.
"How about now?" asked Atropos, her tone almost conversational. "Afraid now?"
Wilkins' hands froze as the steel touched her fluttering eyelashes. She made a whimpering sound between her lips, but nothing more.
"Thought as much," Atropos observed. "Everyone, keep your hands in plain view, please. If Director Wilkins chooses to be smart, she gets to live. Do we all understand this?"
"Atropos," Armstrong began, his tone hesitant as though he wasn't totally sure this was happening. "This is a direction you don't want to go in. Murdering a PRT Director? You can't undo this."
Atropos shook her head. "Now see, I've got a different view of things. I give warnings. If people ignore the warning, they die. Director Piggot—hi, Director, big fan of your work—was kind enough to give her my first warning. This blade at her eye? My second warning. She doesn't get a third warning."
"What Director Armstrong is trying to say, Atropos," Costa-Brown said smoothly, "is that we'll have no choice but to come after you with everything we've got if you go through with this. Now I understand Wilkins' actions were a threat to you—"
Atropos shook her head, and Costa-Brown stopped speaking. "No, Chief Director," Atropos stated. "Director Wilkins couldn't threaten me personally on her best day. Neither could the rest of you, individually or all at once. But if she finds out my real name and one of your inevitable fucking leaks puts it out there, and someone goes after my family or friends, then there will absolutely be blood in the streets, and it won't end until she's dead. So, I'm cutting all that off at the pass, so to speak. Right here, right now. She gets the chance to not do it. To never do it."
"And if she changes her mind in the future?" asked Armstrong.
"I'll know, and I'll be there." Atropos' statement was both blunt and chilling. "Director Piggot there, she's smart. She made this decision days ago, and I didn't even have to help her. Good to see you, by the way, Director, Deputy Director, Armsmaster. How's that corruption and incompetence thing going?"
Emily wasn't quite sure how events had taken a hard left into casual small talk, but she nodded toward Renick; he knew more of the details than she did about that.
He caught the cue and cleared his throat. "We, uh, we caught two more of our people who were on the take. And we've instigated a department-wide audit on operational practices. Six people have quit, but we're getting results."
"Nice," Atropos said approvingly. "Oh, and just so you know, one of Heartbreaker's kids is in town, but I'll be dealing with that tomorrow."
"Heartbreaker?" Armsmaster spoke up. "Is he coming here?"
"Eventually." Atropos' tone evinced no particular concern. "When he does, he'll be leaving in a body bag. He's already been warned."
"Atropos." Costa-Brown spoke firmly. "As fascinating as this is, you still have a blade to my subordinate's eye."
"Yeah, I know. I've been giving her time to think about it. Unfortunately, she's still convinced that she can lie to me and then start her research again once I've left." Atropos shrugged without moving her hands, which would've been impressive in someone else. "You know what happens if she does that. What would you have me do?"
Costa-Brown paused for a long moment. When she spoke, her words could've been carved from granite. "Director Wilkins. You will cease and desist all attempts at learning Atropos' identity. That is a direct order, witnessed by Directors Piggot and Armstrong. Failure to obey this lawful order will result in formal charges under PRTCJ Articles ninety and ninety-two, for which I will insist on the death penalty. Do you understand?"
Silence fell across the video link. Atropos loosened her hold on Wilkins and moved the blade a few inches away from her face. Cautiously, Wilkins swallowed, then nodded. "Yes, Chief Director. I understand, and I will comply with your order."
"Excellent." Atropos released Wilkins and stepped back. The shears remained in view, idly twirling around one finger; a subtle reminder. "Much appreciated, Chief Director. Glad we could see eye to eye on this. Toodles." She stepped out of view; a moment later, Emily heard the sound of a closing door.
Wilkins' hand dived under the desk and Emily knew she was yanking the duress alarm (it was more a toggle than a button) as hard as she could. "Atropos is in the building!" she shouted. "Lock down the corridor outside my office! Lock down everything! She just threatened my life! I want her arrested and charged now!"
"Don't bother," Armsmaster observed, at about the same time that Emily had the same thought. "I had a look at the programming when she hacked the PRT building here. Even if your duress alarm went out, which it probably didn't, she's probably invisible to the security cameras, or they're reading her as someone else. Right now she'll be strolling through your security like it wasn't even there."
"I concur," agreed Renick. "She has a talent for making computers see and do exactly what she wants them to, and for dodging past people like it was an Olympic event."
Costa-Brown cleared her throat. "Director Wilkins, I meant what I said earlier. Wipe that query off your system. I don't want any hint of it getting out. And get off my screen before I really get angry with you."
"Y-yes, Chief Director." Wilkins' expression was that of someone whose dreams of glory have crashed and burned. "Right away, ma'am." She jabbed at something on the keyboard in front of her, and her section of the screen went dark.
"Uh …" Armstrong half-raised one hand. "Death penalty? I mean, I know you had to convince Atropos you were serious, but …"
"She's stated outright that she can, and intends to, kill the Endbringers." Costa-Brown raised her eyebrows. "After that little performance, I'm more inclined than ever to believe her. In which case, her happiness and well-being are far more important than those of an eminently replaceable PRT Director."
"Ah."
"Which reminds me. Armsmaster." Costa-Brown smoothly switched her attention. "You have a reputation for being a formidable melee combatant. Do you believe you could take her?"
Armsmaster barely hesitated. "No, ma'am. I don't believe so."
"You believe she is that good in pure hand to hand? I've looked at the footage of her fighting the Nine, and my analysis of her speed and strength are that she's good for her age and body type, but not superhuman."
"I still don't think so." It was clear to Emily that confessing someone else was clearly his superior was painful to him, but he was pushing through it anyway. "I've been working on a combat prediction algorithm. Earlier this afternoon, I ran the footage of her killing the Nine past it. It told me the footage was impossible, and that it couldn't work out counters to half her moves."
"I see. Well, Emily, despite her decision to not come into the PRT, you seem to have formed a rapport of sorts with her. Whatever you're doing, keep it up."
Emily forced herself to nod. However she'd expected the meeting to go, she hadn't expected this. "Yes, ma'am."
"Good. We'll revisit this after the next Endbringer attack. This meeting is concluded."
The screen went dark, and Emily sagged back in her chair. Renick paused in shutting down his laptop, and turned to her. "Ma'am, how did …" He trailed off.
"How did she know to be there?" That question had been on her mind as well. "I'm just going to assume from here on out that if there's something she wants to know, she knows it. Armsmaster?"
He nodded. "I concur. Everything I've seen about her indicates the same thing. Even the Slaughterhouse Nine takedown could've been choreographed from how smoothly she went through it. She knew exactly where every single one of them was and how they'd react before they ever showed themselves." A tinge of frustration showed in his voice. "I've been working on that algorithm for months, and she can do everything it can, only better. It's irritating."
This was a new side to him. Emily found it oddly humanising. "Well, don't let it get you down. Atropos may be taking care of the highlights, but there's still normal crime to deal with. And with the pressure taken off, we might actually be able to make headway now."
"Ma'am." He nodded again, sounding happier.
Emily heaved herself to her feet. "Well, now we've dealt with that particular issue, I'm clocking out for the day. Renick, you have the helm."
"Yes, ma'am."
Danny
The car door opened and he looked around as Taylor got in. Carrying the hat and mask and long-coat bundled up under her arm, she appeared to be a slightly better dressed teenager out on the streets of Manhattan. "How'd it go?" he asked.
"She saw reason in the end," Taylor said. She held up the shears speculatively. "You know, I think I might call these 'Reason'. It works on so many levels."
Danny shook his head as he started the car. "Is this another one of your horrible puns? I swear, I never made that many."
"No, but the ones you made were worse." Taylor grinned. "Thanks for this, by the way. I appreciate it."
"Hey." He offered her a half-smile before putting his attention back on the road. "What sort of a dad would I be if I didn't support you in what you want to do?"
Leaning over, she rested her head on his shoulder for a moment. "Aww, I love you too."
It would be a long drive back to Brockton Bay, but he figured it was worth it for moments like this.
Dragon
"… and then she handed you over to me. That was about nine hours ago." Dragon paused, focusing sensors on the girl reclining in the seat of the mech she was currently controlling. She'd gotten rid of the Alice dress and given Riley a proper bath, then fitted her out with basic clothing. "How do you feel?"
"A little hungry, I guess." Riley looked at her hands, front and back, then touched her hair. "That's kind of weird."
"It's perfectly understandable to be suffering from a little body dysmorphia," Dragon hastened to say. "I'll be here to help you through it if you want."
"Well, no." Riley shook her head. "That's not the weird part. I know what body dysmorphia is, and I'm not suffering from it. I mean, I know I was born white, and now I'm not, and it feels perfectly normal to me. That's the weird bit. I should be, but I'm not."
"Ah." Dragon felt a little out of her depth. Whoever Atropos had gotten to do the change job, they were good. However, this was another tick in the box against it being Panacea, because she could never do brains. "Any other mental effects I should know about?"
"Just the feeling that my body's spent the last six years being piloted by a stranger." Riley's voice was pensive. "That person's gone but I can still see her footprints all over my life, as a puppet for Jack Slash's twisted ideas. Well, screw him, and screw Bonesaw. I'm not that person, and I never will be again."
"What about your family?" Dragon knew she was likely prodding sore points, but this had to be brought up at some point.
"Which one do you mean?" At least she wasn't dodging away from the topic. "The one I was born to, or the one Atropos lined up for me?"
"Either one. Both." Dragon waited for Riley's response.
The girl took a deep breath and let it out again as a slow sigh. "Mom and Dad and Drew and Muffles are dead. I know it, and I know I could never have stopped it. The Nine kept me running around and around until I fell over from exhaustion. I think when I accepted they were going to die, that's when I broke. That's when I started being what Jack Slash wanted me to be."
"They stacked the deck from the beginning," Dragon agreed. "You couldn't win. Would you like to go visit their graves sometime? I'm sure we could manage it."
Riley shook her head pensively. "Later maybe, but not right now. It's still too fresh for me. I think I still need to do some grieving." With a visible effort, she changed the subject. "What about my other family, the Laborns? Why are they even taking me in? I mean, do they know who I was?"
"They do, but Atropos can be very persuasive. Also, Aisha's a huge fan of hers, so that made it a lot easier." Dragon chuckled. "Brian's in the Wards too, of course. The PRT even thinks it's their idea to place you with him and Aisha."
Riley blinked. "And that answers a few more of the questions I had. I've just got one left."
"Let me guess. 'Why is Atropos even doing this?'"
"Got it in one."
The entire mech shrugged. "Hon, I have no idea. But I've found it's smart not to second-guess her."
Riley chuckled. "Yeah, I got that impression." She paused for a moment. 'Can I … can I watch the takedown again? I vaguely remember the Nine, and what they did to people, and it makes me feel better to see them die."
"Can't argue with that."
PRT Housing, Brockton Bay
Aisha
When her phone pinged with a message, Aisha ignored it at first in favour of the TV show she was watching. But then it pinged again, and she grunted with annoyance as she dug around for it. "Stupid piece of junk," she muttered before reading the messages.
Hi to my favorite fan.
How's the tiara? - A
A smile blossomed over her face as she utterly ignored the TV and tapped out a reply.
The tiara is amazeballs. You rock. The look on GG's face was funny as fuck.
Atropos' reply came quickly. Coolness. I'd like to do a speaker call with you and Brian. You down for that?
Well duh she was down for that. "Bri! Get your lazy ass in here!"
His voice emanated from the living room. "Why, exactly?"
"Because Atropos is about to call, and she wants you and me on speaker."
"What?" From the sound of it, he'd just launched himself over the back of the couch. "Why's she calling us?"
"Because she wants to talk to us, duh." As far as Aisha was concerned, that was the only reason she needed. As Brian hurried into the bedroom, she typed in, Sure. It'll be great to talk to you again.
Less than one second after she hit Send, the phone rang. She swiped to answer it, then put the phone on speaker. "Heyyyy! How is the baddest cape in the Bay? Holy shit, what you did to the Nine was seriously messed up, but in a good way!"
"Hi, Aisha." Atropos chuckled. "I'm glad you approve. How are you and Brian doing? All good there?"
"Oh, we're okay." Aisha thought about that for a moment, then decided to correct herself. "Actually, better than okay. This place they got us staying in is pretty damn comfortable, and nothing smells of piss, and I don't get my dad on my case twenty-four-seven, so that's always a bonus. I mean, Brian's still here, but there isn't much I can do about that."
"Now, be nice," Atropos said, but she heard the chuckle in the other girl's voice. "If it wasn't for him being a Ward, you wouldn't be there. Anyway, I'm calling about something that's going to happen soon. Tomorrow morning, you're going to be contacted by your supervisor in the PRT and told that your father had a distant cousin who recently died in a car accident along with his wife. They're survived by their ten-year-old daughter Riley, who triggered with powers trying to save them. And it turns out you're the next of kin."
"Wait," said Brian, on the ball for once. "I'm pretty sure I never heard of Dad having any cousins, close or distant."
"And yet, he has one now." Atropos seemed to be drawing this out. "And so do you."
"Wait, wait." Aisha got it all of a sudden. "If Riley's got powers and we're the next of kin … does that mean they'll be putting her with us?"
"That's what they'll be asking you if you're okay with," Atropos confirmed. "Brian's got powers, she's got powers, she'll need a female relative who she can relate to … as far as they're concerned, it'll be perfectly obvious."
"But there's clearly more to it than that, if you're calling ahead to tell us about it." Brian tilted his head, looking pensive. "If she's not really our cousin, what's actually going on?"
"What's actually going on is that when I killed off the Nine, I knocked out Bonesaw instead of killing her, then took her to an expert on the matter. She's since been stripped of all her lethal toys, de-aged a couple of years, and had the entire Bonesaw persona taken away from her. What's left is the frightened kid who was abducted by Jack Slash, six years ago. I really think she deserves a second chance."
"Whoa, wait a second." Brian held up his hands in the classic 'time out' pose. "I'm all for helping out, but I think it'll look a bit weird if we took in a slightly younger Bonesaw clone."
The phone pinged as a message arrived. "I thought you'd say that. Here's a picture of what she looks like now."
Aisha frowned and opened the message. The picture was of an unconscious girl wearing Bonesaw's bloodstained Alice dress … but this girl was black. "What the fuck?"
"Like I said, I took her to an expert in the field. She doesn't look like Bonesaw or think like her, and she certainly won't act like her. And I personally think you two are the best chance she's got of growing up to be a hero. Also, the PRT will be giving you a stipend for her expenses. So, what do you say?"
Aisha was staring at the girl's face. Even in repose, there was a hint of pain there, and her heart went out to the poor kid. "So, she'll be like my little sister or something?"
"That's the idea, yeah."
Another question occurred to her. "Who else knows that she's not our cousin?"
"You, me, her. A couple of others, but nobody in the PRT or Protectorate. Best to keep it that way, yeah?"
That was when Brian decided to be a boring adult. "Can I have half an hour to think it over?"
"Absolutely. Take all the time you need." The call ended.
"Think it over?" Aisha glared at him. "What thinking do you need to do? That poor kid needs us!"
"Now, wait a minute." Brian shook his head. "We're going to have to talk this over—"
Aisha wasn't letting that fly. "Nope. We're taking her in."
"But you're not considering all the ramifications—"
"Little. Sister."
"Aisha, think about this logically—"
"Imma braid her hair. And teach her how to braid mine."
"I understand you're kind of lonely—"
"I swear, if you turn this down, I will make your life a living hell."
"You already do."
She grinned evilly. "Yeah, but now I'll have a reason to."
Half an Hour Later
Thirty-odd more miles had passed under the car's humming wheels when Brian rang me back. "Hello? Atropos?"
"Speaking," I answered.
He sighed. "After much thinking, and not a little badgering, we've decided that yes, we'll take her in."
In the background, I was almost certain I could hear Aisha doing a victory dance. "Fuckin' A!"
Aisha
"Excellent." Atropos didn't sound even slightly surprised. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."
Brian nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "You're welcome." The call ended a second later, and he turned to Aisha. "I hope we don't end up regretting this."
She rolled her eyes. "You know who ends up regretting shit around my girl Atropos? The morons who don't do what she says."
Reluctantly, he nodded. "Good point. Now, get some sleep. You've got school in the morning, remember?"
"Oh, shit." Frantically, she cast around for an excuse not to go there, even if it was a class set up to compensate for her short attention span. "Can't go. I'll be, uh, helping Riley settle in and stuff."
He grinned at her with that special nice-try shit-eating grin he was so good at. "Nope. You'll be going to school." He headed out of the room, then leaned back in through the doorway. "Bed. Now."
"Fine." Aisha collected her pyjamas and went to have a quick shower and brush her teeth before going to bed. But as she went, she danced on her toes. I'm gonna have a little sister …
Atropos, she decided, was awesome.
End of Part Twenty-Three
Part Twenty-Three: Bad Decisions, Good Decisions
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Sunday Afternoon, January 9, 2011
Next to Westlake Park
Taylor
As Dad braked the car briefly, I pulled the door open, slid in, and removed my hat and mask almost in one motion. We moved off again, and I fastened my seatbelt then put my glasses on. "Well, that's done," I said with some satisfaction.
"Good to hear," Dad said. "I saw Dragon's suit flying away. I'm guessing she's taken Riley away to finish up that part of the plan?"
"Yup. But there's a new problem. And it's going to be in New York. You up for a road trip?"
"So long as you're okay with getting back here around midnight," he said at once. "Is one of the gangs in New York prepping something big?"
"Not immediately, but give them time." I leaned back in my seat, pulled out my phone, and started typing into a text box. I wasn't quite sure what the programming language was called, just that it did really fun things to the PRT's computer systems. As far as I was concerned, invisibility was more a case of preparation than powers. "This thing we're going there for, it needs to be nipped in the bud tonight."
"That's concerning." As he spoke, he concentrated on his driving, taking a series of turns designed to get us on the highway south. "Are you going to be killing someone?"
"Not if she's smart."
<><>
Five Hours Later
Conference Room A, PRT ENE Building
Director Piggot
Despite knowing that she was firmly in the right when it came to the PRT's protocols toward Atropos, Emily felt as though she'd been singled out for inquisition by her peers and superior. The wallscreen was showing a split image, with Rebecca Costa-Brown in the middle, with Director Wilkins of New York and Director Armstrong of Boston to her left and right.
For the occasion, Emily had Armsmaster and Renick flanking her, visible in the tiny inset window in the top corner of the screen. Her deputy had a laptop open in front of him so that he could perform any checks she needed done. Armsmaster, of course, had an HUD in his visor that could do the same.
"Good evening, Chief Director, Director Wilkins, Director Armstrong," she said smoothly. "What would you like to know first?"
Interestingly enough, it wasn't Costa-Brown who spoke first, but Wilkins. "I think I speak for all of us when I ask exactly what is going on in Brockton Bay?"
Wilkins wasn't her superior officer, so Emily turned her attention to Costa-Brown. "Before I throw this open to the floor, did the Chief Director have a question for me?"
The expression on Costa-Brown's face was barely a smile. "To be honest, I was curious about the current situation there as well."
Emily nodded to acknowledge the question. "Right now, we're bagging and tagging the remains of the Slaughterhouse Nine. And let me tell you, Crawler needs a lot of bags." They were actually using a shipping container to store the monstrous cape's remains, but she thought a little humour might serve to lighten the mood. "Apart from that, we really don't have any other parahuman issues to deal with at the moment. The local criminal capes are either keeping their heads down, leaving town, or both."
Armstrong raised his eyebrows, miming surprise. "So, you aren't counting this Atropos among the number of your local criminal capes? Have you already arrested or recruited her?"
She knew damn well he was aware this was not the case. "Neither," she said flatly. "She's too dangerous to even attempt the former with, and she has rebuffed repeated suggestions to come in and speak with us. However, she has initiated ad hoc teamwork with our newest Ward—he was in a strictly undercover role, though she saw through that in less than a minute—and with Dragon, achieving her goals both times with terrifying ease."
"And you're okay with this?" Wilkins' tone was a little stronger than before. Emily felt that she could rapidly become tired of the woman's voice. "She's not just a murderer, she's a serial killer! Parahumans like her are the very reason the PRT exists!"
"Director Wilkins, you need to moderate your tone," warned Costa-Brown. "This is neither an interrogation nor a court-martial."
Emily allowed herself a tiny smile. "No, it's okay, ma'am. Director Wilkins has evidently forgotten that parahumans like Jack Slash are the reason the PRT exists. If villains of that stripe weren't out and about, dragging society down, then we wouldn't be needed. And neither would someone like Atropos."
Costa-Brown raised her head slightly. "This almost sounds like you're condoning her actions. Is this the case?" she asked, her voice non-judgemental … for now.
"Not condoning, no," Emily said. "And I wouldn't tell my troopers or our heroes to go the route she does. But … she gets results. I can't ignore that. Our crime figures right now are literally the lowest they've been since I took up this position. Between that, and the fact that anyone she took seriously in a fight would die, right now the smart move is to stand back and mop up the pieces."
"She's murdered five capes who never had a kill order against them." Wilkins looked like she wanted to shout, but wasn't quite prepared for the consequences. "That's so far against our directives, it's ridiculous. You need to be bringing her down immediately!"
"At least six capes and two dozen unpowered people, actually." Emily didn't let herself show the satisfaction she felt in correcting Wilkins. "Most of whom she gave clear warnings to, or who were aggressing on her, before she initiated hostilities. Plus, the Slaughterhouse Nine. You did watch the unedited version of that, didn't you? All the way through?"
For the first time, Wilkins looked on the back foot. "I skimmed it, just to make sure they were dead. Why?"
Emily allowed the steel to come into her tone. "Watch it, carefully. She went into that fight with a pair of shears, a pistol, a ball of string, an M67 frag grenade and a fire extinguisher. Forty-two minutes later, every member of the Slaughterhouse Nine was dead. They never stood a chance. I'm not sending my men up against that."
Armstrong cleared his throat. "There was the issue of Dragon's assistance …" he mentioned diffidently.
Emily rolled her eyes. She'd studied the footage. "Dragon's presence just made it easier. Without her, the grenade would've taken care of Crawler, a single shot through the side of the van would've disposed of Manton, and Atropos could've disarmed Slash without needing to shoot the knife out of his hand. The way she did it, she was deliberately showing off. And the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced she specifically chose this method to further dissuade the PRT from getting in her way."
"Nobody's above the law," insisted Wilkins. "She needs to be brought to heel. Right now, she's making you all look like idiots. Making us look like idiots."
"Wait, who's the sixth cape?" interjected Armstrong. "I'd only heard about five. Oni Lee, Coil, Kaiser, Lung and Skidmark." He winced as he said the last name; evidently, he'd watched the footage of that one. It left bruising on the psyche.
Emily took a deep breath. This was going to be tricky. "Our probationary Ward, Shadow Stalker. Violent vigilante before she was drafted. Reportedly a bully. She was going far off the rails, threatening either Atropos or someone she cares about. Atropos said she warned Stalker twice. Then she killed her. This happened in the school, out of costume. Exactly four blows landed, all on Stalker. Two of these would've killed her in relatively short order, but Atropos finished her off with a kick to the chest that stopped her heart."
Costa-Brown showed no reaction, which wasn't surprising. The report of Atropos admitting to the murder had undoubtedly landed on her desk at some point. However, the other two clearly hadn't been kept in the loop.
"She killed a Ward? Out of costume?" Armstrong was astonished. "Why are we only just now hearing about this?"
"Because as a Ward, she was a potential embarrassment, if not an outright liability," Emily said, trying not to grit her teeth. She'd been through Blackwell's file on Stalker, and the number of complaints that had gone absolutely nowhere, or resulted in a minor slap on the wrist, had been horribly illuminating. The little shit must've thought she was bulletproof. "Right now, the public's view of Atropos is leaning very strongly toward 'if she killed someone, they deserved it', which is a not inaccurate reputation, all told. So, if they find out that she killed a Ward, the first thing they're going to ask is why that Ward pissed Atropos off. And as all the evidence points toward Stalker actually provoking her own murder, I'm strongly disinclined to let the public—and the media—in on it. So, as far as the PRT ENE is officially concerned, Atropos had nothing to do with Stalker's death."
"You've got to be shitting me." Wilkins gripped the desk and leaned forward, so that her face was enlarged in the camera view. It wasn't a flattering look for her. "Atropos just handed herself to you on a silver platter. Can't you see that?"
Emily could indeed see what she was referring to. It was in no way a smart move. "Don't go there," she cautioned her fellow Director. "That way cannot end well." She flicked a glance at Costa-Brown, who was sitting there impassively as they went head-to-head. She wants to see how this turns out.
Wilkins shook her head. "Jesus Christ, Piggot. I thought you were tougher and smarter than this. If Atropos and Stalker went to the same school, all you have to do is cross-reference the complaints to see who put in the most, then we have our suspect. Then we put pressure on the friends and family, and she falls straight into line. From loose cannon to valuable asset under our control, in one easy step." She peered at her screen as she began to type. "Okay, what do we have here?"
"Wilkins!" shouted Emily. "This is a very bad idea! She's given us a pass so long as we don't attack her! This is an attack! I'm warning you, back the fuck off!"
"Oh, please." Wilkins snorted derisively. "This is a high-end encrypted conference call. I don't give a damn how good her Combat Thinker rating is. How's she going to even find out it happened?" She kept typing. "Huh. Okay. This shouldn't be too hard to narrow down. Emily, seriously, you should be thanking me for doing your job."
And then, with a suddenness that froze the blood in Emily's veins, Atropos walked into view behind Wilkins. Those damned shears were in her hand, twirling gently as she approached the New York PRT Director from behind.
Armstrong sat up straight, his eyes widening. Even Costa-Brown showed signs of alarm. "Wilkins …" Armstrong managed. "Behind you …"
Wilkins glanced upward and to her right—checking her inset image—then she sneered. "Ah, yes. You told us about her hacking skills. Good trick, but I happen to be in New York, not Brockton Bay. Also, my office door has a secure code lock on it. She's no doubt piggybacked on the hack she's already got connected into your local building security. But if I look around, she wins because she made me think she was there."
"Wilkins …" Costa-Brown spoke carefully. "Don't make any sudden moves. I've taken training in spotting illusions and deepfakes. That's not a video insertion. She's there."
"With all due respect, Chief Director," Wilkins said. "Atropos may have the rest of you bluffed with her bogeyman bullshit, but there's no way she could actually be here. I'm not afraid of pixels on a screen."
Atropos, who had paused during the discussion, suddenly moved. Her arm snaked around Wilkins' head, hand cupped under her chin, and pulled back. At the same time, the gleaming steel blade of the bodice shears ended up poised over Wilkins' left eye, the point so close it was brushing her eyelid each time she blinked. Emily judged that if those blades were as sharp as she suspected, it would take very little effort to drive them through into Wilkins' brain.
"How about now?" asked Atropos, her tone almost conversational. "Afraid now?"
Wilkins' hands froze as the steel touched her fluttering eyelashes. She made a whimpering sound between her lips, but nothing more.
"Thought as much," Atropos observed. "Everyone, keep your hands in plain view, please. If Director Wilkins chooses to be smart, she gets to live. Do we all understand this?"
"Atropos," Armstrong began, his tone hesitant as though he wasn't totally sure this was happening. "This is a direction you don't want to go in. Murdering a PRT Director? You can't undo this."
Atropos shook her head. "Now see, I've got a different view of things. I give warnings. If people ignore the warning, they die. Director Piggot—hi, Director, big fan of your work—was kind enough to give her my first warning. This blade at her eye? My second warning. She doesn't get a third warning."
"What Director Armstrong is trying to say, Atropos," Costa-Brown said smoothly, "is that we'll have no choice but to come after you with everything we've got if you go through with this. Now I understand Wilkins' actions were a threat to you—"
Atropos shook her head, and Costa-Brown stopped speaking. "No, Chief Director," Atropos stated. "Director Wilkins couldn't threaten me personally on her best day. Neither could the rest of you, individually or all at once. But if she finds out my real name and one of your inevitable fucking leaks puts it out there, and someone goes after my family or friends, then there will absolutely be blood in the streets, and it won't end until she's dead. So, I'm cutting all that off at the pass, so to speak. Right here, right now. She gets the chance to not do it. To never do it."
"And if she changes her mind in the future?" asked Armstrong.
"I'll know, and I'll be there." Atropos' statement was both blunt and chilling. "Director Piggot there, she's smart. She made this decision days ago, and I didn't even have to help her. Good to see you, by the way, Director, Deputy Director, Armsmaster. How's that corruption and incompetence thing going?"
Emily wasn't quite sure how events had taken a hard left into casual small talk, but she nodded toward Renick; he knew more of the details than she did about that.
He caught the cue and cleared his throat. "We, uh, we caught two more of our people who were on the take. And we've instigated a department-wide audit on operational practices. Six people have quit, but we're getting results."
"Nice," Atropos said approvingly. "Oh, and just so you know, one of Heartbreaker's kids is in town, but I'll be dealing with that tomorrow."
"Heartbreaker?" Armsmaster spoke up. "Is he coming here?"
"Eventually." Atropos' tone evinced no particular concern. "When he does, he'll be leaving in a body bag. He's already been warned."
"Atropos." Costa-Brown spoke firmly. "As fascinating as this is, you still have a blade to my subordinate's eye."
"Yeah, I know. I've been giving her time to think about it. Unfortunately, she's still convinced that she can lie to me and then start her research again once I've left." Atropos shrugged without moving her hands, which would've been impressive in someone else. "You know what happens if she does that. What would you have me do?"
Costa-Brown paused for a long moment. When she spoke, her words could've been carved from granite. "Director Wilkins. You will cease and desist all attempts at learning Atropos' identity. That is a direct order, witnessed by Directors Piggot and Armstrong. Failure to obey this lawful order will result in formal charges under PRTCJ Articles ninety and ninety-two, for which I will insist on the death penalty. Do you understand?"
Silence fell across the video link. Atropos loosened her hold on Wilkins and moved the blade a few inches away from her face. Cautiously, Wilkins swallowed, then nodded. "Yes, Chief Director. I understand, and I will comply with your order."
"Excellent." Atropos released Wilkins and stepped back. The shears remained in view, idly twirling around one finger; a subtle reminder. "Much appreciated, Chief Director. Glad we could see eye to eye on this. Toodles." She stepped out of view; a moment later, Emily heard the sound of a closing door.
Wilkins' hand dived under the desk and Emily knew she was yanking the duress alarm (it was more a toggle than a button) as hard as she could. "Atropos is in the building!" she shouted. "Lock down the corridor outside my office! Lock down everything! She just threatened my life! I want her arrested and charged now!"
"Don't bother," Armsmaster observed, at about the same time that Emily had the same thought. "I had a look at the programming when she hacked the PRT building here. Even if your duress alarm went out, which it probably didn't, she's probably invisible to the security cameras, or they're reading her as someone else. Right now she'll be strolling through your security like it wasn't even there."
"I concur," agreed Renick. "She has a talent for making computers see and do exactly what she wants them to, and for dodging past people like it was an Olympic event."
Costa-Brown cleared her throat. "Director Wilkins, I meant what I said earlier. Wipe that query off your system. I don't want any hint of it getting out. And get off my screen before I really get angry with you."
"Y-yes, Chief Director." Wilkins' expression was that of someone whose dreams of glory have crashed and burned. "Right away, ma'am." She jabbed at something on the keyboard in front of her, and her section of the screen went dark.
"Uh …" Armstrong half-raised one hand. "Death penalty? I mean, I know you had to convince Atropos you were serious, but …"
"She's stated outright that she can, and intends to, kill the Endbringers." Costa-Brown raised her eyebrows. "After that little performance, I'm more inclined than ever to believe her. In which case, her happiness and well-being are far more important than those of an eminently replaceable PRT Director."
"Ah."
"Which reminds me. Armsmaster." Costa-Brown smoothly switched her attention. "You have a reputation for being a formidable melee combatant. Do you believe you could take her?"
Armsmaster barely hesitated. "No, ma'am. I don't believe so."
"You believe she is that good in pure hand to hand? I've looked at the footage of her fighting the Nine, and my analysis of her speed and strength are that she's good for her age and body type, but not superhuman."
"I still don't think so." It was clear to Emily that confessing someone else was clearly his superior was painful to him, but he was pushing through it anyway. "I've been working on a combat prediction algorithm. Earlier this afternoon, I ran the footage of her killing the Nine past it. It told me the footage was impossible, and that it couldn't work out counters to half her moves."
"I see. Well, Emily, despite her decision to not come into the PRT, you seem to have formed a rapport of sorts with her. Whatever you're doing, keep it up."
Emily forced herself to nod. However she'd expected the meeting to go, she hadn't expected this. "Yes, ma'am."
"Good. We'll revisit this after the next Endbringer attack. This meeting is concluded."
The screen went dark, and Emily sagged back in her chair. Renick paused in shutting down his laptop, and turned to her. "Ma'am, how did …" He trailed off.
"How did she know to be there?" That question had been on her mind as well. "I'm just going to assume from here on out that if there's something she wants to know, she knows it. Armsmaster?"
He nodded. "I concur. Everything I've seen about her indicates the same thing. Even the Slaughterhouse Nine takedown could've been choreographed from how smoothly she went through it. She knew exactly where every single one of them was and how they'd react before they ever showed themselves." A tinge of frustration showed in his voice. "I've been working on that algorithm for months, and she can do everything it can, only better. It's irritating."
This was a new side to him. Emily found it oddly humanising. "Well, don't let it get you down. Atropos may be taking care of the highlights, but there's still normal crime to deal with. And with the pressure taken off, we might actually be able to make headway now."
"Ma'am." He nodded again, sounding happier.
Emily heaved herself to her feet. "Well, now we've dealt with that particular issue, I'm clocking out for the day. Renick, you have the helm."
"Yes, ma'am."
<><>
Danny
The car door opened and he looked around as Taylor got in. Carrying the hat and mask and long-coat bundled up under her arm, she appeared to be a slightly better dressed teenager out on the streets of Manhattan. "How'd it go?" he asked.
"She saw reason in the end," Taylor said. She held up the shears speculatively. "You know, I think I might call these 'Reason'. It works on so many levels."
Danny shook his head as he started the car. "Is this another one of your horrible puns? I swear, I never made that many."
"No, but the ones you made were worse." Taylor grinned. "Thanks for this, by the way. I appreciate it."
"Hey." He offered her a half-smile before putting his attention back on the road. "What sort of a dad would I be if I didn't support you in what you want to do?"
Leaning over, she rested her head on his shoulder for a moment. "Aww, I love you too."
It would be a long drive back to Brockton Bay, but he figured it was worth it for moments like this.
<><>
Dragon
"… and then she handed you over to me. That was about nine hours ago." Dragon paused, focusing sensors on the girl reclining in the seat of the mech she was currently controlling. She'd gotten rid of the Alice dress and given Riley a proper bath, then fitted her out with basic clothing. "How do you feel?"
"A little hungry, I guess." Riley looked at her hands, front and back, then touched her hair. "That's kind of weird."
"It's perfectly understandable to be suffering from a little body dysmorphia," Dragon hastened to say. "I'll be here to help you through it if you want."
"Well, no." Riley shook her head. "That's not the weird part. I know what body dysmorphia is, and I'm not suffering from it. I mean, I know I was born white, and now I'm not, and it feels perfectly normal to me. That's the weird bit. I should be, but I'm not."
"Ah." Dragon felt a little out of her depth. Whoever Atropos had gotten to do the change job, they were good. However, this was another tick in the box against it being Panacea, because she could never do brains. "Any other mental effects I should know about?"
"Just the feeling that my body's spent the last six years being piloted by a stranger." Riley's voice was pensive. "That person's gone but I can still see her footprints all over my life, as a puppet for Jack Slash's twisted ideas. Well, screw him, and screw Bonesaw. I'm not that person, and I never will be again."
"What about your family?" Dragon knew she was likely prodding sore points, but this had to be brought up at some point.
"Which one do you mean?" At least she wasn't dodging away from the topic. "The one I was born to, or the one Atropos lined up for me?"
"Either one. Both." Dragon waited for Riley's response.
The girl took a deep breath and let it out again as a slow sigh. "Mom and Dad and Drew and Muffles are dead. I know it, and I know I could never have stopped it. The Nine kept me running around and around until I fell over from exhaustion. I think when I accepted they were going to die, that's when I broke. That's when I started being what Jack Slash wanted me to be."
"They stacked the deck from the beginning," Dragon agreed. "You couldn't win. Would you like to go visit their graves sometime? I'm sure we could manage it."
Riley shook her head pensively. "Later maybe, but not right now. It's still too fresh for me. I think I still need to do some grieving." With a visible effort, she changed the subject. "What about my other family, the Laborns? Why are they even taking me in? I mean, do they know who I was?"
"They do, but Atropos can be very persuasive. Also, Aisha's a huge fan of hers, so that made it a lot easier." Dragon chuckled. "Brian's in the Wards too, of course. The PRT even thinks it's their idea to place you with him and Aisha."
Riley blinked. "And that answers a few more of the questions I had. I've just got one left."
"Let me guess. 'Why is Atropos even doing this?'"
"Got it in one."
The entire mech shrugged. "Hon, I have no idea. But I've found it's smart not to second-guess her."
Riley chuckled. "Yeah, I got that impression." She paused for a moment. 'Can I … can I watch the takedown again? I vaguely remember the Nine, and what they did to people, and it makes me feel better to see them die."
"Can't argue with that."
<><>
PRT Housing, Brockton Bay
Aisha
When her phone pinged with a message, Aisha ignored it at first in favour of the TV show she was watching. But then it pinged again, and she grunted with annoyance as she dug around for it. "Stupid piece of junk," she muttered before reading the messages.
Hi to my favorite fan.
How's the tiara? - A
A smile blossomed over her face as she utterly ignored the TV and tapped out a reply.
The tiara is amazeballs. You rock. The look on GG's face was funny as fuck.
Atropos' reply came quickly. Coolness. I'd like to do a speaker call with you and Brian. You down for that?
Well duh she was down for that. "Bri! Get your lazy ass in here!"
His voice emanated from the living room. "Why, exactly?"
"Because Atropos is about to call, and she wants you and me on speaker."
"What?" From the sound of it, he'd just launched himself over the back of the couch. "Why's she calling us?"
"Because she wants to talk to us, duh." As far as Aisha was concerned, that was the only reason she needed. As Brian hurried into the bedroom, she typed in, Sure. It'll be great to talk to you again.
Less than one second after she hit Send, the phone rang. She swiped to answer it, then put the phone on speaker. "Heyyyy! How is the baddest cape in the Bay? Holy shit, what you did to the Nine was seriously messed up, but in a good way!"
"Hi, Aisha." Atropos chuckled. "I'm glad you approve. How are you and Brian doing? All good there?"
"Oh, we're okay." Aisha thought about that for a moment, then decided to correct herself. "Actually, better than okay. This place they got us staying in is pretty damn comfortable, and nothing smells of piss, and I don't get my dad on my case twenty-four-seven, so that's always a bonus. I mean, Brian's still here, but there isn't much I can do about that."
"Now, be nice," Atropos said, but she heard the chuckle in the other girl's voice. "If it wasn't for him being a Ward, you wouldn't be there. Anyway, I'm calling about something that's going to happen soon. Tomorrow morning, you're going to be contacted by your supervisor in the PRT and told that your father had a distant cousin who recently died in a car accident along with his wife. They're survived by their ten-year-old daughter Riley, who triggered with powers trying to save them. And it turns out you're the next of kin."
"Wait," said Brian, on the ball for once. "I'm pretty sure I never heard of Dad having any cousins, close or distant."
"And yet, he has one now." Atropos seemed to be drawing this out. "And so do you."
"Wait, wait." Aisha got it all of a sudden. "If Riley's got powers and we're the next of kin … does that mean they'll be putting her with us?"
"That's what they'll be asking you if you're okay with," Atropos confirmed. "Brian's got powers, she's got powers, she'll need a female relative who she can relate to … as far as they're concerned, it'll be perfectly obvious."
"But there's clearly more to it than that, if you're calling ahead to tell us about it." Brian tilted his head, looking pensive. "If she's not really our cousin, what's actually going on?"
"What's actually going on is that when I killed off the Nine, I knocked out Bonesaw instead of killing her, then took her to an expert on the matter. She's since been stripped of all her lethal toys, de-aged a couple of years, and had the entire Bonesaw persona taken away from her. What's left is the frightened kid who was abducted by Jack Slash, six years ago. I really think she deserves a second chance."
"Whoa, wait a second." Brian held up his hands in the classic 'time out' pose. "I'm all for helping out, but I think it'll look a bit weird if we took in a slightly younger Bonesaw clone."
The phone pinged as a message arrived. "I thought you'd say that. Here's a picture of what she looks like now."
Aisha frowned and opened the message. The picture was of an unconscious girl wearing Bonesaw's bloodstained Alice dress … but this girl was black. "What the fuck?"
"Like I said, I took her to an expert in the field. She doesn't look like Bonesaw or think like her, and she certainly won't act like her. And I personally think you two are the best chance she's got of growing up to be a hero. Also, the PRT will be giving you a stipend for her expenses. So, what do you say?"
Aisha was staring at the girl's face. Even in repose, there was a hint of pain there, and her heart went out to the poor kid. "So, she'll be like my little sister or something?"
"That's the idea, yeah."
Another question occurred to her. "Who else knows that she's not our cousin?"
"You, me, her. A couple of others, but nobody in the PRT or Protectorate. Best to keep it that way, yeah?"
That was when Brian decided to be a boring adult. "Can I have half an hour to think it over?"
"Absolutely. Take all the time you need." The call ended.
"Think it over?" Aisha glared at him. "What thinking do you need to do? That poor kid needs us!"
"Now, wait a minute." Brian shook his head. "We're going to have to talk this over—"
Aisha wasn't letting that fly. "Nope. We're taking her in."
"But you're not considering all the ramifications—"
"Little. Sister."
"Aisha, think about this logically—"
"Imma braid her hair. And teach her how to braid mine."
"I understand you're kind of lonely—"
"I swear, if you turn this down, I will make your life a living hell."
"You already do."
She grinned evilly. "Yeah, but now I'll have a reason to."
<><>
Half an Hour Later
Thirty-odd more miles had passed under the car's humming wheels when Brian rang me back. "Hello? Atropos?"
"Speaking," I answered.
He sighed. "After much thinking, and not a little badgering, we've decided that yes, we'll take her in."
In the background, I was almost certain I could hear Aisha doing a victory dance. "Fuckin' A!"
<><>
Aisha
"Excellent." Atropos didn't sound even slightly surprised. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."
Brian nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "You're welcome." The call ended a second later, and he turned to Aisha. "I hope we don't end up regretting this."
She rolled her eyes. "You know who ends up regretting shit around my girl Atropos? The morons who don't do what she says."
Reluctantly, he nodded. "Good point. Now, get some sleep. You've got school in the morning, remember?"
"Oh, shit." Frantically, she cast around for an excuse not to go there, even if it was a class set up to compensate for her short attention span. "Can't go. I'll be, uh, helping Riley settle in and stuff."
He grinned at her with that special nice-try shit-eating grin he was so good at. "Nope. You'll be going to school." He headed out of the room, then leaned back in through the doorway. "Bed. Now."
"Fine." Aisha collected her pyjamas and went to have a quick shower and brush her teeth before going to bed. But as she went, she danced on her toes. I'm gonna have a little sister …
Atropos, she decided, was awesome.
End of Part Twenty-Three
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