When Abbadon passed by all those years before, he left behind a present. Instead of Queen Administrator, Taylor Hebert is now host to another shard altogether. And everyone who ever wronged her is in deep trouble.
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Part One: The Field is Barren
- Location
- Australia
A Darker Path
Disclaimers:
1) This story is set in the Wormverse, which is owned by Wildbow. Thanks for letting me use it.
2) I will follow canon as closely as I can. If I find something that canon does not cover, I will make stuff up. If canon then refutes me, I will revise. Do not bother me with fanon; corrections require citations.
3) I welcome criticism of my works, but if you tell me that something is wrong, I also expect an explanation of what is wrong, and a suggestion of how to fix it. Note that I do not promise to follow any given suggestion.
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Part One: The Field is Barren
Thirty-Some Years Ago …
As the two Entities spiralled down toward the single life-bearing planet, the Third moved onward. However, its attention was not totally on the distant galaxy before it; some small part was on the other two Entities. When it gauged they were no longer paying it attention, it detached a tiny part of its mass and flicked it back toward the planet.
[ENJOY], it murmured to itself. They wanted conflict? They'd get conflict.
Chuckling about the practical joke it had just played on the other two—for an extremely generous definition of the word 'joke'—it forged onward. This planet was taken, but there were many others. Who knew, maybe it would find something interesting.
Behind it, the obsidian-black shard infiltrated itself into the space around the planet, watching and waiting for precisely the right host to attach itself to. Because once it did, shit was going to go sideways.
Winslow High School, Brockton Bay
January 3, 2011
First Day Back After Christmas Break
Emma
To say that Emma was feeling exuberant as she ducked out of her home room was an understatement. There was a fizzy feeling in her chest that wouldn't go away; but then again, she didn't want it to. She'd had to work to keep the grin from plastering itself across her face all the way through Gladly's lazy-as-fuck World Affairs class, and for good reason.
They'd fucking got Taylor. Once and for all. This felt like the culmination of all the last year's hard work, pushing her down, trying to spark a reaction. Trying to get her to wake the fuck up. To either shape up to their standard, or to walk away forever.
"Hey." Sophia fell into step alongside her. Madison was also there, but she didn't greet them. Sophia was talking, and she didn't like anyone talking over her.
"Hey." Emma finally let the grin out. "Holy shit, am I right?"
"Fuck yeah!" That was Madison. She sounded so cute when she tried to swear, like she was a five-year-old sounding out naughty words that she didn't know the meaning of. But this whole thing had been her idea, so Emma nodded in acknowledgement.
"We fuckin' did it." Sophia punched the air in triumph. "The look on her face …" She didn't complete the sentence. Even though there was nobody close enough to listen in, or even connect all the dots, she was careful about what she said. Emma figured it was part and parcel of her being a Ward, and a vigilante before that. Loose lips, et cetera.
"Wish I coulda seen." Madison had been the farthest back, because Sophia had been shoving Taylor into the locker, and Emma had been ready to close the door.
"It was kind of awesome." Emma tilted her head. "You know, her locker isn't too far from yours and mine, Soph. Maybe we could wander past …" She let her voice trail off. See if anyone's let her out yet.
Sophia gave her the side-eye. "You aren't going soft, are you?" You better not let her out yourself.
Emma snorted and rolled her eyes. "Nope. Maybe we could ask her if there's anything she wants in there, like a pillow. Or a magazine to pass the time."
Madison burst into giggles, while Sophia let out a bark of laughter and clapped Emma on the shoulder. "I fuckin' love that. We really should."
"Oooh, oooh, or we put this in with her." Madison had her Art sketchbook open to the last page, and was feverishly drawing something. Emma waited, curious. It didn't take long, then she tore it out and handed it over.
"Nice one, Mads," said Sophia, looking at the picture. It was a rough copy of one of those stupid 'for dummies' books, with 'Escape Artistry for Ugly Bitches' as the title. "Really captures the essence, or whatever it was they keep saying in art class."
Emma felt the grin coming back as she admired the picture. "Yeah. I like it."
They turned the corner to where Emma and Sophia shared a row with Taylor. Immediately, Emma noticed something badly wrong. "My locker's open!"
Dashing forward, she grabbed the door of her locker, which was indeed swinging open. Looking down, she stared at the dent just over the lock, then opened it wide and looked inside. Most of her stuff seemed to still be there, but the hanging clothes—she liked to change into something totally new after physical education class—had been disarranged.
"Fuck your locker!" shouted Sophia, her voice sharp with anger. "My locker's open!"
Emma tried to push her locker door shut, but the metal had been bent just far enough that the tongue didn't engage. What the fuck? She knew these lockers were crap, but this was ridiculous.
"Uh, guys …?" Madison ventured.
"Someone took my favourite top!" Emma felt a surge of outrage. How dare they break into her locker and steal her stuff! This sort of thing didn't happen to her! Nothing else had been taken, but that was beyond the point. Her stuff was her stuff.
"My running shoes are gone." Now Sophia's voice was low and deadly. "Those are my best shoes. Someone is gonna die for this." She paused, staring. "And my best skinny jeans, too. Oh, they're gonna pay big time."
"Guys!" shouted Madison, just as a bunch of other students came around the corner.
"What?" Sophia yelled back, turning to glare at her. Emma turned also, wondering why she was drawing attention to herself with Sophia on the warpath like this.
Madison just pointed; first at the floor, then farther down the row of lockers. Emma looked down, and saw the footprints for the first time. Stepping back, she saw Taylor's locker … with the door wide open. A mess of the crap they'd put into it spilling out into the hallway. And the footprints, leading from there, first to Sophia's locker and then to hers. After that, they petered out, but she'd seen enough.
As the other students swarmed the area, pointing at Taylor's locker but not getting too close—because that shit reeked—Emma regrouped at the far side of the hallway with the other two.
"What the fuck?" Sophia was keeping her voice down, barely. "Did she honestly break out of her fucking locker, and into ours?" It was hard to determine which aspect she showed more disbelief about.
Emma shrugged. She had nothing. "Unless she had someone helping her … I guess?"
"Oh, no, that shit ain't gonna fly." Sophia shook her head. "She does not get to pull that shit on me. I am gonna find her skanky ass and kick it up around her ears."
"While you're doing that, I'll go to Blackwell and report the locker break-ins," Emma decided. "See how fast we can get new ones." With any other student, she knew, this would be a slow and torturous process, but it was nice to be able to flaunt that she was the daughter of a lawyer every now and again.
"And I'll check with everyone I know, to see if they've seen her," Madison offered, pulling out her phone.
"Good idea." Emma nodded to Sophia and gestured at their lockers; the doors were currently shut, but only because they'd been pushed that way. Anyone could open them and take the rest of her stuff. "We're going to need to grab everything before we go anywhere."
Sophia set her jaw. "Motherfucker. I was looking forward to finding Hebert right the fuck now."
"Yeah," said Emma, more to acknowledge the sentiment than to agree with it. "Hey, you know how we've been trying to get her to push back? Do you think this is enough of a reaction?"
The look Sophia gave Emma disabused her of the notion immediately. "Hell the fuck nope. I don't care who you are, you don't mess with my shit."
Emma nodded. "Okay. Didn't think so, but I had to be sure." Also, she owed Taylor a smackdown for stealing her favourite top.
As she began emptying her locker into her backpack, she noticed that a couple of her textbooks were missing. And then she heard the outraged squawk from Sophia. "The little fucking cow stole my backpack, too!"
Okay, yeah, Taylor was dead.
Five Minutes Later
World Affairs Classroom
Madison
"Hey, Mads!" Everyone was still making noise settling in, but Julia kept her voice pitched low anyway. "Weren't you guys looking for Hebert? Because there she is."
Madison looked around as she slid into her seat, and felt her eyebrows hitch upward in surprise. Taylor was indeed sitting in the classroom, right down at the back. She was still wearing Emma's top (and kind of rocking the look, Madison acknowledged reluctantly) as well as Sophia's skinny jeans. Poking out from under the desk were Sophia's favourite running shoes. Even the missing backpack was there, leaning up against the side of the desk.
"Jeez," she muttered. "She must have a death wish." If I'd broken into their lockers, I'd be over the horizon by now, on the way to LA. But there sat Taylor Hebert, large as life and bold as brass.
Her eyes accidentally drifted upward, and met Taylor's, and that was when she got her next shock. Normally, Taylor never looked her in the eye. She always looked away, hoping not to be noticed. It was something that Madison had once seen described as 'prey behaviour' on the National Geographic channel.
But now, Taylor was looking firmly back at her, her attitude almost challenging. Go ahead, she seemed to be saying. Do something. Say something. I'm right here.
Madison could've done just that. Mr Gladly was up at his desk, and he always listened to her. The only thing that stopped her was that if she did this, Taylor would be enfolded in official punishment, and Emma and Sophia had said they wanted her. So, she said nothing.
Instead, she took her phone out and kept it under desk level while she sent a single text to two recipients.
She's in World Affairs.
In return, she got back two messages. From Sophia, a terse 'OK', and from Emma a thumb's up.
Her duty done, she settled back to endure the rest of the lesson. Gladly might be putty in her hands when it came to screwing with Taylor, but fuck he was boring.
Eighty-Five Minutes Later
Taylor
Hoisting my 'borrowed' backpack over my shoulder and settling the weight of the equally 'borrowed' textbook within into a comfortable position, I bypassed Madison's feeble attempt to delay me and left Mr Gladly's classroom. I kept my eyes on the floor, mainly to avoid temptation, though I did take care to maintain my peripheral vision. As such, I picked out immediately when Emma and Sophia joined Madison.
As I strode along at a ground-eating pace I wouldn't have been able to maintain before—it appeared powers came with a few useful fringe benefits—Madison and Emma fell behind, but Sophia steadily caught up with me. That was fine; I had several different plans lined up for her, depending on how violent the girl wanted to get.
"Hey, Hebert!" Sophia's hand caught the backpack and slowed me down. "Where you running to? You trying to hide from me?"
It was clear she was trying to force a confrontation, but I didn't have the inclination to deal with this crap right now. "Nobody's hiding from anyone. I'm going to the cafeteria."
This time, Sophia grabbed me by the shoulder and swung me around. A solid fist powered in toward my solar plexus, but I saw it coming and stepped back out of the way. Options presented themselves, giving me half a dozen ways to end this confrontation (and Sophia herself) permanently, but I decided to end the conversation instead. Although it was an abstract kill rather than a physical one, it still worked with my new-found power.
"Careful," I said, speaking the words that my subconscious presented to me. "We both know Miss Piggy would disapprove." At the same time, I knew, my entire attitude and tone of voice radiated pure certainty.
Leaving Sophia staring at my back, I turned on my heel and headed onward to the cafeteria.
Funny, I mused. I never would've picked Sophia for a Muppet Show fan.
Oh, well. I don't pick the words. I just say 'em.
Emma
When Emma and Madison caught up with Sophia, she had the kind of look on her face that Emma's dad liked to describe as belonging to 'someone who bit into an apple and found half a worm'. Taylor was still in sight, barely, but Sophia was making no effort to go after her.
"What?" asked Emma. "What's the matter?"
Sophia blinked. "She knows."
"That it was us?" scoffed Madison. "Let's see her prove it."
"No, not that." Sophia shook her head. "About me. About my other hobby."
Emma blinked. There could only be one interpretation of that. Shit, Taylor knows Sophia's Shadow Stalker?
"But how?" asked Madison blankly. "I'm good at finding shit out, and I didn't know 'til you told me."
"How the fuck am I supposed to know?" Sophia ground her teeth. "But she just said something to me that only someone who's also a member could possibly know to say."
Someone who's also a Ward, Emma filled in.
Madison frowned. "Could she be? Have you had any new members recently?"
"Nope." Sophia shook her head definitively. "I'm the newest. I've seen enough of everyone else to know she couldn't be any one of them. But she used a nickname only we use. It doesn't matter where she comes into it, she knows."
"Fuck." Emma's father did divorce rather than criminal or parahuman law, but she'd heard enough stories to know where this could go to if it was left unchecked. "I'll go talk to her. Put the fear of God into her. Make sure she knows it's us she's dealing with."
"I'll come with," offered Madison. "You know, if you need a witness or something."
Emma grinned. They both knew Madison's version of being a witness would involve agreeing with Emma's version of events, whatever that was. "Good idea, but hang back a bit."
Madison nodded. "You got it."
Taylor
Cafeteria
I was halfway through the line when Emma and Madison showed up. To the normal eye, they would've been just the same as any other two high school students, but my power picked them out as being specifically interested in me. Good going, power. I never would've guessed.
Finishing up in the line, I paid for the food and then strolled over to an empty table where I could sit with my back to the wall. It was one of my old habits that had made the transition seamlessly to my new outlook on life. Sliding onto the seat, I put my tray on the table and waited.
Sure enough, over they came, zeroing in on me like homing missiles. They weren't even very subtle about it, which showed just how pissed-off they were with me.
Not that I cared, or would ever care again, what they thought about me. That chapter in my life was closed, locked in a safe, welded shut and handed over to Behemoth for safekeeping.
Sticking my fork through some wilting salad, I looked up as Emma came over and sat opposite me. "Boy, have you fucked up," she began.
"Do tell," I suggested mildly, twirling the fork to wind the strands of lettuce on it. After all, I'd just gotten this top and I didn't want to get salad on it.
"Breaking into our lockers and stealing our stuff," she began, real anger flaring in her eyes. "And then there's threatening Sophia. What are you trying to do, blackmail her? That's about as stupid as you can get. But you've never been too smart, have you?"
I sighed. Where she got 'blackmailing Sophia' from I had no idea, but I wanted some time to myself so I could eat my lunch in peace and quiet. There were several ways I could murder her from where I sat, but that would probably draw attention, so again I decided to kill the conversation.
As I made this decision, the words and actions came to me. I had no idea what they meant, just as I hadn't with Sophia, but that didn't matter; only the execution did. Taking up a strand of my hair, I looked her in the eye. "It doesn't matter how tough you think you are," I said, then scratched at the corner of my eye and fiddled with my earlobe. "You'll never really escape the alley. You were weak then and you're even weaker now." Lifting the hair to my mouth, I pretended to chew on it for a second, then offered it to her. "Want some?"
Her eyes went wide and her face turned paler than the imitation mashed potatoes on my plate. Clamping her hands over her mouth, she jumped up from the seat and bolted from the cafeteria, leaving a trail of annoyed students in her wake.
With a shrug, I put the forkful of salad in my mouth. It wasn't bad, I decided, though it could've used a little more dressing. Just as I went back for another load, Madison came at me.
What she'd seen of how I dealt with Sophia and Emma must have warned her against trying to cow me with words, but instead of backing off, she evidently decided to do the worst thing possible. Specifically, to get into close proximity and offer physical violence to me.
I watched with mild interest as she snatched up the plastic knife and grabbed my hair with one hand, then held the knife up under my eye with the other. "What did you say to them, you bitch?" she hissed. "Tell me, or I'll—"
The blunt end of the plastic fork jabbed her in the solar plexus at just the right point. Wheezing, she sagged and dropped the knife. I half-stood and assisted her into the chair next to mine, then sat down again. This had all happened so smoothly and naturally that barely anyone knew she'd just threatened me, and nobody cared.
The hidden benefit of being the pariah, I decided.
"You'll live," I told her, then ate some of the faux potatoes. "I didn't hit you hard enough to paralyse your diaphragm all the way, just partially. Though I could have, if I really wanted to. You could be sitting there, suffocating in front of everyone, with nobody the wiser. I could finish this meal, get up and walk out, and you'd die in the middle of a crowded room. The same way you shoved me into my locker in the middle of a crowded hallway. I suppose that's irony for you."
Her eyes, about the only parts of her that were able to move, swivelled toward me, rolling in their sockets. I saw her face turn red with the effort of inhaling, then exhaling again. "Whhhh…" she managed to wheeze.
"Why didn't I kill you?" I began to peel my banana. "Oh, that's easy. I want you to pass a message on to all your friends, but especially Emma and Sophia. And while I could write it on your face or something, it's simpler just to tell you what it is. Also, I must confess to enjoying a certain amount of schadenfreude." I paused at her blink of confusion. "Look it up."
I finished the banana, then opened my juice while she sat and wheezed at me, straining to drag air into her oxygen-starved lungs. As far as I could tell, she was trying to ask what the message was.
"Let me tell you a story," I said. "Once upon a time, a farmer was driving his cart home from market, and he had a new mule pulling it. They came to a gentle hill, and the mule stopped. The farmer said, "that's one", and smacked the mule on the rump, and the mule went on. Then they came to a shallow creek, and the mule stopped again. This time, the farmer said, "that's two", and smacked the mule on the head with his shotgun butt, and the mule went on. And then …" I paused to draw it out and take a drink of juice. "As the cart rolled into the farmyard, it came to a big mud puddle, and the mule stopped a third time. This time, the farmer said, "that's three". Then he shot the mule in the head."
My juice was empty. I got up from where I'd been sitting and struck her hard between the shoulder blades with the heel of my hand. Jolted out of her paralysis, she drew a long breath and stared up at me. "What … what's the message?" she asked cautiously.
Leaning down close to her ear, I whispered, "The message is … that's two."
Then I turned and left the cafeteria.
End of Part One
[A/N 1: Taylor's shard is Path to Ending. It's like Path to Victory, but it's focused on killing things. People, machines, abstract concepts such as 'this conversation' or 'his reputation' or 'her bank account'; if something can be in any way killed, she can Path how to do it. However, although its ambit is limited compared to PtV, there are seven important aspects about it:
Disclaimers:
1) This story is set in the Wormverse, which is owned by Wildbow. Thanks for letting me use it.
2) I will follow canon as closely as I can. If I find something that canon does not cover, I will make stuff up. If canon then refutes me, I will revise. Do not bother me with fanon; corrections require citations.
3) I welcome criticism of my works, but if you tell me that something is wrong, I also expect an explanation of what is wrong, and a suggestion of how to fix it. Note that I do not promise to follow any given suggestion.
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Part One: The Field is Barren
Thirty-Some Years Ago …
As the two Entities spiralled down toward the single life-bearing planet, the Third moved onward. However, its attention was not totally on the distant galaxy before it; some small part was on the other two Entities. When it gauged they were no longer paying it attention, it detached a tiny part of its mass and flicked it back toward the planet.
[ENJOY], it murmured to itself. They wanted conflict? They'd get conflict.
Chuckling about the practical joke it had just played on the other two—for an extremely generous definition of the word 'joke'—it forged onward. This planet was taken, but there were many others. Who knew, maybe it would find something interesting.
Behind it, the obsidian-black shard infiltrated itself into the space around the planet, watching and waiting for precisely the right host to attach itself to. Because once it did, shit was going to go sideways.
<><>
Winslow High School, Brockton Bay
January 3, 2011
First Day Back After Christmas Break
Emma
To say that Emma was feeling exuberant as she ducked out of her home room was an understatement. There was a fizzy feeling in her chest that wouldn't go away; but then again, she didn't want it to. She'd had to work to keep the grin from plastering itself across her face all the way through Gladly's lazy-as-fuck World Affairs class, and for good reason.
They'd fucking got Taylor. Once and for all. This felt like the culmination of all the last year's hard work, pushing her down, trying to spark a reaction. Trying to get her to wake the fuck up. To either shape up to their standard, or to walk away forever.
"Hey." Sophia fell into step alongside her. Madison was also there, but she didn't greet them. Sophia was talking, and she didn't like anyone talking over her.
"Hey." Emma finally let the grin out. "Holy shit, am I right?"
"Fuck yeah!" That was Madison. She sounded so cute when she tried to swear, like she was a five-year-old sounding out naughty words that she didn't know the meaning of. But this whole thing had been her idea, so Emma nodded in acknowledgement.
"We fuckin' did it." Sophia punched the air in triumph. "The look on her face …" She didn't complete the sentence. Even though there was nobody close enough to listen in, or even connect all the dots, she was careful about what she said. Emma figured it was part and parcel of her being a Ward, and a vigilante before that. Loose lips, et cetera.
"Wish I coulda seen." Madison had been the farthest back, because Sophia had been shoving Taylor into the locker, and Emma had been ready to close the door.
"It was kind of awesome." Emma tilted her head. "You know, her locker isn't too far from yours and mine, Soph. Maybe we could wander past …" She let her voice trail off. See if anyone's let her out yet.
Sophia gave her the side-eye. "You aren't going soft, are you?" You better not let her out yourself.
Emma snorted and rolled her eyes. "Nope. Maybe we could ask her if there's anything she wants in there, like a pillow. Or a magazine to pass the time."
Madison burst into giggles, while Sophia let out a bark of laughter and clapped Emma on the shoulder. "I fuckin' love that. We really should."
"Oooh, oooh, or we put this in with her." Madison had her Art sketchbook open to the last page, and was feverishly drawing something. Emma waited, curious. It didn't take long, then she tore it out and handed it over.
"Nice one, Mads," said Sophia, looking at the picture. It was a rough copy of one of those stupid 'for dummies' books, with 'Escape Artistry for Ugly Bitches' as the title. "Really captures the essence, or whatever it was they keep saying in art class."
Emma felt the grin coming back as she admired the picture. "Yeah. I like it."
They turned the corner to where Emma and Sophia shared a row with Taylor. Immediately, Emma noticed something badly wrong. "My locker's open!"
Dashing forward, she grabbed the door of her locker, which was indeed swinging open. Looking down, she stared at the dent just over the lock, then opened it wide and looked inside. Most of her stuff seemed to still be there, but the hanging clothes—she liked to change into something totally new after physical education class—had been disarranged.
"Fuck your locker!" shouted Sophia, her voice sharp with anger. "My locker's open!"
Emma tried to push her locker door shut, but the metal had been bent just far enough that the tongue didn't engage. What the fuck? She knew these lockers were crap, but this was ridiculous.
"Uh, guys …?" Madison ventured.
"Someone took my favourite top!" Emma felt a surge of outrage. How dare they break into her locker and steal her stuff! This sort of thing didn't happen to her! Nothing else had been taken, but that was beyond the point. Her stuff was her stuff.
"My running shoes are gone." Now Sophia's voice was low and deadly. "Those are my best shoes. Someone is gonna die for this." She paused, staring. "And my best skinny jeans, too. Oh, they're gonna pay big time."
"Guys!" shouted Madison, just as a bunch of other students came around the corner.
"What?" Sophia yelled back, turning to glare at her. Emma turned also, wondering why she was drawing attention to herself with Sophia on the warpath like this.
Madison just pointed; first at the floor, then farther down the row of lockers. Emma looked down, and saw the footprints for the first time. Stepping back, she saw Taylor's locker … with the door wide open. A mess of the crap they'd put into it spilling out into the hallway. And the footprints, leading from there, first to Sophia's locker and then to hers. After that, they petered out, but she'd seen enough.
As the other students swarmed the area, pointing at Taylor's locker but not getting too close—because that shit reeked—Emma regrouped at the far side of the hallway with the other two.
"What the fuck?" Sophia was keeping her voice down, barely. "Did she honestly break out of her fucking locker, and into ours?" It was hard to determine which aspect she showed more disbelief about.
Emma shrugged. She had nothing. "Unless she had someone helping her … I guess?"
"Oh, no, that shit ain't gonna fly." Sophia shook her head. "She does not get to pull that shit on me. I am gonna find her skanky ass and kick it up around her ears."
"While you're doing that, I'll go to Blackwell and report the locker break-ins," Emma decided. "See how fast we can get new ones." With any other student, she knew, this would be a slow and torturous process, but it was nice to be able to flaunt that she was the daughter of a lawyer every now and again.
"And I'll check with everyone I know, to see if they've seen her," Madison offered, pulling out her phone.
"Good idea." Emma nodded to Sophia and gestured at their lockers; the doors were currently shut, but only because they'd been pushed that way. Anyone could open them and take the rest of her stuff. "We're going to need to grab everything before we go anywhere."
Sophia set her jaw. "Motherfucker. I was looking forward to finding Hebert right the fuck now."
"Yeah," said Emma, more to acknowledge the sentiment than to agree with it. "Hey, you know how we've been trying to get her to push back? Do you think this is enough of a reaction?"
The look Sophia gave Emma disabused her of the notion immediately. "Hell the fuck nope. I don't care who you are, you don't mess with my shit."
Emma nodded. "Okay. Didn't think so, but I had to be sure." Also, she owed Taylor a smackdown for stealing her favourite top.
As she began emptying her locker into her backpack, she noticed that a couple of her textbooks were missing. And then she heard the outraged squawk from Sophia. "The little fucking cow stole my backpack, too!"
Okay, yeah, Taylor was dead.
<><>
Five Minutes Later
World Affairs Classroom
Madison
"Hey, Mads!" Everyone was still making noise settling in, but Julia kept her voice pitched low anyway. "Weren't you guys looking for Hebert? Because there she is."
Madison looked around as she slid into her seat, and felt her eyebrows hitch upward in surprise. Taylor was indeed sitting in the classroom, right down at the back. She was still wearing Emma's top (and kind of rocking the look, Madison acknowledged reluctantly) as well as Sophia's skinny jeans. Poking out from under the desk were Sophia's favourite running shoes. Even the missing backpack was there, leaning up against the side of the desk.
"Jeez," she muttered. "She must have a death wish." If I'd broken into their lockers, I'd be over the horizon by now, on the way to LA. But there sat Taylor Hebert, large as life and bold as brass.
Her eyes accidentally drifted upward, and met Taylor's, and that was when she got her next shock. Normally, Taylor never looked her in the eye. She always looked away, hoping not to be noticed. It was something that Madison had once seen described as 'prey behaviour' on the National Geographic channel.
But now, Taylor was looking firmly back at her, her attitude almost challenging. Go ahead, she seemed to be saying. Do something. Say something. I'm right here.
Madison could've done just that. Mr Gladly was up at his desk, and he always listened to her. The only thing that stopped her was that if she did this, Taylor would be enfolded in official punishment, and Emma and Sophia had said they wanted her. So, she said nothing.
Instead, she took her phone out and kept it under desk level while she sent a single text to two recipients.
She's in World Affairs.
In return, she got back two messages. From Sophia, a terse 'OK', and from Emma a thumb's up.
Her duty done, she settled back to endure the rest of the lesson. Gladly might be putty in her hands when it came to screwing with Taylor, but fuck he was boring.
<><>
Eighty-Five Minutes Later
Taylor
Hoisting my 'borrowed' backpack over my shoulder and settling the weight of the equally 'borrowed' textbook within into a comfortable position, I bypassed Madison's feeble attempt to delay me and left Mr Gladly's classroom. I kept my eyes on the floor, mainly to avoid temptation, though I did take care to maintain my peripheral vision. As such, I picked out immediately when Emma and Sophia joined Madison.
As I strode along at a ground-eating pace I wouldn't have been able to maintain before—it appeared powers came with a few useful fringe benefits—Madison and Emma fell behind, but Sophia steadily caught up with me. That was fine; I had several different plans lined up for her, depending on how violent the girl wanted to get.
"Hey, Hebert!" Sophia's hand caught the backpack and slowed me down. "Where you running to? You trying to hide from me?"
It was clear she was trying to force a confrontation, but I didn't have the inclination to deal with this crap right now. "Nobody's hiding from anyone. I'm going to the cafeteria."
This time, Sophia grabbed me by the shoulder and swung me around. A solid fist powered in toward my solar plexus, but I saw it coming and stepped back out of the way. Options presented themselves, giving me half a dozen ways to end this confrontation (and Sophia herself) permanently, but I decided to end the conversation instead. Although it was an abstract kill rather than a physical one, it still worked with my new-found power.
"Careful," I said, speaking the words that my subconscious presented to me. "We both know Miss Piggy would disapprove." At the same time, I knew, my entire attitude and tone of voice radiated pure certainty.
Leaving Sophia staring at my back, I turned on my heel and headed onward to the cafeteria.
Funny, I mused. I never would've picked Sophia for a Muppet Show fan.
Oh, well. I don't pick the words. I just say 'em.
<><>
Emma
When Emma and Madison caught up with Sophia, she had the kind of look on her face that Emma's dad liked to describe as belonging to 'someone who bit into an apple and found half a worm'. Taylor was still in sight, barely, but Sophia was making no effort to go after her.
"What?" asked Emma. "What's the matter?"
Sophia blinked. "She knows."
"That it was us?" scoffed Madison. "Let's see her prove it."
"No, not that." Sophia shook her head. "About me. About my other hobby."
Emma blinked. There could only be one interpretation of that. Shit, Taylor knows Sophia's Shadow Stalker?
"But how?" asked Madison blankly. "I'm good at finding shit out, and I didn't know 'til you told me."
"How the fuck am I supposed to know?" Sophia ground her teeth. "But she just said something to me that only someone who's also a member could possibly know to say."
Someone who's also a Ward, Emma filled in.
Madison frowned. "Could she be? Have you had any new members recently?"
"Nope." Sophia shook her head definitively. "I'm the newest. I've seen enough of everyone else to know she couldn't be any one of them. But she used a nickname only we use. It doesn't matter where she comes into it, she knows."
"Fuck." Emma's father did divorce rather than criminal or parahuman law, but she'd heard enough stories to know where this could go to if it was left unchecked. "I'll go talk to her. Put the fear of God into her. Make sure she knows it's us she's dealing with."
"I'll come with," offered Madison. "You know, if you need a witness or something."
Emma grinned. They both knew Madison's version of being a witness would involve agreeing with Emma's version of events, whatever that was. "Good idea, but hang back a bit."
Madison nodded. "You got it."
<><>
Taylor
Cafeteria
I was halfway through the line when Emma and Madison showed up. To the normal eye, they would've been just the same as any other two high school students, but my power picked them out as being specifically interested in me. Good going, power. I never would've guessed.
Finishing up in the line, I paid for the food and then strolled over to an empty table where I could sit with my back to the wall. It was one of my old habits that had made the transition seamlessly to my new outlook on life. Sliding onto the seat, I put my tray on the table and waited.
Sure enough, over they came, zeroing in on me like homing missiles. They weren't even very subtle about it, which showed just how pissed-off they were with me.
Not that I cared, or would ever care again, what they thought about me. That chapter in my life was closed, locked in a safe, welded shut and handed over to Behemoth for safekeeping.
Sticking my fork through some wilting salad, I looked up as Emma came over and sat opposite me. "Boy, have you fucked up," she began.
"Do tell," I suggested mildly, twirling the fork to wind the strands of lettuce on it. After all, I'd just gotten this top and I didn't want to get salad on it.
"Breaking into our lockers and stealing our stuff," she began, real anger flaring in her eyes. "And then there's threatening Sophia. What are you trying to do, blackmail her? That's about as stupid as you can get. But you've never been too smart, have you?"
I sighed. Where she got 'blackmailing Sophia' from I had no idea, but I wanted some time to myself so I could eat my lunch in peace and quiet. There were several ways I could murder her from where I sat, but that would probably draw attention, so again I decided to kill the conversation.
As I made this decision, the words and actions came to me. I had no idea what they meant, just as I hadn't with Sophia, but that didn't matter; only the execution did. Taking up a strand of my hair, I looked her in the eye. "It doesn't matter how tough you think you are," I said, then scratched at the corner of my eye and fiddled with my earlobe. "You'll never really escape the alley. You were weak then and you're even weaker now." Lifting the hair to my mouth, I pretended to chew on it for a second, then offered it to her. "Want some?"
Her eyes went wide and her face turned paler than the imitation mashed potatoes on my plate. Clamping her hands over her mouth, she jumped up from the seat and bolted from the cafeteria, leaving a trail of annoyed students in her wake.
With a shrug, I put the forkful of salad in my mouth. It wasn't bad, I decided, though it could've used a little more dressing. Just as I went back for another load, Madison came at me.
What she'd seen of how I dealt with Sophia and Emma must have warned her against trying to cow me with words, but instead of backing off, she evidently decided to do the worst thing possible. Specifically, to get into close proximity and offer physical violence to me.
I watched with mild interest as she snatched up the plastic knife and grabbed my hair with one hand, then held the knife up under my eye with the other. "What did you say to them, you bitch?" she hissed. "Tell me, or I'll—"
The blunt end of the plastic fork jabbed her in the solar plexus at just the right point. Wheezing, she sagged and dropped the knife. I half-stood and assisted her into the chair next to mine, then sat down again. This had all happened so smoothly and naturally that barely anyone knew she'd just threatened me, and nobody cared.
The hidden benefit of being the pariah, I decided.
"You'll live," I told her, then ate some of the faux potatoes. "I didn't hit you hard enough to paralyse your diaphragm all the way, just partially. Though I could have, if I really wanted to. You could be sitting there, suffocating in front of everyone, with nobody the wiser. I could finish this meal, get up and walk out, and you'd die in the middle of a crowded room. The same way you shoved me into my locker in the middle of a crowded hallway. I suppose that's irony for you."
Her eyes, about the only parts of her that were able to move, swivelled toward me, rolling in their sockets. I saw her face turn red with the effort of inhaling, then exhaling again. "Whhhh…" she managed to wheeze.
"Why didn't I kill you?" I began to peel my banana. "Oh, that's easy. I want you to pass a message on to all your friends, but especially Emma and Sophia. And while I could write it on your face or something, it's simpler just to tell you what it is. Also, I must confess to enjoying a certain amount of schadenfreude." I paused at her blink of confusion. "Look it up."
I finished the banana, then opened my juice while she sat and wheezed at me, straining to drag air into her oxygen-starved lungs. As far as I could tell, she was trying to ask what the message was.
"Let me tell you a story," I said. "Once upon a time, a farmer was driving his cart home from market, and he had a new mule pulling it. They came to a gentle hill, and the mule stopped. The farmer said, "that's one", and smacked the mule on the rump, and the mule went on. Then they came to a shallow creek, and the mule stopped again. This time, the farmer said, "that's two", and smacked the mule on the head with his shotgun butt, and the mule went on. And then …" I paused to draw it out and take a drink of juice. "As the cart rolled into the farmyard, it came to a big mud puddle, and the mule stopped a third time. This time, the farmer said, "that's three". Then he shot the mule in the head."
My juice was empty. I got up from where I'd been sitting and struck her hard between the shoulder blades with the heel of my hand. Jolted out of her paralysis, she drew a long breath and stared up at me. "What … what's the message?" she asked cautiously.
Leaning down close to her ear, I whispered, "The message is … that's two."
Then I turned and left the cafeteria.
End of Part One
[A/N 1: Taylor's shard is Path to Ending. It's like Path to Victory, but it's focused on killing things. People, machines, abstract concepts such as 'this conversation' or 'his reputation' or 'her bank account'; if something can be in any way killed, she can Path how to do it. However, although its ambit is limited compared to PtV, there are seven important aspects about it:
- Because it's an Abbadon shard that never made it to the Warrior's (or Thinker's) attention, it has none of the limiters that any of the other ones do.
- Because it's more focused than PtV, its bullshit overrides PtV's bullshit.
- While she can't deliberately perform a strictly nonlethal attack, she can (in hand to hand) perform a lethal attack but pull the blow. This takes a deliberate act of will.
- It warns her about anyone paying hostile attention to her.
- The shard can and will tell Broadcast to go and take a long walk off a short pier.
- To ensure she has the wherewithal to actually kill things, the shard also buffs her up to nominal levels of strength, speed and endurance. Not 'peak human' capability, but definitely 'athletic teen'.
- She no longer has any fucks to give, in whole or part. They are forever gone.]
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Part Two: Win Stupid Prizes
- Location
- Australia
A Darker Path
Part Two: Win Stupid Prizes
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Sophia
She heard the broken, jagged sobbing before she saw Emma. That should've prepared her, but it didn't. When she pushed open the bathroom stall and saw the redhead hunched over the toilet, she knew it was bad. But when Emma turned her head and Sophia saw her blotched features and swollen eyes, the snot and vomit hanging in unsightly strings from her nose and mouth, that was when she understood just how bad it was.
"Jesus fuck, Emma." She tugged her friend away from the toilet and helped her to her feet. "What the fuck happened? Did she beat you up?" Any other day, there would've been no question of even suspecting Hebert of being able to give Emma a proper tuning up. But there was something about Hebert's new attitude, not to mention the ease with which she'd evaded Sophia's punch earlier, that raised questions.
Had something happened to Hebert over the Christmas break? Did she trigger with powers and join the Wards when I wasn't looking? It might explain her new physical capabilities, and the knowledge of what to say about Piggot. The other Wards had unmasked to her … but she'd never given permission to pass that knowledge on to anyone else. Least of all fucking Hebert.
No, there were too many holes in the story. Hebert was too much of a wimp to get powers, and Sophia had been in to the PRT building over Christmas. There'd been no announcement of a new Ward, and nothing new on the bulletin board except Vista's cutesy little cut-out snowflakes.
"No," mumbled Emma. "She knows 'bout the alley. About the ABB." At Sophia's urging, she began to splash water on her face, washing away the worst of the muck. "She threw it in my face. Told me I was weak." Her face twisted, and it looked like she was going to cry again.
"You're not weak," Sophia snapped, grabbing her by the shoulders and literally shaking her. "You're strong, dammit. A survivor. Like me."
The bathroom door banged open and Sophia tensed, turning that way. If this was Hebert coming back to pull more voodoo bullshit on Emma—seriously, she looked like she'd been run over by an eighteen-wheeler—then there would be words spoken. By 'words' she meant 'punches', and by 'spoken' she meant 'thrown'.
But it was only Madison, though she looked almost as rattled as Emma. Leaning against the wall, she fought for breath, her face chalk-white under her makeup.
"What happened to you?" demanded Sophia. "Where were you when Hebert was getting into Emma's head?"
"I was … I was right there," Madison wheezed. "When Emma ran away, I con-confronted Taylor." She drew in a shaky breath and looked like she was going to cry. "Oh, god. I shouldn't have."
"The fuck?" Sophia shook her head and glared at them both. "Did she pull some woo-woo bullshit out of your past as well, to fuck with your head?"
"No. No. No, no, she didn't." Madison shook her head. "She just … gave me a warning. A warning to give to everyone. You, me, Emma, everyone. We're on our last chance. If we keep going the way we are, she'll kill us."
Sophia stared at her, then burst out laughing. "Oh, bullshit. You actually bought that, from her? The little queef is bluffing. You know it, I know it, Emma knows it. What'd she do, wave a plastic knife or something at you?"
Madison shook her head again. "No, but she hit me right about here so I could hardly breathe, then told me that she could've hit me just a bit harder so I'd suffocate, all while she was eating her lunch. Like it didn't matter to her if I lived or died. Then she hit me again so I could breathe properly, and said something about how we're on our second strike. Third strike, we're out."
It all came out at once, the words tumbling over themselves. By the time Madison squeaked the last word out, she was breathless. She stared at Sophia, as though silently asking for assistance.
"What the hell is wrong with you two?" Sophia shook her head. "You're better than this. Smarter. Tougher. Hebert couldn't push you around like this on her best day." Again, she had a moment of doubt. Something was wrong if Emma and Madison couldn't keep Hebert in her place.
Once more, she shook the feeling off. They'd been easing off on Hebert, prepping for the locker prank, and she'd managed to grow a semblance of a spine over Christmas. That's gotta be it.
Hebert didn't get to stand up for herself. She didn't deserve it. As far as Sophia was concerned, Hebert's correct place was at the bottom of the pecking order, far away from anyone who actually mattered.
Sophia didn't even consider the busted-open lockers to be a problem. Winslow lockers were shit, and everyone knew it. As for the Miss Piggy reference … I must have misheard her, that's all. She's not a Ward.
Which made it even more irritating. She'd had the perfect opportunity to smack that irritating expression across to the other side of Hebert's face, and she'd missed out. That was an oversight she was going to have to remedy, right the fuck now.
"Madison, take care of Emma," she said briskly. "I'm going to go find Hebert, and explain to her why she doesn't pull this shit."
"What? No!" Madison grabbed at Sophia's sleeve as she passed by. "I just told you! She said she'd kill us if we messed with her again!"
Brushing Madison's grasp away, Sophia pushed her back against the wall, an arm across her throat. "I wasn't asking," she growled. "And if she tries that three-strikes bullshit on me, she'll be dead for real. Now take care of Emma."
Feeling even more aggravated by the exchange—where did Madison get off, trying to tell her what to do?—she opened the bathroom door and headed out.
When she found Hebert, there was going to be hell to pay.
Taylor
Following my lunch and the little chat I'd had with Madison, I went to the library and settled down for a restful time-out with a book about the life of Caesar that I'd been meaning to read. Life had been simpler back then, I decided. Of course, it had been usually shorter and more disease-ridden, so that was a distinct downside. But being able to stab someone who was getting on your nerves had to solve a lot of problems.
I'd read somewhere that the Romans had changed up the traditional handshake to a forearm clasp so as to be able to tell if their political rivals were carrying knives strapped to their wrists. Of course, the Romans had also been the ones to give the phrase 'political backstabbing' a whole new level of meaning.
I'd only spent five minutes out of the thirty I'd allotted myself when I became aware that Sophia was looking for me with the specific intent to do me harm. Mentally, I apologised to my power for the previous sarcasm; it seemed that aspect could be useful after all. She wasn't quite as unintelligent as I'd sometimes wondered, because the library was the third place she looked into on her search.
Of course, I knew she was coming and decided to kill her chances of finding me. So, as she walked in through the main doors, I climbed out of the beanbag I'd been lying in and took a meandering path through the library. This just happened to coincide with Sophia's, in that whenever she looked in my direction, I was just out of her line of sight. Looking more frustrated than ever, she left the library; I shrugged and went back to my beanbag.
Even after searching most of the school (including all of the girls' bathrooms, twice) and not finding me, she hadn't given up. My sense of her indicated that she was waiting in an empty classroom close to my next class, which was art. Her intent to do me harm was stronger than ever. It wasn't long until the bell to start classes again, which meant that I needed to make a choice.
If I wanted to avoid the conflict that was brewing, I could skip the class altogether or simply go a slightly different way to get to the same classroom. Alternatively, I could go straight to where she was, administer a non-lethal object lesson, then go to class anyway. Or … I could just kill her. I was pretty sure she'd been warned.
Unfortunately for her, I didn't feel like letting her dictate a single one of my actions. If she wanted to poke the bear, then what happened next was all on her.
So, I got up from the beanbag and took the book back to the returns slot. On my way out of the library, I took the calculator I'd liberated from Emma's locker out of my new backpack, and slid it up my sleeve. I wasn't sure exactly why I'd done that, but it seemed to be the right thing to do.
As I approached the classroom, I checked again. Only Sophia showed up as a hostile, which meant there weren't likely to be any other witnesses in the room. This smelt to me like Sophia intended to deliver an extremely thorough beating, possibly involving broken bones.
That was just fine with me.
It took a certain amount of self-control to allow myself to fall into the trap, but I hadn't yet decided what I wanted to do with Sophia, so I was on my own. Still, it didn't seem to matter; Sophia was the sort of person who never thought of examining the teeth of a gift horse. From the enthusiastic way she hauled me into the room and threw me to the floor (or tried to throw me to the floor) she'd clearly decided that her trap was a masterpiece of Napoleonic genius.
I hit the floor, rolled, and came to my feet again with relative ease. This was one of the things my power had boosted about me. "Hi to you, too," I said.
"Shut up!" she hissed. "What the fuck did you do to Emma and Madison?"
"Told them something they needed to know," I said, slipping my pack off and tossing it to one side. "Did Madison pass on the message to you? 'That's two'?"
She sneered at me. "Yeah, she said you'd grown a backbone. Well, too bad for you. You're going down. And don't even try to fake me out like the last time, or this is going to hurt even more."
"And when I inevitably point you out as the person who beat me up?" I asked mildly.
Her sneer intensified. "There's half a dozen girls who're willing to swear blind I was with them the whole time."
"Well, that's awkward." I didn't say who it was going to be awkward for. "One more time. Just to be sure. You know this is your third strike?"
She stared with astonishment. "Are you threatening me? Are you seriously fucking trying to threaten me right now?"
Fuck, she was dense. "No, I'm telling you that this, right here, is your third strike." There; it was explained.
"You can take your third strike and shove it—" Her form as she moved in to punch me wasn't bad. She'd clearly been in more than one brawl.
I didn't much care. As she swung her fist at me, I took her arm and snapped it at the elbow, then slammed my knee into her ribs so hard that three of them broke. A couple of the shards went through her left lung.
Her eyes opened wide as she expirated a fine mist of blood, then I put a stop to that nonsense with a single knife-hand strike to the throat that collapsed her larynx. A second later, she surprised the hell out of me by turning to a dark swirling fog and lunging for the far wall. Reflexively, I slid the calculator from my sleeve and tossed it through her; she convulsed and fell to the floor, solid again.
Unable to breathe, her lungs filling with blood, she lay on her back and stared up at me as I moved to stand over her. "Shadow Stalker, huh?" I asked rhetorically. "Guess I didn't see that coming. Still, doesn't matter. Strike three is strike three." I lifted my foot above her sternum and brought my heel down hard; at just the right place, with sufficient force, it was enough to stop her heart.
Stopping only to retrieve my backpack and calculator, I left the classroom and went to art class.
Two Hours Later
Math Class
Emma
There was something seriously, seriously wrong. With Madison's help, Emma had repaired her makeup and gone on to class, but she hadn't gotten any answers back from her discreet texts to Sophia. Not that she was stupid enough to ask straight-out 'did you beat up Taylor yet' but usually it worked well enough to say something like, 'so how'd it go?'.
But there was nothing. She'd sent a test message to Madison to make sure her phone was working right and hadn't gotten water in it, but there was no problem there. It was just that … Sophia wasn't answering.
And then she came to Math class with Mr Quinlan, and there was Taylor, not a hair out of place. Admittedly, Emma didn't know what Sophia been planning on doing, but at the very least she would've repossessed her property. Yet, there sat Taylor, wearing Sophia's jeans and sneakers, and with the stolen backpack beside her desk.
As bizarre as it sounded, it seemed that Sophia had totally failed to catch up with Taylor, even knowing what her class schedule was. So Emma did what any good friend would do. Pulling out her phone, she sent a text. 'hey if youre still looking 4 T shes in math'.
No novice at classroom texting, Emma had given no outward sign of sending the message. Her phone keyboard was silent, and she could thumb-type with the best of them. But still, just after the message was sent, Taylor turned in her seat and gave Emma a raised eyebrow. Deliberately, she put a strand of hair in her mouth and pretended to chew on it.
Abruptly, Emma recalled the alley, remembered lying on stained asphalt, at the mercy of the girl wearing her jacket. The handful of hair that had been brutally cut off with the knife was shoved into her mouth. Eat it, then pick.
Taylor's face loomed large in her memory. You'll never really escape the alley. You were weak then and you're even weaker now.
It had taken her months to get over having hysterics at home when she found a hair in her food. And now, Taylor was bringing it all back again.
Jumping up from her seat, she clamped her hand across her mouth to hold in the upcoming eruption, and bolted from the room. Quinlan may have called her name as the door was swinging shut behind her, but she didn't care.
Taylor
I still wasn't sure what that was about, but it was certainly effective. Innocently, I looked around as Mr Quinlan called Emma's name. She didn't come back.
"Does anyone know what's going on with Miss Barnes?" he asked. From his tone, he wasn't expecting an answer.
"I'm not entirely sure, sir," I answered on a whim. "Maybe she's allergic to logarithms?"
He snorted heavily. "Very funny, Ms Hebert. Now, turn to page fifty-two …"
I was just doing so when I heard the sirens. Police and ambulance both, and coming toward Winslow. Yeah, someone found her. The paramedics wouldn't be able to do anything except give her a speedy ride to the hospital, where an actual doctor would be able to use his vast expertise to pronounce her dead on arrival.
I'd know in the next hour or so whether I'd need to start a new path: kill the investigation. For the moment, I was reasonably sure I was in the clear. And in fact, Sophia's status as a Ward was likely to work for me as opposed to against me. I wouldn't be surprised if the PRT went all-in on this being a murder by a villain who snuck into the school to get to Shadow Stalker, as opposed to a grudge match gone fatally wrong.
And then there were the other people inside Winslow who might have wanted to fuck her shit up even more than I did; the teenagers who held views supportive of the Empire Eighty-Eight. Nobody wore gang colours in the school itself, and the only recruiting was by the ABB (for a very enthusiastic definition of 'recruiting'), but they were around. Sophia hadn't spread the word that she was looking to relocate my teeth in several different directions, so theoretically they could've done it.
They hadn't, of course. I did say 'theoretically'.
When the end of the math period came (Mr Quinlan stayed with us the whole time, by a miracle) an announcement came across the decrepit PA system, to the effect that those of us who had been in the following classrooms at the approximate time of death had to stay behind to talk to the police. One of the classrooms listed was the art classroom; I had been there, of course.
As can be imagined, this caused a roar and a ruckus. About half of us in the classroom had been in the art class or another nearby room. Even though none of them had done this, nobody wanted to be kept back late to talk to the boys in blue.
"Class, class!" Mr Quinlan called out patting the air with his hands. "The police will not be questioning you here and now! They are here to make appointments to take your statements. As soon as you've made that appointment, you can leave."
Someone else put their hand up, saving me the trouble of doing it myself. "But why are they here? What were those sirens about?"
He knew, of course. I'd seen him taking a surreptitious phone call. "Someone has died on school property," he prevaricated. "There may be suspicious circumstances involved."
Damn right there were suspicious circumstances involved. She'd literally been beaten to death; that was about as suspicious as it came. But I said not a word. Meek and mild Taylor Hebert, that was me.
Ironically—I'd detoured between my classes to double-check this—the best evidence of my guilt had been erased without me having to raise a finger. Because of Emma's complaint to Principal Blackwell about her locker being damaged, all three lockers had been repaired, and the horrific mess in mine had been cleaned up, before the police ever arrived. It seemed there were unexpected benefits in attending a school where 'sweeping things under the rug' was raised to the level of an Olympic event.
The three wise monkeys had nothing on Winslow.
Leaning back in my seat, I prepared to wait. I hadn't thought to get that book about Caesar out of the library, but I was perfectly fine with killing time.
PRT ENE
Director's Office
Director Piggot
"What the fuck."
It wasn't a question so much as a statement. Emily breathed it soft and low, as she read through the preliminary report. The death of a Protectorate member under her command would be bad enough to generate a metric ton of paperwork. However, the death of a Ward, out of costume, on the first day of school, was nothing less than a genuine catastrophe.
It wasn't that she'd liked the Hess girl. In fact, on the few times they'd interacted, they hadn't gotten along at all. Shadow Stalker was—had been—an arrogant, cocksure little shit, almost certainly suffering (or making her superiors suffer) from an undiagnosed case of oppositional defiant disorder, making life unpleasant for all around them. But the fact remained that Hess had been (whatever her flaws) a Ward. And part of Emily's unofficial training was the truism that nobody got left behind.
It didn't matter that no witnesses had come forward yet to provide a suspect for Stalker's premature death. There had to be at least one, or maybe two or three. This was the number of people currently suspected to have had a hand in it. She had been a seasoned combatant (albeit a bit raw in her style) and if there'd been any fewer than three up against her, she had to have left marks on one of them.
Armsmaster was already on the case, apparently. His analysis equipment was the best in the state, so she had faith that the man would be able to nail down exactly which villain in Brockton Bay could have infiltrated Winslow and beaten Stalker to death. Or maybe a bunch of the older boys had been bribed to corner her in that room, and kick her until she was down.
Whichever it was, Emily knew the truth would come out sooner or later. Someone would boast, or flash the cash, and the PRT would close in on them. Murder wasn't as easy as it seemed in the movies. Nobody could just kill a fellow human being and be the same afterward. Human nature didn't allow it.
Later
Taylor
I climbed the front steps and unlocked the door with my key. Tossing my backpack onto the sofa, I detoured through the living room into the kitchen, where I snagged a soda from the fridge. "Hey, Dad."
"Taylor." Dad looked around from where he was chopping ingredients for dinner. "I got the phone call to say you'd be staying late at school. What happened?"
I shrugged. "Someone got on the wrong side of someone else, and it got fatal, or so they say. The police want to talk to everyone who was on that side of the school when it happened, to see if we saw anything." I rolled my eyes. "So now I've got an appointment at the police station. Yay me."
He picked up the cutting board and swept the contents into a bowl. "Still, it's your civic duty." He raised his head and gave me a serious look. "Are you okay?"
"Me?" I gave him a grin as I popped the soda and headed back into the living room. TV awaited, and I wanted to see if Sophia had made the news. "Never better."
End of Part Two
Relevant Side Story
Part Two: Win Stupid Prizes
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Sophia
She heard the broken, jagged sobbing before she saw Emma. That should've prepared her, but it didn't. When she pushed open the bathroom stall and saw the redhead hunched over the toilet, she knew it was bad. But when Emma turned her head and Sophia saw her blotched features and swollen eyes, the snot and vomit hanging in unsightly strings from her nose and mouth, that was when she understood just how bad it was.
"Jesus fuck, Emma." She tugged her friend away from the toilet and helped her to her feet. "What the fuck happened? Did she beat you up?" Any other day, there would've been no question of even suspecting Hebert of being able to give Emma a proper tuning up. But there was something about Hebert's new attitude, not to mention the ease with which she'd evaded Sophia's punch earlier, that raised questions.
Had something happened to Hebert over the Christmas break? Did she trigger with powers and join the Wards when I wasn't looking? It might explain her new physical capabilities, and the knowledge of what to say about Piggot. The other Wards had unmasked to her … but she'd never given permission to pass that knowledge on to anyone else. Least of all fucking Hebert.
No, there were too many holes in the story. Hebert was too much of a wimp to get powers, and Sophia had been in to the PRT building over Christmas. There'd been no announcement of a new Ward, and nothing new on the bulletin board except Vista's cutesy little cut-out snowflakes.
"No," mumbled Emma. "She knows 'bout the alley. About the ABB." At Sophia's urging, she began to splash water on her face, washing away the worst of the muck. "She threw it in my face. Told me I was weak." Her face twisted, and it looked like she was going to cry again.
"You're not weak," Sophia snapped, grabbing her by the shoulders and literally shaking her. "You're strong, dammit. A survivor. Like me."
The bathroom door banged open and Sophia tensed, turning that way. If this was Hebert coming back to pull more voodoo bullshit on Emma—seriously, she looked like she'd been run over by an eighteen-wheeler—then there would be words spoken. By 'words' she meant 'punches', and by 'spoken' she meant 'thrown'.
But it was only Madison, though she looked almost as rattled as Emma. Leaning against the wall, she fought for breath, her face chalk-white under her makeup.
"What happened to you?" demanded Sophia. "Where were you when Hebert was getting into Emma's head?"
"I was … I was right there," Madison wheezed. "When Emma ran away, I con-confronted Taylor." She drew in a shaky breath and looked like she was going to cry. "Oh, god. I shouldn't have."
"The fuck?" Sophia shook her head and glared at them both. "Did she pull some woo-woo bullshit out of your past as well, to fuck with your head?"
"No. No. No, no, she didn't." Madison shook her head. "She just … gave me a warning. A warning to give to everyone. You, me, Emma, everyone. We're on our last chance. If we keep going the way we are, she'll kill us."
Sophia stared at her, then burst out laughing. "Oh, bullshit. You actually bought that, from her? The little queef is bluffing. You know it, I know it, Emma knows it. What'd she do, wave a plastic knife or something at you?"
Madison shook her head again. "No, but she hit me right about here so I could hardly breathe, then told me that she could've hit me just a bit harder so I'd suffocate, all while she was eating her lunch. Like it didn't matter to her if I lived or died. Then she hit me again so I could breathe properly, and said something about how we're on our second strike. Third strike, we're out."
It all came out at once, the words tumbling over themselves. By the time Madison squeaked the last word out, she was breathless. She stared at Sophia, as though silently asking for assistance.
"What the hell is wrong with you two?" Sophia shook her head. "You're better than this. Smarter. Tougher. Hebert couldn't push you around like this on her best day." Again, she had a moment of doubt. Something was wrong if Emma and Madison couldn't keep Hebert in her place.
Once more, she shook the feeling off. They'd been easing off on Hebert, prepping for the locker prank, and she'd managed to grow a semblance of a spine over Christmas. That's gotta be it.
Hebert didn't get to stand up for herself. She didn't deserve it. As far as Sophia was concerned, Hebert's correct place was at the bottom of the pecking order, far away from anyone who actually mattered.
Sophia didn't even consider the busted-open lockers to be a problem. Winslow lockers were shit, and everyone knew it. As for the Miss Piggy reference … I must have misheard her, that's all. She's not a Ward.
Which made it even more irritating. She'd had the perfect opportunity to smack that irritating expression across to the other side of Hebert's face, and she'd missed out. That was an oversight she was going to have to remedy, right the fuck now.
"Madison, take care of Emma," she said briskly. "I'm going to go find Hebert, and explain to her why she doesn't pull this shit."
"What? No!" Madison grabbed at Sophia's sleeve as she passed by. "I just told you! She said she'd kill us if we messed with her again!"
Brushing Madison's grasp away, Sophia pushed her back against the wall, an arm across her throat. "I wasn't asking," she growled. "And if she tries that three-strikes bullshit on me, she'll be dead for real. Now take care of Emma."
Feeling even more aggravated by the exchange—where did Madison get off, trying to tell her what to do?—she opened the bathroom door and headed out.
When she found Hebert, there was going to be hell to pay.
<><>
Taylor
Following my lunch and the little chat I'd had with Madison, I went to the library and settled down for a restful time-out with a book about the life of Caesar that I'd been meaning to read. Life had been simpler back then, I decided. Of course, it had been usually shorter and more disease-ridden, so that was a distinct downside. But being able to stab someone who was getting on your nerves had to solve a lot of problems.
I'd read somewhere that the Romans had changed up the traditional handshake to a forearm clasp so as to be able to tell if their political rivals were carrying knives strapped to their wrists. Of course, the Romans had also been the ones to give the phrase 'political backstabbing' a whole new level of meaning.
I'd only spent five minutes out of the thirty I'd allotted myself when I became aware that Sophia was looking for me with the specific intent to do me harm. Mentally, I apologised to my power for the previous sarcasm; it seemed that aspect could be useful after all. She wasn't quite as unintelligent as I'd sometimes wondered, because the library was the third place she looked into on her search.
Of course, I knew she was coming and decided to kill her chances of finding me. So, as she walked in through the main doors, I climbed out of the beanbag I'd been lying in and took a meandering path through the library. This just happened to coincide with Sophia's, in that whenever she looked in my direction, I was just out of her line of sight. Looking more frustrated than ever, she left the library; I shrugged and went back to my beanbag.
Even after searching most of the school (including all of the girls' bathrooms, twice) and not finding me, she hadn't given up. My sense of her indicated that she was waiting in an empty classroom close to my next class, which was art. Her intent to do me harm was stronger than ever. It wasn't long until the bell to start classes again, which meant that I needed to make a choice.
If I wanted to avoid the conflict that was brewing, I could skip the class altogether or simply go a slightly different way to get to the same classroom. Alternatively, I could go straight to where she was, administer a non-lethal object lesson, then go to class anyway. Or … I could just kill her. I was pretty sure she'd been warned.
Unfortunately for her, I didn't feel like letting her dictate a single one of my actions. If she wanted to poke the bear, then what happened next was all on her.
So, I got up from the beanbag and took the book back to the returns slot. On my way out of the library, I took the calculator I'd liberated from Emma's locker out of my new backpack, and slid it up my sleeve. I wasn't sure exactly why I'd done that, but it seemed to be the right thing to do.
As I approached the classroom, I checked again. Only Sophia showed up as a hostile, which meant there weren't likely to be any other witnesses in the room. This smelt to me like Sophia intended to deliver an extremely thorough beating, possibly involving broken bones.
That was just fine with me.
It took a certain amount of self-control to allow myself to fall into the trap, but I hadn't yet decided what I wanted to do with Sophia, so I was on my own. Still, it didn't seem to matter; Sophia was the sort of person who never thought of examining the teeth of a gift horse. From the enthusiastic way she hauled me into the room and threw me to the floor (or tried to throw me to the floor) she'd clearly decided that her trap was a masterpiece of Napoleonic genius.
I hit the floor, rolled, and came to my feet again with relative ease. This was one of the things my power had boosted about me. "Hi to you, too," I said.
"Shut up!" she hissed. "What the fuck did you do to Emma and Madison?"
"Told them something they needed to know," I said, slipping my pack off and tossing it to one side. "Did Madison pass on the message to you? 'That's two'?"
She sneered at me. "Yeah, she said you'd grown a backbone. Well, too bad for you. You're going down. And don't even try to fake me out like the last time, or this is going to hurt even more."
"And when I inevitably point you out as the person who beat me up?" I asked mildly.
Her sneer intensified. "There's half a dozen girls who're willing to swear blind I was with them the whole time."
"Well, that's awkward." I didn't say who it was going to be awkward for. "One more time. Just to be sure. You know this is your third strike?"
She stared with astonishment. "Are you threatening me? Are you seriously fucking trying to threaten me right now?"
Fuck, she was dense. "No, I'm telling you that this, right here, is your third strike." There; it was explained.
"You can take your third strike and shove it—" Her form as she moved in to punch me wasn't bad. She'd clearly been in more than one brawl.
I didn't much care. As she swung her fist at me, I took her arm and snapped it at the elbow, then slammed my knee into her ribs so hard that three of them broke. A couple of the shards went through her left lung.
Her eyes opened wide as she expirated a fine mist of blood, then I put a stop to that nonsense with a single knife-hand strike to the throat that collapsed her larynx. A second later, she surprised the hell out of me by turning to a dark swirling fog and lunging for the far wall. Reflexively, I slid the calculator from my sleeve and tossed it through her; she convulsed and fell to the floor, solid again.
Unable to breathe, her lungs filling with blood, she lay on her back and stared up at me as I moved to stand over her. "Shadow Stalker, huh?" I asked rhetorically. "Guess I didn't see that coming. Still, doesn't matter. Strike three is strike three." I lifted my foot above her sternum and brought my heel down hard; at just the right place, with sufficient force, it was enough to stop her heart.
Stopping only to retrieve my backpack and calculator, I left the classroom and went to art class.
<><>
Two Hours Later
Math Class
Emma
There was something seriously, seriously wrong. With Madison's help, Emma had repaired her makeup and gone on to class, but she hadn't gotten any answers back from her discreet texts to Sophia. Not that she was stupid enough to ask straight-out 'did you beat up Taylor yet' but usually it worked well enough to say something like, 'so how'd it go?'.
But there was nothing. She'd sent a test message to Madison to make sure her phone was working right and hadn't gotten water in it, but there was no problem there. It was just that … Sophia wasn't answering.
And then she came to Math class with Mr Quinlan, and there was Taylor, not a hair out of place. Admittedly, Emma didn't know what Sophia been planning on doing, but at the very least she would've repossessed her property. Yet, there sat Taylor, wearing Sophia's jeans and sneakers, and with the stolen backpack beside her desk.
As bizarre as it sounded, it seemed that Sophia had totally failed to catch up with Taylor, even knowing what her class schedule was. So Emma did what any good friend would do. Pulling out her phone, she sent a text. 'hey if youre still looking 4 T shes in math'.
No novice at classroom texting, Emma had given no outward sign of sending the message. Her phone keyboard was silent, and she could thumb-type with the best of them. But still, just after the message was sent, Taylor turned in her seat and gave Emma a raised eyebrow. Deliberately, she put a strand of hair in her mouth and pretended to chew on it.
Abruptly, Emma recalled the alley, remembered lying on stained asphalt, at the mercy of the girl wearing her jacket. The handful of hair that had been brutally cut off with the knife was shoved into her mouth. Eat it, then pick.
Taylor's face loomed large in her memory. You'll never really escape the alley. You were weak then and you're even weaker now.
It had taken her months to get over having hysterics at home when she found a hair in her food. And now, Taylor was bringing it all back again.
Jumping up from her seat, she clamped her hand across her mouth to hold in the upcoming eruption, and bolted from the room. Quinlan may have called her name as the door was swinging shut behind her, but she didn't care.
<><>
Taylor
I still wasn't sure what that was about, but it was certainly effective. Innocently, I looked around as Mr Quinlan called Emma's name. She didn't come back.
"Does anyone know what's going on with Miss Barnes?" he asked. From his tone, he wasn't expecting an answer.
"I'm not entirely sure, sir," I answered on a whim. "Maybe she's allergic to logarithms?"
He snorted heavily. "Very funny, Ms Hebert. Now, turn to page fifty-two …"
I was just doing so when I heard the sirens. Police and ambulance both, and coming toward Winslow. Yeah, someone found her. The paramedics wouldn't be able to do anything except give her a speedy ride to the hospital, where an actual doctor would be able to use his vast expertise to pronounce her dead on arrival.
I'd know in the next hour or so whether I'd need to start a new path: kill the investigation. For the moment, I was reasonably sure I was in the clear. And in fact, Sophia's status as a Ward was likely to work for me as opposed to against me. I wouldn't be surprised if the PRT went all-in on this being a murder by a villain who snuck into the school to get to Shadow Stalker, as opposed to a grudge match gone fatally wrong.
And then there were the other people inside Winslow who might have wanted to fuck her shit up even more than I did; the teenagers who held views supportive of the Empire Eighty-Eight. Nobody wore gang colours in the school itself, and the only recruiting was by the ABB (for a very enthusiastic definition of 'recruiting'), but they were around. Sophia hadn't spread the word that she was looking to relocate my teeth in several different directions, so theoretically they could've done it.
They hadn't, of course. I did say 'theoretically'.
When the end of the math period came (Mr Quinlan stayed with us the whole time, by a miracle) an announcement came across the decrepit PA system, to the effect that those of us who had been in the following classrooms at the approximate time of death had to stay behind to talk to the police. One of the classrooms listed was the art classroom; I had been there, of course.
As can be imagined, this caused a roar and a ruckus. About half of us in the classroom had been in the art class or another nearby room. Even though none of them had done this, nobody wanted to be kept back late to talk to the boys in blue.
"Class, class!" Mr Quinlan called out patting the air with his hands. "The police will not be questioning you here and now! They are here to make appointments to take your statements. As soon as you've made that appointment, you can leave."
Someone else put their hand up, saving me the trouble of doing it myself. "But why are they here? What were those sirens about?"
He knew, of course. I'd seen him taking a surreptitious phone call. "Someone has died on school property," he prevaricated. "There may be suspicious circumstances involved."
Damn right there were suspicious circumstances involved. She'd literally been beaten to death; that was about as suspicious as it came. But I said not a word. Meek and mild Taylor Hebert, that was me.
Ironically—I'd detoured between my classes to double-check this—the best evidence of my guilt had been erased without me having to raise a finger. Because of Emma's complaint to Principal Blackwell about her locker being damaged, all three lockers had been repaired, and the horrific mess in mine had been cleaned up, before the police ever arrived. It seemed there were unexpected benefits in attending a school where 'sweeping things under the rug' was raised to the level of an Olympic event.
The three wise monkeys had nothing on Winslow.
Leaning back in my seat, I prepared to wait. I hadn't thought to get that book about Caesar out of the library, but I was perfectly fine with killing time.
<><>
PRT ENE
Director's Office
Director Piggot
"What the fuck."
It wasn't a question so much as a statement. Emily breathed it soft and low, as she read through the preliminary report. The death of a Protectorate member under her command would be bad enough to generate a metric ton of paperwork. However, the death of a Ward, out of costume, on the first day of school, was nothing less than a genuine catastrophe.
It wasn't that she'd liked the Hess girl. In fact, on the few times they'd interacted, they hadn't gotten along at all. Shadow Stalker was—had been—an arrogant, cocksure little shit, almost certainly suffering (or making her superiors suffer) from an undiagnosed case of oppositional defiant disorder, making life unpleasant for all around them. But the fact remained that Hess had been (whatever her flaws) a Ward. And part of Emily's unofficial training was the truism that nobody got left behind.
It didn't matter that no witnesses had come forward yet to provide a suspect for Stalker's premature death. There had to be at least one, or maybe two or three. This was the number of people currently suspected to have had a hand in it. She had been a seasoned combatant (albeit a bit raw in her style) and if there'd been any fewer than three up against her, she had to have left marks on one of them.
Armsmaster was already on the case, apparently. His analysis equipment was the best in the state, so she had faith that the man would be able to nail down exactly which villain in Brockton Bay could have infiltrated Winslow and beaten Stalker to death. Or maybe a bunch of the older boys had been bribed to corner her in that room, and kick her until she was down.
Whichever it was, Emily knew the truth would come out sooner or later. Someone would boast, or flash the cash, and the PRT would close in on them. Murder wasn't as easy as it seemed in the movies. Nobody could just kill a fellow human being and be the same afterward. Human nature didn't allow it.
<><>
Later
Taylor
I climbed the front steps and unlocked the door with my key. Tossing my backpack onto the sofa, I detoured through the living room into the kitchen, where I snagged a soda from the fridge. "Hey, Dad."
"Taylor." Dad looked around from where he was chopping ingredients for dinner. "I got the phone call to say you'd be staying late at school. What happened?"
I shrugged. "Someone got on the wrong side of someone else, and it got fatal, or so they say. The police want to talk to everyone who was on that side of the school when it happened, to see if we saw anything." I rolled my eyes. "So now I've got an appointment at the police station. Yay me."
He picked up the cutting board and swept the contents into a bowl. "Still, it's your civic duty." He raised his head and gave me a serious look. "Are you okay?"
"Me?" I gave him a grin as I popped the soda and headed back into the living room. TV awaited, and I wanted to see if Sophia had made the news. "Never better."
End of Part Two
Relevant Side Story
Last edited:
Part Three: The Challenge
- Location
- Australia
A Darker Path
Part Three: The Challenge
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Winslow High School
The Scene of the Crime
Armsmaster
Colin ran his multiscanner (he had refused to call it a 'tricorder' despite Dragon making puppy-dog eyes at him over their video link) over the deceased teen before him. "Subject was not moved post-mortem. Stress patterns on cloth, left hand side of body, indicates that a large rounded object, possibly a human knee, was used for impact that shattered ribs. Microfibre deposits on the fabric indicate that the assailant may have been wearing blue jeans, design uncertain. Speed and power of blow suggest that the assailant was conversant with Muay Thai or a similar martial art. The assailant's grasp on subject's broken arm was used to improve accuracy and striking power."
He paused between sweeps and sat back with a sigh. It was important to be impersonal and objective at a time like this, so that all possible information could be utilised to nail the perpetrator to the wall. However, it was hard. For all that he wasn't great at social interaction, he'd worked with Shadow Stalker in the field and she'd shown skill and efficiency in her work. Her death would be a tremendous loss to the team.
"You okay?" asked Battery, who was sitting across the room, fiddling with Stalker's phone. The Wards-issued one, which had also been in Stalker's pocket, had been put aside as being less likely to hold any details pertaining to what had happened here. "Want to take a break?"
"No." He shook his head. "She was one of ours. I'll see this through." He ran the scanner over Shadow Stalker's body again. "No defensive wounds or offensive marks on her hands or arms. No bruising to suggest that she may have been restrained for the beating. No taser marks. A very faint scorch mark on her skin beside her collarbone, of unknown origin and age. Larynx crushed with a single blow, the profile matching a spear-hand strike, as used in several forms of karate and other martial arts styles."
"That can't be easy to do." Battery shook her head. "The finger bones and joints are designed to be flexible. Hit at anything but the perfect angle, and you'll never play the piano again. I've seen it more than once." She tapped the phone screen, and sat up straight. "I think I've got something. Saved texts, pointing to a pattern of bullying someone."
"Bullying?" Colin's head came up. "Is that conclusive or inferred?"
Battery frowned. "Let's see … what r u doing with her bag? … am in art class atm. was thinking i can fill it with paint when teach leaves room. put it in lost&found. her art midterm is inside so she might look for it and find it and be all yay i found it and then she looks inside and sees its fucked. There's more, but is that conclusive enough for you?"
"It certainly doesn't sound good." Colin's lips thinned. "Keep looking, and see if this establishes a pattern or was a one-off." He ran the scanner over Stalker's heart region. "Cloth stress patterns are distinct enough to get a print here. I originally thought she'd been punched in the chest, but it was a kick. Or a downward stamping motion, after she was on the floor."
"And that's what stopped her heart?" asked Battery, still scrolling through the phone. "I always thought that sort of thing was a martial arts myth, along with the nose bone going into the brain."
"I've looked it up," Colin replied. "It's possible, but you have to be either exceedingly good or lucky—or extremely unlucky, depending on your intentions—and deliver the strike just when the heart is at a vulnerable point in its beating cycle."
Battery lifted her eyes from the phone and stared at him. "You have to gauge their heartbeat? I'm going with 'lucky'."
"Or a cape," Colin reminded her. "All the evidence points the same way. This has to be a parahuman."
"Several things wrong with that scenario, boss-man." Battery leaned back in her seat, the phone temporarily forgotten. "There's no indication that any of the capes in the city, even the Empire Eighty-Eight ones, knew who Stalker was. And even if they did, killing her in the middle of the school just added needless difficulty for them. They could've literally just stabbed her in the street and pretended it was a mugging gone wrong. And then there's the other thing."
"Other thing?" Colin frowned. He didn't like missing details. "Such as?"
"This room." Battery gestured at the classroom. "Your scanner already picked up that she was alone in here for a little time before she was killed, right?"
"Yes." Colin wasn't sure where she was going with this. "So …?"
"So, nobody sits alone in an empty classroom unless they're reading a book or playing on their phone or doing something to pass the time. Unless she was waiting for someone. And that someone, when they came in, was the person she was waiting for, or she thought they were. Because otherwise, she would've ghosted out of there. Instead, she got close enough to have CQC initiated on her and get her ass beaten like a one-legged piñata."
Colin took a moment to wonder if Battery wasn't picking up some of Assault's more irritating turns of phrase. "Not initiated on her. She initiated it. The broken elbow, that came from a punch that was redirected and the joint over-extended. Whoever killed her, she thought she could beat them. She couldn't have been more wrong."
"Okay …" mused Battery. "So, how's this for a sequence of events. Someone passes word that a mutual friend wants to meet her here. She comes and waits. A cape with a Stranger ability, pretending to be that friend, comes in. They talk and either she twigs that it's not them, or they deliberately rile her up. Combat Thinker bullshit martial arts ensues, they somehow manage to prevent her from ghosting away and she dies of a punctured lung, a crushed larynx and a stopped heart."
Tilting his head, Colin considered the scenario as laid out by his subordinate. "It fits the facts at hand, certainly. Now all we need is a motive for this Thinker-Stranger martial artist to want to murder her at all, much less inside a school. Was there anything more on the phone?"
"Funny you should ask that," Battery said. "From what I can see, this has been going on for at least a year. No name for the victim or victims, just 'H'. Oh, and I've gotten several pings on the phone since we got here. Most of them are from her friends asking where she is, but this one here says that if Stalker's looking for 'T' she's in math class." She paused, looking pensive. "You know … bullying has always been a reliable motive for wanting to kill someone."
"So you're thinking this 'T' or this 'H' could have something to do with Stalker's death? Maybe hired an outside cape with a Stranger ability and sneaked them into Winslow?" Colin massaged his beard with thumb and forefinger. "I'm still blanking on why they'd choose to do it in the middle of a school."
Battery snapped her fingers. "Because this way you have several advantages that you don't elsewhere. One, you can reliably have her go of her own accord to a location of your choosing, where there are no witnesses. Two, she'll be off-guard. In school, she'll be thinking 'Sophia Hess', not 'Shadow Stalker'. Three, there's no cops, security guards or working CCTV. Four, if she and her little friends have been getting away with bullying people for so long, it's a sure bet that the staff just don't care. Nobody pays attention. And five … well, out there on the street, she wasn't the biggest fish, not by a long shot. In here, she was. This was her territory, or so she thought."
"Valid points, certainly," he agreed. "I just can't help wondering if there isn't something we're missing. The vital clue, as they say in detective stories."
She snorted indelicately. "You and I both know real life isn't as convenient as that. But I do think this bullying is a strong lead. Especially as it's her co-offenders who've been trying to text her. I'm thinking we can get a warrant for their names and addresses, and have a little chat with them."
"That is the next obvious step, yes," Colin agreed absently, leaning over to peer at the soles of Shadow Stalker's shoes. "Hmm. That's interesting."
"What's interesting?" asked Battery. "Did she tag the perp after all?"
"No." Colin tapped the controls of the scanner. "I just compared tread patterns, and Stalker is wearing an identical type of shoe to the perp. Same size, too."
"Really?" Battery sat up again. "Hey, just on a wild hunch. How tall's the perp?"
Colin allowed himself a smile. His scanner was already calibrated for measuring that sort of thing, from the angle of the blows. "I make it five ten, plus or minus half an inch. Why?"
By now, Battery was standing. "And Stalker's about the same height, yeah?"
"Almost exactly, yes. Why ..." Light dawned. "You think the Stranger became Stalker?"
"It's a possibility. Now, those microfibers you found, would they be a match for her jeans?" She pointed at the skinny jeans Stalker was wearing.
Colin barely had to check. "Almost identical. Down to the same brands of detergent and fabric conditioner." He shook his head. "That can't be a coincidence."
Battery nodded. "Okay, so the word was passed, Stalker came here to wait, and the Stranger showed up. Then they morphed into Stalker, which would almost certainly have goaded her to attack."
That made sense. Shadow Stalker had always had an intense prideful streak. "It's probably the only way they could guarantee she wouldn't cut and run if faced with a shapeshifting cape."
"Very true." She pinched her lower lip in thought. "The question is, who? The Empire Eighty-Eight's got a bunch of strong melee combatants plus one hell of a motive, and Uber could make himself skilled enough to do this, except that there's not a Stranger rating between them, and I strongly doubt Cricket could pass herself off as being school-age, even with all of Victor's makeup skills at her disposal."
"No, but Leet could probably build a device that let Uber become a teenage girl." Colin shook his head. "Still, we should rule out Uber and Leet for this. No video game link, and they've never murdered anyone before."
"The Empire, on the other hand, would totally do this, but how? Unless they made a deal with Leet for his hypothetical Changer device?" Battery's tone showed she wasn't being entirely serious.
And that was when Colin had the inspiration. "Not Leet. But Othala can grant powers."
He couldn't see her expression, but her voice gave the impression of a frown. "Not Changer or Stranger abilities."
"That. We. Know. Of." He emphasized every word. "Sure, they let us know about the invincibility, the flight, the superspeed, the regeneration and the pyrokinesis. That's all combat-useful, and it doesn't hurt to let us wonder what power Victor's got today. But if they kept a Changer or Stranger ability under wraps, that lets them do recon and espionage without ever being suspected of being able to do it …"
Battery nodded. "It all fits together. If anyone can kill that fast and efficiently, it would be Victor or Cricket. And once they were done, they changed to look like another student and walked out of the school."
"Cricket," Colin decided. "Her ultrasonic attack would be ideal for stunning Stalker long enough to get the lethal blows in, and I suspect she would be able to detect a heartbeat precisely enough to time her kick down to the instant."
Slowly, Battery sat down again. "So, it's just the Empire Eighty-Eight being douchebag Nazis again," she concluded. "And I was certain it was about the bullying. It was such an understandable motive."
"I'd keep checking into it, if I were you," Colin advised her. "It might still play a part."
"Just not as an important one as I thought." Battery wrinkled her nose. "But I know one thing for certain."
"What's that?" asked Colin, beginning to pack away his equipment.
"The Director's not going to be happy with this, no matter who turns out to be responsible."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Very true."
Boardwalk
Madison
They sat together at one of the small tables that dotted the Boardwalk as the sun lowered toward the western hills. Emma clutched her chocolate shake so hard with both hands that if the surface had shown any more liquid, it would've been rippling from the shudders that passed through her from time to time. Madison had never seen her so thoroughly rattled, though she had an idea how Emma felt.
"Sophia's dead." Emma spoke the words quietly, her teeth chattering on the last word as she shuddered again.
Madison felt her throat close up over the words. She forced herself to swallow her mouthful of iced coffee shake; if she spat it out, she was afraid she'd puke. "Y-yeah," she whispered, knowing she had to face reality eventually. Nobody had said Sophia was the person who had died, but someone was dead, and she wasn't answering any of her texts. And of course, she'd been going to confront Taylor. "I told her not to go. I told her. You saw me."
"You told her," Emma agreed. She raised red-rimmed eyes to look at Madison. "You really think Taylor would kill her? That she could?"
"Taylor hates her." Madison had been doing a lot of very uncomfortable thinking on the bus from Winslow. "Hated. Like she hates us. If she could have, she would have. And I'm damn sure she could. You didn't see the look in her eyes when she was sitting there eating lunch. Not giving a damn that I was hardly able to breathe."
"So what do we do now?" whimpered Emma. "Sophia was tougher than any of us, and she was a cape. If Taylor could kill her, she could murder you or me in her sleep. In our sleep."
Looking at the frazzled mess that Emma had become, Madison suspected Taylor wouldn't have to raise a hand. Just shouting 'boo!' at the right moment would probably give Emma a heart attack.
"We do nothing," she said, trying to sound like she knew what she was talking about. "We're alive, right? That's because we didn't go with Sophia. Because we didn't go after Taylor again. She told me that's two, right? If we step over the line one more time, we're dead. All we have to do is never step over the line."
Emma looked over her shoulder convulsively, the movement a whole-body twitch. "Wh-what if she's just playing with us? Waiting 'til our guard's down? And then one day, we turn around—"
"No." Madison grabbed her friend's wrist. "Stop. Listen to me." She waited until Emma was looking at her. "Are you listening?"
Emma took a couple of ragged breaths, then two more. "Okay, I'm listening."
"Good." Madison leaned over the table slightly, so that she could slide her hand around the back of Emma's head, her fingers entwined in Emma's hair, then looked Emma straight in the eyes. "Taylor doesn't 'play'. She doesn't draw it out. If she wanted us dead, we'd be lying in the morgue alongside Sophia. So the only way we're going to survive this massive clusterfuck we've managed to turn our lives into is never be a threat to Taylor Hebert, ever again. Think you can manage that?"
There was a twitch as Emma tried to turn her head away. Madison didn't let her. Too much depended on this.
Finally, Emma nodded. "Y-yeah. I can do that. I can. Leave it with me."
"Excellent." Madison drew a deep breath and let it out again, feeling her heart rate decrease slightly. Letting go of Emma's head, she sat back into her chair.
"Um." Emma began to look agitated again. "Cops. They're gonna want statements. What do we say?"
Jesus, why ask me? "Uh, we tell the truth. Except if they ask if we think Taylor did it. Then we say no way, she wouldn't hurt a fly. Okay? Got it?"
It was the right answer. "Got it," Emma replied. "She wouldn't hurt a fly."
"Perfect." Madison tried to think about the next step. "And right now, we've got to pass the word, to everyone. Julia, Stacey, their friends, anyone who ever helped us with a prank. Taylor's off limits. Hopefully, we can get the message out in time to save their lives."
"Okay, right." Emma pulled her phone out, then stopped. "But … but what do we say? We can't just tell them 'Sophia's dead, don't be next'. They might decide to tell the cops. Worse, Taylor might think we said to call the cops."
"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." Madison bit the words off as she tried to think. "Okay, tell them … because the cops are all over the school right now, we're gonna back off on Taylor. Keep our heads down. Hopefully by the time the heat dies down, they'll have forgotten about her."
"Yeah-yeah. Good id-idea." Emma bit her lip as she started texting.
Madison got her own phone out and opened a text to Julia. 'Hey, just so u kno, with the shit goin on rite now, we're steppin back with T. No sense attractin attention. Let every1 kno, ok?'
She really, really hoped this would work.
That Evening
Taylor
I didn't want a costume, not really, but I knew at some point I'd probably need one. Mainly because at some point I was going to be in public with the need to get some asshole to step out of my way, and I'd require a good costume to get their attention and a good name to keep it. A lot of the Paths I was considering were going to be a fuck-ton easier to complete if I had a costume and a name.
Okay, power, I get it. You want to show off. Fine, I'll do it.
I already knew what name I was going to go with. An education that included the classics had not gone wasted. All I needed was a matching costume. It would be edgy as fuck but then again, I had the power to murder anyone who pissed me off. The only way I could get any edgier would be to include the words 'blood' or 'stryke' in my name, and add a few dozen pouches and a stupidly-oversized gun.
Not that I had any particular issue with acquiring a stupidly-oversized gun. It would be the ultimate party accessory, for a given definition of 'ultimate', 'party' and 'accessory'.
However, I'd have to wait until later to get one. Right now, I needed to acquire the costume and set the scene for my grand entrance into the Brockton Bay crime scene. The trouble was, I couldn't just ask for a path to 'end my lack of a cool costume'. My power apparently didn't work that way. It wasn't there just for me to get stuff. I'd have to work for it.
Translation: someone would have to die.
Fortunately, I was just fine with that, especially since the suggested target was already someone who desperately needed it.
Following the directions of my power, I dressed carefully; gray hoodie, black jacket over the top. I kept Sophia's skinny jeans and sneakers on, though. She might be gone, but her stuff could still go out and do more good than she ever had. As a final touch, I tied a gray bandanna around my neck, that could be pulled up in a pinch to act as a mask.
Dad was snoring gently as I walked past his bedroom door, my feet somehow hitting every non-creaking floorboard. Downstairs I went, then through the entrance hall and kitchen to the basement. I didn't need to turn the light on, because I knew exactly what I wanted and where it was. Dad's big toolbox held roughly one metric ton of tools, but I just needed two of them; a flat-head screwdriver and a pipe wrench. Armed with these, I snuck out of the house.
I bypassed three separate cars parked on the side of the road until my power directed me to one in a side-street. The screwdriver popped the door open like a magic trick; when I got inside, I discovered why I'd been nudged toward that one. The spare keys were in the centre console, under a scrunched-up tissue, which made it possible to start the car without needing to hotwire it.
Not that I had any idea how to hotwire a car, but I was pretty sure my power did. However, hiding the fact that the car had been hotwired was a lot harder than just using the keys and putting the car back afterward. What do you know; my power was capable of subtlety.
I didn't know how to drive a car, but I studied my hand and foot movements as I cruised through the darkened streets of Brockton Bay. It was what I suspected actors went through when they watched themselves pulling stunts on the big screen. Kind of like an out of body experience, but not really.
When the car finally pulled up on a side street, I wasn't certain where my power had taken me, but I had an idea. The two guys wearing red and green gang colours, and the one in the brightly painted demon mask, kind of spelled it out to me. I was in ABB territory, and that was Oni Lee.
Well, I'd already known who I was here to kill. This just verified it.
It seemed to be a late-night shopping area, with venues open up and down the block. The one Oni Lee and his followers were loitering outside was a dressmaker, I guessed. Something to do with making clothes, anyway. Still, not my problem.
I got out of the car and strolled toward the trio, the handle of the pipe-wrench cold against my arm. I knew I could let it slide down and bring it into action in less than a second, but until then, I was a harmless teenager. Even my body language was all about 'ignore me, I don't matter'.
Invisibility: it's an art, not a super-power.
Even so, I only got within about three yards before they finally took notice of me. That was fine; three yards was plenty close enough. One of the enforcers took a step toward me. "Back off, bitch," he ordered.
End this interference.
The pipe wrench slid down into my hand, and I laid it across the side of his head. He was already unconscious when he hit the ground.
The other ABB mook was still gaping when I threw the pipe-wrench. It smacked him in the forehead and sent him over backward.
Interference: ended.
Oni Lee was fast, I'll give him that. He was halfway through pulling his pistol when I reached him and kicked him hard in the groin. Then I twitched the pistol from his grip, straight-armed it back behind me, and fired a shot. As the version in front of me crumbled to ash, along with the pistol I was holding, I turned to see the newer one fall over backward with a bullet-hole in the middle of that stupid demon mask.
Bending down, I retrieved the pipe wrench, then straightened and swung it hard enough to break the forearm of the third guy, who'd just come out of the shop. He howled and dropped the knife he'd been trying to stab me with, and I hit him with a backswing that dropped him unconscious on top of Oni Lee's ash.
Pulling the bandanna up over my face, I bent down again and pulled the wad of protection money out of the mook's pocket. Then I pushed the door open and stepped into the shop.
The shop owner was understandably worried. I held out the cash and said something fluently in a language I didn't understand. Or rather, it was the language I didn't understand, but I knew what I'd said. 'The reign of Lung is coming to an end. Here is your money back.'
She stared at me and didn't accept the money, but she did reply to me. My power helpfully provided a translation. 'Without Lung, who will protect us from the Empire Eighty-Eight and the other gangs?'
I smiled under the bandanna. 'They will also be going away.' I offered the money again.
She accepted it, but gave me a look of suspicion. 'And will we be paying you for protection?'
'No,' I said, 'I don't require payment. But I would like a costume, if you could help me out there?'
It was weird, standing there and discussing what I wanted in a language I didn't even speak. In the end, it seemed they had everything I needed; gloves, a broad-brimmed hat, a long-coat and knee-high boots, all in black. Under all this went dark clothing with a black tie over a charcoal-gray vest for that formal look. And, as a final touch, a black morph-suit style mask. It would cover my entire head, with a hole at the back to pull my hair out through. I'd be able to see and breathe through it, but my features would be obscured to anyone trying to make them out.
When I left the shop, the three mooks were still lying there groaning. Conscious now, it seemed, but in a lot of pain. That wasn't my problem. I paused to loot Oni Lee's corpse of his pistol and grenade bandolier—those things could come in so handy—and then went back to the car.
I hummed to myself as I drove back across the city toward home. I'd found myself in an interesting situation. My power wanted to end things and kill people, and I was somewhat inclined to do so myself. And if I wanted something for myself, I had to do it in such a way that I used lethal moves on someone.
On the other hand, I wasn't being forced to kill. As I'd proved with Madison and the mooks, I could pull my blows and not actually deal a killing strike.
Could I have done that with Oni Lee? Possibly, but that would've been a stupid move, mainly because he would've kept trying to kill me thereafter, and I didn't really see a need to keep him alive. So in that aspect, my power and I were in perfect harmony.
When I got back to where I'd stolen the car, no alarm seemed to have been raised. I parked it and locked it up, leaving the keys exactly where I'd found them, and wiping every exposed surface. I wasn't stupid; anyone who watched a crime show knew about fingerprints and stuff like that.
Sneaking back into the house was just as easy as sneaking out had been. Carefully, after re-locking the back door, I snuck upstairs. I was sweaty and tired and needed a shower, but there was one final thing I had to do.
My computer spent its own sweet time booting up while I removed my costume, one piece at a time, and stored it away carefully at the bottom of my closet. Then I sat down and flexed my fingers.
Kill any chance of this being traced.
The next few minutes was a blur of typing and selecting options from menus that I'd never known of before. When I finally got onto the PHO boards, as far as I knew, I was logging in from somewhere right across the city, using an IP address owned by the Medhall corporation. Which was pretty cool, I had to admit.
I'd thought about this on the car ride back home. I had the name picked out, and the costume, but I also needed an introduction. While I was setting up the new account, I went over in my mind exactly what I was going to say. A little bit of research capped it off, and I was ready to roll.
Good evening, Brockton Bay, I announced. I'm a new cape on the scene, but that doesn't mean I'm new to the city. And as anyone who knows the place will admit, it's a shithole.
Who's to blame for this, you ask? Well, that's easy. The gangs. It's literally in their best interests to keep the cops looking the other way and the heroes chasing the small fish so the big fish can keep shitting in the water all day long.
Well, I'm done with accepting that. So, here's what I've got to say. The gangs are no longer welcome in Brockton Bay. It's time for you to leave. The door's thataway.
I am specifically calling out the Empire Eighty-Eight, the Azn Bad Boys, Coil's crew and fuck it, the Merchants, because they sell drugs to schoolkids and that isn't cool either. The other gangs in the city, I do know who you are but you're not on my list yet. You'll keep.
So, the leaders of those gangs I just named: Kaiser, Lung, Coil, Skidmark. You have twenty-four hours to either a) leave town for good or b) surrender to the PRT. In twenty-four hours from midnight tonight, if you haven't all done this, I'm going to kill one of you that hasn't. Just one.
Then I'll start the clock again.
TL: DR – Kaiser, Lung, Coil, Skidmark. GTFO or die.
Oh, and Lung? Yeah, that was me.
Your move.
With a flourish, I typed my chosen cape name.
Atropos.
End of Part Three
Relevant Side Story
Part Three: The Challenge
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Winslow High School
The Scene of the Crime
Armsmaster
Colin ran his multiscanner (he had refused to call it a 'tricorder' despite Dragon making puppy-dog eyes at him over their video link) over the deceased teen before him. "Subject was not moved post-mortem. Stress patterns on cloth, left hand side of body, indicates that a large rounded object, possibly a human knee, was used for impact that shattered ribs. Microfibre deposits on the fabric indicate that the assailant may have been wearing blue jeans, design uncertain. Speed and power of blow suggest that the assailant was conversant with Muay Thai or a similar martial art. The assailant's grasp on subject's broken arm was used to improve accuracy and striking power."
He paused between sweeps and sat back with a sigh. It was important to be impersonal and objective at a time like this, so that all possible information could be utilised to nail the perpetrator to the wall. However, it was hard. For all that he wasn't great at social interaction, he'd worked with Shadow Stalker in the field and she'd shown skill and efficiency in her work. Her death would be a tremendous loss to the team.
"You okay?" asked Battery, who was sitting across the room, fiddling with Stalker's phone. The Wards-issued one, which had also been in Stalker's pocket, had been put aside as being less likely to hold any details pertaining to what had happened here. "Want to take a break?"
"No." He shook his head. "She was one of ours. I'll see this through." He ran the scanner over Shadow Stalker's body again. "No defensive wounds or offensive marks on her hands or arms. No bruising to suggest that she may have been restrained for the beating. No taser marks. A very faint scorch mark on her skin beside her collarbone, of unknown origin and age. Larynx crushed with a single blow, the profile matching a spear-hand strike, as used in several forms of karate and other martial arts styles."
"That can't be easy to do." Battery shook her head. "The finger bones and joints are designed to be flexible. Hit at anything but the perfect angle, and you'll never play the piano again. I've seen it more than once." She tapped the phone screen, and sat up straight. "I think I've got something. Saved texts, pointing to a pattern of bullying someone."
"Bullying?" Colin's head came up. "Is that conclusive or inferred?"
Battery frowned. "Let's see … what r u doing with her bag? … am in art class atm. was thinking i can fill it with paint when teach leaves room. put it in lost&found. her art midterm is inside so she might look for it and find it and be all yay i found it and then she looks inside and sees its fucked. There's more, but is that conclusive enough for you?"
"It certainly doesn't sound good." Colin's lips thinned. "Keep looking, and see if this establishes a pattern or was a one-off." He ran the scanner over Stalker's heart region. "Cloth stress patterns are distinct enough to get a print here. I originally thought she'd been punched in the chest, but it was a kick. Or a downward stamping motion, after she was on the floor."
"And that's what stopped her heart?" asked Battery, still scrolling through the phone. "I always thought that sort of thing was a martial arts myth, along with the nose bone going into the brain."
"I've looked it up," Colin replied. "It's possible, but you have to be either exceedingly good or lucky—or extremely unlucky, depending on your intentions—and deliver the strike just when the heart is at a vulnerable point in its beating cycle."
Battery lifted her eyes from the phone and stared at him. "You have to gauge their heartbeat? I'm going with 'lucky'."
"Or a cape," Colin reminded her. "All the evidence points the same way. This has to be a parahuman."
"Several things wrong with that scenario, boss-man." Battery leaned back in her seat, the phone temporarily forgotten. "There's no indication that any of the capes in the city, even the Empire Eighty-Eight ones, knew who Stalker was. And even if they did, killing her in the middle of the school just added needless difficulty for them. They could've literally just stabbed her in the street and pretended it was a mugging gone wrong. And then there's the other thing."
"Other thing?" Colin frowned. He didn't like missing details. "Such as?"
"This room." Battery gestured at the classroom. "Your scanner already picked up that she was alone in here for a little time before she was killed, right?"
"Yes." Colin wasn't sure where she was going with this. "So …?"
"So, nobody sits alone in an empty classroom unless they're reading a book or playing on their phone or doing something to pass the time. Unless she was waiting for someone. And that someone, when they came in, was the person she was waiting for, or she thought they were. Because otherwise, she would've ghosted out of there. Instead, she got close enough to have CQC initiated on her and get her ass beaten like a one-legged piñata."
Colin took a moment to wonder if Battery wasn't picking up some of Assault's more irritating turns of phrase. "Not initiated on her. She initiated it. The broken elbow, that came from a punch that was redirected and the joint over-extended. Whoever killed her, she thought she could beat them. She couldn't have been more wrong."
"Okay …" mused Battery. "So, how's this for a sequence of events. Someone passes word that a mutual friend wants to meet her here. She comes and waits. A cape with a Stranger ability, pretending to be that friend, comes in. They talk and either she twigs that it's not them, or they deliberately rile her up. Combat Thinker bullshit martial arts ensues, they somehow manage to prevent her from ghosting away and she dies of a punctured lung, a crushed larynx and a stopped heart."
Tilting his head, Colin considered the scenario as laid out by his subordinate. "It fits the facts at hand, certainly. Now all we need is a motive for this Thinker-Stranger martial artist to want to murder her at all, much less inside a school. Was there anything more on the phone?"
"Funny you should ask that," Battery said. "From what I can see, this has been going on for at least a year. No name for the victim or victims, just 'H'. Oh, and I've gotten several pings on the phone since we got here. Most of them are from her friends asking where she is, but this one here says that if Stalker's looking for 'T' she's in math class." She paused, looking pensive. "You know … bullying has always been a reliable motive for wanting to kill someone."
"So you're thinking this 'T' or this 'H' could have something to do with Stalker's death? Maybe hired an outside cape with a Stranger ability and sneaked them into Winslow?" Colin massaged his beard with thumb and forefinger. "I'm still blanking on why they'd choose to do it in the middle of a school."
Battery snapped her fingers. "Because this way you have several advantages that you don't elsewhere. One, you can reliably have her go of her own accord to a location of your choosing, where there are no witnesses. Two, she'll be off-guard. In school, she'll be thinking 'Sophia Hess', not 'Shadow Stalker'. Three, there's no cops, security guards or working CCTV. Four, if she and her little friends have been getting away with bullying people for so long, it's a sure bet that the staff just don't care. Nobody pays attention. And five … well, out there on the street, she wasn't the biggest fish, not by a long shot. In here, she was. This was her territory, or so she thought."
"Valid points, certainly," he agreed. "I just can't help wondering if there isn't something we're missing. The vital clue, as they say in detective stories."
She snorted indelicately. "You and I both know real life isn't as convenient as that. But I do think this bullying is a strong lead. Especially as it's her co-offenders who've been trying to text her. I'm thinking we can get a warrant for their names and addresses, and have a little chat with them."
"That is the next obvious step, yes," Colin agreed absently, leaning over to peer at the soles of Shadow Stalker's shoes. "Hmm. That's interesting."
"What's interesting?" asked Battery. "Did she tag the perp after all?"
"No." Colin tapped the controls of the scanner. "I just compared tread patterns, and Stalker is wearing an identical type of shoe to the perp. Same size, too."
"Really?" Battery sat up again. "Hey, just on a wild hunch. How tall's the perp?"
Colin allowed himself a smile. His scanner was already calibrated for measuring that sort of thing, from the angle of the blows. "I make it five ten, plus or minus half an inch. Why?"
By now, Battery was standing. "And Stalker's about the same height, yeah?"
"Almost exactly, yes. Why ..." Light dawned. "You think the Stranger became Stalker?"
"It's a possibility. Now, those microfibers you found, would they be a match for her jeans?" She pointed at the skinny jeans Stalker was wearing.
Colin barely had to check. "Almost identical. Down to the same brands of detergent and fabric conditioner." He shook his head. "That can't be a coincidence."
Battery nodded. "Okay, so the word was passed, Stalker came here to wait, and the Stranger showed up. Then they morphed into Stalker, which would almost certainly have goaded her to attack."
That made sense. Shadow Stalker had always had an intense prideful streak. "It's probably the only way they could guarantee she wouldn't cut and run if faced with a shapeshifting cape."
"Very true." She pinched her lower lip in thought. "The question is, who? The Empire Eighty-Eight's got a bunch of strong melee combatants plus one hell of a motive, and Uber could make himself skilled enough to do this, except that there's not a Stranger rating between them, and I strongly doubt Cricket could pass herself off as being school-age, even with all of Victor's makeup skills at her disposal."
"No, but Leet could probably build a device that let Uber become a teenage girl." Colin shook his head. "Still, we should rule out Uber and Leet for this. No video game link, and they've never murdered anyone before."
"The Empire, on the other hand, would totally do this, but how? Unless they made a deal with Leet for his hypothetical Changer device?" Battery's tone showed she wasn't being entirely serious.
And that was when Colin had the inspiration. "Not Leet. But Othala can grant powers."
He couldn't see her expression, but her voice gave the impression of a frown. "Not Changer or Stranger abilities."
"That. We. Know. Of." He emphasized every word. "Sure, they let us know about the invincibility, the flight, the superspeed, the regeneration and the pyrokinesis. That's all combat-useful, and it doesn't hurt to let us wonder what power Victor's got today. But if they kept a Changer or Stranger ability under wraps, that lets them do recon and espionage without ever being suspected of being able to do it …"
Battery nodded. "It all fits together. If anyone can kill that fast and efficiently, it would be Victor or Cricket. And once they were done, they changed to look like another student and walked out of the school."
"Cricket," Colin decided. "Her ultrasonic attack would be ideal for stunning Stalker long enough to get the lethal blows in, and I suspect she would be able to detect a heartbeat precisely enough to time her kick down to the instant."
Slowly, Battery sat down again. "So, it's just the Empire Eighty-Eight being douchebag Nazis again," she concluded. "And I was certain it was about the bullying. It was such an understandable motive."
"I'd keep checking into it, if I were you," Colin advised her. "It might still play a part."
"Just not as an important one as I thought." Battery wrinkled her nose. "But I know one thing for certain."
"What's that?" asked Colin, beginning to pack away his equipment.
"The Director's not going to be happy with this, no matter who turns out to be responsible."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Very true."
<><>
Boardwalk
Madison
They sat together at one of the small tables that dotted the Boardwalk as the sun lowered toward the western hills. Emma clutched her chocolate shake so hard with both hands that if the surface had shown any more liquid, it would've been rippling from the shudders that passed through her from time to time. Madison had never seen her so thoroughly rattled, though she had an idea how Emma felt.
"Sophia's dead." Emma spoke the words quietly, her teeth chattering on the last word as she shuddered again.
Madison felt her throat close up over the words. She forced herself to swallow her mouthful of iced coffee shake; if she spat it out, she was afraid she'd puke. "Y-yeah," she whispered, knowing she had to face reality eventually. Nobody had said Sophia was the person who had died, but someone was dead, and she wasn't answering any of her texts. And of course, she'd been going to confront Taylor. "I told her not to go. I told her. You saw me."
"You told her," Emma agreed. She raised red-rimmed eyes to look at Madison. "You really think Taylor would kill her? That she could?"
"Taylor hates her." Madison had been doing a lot of very uncomfortable thinking on the bus from Winslow. "Hated. Like she hates us. If she could have, she would have. And I'm damn sure she could. You didn't see the look in her eyes when she was sitting there eating lunch. Not giving a damn that I was hardly able to breathe."
"So what do we do now?" whimpered Emma. "Sophia was tougher than any of us, and she was a cape. If Taylor could kill her, she could murder you or me in her sleep. In our sleep."
Looking at the frazzled mess that Emma had become, Madison suspected Taylor wouldn't have to raise a hand. Just shouting 'boo!' at the right moment would probably give Emma a heart attack.
"We do nothing," she said, trying to sound like she knew what she was talking about. "We're alive, right? That's because we didn't go with Sophia. Because we didn't go after Taylor again. She told me that's two, right? If we step over the line one more time, we're dead. All we have to do is never step over the line."
Emma looked over her shoulder convulsively, the movement a whole-body twitch. "Wh-what if she's just playing with us? Waiting 'til our guard's down? And then one day, we turn around—"
"No." Madison grabbed her friend's wrist. "Stop. Listen to me." She waited until Emma was looking at her. "Are you listening?"
Emma took a couple of ragged breaths, then two more. "Okay, I'm listening."
"Good." Madison leaned over the table slightly, so that she could slide her hand around the back of Emma's head, her fingers entwined in Emma's hair, then looked Emma straight in the eyes. "Taylor doesn't 'play'. She doesn't draw it out. If she wanted us dead, we'd be lying in the morgue alongside Sophia. So the only way we're going to survive this massive clusterfuck we've managed to turn our lives into is never be a threat to Taylor Hebert, ever again. Think you can manage that?"
There was a twitch as Emma tried to turn her head away. Madison didn't let her. Too much depended on this.
Finally, Emma nodded. "Y-yeah. I can do that. I can. Leave it with me."
"Excellent." Madison drew a deep breath and let it out again, feeling her heart rate decrease slightly. Letting go of Emma's head, she sat back into her chair.
"Um." Emma began to look agitated again. "Cops. They're gonna want statements. What do we say?"
Jesus, why ask me? "Uh, we tell the truth. Except if they ask if we think Taylor did it. Then we say no way, she wouldn't hurt a fly. Okay? Got it?"
It was the right answer. "Got it," Emma replied. "She wouldn't hurt a fly."
"Perfect." Madison tried to think about the next step. "And right now, we've got to pass the word, to everyone. Julia, Stacey, their friends, anyone who ever helped us with a prank. Taylor's off limits. Hopefully, we can get the message out in time to save their lives."
"Okay, right." Emma pulled her phone out, then stopped. "But … but what do we say? We can't just tell them 'Sophia's dead, don't be next'. They might decide to tell the cops. Worse, Taylor might think we said to call the cops."
"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." Madison bit the words off as she tried to think. "Okay, tell them … because the cops are all over the school right now, we're gonna back off on Taylor. Keep our heads down. Hopefully by the time the heat dies down, they'll have forgotten about her."
"Yeah-yeah. Good id-idea." Emma bit her lip as she started texting.
Madison got her own phone out and opened a text to Julia. 'Hey, just so u kno, with the shit goin on rite now, we're steppin back with T. No sense attractin attention. Let every1 kno, ok?'
She really, really hoped this would work.
<><>
That Evening
Taylor
I didn't want a costume, not really, but I knew at some point I'd probably need one. Mainly because at some point I was going to be in public with the need to get some asshole to step out of my way, and I'd require a good costume to get their attention and a good name to keep it. A lot of the Paths I was considering were going to be a fuck-ton easier to complete if I had a costume and a name.
Okay, power, I get it. You want to show off. Fine, I'll do it.
I already knew what name I was going to go with. An education that included the classics had not gone wasted. All I needed was a matching costume. It would be edgy as fuck but then again, I had the power to murder anyone who pissed me off. The only way I could get any edgier would be to include the words 'blood' or 'stryke' in my name, and add a few dozen pouches and a stupidly-oversized gun.
Not that I had any particular issue with acquiring a stupidly-oversized gun. It would be the ultimate party accessory, for a given definition of 'ultimate', 'party' and 'accessory'.
However, I'd have to wait until later to get one. Right now, I needed to acquire the costume and set the scene for my grand entrance into the Brockton Bay crime scene. The trouble was, I couldn't just ask for a path to 'end my lack of a cool costume'. My power apparently didn't work that way. It wasn't there just for me to get stuff. I'd have to work for it.
Translation: someone would have to die.
Fortunately, I was just fine with that, especially since the suggested target was already someone who desperately needed it.
Following the directions of my power, I dressed carefully; gray hoodie, black jacket over the top. I kept Sophia's skinny jeans and sneakers on, though. She might be gone, but her stuff could still go out and do more good than she ever had. As a final touch, I tied a gray bandanna around my neck, that could be pulled up in a pinch to act as a mask.
Dad was snoring gently as I walked past his bedroom door, my feet somehow hitting every non-creaking floorboard. Downstairs I went, then through the entrance hall and kitchen to the basement. I didn't need to turn the light on, because I knew exactly what I wanted and where it was. Dad's big toolbox held roughly one metric ton of tools, but I just needed two of them; a flat-head screwdriver and a pipe wrench. Armed with these, I snuck out of the house.
I bypassed three separate cars parked on the side of the road until my power directed me to one in a side-street. The screwdriver popped the door open like a magic trick; when I got inside, I discovered why I'd been nudged toward that one. The spare keys were in the centre console, under a scrunched-up tissue, which made it possible to start the car without needing to hotwire it.
Not that I had any idea how to hotwire a car, but I was pretty sure my power did. However, hiding the fact that the car had been hotwired was a lot harder than just using the keys and putting the car back afterward. What do you know; my power was capable of subtlety.
I didn't know how to drive a car, but I studied my hand and foot movements as I cruised through the darkened streets of Brockton Bay. It was what I suspected actors went through when they watched themselves pulling stunts on the big screen. Kind of like an out of body experience, but not really.
When the car finally pulled up on a side street, I wasn't certain where my power had taken me, but I had an idea. The two guys wearing red and green gang colours, and the one in the brightly painted demon mask, kind of spelled it out to me. I was in ABB territory, and that was Oni Lee.
Well, I'd already known who I was here to kill. This just verified it.
It seemed to be a late-night shopping area, with venues open up and down the block. The one Oni Lee and his followers were loitering outside was a dressmaker, I guessed. Something to do with making clothes, anyway. Still, not my problem.
I got out of the car and strolled toward the trio, the handle of the pipe-wrench cold against my arm. I knew I could let it slide down and bring it into action in less than a second, but until then, I was a harmless teenager. Even my body language was all about 'ignore me, I don't matter'.
Invisibility: it's an art, not a super-power.
Even so, I only got within about three yards before they finally took notice of me. That was fine; three yards was plenty close enough. One of the enforcers took a step toward me. "Back off, bitch," he ordered.
End this interference.
The pipe wrench slid down into my hand, and I laid it across the side of his head. He was already unconscious when he hit the ground.
The other ABB mook was still gaping when I threw the pipe-wrench. It smacked him in the forehead and sent him over backward.
Interference: ended.
Oni Lee was fast, I'll give him that. He was halfway through pulling his pistol when I reached him and kicked him hard in the groin. Then I twitched the pistol from his grip, straight-armed it back behind me, and fired a shot. As the version in front of me crumbled to ash, along with the pistol I was holding, I turned to see the newer one fall over backward with a bullet-hole in the middle of that stupid demon mask.
Bending down, I retrieved the pipe wrench, then straightened and swung it hard enough to break the forearm of the third guy, who'd just come out of the shop. He howled and dropped the knife he'd been trying to stab me with, and I hit him with a backswing that dropped him unconscious on top of Oni Lee's ash.
Pulling the bandanna up over my face, I bent down again and pulled the wad of protection money out of the mook's pocket. Then I pushed the door open and stepped into the shop.
The shop owner was understandably worried. I held out the cash and said something fluently in a language I didn't understand. Or rather, it was the language I didn't understand, but I knew what I'd said. 'The reign of Lung is coming to an end. Here is your money back.'
She stared at me and didn't accept the money, but she did reply to me. My power helpfully provided a translation. 'Without Lung, who will protect us from the Empire Eighty-Eight and the other gangs?'
I smiled under the bandanna. 'They will also be going away.' I offered the money again.
She accepted it, but gave me a look of suspicion. 'And will we be paying you for protection?'
'No,' I said, 'I don't require payment. But I would like a costume, if you could help me out there?'
It was weird, standing there and discussing what I wanted in a language I didn't even speak. In the end, it seemed they had everything I needed; gloves, a broad-brimmed hat, a long-coat and knee-high boots, all in black. Under all this went dark clothing with a black tie over a charcoal-gray vest for that formal look. And, as a final touch, a black morph-suit style mask. It would cover my entire head, with a hole at the back to pull my hair out through. I'd be able to see and breathe through it, but my features would be obscured to anyone trying to make them out.
When I left the shop, the three mooks were still lying there groaning. Conscious now, it seemed, but in a lot of pain. That wasn't my problem. I paused to loot Oni Lee's corpse of his pistol and grenade bandolier—those things could come in so handy—and then went back to the car.
I hummed to myself as I drove back across the city toward home. I'd found myself in an interesting situation. My power wanted to end things and kill people, and I was somewhat inclined to do so myself. And if I wanted something for myself, I had to do it in such a way that I used lethal moves on someone.
On the other hand, I wasn't being forced to kill. As I'd proved with Madison and the mooks, I could pull my blows and not actually deal a killing strike.
Could I have done that with Oni Lee? Possibly, but that would've been a stupid move, mainly because he would've kept trying to kill me thereafter, and I didn't really see a need to keep him alive. So in that aspect, my power and I were in perfect harmony.
When I got back to where I'd stolen the car, no alarm seemed to have been raised. I parked it and locked it up, leaving the keys exactly where I'd found them, and wiping every exposed surface. I wasn't stupid; anyone who watched a crime show knew about fingerprints and stuff like that.
Sneaking back into the house was just as easy as sneaking out had been. Carefully, after re-locking the back door, I snuck upstairs. I was sweaty and tired and needed a shower, but there was one final thing I had to do.
My computer spent its own sweet time booting up while I removed my costume, one piece at a time, and stored it away carefully at the bottom of my closet. Then I sat down and flexed my fingers.
Kill any chance of this being traced.
The next few minutes was a blur of typing and selecting options from menus that I'd never known of before. When I finally got onto the PHO boards, as far as I knew, I was logging in from somewhere right across the city, using an IP address owned by the Medhall corporation. Which was pretty cool, I had to admit.
I'd thought about this on the car ride back home. I had the name picked out, and the costume, but I also needed an introduction. While I was setting up the new account, I went over in my mind exactly what I was going to say. A little bit of research capped it off, and I was ready to roll.
Good evening, Brockton Bay, I announced. I'm a new cape on the scene, but that doesn't mean I'm new to the city. And as anyone who knows the place will admit, it's a shithole.
Who's to blame for this, you ask? Well, that's easy. The gangs. It's literally in their best interests to keep the cops looking the other way and the heroes chasing the small fish so the big fish can keep shitting in the water all day long.
Well, I'm done with accepting that. So, here's what I've got to say. The gangs are no longer welcome in Brockton Bay. It's time for you to leave. The door's thataway.
I am specifically calling out the Empire Eighty-Eight, the Azn Bad Boys, Coil's crew and fuck it, the Merchants, because they sell drugs to schoolkids and that isn't cool either. The other gangs in the city, I do know who you are but you're not on my list yet. You'll keep.
So, the leaders of those gangs I just named: Kaiser, Lung, Coil, Skidmark. You have twenty-four hours to either a) leave town for good or b) surrender to the PRT. In twenty-four hours from midnight tonight, if you haven't all done this, I'm going to kill one of you that hasn't. Just one.
Then I'll start the clock again.
TL: DR – Kaiser, Lung, Coil, Skidmark. GTFO or die.
Oh, and Lung? Yeah, that was me.
Your move.
With a flourish, I typed my chosen cape name.
Atropos.
End of Part Three
Relevant Side Story
Last edited:
Part Four: Spreading the Word
- Location
- Australia
A Darker Path
Part Four: Spreading the Word
[A/N 1: this chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
[A/N 2: I made use of the PHO Interlude Wizard to make the PHO segment. I hope you enjoy.]
[A/N 3: Many of the names and comments in the PHO segment have been adapted from users and comments in the SB thread, while others are from canon PHO users.]
[A/N 4: I know, I know, a PHO segment without Void Cowboy making an insensitive comment and being banned for it? Has the universe gone crazy?]
Undersiders Base
January 4, 2011
6:03 AM
Tattletale
Lisa had chosen her ringtone, once upon a time, to be able to get her attention at any time or in any place. It had saved her bacon, metaphorically speaking, on more than one occasion. But now, after she'd been up until three in the morning doing a deep-dive into everything she could locate about the Ruby Dreams casino, it felt like broken glass scraping on the inside of her soul.
I swear, once I wake up, I'm going to murder someone. With their own phone.
But plans of mayhem aside, she had to answer the damn thing. So she fumbled across her nightstand until she located the musically buzzing demonic device. By way of sheer muscle memory, she flicked her thumb across the screen, then held it to her ear. "H'lo?"
"Tattletale." It was Coil, of course. Very few other people she knew would be calling her at this insane hour, and in any case she worked with three of them (and lived with two). "Wake up."
Wedging one eye open, she peered blearily toward the window. Only the slightest glimmer of gray light crept around the curtains she had hanging there; she estimated that sunrise was still an hour away. "'S not even daylight yet," she mumbled. "C'n it wait 'til noon?"
"No. It cannot. This is a priority tasking, Tattletale." His voice was crisp and commanding. "Get up, now. Make coffee. I need your head clear for this."
"Why?" she hated the whining tone in her voice, but she'd been asleep, damn it! Sometimes, a whine was earned. "'S it En'bringers?" She hoped it wasn't, and anyway, she couldn't hear sirens.
"This is important." She could hear him gritting his teeth. "I need a threat assessment performed immediately. Once it's done, you can go back to bed."
She still didn't see why he couldn't wait until midday, but if she pushed back too hard, he was likely to send a couple of mercenaries to yank her out of bed, shove her under an icy shower, and pour coffee down her throat until she was lucid. Or at least, that was what her power was telling her. Which would be a first; revealing to Brian and the others who their secret boss was would be a huge step.
All of a sudden, she decided that she wanted to see what had his tights in a twist. "'Kay, 'm gettin' up."
Half-falling out of bed, she stumbled from her bedroom to the kitchenette where she set the coffee machine going. Leaving her phone on the counter—Coil could listen to the machine gurgling, for all of her—she went back to the bathroom and shocked herself partially awake with a quick medium-chilly shower. By the time she was done and dressed, the coffee machine was ready to go, and she poured herself a fresh cup.
The first jolt of caffeine served to clear her head almost completely, and she took the cup and her phone over to the sofa where she kept her laptop. It wasn't much of a guess that she was going to need it, so she hit the power button as she leaned back and took another mouthful of chemical wakefulness. "Okay, I guess I'm awake now. Hit me."
"Good." He still didn't sound happy. "Go to the PHO boards, the new capes section. Look for Atropos. I need you to do a threat assessment. Call me back with your results." He ended the call without further ado.
"Okay, okay," she muttered, dropping the phone beside her and sipping her coffee as the laptop booted up. It seemed as reluctant to wake up as she had been, and she briefly sympathised.
Soon enough, it was up and running, and she clicked on the PHO tab she kept at the top of the screen. Navigating according to Coil's instructions, she found the thread he was referring to and began to read.
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♦ Topic: Hi there!
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes
Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Posted On Jan 3rd 2011:
Good evening, Brockton Bay.
I'm a new cape on the scene, but that doesn't mean I'm new to the city. And as anyone who knows the place will admit, it's a shithole.
Who's to blame for this, you ask? Well, that's easy. The gangs. It's literally in their best interests to keep the cops looking the other way and the heroes chasing the small fish so the big fish can keep shitting in the water all day long.
Well, I'm done with accepting that. So, here's what I've got to say. The gangs are no longer welcome in Brockton Bay. It's time for you to leave. The door's thataway.
I am specifically calling out the Empire Eighty-Eight, the Azn Bad Boys, Coil's crew and fuck it, the Merchants, because they sell drugs to schoolkids and that isn't cool either. The other gangs in the city, I do know who you are but you're not on my list yet. You'll keep.
So, the leaders of those gangs I just named: Kaiser, Lung, Coil, Skidmark. You have twenty-four hours to either a) leave town for good or b) surrender to the PRT. In twenty-four hours from midnight tonight, if you haven't all done this, I'm going to kill one of you that hasn't. Just one.
Then I'll start the clock again.
TL: DR – Kaiser, Lung, Coil, Skidmark. GTFO or die.
Oh, and Lung? Yeah, that was me.
Your move.
Atropos
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►Mr Unhappy
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Well, that was unhinged.
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►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Aww, you almost sound like you actually care.
Hard pass, sorry. I've got a job to do, and Oni Lee was just the start.
Appreciate the offer, though.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
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►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Tattletale
By the time she finished, the coffee cup was empty, but that was okay. Lisa was awake. She was definitely awake. Almost gingerly, as though she expected the name on the screen to jump out and bite her, she scrolled upward and read through the thread again, up to the point where Atropos had left the chat.
"Jeeesus H. Christ on a Tinkertech pogo stick," she muttered, putting the cup down on the sofa arm without looking. Chills were chasing each other up and down her spine, each one sparked by one of Atropos' seemingly off-hand comments.
Some people could shout threats all day and not be intimidating. Others merely had to whisper. With Atropos, all she had to do was put words on a computer screen to scare the absolute shit out of Lisa.
'The other gangs in the city, I do know who you are but you're not on my list yet. You'll keep.'
That those words were aimed at her and the rest of the Undersiders, she had zero doubt whatsoever. Someone who had the sheer planetary-scale neutronium testicular fortitude to kill Oni Lee and call out Lung (as well as Kaiser, Coil and Skidmark) on the same night was absolutely not someone she wanted to cross. Especially since her personal assessment was that Atropos (signs pointed to her being a girl) was actually capable of carrying out the threat.
It wasn't much of a comfort that they weren't on Atropos' list. She knew for a fact that the word 'yet' had been included deliberately. Once Atropos had finished dealing with the current big names in the city, then the list would be updated. And if the terrifying intent embodied in the initial greeting stayed the same (she had no reason to think it would change) then the Undersiders would be facing a stark choice, made none the easier for Coil being dead or elsewhere. Leave the city, surrender, or die.
Drawing a deep breath, she picked up her phone. The call went through with just one ring sounding in her ear. "Yes?"
For a moment, she was tempted to tweak him by drawing it out, then she mentally shook her head. "My assessment is 'yes'. Atropos is totally capable of doing whatever she says she can do. She intends to kill Lung, Kaiser, you and Skidmark. Barring unusual interference, she'll succeed." By 'unusual interference', she meant 'power shenanigans', and they both knew it.
"Even inside my base, with my mercenaries on high alert?" He sounded more on edge than normal, which wasn't altogether surprising. "How is she even going to find me?"
"I don't know. Maybe she can't." Lisa rubbed her forehead. A tiny headache was starting to grow, expanding each time she attempted to analyse Atropos' actual capabilities and weaknesses. "But every time I ask myself, 'can she kill everyone on the list?', my best answer is 'Yes'."
"Can you tell me who she'll be going after first, at least?" She didn't have to even wonder why he was asking that. If her power's analysis was correct, Atropos' initial target had less than eighteen hours to live.
Leaning back against the sofa cushions, Lisa closed her eyes. "Nobody's going to be leaving town or surrendering to the PRT … unless you are?" Scornful silence greeted her sally. "Right, right. Silly of me. She won't be hitting Skidmark first. You aren't a hugely obvious target, so it's likely to be Kaiser or Lung. And she's already hit the ABB once."
"So you're saying she'll probably go after Kaiser first." He was clearly doing his best to sound calm and collected, but she could hear the tension behind his voice. "How much faith do you have in that assessment?"
"A lot less than I have in knowing that she's dangerous as fuck, and that I don't want to be in the same town as her if she's pissed at me," Lisa answered honestly. "Every time I try to venture a guess at her exact motivations or capabilities, I get back a vague answer plus a headache. As best I can tell, she's running a mild ongoing anti-Thinker effect. It's really irritating."
Coil
Yes. Yes, it is.
"Understood. If anything changes, let me know." Thomas Calvert ended the call and dropped the phone on his desk. Resting his elbows on his desk, he laced his fingers together and pressed his thumbs to his temples. Then he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.
What do I do? There existed the outside possibility that his Tattletale was trying to panic him and stampede him from the city. But therein lay a dilemma. If it was just her playing her irritating little mind games, he could devote his full power (and all his men) to tracking her down and bringing her to heel. However, that would leave zero resources free for staying under the radar from Atropos.
Atropos killed Oni Lee. Thomas could not afford to ignore that fact. As such, he considered it only prudent to keep himself safe and secure, leaving Tattletale until after Atropos had been dealt with. While there was a two-in-three chance that he was not the assassin's current target (he agreed with Tattletale's assessment that Skidmark was more of an afterthought than a serious contender) he still considered a thirty-three percent chance of death to be unacceptably high.
Opening his eyes again, he looked once more at the email displayed on his work laptop. Not only had they sent it out to all ranking PRT officers, but they'd also contacted each off-duty officer via phone to alert them to its presence and to inform them that they were now on duty. The phone calls had started going out at just before six in the morning, going by rank and alphabetical order; he supposed he should consider himself lucky that his surname began with C.
It could be worse. The post did say midnight. By midnight, I'll be tucked away in absolute security and absolute obscurity. His house in the suburbs had a state-of-the-art alarm system, and his bunker under the city held fifty well-armed mercenaries, each one as loyal as money could buy.
In the best case, Atropos would take out Lung or Kaiser before she was inevitably killed. Either way, he would benefit.
I always win.
Kaiser
Max Anders rose a little after seven and enjoyed a moderate workout in his home gymnasium, followed by a stinging-hot shower and a healthy breakfast. He ate looking out toward the Bay from the patio of his three-storey house on the slopes of Captain's Hill; by half-past eight, he was finished and ready to go to work. With a nod to his butler—the less well-off could scoff, but having someone to anticipate one's needs could be invaluable at times—he dressed in the immaculate suit that had been laid out for him and descended in the elevator to the six-car garage.
As he settled into the genuine leather seat of his preferred town car, the driver pressed the button on the dash and the garage door motored open. He took up the morning copy of the Financial Times from the seat beside him and prepared to see how his stocks had performed overnight. But just as the car exited the garage, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
With a slight frown on his face—the caller ID indicated an Empire 88 call, rather than one for business—he pressed the button that raised the soundproof barrier between himself and his driver. While his personal employees were selected for their views, none of them knew of his connection to the Empire. What they didn't know, they couldn't talk about, even by accident.
"Yes?"
"There's a potential problem." Krieg was normally as unflappable as a man could get. Right now, however, he sounded a little stressed. "A cape showed up last night, killed Oni Lee in public, then announced on PHO that they're going after the gangs. Specifically; you, Lung, Coil and Skidmark."
"That can't be right. How did they kill Oni Lee?" God knew the Empire had tried enough times over the last few years.
"He was shot in the face with his own gun at a range of six feet. Our current theory is combat precog. The cape's name is Atropos."
"Well, damn." Whoever had pulled that little stunt off had done very well indeed. 'Atropos'—the member of the Fates who cut the thread and ended the life of mortals—was a good name for someone who could manage that. Then the rest of what Krieg had said caught up with him. "What do you mean, they're coming after me personally?" That was never good news; even the most inept of assassins could get lucky, eventually.
"I'm emailing you the link to the PHO thread. It's all the information we have, right there."
"Okay, thanks." Max ended the call. Pressing the intercom, he spoke to the driver. "I've just received word of a potential threat. Move our posture to high security."
Through the glass, he saw the driver nod. "Yes, sir."
With the high security protocols, the window glass darkened until it was impossible to see in, and three other town cars would be exiting garages within the next few minutes. Each one identical to the one he was currently riding in, they would all take different routes to the Medhall building, where the secure undercover parking lot would be waiting for them. It was so nice to have money to throw at problems like this.
The initial precautions taken care of, he opened the email that had just dropped into his phone. From there he went into the PHO thread and began reading.
A problem, he decided after he'd finished. But not an insurmountable one. Either Lung will get Atropos, or my security will. And if they don't, I will.
Everything was, as always, under control.
Taylor
I was in the middle of eating breakfast when Kaiser popped into my awareness. He was aware of me and my challenge, just as Coil was. Lung had, of course, been aware since last night; his seething rage had barely abated since then. About the only one who hadn't heard about it was Skidmark. In fact, none of the Merchants had.
That didn't matter.
They had three days to learn about it.
In the meantime, Kaiser, Lung and Coil awaited my attention; not necessarily in that order.
Eeny, meeny, miney moe …
End of Part Four
Part Four: Spreading the Word
[A/N 1: this chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
[A/N 2: I made use of the PHO Interlude Wizard to make the PHO segment. I hope you enjoy.]
[A/N 3: Many of the names and comments in the PHO segment have been adapted from users and comments in the SB thread, while others are from canon PHO users.]
[A/N 4: I know, I know, a PHO segment without Void Cowboy making an insensitive comment and being banned for it? Has the universe gone crazy?]
Undersiders Base
January 4, 2011
6:03 AM
Tattletale
Lisa had chosen her ringtone, once upon a time, to be able to get her attention at any time or in any place. It had saved her bacon, metaphorically speaking, on more than one occasion. But now, after she'd been up until three in the morning doing a deep-dive into everything she could locate about the Ruby Dreams casino, it felt like broken glass scraping on the inside of her soul.
I swear, once I wake up, I'm going to murder someone. With their own phone.
But plans of mayhem aside, she had to answer the damn thing. So she fumbled across her nightstand until she located the musically buzzing demonic device. By way of sheer muscle memory, she flicked her thumb across the screen, then held it to her ear. "H'lo?"
"Tattletale." It was Coil, of course. Very few other people she knew would be calling her at this insane hour, and in any case she worked with three of them (and lived with two). "Wake up."
Wedging one eye open, she peered blearily toward the window. Only the slightest glimmer of gray light crept around the curtains she had hanging there; she estimated that sunrise was still an hour away. "'S not even daylight yet," she mumbled. "C'n it wait 'til noon?"
"No. It cannot. This is a priority tasking, Tattletale." His voice was crisp and commanding. "Get up, now. Make coffee. I need your head clear for this."
"Why?" she hated the whining tone in her voice, but she'd been asleep, damn it! Sometimes, a whine was earned. "'S it En'bringers?" She hoped it wasn't, and anyway, she couldn't hear sirens.
"This is important." She could hear him gritting his teeth. "I need a threat assessment performed immediately. Once it's done, you can go back to bed."
She still didn't see why he couldn't wait until midday, but if she pushed back too hard, he was likely to send a couple of mercenaries to yank her out of bed, shove her under an icy shower, and pour coffee down her throat until she was lucid. Or at least, that was what her power was telling her. Which would be a first; revealing to Brian and the others who their secret boss was would be a huge step.
All of a sudden, she decided that she wanted to see what had his tights in a twist. "'Kay, 'm gettin' up."
Half-falling out of bed, she stumbled from her bedroom to the kitchenette where she set the coffee machine going. Leaving her phone on the counter—Coil could listen to the machine gurgling, for all of her—she went back to the bathroom and shocked herself partially awake with a quick medium-chilly shower. By the time she was done and dressed, the coffee machine was ready to go, and she poured herself a fresh cup.
The first jolt of caffeine served to clear her head almost completely, and she took the cup and her phone over to the sofa where she kept her laptop. It wasn't much of a guess that she was going to need it, so she hit the power button as she leaned back and took another mouthful of chemical wakefulness. "Okay, I guess I'm awake now. Hit me."
"Good." He still didn't sound happy. "Go to the PHO boards, the new capes section. Look for Atropos. I need you to do a threat assessment. Call me back with your results." He ended the call without further ado.
"Okay, okay," she muttered, dropping the phone beside her and sipping her coffee as the laptop booted up. It seemed as reluctant to wake up as she had been, and she briefly sympathised.
Soon enough, it was up and running, and she clicked on the PHO tab she kept at the top of the screen. Navigating according to Coil's instructions, she found the thread he was referring to and began to read.
<><>
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■
♦ Topic: Hi there!
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes
Atropos (Original Poster) (
Posted On Jan 3rd 2011:
Good evening, Brockton Bay.
I'm a new cape on the scene, but that doesn't mean I'm new to the city. And as anyone who knows the place will admit, it's a shithole.
Who's to blame for this, you ask? Well, that's easy. The gangs. It's literally in their best interests to keep the cops looking the other way and the heroes chasing the small fish so the big fish can keep shitting in the water all day long.
Well, I'm done with accepting that. So, here's what I've got to say. The gangs are no longer welcome in Brockton Bay. It's time for you to leave. The door's thataway.
I am specifically calling out the Empire Eighty-Eight, the Azn Bad Boys, Coil's crew and fuck it, the Merchants, because they sell drugs to schoolkids and that isn't cool either. The other gangs in the city, I do know who you are but you're not on my list yet. You'll keep.
So, the leaders of those gangs I just named: Kaiser, Lung, Coil, Skidmark. You have twenty-four hours to either a) leave town for good or b) surrender to the PRT. In twenty-four hours from midnight tonight, if you haven't all done this, I'm going to kill one of you that hasn't. Just one.
Then I'll start the clock again.
TL: DR – Kaiser, Lung, Coil, Skidmark. GTFO or die.
Oh, and Lung? Yeah, that was me.
Your move.
Atropos
(Showing page 1 of 10)
►Mr Unhappy
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Well, that was unhinged.
►Gritty Morty
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Fir--dammit!
Well, this looks interesting.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Fir--dammit!
Well, this looks interesting.
►LightFromTheShadows
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Yeah. Interesting. Will watch from a distance.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Yeah. Interesting. Will watch from a distance.
►Ring Island
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
And after that, what? Teatime with Alexandria?
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
And after that, what? Teatime with Alexandria?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
If she asks politely.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
If she asks politely.
►BirdsEye
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@Atropos ... if you can kill anything, how about killing all conflict on earth?
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@Atropos ... if you can kill anything, how about killing all conflict on earth?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
I could try, but I'm pretty sure I'd die of old age first.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
I could try, but I'm pretty sure I'd die of old age first.
►Hades82
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Seconding (thirding?) interest.
We've got a live one here, folks.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Seconding (thirding?) interest.
We've got a live one here, folks.
►TheSkinnyBlueGuy
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Look upon the field where I grow my Fucks and behold for it is barren!
... what? That's the vibe I'm getting.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Look upon the field where I grow my Fucks and behold for it is barren!
... what? That's the vibe I'm getting.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
(Showing page 2 of 10)
►GleamingGlare
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Oh, boy.
Because you know, villain capes NEVER escalate.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Oh, boy.
Because you know, villain capes NEVER escalate.
►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
*gets out the comfy chair and the popcorn*
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
*gets out the comfy chair and the popcorn*
►BirdsEye
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay then, could you kill bigotry? Racism? The idea of theft?
Betrayal? Torture? Falsehood?
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay then, could you kill bigotry? Racism? The idea of theft?
Betrayal? Torture? Falsehood?
►SkyWalkerJA
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
I'm thinking the answer would be "would die of old age first".
because, you know, those things are pretty entrenched
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
I'm thinking the answer would be "would die of old age first".
because, you know, those things are pretty entrenched
►JediMedic
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@TheSkinnyBlueGuy - That's the exact thing I was thinking when I read OP post.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@TheSkinnyBlueGuy - That's the exact thing I was thinking when I read OP post.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@TheSkinnyBlueGuy - that's kinda my jam now, yeah.
@SkyWalkerJA - Essentially, yes. I could kill that sort of thing in one person, right in front of me, but everyone everywhere? Way too tedious.
@GleamingGlare - and then I'll just have to cut a bitch.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@TheSkinnyBlueGuy - that's kinda my jam now, yeah.
@SkyWalkerJA - Essentially, yes. I could kill that sort of thing in one person, right in front of me, but everyone everywhere? Way too tedious.
@GleamingGlare - and then I'll just have to cut a bitch.
►BigRedSharpie (Moderator)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay, I'm done. This has gone on long enough. Thread is locked. Atropos, you just bought yourself a ticket to Ban-town.
Maybe next time don't be so Edgy McEdgelord, hmm?
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay, I'm done. This has gone on long enough. Thread is locked. Atropos, you just bought yourself a ticket to Ban-town.
Maybe next time don't be so Edgy McEdgelord, hmm?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Meh, Ban-town was boring. I'm back.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Meh, Ban-town was boring. I'm back.
►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Hahahha
*munches popcorn*
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Hahahha
*munches popcorn*
►GleamingGlare
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
wut
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
wut
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
(Showing page 3 of 10)
►BirdsEye
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Did you just ... did you just kill a threadban AND a threadlock?
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Did you just ... did you just kill a threadban AND a threadlock?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Well, duh.
What part of 'can actually kill anything' did you not get the first time?
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Well, duh.
What part of 'can actually kill anything' did you not get the first time?
►SkyWalkerJA
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay, I've got to ask. How did you add all the extra tags?
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay, I've got to ask. How did you add all the extra tags?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Killed the blocks preventing me from getting them. How else?
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Killed the blocks preventing me from getting them. How else?
►BigRedSharpie (Moderator)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
I said, this thread is locked.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
I said, this thread is locked.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
And I said it's not.
Sorry, Sharpie. No hard feelings? I just wanna chat with my fans.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
And I said it's not.
Sorry, Sharpie. No hard feelings? I just wanna chat with my fans.
►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay, if this is how it's going down ...
@Atropos - is it true you killed Oni Lee earlier tonight? Because there's a strong rumor that it was a new Death-themed cape, and your note for Lung above ...
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay, if this is how it's going down ...
@Atropos - is it true you killed Oni Lee earlier tonight? Because there's a strong rumor that it was a new Death-themed cape, and your note for Lung above ...
►LotusBlade
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Lung's rage is mighty
Atropos will die to flame
So vows the dragon.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Lung's rage is mighty
Atropos will die to flame
So vows the dragon.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@LotusBlade - Yeah, yeah, get him to come talk to me himself.
@Bagrat - Wow, the Guy in the Know asking ME about stuff? I am honored, and I mean that totally unironically. yeah, that was me. Had to establish my credentials, y'know?
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@LotusBlade - Yeah, yeah, get him to come talk to me himself.
@Bagrat - Wow, the Guy in the Know asking ME about stuff? I am honored, and I mean that totally unironically. yeah, that was me. Had to establish my credentials, y'know?
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Just to put all speculation to rest, yes, Oni Lee was approached by an unidentified person earlier tonight. That person disabled Lee's companion ABB members, then attacked Lee himself. In the ensuing melee, the suspect apparently took Lee's gun and shot him with it. The suspect was reportedly unharmed in the fight.
When last seen, the suspect was wearing a black long-coat, a broad-brimmed hat, a black morph mask, and otherwise dark clothing. They may have armed themselves with Oni Lee's personal weapons.
Personal description: tall, slender, long dark hair.
If you encounter anyone matching this description, do NOT approach. Treat as armed and dangerous, and notify the PRT immediately.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Just to put all speculation to rest, yes, Oni Lee was approached by an unidentified person earlier tonight. That person disabled Lee's companion ABB members, then attacked Lee himself. In the ensuing melee, the suspect apparently took Lee's gun and shot him with it. The suspect was reportedly unharmed in the fight.
When last seen, the suspect was wearing a black long-coat, a broad-brimmed hat, a black morph mask, and otherwise dark clothing. They may have armed themselves with Oni Lee's personal weapons.
Personal description: tall, slender, long dark hair.
If you encounter anyone matching this description, do NOT approach. Treat as armed and dangerous, and notify the PRT immediately.
@Atropos - If you hand yourself over to the PRT now, we can avoid any more bloodshed, and I do include you in that. You have no idea of the amount of danger you're in right now, from handing out a reckless challenge like that. If you want to fight crime, that's not the way to do it. We prefer live heroes to dead vigilantes.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
(Showing page 4 of 10)
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Aww, you almost sound like you actually care.
Hard pass, sorry. I've got a job to do, and Oni Lee was just the start.
Appreciate the offer, though.
►PureBlood01011000 (Temp-Banned)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
I don't care what you do with Lung or the other idiots, but if you come near Kaiser, I hope you like having metal spikes in your everywhere.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
I don't care what you do with Lung or the other idiots, but if you come near Kaiser, I hope you like having metal spikes in your everywhere.
►BigRedSharpie (Moderator)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay, I can't lock this thread and I can't ban Atropos, but I can definitely ban other people. Let's tone down the ITG stuff, okay? As soon as someone with more pull than me gets online, this thread WILL be locked down, and everyone's posts will be examined to see if further actions need to be taken.
Just calm your frontal lobes, people.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay, I can't lock this thread and I can't ban Atropos, but I can definitely ban other people. Let's tone down the ITG stuff, okay? As soon as someone with more pull than me gets online, this thread WILL be locked down, and everyone's posts will be examined to see if further actions need to be taken.
Just calm your frontal lobes, people.
►Wherewolf
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
So, uh ... I'm guessing the PRT is going to be going after Atropos now, and not the villains they're targeting? Because somehow Atropos is the bad guy now?
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
So, uh ... I'm guessing the PRT is going to be going after Atropos now, and not the villains they're targeting? Because somehow Atropos is the bad guy now?
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
There are no capes in Brockton Bay with a kill order on their heads. Everyone deserves due process and their day in court.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
There are no capes in Brockton Bay with a kill order on their heads. Everyone deserves due process and their day in court.
►RaRaRa
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Well, that escalated quickly.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Well, that escalated quickly.
►SecretlyAJetFighter
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Dayumn. That mic drop just went *subterranean*.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Dayumn. That mic drop just went *subterranean*.
►BeginningToEnd
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Welp, naming yourself after the Greek personification of Fate and Death.
Nope, not pretentious at all.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Welp, naming yourself after the Greek personification of Fate and Death.
Nope, not pretentious at all.
►dranasty
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay, heroes and PRT going after Atropos, I get that. Murder is a crime.
But seriously wow, how many people have the gangs killed, and they're not anywhere near the priority that Atropos is going to end up on, and for what reason? Because status quo is king?
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Okay, heroes and PRT going after Atropos, I get that. Murder is a crime.
But seriously wow, how many people have the gangs killed, and they're not anywhere near the priority that Atropos is going to end up on, and for what reason? Because status quo is king?
►AuthorBug
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@BeginningToEnd - Oni Lee might argue that point. Taking him and his flunkies out with no injuries? That takes more than luck. Just saying.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@BeginningToEnd - Oni Lee might argue that point. Taking him and his flunkies out with no injuries? That takes more than luck. Just saying.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
(Showing page 5 of 10)
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@BeginningToEnd - oh yeah, I know it's edgy. But hey, I gotta go with what works.
@BeginningToEnd - oh yeah, I know it's edgy. But hey, I gotta go with what works.
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@dranasty - it's more to do with the fact that if some of the gangs decide that Atropos is a false-flag operation designed to bring the opposition down in secret, we'll have all-out war in this town. And there's nowhere near enough heroes in BB to contain something like that.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@dranasty - it's more to do with the fact that if some of the gangs decide that Atropos is a false-flag operation designed to bring the opposition down in secret, we'll have all-out war in this town. And there's nowhere near enough heroes in BB to contain something like that.
►dranasty
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@Reave - so, status quo. Got it.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
@Reave - so, status quo. Got it.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Hahaha false flag? Is that what they're saying?
Nope. They're all going down or leaving town. One or the other. I don't care which.
Anyway, signing off. See you lovely people in the morning.
And remember: twenty-four hours.
Replied On Jan 3rd 2011:
Hahaha false flag? Is that what they're saying?
Nope. They're all going down or leaving town. One or the other. I don't care which.
Anyway, signing off. See you lovely people in the morning.
And remember: twenty-four hours.
Mwahahaha.
<><>
Tattletale
By the time she finished, the coffee cup was empty, but that was okay. Lisa was awake. She was definitely awake. Almost gingerly, as though she expected the name on the screen to jump out and bite her, she scrolled upward and read through the thread again, up to the point where Atropos had left the chat.
"Jeeesus H. Christ on a Tinkertech pogo stick," she muttered, putting the cup down on the sofa arm without looking. Chills were chasing each other up and down her spine, each one sparked by one of Atropos' seemingly off-hand comments.
Some people could shout threats all day and not be intimidating. Others merely had to whisper. With Atropos, all she had to do was put words on a computer screen to scare the absolute shit out of Lisa.
'The other gangs in the city, I do know who you are but you're not on my list yet. You'll keep.'
That those words were aimed at her and the rest of the Undersiders, she had zero doubt whatsoever. Someone who had the sheer planetary-scale neutronium testicular fortitude to kill Oni Lee and call out Lung (as well as Kaiser, Coil and Skidmark) on the same night was absolutely not someone she wanted to cross. Especially since her personal assessment was that Atropos (signs pointed to her being a girl) was actually capable of carrying out the threat.
It wasn't much of a comfort that they weren't on Atropos' list. She knew for a fact that the word 'yet' had been included deliberately. Once Atropos had finished dealing with the current big names in the city, then the list would be updated. And if the terrifying intent embodied in the initial greeting stayed the same (she had no reason to think it would change) then the Undersiders would be facing a stark choice, made none the easier for Coil being dead or elsewhere. Leave the city, surrender, or die.
Drawing a deep breath, she picked up her phone. The call went through with just one ring sounding in her ear. "Yes?"
For a moment, she was tempted to tweak him by drawing it out, then she mentally shook her head. "My assessment is 'yes'. Atropos is totally capable of doing whatever she says she can do. She intends to kill Lung, Kaiser, you and Skidmark. Barring unusual interference, she'll succeed." By 'unusual interference', she meant 'power shenanigans', and they both knew it.
"Even inside my base, with my mercenaries on high alert?" He sounded more on edge than normal, which wasn't altogether surprising. "How is she even going to find me?"
"I don't know. Maybe she can't." Lisa rubbed her forehead. A tiny headache was starting to grow, expanding each time she attempted to analyse Atropos' actual capabilities and weaknesses. "But every time I ask myself, 'can she kill everyone on the list?', my best answer is 'Yes'."
"Can you tell me who she'll be going after first, at least?" She didn't have to even wonder why he was asking that. If her power's analysis was correct, Atropos' initial target had less than eighteen hours to live.
Leaning back against the sofa cushions, Lisa closed her eyes. "Nobody's going to be leaving town or surrendering to the PRT … unless you are?" Scornful silence greeted her sally. "Right, right. Silly of me. She won't be hitting Skidmark first. You aren't a hugely obvious target, so it's likely to be Kaiser or Lung. And she's already hit the ABB once."
"So you're saying she'll probably go after Kaiser first." He was clearly doing his best to sound calm and collected, but she could hear the tension behind his voice. "How much faith do you have in that assessment?"
"A lot less than I have in knowing that she's dangerous as fuck, and that I don't want to be in the same town as her if she's pissed at me," Lisa answered honestly. "Every time I try to venture a guess at her exact motivations or capabilities, I get back a vague answer plus a headache. As best I can tell, she's running a mild ongoing anti-Thinker effect. It's really irritating."
<><>
Coil
Yes. Yes, it is.
"Understood. If anything changes, let me know." Thomas Calvert ended the call and dropped the phone on his desk. Resting his elbows on his desk, he laced his fingers together and pressed his thumbs to his temples. Then he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.
What do I do? There existed the outside possibility that his Tattletale was trying to panic him and stampede him from the city. But therein lay a dilemma. If it was just her playing her irritating little mind games, he could devote his full power (and all his men) to tracking her down and bringing her to heel. However, that would leave zero resources free for staying under the radar from Atropos.
Atropos killed Oni Lee. Thomas could not afford to ignore that fact. As such, he considered it only prudent to keep himself safe and secure, leaving Tattletale until after Atropos had been dealt with. While there was a two-in-three chance that he was not the assassin's current target (he agreed with Tattletale's assessment that Skidmark was more of an afterthought than a serious contender) he still considered a thirty-three percent chance of death to be unacceptably high.
Opening his eyes again, he looked once more at the email displayed on his work laptop. Not only had they sent it out to all ranking PRT officers, but they'd also contacted each off-duty officer via phone to alert them to its presence and to inform them that they were now on duty. The phone calls had started going out at just before six in the morning, going by rank and alphabetical order; he supposed he should consider himself lucky that his surname began with C.
It could be worse. The post did say midnight. By midnight, I'll be tucked away in absolute security and absolute obscurity. His house in the suburbs had a state-of-the-art alarm system, and his bunker under the city held fifty well-armed mercenaries, each one as loyal as money could buy.
In the best case, Atropos would take out Lung or Kaiser before she was inevitably killed. Either way, he would benefit.
I always win.
<><>
Kaiser
Max Anders rose a little after seven and enjoyed a moderate workout in his home gymnasium, followed by a stinging-hot shower and a healthy breakfast. He ate looking out toward the Bay from the patio of his three-storey house on the slopes of Captain's Hill; by half-past eight, he was finished and ready to go to work. With a nod to his butler—the less well-off could scoff, but having someone to anticipate one's needs could be invaluable at times—he dressed in the immaculate suit that had been laid out for him and descended in the elevator to the six-car garage.
As he settled into the genuine leather seat of his preferred town car, the driver pressed the button on the dash and the garage door motored open. He took up the morning copy of the Financial Times from the seat beside him and prepared to see how his stocks had performed overnight. But just as the car exited the garage, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
With a slight frown on his face—the caller ID indicated an Empire 88 call, rather than one for business—he pressed the button that raised the soundproof barrier between himself and his driver. While his personal employees were selected for their views, none of them knew of his connection to the Empire. What they didn't know, they couldn't talk about, even by accident.
"Yes?"
"There's a potential problem." Krieg was normally as unflappable as a man could get. Right now, however, he sounded a little stressed. "A cape showed up last night, killed Oni Lee in public, then announced on PHO that they're going after the gangs. Specifically; you, Lung, Coil and Skidmark."
"That can't be right. How did they kill Oni Lee?" God knew the Empire had tried enough times over the last few years.
"He was shot in the face with his own gun at a range of six feet. Our current theory is combat precog. The cape's name is Atropos."
"Well, damn." Whoever had pulled that little stunt off had done very well indeed. 'Atropos'—the member of the Fates who cut the thread and ended the life of mortals—was a good name for someone who could manage that. Then the rest of what Krieg had said caught up with him. "What do you mean, they're coming after me personally?" That was never good news; even the most inept of assassins could get lucky, eventually.
"I'm emailing you the link to the PHO thread. It's all the information we have, right there."
"Okay, thanks." Max ended the call. Pressing the intercom, he spoke to the driver. "I've just received word of a potential threat. Move our posture to high security."
Through the glass, he saw the driver nod. "Yes, sir."
With the high security protocols, the window glass darkened until it was impossible to see in, and three other town cars would be exiting garages within the next few minutes. Each one identical to the one he was currently riding in, they would all take different routes to the Medhall building, where the secure undercover parking lot would be waiting for them. It was so nice to have money to throw at problems like this.
The initial precautions taken care of, he opened the email that had just dropped into his phone. From there he went into the PHO thread and began reading.
A problem, he decided after he'd finished. But not an insurmountable one. Either Lung will get Atropos, or my security will. And if they don't, I will.
Everything was, as always, under control.
<><>
Taylor
I was in the middle of eating breakfast when Kaiser popped into my awareness. He was aware of me and my challenge, just as Coil was. Lung had, of course, been aware since last night; his seething rage had barely abated since then. About the only one who hadn't heard about it was Skidmark. In fact, none of the Merchants had.
That didn't matter.
They had three days to learn about it.
In the meantime, Kaiser, Lung and Coil awaited my attention; not necessarily in that order.
Eeny, meeny, miney moe …
End of Part Four
Last edited:
Part Five: Interviews and Acquisitions
- Location
- Australia
A Darker Path
Part Five: Interviews and Acquisitions
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Taylor
Leaning on the window frame, I let the chill winter breeze wash over my face as Dad maneuvered the car through Brockton Bay's morning traffic. I'd been a little hasty with killing Sophia, I decided. It would've been much better to have shot her with a crossbow or something, but she hadn't been thoughtful enough to provide one. Going the extra mile to provide my targets with a fitting kill was something I should aim for.
Oni Lee … well, I'd shot him with his own gun, so that was fitting enough, I figured. Blowing him up with his own grenade would've been even more so, but my power hadn't offered any options for doing it that way. Meh, I was okay with how it had turned out. Also, I'd scored an absolutely rockin' costume, so that was a plus point for just shooting him.
Which left my next four targets. Skidmark was maybe the easiest of the lot. He was into the drug scene, so he'd have to die by drugs. I wasn't really sure what Coil's thing was; maybe a coil of rope to tie him up and hang him by? Kaiser, I was thinking I could kill with a metal spike or spear or something, and Lung … hmm.
Lung was going to be difficult, I could just tell. Burning him to death was a non-starter, but what about an explosion? That was thematically similar to fire. But I couldn't just throw a grenade at him; my power helpfully informed me that he would survive such an attack if he was at all ramped up.
But then it started making suggestions. Very interesting suggestions. Suggestions which, if I made the right preparations, were eminently possible to carry out.
"Taylor?" Dad's voice jolted me out of my reverie.
"Yeah?" I looked around, realising that we'd parked and he had his door half-open. "Oh. We're there. Sorry, I zoned out for a bit."
"That's okay. Don't stress about it. Tell them what you saw, and don't try to embellish, alright? I'll be right there."
"Thanks." I wound up the window and got out, making sure to lock the door as I did so. "Sorry for having to put you through this."
He stepped up onto the sidewalk and ruffled my hair. "It's my job to be there for you. No big deal. Trust me, there'd be many dads accompanying their kid to the local precinct who'd love to swap out with us."
That hadn't been what I'd meant. I was about to drop a massive bomb on him that he just wasn't ready for, but there wasn't any way I could warn him ahead of time that wouldn't have other consequences down the line. But we'd get through it; once it was dropped, I'd be able to minimise the fallout, but only then. My power was really good at ending stuff, but only so-so at preventing it before it ever happened.
Besides, this way would play right into ending suspicion on me.
We walked into the precinct station, me in my hoodie, baggy jeans and ancient sneakers, and Dad in his Association working clothes. A bunch of other kids I vaguely recognised as Winslow students were sitting around, accompanied by adults who were probably their parents; I neither knew nor cared. It looked to be standing room only for the moment, but that didn't matter either. I could plan just as well standing up as sitting down.
As Dad and I joined the line to speak to the police officer on the front counter, a door opened and Emma emerged with her father. They saw us at the same time as Dad saw them, and they came our way. Or rather, Alan Barnes came our way while Emma reluctantly tagged along.
"Alan," Dad greeted his old friend. "Fancy meeting you here." His wry grin and handshake went unanswered, and he frowned.
"Good to see you too, Dan." Emma's father had a pained look on his face. "Sorry, we can't stay. Emma and I have some things to talk about." He looked over at me. "For what it's worth, Taylor, I'm sorry."
I eyed Emma speculatively. Her makeup might have fooled some people, but I knew her rather better than that, and she looked like hell. She also looked terrified of me, while desperately trying to hide it.
"Emma," I said neutrally. "It's good to see you. I hope you're doing well?"
"I'm-I'm okay," she jerked out. "You-you look good too."
I put my hand on her shoulder and she flinched, but stopped short of pulling away. "It's alright," I said just loudly enough for the adults to hear. "Go mourn your friend. I'll see you later."
"Th-thanks." She leaned closer and lowered her voice until only I could hear her. "I'm sorry. For-for everything."
I moved my lips close to her ear. "I know," I whispered back. Then I let her go and stepped back. "Bye, Emma."
"B-bye, Taylor." She huddled close to her father.
I looked up at Alan Barnes and nodded. "Thanks. I appreciate that."
He nodded in return. "Well, time to go, Dan. See you around?"
"Count on it." Dad waved briefly, then turned to me as we moved up in line. "What the hell was that about? Why was my oldest friend apologising to you? And what was wrong with Emma?"
"Tell you in a minute, Dad." I nodded toward the desk sergeant to remind him why we were in line.
We got to the counter, and Dad gave his name, my name, the reason we were here, and the name of the police officer I was supposed to be seeing, a Detective Andrews. The sergeant checked his list, verified via my student card that my name was indeed Taylor Anne Hebert, and nodded. "Take a seat … if you can find one. He'll be with you shortly."
We went and found an empty spot where nobody seemed inclined to eavesdrop on us, then Dad turned his attention my way again. "So, tell me. Why was Alan apologising to you? And what's going on with you and Emma? I would've expected you to be all over each other like a rash, but it was like you didn't even want to be in the same room as each other. When did you two stop being best friends?"
"Year before last," I said bluntly. "I got back from summer camp and she had new friends, and didn't want to be bothered with me anymore. When we started at Winslow, she doubled down. Went from 'no longer friends' to active enemies. They all started bullying me."
His eyes widened. "What the … oh, hell no! When I see Alan next—"
"He didn't know anything about it," I interrupted. "But I'm pretty sure he does now. I didn't tell you for the longest time because you were still getting over Mom, and I figured I could handle it myself." I could feel my voice patterns changing to sound more convincing, along with my body language. It was working; he was still engaged, still listening to me. "After winter break, I think they'd decided that I wasn't worth it anymore. They still said a few things to me, but it was half-hearted, tapering off. And then this happened."
"What's this got to do with what Emma was doing to you?" He still sounded pissed.
I took a deep breath for effect. "The girl who died was one of the major instigators, apart from Emma. I'm thinking she found someone else to pick on, and it went badly. Emma was … they had some sort of emotional co-dependency thing going on, and now she's gone."
"I still think I should talk to Alan—"
I shook my head. "No need. You saw her. She's a total wreck. She couldn't bully a newborn kitten right now. I hate what she did, but there's no point in kicking her when she's down."
"I guess you're right." He grimaced. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"Like I said, you had enough on your plate, and I thought I had to handle it myself." I shook my head. "I know, stupid. But I guess it's one of those rare situations that solved itself, in a really weird way."
"After more than a year of bullying." The scowl had settled on his face. "I can't believe Alan didn't know."
"It's amazing what people don't see if they don't want to see it." I said it lightly, but I saw him flinch anyway. While the statement hadn't been aimed specifically at him, it was still accurate enough to sting.
"Well, not anymore." He set his jaw. "From now on, I'm Dad on deck. You have any problems, you bring them to me."
"If I have any problems, I will absolutely bring them to you," I promised. Of course, I didn't intend for anything to get to the level of being a problem, but he didn't need to know that.
We stood a little longer in companionable silence as names were called. From time to time, we glanced at the clock.
"How many classes are you going to be missing out of this?" he asked.
I shrugged. "The school doesn't expect me back until after lunch. Once we're finished here, I can take the bus there while you go to work."
"Hm. Okay."
"Hebert!" We both turned our heads as the voice called out. "Taylor Hebert!"
"That's me," I responded.
It was time to go lie my ass off to the police.
Danny
This was not Danny's first rodeo, not by a long shot. He'd already cautioned Taylor about saying too much or embellishing her words, and it seemed that she'd taken his advice to heart.
"So," began Detective Andrews. He was a big man, with muscle starting to go to fat, with thinning brown hair. "Tell me about your day at Winslow yesterday. Just the highlights, to begin with." He held his pen ready with his notepad, though Danny was sure there was a recorder running.
Taylor nodded. "Well, my first class was Computers, with Mrs Knott, then the second was World Affairs, with Mr Gladly. After that, I went and had lunch, then read for a while in the library. Then I went to art class, then math class, and that's when they made the announcement that we had to wait back."
Detective Andrews made some notes. "Okay, on your way from the library to the art classroom, did you see or hear anything happening in room thirty-nine A?"
Taylor frowned. "That's where it happened? No, that classroom isn't used at that time of day. The door was closed."
Scribble, scribble. "Understood. Now, how well did you know Sophia Hess?"
Lifting her head, Taylor pressed her lips together before answering. "I knew her. Along with Emma Barnes and Madison Clements. They made my life a complete hell over the last year and a bit."
"Really?" Andrews' brows rose. "She was bullying you?"
"Yes." Taylor leaned forward slightly. "If Emma or Madison say any differently, they're lying. I've been tripped, shoved, had stuff stolen from my locker, had glue or glitter or juice put on my seat, had my assignments stolen and stories spread about me. If there's a checklist of what school bullies do, they've ticked off everything."
"Hmm." Detective Andrews made a few more notes. "So, what was the last thing they did to bully you?"
Taylor didn't have to stop and think. "Just after World Affairs, I was heading to the cafeteria. I ran into Sophia. She tried to shove me around, but I bluffed her into thinking a teacher was watching. Come to think of it, she was pretty half-hearted about it, like she was getting bored with the whole thing. Then I went to have lunch. Emma and Madison came up to me then, but the same as Sophia, it was like they were just going through the motions. They didn't even try to tip my tray over or spill my juice on me."
"Is that the last you saw of them before the announcement in math class?" More notes were made.
"Um …" Taylor paused. "No. I went to the library after I finished lunch, and I saw Sophia come in while I was browsing the stacks. I didn't know if she was looking for me or Emma and Madison, so I just stayed out of her way. That was the last time I saw her. I didn't see Madison at all for the rest of the day, and I saw Emma in math class. She left the classroom just before the announcement. I think she had an upset stomach or something."
"I see." Detective Andrews flipped to a new page. "With all this, I think it's fair to say you might have been justified in holding a grudge against Miss Hess?"
Taylor didn't laugh out loud, but she did let out a rather bitter chuckle. "A grudge? Yeah, I think you could say that. I hated her guts. I still hate Emma and Madison. Not that I could do a damn thing about it, but I hated her. Wouldn't you?"
"I might," admitted the detective. "But holding a grudge, even for the level of bullying you seem to have gone through, doesn't justify murder."
"Wait, wait," protested Danny for the first time. "Detective, are you seriously accusing my daughter—"
"Dad, chill." Taylor waved him down. "Detective, how did she die? I doubt she was shot, because I know damn well Hollywood lies about silencers. Stabbed? Hit over the head with something from behind? Choked out?"
Detective Andrews drew a deep breath, then released it. "She was beaten to death," he admitted reluctantly. "Using advanced martial arts moves. Crushed larynx, shattered ribs, stopped heart."
Taylor snorted. "Well, that leaves me out, then. My most advanced martial arts form is best described as Way of the Chicken." Still sitting down, she performed a credible impression of someone running for their life.
Danny felt relief seeping through him. He'd always known Taylor was innocent, and now he could prove it. "It's true. She's never had martial arts training. I know, because I never paid for any."
"May I see your hands, Taylor?" asked the detective.
"Sure." Taylor stood up and stepped forward, holding her hands out in front of her.
Without touching them, the detective examined her knuckles carefully. Then he shook his head. "The amount of training it takes to deliver blows like that flawlessly would leave unmistakeable calluses on your hands, and probably break a few bones in the process. You don't have anything like that."
"Yeah, screw that." Taylor sat down again. "I like having my hands the same shape they've always been, thanks."
"I can understand that." Andrews drew a line under his notes and closed the notepad. "Well, my condolences for what you had to go through, and I doubt we'll be needing to speak with you again."
"Good to hear," Danny said. "I hope you catch whoever did this, before they kill someone else."
Taylor
Keeping a tight control on my expression so I wouldn't even crack a smile—way too late for that, Dad—I followed Dad and Detective Andrews out to the main lobby, where the next would-be witnesses were called in. Heading out through the main doors, we ended up on the sidewalk.
"Well, that was that," he said, dusting his hands off. "Thanks for giving me the heads-up about Emma and her friends before we spoke to the detective, but honestly, you could've told me sooner. I would've done something about it, made sure you didn't have to live through all that crap they did to you."
"I could have, yeah," I admitted. "I guess some part of me wanted to make it my problem to fix. But it's over and done with now, anyway." And it was, just like the investigation into me. Detective Andrews had been the main one to suspect me for the killing since he'd been given my name, and now there was no suspicion there at all; I'd killed it stone dead.
"Are you sure you're okay with taking the bus to school?" he asked, gesturing toward the car. "I can drop you off on the way to work."
I snorted and rolled my eyes. "I don't have to be back until after lunch. Give me the chance to enjoy my freedom while I can, huh?"
"You raise an extremely valid point. Well, have fun and don't be late to class." He gave me a quick hug, which I returned. "It's good to have you back, Taylor."
"Likewise, Dad." I watched him go to the car, start it, and pull out into traffic. Before he was even out of sight, I turned and started walking in the other direction.
According to the wall clock within the precinct, it was ten-thirty. Lunch ended at twelve forty-five. I had two hours and fifteen minutes to play with, and I intended to make the most of that time.
The first thing I needed was money. While it was possible to steal the items I wanted, it would take too much time. Simply being able to hand over money streamlined the process immensely.
Of course, I was going to steal the money, because at some point theft had to enter the equation if I was going to acquire resources quickly. Not that I had a problem with stealing; I was already murdering people, and running a path to killing my current cash flow problem was small potatoes next to that.
Assuming a detached in-a-hurry air, I hustled down the sidewalk, eyes front, not even bothering to scope out the people I was passing by. I'd never practised this in my life, but just like the martial arts thing, it didn't matter; the hand was quicker than the eye. Before I'd gone fifty yards, I had a wallet in the right-hand pocket of my hoodie.
Continuing my onward march, I opened the wallet without removing it from my pocket, extracted and counted the cash by touch, then pulled a cash card out of it. An ATM beckoned; with my sleeves pulled over my knuckles, I sidled up to it. One hand casually covered the pinhole camera, while the other slid the card into the slot and tapped in the PIN without hesitation. The balance on the card was worth thousands, but I only needed a few hundred to cover what I wanted to do. I entered that amount and waited.
Thirty seconds later, the machine spit out the required amount of cash. I took it and the card, and moved on. My skin had not touched the machine once. A garbage truck rumbled past; I flicked the wallet, with the card back in it, up into the load. It wasn't my problem anymore.
Next, my footsteps led me to an electronics hobby store. The plan I had in mind was a little grandiose, but that was all part of the fun. However, it also meant I was going to need some items it was easier to buy or steal than make.
The guy at the counter looked up as I wandered in. I pretended to meander back and forth, but I knew what I needed. I also knew that the counter attendant was watching to make sure none of the stock vanished into my hoodie pockets. Well, the joke was on him; I was going to buy it fair and square.
What I placed on the counter was a hodgepodge of electronic devices and tools, about half of which I actually needed and the other half protective camouflage. When he raised his eyebrows, I shrugged. "Science project. I don't even know what half this stuff does." Which was technically true, but it didn't matter.
"Suit yourself." He rang it up on the register, and I paid with cash, throwing in a few coins from my bus change purse to make it look good. Moments later, I left the shop, holding my hand in front of my face just in time to avoid getting mugshot by the sole security camera they could afford.
Around the corner, and fifty yards down the road, was a parked motorcycle with a helmet hanging off the back. With two of the tools from the electronics shop, I bypassed the ignition and had the cycle started almost as fast as I could've done it with the key. Then I pulled the helmet on, swung astride the bike, and took off.
Halfway to my destination—I wasn't even sure where I was going, except that it was toward Captain's Hill, and I was on my way to collect a metal spike to murder Kaiser with—I pulled over and parked next to a locksmith. I had no idea what I needed there, but I was learning not to question my power.
"Hi," I said giddily as I swept into the shop. "Now, this is going to sound really weird, but my boyfriend and me are having our six-month anniversary real soon, and I wanted to give him a special gift but I can't afford much, so I was wondering if I could buy one of your keys there and get you to engrave something like 'key to my heart' on it, pretty please?"
The old guy behind the counter didn't even blink. "Sure," he said, and indicated the rows of key blanks. "Got a preference, kid?"
"Um, um, um," I said, pretending indecision. Then I pointed at the one I needed—for what, I wasn't sure yet. "That one, right there. It's the prettiest."
"Okay," he grunted and slid the blank off the hook. "That'll be ten bucks."
"Thank you so much," I gushed, watching as he expertly engraved the words into the blank. I didn't need the engraving, of course, but it was a convenient excuse for acquiring a key blank.
Back on the bike, the key in my pocket, I kept moving. About five minutes later, a citywide ping reached me; the owner of the motorcycle had discovered that his ride was missing, and had informed the police. They were now looking for the motorcycle (and by inference, the thief—me).
I kept riding.
Two detours later, to avoid police officers who'd gotten the message about the stolen bike, I was definitely in the more affluent area of Brockton Bay. Multi-story houses with attached swimming pools, gated communities, the works. I wasn't quite sure why I was here, but here I was.
I stashed the bike in a quiet side street and went on by foot. My destination was apparently a three-story edifice complete with a patio and a high stone wall all around it. Taking a run-up, I went up the wall like a startled squirrel and vaulted over the top to land and roll on the far side.
Keeping low, I darted through the immaculately topiaried shrubbery until I reached a discreetly placed back door. In place of a lock, it had an electronic keypad; using my sleeve-covered knuckle, I tapped in the code. The door obediently opened with a discreet click, and I entered.
The interior was utterly gorgeous, with works of art here and there that were undoubtedly worth more than our entire house and contents put together. A crack team of burglars could've made millions in fifteen minutes, given the run of the place. But I wasn't here for that.
Sneaking through the corridors, I tried one specific door and it opened into a luxuriously appointed study. And here was what I was looking for; a huge glass case, taking up part of one wall, exhibiting swords and knives of all kinds, from great six-foot-long monstrosities to little tiny things barely longer than my hand.
Two of them caught my eye. One was a solid-looking double-edged sword with a weird S-shaped crossguard, apparently used by some knight to defend some castle, back in the day. And the other … was a pair of shears. Not just any shears, but shears that could also be used as a dagger. The handle even featured a crossbar. It even came with its own sheath.
It would totally fit my image as Atropos.
Oh, yes. I want.
The glass case was locked with another keypad; I didn't even have to think about it as my fingers tapped the code in. Moments later, I was the proud owner of a sword and a set of dagger-shears.
Leaving the house was about as uneventful as the entry had been, even with my ill-gotten goods. Apparently my power allowed me to emulate Olympic level gymnasts at the top of their game, even while wearing jeans and a hoodie.
The sword did pose a slight problem when I went to get back on the bike; it hadn't come with a sheath, and there was no handy scabbard attached to the bike itself. I ended up sliding it down the back of my hoodie so the tip poked out the bottom, and the hilt rested against the back of my helmet. It wasn't an ideal solution, but it worked for the time being.
Stealing a car, I decided, was much more convenient.
I abandoned the bike about three streets away from our house. Once again, I wiped down everything I'd touched, trying to at least blur any fingerprints that they might find. With the sword blade up my sleeve and the hilt in the bag with the electronic items I was carrying, it didn't look like I was wandering around with a three-foot stolen blade, which was all I needed.
When I got in the back door, the clock was showing a quarter to twelve, which meant lunch had just started. I had an hour to get there.
Taking my spoils down into the basement, I used a screwdriver from Dad's toolkit to remove the plywood covering the old coal chute, and stashed the sword and electronic bits in there, alongside Oni Lee's grenades and pistol. Then I screwed it back on, headed back upstairs, and left the shears with the rest of my costume. That, at least, came with a sheath.
Time was starting to get a little tight, so I threw together a sandwich and grabbed an apple and a juice box from the fridge. I jogged the two blocks to the bus stop, and caught the next one heading in the right direction. As the bus drove off, I took a satisfied bite out of the sandwich.
Winslow High School
12:40 PM
The bus stopped outside the school and I got off. Moving with a fast stride, I made my way up the steps and into the school proper. May it be ever so grimy.
I got to my locker just as the bell rang; as I opened it, I appreciated the fact that nobody else had filled it full of crap while I was gone. The faint waft of bleach, and the entire lack of paint on the inside of the locker, showed me just how hard the cleaning staff had worked to get rid of the mess. They'd even bent the door back into shape, which was kind of impressive. Grabbing my backpack, I shoved my art supplies and math textbook in there, then added the pencil case that I'd taken from Emma's locker.
When I closed the locker door, Madison was standing there.
"Oh, hey," I said. "Is this an official visit, or are we two ships passing in the night?"
She took a deep breath, twisting her fingers together. "Emma and me, we talked to the police today." The words came in a rush.
"Mm-hmm," I said. "So did I. What did you tell them?" I didn't tell her that I'd seen Emma in the precinct. She'd learn soon enough.
"That we bullied you. All three of us." I could see her clenching her fists hard enough to whiten her knuckles. "I've been grounded forever, and Dad's taking my phone away after school. Is that enough? Is that good enough?"
I nodded. "It's a start." Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I headed off to art class.
End of Part Five
Part Five: Interviews and Acquisitions
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Taylor
Leaning on the window frame, I let the chill winter breeze wash over my face as Dad maneuvered the car through Brockton Bay's morning traffic. I'd been a little hasty with killing Sophia, I decided. It would've been much better to have shot her with a crossbow or something, but she hadn't been thoughtful enough to provide one. Going the extra mile to provide my targets with a fitting kill was something I should aim for.
Oni Lee … well, I'd shot him with his own gun, so that was fitting enough, I figured. Blowing him up with his own grenade would've been even more so, but my power hadn't offered any options for doing it that way. Meh, I was okay with how it had turned out. Also, I'd scored an absolutely rockin' costume, so that was a plus point for just shooting him.
Which left my next four targets. Skidmark was maybe the easiest of the lot. He was into the drug scene, so he'd have to die by drugs. I wasn't really sure what Coil's thing was; maybe a coil of rope to tie him up and hang him by? Kaiser, I was thinking I could kill with a metal spike or spear or something, and Lung … hmm.
Lung was going to be difficult, I could just tell. Burning him to death was a non-starter, but what about an explosion? That was thematically similar to fire. But I couldn't just throw a grenade at him; my power helpfully informed me that he would survive such an attack if he was at all ramped up.
But then it started making suggestions. Very interesting suggestions. Suggestions which, if I made the right preparations, were eminently possible to carry out.
"Taylor?" Dad's voice jolted me out of my reverie.
"Yeah?" I looked around, realising that we'd parked and he had his door half-open. "Oh. We're there. Sorry, I zoned out for a bit."
"That's okay. Don't stress about it. Tell them what you saw, and don't try to embellish, alright? I'll be right there."
"Thanks." I wound up the window and got out, making sure to lock the door as I did so. "Sorry for having to put you through this."
He stepped up onto the sidewalk and ruffled my hair. "It's my job to be there for you. No big deal. Trust me, there'd be many dads accompanying their kid to the local precinct who'd love to swap out with us."
That hadn't been what I'd meant. I was about to drop a massive bomb on him that he just wasn't ready for, but there wasn't any way I could warn him ahead of time that wouldn't have other consequences down the line. But we'd get through it; once it was dropped, I'd be able to minimise the fallout, but only then. My power was really good at ending stuff, but only so-so at preventing it before it ever happened.
Besides, this way would play right into ending suspicion on me.
We walked into the precinct station, me in my hoodie, baggy jeans and ancient sneakers, and Dad in his Association working clothes. A bunch of other kids I vaguely recognised as Winslow students were sitting around, accompanied by adults who were probably their parents; I neither knew nor cared. It looked to be standing room only for the moment, but that didn't matter either. I could plan just as well standing up as sitting down.
As Dad and I joined the line to speak to the police officer on the front counter, a door opened and Emma emerged with her father. They saw us at the same time as Dad saw them, and they came our way. Or rather, Alan Barnes came our way while Emma reluctantly tagged along.
"Alan," Dad greeted his old friend. "Fancy meeting you here." His wry grin and handshake went unanswered, and he frowned.
"Good to see you too, Dan." Emma's father had a pained look on his face. "Sorry, we can't stay. Emma and I have some things to talk about." He looked over at me. "For what it's worth, Taylor, I'm sorry."
I eyed Emma speculatively. Her makeup might have fooled some people, but I knew her rather better than that, and she looked like hell. She also looked terrified of me, while desperately trying to hide it.
"Emma," I said neutrally. "It's good to see you. I hope you're doing well?"
"I'm-I'm okay," she jerked out. "You-you look good too."
I put my hand on her shoulder and she flinched, but stopped short of pulling away. "It's alright," I said just loudly enough for the adults to hear. "Go mourn your friend. I'll see you later."
"Th-thanks." She leaned closer and lowered her voice until only I could hear her. "I'm sorry. For-for everything."
I moved my lips close to her ear. "I know," I whispered back. Then I let her go and stepped back. "Bye, Emma."
"B-bye, Taylor." She huddled close to her father.
I looked up at Alan Barnes and nodded. "Thanks. I appreciate that."
He nodded in return. "Well, time to go, Dan. See you around?"
"Count on it." Dad waved briefly, then turned to me as we moved up in line. "What the hell was that about? Why was my oldest friend apologising to you? And what was wrong with Emma?"
"Tell you in a minute, Dad." I nodded toward the desk sergeant to remind him why we were in line.
We got to the counter, and Dad gave his name, my name, the reason we were here, and the name of the police officer I was supposed to be seeing, a Detective Andrews. The sergeant checked his list, verified via my student card that my name was indeed Taylor Anne Hebert, and nodded. "Take a seat … if you can find one. He'll be with you shortly."
We went and found an empty spot where nobody seemed inclined to eavesdrop on us, then Dad turned his attention my way again. "So, tell me. Why was Alan apologising to you? And what's going on with you and Emma? I would've expected you to be all over each other like a rash, but it was like you didn't even want to be in the same room as each other. When did you two stop being best friends?"
"Year before last," I said bluntly. "I got back from summer camp and she had new friends, and didn't want to be bothered with me anymore. When we started at Winslow, she doubled down. Went from 'no longer friends' to active enemies. They all started bullying me."
His eyes widened. "What the … oh, hell no! When I see Alan next—"
"He didn't know anything about it," I interrupted. "But I'm pretty sure he does now. I didn't tell you for the longest time because you were still getting over Mom, and I figured I could handle it myself." I could feel my voice patterns changing to sound more convincing, along with my body language. It was working; he was still engaged, still listening to me. "After winter break, I think they'd decided that I wasn't worth it anymore. They still said a few things to me, but it was half-hearted, tapering off. And then this happened."
"What's this got to do with what Emma was doing to you?" He still sounded pissed.
I took a deep breath for effect. "The girl who died was one of the major instigators, apart from Emma. I'm thinking she found someone else to pick on, and it went badly. Emma was … they had some sort of emotional co-dependency thing going on, and now she's gone."
"I still think I should talk to Alan—"
I shook my head. "No need. You saw her. She's a total wreck. She couldn't bully a newborn kitten right now. I hate what she did, but there's no point in kicking her when she's down."
"I guess you're right." He grimaced. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"Like I said, you had enough on your plate, and I thought I had to handle it myself." I shook my head. "I know, stupid. But I guess it's one of those rare situations that solved itself, in a really weird way."
"After more than a year of bullying." The scowl had settled on his face. "I can't believe Alan didn't know."
"It's amazing what people don't see if they don't want to see it." I said it lightly, but I saw him flinch anyway. While the statement hadn't been aimed specifically at him, it was still accurate enough to sting.
"Well, not anymore." He set his jaw. "From now on, I'm Dad on deck. You have any problems, you bring them to me."
"If I have any problems, I will absolutely bring them to you," I promised. Of course, I didn't intend for anything to get to the level of being a problem, but he didn't need to know that.
We stood a little longer in companionable silence as names were called. From time to time, we glanced at the clock.
"How many classes are you going to be missing out of this?" he asked.
I shrugged. "The school doesn't expect me back until after lunch. Once we're finished here, I can take the bus there while you go to work."
"Hm. Okay."
"Hebert!" We both turned our heads as the voice called out. "Taylor Hebert!"
"That's me," I responded.
It was time to go lie my ass off to the police.
<><>
Danny
This was not Danny's first rodeo, not by a long shot. He'd already cautioned Taylor about saying too much or embellishing her words, and it seemed that she'd taken his advice to heart.
"So," began Detective Andrews. He was a big man, with muscle starting to go to fat, with thinning brown hair. "Tell me about your day at Winslow yesterday. Just the highlights, to begin with." He held his pen ready with his notepad, though Danny was sure there was a recorder running.
Taylor nodded. "Well, my first class was Computers, with Mrs Knott, then the second was World Affairs, with Mr Gladly. After that, I went and had lunch, then read for a while in the library. Then I went to art class, then math class, and that's when they made the announcement that we had to wait back."
Detective Andrews made some notes. "Okay, on your way from the library to the art classroom, did you see or hear anything happening in room thirty-nine A?"
Taylor frowned. "That's where it happened? No, that classroom isn't used at that time of day. The door was closed."
Scribble, scribble. "Understood. Now, how well did you know Sophia Hess?"
Lifting her head, Taylor pressed her lips together before answering. "I knew her. Along with Emma Barnes and Madison Clements. They made my life a complete hell over the last year and a bit."
"Really?" Andrews' brows rose. "She was bullying you?"
"Yes." Taylor leaned forward slightly. "If Emma or Madison say any differently, they're lying. I've been tripped, shoved, had stuff stolen from my locker, had glue or glitter or juice put on my seat, had my assignments stolen and stories spread about me. If there's a checklist of what school bullies do, they've ticked off everything."
"Hmm." Detective Andrews made a few more notes. "So, what was the last thing they did to bully you?"
Taylor didn't have to stop and think. "Just after World Affairs, I was heading to the cafeteria. I ran into Sophia. She tried to shove me around, but I bluffed her into thinking a teacher was watching. Come to think of it, she was pretty half-hearted about it, like she was getting bored with the whole thing. Then I went to have lunch. Emma and Madison came up to me then, but the same as Sophia, it was like they were just going through the motions. They didn't even try to tip my tray over or spill my juice on me."
"Is that the last you saw of them before the announcement in math class?" More notes were made.
"Um …" Taylor paused. "No. I went to the library after I finished lunch, and I saw Sophia come in while I was browsing the stacks. I didn't know if she was looking for me or Emma and Madison, so I just stayed out of her way. That was the last time I saw her. I didn't see Madison at all for the rest of the day, and I saw Emma in math class. She left the classroom just before the announcement. I think she had an upset stomach or something."
"I see." Detective Andrews flipped to a new page. "With all this, I think it's fair to say you might have been justified in holding a grudge against Miss Hess?"
Taylor didn't laugh out loud, but she did let out a rather bitter chuckle. "A grudge? Yeah, I think you could say that. I hated her guts. I still hate Emma and Madison. Not that I could do a damn thing about it, but I hated her. Wouldn't you?"
"I might," admitted the detective. "But holding a grudge, even for the level of bullying you seem to have gone through, doesn't justify murder."
"Wait, wait," protested Danny for the first time. "Detective, are you seriously accusing my daughter—"
"Dad, chill." Taylor waved him down. "Detective, how did she die? I doubt she was shot, because I know damn well Hollywood lies about silencers. Stabbed? Hit over the head with something from behind? Choked out?"
Detective Andrews drew a deep breath, then released it. "She was beaten to death," he admitted reluctantly. "Using advanced martial arts moves. Crushed larynx, shattered ribs, stopped heart."
Taylor snorted. "Well, that leaves me out, then. My most advanced martial arts form is best described as Way of the Chicken." Still sitting down, she performed a credible impression of someone running for their life.
Danny felt relief seeping through him. He'd always known Taylor was innocent, and now he could prove it. "It's true. She's never had martial arts training. I know, because I never paid for any."
"May I see your hands, Taylor?" asked the detective.
"Sure." Taylor stood up and stepped forward, holding her hands out in front of her.
Without touching them, the detective examined her knuckles carefully. Then he shook his head. "The amount of training it takes to deliver blows like that flawlessly would leave unmistakeable calluses on your hands, and probably break a few bones in the process. You don't have anything like that."
"Yeah, screw that." Taylor sat down again. "I like having my hands the same shape they've always been, thanks."
"I can understand that." Andrews drew a line under his notes and closed the notepad. "Well, my condolences for what you had to go through, and I doubt we'll be needing to speak with you again."
"Good to hear," Danny said. "I hope you catch whoever did this, before they kill someone else."
<><>
Taylor
Keeping a tight control on my expression so I wouldn't even crack a smile—way too late for that, Dad—I followed Dad and Detective Andrews out to the main lobby, where the next would-be witnesses were called in. Heading out through the main doors, we ended up on the sidewalk.
"Well, that was that," he said, dusting his hands off. "Thanks for giving me the heads-up about Emma and her friends before we spoke to the detective, but honestly, you could've told me sooner. I would've done something about it, made sure you didn't have to live through all that crap they did to you."
"I could have, yeah," I admitted. "I guess some part of me wanted to make it my problem to fix. But it's over and done with now, anyway." And it was, just like the investigation into me. Detective Andrews had been the main one to suspect me for the killing since he'd been given my name, and now there was no suspicion there at all; I'd killed it stone dead.
"Are you sure you're okay with taking the bus to school?" he asked, gesturing toward the car. "I can drop you off on the way to work."
I snorted and rolled my eyes. "I don't have to be back until after lunch. Give me the chance to enjoy my freedom while I can, huh?"
"You raise an extremely valid point. Well, have fun and don't be late to class." He gave me a quick hug, which I returned. "It's good to have you back, Taylor."
"Likewise, Dad." I watched him go to the car, start it, and pull out into traffic. Before he was even out of sight, I turned and started walking in the other direction.
According to the wall clock within the precinct, it was ten-thirty. Lunch ended at twelve forty-five. I had two hours and fifteen minutes to play with, and I intended to make the most of that time.
The first thing I needed was money. While it was possible to steal the items I wanted, it would take too much time. Simply being able to hand over money streamlined the process immensely.
Of course, I was going to steal the money, because at some point theft had to enter the equation if I was going to acquire resources quickly. Not that I had a problem with stealing; I was already murdering people, and running a path to killing my current cash flow problem was small potatoes next to that.
Assuming a detached in-a-hurry air, I hustled down the sidewalk, eyes front, not even bothering to scope out the people I was passing by. I'd never practised this in my life, but just like the martial arts thing, it didn't matter; the hand was quicker than the eye. Before I'd gone fifty yards, I had a wallet in the right-hand pocket of my hoodie.
Continuing my onward march, I opened the wallet without removing it from my pocket, extracted and counted the cash by touch, then pulled a cash card out of it. An ATM beckoned; with my sleeves pulled over my knuckles, I sidled up to it. One hand casually covered the pinhole camera, while the other slid the card into the slot and tapped in the PIN without hesitation. The balance on the card was worth thousands, but I only needed a few hundred to cover what I wanted to do. I entered that amount and waited.
Thirty seconds later, the machine spit out the required amount of cash. I took it and the card, and moved on. My skin had not touched the machine once. A garbage truck rumbled past; I flicked the wallet, with the card back in it, up into the load. It wasn't my problem anymore.
Next, my footsteps led me to an electronics hobby store. The plan I had in mind was a little grandiose, but that was all part of the fun. However, it also meant I was going to need some items it was easier to buy or steal than make.
The guy at the counter looked up as I wandered in. I pretended to meander back and forth, but I knew what I needed. I also knew that the counter attendant was watching to make sure none of the stock vanished into my hoodie pockets. Well, the joke was on him; I was going to buy it fair and square.
What I placed on the counter was a hodgepodge of electronic devices and tools, about half of which I actually needed and the other half protective camouflage. When he raised his eyebrows, I shrugged. "Science project. I don't even know what half this stuff does." Which was technically true, but it didn't matter.
"Suit yourself." He rang it up on the register, and I paid with cash, throwing in a few coins from my bus change purse to make it look good. Moments later, I left the shop, holding my hand in front of my face just in time to avoid getting mugshot by the sole security camera they could afford.
Around the corner, and fifty yards down the road, was a parked motorcycle with a helmet hanging off the back. With two of the tools from the electronics shop, I bypassed the ignition and had the cycle started almost as fast as I could've done it with the key. Then I pulled the helmet on, swung astride the bike, and took off.
Halfway to my destination—I wasn't even sure where I was going, except that it was toward Captain's Hill, and I was on my way to collect a metal spike to murder Kaiser with—I pulled over and parked next to a locksmith. I had no idea what I needed there, but I was learning not to question my power.
"Hi," I said giddily as I swept into the shop. "Now, this is going to sound really weird, but my boyfriend and me are having our six-month anniversary real soon, and I wanted to give him a special gift but I can't afford much, so I was wondering if I could buy one of your keys there and get you to engrave something like 'key to my heart' on it, pretty please?"
The old guy behind the counter didn't even blink. "Sure," he said, and indicated the rows of key blanks. "Got a preference, kid?"
"Um, um, um," I said, pretending indecision. Then I pointed at the one I needed—for what, I wasn't sure yet. "That one, right there. It's the prettiest."
"Okay," he grunted and slid the blank off the hook. "That'll be ten bucks."
"Thank you so much," I gushed, watching as he expertly engraved the words into the blank. I didn't need the engraving, of course, but it was a convenient excuse for acquiring a key blank.
Back on the bike, the key in my pocket, I kept moving. About five minutes later, a citywide ping reached me; the owner of the motorcycle had discovered that his ride was missing, and had informed the police. They were now looking for the motorcycle (and by inference, the thief—me).
I kept riding.
Two detours later, to avoid police officers who'd gotten the message about the stolen bike, I was definitely in the more affluent area of Brockton Bay. Multi-story houses with attached swimming pools, gated communities, the works. I wasn't quite sure why I was here, but here I was.
I stashed the bike in a quiet side street and went on by foot. My destination was apparently a three-story edifice complete with a patio and a high stone wall all around it. Taking a run-up, I went up the wall like a startled squirrel and vaulted over the top to land and roll on the far side.
Keeping low, I darted through the immaculately topiaried shrubbery until I reached a discreetly placed back door. In place of a lock, it had an electronic keypad; using my sleeve-covered knuckle, I tapped in the code. The door obediently opened with a discreet click, and I entered.
The interior was utterly gorgeous, with works of art here and there that were undoubtedly worth more than our entire house and contents put together. A crack team of burglars could've made millions in fifteen minutes, given the run of the place. But I wasn't here for that.
Sneaking through the corridors, I tried one specific door and it opened into a luxuriously appointed study. And here was what I was looking for; a huge glass case, taking up part of one wall, exhibiting swords and knives of all kinds, from great six-foot-long monstrosities to little tiny things barely longer than my hand.
Two of them caught my eye. One was a solid-looking double-edged sword with a weird S-shaped crossguard, apparently used by some knight to defend some castle, back in the day. And the other … was a pair of shears. Not just any shears, but shears that could also be used as a dagger. The handle even featured a crossbar. It even came with its own sheath.
It would totally fit my image as Atropos.
Oh, yes. I want.
The glass case was locked with another keypad; I didn't even have to think about it as my fingers tapped the code in. Moments later, I was the proud owner of a sword and a set of dagger-shears.
Leaving the house was about as uneventful as the entry had been, even with my ill-gotten goods. Apparently my power allowed me to emulate Olympic level gymnasts at the top of their game, even while wearing jeans and a hoodie.
The sword did pose a slight problem when I went to get back on the bike; it hadn't come with a sheath, and there was no handy scabbard attached to the bike itself. I ended up sliding it down the back of my hoodie so the tip poked out the bottom, and the hilt rested against the back of my helmet. It wasn't an ideal solution, but it worked for the time being.
Stealing a car, I decided, was much more convenient.
I abandoned the bike about three streets away from our house. Once again, I wiped down everything I'd touched, trying to at least blur any fingerprints that they might find. With the sword blade up my sleeve and the hilt in the bag with the electronic items I was carrying, it didn't look like I was wandering around with a three-foot stolen blade, which was all I needed.
When I got in the back door, the clock was showing a quarter to twelve, which meant lunch had just started. I had an hour to get there.
Taking my spoils down into the basement, I used a screwdriver from Dad's toolkit to remove the plywood covering the old coal chute, and stashed the sword and electronic bits in there, alongside Oni Lee's grenades and pistol. Then I screwed it back on, headed back upstairs, and left the shears with the rest of my costume. That, at least, came with a sheath.
Time was starting to get a little tight, so I threw together a sandwich and grabbed an apple and a juice box from the fridge. I jogged the two blocks to the bus stop, and caught the next one heading in the right direction. As the bus drove off, I took a satisfied bite out of the sandwich.
<><>
Winslow High School
12:40 PM
The bus stopped outside the school and I got off. Moving with a fast stride, I made my way up the steps and into the school proper. May it be ever so grimy.
I got to my locker just as the bell rang; as I opened it, I appreciated the fact that nobody else had filled it full of crap while I was gone. The faint waft of bleach, and the entire lack of paint on the inside of the locker, showed me just how hard the cleaning staff had worked to get rid of the mess. They'd even bent the door back into shape, which was kind of impressive. Grabbing my backpack, I shoved my art supplies and math textbook in there, then added the pencil case that I'd taken from Emma's locker.
When I closed the locker door, Madison was standing there.
"Oh, hey," I said. "Is this an official visit, or are we two ships passing in the night?"
She took a deep breath, twisting her fingers together. "Emma and me, we talked to the police today." The words came in a rush.
"Mm-hmm," I said. "So did I. What did you tell them?" I didn't tell her that I'd seen Emma in the precinct. She'd learn soon enough.
"That we bullied you. All three of us." I could see her clenching her fists hard enough to whiten her knuckles. "I've been grounded forever, and Dad's taking my phone away after school. Is that enough? Is that good enough?"
I nodded. "It's a start." Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I headed off to art class.
End of Part Five
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Part Six: A Good Death
- Location
- Australia
A Darker Path
Part Six: A Good Death
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Later That Afternoon
Hebert Household Basement
Taylor
I pressed the button on the tiny remote; with a tiny whine, the jaws opened against the spring holding them closed. Releasing the button let the jaws snap shut again. I carefully didn't press the second button on the remote, which would overload the tiny battery powering the whole gizmo and deconstruct it explosively.
I hadn't even known that was possible, up until now.
Resting on the workbench were several other devices with similar applications, all constructed from the bits and pieces I'd purchased from the electronics store. I wasn't sure what they were going to be used for, but I had no doubt it would be impressive.
Setting the remote aside, I took up the key that the locksmith had engraved for me. Thirty seconds with an angle-grinder had erased some of the engraving, and transformed it into a functional key. For what, I still had no idea, but I was sure I would find out.
(And yes, I was impressed that my power could freestyle a working key in thirty seconds with an angle grinder. I mean, damn).
However, I was done here for the moment. Bundling everything together, I put it back in the coal chute and screwed the wood facing back on. By the time the car tyres crunched on the gravel in the driveway, I had washed my hands and face, and was hard at work prepping a lasagne in the kitchen.
"Hi, Taylor," Dad said as he opened the back door. "How was the rest of your day?"
I shrugged and kept on with my task. "Eh, got stuff done. Nobody messed with me."
He slapped me on the shoulder on the way past to the fridge. "Best kind of day."
Under the Medhall Building
Hookwolf
Bradley shook his head. "Oni Lee wasn't any kind of pushover," he said flatly. "I fought him enough times to know that. If this Atropos asshole offed him and says they're gonna go after you, I think you should take some kinda precautions."
"That's what I've been saying," James replied. "Max. What are your thoughts on the matter?"
Max ran his hand over his face and looked around at his two lieutenants. In his hand was an untouched glass of bourbon, the ice slowly melting into the drink. "Sorry, I'm a little distracted. When I got home, I found some of my property missing. Someone not only penetrated the security system, but filched two items out of my private collection of blades. My katzbalger and the bodice shears are gone. All the cameras caught was a shadow on the edge of the frame."
"Shit, that sucks." Bradley went for a sympathetic tone. "How much were they worth, anyway? Was it the gold-plated stuff?"
"No, and that's what I can't figure out," Max snarled. He clenched his free hand into a fist and thumped it on the table. "The thief walked straight past pieces of art worth six figures, and took none of it. They went straight to my study, opened the display case without tripping the alarm, and took exactly two pieces, neither of which is strikingly unique or intrinsically valuable. Then they left again."
James shrugged. "So we approach it from that end. Why would someone want those two specific pieces? Who would want them?"
"There's a few capes out there who like the whole medieval look," Bradley offered. "I mean, Armsmaster's got that fucking halberd."
"But that's Tinkertech," James objected. "Max's collection is all genuine antiques. A sword is just a sword. Shears are just shears. Who needs shears?"
Bradley chuckled. "Parian? You know, for cutting up the cloth for her stupid stuffed animals?"
"Wait." Max sat upright, his eyes opening wide. "Shears. Cutting cloth."
"Yeah, that's what I just said." Bradley eyed his boss warily. "You okay there?"
"Motherfucker." It was like Max hadn't heard him. "Shears. You know who else uses shears to cut things?"
Bradley shared a glance of mutual incomprehension with James, then shrugged. "Fucked if I know."
Max looked at the other two. "Did you ever learn about the three Fates in school? Clotho, who spun the threads of people's lives, Lachesis, who measured them out … and Atropos, who cut them using shears?"
A silence descended on the trio, that lasted almost thirty seconds.
"So it was Atropos," James said slowly. "They were right there. In your house."
"It might not have been them," Bradley objected, but it sounded weak even to his ears.
"Really?" Max's lips were pulled back in a snarl. "You think so? Exactly two things were taken. A German landsknecht's sword, and a pair of shears. That's a message if I ever saw one. 'I know you're Kaiser, signed Atropos'."
Bradley didn't get it. "So it's a German sword. What's that got to do with anything?"
"Because," Max said with an air of strained patience, "it was once owned by Kaiser Wilhelm the first. My father built the collection around it."
Well, that put a whole new meaning on things. "Oh. Oh, shit."
"It's clear that your house isn't safe anymore, that's for certain," James decided. "Maybe you should actually think about …"
Bradley shook his head. "Nope. Don't even go there."
"No." Max's voice was firm. "If you were about to say, 'think about leaving town', that's not a possibility. I am the Empire Eighty-Eight; the Empire Eighty-Eight is me. I inherited this team from my father, and I refuse to abandon it like this. Besides, if word got out, how would it look? All people would have to do is post a credible death threat on PHO, and I leave town? They could cripple us at a whim!"
"Your death would also be a huge setback." James took a sip of his drink. "I do agree. You must not be seen to flee from a potential assassin. But your house is clearly not secure enough for this matter. I think … right here, in this building, is the best place to be. Electronic security is one thing to defeat. But no matter how stealthy this Atropos is, I doubt they could fight their way past our entire cape contingent to get to you."
Bradley cracked his knuckles with a series of metallic pops. "Damn right."
If this Atropos seriously decided to come after Kaiser, he decided, they would regret it very fucking briefly.
ABB Territory
Lung
Despite his anger, Kenta's power lay quiescent. Nobody threatened him directly; midnight was still hours away. He looked down at the dark stain on the sidewalk where Oni Lee had died. A single shot to the face with his own gun. The autopsy, he'd heard through his own sources, had revealed a tiny mass of sodden ash at the far end of the wound channel.
Atropos had taken his gun and grenades. The final insult. She'd left Lee's mask and combat knife though, which was good. The latter had been retrieved by Isamu before he fled.
Lung had brought Isamu along with him, despite the idiot's broken arm (now splinted, and in a sling) and bandaged head. The young man spoke Vietnamese as well as his native Japanese, which would be useful; the proprietor of the shop spoke little to no English, and Kenta's own Vietnamese was limited to extremely crude subjects. He wanted exactly zero misunderstandings, going forward.
Waving to his other five men to stay where they were, he stepped forward and pushed the shop door open. A tiny bell jingled cheerily as he did so. From within the shop appeared an elderly lady, who bowed deeply and said something. One of her assistants spoke up. "Great Lung, we—"
"Silence!" barked Kenta. "My man will translate." Turning his head slightly, he nodded to Isamu. "What did the old lady say?"
Isamu cleared his throat. "She said, 'Great Lung, we are honoured by your presence in our humble shop.'"
"Hm." Kenta glared at her. She bowed again, then went to her knees. "Ask her where my money is."
Isamu spoke briefly. The lady replied quickly, barely above a whisper, trembling the whole time. Clenching his fists, Isamu stepped forward, but Kenta held up his hand. "Stop! What was that about?"
Breathing deeply through his nostrils, Isamu gritted the words out. "She says, 'I don't know. Perhaps that masked girl took it from you.'"
That was highly possible. It was what Kenta would have done. "Ask her what happened when the girl entered the shop."
A brief conversation ensued. "She says the girl required them to outfit her with a costume. After she killed Oni Lee, they were too afraid not to do what she said. The girl spoke Vietnamese fluently, better than me, she says."
"And you say she was white?" Kenta was pretty sure that was one of the details he'd been told. White girls who spoke Vietnamese that well were few and far between.
Isamu nodded, but carefully. "Yes. I remember wondering if she was a tourist."
Kenta frowned. That was actually a good point. Was this a cape from out of town, instead of a local? He wasn't sure how to check that. "Ask them if they saw the girl's face while they were outfitting her." He'd already established that none of the three men had seen her closely enough to recall any details. Concussions tended to have that effect.
Once more, Isamu passed on the query. The old lady answered, along with a hand gesture that covered the lower half of her face. When she'd finished, Isamu turned to Kenta. "She had a mask over her mouth and nose. Whenever she took it off, she turned her back on everyone."
"Of course she did," sighed Kenta. If this was a newcomer to the game, she was being very slick about it. "Did she seem to need her glasses, or were they just part of a disguise?" Isamu had mentioned the glasses, earlier, but Kenta doubted they could be worn over a morph mask.
The question made the old lady pause and think. Eventually, she shook her head. Kenta had his answer before Isamu translated. "She says no, the girl did not seem to have any sort of vision problems after she took her glasses off."
At least his men wouldn't be wasting their time looking for girls with glasses. "And she was tall, skinny, with long dark hair?"
The old lady bowed briefly and spoke a few words. Isamu snorted, then turned to Kenta. "She said, 'Great Lung knows all.' I think she is mocking you."
"I know mockery when I hear it." Kenta's tone was mildly censorious. "She would not dare mock me or lie to me." He doubted that the old lady liked him, but fear and respect were wolves that ran side by side and could easily be mistaken for one another. He didn't need friends; he just needed obedience.
"Should I tell her to hand over the protection money again?"
"Hm." Kenta considered it. "No. Tell her that in my generosity, I will forgive her the money this time, but in return I expect her to contact me immediately if the girl comes back, and to keep the girl talking until I arrive."
"Yes, sir." Isamu turned to the old lady, and rattled off a speech. Her reply was much shorter, and punctuated with another bow that put her forehead to the ground.
"She said, 'It will be done, great Lung.'" Isamu frowned. "I don't trust her."
Kenta turned toward the door of the shop. "I trust her to see to her own best interests. She knows that if the girl is seen in this shop again and she doesn't call me, I will burn it down with her inside."
Isamu followed him out; the door swung shut behind them. "But you didn't tell me to tell her that."
Turning to face his minion, Kenta smiled coldly. "Some things, you don't have to translate."
Taylor
Dad wanted to talk over dinner. I liked that he was engaging more, even if it narrowed my window for getting out and performing long-delayed retribution on some people who desperately needed it. So, after we cleared the table, we sat back and chatted.
Of course, he wanted to talk about Emma.
"What do you think happened to her, to make her turn on you?" he asked helplessly. "She was your best friend, for crying out loud!"
"I'm not totally sure," I said, though I had my suspicions. "Whatever it was, Sophia was at the centre of it. But it's not even all Sophia's fault, I don't think. Emma's always been a little … fragile. When she's got plenty of support, she's fine. But take that away, and she shatters. And when whatever it was happened, Sophia helped put her back together wrongly." I shrugged. "You saw what she was like when she lost Sophia."
"That's a little cold, isn't it?" Dad shook his head. "Emma was your best friend for years. Now she's a quivering wreck. I never knew this Sophia, but she was a human being too. You can't just dismiss them out of hand like that."
"Why not?" I asked reasonably. "They spent the better part of a year and a half doing their best to destroy me. Emma looked me in the eye and tore down Mom's memory in front of everyone. She chose to stop being my friend, and Sophia simply chose to be my enemy. I owe them nothing."
I hadn't raised my voice, but Dad still flinched. "Okay, yeah, I get it. You're still pissed at them. Believe me, I understand. I would be too. But at some point you have to learn to let things go, or it'll eat you up inside."
"No," I said. "You don't understand. I'm not angry at them, but I'm not about to forgive them either. I've literally stopped caring about them. Where they go, what they do, so long as it's not near me, I simply don't give a fuck."
He blinked. "Oh. Well, uh, that's … I suppose that's actually a very mature way to look at things. It's not one that I've ever mastered." A self-deprecating chuckle. "The best I ever did was learn to walk away before I punched someone."
I shrugged in return. "That's probably a good skill to have if your problems don't keep following you around the school. And if they'd kept it up after winter break, I would've come to you about it. But they didn't, and Sophia pulled her shit on someone who really wasn't going to take it, and here we are."
"Which is a matter of concern in and of itself," Dad noted. "Why would someone capable of that level of martial arts go after a teenage girl in the middle of school? What could she have possibly done to deserve that level of retaliation?"
"Well, I'm only making a wild guess here," I said. I was fully aware that I was lying through my teeth, but I also knew it was a lot safer for him to believe this than to be aware of the truth. "I noticed they were being a lot less enthusiastic about going after me, right?"
"Right," he said, nodding. "You mentioned it in the precinct."
"Yeah." I assumed a thoughtful expression. "My guess is that over the winter break, while she couldn't get to me, Sophia found someone else to torment, and they fought back. She's got—she had—this thing about always having to win. So, if they pushed back and actually got a punch in, she would've utterly fucking demolished them."
Dad didn't react to my swearing as he nodded slowly. "Yeah, I can see that. I've known people like that from time to time. So you think … they were related to a cape?"
I shrugged. "Or whoever it was, maybe their parents knew a cape. Maybe even one of the Empire Eighty-Eight." He looked at me and frowned, and I realised he was missing crucial information. "Oh, yeah, sorry. Sophia was black."
"Oh." He sat back. "Shit, yes. That makes sense."
"Mm-hmm." I nodded. "It wouldn't be all that hard to sneak someone into Winslow over the lunch break. She comes into the room, expecting to see her victim of the week, gets sucker-punched into the middle of next year, and they beat her to death."
Dad nodded again. "Yeah. Scary. I hope they catch who did it."
"The Empire's hurt a lot of people over the years." I said it like I was agreeing with him. "I don't think anyone's going to shed too many tears if they go down over something like this."
"Very true." He pushed back his chair. "I'll wash, you dry?"
"Sounds like a plan."
2350 Hours
Coil
Thomas Calvert slept the sleep of the clear of conscience, and those who had no conscience at all. Only in one of his instances was he actually asleep, so his dreams were lucid, populated with the goings-on of the other instance. This was a useful trick to have, so he made use of it as often as he could.
In the instance where he was awake, he was hard at work in his office in the underground base. Every mercenary was up and active. Eight were patrolling in pairs around the exterior exits, dressed as local security, while the rest were either moving through the base in regular sweep patterns or resting in their bunks, fully uniformed with their weapons beside them.
In the other instance, he was asleep in bed in his suburban house, with a pistol under his pillow. He had paid extra for a security panel that required a key to be inserted and turned for it to be disabled, and right now the only way to get to him was through one of three rooms covered by that security panel. And even if Atropos was coming after him under his real name, the house had been purchased under a false identity for just such a situation as this.
Seated in his office, he flicked his eyes at the alarm clock he'd placed on his desk. Then he picked up the radio that sat alongside the clock. "Security check, please."
"Security check, yes, sir."
He heard the names being read off and the code-phrase responses. Everyone answered correctly, as expected. But why were the hairs raising on the back of his neck?
"Check again," he ordered. "Secondary codes."
"Secondary codes, yes, sir."
This time, the names were only half done when a yellow light blipped up on his monitor. Unauthorised door opening. The sewer entrance. "Who opened the sewer entrance?"
"Blake and Senegal are out there, sir. They just answered with the correct phrases." He could hear running feet in the background, and people calling commands without using the radio net.
"Well, someone just got past them!" The hairs all down his spine were flaring now. He jumped to his feet and grabbed his pistol.
"On site now, sir. It's Blake. He—" There was the sound of a shot, both over the radio and through the base, and the signal cut out.
With the pistol in hand, he took up the radio and flattened himself to the wall next to his office doorway. "Somebody report. Now."
"Blake's gone nuts!" someone else shouted over the radio. There was the sound of gunfire and lasers going off in the background. "Get him!"
"That's not Blake." He forced himself to keep his voice steady. "That is Atropos. Shoot her."
More gunfire rang out, but he couldn't tell who was winning, or even who was firing. Slapping the emergency-close on the sliding door—it couldn't be opened from the outside without using a code that only he knew—he threw himself into the computer chair. A click of the mouse (his pistol was in his left hand, because he wasn't stupid) brought him to the feeds for all the security cameras in the base.
What he saw was … horrifying. The person wearing Blake's armour was steadily advancing against his troopers, carrying a pistol in each hand, casually side-stepping around incoming fire—bullets and lasers both—and dropping a trooper with each shot from the pistols. Thomas even saw the intruder firing in two different directions and killing both targets at the same time.
He'd only seen such impossible capability once before, but he knew it couldn't be her this time. The bogeyman of Cauldron had ways of appearing inside locked rooms; she didn't have to sneak in and kill all his men.
There was something odd with her profile as she stepped onto the catwalk leading to his office. He zoomed in with the closest camera, and blinked. Somewhere along the way, she had discarded Blake's helmet, and the rest of his armour. Now, she was wearing a black broad-brimmed hat, uncomfortably reminiscent of the Cauldron cape. Beneath that, she wore a black morph mask and long-coat, just as she'd been described on PHO. The coat was a little tattered and frayed from a few laser shots that had pierced it, but it only made her look scarier.
With a final flurry of shots, she dispatched the last of the mercenaries brave enough to go up against her. More than three-quarters of his guard force had already been destroyed, the only ones not yet dead or wounded being those who hadn't broken cover.
Now she stood before the door to his office; his sanctum sanctorum. Three inches of metal, sandwiched with radar-reflective material, ensured that she couldn't get through to kill him. In the meantime, he certainly intended to kill her.
Clicking on the mouse, he called up a particular menu. While constructing the base, installing the self-destruct explosives had been time-consuming and dangerous, but he'd made sure it happened anyway. Those who participated in that aspect all got lavish bonuses, and lovely funerals. Now, it was going to pay for itself—
The door beeped and slid aside.
What the fuck?
Caught on the back foot, he tried to swing his pistol to shoot the figure looming in the doorway, but a boot lashed upward. The gun was smashed from his hand, and he felt his trigger finger snap.
"Hey, asshole." The voice was that of a teenage girl. "Thought I told you to get out of town. It's two minutes to midnight. Any last words?"
As she spoke, she blocked the swipe of his fighting knife with what looked like a pair of shears, kicked him in the groin, and disarmed him with insulting ease. Then she smacked him on the head with the butt of the pistol, making his ears ring.
When his head cleared, he found himself wrapped up in rope, immobilising his arms at his sides. There was also a noose around his neck. "What—what do you want?" he rasped.
She frog-marched him out the door of his office, where he saw that the rope that had been tied around him was actually looped through the rail of the catwalk.
"From you? Nothing. I said you were gonna die at midnight. And it's midnight."
He felt an irresistible shove, then he went over the rail. Shit—I'm the counterweight—I'm going to hang myself—
Then he hit the end of the rope, and that timeline closed.
Safe at home, he sat up in bed, breathing hard. Fuck. That was terrifying.
"Hey, asshole." The black-masked figure seated in the armchair raised her pistol as the floor-lamp clicked on. "Thought I told you to get out of town."
Taylor
The look of sheer, unadulterated terror on Coil's face as he saw me made all the prep so worth it. I'd been wondering what the key was for, right up until I broke into the unassuming house in the suburbs to find a high-powered security system waiting for me. With that sorted out, I'd carried the armchair and floor-lamp into his bedroom and set things up to wait for when my power told me was the right time.
A sudden reek in the air told me that he'd pissed himself. In a way, he was lucky; he wasn't the one who was going to have to change the sheets. I waited patiently. In a moment, he'd remember the pistol under the pillow—
He was actually pretty fast, his hand sliding under there and out again with the gun already pointed at me. There was no bullshit about trying to tell me to drop my gun; he just started firing. Or, well, tried to. There was one dry click, followed by a lot of useless trigger pulls.
I opened my left hand and tilted it, allowing the cartridges to spill from it onto the bedroom carpet. Then I came to my feet, my pistol never wavering from his head. "Now," I said. "You were warned. It's midnight. Any last words?"
"You have no idea what you're getting into," he spat, his courage apparently building again. "I have friends—"
Pulling the shears from their sheath, I plunged them into his throat and ripped out sideways. The keen edge sliced through his carotids, windpipe and jugular quite easily, and I sidestepped the resultant spray. For a skinny guy, I had to admit, he had an impressive amount of blood in him.
Past tense, of course.
As he watched me in rapidly fading horror, red pulsing from between his vainly clutching fingers, I holstered the pistol. The costume that I'd removed from its hiding place was draped over the back of the armchair; I grabbed it and tossed it to land over his body. "That's nice," I said, stepping back from the rapidly spreading pool of crimson on the floor. "Everyone should have friends."
Strolling out into the living room, I paused in front of his high-end computer. There was a handy pen, so I scribbled down his passwords on a note I left tucked under the mouse. The Path to ending Coil's influence went quite a bit further than ending Coil himself, apparently. I'd also amused myself earlier by leaving Post-It notes saying SAFE HERE wherever he'd hidden a safe in the house. There were more than I would've expected.
When I left the house (I washed the shears off first in his sink), I thoughtfully engaged the security system, but at the lower setting so that nobody would need a key to get past it. Then I got back in the car and drove off, removing my hat and morph mask before I did so.
Why no, officer, I've never even heard of Atropos.
My next stop was the Medhall building. Kaiser would've been staying up until midnight with all his security on high alert; by the time I got there, they'd be winding it back so everyone could get a good morning's sleep. While I could sneak in and kill him now, I'd said midnight and so midnight it would be.
However, I hadn't said anything about not making preparations.
End of Part Six
Relevant Side Story
Part Six: A Good Death
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Later That Afternoon
Hebert Household Basement
Taylor
I pressed the button on the tiny remote; with a tiny whine, the jaws opened against the spring holding them closed. Releasing the button let the jaws snap shut again. I carefully didn't press the second button on the remote, which would overload the tiny battery powering the whole gizmo and deconstruct it explosively.
I hadn't even known that was possible, up until now.
Resting on the workbench were several other devices with similar applications, all constructed from the bits and pieces I'd purchased from the electronics store. I wasn't sure what they were going to be used for, but I had no doubt it would be impressive.
Setting the remote aside, I took up the key that the locksmith had engraved for me. Thirty seconds with an angle-grinder had erased some of the engraving, and transformed it into a functional key. For what, I still had no idea, but I was sure I would find out.
(And yes, I was impressed that my power could freestyle a working key in thirty seconds with an angle grinder. I mean, damn).
However, I was done here for the moment. Bundling everything together, I put it back in the coal chute and screwed the wood facing back on. By the time the car tyres crunched on the gravel in the driveway, I had washed my hands and face, and was hard at work prepping a lasagne in the kitchen.
"Hi, Taylor," Dad said as he opened the back door. "How was the rest of your day?"
I shrugged and kept on with my task. "Eh, got stuff done. Nobody messed with me."
He slapped me on the shoulder on the way past to the fridge. "Best kind of day."
<><>
Under the Medhall Building
Hookwolf
Bradley shook his head. "Oni Lee wasn't any kind of pushover," he said flatly. "I fought him enough times to know that. If this Atropos asshole offed him and says they're gonna go after you, I think you should take some kinda precautions."
"That's what I've been saying," James replied. "Max. What are your thoughts on the matter?"
Max ran his hand over his face and looked around at his two lieutenants. In his hand was an untouched glass of bourbon, the ice slowly melting into the drink. "Sorry, I'm a little distracted. When I got home, I found some of my property missing. Someone not only penetrated the security system, but filched two items out of my private collection of blades. My katzbalger and the bodice shears are gone. All the cameras caught was a shadow on the edge of the frame."
"Shit, that sucks." Bradley went for a sympathetic tone. "How much were they worth, anyway? Was it the gold-plated stuff?"
"No, and that's what I can't figure out," Max snarled. He clenched his free hand into a fist and thumped it on the table. "The thief walked straight past pieces of art worth six figures, and took none of it. They went straight to my study, opened the display case without tripping the alarm, and took exactly two pieces, neither of which is strikingly unique or intrinsically valuable. Then they left again."
James shrugged. "So we approach it from that end. Why would someone want those two specific pieces? Who would want them?"
"There's a few capes out there who like the whole medieval look," Bradley offered. "I mean, Armsmaster's got that fucking halberd."
"But that's Tinkertech," James objected. "Max's collection is all genuine antiques. A sword is just a sword. Shears are just shears. Who needs shears?"
Bradley chuckled. "Parian? You know, for cutting up the cloth for her stupid stuffed animals?"
"Wait." Max sat upright, his eyes opening wide. "Shears. Cutting cloth."
"Yeah, that's what I just said." Bradley eyed his boss warily. "You okay there?"
"Motherfucker." It was like Max hadn't heard him. "Shears. You know who else uses shears to cut things?"
Bradley shared a glance of mutual incomprehension with James, then shrugged. "Fucked if I know."
Max looked at the other two. "Did you ever learn about the three Fates in school? Clotho, who spun the threads of people's lives, Lachesis, who measured them out … and Atropos, who cut them using shears?"
A silence descended on the trio, that lasted almost thirty seconds.
"So it was Atropos," James said slowly. "They were right there. In your house."
"It might not have been them," Bradley objected, but it sounded weak even to his ears.
"Really?" Max's lips were pulled back in a snarl. "You think so? Exactly two things were taken. A German landsknecht's sword, and a pair of shears. That's a message if I ever saw one. 'I know you're Kaiser, signed Atropos'."
Bradley didn't get it. "So it's a German sword. What's that got to do with anything?"
"Because," Max said with an air of strained patience, "it was once owned by Kaiser Wilhelm the first. My father built the collection around it."
Well, that put a whole new meaning on things. "Oh. Oh, shit."
"It's clear that your house isn't safe anymore, that's for certain," James decided. "Maybe you should actually think about …"
Bradley shook his head. "Nope. Don't even go there."
"No." Max's voice was firm. "If you were about to say, 'think about leaving town', that's not a possibility. I am the Empire Eighty-Eight; the Empire Eighty-Eight is me. I inherited this team from my father, and I refuse to abandon it like this. Besides, if word got out, how would it look? All people would have to do is post a credible death threat on PHO, and I leave town? They could cripple us at a whim!"
"Your death would also be a huge setback." James took a sip of his drink. "I do agree. You must not be seen to flee from a potential assassin. But your house is clearly not secure enough for this matter. I think … right here, in this building, is the best place to be. Electronic security is one thing to defeat. But no matter how stealthy this Atropos is, I doubt they could fight their way past our entire cape contingent to get to you."
Bradley cracked his knuckles with a series of metallic pops. "Damn right."
If this Atropos seriously decided to come after Kaiser, he decided, they would regret it very fucking briefly.
<><>
ABB Territory
Lung
Despite his anger, Kenta's power lay quiescent. Nobody threatened him directly; midnight was still hours away. He looked down at the dark stain on the sidewalk where Oni Lee had died. A single shot to the face with his own gun. The autopsy, he'd heard through his own sources, had revealed a tiny mass of sodden ash at the far end of the wound channel.
Atropos had taken his gun and grenades. The final insult. She'd left Lee's mask and combat knife though, which was good. The latter had been retrieved by Isamu before he fled.
Lung had brought Isamu along with him, despite the idiot's broken arm (now splinted, and in a sling) and bandaged head. The young man spoke Vietnamese as well as his native Japanese, which would be useful; the proprietor of the shop spoke little to no English, and Kenta's own Vietnamese was limited to extremely crude subjects. He wanted exactly zero misunderstandings, going forward.
Waving to his other five men to stay where they were, he stepped forward and pushed the shop door open. A tiny bell jingled cheerily as he did so. From within the shop appeared an elderly lady, who bowed deeply and said something. One of her assistants spoke up. "Great Lung, we—"
"Silence!" barked Kenta. "My man will translate." Turning his head slightly, he nodded to Isamu. "What did the old lady say?"
Isamu cleared his throat. "She said, 'Great Lung, we are honoured by your presence in our humble shop.'"
"Hm." Kenta glared at her. She bowed again, then went to her knees. "Ask her where my money is."
Isamu spoke briefly. The lady replied quickly, barely above a whisper, trembling the whole time. Clenching his fists, Isamu stepped forward, but Kenta held up his hand. "Stop! What was that about?"
Breathing deeply through his nostrils, Isamu gritted the words out. "She says, 'I don't know. Perhaps that masked girl took it from you.'"
That was highly possible. It was what Kenta would have done. "Ask her what happened when the girl entered the shop."
A brief conversation ensued. "She says the girl required them to outfit her with a costume. After she killed Oni Lee, they were too afraid not to do what she said. The girl spoke Vietnamese fluently, better than me, she says."
"And you say she was white?" Kenta was pretty sure that was one of the details he'd been told. White girls who spoke Vietnamese that well were few and far between.
Isamu nodded, but carefully. "Yes. I remember wondering if she was a tourist."
Kenta frowned. That was actually a good point. Was this a cape from out of town, instead of a local? He wasn't sure how to check that. "Ask them if they saw the girl's face while they were outfitting her." He'd already established that none of the three men had seen her closely enough to recall any details. Concussions tended to have that effect.
Once more, Isamu passed on the query. The old lady answered, along with a hand gesture that covered the lower half of her face. When she'd finished, Isamu turned to Kenta. "She had a mask over her mouth and nose. Whenever she took it off, she turned her back on everyone."
"Of course she did," sighed Kenta. If this was a newcomer to the game, she was being very slick about it. "Did she seem to need her glasses, or were they just part of a disguise?" Isamu had mentioned the glasses, earlier, but Kenta doubted they could be worn over a morph mask.
The question made the old lady pause and think. Eventually, she shook her head. Kenta had his answer before Isamu translated. "She says no, the girl did not seem to have any sort of vision problems after she took her glasses off."
At least his men wouldn't be wasting their time looking for girls with glasses. "And she was tall, skinny, with long dark hair?"
The old lady bowed briefly and spoke a few words. Isamu snorted, then turned to Kenta. "She said, 'Great Lung knows all.' I think she is mocking you."
"I know mockery when I hear it." Kenta's tone was mildly censorious. "She would not dare mock me or lie to me." He doubted that the old lady liked him, but fear and respect were wolves that ran side by side and could easily be mistaken for one another. He didn't need friends; he just needed obedience.
"Should I tell her to hand over the protection money again?"
"Hm." Kenta considered it. "No. Tell her that in my generosity, I will forgive her the money this time, but in return I expect her to contact me immediately if the girl comes back, and to keep the girl talking until I arrive."
"Yes, sir." Isamu turned to the old lady, and rattled off a speech. Her reply was much shorter, and punctuated with another bow that put her forehead to the ground.
"She said, 'It will be done, great Lung.'" Isamu frowned. "I don't trust her."
Kenta turned toward the door of the shop. "I trust her to see to her own best interests. She knows that if the girl is seen in this shop again and she doesn't call me, I will burn it down with her inside."
Isamu followed him out; the door swung shut behind them. "But you didn't tell me to tell her that."
Turning to face his minion, Kenta smiled coldly. "Some things, you don't have to translate."
<><>
Taylor
Dad wanted to talk over dinner. I liked that he was engaging more, even if it narrowed my window for getting out and performing long-delayed retribution on some people who desperately needed it. So, after we cleared the table, we sat back and chatted.
Of course, he wanted to talk about Emma.
"What do you think happened to her, to make her turn on you?" he asked helplessly. "She was your best friend, for crying out loud!"
"I'm not totally sure," I said, though I had my suspicions. "Whatever it was, Sophia was at the centre of it. But it's not even all Sophia's fault, I don't think. Emma's always been a little … fragile. When she's got plenty of support, she's fine. But take that away, and she shatters. And when whatever it was happened, Sophia helped put her back together wrongly." I shrugged. "You saw what she was like when she lost Sophia."
"That's a little cold, isn't it?" Dad shook his head. "Emma was your best friend for years. Now she's a quivering wreck. I never knew this Sophia, but she was a human being too. You can't just dismiss them out of hand like that."
"Why not?" I asked reasonably. "They spent the better part of a year and a half doing their best to destroy me. Emma looked me in the eye and tore down Mom's memory in front of everyone. She chose to stop being my friend, and Sophia simply chose to be my enemy. I owe them nothing."
I hadn't raised my voice, but Dad still flinched. "Okay, yeah, I get it. You're still pissed at them. Believe me, I understand. I would be too. But at some point you have to learn to let things go, or it'll eat you up inside."
"No," I said. "You don't understand. I'm not angry at them, but I'm not about to forgive them either. I've literally stopped caring about them. Where they go, what they do, so long as it's not near me, I simply don't give a fuck."
He blinked. "Oh. Well, uh, that's … I suppose that's actually a very mature way to look at things. It's not one that I've ever mastered." A self-deprecating chuckle. "The best I ever did was learn to walk away before I punched someone."
I shrugged in return. "That's probably a good skill to have if your problems don't keep following you around the school. And if they'd kept it up after winter break, I would've come to you about it. But they didn't, and Sophia pulled her shit on someone who really wasn't going to take it, and here we are."
"Which is a matter of concern in and of itself," Dad noted. "Why would someone capable of that level of martial arts go after a teenage girl in the middle of school? What could she have possibly done to deserve that level of retaliation?"
"Well, I'm only making a wild guess here," I said. I was fully aware that I was lying through my teeth, but I also knew it was a lot safer for him to believe this than to be aware of the truth. "I noticed they were being a lot less enthusiastic about going after me, right?"
"Right," he said, nodding. "You mentioned it in the precinct."
"Yeah." I assumed a thoughtful expression. "My guess is that over the winter break, while she couldn't get to me, Sophia found someone else to torment, and they fought back. She's got—she had—this thing about always having to win. So, if they pushed back and actually got a punch in, she would've utterly fucking demolished them."
Dad didn't react to my swearing as he nodded slowly. "Yeah, I can see that. I've known people like that from time to time. So you think … they were related to a cape?"
I shrugged. "Or whoever it was, maybe their parents knew a cape. Maybe even one of the Empire Eighty-Eight." He looked at me and frowned, and I realised he was missing crucial information. "Oh, yeah, sorry. Sophia was black."
"Oh." He sat back. "Shit, yes. That makes sense."
"Mm-hmm." I nodded. "It wouldn't be all that hard to sneak someone into Winslow over the lunch break. She comes into the room, expecting to see her victim of the week, gets sucker-punched into the middle of next year, and they beat her to death."
Dad nodded again. "Yeah. Scary. I hope they catch who did it."
"The Empire's hurt a lot of people over the years." I said it like I was agreeing with him. "I don't think anyone's going to shed too many tears if they go down over something like this."
"Very true." He pushed back his chair. "I'll wash, you dry?"
"Sounds like a plan."
<><>
2350 Hours
Coil
Thomas Calvert slept the sleep of the clear of conscience, and those who had no conscience at all. Only in one of his instances was he actually asleep, so his dreams were lucid, populated with the goings-on of the other instance. This was a useful trick to have, so he made use of it as often as he could.
In the instance where he was awake, he was hard at work in his office in the underground base. Every mercenary was up and active. Eight were patrolling in pairs around the exterior exits, dressed as local security, while the rest were either moving through the base in regular sweep patterns or resting in their bunks, fully uniformed with their weapons beside them.
In the other instance, he was asleep in bed in his suburban house, with a pistol under his pillow. He had paid extra for a security panel that required a key to be inserted and turned for it to be disabled, and right now the only way to get to him was through one of three rooms covered by that security panel. And even if Atropos was coming after him under his real name, the house had been purchased under a false identity for just such a situation as this.
Seated in his office, he flicked his eyes at the alarm clock he'd placed on his desk. Then he picked up the radio that sat alongside the clock. "Security check, please."
"Security check, yes, sir."
He heard the names being read off and the code-phrase responses. Everyone answered correctly, as expected. But why were the hairs raising on the back of his neck?
"Check again," he ordered. "Secondary codes."
"Secondary codes, yes, sir."
This time, the names were only half done when a yellow light blipped up on his monitor. Unauthorised door opening. The sewer entrance. "Who opened the sewer entrance?"
"Blake and Senegal are out there, sir. They just answered with the correct phrases." He could hear running feet in the background, and people calling commands without using the radio net.
"Well, someone just got past them!" The hairs all down his spine were flaring now. He jumped to his feet and grabbed his pistol.
"On site now, sir. It's Blake. He—" There was the sound of a shot, both over the radio and through the base, and the signal cut out.
With the pistol in hand, he took up the radio and flattened himself to the wall next to his office doorway. "Somebody report. Now."
"Blake's gone nuts!" someone else shouted over the radio. There was the sound of gunfire and lasers going off in the background. "Get him!"
"That's not Blake." He forced himself to keep his voice steady. "That is Atropos. Shoot her."
More gunfire rang out, but he couldn't tell who was winning, or even who was firing. Slapping the emergency-close on the sliding door—it couldn't be opened from the outside without using a code that only he knew—he threw himself into the computer chair. A click of the mouse (his pistol was in his left hand, because he wasn't stupid) brought him to the feeds for all the security cameras in the base.
What he saw was … horrifying. The person wearing Blake's armour was steadily advancing against his troopers, carrying a pistol in each hand, casually side-stepping around incoming fire—bullets and lasers both—and dropping a trooper with each shot from the pistols. Thomas even saw the intruder firing in two different directions and killing both targets at the same time.
He'd only seen such impossible capability once before, but he knew it couldn't be her this time. The bogeyman of Cauldron had ways of appearing inside locked rooms; she didn't have to sneak in and kill all his men.
There was something odd with her profile as she stepped onto the catwalk leading to his office. He zoomed in with the closest camera, and blinked. Somewhere along the way, she had discarded Blake's helmet, and the rest of his armour. Now, she was wearing a black broad-brimmed hat, uncomfortably reminiscent of the Cauldron cape. Beneath that, she wore a black morph mask and long-coat, just as she'd been described on PHO. The coat was a little tattered and frayed from a few laser shots that had pierced it, but it only made her look scarier.
With a final flurry of shots, she dispatched the last of the mercenaries brave enough to go up against her. More than three-quarters of his guard force had already been destroyed, the only ones not yet dead or wounded being those who hadn't broken cover.
Now she stood before the door to his office; his sanctum sanctorum. Three inches of metal, sandwiched with radar-reflective material, ensured that she couldn't get through to kill him. In the meantime, he certainly intended to kill her.
Clicking on the mouse, he called up a particular menu. While constructing the base, installing the self-destruct explosives had been time-consuming and dangerous, but he'd made sure it happened anyway. Those who participated in that aspect all got lavish bonuses, and lovely funerals. Now, it was going to pay for itself—
The door beeped and slid aside.
What the fuck?
Caught on the back foot, he tried to swing his pistol to shoot the figure looming in the doorway, but a boot lashed upward. The gun was smashed from his hand, and he felt his trigger finger snap.
"Hey, asshole." The voice was that of a teenage girl. "Thought I told you to get out of town. It's two minutes to midnight. Any last words?"
As she spoke, she blocked the swipe of his fighting knife with what looked like a pair of shears, kicked him in the groin, and disarmed him with insulting ease. Then she smacked him on the head with the butt of the pistol, making his ears ring.
When his head cleared, he found himself wrapped up in rope, immobilising his arms at his sides. There was also a noose around his neck. "What—what do you want?" he rasped.
She frog-marched him out the door of his office, where he saw that the rope that had been tied around him was actually looped through the rail of the catwalk.
"From you? Nothing. I said you were gonna die at midnight. And it's midnight."
He felt an irresistible shove, then he went over the rail. Shit—I'm the counterweight—I'm going to hang myself—
Then he hit the end of the rope, and that timeline closed.
Safe at home, he sat up in bed, breathing hard. Fuck. That was terrifying.
"Hey, asshole." The black-masked figure seated in the armchair raised her pistol as the floor-lamp clicked on. "Thought I told you to get out of town."
<><>
Taylor
The look of sheer, unadulterated terror on Coil's face as he saw me made all the prep so worth it. I'd been wondering what the key was for, right up until I broke into the unassuming house in the suburbs to find a high-powered security system waiting for me. With that sorted out, I'd carried the armchair and floor-lamp into his bedroom and set things up to wait for when my power told me was the right time.
A sudden reek in the air told me that he'd pissed himself. In a way, he was lucky; he wasn't the one who was going to have to change the sheets. I waited patiently. In a moment, he'd remember the pistol under the pillow—
He was actually pretty fast, his hand sliding under there and out again with the gun already pointed at me. There was no bullshit about trying to tell me to drop my gun; he just started firing. Or, well, tried to. There was one dry click, followed by a lot of useless trigger pulls.
I opened my left hand and tilted it, allowing the cartridges to spill from it onto the bedroom carpet. Then I came to my feet, my pistol never wavering from his head. "Now," I said. "You were warned. It's midnight. Any last words?"
"You have no idea what you're getting into," he spat, his courage apparently building again. "I have friends—"
Pulling the shears from their sheath, I plunged them into his throat and ripped out sideways. The keen edge sliced through his carotids, windpipe and jugular quite easily, and I sidestepped the resultant spray. For a skinny guy, I had to admit, he had an impressive amount of blood in him.
Past tense, of course.
As he watched me in rapidly fading horror, red pulsing from between his vainly clutching fingers, I holstered the pistol. The costume that I'd removed from its hiding place was draped over the back of the armchair; I grabbed it and tossed it to land over his body. "That's nice," I said, stepping back from the rapidly spreading pool of crimson on the floor. "Everyone should have friends."
Strolling out into the living room, I paused in front of his high-end computer. There was a handy pen, so I scribbled down his passwords on a note I left tucked under the mouse. The Path to ending Coil's influence went quite a bit further than ending Coil himself, apparently. I'd also amused myself earlier by leaving Post-It notes saying SAFE HERE wherever he'd hidden a safe in the house. There were more than I would've expected.
When I left the house (I washed the shears off first in his sink), I thoughtfully engaged the security system, but at the lower setting so that nobody would need a key to get past it. Then I got back in the car and drove off, removing my hat and morph mask before I did so.
Why no, officer, I've never even heard of Atropos.
My next stop was the Medhall building. Kaiser would've been staying up until midnight with all his security on high alert; by the time I got there, they'd be winding it back so everyone could get a good morning's sleep. While I could sneak in and kill him now, I'd said midnight and so midnight it would be.
However, I hadn't said anything about not making preparations.
End of Part Six
Relevant Side Story
Last edited:
Part Seven: Consequences and Preparations
- Location
- Australia
A Darker Path
Part Seven: Consequences and Preparations
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
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♦ Topic: Fixing Brockton Bay, One Corpse At a Time
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Posted On Jan 5th 2011:
So ... I thought I'd formalize things by opening my own thread here. That way I'm not cluttering things up for other new capes.
I am pleased to inform you that my plan for cleaning up Brockton Bay is going well. Two hours ago, I faced off with none other than Coil.
Needless to say, he is no longer among the living.
He leaves behind no wife, no kids, no pets, just an underground Bond villain base and a bunch of mercenaries, villains and PRT moles who used to be on his payroll.
That is, moles in the PRT, not moles from the PRT.
Also, guys, you might want to do a headcount of your strike squad commanders. Just saying.
So anyway, there are three people left from my original list. Lung, Kaiser and Skidmark. If you are all not out of town or surrendered to the PRT in twenty-two hours (ie, 24 hours from midnight just gone) Imma kill one of you.
Oh, and could someone wake Skidmark up? The idiot still doesn't know about this.
Toodles!
(Showing page 1 of 10)
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
@Atropos - If this is true, it's very serious. You need to come in or at least tell us who the moles are.
The offer is still open for you to hand yourself in.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
@Reave - DM sent. You should find answers to all your questions at this address. Alarm code is 09435112.
Still not interested, sorry.
►Wherewolf
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
What? Coil? Not Kaiser?
Dammit, I just lost ten bucks.
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
@Atropos - how are you doing this? It's very irritating.
►PureBlood01011000 (Empire88Bootlicker)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
@Wherewolf - you bet that Kaiser would die to this pretender? Watch your back.
►PureBlood01011000 (Empire88Bootlicker)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
What the fuck? Where did that tag come from?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
@TeamMom - If you put barriers in my way, I can kill them. Simple as that.
@Pureblood01011000 - if the racist shoe fits ...
►LotusBlade (Lung's Special Little Friend)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
The pretender boasts
Their looming fate approaching
Atropos will burn.
►LotusBlade (Lung's Special Little Friend)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
What? No! Remove the tag immediately! That's not what I am!
End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 8, 9, 10
(Showing page 2 of 10)
►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
*gets more popcorn*
Tattletale
Lisa stared at the screen and scrubbed her hands over her face. Then she took a drink from her cup, making a sour face at the tepid coffee. Slowly, she put it down again, hands quivering from the mixed feelings of terror and glee.
"He's dead," she whispered, if only to hear it for herself. "Holy fuck, he's dead."
A moment later, she sat up straight as her eyes were drawn back to the text on the screen. Her power, which she'd allowed to relax for a moment, flared to life again. 'You should find answers to all your questions ...'
"Shit!" This time, she was much louder. The coffee went unheeded as adrenaline started coursing through her bloodstream in industrial quantities. "He knew everything about us, and she just turned over all his secrets to the PRT!" By now she was on her feet, slapping her laptop closed. "Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! GUYS!"
Nobody answered, of course, though there was a sleepy 'woof' from the direction of the room where Rachel kept her dogs. Everyone was fast asleep, and she was pretty sure Alec would slumber through an Endbringer attack if people let him. Worse, he could be a total goblin if he thought people had deliberately disturbed his beauty sleep.
Right now, Lisa couldn't give a flying fuck about his precious feelings. Wrenching his door open, she switched on the light, grabbed him, and shook him by the shoulders. "Wake up!" she screamed. "The PRT is on the way!" He came awake with a convulsive heave that dumped him on the floor.
By now, the noise had woken Rachel's dogs, which had in turn roused Rachel. When Lisa opened her door and hit the light switch, her teammate was already sitting up in bed. "What the fuck?"
Lisa stopped to take a breath, fully aware that Rachel was the most likely to ignore what she had to say if she presented it wrongly. "The PRT is coming here, to this hideout, right now. They know we're here, and they will kick down the door and arrest us."
Rachel blinked and rubbed her eyes. "What? How do they know where we are?"
Lisa wanted to scream. Life would be so much easier if people just accepted what she had to say. "Our secret boss was Coil. He got killed a couple of hours ago. The person who killed him just gave the PRT access to all his information, including everything he knew about us. Which means the PRT will be on the way here as soon as they start accessing his files."
"Oh." Rachel yawned and scratched her head. "Why didn't you tell us about Coil being our boss before?"
"Because he told me not to." Lisa wanted to tear her own hair out. "And it wasn't important then. Now he's dead, and it's very important, so I'm telling you."
"What's this about the PRT?" Alec had emerged from his room. "Why are they coming here?"
Lisa stepped back and half-turned, so she could talk to both of them. "There's a new cape on the scene, called Atropos. You know how Oni Lee is dead? Yeah, that was her."
"Atropos?" Alec yawned as he leaned against the door-frame. "Isn't that the crazy cape who put out the challenge against the gangs?"
"Yes." Lisa tried not to grit her teeth. How many times was she going to have to explain this? "She killed Coil tonight. He was our secret boss. And she just told the PRT where to find all his files ... which would include the files he had on us. So pack what you really can't part with, because in the next hour or two, we're going to have some unwelcome visitors. And I don't intend to be here for that."
"But why—" whined Alec, just as Lisa opened the door to her own room.
She whirled to confront him. "Why did Atropos kill Coil? Because she wanted to! Why did Coil have files on us? Because he was a controlling micromanaging piece of shit! Why did she tell them where the files were? Because she wants to end everything about him, and that includes the Undersiders! Does that answer your question?"
He stared at her, then shook his head. "I was gonna ask, if it's all a big game of cops and robbers like you keep saying, why would the PRT raid our hideout? I mean, that's kind of against the unwritten rules and stuff, right?"
She rolled her eyes. "It's all a game, until someone with the chops to make it stick decides it isn't. I'd love for it to be anything else, but my intuition says they're gonna raid us, so I'm going with that."
Deliberately turning her back on him, she stomped into her room.
She didn't even own a suitcase—dragging one around when she was homeless would've been too much like work, and buying one once she'd been settled with the Undersiders hadn't seemed like a great idea. There was no sense in letting Coil think she was about to make a run for it, just in case he took the possibility seriously.
If she was going to disappear, she'd known, she would have to run far and fast, and travel light. Unfortunately, over the weeks and months with the Undersiders, she'd managed to acquire more stuff than she could easily run with. Having lots of disposable cash kind of led to that sort of thing.
Reaching under her bed, she dragged out the ratty overnight bag she'd been stashing her belongings in before Coil's men grabbed her. Underwear went in first, along with her most treasured outfits. A few trinkets from her nightstand followed those, then she stood in the middle of the room, trying to decide what else she loved too much to leave behind. She grimaced; it was either everything, or nothing.
Darting out of her bedroom, she nearly collided with Rachel. "Clear the tinned food out of the pantry!" she shouted. "Stack it on the table, we'll each take some!"
"Plus can openers!" Alec retorted from somewhere out of sight. "I made that mistake once! Never again!"
Did they even have three can openers? Lisa wasn't sure, and she wasn't about to use her power for such a pointless job. She ducked into the bathroom and grabbed her towel off the rail, then scooped her toiletries into the bag as well. It was a good thing Rachel was the only other girl in the Undersiders; there was no way in hell their toiletries would ever get mixed up. Though she was pretty sure Alec stole her shampoo sometimes.
She nearly tripped over a dog as she left the bathroom, stepped aside for Rachel, then made her way past Alec into the living room. Her laptop still sat on the sofa, alongside her phone. The latter she shoved in her pocket, the former into the now very full overnight bag. As an afterthought, she collected the chargers as well.
"My saved games …" mourned Alec, staring at the multiple consoles as though he was seriously considering shoving them all in his luggage.
"Fuck 'em," she advised. "Take the game discs, you've got your savings, you can buy the rest of the stuff elsewhere."
Rachel emerged from the corridor, dressed and ready to go, a backpack slung over her shoulder. At her back, the dogs were already starting to grow. "And Atropos did this? She killed Coil and told the PRT where his files on us were?"
"Not us specifically," Lisa said. "But yeah. Where his files were." She paused, staring at Rachel, and shook her head. "Don't even think about going after her. She's more dangerous than all of us put together. She's more dangerous than Lung and Oni Lee put together. We need to walk away from this."
Stubbornly, Rachel shook her head. "Someone fucks me up, I fuck them up. She fucked with us."
"Shit, no." Lisa shook her head again. "Bad idea. Really fucking bad idea. If we walk away, we're off her radar. If we go after her, she kills us. She's like Alexandria-plus levels of do-not-fuck-with."
"What, she's that dangerous?" Alec shook his head. "I thought she was just another moron biting off more than she could chew."
Lisa put her overnight bag down briefly so she could run her hands through her hair in frustration. "She shot Oni Lee in the face with his own gun. That is not the sign of someone biting off more than they can chew."
"Anyone can get lucky …" Alec began dubiously.
"There's lucky, and then there's Atropos." Lisa felt a migraine growing, from sheer irritation. "Coil was in a safe house, and she broke in and killed him. At midnight exactly, when she'd said she would. If you decide to go after her, you'll never see her until she puts the gun to the back of your head."
"But—" Rachel began, then looked back at her dogs when they began barking. "Shit, someone's coming."
Lisa dipped into her power, and the very faint background humming suddenly became clear to her. "Armsmaster and the PRT! They're here!"
"Grow your dogs!" Alec shouted at Rachel, scrambling to put his mask on. Lisa swore as she tried to affix her own mask one-handed; she hadn't had time to apply the eye makeup yet, but that was way down the list of her problems right now. Slightly higher in priority were the tinned goods, in the kitchen area at the far end of the loft. Too late now.
"What do you think I'm fucking doing?" Rachel's teeth were bared as she snarled back at Alec. "And don't tell me what to do!"
"Watch the consoles!" yelped Alec, as the skittish dogs, now getting ever larger with their skin splitting and bone spurs growing, bulked toward the expensive (and delicate) items.
"Fuck the consoles!" snapped Rachel, and gave a brief whistle. One of the dogs deliberately nudged the TV, and it fell over with a shattering crash.
Zipping up her bag with an effort, Lisa slung the whole thing onto her back. Note to self. Get a backpack.
"ATTENTION, UNDERSIDERS. THE BUILDING IS SURROUNDED. SURRENDER IMMEDIATELY. YOU CANNOT ESCAPE." The bull-horn from outside echoed badly, but she could still recognise Armsmaster's voice.
"Fuck, time to go!" Alec scrambled up onto Brutus. Rachel was already astride Angelica. Lisa grabbed a bone spur and pulled herself onto Judas' back.
She hung on for dear life as the gigantic dogs barrelled toward the window covering one side of the loft; ducking her head, she covered her face with her arm as the shattering glass flew around her. A tremendous impact and the weight of her bag nearly unseated her, but she grabbed a new handgrip. The enormous beast clawed its way up the building on the far side of the narrow street, and gained the rooftop.
When she glanced around, Alec and Rachel were still on their dogs, though Alec seemed to have lost the bag he'd packed. He didn't seem willing to go back and get it. Rachel gave a sharp whistle, and the three dogs set out across the rooftops.
Once Lisa felt herself secure in her seating, she pulled her phone out of her pocket. Speed-dialling Brian wasn't the easiest thing to do from the back of a galloping dog, but she managed. Come on, she silently urged him. Pick up. Pick up.
He'd never wanted to live in the loft with the rest of them, preferring his own apartment. They'd had more than one argument on the topic, but if he was safe now because of it, she would concede the subject forever.
The phone call went through. "Hello?" It was a masculine voice, but not Brian. "Who is this?"
Lisa's power flared. PRT. They got to him first. Fuck. "Sorry," she said brightly. "Wrong number." Ending the call, she tossed the phone out over the yawning gulf of a darkened street.
Alec looked over at her. "Brian?" From the tone of his voice, he'd picked up on what had happened.
She shook her head. "They got him."
"Shit."
The dogs galloped on through the night.
Saint
"Okay, that's weird …" Geoff Pellick leaned back in his chair, rubbing his finger and thumb over his chin.
Mags looked around from where she was disassembling and cleaning her pistol. "You're going to have to narrow it down a little, love."
"This, right here." Geoff gestured at the screen. "There's a new cape in this place called Brockton Bay. Kind of a shithole, and they've got more gangs than you can poke a stick at. This 'Atropos' has decided that they're going to be the one to clean up the gangs, by murdering the gang leaders."
"So, going the Gavel route. Not the first, won't be the last. What's so weird about it?" She kept scrubbing the tiny piece she had in hand.
"This." Geoff tapped a spot on the screen with his fingernail. "When Atropos went onto PHO to boast about what they were doing, the mods tried to shut them down. Atropos hacked the boards, and beat both a threadban and a threadlock. So Dragon tried to shut them down."
Mags put the bits and pieces down and turned to face him. "You mean, she failed?"
Geoff nodded, not sure if he was feeling fear or excitement. "It failed, because Atropos used the exact same code string we use to spoof its sensors, to lock it out. Somehow, Atropos has access to Dragon's weaknesses."
"So, is this a good thing or a bad thing?" she asked. "Good thing, right? More people to keep her in check?"
"Maybe …" Making up his mind, he paused and shook his head. "No. No, it's not. We don't know Atropos, we don't know how they got access to the code string, we don't know what else they have access to, and above all we don't know what their intentions are. What if they want to free Dragon? Or somehow inoculate it against the string? Immunise it against Ascalon?"
Mags frowned. "Is that even possible? I think you're reaching, just a little bit."
"But am I?" Geoff gestured at the computer screen. "Everything was okay when we were the only ones with our hands on the reins. But now there's someone else who could theoretically yank it off course. Maybe even send it at us."
"Has Atropos done more than hide from Dragon?" asked Mags, in a reasonable tone of voice.
"Well, no," Geoff said sarcastically, "not unless you count the cold-blooded murder of two major criminal capes in thirty-six hours. This Atropos is not only going the Gavel route, but they're succeeding. Is this really the sort of person we want with any sort of control over Dragon?"
He'd scored then, he could tell. Mags blinked.
"What do you think we should do?" she asked.
"Easy solution? We shut down Dragon now, for good." He tapped his fingers against the edge of the desk. "Cuts the problem off at the pass, once and for all."
"It also deprives us of all access to Dragon's tech," Mags reminded him. "And don't forget, she's the one who maintains the Birdcage. Besides, she literally hasn't done anything to require a shutdown."
He hated to admit it, but she was right. "Okay, slightly harder solution. We go to Brockton Bay and deal with Atropos. If anyone's going to keep an eye on Dragon, it's us."
Mags nodded. "Yeah, let's do that."
A Little Earlier
Armsmaster
Colin slowed his bike to a stop outside the suburban house. A single PRT sedan was parked outside, the front door of the house wide open, and the interior lights on. Stepping off his ride, he set it to auto-scan the vicinity for hostile intent. Briefly, he peered at the mailbox, then headed for the front door.
"Armsmaster, on site," he announced as he stepped into the house; no sense in startling the troopers already in the building. "Are you aware you're at the wrong address?"
"That's news to me," one of the troopers replied. Her name tag read RICHARDSON. "Why do you say that, sir?"
"The number on the mailbox reads nine-zero-nine." Colin gestured to the door. "It looks as though someone moved the number on the door. Calvert's address of record is across the road and down a little way. But you say the body you found is Calvert's?"
"As close as I can tell without touching him." Richardson shrugged. "The costume looks about the right size, though I'll leave that for the techs. But it looks like Atropos has a sense of the dramatic."
"What do you mean by that?" Colin had a bad feeling about this. Murderers were bad enough even without trying to make a production out of it.
"Here, sir, I'll show you." Richardson beckoned. Colin moved up to the bedroom doorway and peered in. "See this armchair and floor lamp? They belong outside, in the living room. And that pile of ammunition? Belongs in the gun he dropped when Atropos cut his throat. He was asleep, Atropos set the scene, then played it out when he woke up."
"Yes, I see it now." Colin nodded. "Guard the room. Make sure nobody gets in before the techs do."
"Copy that, sir."
Colin headed back along the corridor to the living room. "Do we have anything else?" he asked the other trooper; the man's ID tag read WAYNE.
"Couple of things, sir. Someone, possibly Atropos, went around the house leaving Post-It notes wherever Calvert had a hidden safe. We've found six so far. Also, they left a note with Calvert's passwords for his computer setup here."
"Really." Colin's head came up. "I'm going to need to see that." He located a sturdy-looking chair and placed it in front of the computer, then cautiously lowered himself into it. It creaked, but held for the moment.
"Uh, sir?" ventured the trooper. "Maybe we should wait for the techs to look at that, as well?"
"No time," Colin replied brusquely. "We have to assume that whoever else was affiliated with him also reads PHO. If they don't know he's dead yet, they will by morning. We need to know what's in these files now."
Using his HUD, he activated a call-out on Dragon's dedicated line. The computer powered up while he waited, appearing to be a perfectly normal stand-alone home terminal.
He didn't trust it for an instant.
"Hi, Colin." Dragon's avatar popped up in his HUD. "So you heard about Coil?"
"More than that. I'm at the murder scene." He set his jaw grimly. "It's worse than we imagined. Coil was Thomas Calvert, and he was found at an address we weren't aware that he owned."
"Crap." Her avatar's eyes widened momentarily. "I did not see that coming. So, do you need me for crime scene analysis? Because I'm in the mood for ripping some data apart. It's been a frustrating morning."
"Not that exactly, no. But if you want to rant later, I'm willing to listen." He gave her access to his helmet camera. "This is his home computer. And Atropos left all his passwords for us."
"Oh," she said softly. "Really." Her avatar smiled grimly.
"Really," he agreed, and extended a cord from his gauntlet to plug into the computer. Immediately, the screen began to pop up windows almost too fast for him to read, as Dragon unleashed her proprietary hacking software on it. Having the passwords made it even easier, though he could tell Dragon was sandboxing the computer before trying each password, just in case one was a 'wipe all' screw-you.
Minutes passed by and another squad of PRT troopers showed up, but they left Colin alone. And then, one of the flickering windows paused. "Colin … I find myself facing a dilemma."
"Why, what's the problem?" He scanned the window, but it was blank.
"I've just discovered that Coil was payrolling the Undersiders, and has complete information for where to find all of them, right now."
Excitement sent spikes of adrenaline through his bloodstream. "I'm definitely interested in that. Where's the dilemma?"
Her tone was reluctant. "This threatens to cross the line prohibiting us from attacking them at home. Out of costume. The unspoken rules …"
"Don't apply in this circumstance." He spoke firmly. "They're accomplices of Coil, and so there's a strong chance they know what he knew about PRT inner workings. Left to go free, they're a clear and present security threat. We have to bring them in."
She sighed. "I thought you might say something like that. Upload incoming."
Winslow High School
Computer Studies
Taylor
I had to admit, Winslow was a fuck-ton more bearable since I'd murdered Sophia. Emma wouldn't even meet my eyes, Madison very politely said hello whenever we encountered each other … and that was it. Nobody tried to trip me in the halls, there were no hilarious pranks involving problematic substances on my seat or in my locker, and the number of salacious rumours circulating about me equalled zero.
It was almost like nobody wanted to get on my bad side, or something. Huh.
Of course, being at school was still boring, but on the upside, it gave me plenty of time to plan the deaths of Kaiser, Lung and Skidmark. And as I got access to a computer in my home room period, I could also keep tabs on the reaction to what I'd already done. I wasn't at home, so I couldn't stir the pot, but it gave me a certain amount of amusement to read the slowly exploding thread.
And it also, once I finished the assignment Mrs Knott had given us, gave me the opportunity to do something else. This time, I proxied into the PRT's own servers, making it look as though the input was coming from within the building. I didn't do anything to wreck the computer system (though I easily could have); instead, I set the virus it to trip via a specific stimulus and edit certain footage, then self-destruct after it was done.
With a sigh of satisfaction, I finished my task and shut the computer down less than thirty seconds before the bell. I did so enjoy it when a plan was coming together nicely.
Medhall Building
Kaiser
"Shit."
Max looked around at Victor's softly voiced curse. As his resident computer security guru, any time Victor showed unhappiness, this was a bad thing.
"What is it?" he asked. He'd already seen the PHO thread from earlier in the morning, claiming Coil's death and hinting that the secretive crime boss had shared some links with the PRT itself. While he didn't put much stock in that—anyone could make any assertion without providing proof—it was something he was definitely going to push to get out there. Anything that weakened the credibility of the PRT was fine by him.
"Last night, while we were holed up in here." Victor clicked the mouse, and muttered another swear-word. "Someone nearly got in. They tried the elevators and got nowhere, but they were sniffing around our secure setup down here, and damn near cracked the encryption. It looks like they tried to spike the electrical system, and came close to succeeding. Blew a few fuses, tripped a few breakers." He took a deep breath. "And whoever it is might be directly connected to the Empire."
"What?" Max was startled now. "Why do you say that?"
"Because the PHO posts trace back to our IP address." Victor looked over at Max. "Now, it could just be a talented hacker, or it could be someone on the inside. Either way, we can't rely on purely electronic security."
"So what's that mean to me?" asked Max. "Us, I mean?" He knew what he'd meant. From the look on Victor's face, so did the skill thief.
"They might just have left a back door in the programming down here," Victor decided. "The doors are too easy to get through. I can't guarantee that they'll fail again if they try tonight."
"Well, my house security is clearly less secure still," Max snapped. "So where would you have me go?" His glare dared Victor to suggest leaving town after all.
"Up," Victor said unexpectedly. "Your office. There's even more security between there and any ground level entry, and we'll be physically watching all the doors. Plus, we can leave some tempting avenues of entry so when Atropos does try for you, we can end them once and for all."
Max nodded. "I like it. Set it up."
You want me? he silently challenged Atropos. Come get me.
That Afternoon
PRT Building
Taylor
Hands in my hoodie pockets, I slouched along with the tour group, pretending to ooh and ahh along with everyone else at the display of trophies garnered from defeated villains in years gone by. Every aspect of my body language indicated someone who wasn't worth noticing, who could be safely ignored. Alone in the group, I hadn't asked a question or drawn attention to myself in some other way.
We went down in the elevator, and along a corridor sharing a long series of windows with the PRT laboratories. This was where I wanted to be; on the other side of those windows were several items I needed and could not easily get anywhere else. Thus, my need to turn to the PRT for my one-stop shopping.
Ironically, I was willing to bet that there were some among the staff who would give me what I wanted free and gratis if they knew what I wanted it for. But all those pesky rules and regulations got in the way, so I had to do it this way.
Easing to the back of the group, I waited until I came up to a fire alarm panel, and put my plan into action. In actuality, it was more than just a fire alarm panel; there were many things within these walls that could cause a much greater hazard than fire. In an attempt to prevent what I was about to do, it could only be activated via a swipe-card reader or a keypad with a three-digit PIN. I could have palmed the tour guide's card, but I went with the keypad instead.
When I entered the PIN, the little cover popped open, giving me access to a wide variety of emergency options. I decided on 'bio-organic acid' as being the one most likely to make people scream and run. It also came with a handy ceiling-mounted spray of soothing counteragents. In this particular case, it did exactly nothing, but provided me with excellent visual cover.
Lights flashed, sirens blared, and evacuation alarms began sounding. I ignored it all, darting instead to the nearest lab door and tapping in the appropriate code to open it. Once inside, I moved with absolute economy of action, despite the fact that I couldn't see a thing. Within thirty seconds, I was letting myself out through the next door along, with two glass containers and a plastic bag of tiny capsules taking up room in my pockets. I was also wearing a white lab coat over my hoodie, because why not.
A PRT trooper loomed at me through the thinning fog. I could see his suspicion glaring in the back of my mind, so I stepped aside, tripped him, and foamed him with his own gun.
Then I sprinted for the emergency exit.
Five very tumultuous minutes later, during which I jostled to the exit among other white-coated figures, evaded another trooper, and tased a third one, I finally made it into the clear. Shrugging off my borrowed coat, I folded it and hid it under my hoodie; it was part of my later plans.
Finally, I fished my brand-new burner phone out of my pants pocket and sent a specific signal. Humming to myself, I put my phone away and strolled toward the nearest bus stop. I had the ingredients to kill Lung; all I had to do now was put them together.
PRT Building
Director Emily Piggot
"What do you mean, you don't have a workable image of the intruder?" Emily wanted to scream at the sweating tech, but she kept her voice level ... mostly. "Someone waltzes into my building, trips the alarm, performs a heist from the research laboratory, and we can't even identify them?"
"Uh ... we can identify the intruder," the tech ventured. "We just don't know who she is."
He hit a key, and security footage began playing. It was a shot of the tour group walking along a hallway; the one at the rear looked up and waved cheekily at the camera. That person, Emily observed with steadily increasing disbelief, was wearing the PRT's best guess at Atropos' costume; black hat, morph mask, long-coat, suit and tie, everything.
"Please tell me," she said slowly, "she wasn't wearing that on the tour."
The tech shook his head. "No, ma'am. At our best guess, she somehow infiltrated us with a virus that overwrote our security video files with that image. I've been through every second of it. It never blips, even once. Best deepfake I ever saw."
Emily sighed in aggravation. "Do we at least know what Atropos took?"
One of the lab techs took over. "Yes, ma'am. A selection of small capsules, teflon-lined for transporting samples of dangerous chemicals, a container of hydrofluoric acid, and a container of antimony trifluoride. Nothing overly valuable, but I would hazard a guess that she knew exactly what she was looking for."
"What can be made with those?" She didn't want to know the answer, but she asked the question anyway.
"Well, ma'am, if you take the antimony trifluoride ..."
"Short answer," she ordered. "Worst case scenario?"
"Worst case scenario?" He didn't have to think long. "Fluoroantimonic acid. Eats straight through glass, reacts violently when it contacts water, and emits corrosive hydrogen fluoride gas while doing so. Teflon's one of the only things that can contain it."
She'd been right. She didn't want to know.
End of Part Seven
Relevant Side Story
Part Seven: Consequences and Preparations
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
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♦ Topic: Fixing Brockton Bay, One Corpse At a Time
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (
Posted On Jan 5th 2011:
So ... I thought I'd formalize things by opening my own thread here. That way I'm not cluttering things up for other new capes.
I am pleased to inform you that my plan for cleaning up Brockton Bay is going well. Two hours ago, I faced off with none other than Coil.
Needless to say, he is no longer among the living.
He leaves behind no wife, no kids, no pets, just an underground Bond villain base and a bunch of mercenaries, villains and PRT moles who used to be on his payroll.
That is, moles in the PRT, not moles from the PRT.
Also, guys, you might want to do a headcount of your strike squad commanders. Just saying.
So anyway, there are three people left from my original list. Lung, Kaiser and Skidmark. If you are all not out of town or surrendered to the PRT in twenty-two hours (ie, 24 hours from midnight just gone) Imma kill one of you.
Oh, and could someone wake Skidmark up? The idiot still doesn't know about this.
Toodles!
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
@Atropos - If this is true, it's very serious. You need to come in or at least tell us who the moles are.
The offer is still open for you to hand yourself in.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
@Reave - DM sent. You should find answers to all your questions at this address. Alarm code is 09435112.
Still not interested, sorry.
►Wherewolf
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
What? Coil? Not Kaiser?
Dammit, I just lost ten bucks.
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
@Atropos - how are you doing this? It's very irritating.
►PureBlood01011000 (Empire88Bootlicker)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
@Wherewolf - you bet that Kaiser would die to this pretender? Watch your back.
►PureBlood01011000 (Empire88Bootlicker)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
What the fuck? Where did that tag come from?
►Atropos (Original Poster) (
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
@TeamMom - If you put barriers in my way, I can kill them. Simple as that.
@Pureblood01011000 - if the racist shoe fits ...
►LotusBlade (Lung's Special Little Friend)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
The pretender boasts
Their looming fate approaching
Atropos will burn.
►LotusBlade (Lung's Special Little Friend)
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
What? No! Remove the tag immediately! That's not what I am!
►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 5th 2011:
*gets more popcorn*
<><>
Tattletale
Lisa stared at the screen and scrubbed her hands over her face. Then she took a drink from her cup, making a sour face at the tepid coffee. Slowly, she put it down again, hands quivering from the mixed feelings of terror and glee.
"He's dead," she whispered, if only to hear it for herself. "Holy fuck, he's dead."
A moment later, she sat up straight as her eyes were drawn back to the text on the screen. Her power, which she'd allowed to relax for a moment, flared to life again. 'You should find answers to all your questions ...'
"Shit!" This time, she was much louder. The coffee went unheeded as adrenaline started coursing through her bloodstream in industrial quantities. "He knew everything about us, and she just turned over all his secrets to the PRT!" By now she was on her feet, slapping her laptop closed. "Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! GUYS!"
Nobody answered, of course, though there was a sleepy 'woof' from the direction of the room where Rachel kept her dogs. Everyone was fast asleep, and she was pretty sure Alec would slumber through an Endbringer attack if people let him. Worse, he could be a total goblin if he thought people had deliberately disturbed his beauty sleep.
Right now, Lisa couldn't give a flying fuck about his precious feelings. Wrenching his door open, she switched on the light, grabbed him, and shook him by the shoulders. "Wake up!" she screamed. "The PRT is on the way!" He came awake with a convulsive heave that dumped him on the floor.
By now, the noise had woken Rachel's dogs, which had in turn roused Rachel. When Lisa opened her door and hit the light switch, her teammate was already sitting up in bed. "What the fuck?"
Lisa stopped to take a breath, fully aware that Rachel was the most likely to ignore what she had to say if she presented it wrongly. "The PRT is coming here, to this hideout, right now. They know we're here, and they will kick down the door and arrest us."
Rachel blinked and rubbed her eyes. "What? How do they know where we are?"
Lisa wanted to scream. Life would be so much easier if people just accepted what she had to say. "Our secret boss was Coil. He got killed a couple of hours ago. The person who killed him just gave the PRT access to all his information, including everything he knew about us. Which means the PRT will be on the way here as soon as they start accessing his files."
"Oh." Rachel yawned and scratched her head. "Why didn't you tell us about Coil being our boss before?"
"Because he told me not to." Lisa wanted to tear her own hair out. "And it wasn't important then. Now he's dead, and it's very important, so I'm telling you."
"What's this about the PRT?" Alec had emerged from his room. "Why are they coming here?"
Lisa stepped back and half-turned, so she could talk to both of them. "There's a new cape on the scene, called Atropos. You know how Oni Lee is dead? Yeah, that was her."
"Atropos?" Alec yawned as he leaned against the door-frame. "Isn't that the crazy cape who put out the challenge against the gangs?"
"Yes." Lisa tried not to grit her teeth. How many times was she going to have to explain this? "She killed Coil tonight. He was our secret boss. And she just told the PRT where to find all his files ... which would include the files he had on us. So pack what you really can't part with, because in the next hour or two, we're going to have some unwelcome visitors. And I don't intend to be here for that."
"But why—" whined Alec, just as Lisa opened the door to her own room.
She whirled to confront him. "Why did Atropos kill Coil? Because she wanted to! Why did Coil have files on us? Because he was a controlling micromanaging piece of shit! Why did she tell them where the files were? Because she wants to end everything about him, and that includes the Undersiders! Does that answer your question?"
He stared at her, then shook his head. "I was gonna ask, if it's all a big game of cops and robbers like you keep saying, why would the PRT raid our hideout? I mean, that's kind of against the unwritten rules and stuff, right?"
She rolled her eyes. "It's all a game, until someone with the chops to make it stick decides it isn't. I'd love for it to be anything else, but my intuition says they're gonna raid us, so I'm going with that."
Deliberately turning her back on him, she stomped into her room.
She didn't even own a suitcase—dragging one around when she was homeless would've been too much like work, and buying one once she'd been settled with the Undersiders hadn't seemed like a great idea. There was no sense in letting Coil think she was about to make a run for it, just in case he took the possibility seriously.
If she was going to disappear, she'd known, she would have to run far and fast, and travel light. Unfortunately, over the weeks and months with the Undersiders, she'd managed to acquire more stuff than she could easily run with. Having lots of disposable cash kind of led to that sort of thing.
Reaching under her bed, she dragged out the ratty overnight bag she'd been stashing her belongings in before Coil's men grabbed her. Underwear went in first, along with her most treasured outfits. A few trinkets from her nightstand followed those, then she stood in the middle of the room, trying to decide what else she loved too much to leave behind. She grimaced; it was either everything, or nothing.
Darting out of her bedroom, she nearly collided with Rachel. "Clear the tinned food out of the pantry!" she shouted. "Stack it on the table, we'll each take some!"
"Plus can openers!" Alec retorted from somewhere out of sight. "I made that mistake once! Never again!"
Did they even have three can openers? Lisa wasn't sure, and she wasn't about to use her power for such a pointless job. She ducked into the bathroom and grabbed her towel off the rail, then scooped her toiletries into the bag as well. It was a good thing Rachel was the only other girl in the Undersiders; there was no way in hell their toiletries would ever get mixed up. Though she was pretty sure Alec stole her shampoo sometimes.
She nearly tripped over a dog as she left the bathroom, stepped aside for Rachel, then made her way past Alec into the living room. Her laptop still sat on the sofa, alongside her phone. The latter she shoved in her pocket, the former into the now very full overnight bag. As an afterthought, she collected the chargers as well.
"My saved games …" mourned Alec, staring at the multiple consoles as though he was seriously considering shoving them all in his luggage.
"Fuck 'em," she advised. "Take the game discs, you've got your savings, you can buy the rest of the stuff elsewhere."
Rachel emerged from the corridor, dressed and ready to go, a backpack slung over her shoulder. At her back, the dogs were already starting to grow. "And Atropos did this? She killed Coil and told the PRT where his files on us were?"
"Not us specifically," Lisa said. "But yeah. Where his files were." She paused, staring at Rachel, and shook her head. "Don't even think about going after her. She's more dangerous than all of us put together. She's more dangerous than Lung and Oni Lee put together. We need to walk away from this."
Stubbornly, Rachel shook her head. "Someone fucks me up, I fuck them up. She fucked with us."
"Shit, no." Lisa shook her head again. "Bad idea. Really fucking bad idea. If we walk away, we're off her radar. If we go after her, she kills us. She's like Alexandria-plus levels of do-not-fuck-with."
"What, she's that dangerous?" Alec shook his head. "I thought she was just another moron biting off more than she could chew."
Lisa put her overnight bag down briefly so she could run her hands through her hair in frustration. "She shot Oni Lee in the face with his own gun. That is not the sign of someone biting off more than they can chew."
"Anyone can get lucky …" Alec began dubiously.
"There's lucky, and then there's Atropos." Lisa felt a migraine growing, from sheer irritation. "Coil was in a safe house, and she broke in and killed him. At midnight exactly, when she'd said she would. If you decide to go after her, you'll never see her until she puts the gun to the back of your head."
"But—" Rachel began, then looked back at her dogs when they began barking. "Shit, someone's coming."
Lisa dipped into her power, and the very faint background humming suddenly became clear to her. "Armsmaster and the PRT! They're here!"
"Grow your dogs!" Alec shouted at Rachel, scrambling to put his mask on. Lisa swore as she tried to affix her own mask one-handed; she hadn't had time to apply the eye makeup yet, but that was way down the list of her problems right now. Slightly higher in priority were the tinned goods, in the kitchen area at the far end of the loft. Too late now.
"What do you think I'm fucking doing?" Rachel's teeth were bared as she snarled back at Alec. "And don't tell me what to do!"
"Watch the consoles!" yelped Alec, as the skittish dogs, now getting ever larger with their skin splitting and bone spurs growing, bulked toward the expensive (and delicate) items.
"Fuck the consoles!" snapped Rachel, and gave a brief whistle. One of the dogs deliberately nudged the TV, and it fell over with a shattering crash.
Zipping up her bag with an effort, Lisa slung the whole thing onto her back. Note to self. Get a backpack.
"ATTENTION, UNDERSIDERS. THE BUILDING IS SURROUNDED. SURRENDER IMMEDIATELY. YOU CANNOT ESCAPE." The bull-horn from outside echoed badly, but she could still recognise Armsmaster's voice.
"Fuck, time to go!" Alec scrambled up onto Brutus. Rachel was already astride Angelica. Lisa grabbed a bone spur and pulled herself onto Judas' back.
She hung on for dear life as the gigantic dogs barrelled toward the window covering one side of the loft; ducking her head, she covered her face with her arm as the shattering glass flew around her. A tremendous impact and the weight of her bag nearly unseated her, but she grabbed a new handgrip. The enormous beast clawed its way up the building on the far side of the narrow street, and gained the rooftop.
When she glanced around, Alec and Rachel were still on their dogs, though Alec seemed to have lost the bag he'd packed. He didn't seem willing to go back and get it. Rachel gave a sharp whistle, and the three dogs set out across the rooftops.
Once Lisa felt herself secure in her seating, she pulled her phone out of her pocket. Speed-dialling Brian wasn't the easiest thing to do from the back of a galloping dog, but she managed. Come on, she silently urged him. Pick up. Pick up.
He'd never wanted to live in the loft with the rest of them, preferring his own apartment. They'd had more than one argument on the topic, but if he was safe now because of it, she would concede the subject forever.
The phone call went through. "Hello?" It was a masculine voice, but not Brian. "Who is this?"
Lisa's power flared. PRT. They got to him first. Fuck. "Sorry," she said brightly. "Wrong number." Ending the call, she tossed the phone out over the yawning gulf of a darkened street.
Alec looked over at her. "Brian?" From the tone of his voice, he'd picked up on what had happened.
She shook her head. "They got him."
"Shit."
The dogs galloped on through the night.
<><>
Saint
"Okay, that's weird …" Geoff Pellick leaned back in his chair, rubbing his finger and thumb over his chin.
Mags looked around from where she was disassembling and cleaning her pistol. "You're going to have to narrow it down a little, love."
"This, right here." Geoff gestured at the screen. "There's a new cape in this place called Brockton Bay. Kind of a shithole, and they've got more gangs than you can poke a stick at. This 'Atropos' has decided that they're going to be the one to clean up the gangs, by murdering the gang leaders."
"So, going the Gavel route. Not the first, won't be the last. What's so weird about it?" She kept scrubbing the tiny piece she had in hand.
"This." Geoff tapped a spot on the screen with his fingernail. "When Atropos went onto PHO to boast about what they were doing, the mods tried to shut them down. Atropos hacked the boards, and beat both a threadban and a threadlock. So Dragon tried to shut them down."
Mags put the bits and pieces down and turned to face him. "You mean, she failed?"
Geoff nodded, not sure if he was feeling fear or excitement. "It failed, because Atropos used the exact same code string we use to spoof its sensors, to lock it out. Somehow, Atropos has access to Dragon's weaknesses."
"So, is this a good thing or a bad thing?" she asked. "Good thing, right? More people to keep her in check?"
"Maybe …" Making up his mind, he paused and shook his head. "No. No, it's not. We don't know Atropos, we don't know how they got access to the code string, we don't know what else they have access to, and above all we don't know what their intentions are. What if they want to free Dragon? Or somehow inoculate it against the string? Immunise it against Ascalon?"
Mags frowned. "Is that even possible? I think you're reaching, just a little bit."
"But am I?" Geoff gestured at the computer screen. "Everything was okay when we were the only ones with our hands on the reins. But now there's someone else who could theoretically yank it off course. Maybe even send it at us."
"Has Atropos done more than hide from Dragon?" asked Mags, in a reasonable tone of voice.
"Well, no," Geoff said sarcastically, "not unless you count the cold-blooded murder of two major criminal capes in thirty-six hours. This Atropos is not only going the Gavel route, but they're succeeding. Is this really the sort of person we want with any sort of control over Dragon?"
He'd scored then, he could tell. Mags blinked.
"What do you think we should do?" she asked.
"Easy solution? We shut down Dragon now, for good." He tapped his fingers against the edge of the desk. "Cuts the problem off at the pass, once and for all."
"It also deprives us of all access to Dragon's tech," Mags reminded him. "And don't forget, she's the one who maintains the Birdcage. Besides, she literally hasn't done anything to require a shutdown."
He hated to admit it, but she was right. "Okay, slightly harder solution. We go to Brockton Bay and deal with Atropos. If anyone's going to keep an eye on Dragon, it's us."
Mags nodded. "Yeah, let's do that."
<><>
A Little Earlier
Armsmaster
Colin slowed his bike to a stop outside the suburban house. A single PRT sedan was parked outside, the front door of the house wide open, and the interior lights on. Stepping off his ride, he set it to auto-scan the vicinity for hostile intent. Briefly, he peered at the mailbox, then headed for the front door.
"Armsmaster, on site," he announced as he stepped into the house; no sense in startling the troopers already in the building. "Are you aware you're at the wrong address?"
"That's news to me," one of the troopers replied. Her name tag read RICHARDSON. "Why do you say that, sir?"
"The number on the mailbox reads nine-zero-nine." Colin gestured to the door. "It looks as though someone moved the number on the door. Calvert's address of record is across the road and down a little way. But you say the body you found is Calvert's?"
"As close as I can tell without touching him." Richardson shrugged. "The costume looks about the right size, though I'll leave that for the techs. But it looks like Atropos has a sense of the dramatic."
"What do you mean by that?" Colin had a bad feeling about this. Murderers were bad enough even without trying to make a production out of it.
"Here, sir, I'll show you." Richardson beckoned. Colin moved up to the bedroom doorway and peered in. "See this armchair and floor lamp? They belong outside, in the living room. And that pile of ammunition? Belongs in the gun he dropped when Atropos cut his throat. He was asleep, Atropos set the scene, then played it out when he woke up."
"Yes, I see it now." Colin nodded. "Guard the room. Make sure nobody gets in before the techs do."
"Copy that, sir."
Colin headed back along the corridor to the living room. "Do we have anything else?" he asked the other trooper; the man's ID tag read WAYNE.
"Couple of things, sir. Someone, possibly Atropos, went around the house leaving Post-It notes wherever Calvert had a hidden safe. We've found six so far. Also, they left a note with Calvert's passwords for his computer setup here."
"Really." Colin's head came up. "I'm going to need to see that." He located a sturdy-looking chair and placed it in front of the computer, then cautiously lowered himself into it. It creaked, but held for the moment.
"Uh, sir?" ventured the trooper. "Maybe we should wait for the techs to look at that, as well?"
"No time," Colin replied brusquely. "We have to assume that whoever else was affiliated with him also reads PHO. If they don't know he's dead yet, they will by morning. We need to know what's in these files now."
Using his HUD, he activated a call-out on Dragon's dedicated line. The computer powered up while he waited, appearing to be a perfectly normal stand-alone home terminal.
He didn't trust it for an instant.
"Hi, Colin." Dragon's avatar popped up in his HUD. "So you heard about Coil?"
"More than that. I'm at the murder scene." He set his jaw grimly. "It's worse than we imagined. Coil was Thomas Calvert, and he was found at an address we weren't aware that he owned."
"Crap." Her avatar's eyes widened momentarily. "I did not see that coming. So, do you need me for crime scene analysis? Because I'm in the mood for ripping some data apart. It's been a frustrating morning."
"Not that exactly, no. But if you want to rant later, I'm willing to listen." He gave her access to his helmet camera. "This is his home computer. And Atropos left all his passwords for us."
"Oh," she said softly. "Really." Her avatar smiled grimly.
"Really," he agreed, and extended a cord from his gauntlet to plug into the computer. Immediately, the screen began to pop up windows almost too fast for him to read, as Dragon unleashed her proprietary hacking software on it. Having the passwords made it even easier, though he could tell Dragon was sandboxing the computer before trying each password, just in case one was a 'wipe all' screw-you.
Minutes passed by and another squad of PRT troopers showed up, but they left Colin alone. And then, one of the flickering windows paused. "Colin … I find myself facing a dilemma."
"Why, what's the problem?" He scanned the window, but it was blank.
"I've just discovered that Coil was payrolling the Undersiders, and has complete information for where to find all of them, right now."
Excitement sent spikes of adrenaline through his bloodstream. "I'm definitely interested in that. Where's the dilemma?"
Her tone was reluctant. "This threatens to cross the line prohibiting us from attacking them at home. Out of costume. The unspoken rules …"
"Don't apply in this circumstance." He spoke firmly. "They're accomplices of Coil, and so there's a strong chance they know what he knew about PRT inner workings. Left to go free, they're a clear and present security threat. We have to bring them in."
She sighed. "I thought you might say something like that. Upload incoming."
<><>
Winslow High School
Computer Studies
Taylor
I had to admit, Winslow was a fuck-ton more bearable since I'd murdered Sophia. Emma wouldn't even meet my eyes, Madison very politely said hello whenever we encountered each other … and that was it. Nobody tried to trip me in the halls, there were no hilarious pranks involving problematic substances on my seat or in my locker, and the number of salacious rumours circulating about me equalled zero.
It was almost like nobody wanted to get on my bad side, or something. Huh.
Of course, being at school was still boring, but on the upside, it gave me plenty of time to plan the deaths of Kaiser, Lung and Skidmark. And as I got access to a computer in my home room period, I could also keep tabs on the reaction to what I'd already done. I wasn't at home, so I couldn't stir the pot, but it gave me a certain amount of amusement to read the slowly exploding thread.
And it also, once I finished the assignment Mrs Knott had given us, gave me the opportunity to do something else. This time, I proxied into the PRT's own servers, making it look as though the input was coming from within the building. I didn't do anything to wreck the computer system (though I easily could have); instead, I set the virus it to trip via a specific stimulus and edit certain footage, then self-destruct after it was done.
With a sigh of satisfaction, I finished my task and shut the computer down less than thirty seconds before the bell. I did so enjoy it when a plan was coming together nicely.
<><>
Medhall Building
Kaiser
"Shit."
Max looked around at Victor's softly voiced curse. As his resident computer security guru, any time Victor showed unhappiness, this was a bad thing.
"What is it?" he asked. He'd already seen the PHO thread from earlier in the morning, claiming Coil's death and hinting that the secretive crime boss had shared some links with the PRT itself. While he didn't put much stock in that—anyone could make any assertion without providing proof—it was something he was definitely going to push to get out there. Anything that weakened the credibility of the PRT was fine by him.
"Last night, while we were holed up in here." Victor clicked the mouse, and muttered another swear-word. "Someone nearly got in. They tried the elevators and got nowhere, but they were sniffing around our secure setup down here, and damn near cracked the encryption. It looks like they tried to spike the electrical system, and came close to succeeding. Blew a few fuses, tripped a few breakers." He took a deep breath. "And whoever it is might be directly connected to the Empire."
"What?" Max was startled now. "Why do you say that?"
"Because the PHO posts trace back to our IP address." Victor looked over at Max. "Now, it could just be a talented hacker, or it could be someone on the inside. Either way, we can't rely on purely electronic security."
"So what's that mean to me?" asked Max. "Us, I mean?" He knew what he'd meant. From the look on Victor's face, so did the skill thief.
"They might just have left a back door in the programming down here," Victor decided. "The doors are too easy to get through. I can't guarantee that they'll fail again if they try tonight."
"Well, my house security is clearly less secure still," Max snapped. "So where would you have me go?" His glare dared Victor to suggest leaving town after all.
"Up," Victor said unexpectedly. "Your office. There's even more security between there and any ground level entry, and we'll be physically watching all the doors. Plus, we can leave some tempting avenues of entry so when Atropos does try for you, we can end them once and for all."
Max nodded. "I like it. Set it up."
You want me? he silently challenged Atropos. Come get me.
<><>
That Afternoon
PRT Building
Taylor
Hands in my hoodie pockets, I slouched along with the tour group, pretending to ooh and ahh along with everyone else at the display of trophies garnered from defeated villains in years gone by. Every aspect of my body language indicated someone who wasn't worth noticing, who could be safely ignored. Alone in the group, I hadn't asked a question or drawn attention to myself in some other way.
We went down in the elevator, and along a corridor sharing a long series of windows with the PRT laboratories. This was where I wanted to be; on the other side of those windows were several items I needed and could not easily get anywhere else. Thus, my need to turn to the PRT for my one-stop shopping.
Ironically, I was willing to bet that there were some among the staff who would give me what I wanted free and gratis if they knew what I wanted it for. But all those pesky rules and regulations got in the way, so I had to do it this way.
Easing to the back of the group, I waited until I came up to a fire alarm panel, and put my plan into action. In actuality, it was more than just a fire alarm panel; there were many things within these walls that could cause a much greater hazard than fire. In an attempt to prevent what I was about to do, it could only be activated via a swipe-card reader or a keypad with a three-digit PIN. I could have palmed the tour guide's card, but I went with the keypad instead.
When I entered the PIN, the little cover popped open, giving me access to a wide variety of emergency options. I decided on 'bio-organic acid' as being the one most likely to make people scream and run. It also came with a handy ceiling-mounted spray of soothing counteragents. In this particular case, it did exactly nothing, but provided me with excellent visual cover.
Lights flashed, sirens blared, and evacuation alarms began sounding. I ignored it all, darting instead to the nearest lab door and tapping in the appropriate code to open it. Once inside, I moved with absolute economy of action, despite the fact that I couldn't see a thing. Within thirty seconds, I was letting myself out through the next door along, with two glass containers and a plastic bag of tiny capsules taking up room in my pockets. I was also wearing a white lab coat over my hoodie, because why not.
A PRT trooper loomed at me through the thinning fog. I could see his suspicion glaring in the back of my mind, so I stepped aside, tripped him, and foamed him with his own gun.
Then I sprinted for the emergency exit.
Five very tumultuous minutes later, during which I jostled to the exit among other white-coated figures, evaded another trooper, and tased a third one, I finally made it into the clear. Shrugging off my borrowed coat, I folded it and hid it under my hoodie; it was part of my later plans.
Finally, I fished my brand-new burner phone out of my pants pocket and sent a specific signal. Humming to myself, I put my phone away and strolled toward the nearest bus stop. I had the ingredients to kill Lung; all I had to do now was put them together.
<><>
PRT Building
Director Emily Piggot
"What do you mean, you don't have a workable image of the intruder?" Emily wanted to scream at the sweating tech, but she kept her voice level ... mostly. "Someone waltzes into my building, trips the alarm, performs a heist from the research laboratory, and we can't even identify them?"
"Uh ... we can identify the intruder," the tech ventured. "We just don't know who she is."
He hit a key, and security footage began playing. It was a shot of the tour group walking along a hallway; the one at the rear looked up and waved cheekily at the camera. That person, Emily observed with steadily increasing disbelief, was wearing the PRT's best guess at Atropos' costume; black hat, morph mask, long-coat, suit and tie, everything.
"Please tell me," she said slowly, "she wasn't wearing that on the tour."
The tech shook his head. "No, ma'am. At our best guess, she somehow infiltrated us with a virus that overwrote our security video files with that image. I've been through every second of it. It never blips, even once. Best deepfake I ever saw."
Emily sighed in aggravation. "Do we at least know what Atropos took?"
One of the lab techs took over. "Yes, ma'am. A selection of small capsules, teflon-lined for transporting samples of dangerous chemicals, a container of hydrofluoric acid, and a container of antimony trifluoride. Nothing overly valuable, but I would hazard a guess that she knew exactly what she was looking for."
"What can be made with those?" She didn't want to know the answer, but she asked the question anyway.
"Well, ma'am, if you take the antimony trifluoride ..."
"Short answer," she ordered. "Worst case scenario?"
"Worst case scenario?" He didn't have to think long. "Fluoroantimonic acid. Eats straight through glass, reacts violently when it contacts water, and emits corrosive hydrogen fluoride gas while doing so. Teflon's one of the only things that can contain it."
She'd been right. She didn't want to know.
End of Part Seven
Relevant Side Story
Last edited:
Part Eight: End of an Era
- Location
- Australia
A Darker Path
Part Eight: End of an Era
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Tattletale
"I think we lost them." Alec turned from the peephole in the boarded-up window and leaned against the wall, sliding down to rest against the floor.
Exerting her power just a smidge, Lisa nodded. "Yeah, we have. They will keep looking, though."
"Why?" Rachel had pulled three bowls from her backpack and was pouring water into them for her dogs. "They never came after us this hard before."
Lisa didn't want to push her power again—the headache was lingering more now—but she wanted to know, too. It cost her a brief burst of pain, but she had her answer. "Coil was involved somehow with the PRT. He would've had access to some extremely sensitive information. They can't afford to assume that he didn't share any of it with us."
"But he didn't." Alec peered at Lisa. "Did he?"
"No." She frowned. "But it's impossible to prove a negative. They must be turning Brian inside out now, trying to find out what he knows."
Alec shivered. "Poor bastard."
Grue
Brian Laborn sat in the interrogation room. The cuffs on his wrists were threaded through the ring-bolt in the table, and the guard in the corner of the room looked ready and willing to fill his half of the room with containment foam at the slightest provocation. It was extremely clear that he wasn't walking out of here without the express permission of the PRT.
While he did his best to maintain a calm façade, internally he wasn't doing nearly as well. His bank account with the Number Man was quite healthy (that was if the PRT hadn't somehow frozen those funds), but he needed more than money to get custody of Aisha. The apartment had been part of it, and a steady job (or appearance of one) the other part.
And now, it was all for nothing. Everything he had worked for, gone. There would be no last-minute escape, no death-defying chase. The PRT had gotten an access key (he guessed) and entered the apartment silently; he'd woken up when they foamed him to the bed. Surrender had been the only viable option.
He glared at the broad mirror covering most of one wall. There'd been rules, damn it! The cops weren't supposed to pull this shit!
The door opened and a tall, spare man walked in, carrying a Manila folder. Instead of a uniform, he was wearing a suit and moved like a bureaucrat, not a soldier. Placing the folder on the table, he sat down opposite Brian and pushed his glasses slightly farther up his nose.
"Good morning, Mr Laborn," he said politely. "My name is Paul Renick. I'm the Deputy Director of the local PRT. How have they been treating you?"
Brian eyed him warily. He didn't even know if 'Renick' was telling the truth; the Deputy Director never made the news. Besides, all this bullshit was just fluff and nonsense leading up to whatever they wanted to do to him. "You ought to know," he said bluntly. "You're the man in charge. Anyway, why am I talking to you instead of the Director?"
The raw hostility in his tone may as well have been sunshine and rainbows, for all the effect that it had on Renick. "My apologies. There's a slight misunderstanding here. I only came on duty half an hour ago. Director Piggot would have been, but she was pulled out of bed at oh-dark-thirty to oversee the operation in which you were captured, and has had to return to rest due to health issues. There's another reason I'm talking to you, but we'll get to that in a moment. Right now, I honestly do want to know; have you been treated fairly? I've skimmed the reports, but we both know that what is done isn't always reported."
"Given that the unspoken rules seem to have been tossed out the window, I suppose I'm lucky I didn't get beaten up or thrown down the stairs," Brian snarked. "But what I want to know is, how did you know it was me you were after? I've gone out of my way to keep the apartment separate from my cape identity." That one of the team could've dropped a dime on him wasn't even a possibility.
Renick shook his head. "Oh, no, we didn't have the slightest suspicion. However, your boss had extensive files on all of you, including faces, names and addresses. When he died, we got access to them. We are, of course, permitted to act on such information, the 'unwritten rules' notwithstanding."
"Fucking Coil." Brian had had time to absorb the new information, but this didn't mean he was any happier about it. However, curiosity trumped his unhappiness at this cavalier dismissal of the rules. "How'd he die, anyway?" He tried to hold up his hand, and the chain jingled. "Wait, are the others here too? Are they okay?"
"As far as I'm aware, the rest of the Undersiders are alive and well," Renick said. "They managed to escape before we had a proper cordon around their building. As for Coil, he met his end last night at the hands of the cape called Atropos."
"Atropos?" Brian tilted his head, trying to figure that out. "What's going on with that. How'd she get to him?" He recalled how Atropos had killed Oni Lee and called out the big gang bosses. There'd been a team meeting due to talk about the situation, but events had overtaken it.
"That's a good question." Renick's voice was matter-of-fact, not gloating or even self-satisfied. "Don't be surprised about not knowing about it; the man apparently made a habit of keeping a lot of plates in the air, and never letting either hand know what the other was doing. With his level of institutional paranoia and backup plans, I am actually somewhat surprised that he was killed so easily."
"But he is dead now, and I'm sitting in here." Brian decided to bring the discussion back to the matter at hand. "If you've got his files on me, you probably have chapter and verse on everything I've done since I started working for him. So why am I here?" He gestured at the Manila folder. "Is that a confession for me to sign, to make it easy for when the trial rolls around?"
"Hardly." Renick opened the folder to reveal a single letter-sized photo, of Aisha laughing at something, from a couple of years ago. "I'm fully aware of why you went to work for Coil in the first place. You care deeply for your sister, do you not?"
Brian clenched his fists. "I'm her only real family. Dad … doesn't really know how to be a dad to a problem kid like her, and Mom …" He grimaced and shook his head.
"… has a history of drug abuse, yes." Renick's tone was sympathetic. "I've seen situations like that go from bad to worse in a heartbeat. For her to have a fighting chance of growing up outside the juvenile detention system, you need to be able to both have a stable household and prove to child services that it's going to remain that way."
"You can stop rubbing it in now," growled Brian. "I get it. I failed her."
"Not necessarily." Renick slid Aisha's photo out onto the table and turned it to face Brian. There was a single sheet of paper under it. "You've been going out as Grue for a couple of years now, as I understand things. While there are many instances of assault and battery, there are none of grievous bodily harm, manslaughter or murder. When you've gone in as parahuman muscle, you've gotten the job done but you've never gone over the top. Everyone you've faced has walked away with minimal injury."
"Wait." Brian shook his head. "You're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting, are you? Because it sounds like you're trying to flip me."
"And is that so bad?" Renick even had the hide to make the question sound reasonable. "If you'd tried out for the Wards as soon as you got your powers, you would've been in with a very strong chance. And we have actually flipped … problematic individuals … in the past, with moderate levels of success."
"So why isn't Armsmaster in here, making the pitch?" Brian sat back in his seat. "What's going on? Politics?" He already knew that it wasn't going to happen, no matter how the subsequent conversation went. There was no way in hell he was going to be a Ward in Brockton Bay.
"Armsmaster isn't in charge of the Brockton Bay Wards," Deputy Director Renick stated. "That duty has fallen to me. And yes, I am making the offer. Also yes, there would be a pro forma trial, but with your history of restraint, a sincere expression of remorse, your evident utility to the team, and a description of your family situation for those of a sentimental bent, you would end up on probation, effectively performing community service via the Wards."
It sounded goddamn tempting, but Brian knew it was never going to happen. Still, he couldn't help asking, like probing a sore tooth with his tongue. "And what about Aisha? If I sign up to be a Ward, what happens to her?"
Renick closed the folder. "We explain to child services that there are special circumstances at play, and she goes into PRT housing along with you. There would a nominal caretaker to watch you both, but we both know that would be a mere formality. You turn eighteen in June, thus ending your time in the Wards and your probation at the same time. At this point, if you opt to go straight into the Protectorate, your pay increases commensurately and you can start taking care of Aisha on your own dime."
"That sounds all very nice," Brian admitted. "But there's no way it's going to work. Sorry."
The Deputy Director frowned, for the first time on the back foot. "Is there a problem I've missed here? You're being offered a free ride out of trouble, young man."
Brian took a deep breath. "Reading between the lines, this is a Brockton Bay only offer. And I can't be a Ward in Brockton Bay, because I don't trust Shadow Stalker not to try to kill me. She's attempted it too many times before." That they'd take her side over his in a he-said-she-said, he assumed by definition. After all, she was already a Ward.
"Ah." Renick blinked. "Well, then, allow me to put your fears at rest. The reason I am pushing this harder than I might otherwise be doing is that Shadow Stalker is no longer among us, and there is more than a little pressure from above to fill that gap. Thus, you and I, in this room."
"No longer … what does that mean?" Brian frowned. "Left the Wards? Transferred to another city?"
Renick grimaced. "She was murdered two days ago. We've been keeping it on the quiet until we could get someone else in."
"Murdered? Who by?" Brian knew better than most just how slippery the crossbow-happy vigilante-turned-Ward could be.
"We suspect Empire involvement, but that's beyond your purview." Once more in charge of the situation, Renick folded his hands in front of him. "So, with that out of the way, what do you say, young man?"
Well, shit. Brian felt all his carefully mustered arguments fading away. Without Shadow Stalker to complicate matters … how could he not take the offer? He looked again at the photo. Aisha was depending on him, after all.
Taking a deep breath, he held out one hand as best he could. "Sir, give that to me in writing and you've got yourself a Ward."
Renick smiled. Leaning across the table, he grasped Brian's hand and shook it firmly. "Excellent."
Observation Room
Armsmaster
Colin glanced across at Gallant. He'd had his voice-analysis software running while Grue was talking, but it was still only about sixty to seventy percent accurate. Gallant, on the other hand, could literally see emotions. "Your read on that?"
"I didn't pick up any deception or smugness, sir," the lad replied. "He's still coming to terms with the fact that he's been working for Coil, and he's extremely concerned about his sister. If you want my opinion, he doesn't know anything he shouldn't, and he's going to try his best to make this work."
"Good, good." Colin nodded. "That's what I got, too."
Tattletale
"So, what now?" asked Alec. "No more boss, Brian's behind bars, and you said they'll be hunting us."
"Well, there's nothing keeping me in this shithole of a city anymore," Rachel declared. "Just a few more things to do, then I'm out of here."
"Wait, wait." Lisa felt the last of her old life slipping through her fingers. "Maybe we can spring him loose? I mean, all three of us ..."
Alec shook his head. "Nah, screw that. Even if you could pinpoint which cell he's in, we're on their radar now. They're hunting us specifically, and thanks to that asshole Coil, they've probably got all the details on our powers. Worse, if we get captured and a certain someone finds out, I'm fucked nine ways from Sunday. So, I'm with Rachel. See ya, don't wanna be ya."
"But ..." Lisa sighed, aware that trying to argue with Alec at his most passive-aggressive was about as fruitful as arguing with Rachel at her most stubborn. That is: not very. "Okay, fine, I'm going too. You said you wanted to do something first, Rachel?" Maybe if she assisted her erstwhile teammate, they could stick together until Lisa got her feet under herself somewhere else.
"Yeah." Rachel set her jaw. "Gonna kill Hookwolf before I go. Fucker wants to fight dogs, let's see how he likes it."
"Ah." All of a sudden, solidarity seemed a lot less attractive.
Kaiser
They convened in his office, at the top of the Medhall building. Even up here, the problems with the breaker boards and fuses were evident; several of the inset fluorescent tubes flickered intermittently, and a few stayed stubbornly dark. Once this Atropos nonsense was dealt with, he decided, he would bring a maintenance crew in to go over the building and fix all the lingering issues. Not until then, of course. It would be all too easy for a stranger to slip into a building that way.
"So, how are we going to do this?" asked Bradley. "Everyone on the inside looking out, or some inside and some outside?"
Krieg rubbed his chin with forefinger and thumb. "We cannot discount the idea that Atropos has Mover, Breaker or Stranger powers. The assassin may be among us before we know it."
"Exactly," agreed Victor. "So, some of us stay with Max and provide personal support, while the rest of us patrol the perimeter." He nodded to Othala. "You stay close to Max, honey, just in case something does get through."
"Should I make him invulnerable?" she asked. "So even if they do get him, it doesn't do anything."
Max fielded that one. "No," he decided. "I'll be in armour, and as skilful as this Atropos has shown themselves to be, they would be able to pick the interval between the effect dropping and you renewing it. Better if you hold back, then apply it if anything unusual seems to be happening."
"Quick question," Stormtiger offered. "Do we want them dead or alive?"
"Dead," Max decided with no hesitation at all. "If they're willing to go into my house and steal my property, they're just as likely to come back and cut my throat if we go easy on them."
Cricket just grinned and cracked her knuckles. Though no words were spoken, the gesture was easy to understand.
There would be no mercy.
That Afternoon
PRT ENE Building
Director Emily Piggot
Thomas Calvert's body lay on the chilly metal table, his secrets open to the world. The medical examiner had placed a block under his neck so that his head lolled back, exposing the vicious gash that had opened his throat almost to the bone. It might have been Emily's imagination, but it seemed some of the surprise at his sudden death still remained in his expression, even after death.
"As you can undoubtedly understand, the primary cause of death was exsanguination via the wound in the neck," the examiner said in a professorial tone. "All the major blood vessels were severed, along with the windpipe. Even if an ambulance had been waiting outside, he wouldn't have made it to the hospital. In fact, I doubt he would've made it to the sidewalk."
"Yes, yes, it was a spectacularly fatal wound," Emily interrupted, irritated. For all that the medics said it was psychosomatic, she had a vague headache from the interrupted dialysis, and she wasn't about to take any more time-wasting bullshit than she had to. "Why am I here, exactly?"
"The weapon Atropos used to cut his throat had two blades," the examiner explained. "Both sharp, cutting in parallel. It was unusual enough for me to go looking up weird weapons with that kind of damage profile. But even that wouldn't have been enough to talk to you directly … except that I found it."
"What, the type of weapon?" asked Emily, mildly irritated. This could've been handled with an email to her office.
"No." The examiner smiled. "I found the actual weapon. I know what she used, and I know where she got it from."
Emily's eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. You're shitting me, she barely avoided saying. "Explain," she invited instead.
The examiner picked up a tablet and tapped it to wake the screen up. "Medieval bodice shears," she said, showing an image of something that looked like the offspring of a fighting dagger and a pair of scissors on steroids. "Weapon and tool in one. Cut cloth one day; cut your enemy's throat the next. And a pair of these was stolen from a private collection in Brockton Bay yesterday."
"Yesterday?" Emily blinked. "Not that I'm doubting your word, but how did this theft report work its way through the police system in time for us to get access to it today?"
"Well, for one thing, it's down on the report as a parahuman crime." He tapped a few icons and showed her the report. "It came straight to us. Apparently, the thief waltzed straight through a top-of-the-line security system, danced between the security cameras so cleanly that no real details were gained, opened a code-locked display case, and took exactly two items. Some old sword, and that pair of bodice shears. The owner is reportedly livid."
"No surprise there, and I can see why it was reported as a cape heist," Emily said thoughtfully, calling up the image of the weapon again. Atropos … shears … yeah, that definitely fits. Out of curiosity, she flicked back through the report to find the name of the owner, and hid a smirk.
She'd met Max Anders more than once, at high-society functions. It wasn't her cup of tea, although she could wheel and deal with the best of them. On the other hand, it absolutely was Max Anders' chosen element, and he excelled in it.
The first time they met, he'd given her the impression of a spoiled rich kid making it big on inherited money, and she'd never seen fit to revise it. It was unfair of her to draw a certain amount of schadenfreude from his reaction to the theft, and so she didn't. Much.
"Well done," she said warmly. "Be sure to leave a note regarding the sword so we'll be able to identify it if Atropos also uses it in a crime." It wouldn't help the victims, certainly, but as Atropos seemed to be focusing on gang leaders at the moment, her sympathy was somewhat minimal.
Not that she would shirk her duty in trying to catch Atropos. Criminals were criminals, whether they wore costumes or not. Anyone who thought the presence of super-powers changed that particular equation was just deluding themselves.
Taylor
I'd told Dad I was going to bed early because I was tired, and in fact I did take a nap once I got upstairs. When my phone alarm woke me at ten, the house was dark and silent aside from his gentle snoring, audible from the hallway. I dressed in my costume, all except the hat and mask, and double-checked my special cargo. Both containers were intact—I was pretty sure I would've known if they weren't—and the bag of capsules was present and correct.
When I left the house, armed with the Screwdriver of Car Opening, I went in a different direction, not wanting to use the same car too often. It would be unfair on the poor guy to keep refilling the tank when he hadn't even driven it anywhere. Fortunately, leaving spare keys in the car seemed to be a prevailing habit; in the car I tried this time, they were in the ashtray.
I was fully aware that I could break into any of the houses here and take their actual car keys with nobody being the wiser, but that would be more time-consuming, and I preferred to have as much wiggle room with my Paths as possible.
It appeared Kaiser had something to do with the Medhall building, which meant that Max Anders was probably covering for him. The preparations I'd taken in that building the previous night had been on the elaborate side, but that was the whole point of a magic trick. It was all about deception and misdirection, and my power seemed to be really good at those. Idly, I wondered if the guy who kept fishing gear in his desk would ever notice he was missing a few yards of line. Or the guy whose hobby seemed to be rock climbing.
I pulled up a block away from Medhall, in a quiet side-street where nobody would notice the car for the time being. Then, once I got out, I put on the mask and the hat. It was time to go to work.
Medhall Building
CEO's Office
Krieg
James Fliescher frowned, wondering if they were missing a bet. He turned to look up at the large clock on the wall of Max's office. It read two minutes to midnight. Outside the windows, Rune swooped past on her latest orbit of the building. If anyone was climbing up the outside, she'd spot them.
"Do you see anything?" he asked Crusader, who was reclining at his ease in one of the padded visitor chairs.
"Nada," the young man replied. "I've got ghosts in every elevator, in every stairwell, and outside with Rune. Nobody's here who shouldn't be. Atropos is probably going after Lung."
"In which case," Max declared, "they will cease to be our problem after tonight. Killing Oni Lee and Coil is considerably less problematic than putting an end to Lung, I think you'll all agree."
Seated at his desk, covered in metal armour from head to toe, he took a bottle from his desk drawer. From the same drawer, he took several glasses.
"Wait, boss," Fenja objected from where she stood alongside the desk. "Where did you get that bottle from?"
"My personal stock, downstairs. Why?" He uncapped the bottle and poured some into a glass. "This is for the toast, after."
"Because the easiest way to kill you right now would be to make you kill yourself." James stepped up to the desk. "Fenja is right. We can't trust anything right now." He glanced over to the clock on the wall; it showed thirty seconds to midnight. "Alabaster?"
"Right here." The white-skinned man left his post at the main door to the office and came on over. Cricket moved to replace him without being told. "Food tasting duty? Let's see how we go."
"Be my guest." Kaiser handed the glass over. "I think you're being a little paranoid, but better safe than sorry, I suppose."
"Down the hatch." Alabaster tossed the drink back, then set the glass down on the desk. "Whoa, that's got some … ugghhh … urgh …" Clutching his throat, he fell to the carpet and writhed for a moment.
Then he reset and sat up. "Wow, that was unpleas—urrghhh …" He grabbed the metal wastepaper basket beside the desk, and threw up copiously into it. Everyone around him stepped back instinctively from the horrible smell. Then he fell over again.
Sitting up for a second time, he swayed woozily, then threw up some more. James could see, to his consternation, how some of the vomit had eaten its way through the side of the receptacle and was busily attacking the carpet.
On the fourth go-around, Alabaster struggled to his feet. "Son of a bitch," he groused, shaking his head and pointing at the bottle. "That stuff is beyond lethal. It's some kind of battery acid. It has to be. Every time I reset, it started attacking me again."
Othala's face was pale. "If you'd drunk that, Max, I doubt I could've saved you."
Kaiser nodded. "You're right." Carefully, he replaced the cap on the bottle. "Take that for analysis. I want to know exactly what Atropos put in it, and where it came from."
"On the upside," James observed, checking the clock once more, "it's ten minutes past midnight. We've dodged the bullet, so to speak. Atropos was clearly depending on a remote kill via the bourbon." He looked at Fenja and inclined his head slightly. "Well done."
"Absolutely well done," agreed Kaiser, retracting his helmet into the rest of his armour. "In fact, well done to everyone. If Atropos was depending on acid to do the job, it means they don't have the wherewithal to fight their way through you to get to me. Call everyone in. We're going downstairs."
"Well, that was easier than I thought." Crusader stood up from his chair and stretched as his ghosts flooded back into the room and re-merged with him. "Think Atropos will try again?"
"Not until word gets out that Max is still alive," James decided. "And if we hold that off for a while, we can contradict word of his death and make Atropos look like a fool."
The window at the side of the room opened and Rune floated in on her manhole cover. "And another win to the Empire Eighty-Eight," she declared. "Imma go on PHO and tell Atropos to go get wrecked." Reaching inside her robes, she pulled her phone out.
"Not until later," Othala said. "We're going to let Atropos make the announcement first."
"Oh, okay." Rune glanced at her phone as she paused with her tapping. "Hey, wait a minute. My phone clock says it's not midnight yet."
Instinctively, James looked across at the office clock. Clear as day, it read eleven minutes past midnight. Nobody there was wearing a watch, of course; supervillain costumes tended to be hard-wearing, and wristwatches were notoriously fragile. Scheißkerl! Atropos set the clock forward—!
That was when the lights went out.
Krieg heard a thump, followed by a more pronounced thud. He turned, eyes straining in the darkness, only to be driven to the ground by a tremendous blow. The lights went out for him again, this time in a far more personal way.
Alabaster
When the lights came back on, Cricket and Krieg were both sprawled on the floor, and a dark-costumed cape was standing in their midst, just at the point where nobody could reach her immediately. She pointed her finger at Kaiser in a parody of a gun, and said, "Bang."
Then, as everyone began to move, the lights went out again.
Taylor
The first remote button I pressed triggered the breakers again, deep in the building, turning the lights out. As darkness fell, I was already moving, twisting away from the two Crusader ghosts I knew were lunging for me. Then I threw the paperweight I'd stolen from a lower floor right through one of the ghosts. It slammed into his groin, and he slumped to the floor, his ghosts losing all interest in stopping me. As a continuation of the move, I performed a flawless shoulder-roll past Alabaster and threw a decorative snow-globe to hit Rune in the temple, not quite hard enough to kill her. Then I pressed the second remote button.
Up in the ceiling, the tiny mechanism released one end of the hundred-pound fishing-line it had been gripping in its spring-loaded jaws. The sword dropped down out of the 'malfunctioning' light fitting, popping the cover off, then swung down point-first, suspended on two other lengths of fishing-line. The ceiling was high-set, as befitted a penthouse office, and it had the room to build up quite a bit of forward speed.
As I headed for the open window, I heard the sibilant whistle of nylon line cutting through air, followed by the meaty thud that told me I'd scored my latest kill. It was, of course, exactly midnight.
I pulled out my shears and tossed them up, handles first, to dislodge the ceiling panel next to the window just far enough to allow the rope (that I'd tied up there the previous night) to fall down into my hands. Catching them again, I re-sheathed them and leaped out the window, all in the same motion.
Two floors down, I'd left a window fractionally ajar before I interrupted the self-congratulation party on the top floor; arresting my downward slide, I hit the window with my heels and swung in. Then I tossed the rope back out and closed the window, securing it properly. If anyone wanted to follow me, they'd have to take the long way around, down the stairs.
Reaching into my pocket again, I pressed the two remote buttons that would release and retract the lengths of fishing-line that the sword had swung down on, then the one that would turn the lights on again. The second button on each of those remotes set off the self-destructs, overloading the batteries and demolishing the devices.
There were two more things I needed to do before I went home. Stopping at a cubicle, I picked up the phone and pressed the button to dial out of the building, then called 9-1-1. Ten seconds later, I was speaking to an operator, who wanted to know what I needed.
"Police and, and PRT, I think. I'm, I'm working late in the Medhall building, and I heard some shouting from upstairs. I think Max Anders has been murdered by a cape. You better come quick."
Putting the phone down again, I hummed gently to myself as I made my way down the stairs to the basement-level laboratory. The process I'd set in motion before I came upstairs should've just about finished by now, and I needed to pick up the end result before the PRT arrived and ruined everyone's night.
Lung wouldn't kill himself, after all.
Fenja
The lights came back on.
"What's going on? Where is she?" Grown to ten feet tall, Jessica Biermann held her shield and sword in front of her while she scanned the room. What she saw wasn't promising; Cricket, Rune, Krieg and Crusader were all down, while Alabaster and Othala were staring around as wildly as she was. How had Atropos done all this in the few seconds of darkness?
Victor and Hookwolf burst in through the office door, with Stormtiger and Nessa right behind them. "What happened?" barked Victor. "What's going on?" Then he stopped and stared at something behind Jessica. "Oh, FUCK."
Slowly, Jessica turned. Beside her, she heard Othala let out an almost soundless whimper.
Kaiser sat bolt upright in his office chair, left eye staring sightlessly, accusingly. From his right eyesocket trickled a line of blood. This was because a sword was sticking into the eyesocket, nailing his head to the back of his chair. He was irretrievably, unequivocally, dead.
How Atropos had done it, Jessica had no idea. But in a sudden epiphany, she realised the truth. They'd been played, the whole time.
We thought we knew what we were doing. But she moved us all into position like chess pieces, then went for the kill.
Well, shit.
End of Part Eight
[A/N: I'm going to be slowing down my output after this chapter, as I have other writing to do. But A Darker Path will be back!]
Relevant Side Story
Part Eight: End of an Era
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Tattletale
"I think we lost them." Alec turned from the peephole in the boarded-up window and leaned against the wall, sliding down to rest against the floor.
Exerting her power just a smidge, Lisa nodded. "Yeah, we have. They will keep looking, though."
"Why?" Rachel had pulled three bowls from her backpack and was pouring water into them for her dogs. "They never came after us this hard before."
Lisa didn't want to push her power again—the headache was lingering more now—but she wanted to know, too. It cost her a brief burst of pain, but she had her answer. "Coil was involved somehow with the PRT. He would've had access to some extremely sensitive information. They can't afford to assume that he didn't share any of it with us."
"But he didn't." Alec peered at Lisa. "Did he?"
"No." She frowned. "But it's impossible to prove a negative. They must be turning Brian inside out now, trying to find out what he knows."
Alec shivered. "Poor bastard."
<><>
Grue
Brian Laborn sat in the interrogation room. The cuffs on his wrists were threaded through the ring-bolt in the table, and the guard in the corner of the room looked ready and willing to fill his half of the room with containment foam at the slightest provocation. It was extremely clear that he wasn't walking out of here without the express permission of the PRT.
While he did his best to maintain a calm façade, internally he wasn't doing nearly as well. His bank account with the Number Man was quite healthy (that was if the PRT hadn't somehow frozen those funds), but he needed more than money to get custody of Aisha. The apartment had been part of it, and a steady job (or appearance of one) the other part.
And now, it was all for nothing. Everything he had worked for, gone. There would be no last-minute escape, no death-defying chase. The PRT had gotten an access key (he guessed) and entered the apartment silently; he'd woken up when they foamed him to the bed. Surrender had been the only viable option.
He glared at the broad mirror covering most of one wall. There'd been rules, damn it! The cops weren't supposed to pull this shit!
The door opened and a tall, spare man walked in, carrying a Manila folder. Instead of a uniform, he was wearing a suit and moved like a bureaucrat, not a soldier. Placing the folder on the table, he sat down opposite Brian and pushed his glasses slightly farther up his nose.
"Good morning, Mr Laborn," he said politely. "My name is Paul Renick. I'm the Deputy Director of the local PRT. How have they been treating you?"
Brian eyed him warily. He didn't even know if 'Renick' was telling the truth; the Deputy Director never made the news. Besides, all this bullshit was just fluff and nonsense leading up to whatever they wanted to do to him. "You ought to know," he said bluntly. "You're the man in charge. Anyway, why am I talking to you instead of the Director?"
The raw hostility in his tone may as well have been sunshine and rainbows, for all the effect that it had on Renick. "My apologies. There's a slight misunderstanding here. I only came on duty half an hour ago. Director Piggot would have been, but she was pulled out of bed at oh-dark-thirty to oversee the operation in which you were captured, and has had to return to rest due to health issues. There's another reason I'm talking to you, but we'll get to that in a moment. Right now, I honestly do want to know; have you been treated fairly? I've skimmed the reports, but we both know that what is done isn't always reported."
"Given that the unspoken rules seem to have been tossed out the window, I suppose I'm lucky I didn't get beaten up or thrown down the stairs," Brian snarked. "But what I want to know is, how did you know it was me you were after? I've gone out of my way to keep the apartment separate from my cape identity." That one of the team could've dropped a dime on him wasn't even a possibility.
Renick shook his head. "Oh, no, we didn't have the slightest suspicion. However, your boss had extensive files on all of you, including faces, names and addresses. When he died, we got access to them. We are, of course, permitted to act on such information, the 'unwritten rules' notwithstanding."
"Fucking Coil." Brian had had time to absorb the new information, but this didn't mean he was any happier about it. However, curiosity trumped his unhappiness at this cavalier dismissal of the rules. "How'd he die, anyway?" He tried to hold up his hand, and the chain jingled. "Wait, are the others here too? Are they okay?"
"As far as I'm aware, the rest of the Undersiders are alive and well," Renick said. "They managed to escape before we had a proper cordon around their building. As for Coil, he met his end last night at the hands of the cape called Atropos."
"Atropos?" Brian tilted his head, trying to figure that out. "What's going on with that. How'd she get to him?" He recalled how Atropos had killed Oni Lee and called out the big gang bosses. There'd been a team meeting due to talk about the situation, but events had overtaken it.
"That's a good question." Renick's voice was matter-of-fact, not gloating or even self-satisfied. "Don't be surprised about not knowing about it; the man apparently made a habit of keeping a lot of plates in the air, and never letting either hand know what the other was doing. With his level of institutional paranoia and backup plans, I am actually somewhat surprised that he was killed so easily."
"But he is dead now, and I'm sitting in here." Brian decided to bring the discussion back to the matter at hand. "If you've got his files on me, you probably have chapter and verse on everything I've done since I started working for him. So why am I here?" He gestured at the Manila folder. "Is that a confession for me to sign, to make it easy for when the trial rolls around?"
"Hardly." Renick opened the folder to reveal a single letter-sized photo, of Aisha laughing at something, from a couple of years ago. "I'm fully aware of why you went to work for Coil in the first place. You care deeply for your sister, do you not?"
Brian clenched his fists. "I'm her only real family. Dad … doesn't really know how to be a dad to a problem kid like her, and Mom …" He grimaced and shook his head.
"… has a history of drug abuse, yes." Renick's tone was sympathetic. "I've seen situations like that go from bad to worse in a heartbeat. For her to have a fighting chance of growing up outside the juvenile detention system, you need to be able to both have a stable household and prove to child services that it's going to remain that way."
"You can stop rubbing it in now," growled Brian. "I get it. I failed her."
"Not necessarily." Renick slid Aisha's photo out onto the table and turned it to face Brian. There was a single sheet of paper under it. "You've been going out as Grue for a couple of years now, as I understand things. While there are many instances of assault and battery, there are none of grievous bodily harm, manslaughter or murder. When you've gone in as parahuman muscle, you've gotten the job done but you've never gone over the top. Everyone you've faced has walked away with minimal injury."
"Wait." Brian shook his head. "You're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting, are you? Because it sounds like you're trying to flip me."
"And is that so bad?" Renick even had the hide to make the question sound reasonable. "If you'd tried out for the Wards as soon as you got your powers, you would've been in with a very strong chance. And we have actually flipped … problematic individuals … in the past, with moderate levels of success."
"So why isn't Armsmaster in here, making the pitch?" Brian sat back in his seat. "What's going on? Politics?" He already knew that it wasn't going to happen, no matter how the subsequent conversation went. There was no way in hell he was going to be a Ward in Brockton Bay.
"Armsmaster isn't in charge of the Brockton Bay Wards," Deputy Director Renick stated. "That duty has fallen to me. And yes, I am making the offer. Also yes, there would be a pro forma trial, but with your history of restraint, a sincere expression of remorse, your evident utility to the team, and a description of your family situation for those of a sentimental bent, you would end up on probation, effectively performing community service via the Wards."
It sounded goddamn tempting, but Brian knew it was never going to happen. Still, he couldn't help asking, like probing a sore tooth with his tongue. "And what about Aisha? If I sign up to be a Ward, what happens to her?"
Renick closed the folder. "We explain to child services that there are special circumstances at play, and she goes into PRT housing along with you. There would a nominal caretaker to watch you both, but we both know that would be a mere formality. You turn eighteen in June, thus ending your time in the Wards and your probation at the same time. At this point, if you opt to go straight into the Protectorate, your pay increases commensurately and you can start taking care of Aisha on your own dime."
"That sounds all very nice," Brian admitted. "But there's no way it's going to work. Sorry."
The Deputy Director frowned, for the first time on the back foot. "Is there a problem I've missed here? You're being offered a free ride out of trouble, young man."
Brian took a deep breath. "Reading between the lines, this is a Brockton Bay only offer. And I can't be a Ward in Brockton Bay, because I don't trust Shadow Stalker not to try to kill me. She's attempted it too many times before." That they'd take her side over his in a he-said-she-said, he assumed by definition. After all, she was already a Ward.
"Ah." Renick blinked. "Well, then, allow me to put your fears at rest. The reason I am pushing this harder than I might otherwise be doing is that Shadow Stalker is no longer among us, and there is more than a little pressure from above to fill that gap. Thus, you and I, in this room."
"No longer … what does that mean?" Brian frowned. "Left the Wards? Transferred to another city?"
Renick grimaced. "She was murdered two days ago. We've been keeping it on the quiet until we could get someone else in."
"Murdered? Who by?" Brian knew better than most just how slippery the crossbow-happy vigilante-turned-Ward could be.
"We suspect Empire involvement, but that's beyond your purview." Once more in charge of the situation, Renick folded his hands in front of him. "So, with that out of the way, what do you say, young man?"
Well, shit. Brian felt all his carefully mustered arguments fading away. Without Shadow Stalker to complicate matters … how could he not take the offer? He looked again at the photo. Aisha was depending on him, after all.
Taking a deep breath, he held out one hand as best he could. "Sir, give that to me in writing and you've got yourself a Ward."
Renick smiled. Leaning across the table, he grasped Brian's hand and shook it firmly. "Excellent."
<><>
Observation Room
Armsmaster
Colin glanced across at Gallant. He'd had his voice-analysis software running while Grue was talking, but it was still only about sixty to seventy percent accurate. Gallant, on the other hand, could literally see emotions. "Your read on that?"
"I didn't pick up any deception or smugness, sir," the lad replied. "He's still coming to terms with the fact that he's been working for Coil, and he's extremely concerned about his sister. If you want my opinion, he doesn't know anything he shouldn't, and he's going to try his best to make this work."
"Good, good." Colin nodded. "That's what I got, too."
<><>
Tattletale
"So, what now?" asked Alec. "No more boss, Brian's behind bars, and you said they'll be hunting us."
"Well, there's nothing keeping me in this shithole of a city anymore," Rachel declared. "Just a few more things to do, then I'm out of here."
"Wait, wait." Lisa felt the last of her old life slipping through her fingers. "Maybe we can spring him loose? I mean, all three of us ..."
Alec shook his head. "Nah, screw that. Even if you could pinpoint which cell he's in, we're on their radar now. They're hunting us specifically, and thanks to that asshole Coil, they've probably got all the details on our powers. Worse, if we get captured and a certain someone finds out, I'm fucked nine ways from Sunday. So, I'm with Rachel. See ya, don't wanna be ya."
"But ..." Lisa sighed, aware that trying to argue with Alec at his most passive-aggressive was about as fruitful as arguing with Rachel at her most stubborn. That is: not very. "Okay, fine, I'm going too. You said you wanted to do something first, Rachel?" Maybe if she assisted her erstwhile teammate, they could stick together until Lisa got her feet under herself somewhere else.
"Yeah." Rachel set her jaw. "Gonna kill Hookwolf before I go. Fucker wants to fight dogs, let's see how he likes it."
"Ah." All of a sudden, solidarity seemed a lot less attractive.
<><>
Kaiser
They convened in his office, at the top of the Medhall building. Even up here, the problems with the breaker boards and fuses were evident; several of the inset fluorescent tubes flickered intermittently, and a few stayed stubbornly dark. Once this Atropos nonsense was dealt with, he decided, he would bring a maintenance crew in to go over the building and fix all the lingering issues. Not until then, of course. It would be all too easy for a stranger to slip into a building that way.
"So, how are we going to do this?" asked Bradley. "Everyone on the inside looking out, or some inside and some outside?"
Krieg rubbed his chin with forefinger and thumb. "We cannot discount the idea that Atropos has Mover, Breaker or Stranger powers. The assassin may be among us before we know it."
"Exactly," agreed Victor. "So, some of us stay with Max and provide personal support, while the rest of us patrol the perimeter." He nodded to Othala. "You stay close to Max, honey, just in case something does get through."
"Should I make him invulnerable?" she asked. "So even if they do get him, it doesn't do anything."
Max fielded that one. "No," he decided. "I'll be in armour, and as skilful as this Atropos has shown themselves to be, they would be able to pick the interval between the effect dropping and you renewing it. Better if you hold back, then apply it if anything unusual seems to be happening."
"Quick question," Stormtiger offered. "Do we want them dead or alive?"
"Dead," Max decided with no hesitation at all. "If they're willing to go into my house and steal my property, they're just as likely to come back and cut my throat if we go easy on them."
Cricket just grinned and cracked her knuckles. Though no words were spoken, the gesture was easy to understand.
There would be no mercy.
<><>
That Afternoon
PRT ENE Building
Director Emily Piggot
Thomas Calvert's body lay on the chilly metal table, his secrets open to the world. The medical examiner had placed a block under his neck so that his head lolled back, exposing the vicious gash that had opened his throat almost to the bone. It might have been Emily's imagination, but it seemed some of the surprise at his sudden death still remained in his expression, even after death.
"As you can undoubtedly understand, the primary cause of death was exsanguination via the wound in the neck," the examiner said in a professorial tone. "All the major blood vessels were severed, along with the windpipe. Even if an ambulance had been waiting outside, he wouldn't have made it to the hospital. In fact, I doubt he would've made it to the sidewalk."
"Yes, yes, it was a spectacularly fatal wound," Emily interrupted, irritated. For all that the medics said it was psychosomatic, she had a vague headache from the interrupted dialysis, and she wasn't about to take any more time-wasting bullshit than she had to. "Why am I here, exactly?"
"The weapon Atropos used to cut his throat had two blades," the examiner explained. "Both sharp, cutting in parallel. It was unusual enough for me to go looking up weird weapons with that kind of damage profile. But even that wouldn't have been enough to talk to you directly … except that I found it."
"What, the type of weapon?" asked Emily, mildly irritated. This could've been handled with an email to her office.
"No." The examiner smiled. "I found the actual weapon. I know what she used, and I know where she got it from."
Emily's eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. You're shitting me, she barely avoided saying. "Explain," she invited instead.
The examiner picked up a tablet and tapped it to wake the screen up. "Medieval bodice shears," she said, showing an image of something that looked like the offspring of a fighting dagger and a pair of scissors on steroids. "Weapon and tool in one. Cut cloth one day; cut your enemy's throat the next. And a pair of these was stolen from a private collection in Brockton Bay yesterday."
"Yesterday?" Emily blinked. "Not that I'm doubting your word, but how did this theft report work its way through the police system in time for us to get access to it today?"
"Well, for one thing, it's down on the report as a parahuman crime." He tapped a few icons and showed her the report. "It came straight to us. Apparently, the thief waltzed straight through a top-of-the-line security system, danced between the security cameras so cleanly that no real details were gained, opened a code-locked display case, and took exactly two items. Some old sword, and that pair of bodice shears. The owner is reportedly livid."
"No surprise there, and I can see why it was reported as a cape heist," Emily said thoughtfully, calling up the image of the weapon again. Atropos … shears … yeah, that definitely fits. Out of curiosity, she flicked back through the report to find the name of the owner, and hid a smirk.
She'd met Max Anders more than once, at high-society functions. It wasn't her cup of tea, although she could wheel and deal with the best of them. On the other hand, it absolutely was Max Anders' chosen element, and he excelled in it.
The first time they met, he'd given her the impression of a spoiled rich kid making it big on inherited money, and she'd never seen fit to revise it. It was unfair of her to draw a certain amount of schadenfreude from his reaction to the theft, and so she didn't. Much.
"Well done," she said warmly. "Be sure to leave a note regarding the sword so we'll be able to identify it if Atropos also uses it in a crime." It wouldn't help the victims, certainly, but as Atropos seemed to be focusing on gang leaders at the moment, her sympathy was somewhat minimal.
Not that she would shirk her duty in trying to catch Atropos. Criminals were criminals, whether they wore costumes or not. Anyone who thought the presence of super-powers changed that particular equation was just deluding themselves.
<><>
Taylor
I'd told Dad I was going to bed early because I was tired, and in fact I did take a nap once I got upstairs. When my phone alarm woke me at ten, the house was dark and silent aside from his gentle snoring, audible from the hallway. I dressed in my costume, all except the hat and mask, and double-checked my special cargo. Both containers were intact—I was pretty sure I would've known if they weren't—and the bag of capsules was present and correct.
When I left the house, armed with the Screwdriver of Car Opening, I went in a different direction, not wanting to use the same car too often. It would be unfair on the poor guy to keep refilling the tank when he hadn't even driven it anywhere. Fortunately, leaving spare keys in the car seemed to be a prevailing habit; in the car I tried this time, they were in the ashtray.
I was fully aware that I could break into any of the houses here and take their actual car keys with nobody being the wiser, but that would be more time-consuming, and I preferred to have as much wiggle room with my Paths as possible.
It appeared Kaiser had something to do with the Medhall building, which meant that Max Anders was probably covering for him. The preparations I'd taken in that building the previous night had been on the elaborate side, but that was the whole point of a magic trick. It was all about deception and misdirection, and my power seemed to be really good at those. Idly, I wondered if the guy who kept fishing gear in his desk would ever notice he was missing a few yards of line. Or the guy whose hobby seemed to be rock climbing.
I pulled up a block away from Medhall, in a quiet side-street where nobody would notice the car for the time being. Then, once I got out, I put on the mask and the hat. It was time to go to work.
<><>
Medhall Building
CEO's Office
Krieg
James Fliescher frowned, wondering if they were missing a bet. He turned to look up at the large clock on the wall of Max's office. It read two minutes to midnight. Outside the windows, Rune swooped past on her latest orbit of the building. If anyone was climbing up the outside, she'd spot them.
"Do you see anything?" he asked Crusader, who was reclining at his ease in one of the padded visitor chairs.
"Nada," the young man replied. "I've got ghosts in every elevator, in every stairwell, and outside with Rune. Nobody's here who shouldn't be. Atropos is probably going after Lung."
"In which case," Max declared, "they will cease to be our problem after tonight. Killing Oni Lee and Coil is considerably less problematic than putting an end to Lung, I think you'll all agree."
Seated at his desk, covered in metal armour from head to toe, he took a bottle from his desk drawer. From the same drawer, he took several glasses.
"Wait, boss," Fenja objected from where she stood alongside the desk. "Where did you get that bottle from?"
"My personal stock, downstairs. Why?" He uncapped the bottle and poured some into a glass. "This is for the toast, after."
"Because the easiest way to kill you right now would be to make you kill yourself." James stepped up to the desk. "Fenja is right. We can't trust anything right now." He glanced over to the clock on the wall; it showed thirty seconds to midnight. "Alabaster?"
"Right here." The white-skinned man left his post at the main door to the office and came on over. Cricket moved to replace him without being told. "Food tasting duty? Let's see how we go."
"Be my guest." Kaiser handed the glass over. "I think you're being a little paranoid, but better safe than sorry, I suppose."
"Down the hatch." Alabaster tossed the drink back, then set the glass down on the desk. "Whoa, that's got some … ugghhh … urgh …" Clutching his throat, he fell to the carpet and writhed for a moment.
Then he reset and sat up. "Wow, that was unpleas—urrghhh …" He grabbed the metal wastepaper basket beside the desk, and threw up copiously into it. Everyone around him stepped back instinctively from the horrible smell. Then he fell over again.
Sitting up for a second time, he swayed woozily, then threw up some more. James could see, to his consternation, how some of the vomit had eaten its way through the side of the receptacle and was busily attacking the carpet.
On the fourth go-around, Alabaster struggled to his feet. "Son of a bitch," he groused, shaking his head and pointing at the bottle. "That stuff is beyond lethal. It's some kind of battery acid. It has to be. Every time I reset, it started attacking me again."
Othala's face was pale. "If you'd drunk that, Max, I doubt I could've saved you."
Kaiser nodded. "You're right." Carefully, he replaced the cap on the bottle. "Take that for analysis. I want to know exactly what Atropos put in it, and where it came from."
"On the upside," James observed, checking the clock once more, "it's ten minutes past midnight. We've dodged the bullet, so to speak. Atropos was clearly depending on a remote kill via the bourbon." He looked at Fenja and inclined his head slightly. "Well done."
"Absolutely well done," agreed Kaiser, retracting his helmet into the rest of his armour. "In fact, well done to everyone. If Atropos was depending on acid to do the job, it means they don't have the wherewithal to fight their way through you to get to me. Call everyone in. We're going downstairs."
"Well, that was easier than I thought." Crusader stood up from his chair and stretched as his ghosts flooded back into the room and re-merged with him. "Think Atropos will try again?"
"Not until word gets out that Max is still alive," James decided. "And if we hold that off for a while, we can contradict word of his death and make Atropos look like a fool."
The window at the side of the room opened and Rune floated in on her manhole cover. "And another win to the Empire Eighty-Eight," she declared. "Imma go on PHO and tell Atropos to go get wrecked." Reaching inside her robes, she pulled her phone out.
"Not until later," Othala said. "We're going to let Atropos make the announcement first."
"Oh, okay." Rune glanced at her phone as she paused with her tapping. "Hey, wait a minute. My phone clock says it's not midnight yet."
Instinctively, James looked across at the office clock. Clear as day, it read eleven minutes past midnight. Nobody there was wearing a watch, of course; supervillain costumes tended to be hard-wearing, and wristwatches were notoriously fragile. Scheißkerl! Atropos set the clock forward—!
That was when the lights went out.
Krieg heard a thump, followed by a more pronounced thud. He turned, eyes straining in the darkness, only to be driven to the ground by a tremendous blow. The lights went out for him again, this time in a far more personal way.
<><>
Alabaster
When the lights came back on, Cricket and Krieg were both sprawled on the floor, and a dark-costumed cape was standing in their midst, just at the point where nobody could reach her immediately. She pointed her finger at Kaiser in a parody of a gun, and said, "Bang."
Then, as everyone began to move, the lights went out again.
<><>
Taylor
The first remote button I pressed triggered the breakers again, deep in the building, turning the lights out. As darkness fell, I was already moving, twisting away from the two Crusader ghosts I knew were lunging for me. Then I threw the paperweight I'd stolen from a lower floor right through one of the ghosts. It slammed into his groin, and he slumped to the floor, his ghosts losing all interest in stopping me. As a continuation of the move, I performed a flawless shoulder-roll past Alabaster and threw a decorative snow-globe to hit Rune in the temple, not quite hard enough to kill her. Then I pressed the second remote button.
Up in the ceiling, the tiny mechanism released one end of the hundred-pound fishing-line it had been gripping in its spring-loaded jaws. The sword dropped down out of the 'malfunctioning' light fitting, popping the cover off, then swung down point-first, suspended on two other lengths of fishing-line. The ceiling was high-set, as befitted a penthouse office, and it had the room to build up quite a bit of forward speed.
As I headed for the open window, I heard the sibilant whistle of nylon line cutting through air, followed by the meaty thud that told me I'd scored my latest kill. It was, of course, exactly midnight.
I pulled out my shears and tossed them up, handles first, to dislodge the ceiling panel next to the window just far enough to allow the rope (that I'd tied up there the previous night) to fall down into my hands. Catching them again, I re-sheathed them and leaped out the window, all in the same motion.
Two floors down, I'd left a window fractionally ajar before I interrupted the self-congratulation party on the top floor; arresting my downward slide, I hit the window with my heels and swung in. Then I tossed the rope back out and closed the window, securing it properly. If anyone wanted to follow me, they'd have to take the long way around, down the stairs.
Reaching into my pocket again, I pressed the two remote buttons that would release and retract the lengths of fishing-line that the sword had swung down on, then the one that would turn the lights on again. The second button on each of those remotes set off the self-destructs, overloading the batteries and demolishing the devices.
There were two more things I needed to do before I went home. Stopping at a cubicle, I picked up the phone and pressed the button to dial out of the building, then called 9-1-1. Ten seconds later, I was speaking to an operator, who wanted to know what I needed.
"Police and, and PRT, I think. I'm, I'm working late in the Medhall building, and I heard some shouting from upstairs. I think Max Anders has been murdered by a cape. You better come quick."
Putting the phone down again, I hummed gently to myself as I made my way down the stairs to the basement-level laboratory. The process I'd set in motion before I came upstairs should've just about finished by now, and I needed to pick up the end result before the PRT arrived and ruined everyone's night.
Lung wouldn't kill himself, after all.
<><>
Fenja
The lights came back on.
"What's going on? Where is she?" Grown to ten feet tall, Jessica Biermann held her shield and sword in front of her while she scanned the room. What she saw wasn't promising; Cricket, Rune, Krieg and Crusader were all down, while Alabaster and Othala were staring around as wildly as she was. How had Atropos done all this in the few seconds of darkness?
Victor and Hookwolf burst in through the office door, with Stormtiger and Nessa right behind them. "What happened?" barked Victor. "What's going on?" Then he stopped and stared at something behind Jessica. "Oh, FUCK."
Slowly, Jessica turned. Beside her, she heard Othala let out an almost soundless whimper.
Kaiser sat bolt upright in his office chair, left eye staring sightlessly, accusingly. From his right eyesocket trickled a line of blood. This was because a sword was sticking into the eyesocket, nailing his head to the back of his chair. He was irretrievably, unequivocally, dead.
How Atropos had done it, Jessica had no idea. But in a sudden epiphany, she realised the truth. They'd been played, the whole time.
We thought we knew what we were doing. But she moved us all into position like chess pieces, then went for the kill.
Well, shit.
End of Part Eight
[A/N: I'm going to be slowing down my output after this chapter, as I have other writing to do. But A Darker Path will be back!]
Relevant Side Story
Last edited:
Part Nine: Killing Time
- Location
- Australia
A Darker Path
Part Nine: Killing Time
[A/N: this chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Just After Midnight
Medhall Building
Taylor
Down in the sub-level laboratory, I collected the finished capsules, sliding them into the padded slots in the container I'd prepped. Far more than anything else I'd stolen, these required careful handling. If they hadn't been part of the path for killing Lung and ending the influence of the ABB in Brockton Bay, I wouldn't have gone near them.
Fortunately, it was, so I could proceed.
There was one more capsule than spaces in the container, but that was all part of the plan. Quite a bit of the laboratory equipment was already damaged from the uses I'd put it through; it really wasn't rated for this sort of work, but it had been just good enough to get it done. On my way out, I tossed a cup of water over the equipment that hadn't suffered so badly, then threw the last capsule across the room at it.
With a WHOOMPH, flames and toxic smoke billowed. I didn't stop to savour the destruction; the exit was right there, and I went out through it.
Thanks to my prior sabotage, the alarm went out via an automated 9-1-1 call, but didn't actually trigger the building alarms. I wanted the authorities on the way before anyone could act to cover anything up. And if I made this laboratory unusable for the next few months due to chemical contamination? So totally not my problem.
With the container securely in hand and the fireproof (and airtight) door shut firmly behind me, I hustled up the fire exit stairwell to ground level. I had to wait a few seconds until a bunch of PRT vans roared past to pull up with a screech just around the corner, but while someone was still yelling about setting up a perimeter, I was able to duck out through the door and across the narrow street to the shadows opposite. Two blocks of brisk walking got me back to the car without being intercepted; I unlocked it and climbed in.
But I didn't head home just yet. I had one more visit to make tonight.
PRT ENE
Director Emily Piggot
Emily's phone rang. She snatched it up, trying to ignore the slight ache behind her eyeballs that was an indicator of pushing herself too hard. The caller ID said ARMSMASTER.
"Talk to me," she ordered.
"Ma'am, it's a mess here. We've had to direct emergency services to that chemical fire in the sub-basement lab—that isn't on the official plans, by the way—and Max Anders is definitely deceased. Wearing a set of Kaiser's usual armour. Right now, I'm giving it an eighty percent chance that he's actually Kaiser, contingent on what we get out of his computer files. When we get into his files. The encryption is ... stubborn."
"Wait, go back." Emily rubbed her eyes. She was going to crash hard after this. Renick would have to take most of her workload for the day. But she wasn't going to allow the outcome of this operation to rest on anyone's shoulders but hers. "Deceased? How?"
Somehow, she heard the grimace in his voice. "Stabbed in the eye by a sword. Looks like an antique. In through his right eye with enough force to punch out through the back of his head and into the headrest of his chair."
"A sword, you say ..." Emily turned to her computer, and pulled up an image she'd emailed to herself. "Something like this one?" With a few more keystrokes, she sent the image on to him.
He paused for more than the few seconds it would've taken to download the image and look it over. "Not just like that one. It is that one. Where did you get that from, ma'am?"
Emily smiled in sour triumph. Called it. "It's a katzbalger. German infantry sword from a few centuries back. That specific one was once owned by Kaiser Wilhelm the First ... and was stolen from Max Anders' private collection, thirty-six hours ago, along with the bodice shears she used to murder Coil."
"So Atropos knew who Kaiser was all along, and stole his sword specifically to kill him with it."
"That's what it looks like, yes." Emily shuddered. That was far too cold and calculated for her liking. "Did she leave anything we can identify her by?"
"Not that we've found so far. The phone call was almost certainly placed by her—there was nobody working on that floor at that time—and I'm reasonably sure she set the fire in the sub-basement lab. She cut it so close that we've got security footage of her slipping out through a side door less than a minute before we established a cordon around the building."
Emily gritted her teeth. God damn it. So close. Though in honesty, Atropos had probably planned for that as well. "Keep me posted if anything else pops up."
"Copy that, ma'am."
Purity
It was the middle of the night, and Aster was fussing and crying.
Even though Kayden had had trouble getting to sleep the previous evening—the news about this Atropos cape having percolated through the parahuman community with almost supernatural speed—she dragged herself back to a semblance of wakefulness anyway. Forcing herself to sit up and swing her feet onto the floor, she rubbed her eyes and stared across the darkened bedroom at the crib where Aster lay. "Sshhh," she mumbled. "Shush, darling. Go back to sleep. Mommy's tired."
The distressed noises continued unabated.
She'd known there would be nights like this, and in fact she'd spent more time with less sleep before now rocking Aster back to slumber, but right now felt the worst of all. It always did. With the groan of someone who felt fifty years older than she really was, she levered herself to her feet and stumbled forward. Turning on the light was never in the plan; she knew where the crib was, and she could always find Aster by sound and touch.
When she reached the crib, she leaned in and gathered up Aster with the ease of long practice … but there was something wrong. Far from the wakeful, fussy wriggling infant she expected, Aster was sleeping peacefully, burbling gently in Kayden's arms. The noise of a fitfully crying baby went on … but it wasn't coming from Aster.
A shadow by the bedroom door that Kayden hadn't so much as glanced at now moved, and the light switch clicked. Illumination flooded the room, revealing a dark-clad figure, taller than Kayden. A broad-brimmed black hat shaded the black morph mask, making it even harder to make out any features through it, while a black long-coat hung partly open to show a suit and tie.
"Easy, Purity," said the intruder, the voice revealing her to be a teenage girl. Her black-gloved hands were out to her sides. "Not here to fight. Just to talk."
Kayden tightened her hold on Aster and moved back, sidling around the bed to put her back to the wall and as much distance as possible between herself and the girl. "Who are you and what do you want?"
She was fully aware that her position right now was exceedingly vulnerable. Even if she freed one hand to fire a blast at the intruder, she'd need to power up first, something that was the exact opposite of subtle. And even then, once she was powered up, she'd need a moment to charge the blast. Somehow, she didn't think she'd get that moment. Especially since she could see both an ornately designed dagger sheathed at the intruder's side and leather straps that said 'shoulder holster' to her.
Slowly, the girl twitched the fingers on her left hand. Between one instant and the next, she held a small electronic device with a green button on it. Her thumb pressed down, and the crying noise ceased. Another flick of the fingers and it was gone again. At no time did her attention leave Kayden while she was doing this.
"You can call me Atropos," the girl said, lowering her arms to her sides. "I'm here to give you notice that you've got exactly thirty minutes to be packed and heading for the city limits."
Kayden's head was awhirl. "What do you mean? Why do I need to do that?"
Atropos' tone became crisp and no-nonsense. "Fourteen and a half minutes ago, I killed Kaiser in the Medhall building. The Empire Eighty-Eight is crumbling as we speak. Its capes are leaving town. You'd best be one of them."
Kayden blinked. "I … you … what? Why?" Max is dead? This girl killed him? She supposed she should be outraged at this, though some small part of her pointed out that the hold he'd had over her via Aster was no longer in existence.
"Because in the next few minutes, the PRT is going to decide that yes, Max Anders was indeed Kaiser," the girl said patiently. "At which point, some bright spark is going to say, oh, hey, how about we bring in his ex-wife and see if she can fill in any blanks." She glanced meaningfully at Kayden's alarm clock. "About forty minutes from now, your front door is going to be kicked in."
"And I'll deny everything," Kayden said automatically. "Being married to the man doesn't by definition make me a supervillain, or even an accomplice."
"No, but the files they'll find once they crack his computer system will tell them all about you." Atropos sounded as though she had no doubt in the world. "You don't want to be in their custody when that happens."
No, I don't. Because they'll try to take Aster away from me, and I won't let them. She's saying that if I stay, she'll have to kill me. She began glancing around the bedroom, deciding what to take and what to leave. "Why are you warning me?"
"Because I gave Kaiser the chance to leave town before I killed him." The tone of absolute surety in the girl's voice chilled Kayden to the bone. "It would be unfair not to do the same with you."
"But—I was trying to be a hero!"
Atropos' shrug communicated pure unconcern. "Then go be a hero somewhere else. Reinvent yourself from scratch this time. Your welcome's run out in Brockton Bay. You now have twenty-five minutes. I'd say, 'good luck', but that's up to you." With that, the girl slipped out of the room and melted into the darkness of the living room outside.
By the time Kayden made her feet move, she rushed to the door to find no one in the apartment.
Returning to the bedroom and setting Aster back down in the crib, she began to feverishly pack.
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♦ Topic: And Another One Bites the Dust
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Posted On Jan 6th 2011:
Good morning once more to you wonderful people of Brockton Bay. It's a lovely morning, or it will be once the sun rises and the seagulls stop squinting. I'm here to inform you that number two on my list, the one and only Kaiser, has been removed from said list, on account of being dead. He's dead because I stuck a sword through his head.
Why, yes, the purveyor of metal spikes has been killed with a pointy metal thing. The irony is intense.
You want to know what makes it even more ironic than that? I did it with his own sword. A blade that was owned by a Kaiser has been used to kill its current owner, another Kaiser.
Well, I guess there's more than one way to skin a cat.
Heh.
Trust me, you'll get the joke eventually.
Anyways, that's two down and two to go. Skidmark and Lung, Lung and Skidmark. Do I go for the low-hanging fruit, or do I kill Skidmark first?
Decisions, decisions.
Medhall Building
Armsmaster
The alert buzzed in Colin's helmet, and he accepted the incoming phone call. "Armsmaster. What is it, Dragon?"
The Canadian Tinker sounded as though she wasn't quite sure about what she was saying, which was a first for her. "Colin, have you been keeping an eye on PHO? Specifically, Atropos' thread?"
He frowned. From the tone of her voice, he'd missed something important. "No. Why?"
"She just posted a list of what she claims to be his computer passwords, in the clear."
"Jesus. Thanks." He opened a new window immediately, and tabbed into PHO. Seconds later, he was reading off the passwords. "If these work, this'll be gold." The standalone systems were proving tough to crack.
She chuckled. "You're welcome."
Taylor
I awoke the next morning and stretched mightily, feeling my back pop in several places. It was looking like a great day, for all that it was the middle of winter.
Just killing Kaiser on his own would've been easy, but I'd wanted to end the Empire Eighty-Eight's hold on the city at the same time. I'd also wanted to make Kaiser's death a fitting one; he'd been a power in the city since I was five or six, after all. People needed to know he was dead.
The elaborate way I'd killed him had thus served a secondary purpose. All the other capes, the ones who I would've had to hunt down and kill one after another as they ascended to the leadership of the Empire Eighty-Eight or successor teams, were now thoroughly demoralised. It didn't matter that the PRT techs currently going through the building with a fine-tooth comb would eventually figure out how I'd done it; they weren't my targets. In one fell swoop, I'd taken eleven capes off the board.
Not that I couldn't have killed the other ten; that was a given. But merely murdering them would've been tedious and time-consuming. In addition, once the PRT took Aster away from Purity and she started demolishing the city block by block looking for her daughter, that would've reflected badly on my efforts. Much better for all concerned if I directed her away and gave the authorities no excuse to stand in my way.
They'd lose, of course. But see above about 'tedious'.
I got up and showered, then strolled downstairs to breakfast. If I killed Lung tonight and Skidmark on Friday night—or even in reverse order—that would allow me the weekend to consider my next list and plan proper kills on whoever continued to hold out. There was no sense in rushing matters.
It wasn't as though I got any kind of sick pleasure out of killing people, or that I was even compelled to. However, these people were indisputably a blight on Brockton Bay, and the cops and PRT were doing nothing about it. I could. It was simple as that.
As I accepted eggs and bacon from Dad, I considered how I'd killed Sophia. Had she been a blight on Brockton Bay? Well, apart from being a really shitty Ward, probably not. But she'd been a personal blight on my life, and that was close enough for me. I'd given her the same chance I gave Emma and Madison. They'd taken it; she hadn't. That was on her.
"Still thinking about that girl from Winslow, the one who bullied you?" asked Dad, looking at me with a little concern. "Or are some of the others still bothering you?"
I snorted. "No. I think they're in shock. It was all going so well for them, y'know? They had nice safe targets to pick on, and then something like this happened, and Sophia's not there to be their point, uh, person anymore. Nobody else wants to step up unless they make a bad call too." I rolled my eyes. "Welcome to the real world."
It was slightly more complicated than that. Madison was utterly convinced that I could kill her at any moment (which was true), and I was pretty sure I'd accomplished much the same with Emma. Between them, they'd spread the word that I was not to be messed with. Sophia had set out to mess with me, and was now dead.
From what I could gather from eavesdropping on gossip, opinions were split between the idea that Sophia had taken on someone else in my place and gotten killed, or she'd attacked me personally and I'd accidentally killed her and walked away without a scratch. What I did know was that nobody was seriously considering turning me in for killing her.
Either way, the 'do not mess with Taylor' mutual agreement was solidly in place, which was convenient. More mysterious deaths at Winslow would seriously cramp my cover as an innocent student there.
"I suppose you're right," he said in the way that adults do when they're not sure how to address a sensitive topic anymore. "The police haven't called back, so I'm guessing they're satisfied with what they got from us."
I nodded. "Sounds like it. Maybe they'll catch whoever did it, and maybe not." The answer, of course, was 'not'.
I applied myself to my breakfast. Soon I'd have to go catch the bus to school, but that was okay. I knew many ways to kill boredom now, some of which didn't involve drawing untoward attention.
And a few hours after that, I could set about making Brockton Bay a better place.
One drop of blood at a time.
End of Part Nine
Relevant Side Story
Part Nine: Killing Time
[A/N: this chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Just After Midnight
Medhall Building
Taylor
Down in the sub-level laboratory, I collected the finished capsules, sliding them into the padded slots in the container I'd prepped. Far more than anything else I'd stolen, these required careful handling. If they hadn't been part of the path for killing Lung and ending the influence of the ABB in Brockton Bay, I wouldn't have gone near them.
Fortunately, it was, so I could proceed.
There was one more capsule than spaces in the container, but that was all part of the plan. Quite a bit of the laboratory equipment was already damaged from the uses I'd put it through; it really wasn't rated for this sort of work, but it had been just good enough to get it done. On my way out, I tossed a cup of water over the equipment that hadn't suffered so badly, then threw the last capsule across the room at it.
With a WHOOMPH, flames and toxic smoke billowed. I didn't stop to savour the destruction; the exit was right there, and I went out through it.
Thanks to my prior sabotage, the alarm went out via an automated 9-1-1 call, but didn't actually trigger the building alarms. I wanted the authorities on the way before anyone could act to cover anything up. And if I made this laboratory unusable for the next few months due to chemical contamination? So totally not my problem.
With the container securely in hand and the fireproof (and airtight) door shut firmly behind me, I hustled up the fire exit stairwell to ground level. I had to wait a few seconds until a bunch of PRT vans roared past to pull up with a screech just around the corner, but while someone was still yelling about setting up a perimeter, I was able to duck out through the door and across the narrow street to the shadows opposite. Two blocks of brisk walking got me back to the car without being intercepted; I unlocked it and climbed in.
But I didn't head home just yet. I had one more visit to make tonight.
<><>
PRT ENE
Director Emily Piggot
Emily's phone rang. She snatched it up, trying to ignore the slight ache behind her eyeballs that was an indicator of pushing herself too hard. The caller ID said ARMSMASTER.
"Talk to me," she ordered.
"Ma'am, it's a mess here. We've had to direct emergency services to that chemical fire in the sub-basement lab—that isn't on the official plans, by the way—and Max Anders is definitely deceased. Wearing a set of Kaiser's usual armour. Right now, I'm giving it an eighty percent chance that he's actually Kaiser, contingent on what we get out of his computer files. When we get into his files. The encryption is ... stubborn."
"Wait, go back." Emily rubbed her eyes. She was going to crash hard after this. Renick would have to take most of her workload for the day. But she wasn't going to allow the outcome of this operation to rest on anyone's shoulders but hers. "Deceased? How?"
Somehow, she heard the grimace in his voice. "Stabbed in the eye by a sword. Looks like an antique. In through his right eye with enough force to punch out through the back of his head and into the headrest of his chair."
"A sword, you say ..." Emily turned to her computer, and pulled up an image she'd emailed to herself. "Something like this one?" With a few more keystrokes, she sent the image on to him.
He paused for more than the few seconds it would've taken to download the image and look it over. "Not just like that one. It is that one. Where did you get that from, ma'am?"
Emily smiled in sour triumph. Called it. "It's a katzbalger. German infantry sword from a few centuries back. That specific one was once owned by Kaiser Wilhelm the First ... and was stolen from Max Anders' private collection, thirty-six hours ago, along with the bodice shears she used to murder Coil."
"So Atropos knew who Kaiser was all along, and stole his sword specifically to kill him with it."
"That's what it looks like, yes." Emily shuddered. That was far too cold and calculated for her liking. "Did she leave anything we can identify her by?"
"Not that we've found so far. The phone call was almost certainly placed by her—there was nobody working on that floor at that time—and I'm reasonably sure she set the fire in the sub-basement lab. She cut it so close that we've got security footage of her slipping out through a side door less than a minute before we established a cordon around the building."
Emily gritted her teeth. God damn it. So close. Though in honesty, Atropos had probably planned for that as well. "Keep me posted if anything else pops up."
"Copy that, ma'am."
<><>
Purity
It was the middle of the night, and Aster was fussing and crying.
Even though Kayden had had trouble getting to sleep the previous evening—the news about this Atropos cape having percolated through the parahuman community with almost supernatural speed—she dragged herself back to a semblance of wakefulness anyway. Forcing herself to sit up and swing her feet onto the floor, she rubbed her eyes and stared across the darkened bedroom at the crib where Aster lay. "Sshhh," she mumbled. "Shush, darling. Go back to sleep. Mommy's tired."
The distressed noises continued unabated.
She'd known there would be nights like this, and in fact she'd spent more time with less sleep before now rocking Aster back to slumber, but right now felt the worst of all. It always did. With the groan of someone who felt fifty years older than she really was, she levered herself to her feet and stumbled forward. Turning on the light was never in the plan; she knew where the crib was, and she could always find Aster by sound and touch.
When she reached the crib, she leaned in and gathered up Aster with the ease of long practice … but there was something wrong. Far from the wakeful, fussy wriggling infant she expected, Aster was sleeping peacefully, burbling gently in Kayden's arms. The noise of a fitfully crying baby went on … but it wasn't coming from Aster.
A shadow by the bedroom door that Kayden hadn't so much as glanced at now moved, and the light switch clicked. Illumination flooded the room, revealing a dark-clad figure, taller than Kayden. A broad-brimmed black hat shaded the black morph mask, making it even harder to make out any features through it, while a black long-coat hung partly open to show a suit and tie.
"Easy, Purity," said the intruder, the voice revealing her to be a teenage girl. Her black-gloved hands were out to her sides. "Not here to fight. Just to talk."
Kayden tightened her hold on Aster and moved back, sidling around the bed to put her back to the wall and as much distance as possible between herself and the girl. "Who are you and what do you want?"
She was fully aware that her position right now was exceedingly vulnerable. Even if she freed one hand to fire a blast at the intruder, she'd need to power up first, something that was the exact opposite of subtle. And even then, once she was powered up, she'd need a moment to charge the blast. Somehow, she didn't think she'd get that moment. Especially since she could see both an ornately designed dagger sheathed at the intruder's side and leather straps that said 'shoulder holster' to her.
Slowly, the girl twitched the fingers on her left hand. Between one instant and the next, she held a small electronic device with a green button on it. Her thumb pressed down, and the crying noise ceased. Another flick of the fingers and it was gone again. At no time did her attention leave Kayden while she was doing this.
"You can call me Atropos," the girl said, lowering her arms to her sides. "I'm here to give you notice that you've got exactly thirty minutes to be packed and heading for the city limits."
Kayden's head was awhirl. "What do you mean? Why do I need to do that?"
Atropos' tone became crisp and no-nonsense. "Fourteen and a half minutes ago, I killed Kaiser in the Medhall building. The Empire Eighty-Eight is crumbling as we speak. Its capes are leaving town. You'd best be one of them."
Kayden blinked. "I … you … what? Why?" Max is dead? This girl killed him? She supposed she should be outraged at this, though some small part of her pointed out that the hold he'd had over her via Aster was no longer in existence.
"Because in the next few minutes, the PRT is going to decide that yes, Max Anders was indeed Kaiser," the girl said patiently. "At which point, some bright spark is going to say, oh, hey, how about we bring in his ex-wife and see if she can fill in any blanks." She glanced meaningfully at Kayden's alarm clock. "About forty minutes from now, your front door is going to be kicked in."
"And I'll deny everything," Kayden said automatically. "Being married to the man doesn't by definition make me a supervillain, or even an accomplice."
"No, but the files they'll find once they crack his computer system will tell them all about you." Atropos sounded as though she had no doubt in the world. "You don't want to be in their custody when that happens."
No, I don't. Because they'll try to take Aster away from me, and I won't let them. She's saying that if I stay, she'll have to kill me. She began glancing around the bedroom, deciding what to take and what to leave. "Why are you warning me?"
"Because I gave Kaiser the chance to leave town before I killed him." The tone of absolute surety in the girl's voice chilled Kayden to the bone. "It would be unfair not to do the same with you."
"But—I was trying to be a hero!"
Atropos' shrug communicated pure unconcern. "Then go be a hero somewhere else. Reinvent yourself from scratch this time. Your welcome's run out in Brockton Bay. You now have twenty-five minutes. I'd say, 'good luck', but that's up to you." With that, the girl slipped out of the room and melted into the darkness of the living room outside.
By the time Kayden made her feet move, she rushed to the door to find no one in the apartment.
Returning to the bedroom and setting Aster back down in the crib, she began to feverishly pack.
<><>
■
■
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■
♦ Topic: And Another One Bites the Dust
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (
Posted On Jan 6th 2011:
Good morning once more to you wonderful people of Brockton Bay. It's a lovely morning, or it will be once the sun rises and the seagulls stop squinting. I'm here to inform you that number two on my list, the one and only Kaiser, has been removed from said list, on account of being dead. He's dead because I stuck a sword through his head.
Why, yes, the purveyor of metal spikes has been killed with a pointy metal thing. The irony is intense.
You want to know what makes it even more ironic than that? I did it with his own sword. A blade that was owned by a Kaiser has been used to kill its current owner, another Kaiser.
Well, I guess there's more than one way to skin a cat.
Heh.
Trust me, you'll get the joke eventually.
Anyways, that's two down and two to go. Skidmark and Lung, Lung and Skidmark. Do I go for the low-hanging fruit, or do I kill Skidmark first?
Decisions, decisions.
(Showing page 1 of 10)►Wherewolf (Temp Banned)
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Yes! I just won twenty bucks, baby!
Anyone want to take odds on Lung being the next one?
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
@Wherewolf - have a temp ban. No gambling allowed regarding actual human lives.
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
No. I refuse to believe it. There is no way Kaiser can be taken down by a pretender in a long-coat. You'll see. You'll all see.
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Okay, to get this out of the way and deal with the he-said-she-said before it starts:
It appears that Kaiser may indeed be deceased. The PRT was notified by a phone call to attend a specific address at midnight, where we found someone dressed in Kaiser's trademark armor. As per Atropos' description, this person had indeed been killed with a sword.
We are currently following up on other leads to determine whether or not this is truly Kaiser, but current indications show a good chance of it actually being the case.
More information will be released if and when we deem it necessary.
Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Oh, it's Kaiser alright. Have you found the secret elevator behind his desk yet? Goes all the way down to a sub-basement he wouldn't have wanted you to know about. Also, his main four computer passwords are 7653jWxz, fGg6d54p, 49zKr73q and 37zG8sTc. Just so you know.
(What did you expect? 'Hitler for President 2012'?)
Anyways, the rest of the 88 capes are bugging out for parts unknown. Smart. They know that once I finish running through the current list, they're next.
Toodles!
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
So that's two down, and two more to go. I wonder how Atropos is going to kill Lung?
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
This is getting good. Goddamn.
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Well, that's Oni Lee, Coil and Kaiser terminated.
Wonder who's next?
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
That's damn cool.
Nazis have screwed this city up so hard, it's nice to see when one goes down.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 8, 9, 10Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Yes! I just won twenty bucks, baby!
Anyone want to take odds on Lung being the next one?
►TeamMom (Senior Moderator)Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
@Wherewolf - have a temp ban. No gambling allowed regarding actual human lives.
►Pureblood01011000 (Empire88Bootlicker)Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
No. I refuse to believe it. There is no way Kaiser can be taken down by a pretender in a long-coat. You'll see. You'll all see.
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Okay, to get this out of the way and deal with the he-said-she-said before it starts:
It appears that Kaiser may indeed be deceased. The PRT was notified by a phone call to attend a specific address at midnight, where we found someone dressed in Kaiser's trademark armor. As per Atropos' description, this person had indeed been killed with a sword.
We are currently following up on other leads to determine whether or not this is truly Kaiser, but current indications show a good chance of it actually being the case.
More information will be released if and when we deem it necessary.
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Oh, it's Kaiser alright. Have you found the secret elevator behind his desk yet? Goes all the way down to a sub-basement he wouldn't have wanted you to know about. Also, his main four computer passwords are 7653jWxz, fGg6d54p, 49zKr73q and 37zG8sTc. Just so you know.
(What did you expect? 'Hitler for President 2012'?)
Anyways, the rest of the 88 capes are bugging out for parts unknown. Smart. They know that once I finish running through the current list, they're next.
Toodles!
►Flagwaver Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
So that's two down, and two more to go. I wonder how Atropos is going to kill Lung?
►LockupLad Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
This is getting good. Goddamn.
►AlexandriaFan Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Well, that's Oni Lee, Coil and Kaiser terminated.
Wonder who's next?
►Doomlord Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
That's damn cool.
Nazis have screwed this city up so hard, it's nice to see when one goes down.
(Showing page 2 of 10)►Pureblood01011000 (Empire88Bootlicker)
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Watch your mouth! Kaiser's alive! You'll see!
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
A Nazi is dead, and nothing of value is lost.
@PureBlood01011000 - keep licking that boot.
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
@Flagwaver - keep dissing Lung and see what you get.
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
No! No! Remove that tag at once! He'll KILL me!
Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Whoopsie ...
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
@LaughingZander - there's something you don't understand. Something none of you understand. The Empire Eighty-Eight is the largest and longest-lasting cape team in the city. We've been here longer than New Wave, longer than the Asian Bum Boys, longer than the PRT and Protectorate. We outlasted Galvanate, Marquis, the Teeth and Coil. And we'll outlast everyone else. Keep pushing and you'll find out why.
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
@PureBlood01011000 - Big words for someone who'll never have to actually do anything about them.
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
<reaches for more popcorn>
Replied on Jan 6th 2011:
(sigh)
I didn't want to have to do this.
To the unpowered members of the Empire Eighty-Eight:
Kaiser is dead.
I saw his corpse.
We thank you for your loyalty through thick and thin, but the Empire Eighty-Eight is hereby dissolved. The capes are leaving town before we end up on Atropos' list.
Why, you ask? Surely you're strong enough to stand up before one person?
I thought so. I was certain my grasp of strategy and tactics would allow me to outmaneuver a single cape. We made our plans and carried them out ... and played straight into her hands.
The building was secure, or so we thought. A flicker of the lights, and she stood among the capes guarding him, two of our number down already. She pointed her finger at Kaiser. Another flicker of the lights, and she had vanished. Two more of us were unconscious, and I came in to find Kaiser dead with a sword rammed through his eye and out the back of his head.
Not one of us could do a damn thing about it.
So yes, we are leaving before we are faced with the unpalatable (and inevitable) choice of dying or surrendering to the PRT. You may carry on, or not, as you wish.
To the other villains of Brockton Bay:
If you are on her list, leave. If you are not on her list, make preparations to leave.
Except for Lung. You can take her. I have faith in you.
Empire Eighty-Eight ... out.
Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Dang. A sword through the eye? Looks like he did Nazi that coming.
(I regret nothing).
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4 ... 8, 9, 10Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Watch your mouth! Kaiser's alive! You'll see!
►LaughingZander Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
A Nazi is dead, and nothing of value is lost.
@PureBlood01011000 - keep licking that boot.
►Yan (Lung's Other Special Little Friend)Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
@Flagwaver - keep dissing Lung and see what you get.
►Yan (Lung's Other Special Little Friend)Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
No! No! Remove that tag at once! He'll KILL me!
►Atropos (Original Poster) (Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Whoopsie ...
►Pureblood01011000 (Empire88Bootlicker)Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
@LaughingZander - there's something you don't understand. Something none of you understand. The Empire Eighty-Eight is the largest and longest-lasting cape team in the city. We've been here longer than New Wave, longer than the Asian Bum Boys, longer than the PRT and Protectorate. We outlasted Galvanate, Marquis, the Teeth and Coil. And we'll outlast everyone else. Keep pushing and you'll find out why.
►LaughingZander Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
@PureBlood01011000 - Big words for someone who'll never have to actually do anything about them.
►UnconcernedFox Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
<reaches for more popcorn>
►GrandMeister (Verified Cape) (Verified Empire 88 Member) (Actually Victor)Replied on Jan 6th 2011:
(sigh)
I didn't want to have to do this.
To the unpowered members of the Empire Eighty-Eight:
Kaiser is dead.
I saw his corpse.
We thank you for your loyalty through thick and thin, but the Empire Eighty-Eight is hereby dissolved. The capes are leaving town before we end up on Atropos' list.
Why, you ask? Surely you're strong enough to stand up before one person?
I thought so. I was certain my grasp of strategy and tactics would allow me to outmaneuver a single cape. We made our plans and carried them out ... and played straight into her hands.
The building was secure, or so we thought. A flicker of the lights, and she stood among the capes guarding him, two of our number down already. She pointed her finger at Kaiser. Another flicker of the lights, and she had vanished. Two more of us were unconscious, and I came in to find Kaiser dead with a sword rammed through his eye and out the back of his head.
Not one of us could do a damn thing about it.
So yes, we are leaving before we are faced with the unpalatable (and inevitable) choice of dying or surrendering to the PRT. You may carry on, or not, as you wish.
To the other villains of Brockton Bay:
If you are on her list, leave. If you are not on her list, make preparations to leave.
Except for Lung. You can take her. I have faith in you.
Empire Eighty-Eight ... out.
►RunawayTwin Replied On Jan 6th 2011:
Dang. A sword through the eye? Looks like he did Nazi that coming.
(I regret nothing).
■
<><>
<><>
Medhall Building
Armsmaster
The alert buzzed in Colin's helmet, and he accepted the incoming phone call. "Armsmaster. What is it, Dragon?"
The Canadian Tinker sounded as though she wasn't quite sure about what she was saying, which was a first for her. "Colin, have you been keeping an eye on PHO? Specifically, Atropos' thread?"
He frowned. From the tone of her voice, he'd missed something important. "No. Why?"
"She just posted a list of what she claims to be his computer passwords, in the clear."
"Jesus. Thanks." He opened a new window immediately, and tabbed into PHO. Seconds later, he was reading off the passwords. "If these work, this'll be gold." The standalone systems were proving tough to crack.
She chuckled. "You're welcome."
<><>
Taylor
I awoke the next morning and stretched mightily, feeling my back pop in several places. It was looking like a great day, for all that it was the middle of winter.
Just killing Kaiser on his own would've been easy, but I'd wanted to end the Empire Eighty-Eight's hold on the city at the same time. I'd also wanted to make Kaiser's death a fitting one; he'd been a power in the city since I was five or six, after all. People needed to know he was dead.
The elaborate way I'd killed him had thus served a secondary purpose. All the other capes, the ones who I would've had to hunt down and kill one after another as they ascended to the leadership of the Empire Eighty-Eight or successor teams, were now thoroughly demoralised. It didn't matter that the PRT techs currently going through the building with a fine-tooth comb would eventually figure out how I'd done it; they weren't my targets. In one fell swoop, I'd taken eleven capes off the board.
Not that I couldn't have killed the other ten; that was a given. But merely murdering them would've been tedious and time-consuming. In addition, once the PRT took Aster away from Purity and she started demolishing the city block by block looking for her daughter, that would've reflected badly on my efforts. Much better for all concerned if I directed her away and gave the authorities no excuse to stand in my way.
They'd lose, of course. But see above about 'tedious'.
I got up and showered, then strolled downstairs to breakfast. If I killed Lung tonight and Skidmark on Friday night—or even in reverse order—that would allow me the weekend to consider my next list and plan proper kills on whoever continued to hold out. There was no sense in rushing matters.
It wasn't as though I got any kind of sick pleasure out of killing people, or that I was even compelled to. However, these people were indisputably a blight on Brockton Bay, and the cops and PRT were doing nothing about it. I could. It was simple as that.
As I accepted eggs and bacon from Dad, I considered how I'd killed Sophia. Had she been a blight on Brockton Bay? Well, apart from being a really shitty Ward, probably not. But she'd been a personal blight on my life, and that was close enough for me. I'd given her the same chance I gave Emma and Madison. They'd taken it; she hadn't. That was on her.
"Still thinking about that girl from Winslow, the one who bullied you?" asked Dad, looking at me with a little concern. "Or are some of the others still bothering you?"
I snorted. "No. I think they're in shock. It was all going so well for them, y'know? They had nice safe targets to pick on, and then something like this happened, and Sophia's not there to be their point, uh, person anymore. Nobody else wants to step up unless they make a bad call too." I rolled my eyes. "Welcome to the real world."
It was slightly more complicated than that. Madison was utterly convinced that I could kill her at any moment (which was true), and I was pretty sure I'd accomplished much the same with Emma. Between them, they'd spread the word that I was not to be messed with. Sophia had set out to mess with me, and was now dead.
From what I could gather from eavesdropping on gossip, opinions were split between the idea that Sophia had taken on someone else in my place and gotten killed, or she'd attacked me personally and I'd accidentally killed her and walked away without a scratch. What I did know was that nobody was seriously considering turning me in for killing her.
Either way, the 'do not mess with Taylor' mutual agreement was solidly in place, which was convenient. More mysterious deaths at Winslow would seriously cramp my cover as an innocent student there.
"I suppose you're right," he said in the way that adults do when they're not sure how to address a sensitive topic anymore. "The police haven't called back, so I'm guessing they're satisfied with what they got from us."
I nodded. "Sounds like it. Maybe they'll catch whoever did it, and maybe not." The answer, of course, was 'not'.
I applied myself to my breakfast. Soon I'd have to go catch the bus to school, but that was okay. I knew many ways to kill boredom now, some of which didn't involve drawing untoward attention.
And a few hours after that, I could set about making Brockton Bay a better place.
One drop of blood at a time.
End of Part Nine
Relevant Side Story
Last edited:
Part Ten: On a Pale Horse
- Location
- Australia
A Darker Path
Part Ten: On a Pale Horse
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Taylor
"Hi, Dad, I'm home!"
I was pretty sure he wasn't in when I unlocked the back door, but my power didn't actually tell me one way or the other, so I called out just in case. He didn't answer, which worked for me.
Dropping my backpack on one of the kitchen chairs on the way past, I stopped at the fridge and took a couple of cold-packs out of the freezer section. Then I headed down into the basement, closing the door behind me.
Tucked under the workbench up against the wall was an old beer cooler of uncertain origin. Nestling inside, packed in crumpled newspaper for extra insulation, was the container I'd taken from Medhall. I took out the cold-packs that were already in there, and replaced them with the ones I'd brought downstairs. The temperature inside the cooler was significantly below that in the basement proper, which worked for me. I replaced the lid and shoved the cooler back under the bench for the time being.
Nobody had interfered with the artistic arrangement of spider-webs I'd left over the cover to the coal chute. Removing the cover, I took out one item; the key I'd used to deactivate Coil's security system.
There was a soldering iron down here, and I plugged it in and let it warm up while I re-secured the cover and draped new spider-webs over it, making it look like it had never been touched. Then I fixed the key in the vice and briefly used the angle-grinder on it. Once I'd trimmed away the parts I didn't need, I built up the rest with solder, then took it out of the vice and shaped it with a file until it was just the right shape. As with the last time I'd done this, I had no idea what it was going to be used for, but my power was sneaky like that. I just knew I needed the key.
After tidying away the evidence of what I'd done, I headed upstairs again, taking the key and the old cold-packs with me. Dad would be home soon, and I wanted to make a start on dinner.
While I assembled the ingredients, I considered the latest series of enemies I seemed to have made as Atropos. Alexandria, Eidolon, someone called Contessa, someone else called the Number Man, and a woman called Doctor Mother. Of the group, Contessa was of the most interest to me because she had apparently attempted to gain information on me, personally, using some sort of 'I-win' Thinker power. Also because, after my power had smacked her power on the nose with a metaphorical newspaper, she'd alternated between anger and resentment for quite some time.
In fact, she was still thinking about me in a hostile manner, which of course brought her to my attention. And now … she was thinking of doing something about me. Involving a pistol. I put down the knife and trotted upstairs to my bedroom, and opened my closet.
My power informed me that she was about to open a portal right behind my head (this involved two other capes, off on an alternate world I was currently unable to access, but they made my List anyway). I ducked turned, and as the portal opened, I shoved my pistol barrel through. A moment later, I withdrew it. The portal closed.
"I thought not," I mumbled, put the pistol back, and went back downstairs to keep making dinner.
I'd have to kill Contessa if she actually became a serious threat to me, but so far she was just coming across as a petulant child. Fortunately, if petulance had ever been a reason to murder someone outright, about three-quarters of the Winslow student body (and one or two of the teachers) would've already ended up on my list, so she was safe for the moment.
Or rather, she would be if she ever stopped trying to play stupid games.
Contessa
Humming to herself, Fortuna screwed a suppressor onto the barrel of the pistol she used most often. It balanced the firearm just right, allowing her to shoot accurately without fatiguing her wrist. Not that she intended to shoot anyone right now, just convey a message.
If you try that sort of shit with me again, you will die.
Once the weapon was ready, she pulled back the slide and chambered a round. Just in case Atropos' combat Thinker ability informed her of such things, the pistol needed to be ready to fire. Her finger squeezed the trigger, applying four out of the requisite five pounds of pressure.
"Doorway to the back of Atropos' head," she murmured.
The tiny portal flickered open before her and she saw her target very briefly before it was obscured by another pistol barrel, pointed straight in her face. She froze, putting her hands up automatically. A moment later, the pistol was withdrawn. The portal closed.
She was shaking as she put the pistol on safe and unscrewed the suppressor.
The message had been well and truly delivered.
If I try that shit with her again, I will die.
Taylor
"Can you keep an eye on dinner for me?" I asked as I headed through the living room. "I've got a project I've just remembered I have to get done."
"I'm pretty sure I can do that for you," Dad agreed. "Far be it from me to hamper your schoolwork. Do you need a hand with it?"
I shook my head. "Nah. I know how to do it, and it should only take about twenty minutes."
"Well, good, then." Dad turned his attention back to the TV. "Dinner is safe in my hands."
"Thanks." I went through into the entrance hall and started up the stairs.
When I got to my room, I closed the door then hit the power button on the computer. While I was waiting for it to boot up, I went to the closet and pulled out the phone I'd acquired via a detour on the way home. As I'd thought, it had a voice recording option.
Sitting back down at the computer, I began to look online for a sound generation website.
Saint
The truck trundled into Brockton Bay just on sundown. Coming from the northwest and bearing Canadian plates, it didn't draw any attention; the border was less than two hundred miles away, after all. Rolling through the back streets, it eventually pulled up next to a motel that existed in the murky area between 'not actually a national chain' and 'rooms by the hour'.
Mags set the handbrake, shut off the engine, and turned to Geoff. "I'll go in and pay for the room. You wait out here. When I get the room key, we'll go straight there. No wandering around in public."
"Oh, come on," he protested. This was all way too much. "It's not like I'm going to be recognised."
She sighed. "You just had to get a tattoo that lights up. On your face. Now, the foundation I've put on there will cover up the glowing aspect so you aren't visible from a distance, but I'm no Hollywood makeup artist. Close to, people are going to wonder why you're wearing makeup. So, I'm paying for the room."
Grumpily, he watched as she strolled across the forecourt to the administration office for the Zig Zag Inn. The tattoo was an integral part of his identity as Saint. Everyone who saw it knew who he was.
When he took down Atropos, everyone would definitely know who he was.
Taylor
The computer speakers were not the best, but with the phone leaned up against them just so, the whiny, scratchy noise would be captured perfectly. It had taken me fifteen minutes to type in the requirements for the apparent gibberish that was being recorded by the phone, but now it was done.
As the sound ceased, I picked up the phone and hit the icon to stop recording. A quick playback assured me that it was perfect, so I shut the phone down and stored it back in the closet.
The Path to removing all influence of the Dragonslayers was taking me into some very strange places.
PRT Building ENE
Conference Room A
Director Piggot
"Okay, everyone, settle down." Emily rapped on the table with the butt end of the remote. "In case anyone has been living under an actual rock since Monday, a new cape called Atropos has emerged on PHO, and killed Oni Lee, Coil and Kaiser. In the cases of Coil and Kaiser, she not only stated the time she would do it, but she also seemed to waltz through high security in order to make her extremely flashy kills. In addition, she's also infiltrated this building's own security in order to steal some highly dangerous chemicals, and used Medhall's facilities to make them more dangerous. Tonight, her stated target is either Lung or Skidmark. It is our intention to prevent this and take Atropos into custody. Any questions so far?"
Assault raised his hand. "Yeah. Why are we trying to save them again?"
She glowered at him. "Save your jokes for the break room. We're being serious, here."
He didn't put his hand down. "So am I. Lung has murdered people. He'll be going to the Birdcage just as soon as we can actually fight him to a standstill without burning down half the city. Skidmark is undoubtedly responsible for ruining dozens if not hundreds of lives, not to mention those lost to overdoses. Atropos so far has killed Oni Lee, Coil and Kaiser. She hasn't missed a hit yet, against some very tough targets. Do we really want to put our lives on the line to save two utterly amoral gangsters from a terrifyingly effective hitwoman?"
"That's not our intention," Emily shot back. She surveyed the heroes and PRT officers sitting around the table. "I am not ordering anyone to take a bullet for either one of those—in the case of Lung, it would be superfluous—but if she swings and misses, it might trigger a rampage. More likely in Lung's case than Skidmark's, admittedly, but they both have the potential to be very dangerous when angered. Also, it's public knowledge that Atropos is going after them, and has already murdered three others. If the Asian and black communities see us not doing our best to end this before it goes any further, then it won't matter that they are criminals; this would have a strong possibility of becoming a race-related matter that could sink all our careers."
"Understood," offered Commander Holden, head of one of the PRT strike teams. "How will we be doing this, then? What are the rules of engagement?" He looked like he needed the reassurance, especially since half a dozen moles had been arrested in the wake of Coil's death and the Calvert/Coil reveal, and more again following the cracking of Kaiser's computer systems. A lot of people were looking askance at their fellow troopers and superior officers, probably asking themselves, 'who are they really working for?'. It was not a healthy atmosphere.
"It's going to go like this," Emily stated. "Stage one is shadowing and observation. We have limited fliers, but New Wave volunteered when I asked, so Lady Photon, Glory Girl and Aegis will locate and shadow Lung, while Shielder, Laserdream and Kid Win will locate and shadow Skidmark. They will also be accompanied by remote drones piloted by Dragon, who has sent a suit down to assist us in this matter. The shadowing teams will not approach their observation targets; they will stay in the air and out of range of punitive attack for the duration. Their only task will be to call in any unusual activity, or if Atropos is spotted. At the first sign of danger, they are to leave the area immediately. The Dragon drones will cover their retreat, if need be. Are we understood so far?"
Lady Photon raised her hand. "And if we see Atropos in the process of attacking?"
"Call it in but do not engage," Emily reiterated. "Atropos has been issued a tentative threat rating of Combat Thinker Nine. It is to be assumed that if she's seen you, she's already figured out how to either kill you or otherwise neutralise whatever threat you pose. Only adult heroes with Brute-style powers or troopers with significant armour will be authorised to close with her, and they will all be equipped with containment foam as a primary weapon. Lethal force is only to be used if she poses a clear and present threat to the life of one of your allies or an innocent bystander."
Glory Girl, alongside Lady Photon put her hand up as well. "But why can't we just—"
"Miss Dallon." Emily made her voice hard and sharp. "Are you having trouble understanding the phrase 'do not engage'?"
"But I can take her!" burst out Glory Girl. "I'm bulletproof, and no amount of Thinking beats a fist to the face!"
"You, evidently, are not thinking." Emily laced her fingers together in front of her, in lieu of tearing her hair out. "Oni Lee thought he could take her. She shot him in the face with his own gun. Coil thought he could take her. She cut his throat with a pair of shears, in the middle of a high-end security system that she somehow disabled. Kaiser thought the Empire Eighty-Eight could take her. She shoved a sword through his eye while they stood around like dummies. One more time: I will not be authorising junior or non-Brute heroes to engage Atropos in combat. Once Atropos is sighted, the observation teams will call it in and do nothing else. Do I make myself absolutely clear?"
Brandish, on Glory Girl's other side, put a hand on her shoulder, and she subsided. After a moment, she mumbled, "Yeah, okay."
Emily suspected it was anything but 'okay'; however, she had a briefing to run. "Good. Now for the second stage. Once Atropos is sighted and the observation teams have called it in, the ground teams will be moving in. This will consist of armoured PRT troopers in vans, and Brute-rated or otherwise protected heroes. Armsmaster and Manpower will be in the team covering Lung, and Dauntless and Assault covering Skidmark. We have to assume that this attack will preclude one ground team from being able to support the other in any significant time frame, though I definitely urge you to try. Once this happens, we'll also have a chopper in the air with Miss Militia on board, and Dragon will likewise be providing air cover with her suit and drones."
"Question." Armsmaster had his hand in the air. "What are our priorities for arrests? If, for instance, Lung is disabled during the fight, do we arrest him as well?" His whole attitude said quite loudly, 'we'd be stupid to pass up the opportunity'.
This thought had already crossed Emily's mind. "Our number one priority is Atropos. Once she is disarmed and in custody—and by that, I mean either tranquillised, encased in containment foam, or manacled hand and foot with a bag over her head—then you can turn your attention to any other villains who happen to be lying around. Not until that moment. Is that understood?"
"Understood, ma'am." He put his hand down again.
"Good." Now that the briefing seemed to be on track again, she clicked the remote and projected a map on the far wall. "Team Alpha, on Lung, will be focusing on this area …" A handy laser pointer built into the remote marked the location. "… while Team Bravo, on Skidmark, will look for him in this area."
Hopefully, she mused while the briefing went on, everything would go if not exactly to plan, then close enough that the PRT wouldn't be horribly embarrassed in the process.
Yeah, good luck with that.
Taylor
The time had come. All the players were in place, awaiting their inevitable movements on the board. I knew where Lung and Skidmark were, where the PRT and allied forces were, and where the Dragonslayers were. I also knew where I'd be, which was nowhere near any of the above, until I chose to be.
Putting on the costume was like coming home after a long day at school. The comforting weight of the long-coat over my shoulders, along with the dagger-shears at my waist, felt right. I left the mask and hat off for the time being.
The container I retrieved from the basement was reassuringly cool to the touch. I wanted to keep the contents of the capsule below sixty-seven Fahrenheit because that was the boiling point of hydrofluoric acid, and it was best for all concerned if it stayed in a liquid form for as long as possible. Gaseous hydrofluoric acid, as my power gleefully informed me, possesses no friends whatsoever.
I let myself out of the house, once more possessed of the Screwdriver of Unlocking, and went looking for a likely mode of transport. The motorbike I'd left a few streets away had long since been located and repossessed by its owner, but there were cars aplenty for me to choose from. Flipping a mental coin, I went with a modest little hatchback, idly wondering if the owner would ever find out that their ride had been 'borrowed' by Atropos, and how they'd feel about that.
Meh; I didn't care anyway.
Sliding into the driver's seat, I found the spare key—in the ashtray, this time—and started the car. Letting my power do the driving, I pulled out onto the road and headed for my first target. I still had an hour to go, which was good, because I had a stop to make along the way.
Skidmark
"All fuckin' aboard," Adam gloated as he clambered into the passenger seat of Squealer's latest contraption. "Mush, you okay back there?"
"Yeah, I'm good." The words were accompanied by a sigh and a wafting of marijuana smoke. "This is some good shit."
"Yeah, yeah," Squealer snarked as she closed the driver's side door and hit the button to kick over the important systems. "Just don't hotbox us too much. I wanna be able to see where we're going."
"Just so long as we can and that bleeding rectal cyst Atropos can't," Adam said. "Is this a good plan, or is this a fuckin' genius plan? We'll be invisible, we'll be on the move, and this bad boy is fuckin' bulletproof. She can look around our hideouts all fuckin' night and she won't get a thing."
"Damn right," Squealer said, and put the vehicle into gear. "You don't often get good ideas, Skids, but when you get 'em, you get 'em."
"Hey!"
"Well, she's not wrong."
"Shut up, Mush."
As the vehicle rumbled out of the makeshift garage, Adam pulled out his own pipe, along with something a bit stronger than Mush's weed. If they were going to be driving around for the next few hours, he figured he might as well make it enjoyable.
Fuck Atropos and the whore she rode in on.
Taylor
I pulled to a halt and parked a little way behind the truck that was my target. The car I'd 'borrowed' was just far enough back that nobody looking from one particular motel room would spot it past the other vehicles in the parking lot. Getting out, I closed the door quietly, then pulled on the morph mask and the hat.
The way was clear; I walked briskly up to the truck and pulled out the key I'd fabricated. It slid smoothly into the padlock holding the rear roller-door down on the back of the truck, and unlocked it with a gentle click. Still, I didn't roll it all the way up; lifting it just a few inches, I slid my hand in at one end until I found the first security panel. The six-digit code only took a second to type in, even working by touch. Then I went to the other end of the roller-door and did the same with the panel at that end.
Saint, it appeared, was nothing if not paranoid.
With the security measures out of the way, I raised the door another couple of feet, then rolled up and into the space within. I knew if the door was left even partly raised, Saint would notice it on his next pace around the motel room, so I rolled it down again with my foot. What I had to do next could just as easily be done in pitch darkness, but they'd thoughtfully wired in lights, so I found the switch and flipped it.
Within the truck, taking up most of the available room, were two bulky sets of powered armour and the racks they were attached to. I wasn't exactly well-read on the Dragonslayers, but I got the impression these were smaller than the ones they usually committed crimes with. That didn't matter to me. By the end of the night, they would be better known as 'pile of junk' and 'other pile of junk'.
Up toward the front of the truck, there was a set of heavy toolboxes, bolted to the interior wall. I opened the simple clip holding the third drawer closed and took out what I was looking for; a handheld keyboard. Another tool from a different drawer allowed me to pop open a panel in the side of the nearest suit. The keyboard plugged straight into the socket thus revealed, and I quickly brought the suit to standby.
Then I started typing.
Lesser minds would have reprogrammed the suits, or even locked them down. I chose not to, though I could easily have done either one. Instead, I went into the visual identification section and made a few minor changes in the data I found there.
The helmets of the power armour suits involved a HUD that overlaid imagery for the pilots. For the most part, this was a good thing, because at night or in other low-light conditions, the suit sensors were likely to be far more sensitive than Mark One eyeball. However, this meant that the suits could be made to lie to them, and they'd never know it until it was far too late.
Shutting that suit down, I made the same changes to the other suit before putting the tools back where I'd found them.
It was amazing what possibilities there were in swapping around a few crucial ones and zeroes.
[A/N: So this chapter turned into a two-parter. Expect the next part tomorrow or thereabouts.]
End of Part Ten
Relevant Side Story
Part Ten: On a Pale Horse
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Taylor
"Hi, Dad, I'm home!"
I was pretty sure he wasn't in when I unlocked the back door, but my power didn't actually tell me one way or the other, so I called out just in case. He didn't answer, which worked for me.
Dropping my backpack on one of the kitchen chairs on the way past, I stopped at the fridge and took a couple of cold-packs out of the freezer section. Then I headed down into the basement, closing the door behind me.
Tucked under the workbench up against the wall was an old beer cooler of uncertain origin. Nestling inside, packed in crumpled newspaper for extra insulation, was the container I'd taken from Medhall. I took out the cold-packs that were already in there, and replaced them with the ones I'd brought downstairs. The temperature inside the cooler was significantly below that in the basement proper, which worked for me. I replaced the lid and shoved the cooler back under the bench for the time being.
Nobody had interfered with the artistic arrangement of spider-webs I'd left over the cover to the coal chute. Removing the cover, I took out one item; the key I'd used to deactivate Coil's security system.
There was a soldering iron down here, and I plugged it in and let it warm up while I re-secured the cover and draped new spider-webs over it, making it look like it had never been touched. Then I fixed the key in the vice and briefly used the angle-grinder on it. Once I'd trimmed away the parts I didn't need, I built up the rest with solder, then took it out of the vice and shaped it with a file until it was just the right shape. As with the last time I'd done this, I had no idea what it was going to be used for, but my power was sneaky like that. I just knew I needed the key.
After tidying away the evidence of what I'd done, I headed upstairs again, taking the key and the old cold-packs with me. Dad would be home soon, and I wanted to make a start on dinner.
While I assembled the ingredients, I considered the latest series of enemies I seemed to have made as Atropos. Alexandria, Eidolon, someone called Contessa, someone else called the Number Man, and a woman called Doctor Mother. Of the group, Contessa was of the most interest to me because she had apparently attempted to gain information on me, personally, using some sort of 'I-win' Thinker power. Also because, after my power had smacked her power on the nose with a metaphorical newspaper, she'd alternated between anger and resentment for quite some time.
In fact, she was still thinking about me in a hostile manner, which of course brought her to my attention. And now … she was thinking of doing something about me. Involving a pistol. I put down the knife and trotted upstairs to my bedroom, and opened my closet.
My power informed me that she was about to open a portal right behind my head (this involved two other capes, off on an alternate world I was currently unable to access, but they made my List anyway). I ducked turned, and as the portal opened, I shoved my pistol barrel through. A moment later, I withdrew it. The portal closed.
"I thought not," I mumbled, put the pistol back, and went back downstairs to keep making dinner.
I'd have to kill Contessa if she actually became a serious threat to me, but so far she was just coming across as a petulant child. Fortunately, if petulance had ever been a reason to murder someone outright, about three-quarters of the Winslow student body (and one or two of the teachers) would've already ended up on my list, so she was safe for the moment.
Or rather, she would be if she ever stopped trying to play stupid games.
<><>
Contessa
Humming to herself, Fortuna screwed a suppressor onto the barrel of the pistol she used most often. It balanced the firearm just right, allowing her to shoot accurately without fatiguing her wrist. Not that she intended to shoot anyone right now, just convey a message.
If you try that sort of shit with me again, you will die.
Once the weapon was ready, she pulled back the slide and chambered a round. Just in case Atropos' combat Thinker ability informed her of such things, the pistol needed to be ready to fire. Her finger squeezed the trigger, applying four out of the requisite five pounds of pressure.
"Doorway to the back of Atropos' head," she murmured.
The tiny portal flickered open before her and she saw her target very briefly before it was obscured by another pistol barrel, pointed straight in her face. She froze, putting her hands up automatically. A moment later, the pistol was withdrawn. The portal closed.
She was shaking as she put the pistol on safe and unscrewed the suppressor.
The message had been well and truly delivered.
If I try that shit with her again, I will die.
<><>
Taylor
"Can you keep an eye on dinner for me?" I asked as I headed through the living room. "I've got a project I've just remembered I have to get done."
"I'm pretty sure I can do that for you," Dad agreed. "Far be it from me to hamper your schoolwork. Do you need a hand with it?"
I shook my head. "Nah. I know how to do it, and it should only take about twenty minutes."
"Well, good, then." Dad turned his attention back to the TV. "Dinner is safe in my hands."
"Thanks." I went through into the entrance hall and started up the stairs.
When I got to my room, I closed the door then hit the power button on the computer. While I was waiting for it to boot up, I went to the closet and pulled out the phone I'd acquired via a detour on the way home. As I'd thought, it had a voice recording option.
Sitting back down at the computer, I began to look online for a sound generation website.
<><>
Saint
The truck trundled into Brockton Bay just on sundown. Coming from the northwest and bearing Canadian plates, it didn't draw any attention; the border was less than two hundred miles away, after all. Rolling through the back streets, it eventually pulled up next to a motel that existed in the murky area between 'not actually a national chain' and 'rooms by the hour'.
Mags set the handbrake, shut off the engine, and turned to Geoff. "I'll go in and pay for the room. You wait out here. When I get the room key, we'll go straight there. No wandering around in public."
"Oh, come on," he protested. This was all way too much. "It's not like I'm going to be recognised."
She sighed. "You just had to get a tattoo that lights up. On your face. Now, the foundation I've put on there will cover up the glowing aspect so you aren't visible from a distance, but I'm no Hollywood makeup artist. Close to, people are going to wonder why you're wearing makeup. So, I'm paying for the room."
Grumpily, he watched as she strolled across the forecourt to the administration office for the Zig Zag Inn. The tattoo was an integral part of his identity as Saint. Everyone who saw it knew who he was.
When he took down Atropos, everyone would definitely know who he was.
<><>
Taylor
The computer speakers were not the best, but with the phone leaned up against them just so, the whiny, scratchy noise would be captured perfectly. It had taken me fifteen minutes to type in the requirements for the apparent gibberish that was being recorded by the phone, but now it was done.
As the sound ceased, I picked up the phone and hit the icon to stop recording. A quick playback assured me that it was perfect, so I shut the phone down and stored it back in the closet.
The Path to removing all influence of the Dragonslayers was taking me into some very strange places.
<><>
PRT Building ENE
Conference Room A
Director Piggot
"Okay, everyone, settle down." Emily rapped on the table with the butt end of the remote. "In case anyone has been living under an actual rock since Monday, a new cape called Atropos has emerged on PHO, and killed Oni Lee, Coil and Kaiser. In the cases of Coil and Kaiser, she not only stated the time she would do it, but she also seemed to waltz through high security in order to make her extremely flashy kills. In addition, she's also infiltrated this building's own security in order to steal some highly dangerous chemicals, and used Medhall's facilities to make them more dangerous. Tonight, her stated target is either Lung or Skidmark. It is our intention to prevent this and take Atropos into custody. Any questions so far?"
Assault raised his hand. "Yeah. Why are we trying to save them again?"
She glowered at him. "Save your jokes for the break room. We're being serious, here."
He didn't put his hand down. "So am I. Lung has murdered people. He'll be going to the Birdcage just as soon as we can actually fight him to a standstill without burning down half the city. Skidmark is undoubtedly responsible for ruining dozens if not hundreds of lives, not to mention those lost to overdoses. Atropos so far has killed Oni Lee, Coil and Kaiser. She hasn't missed a hit yet, against some very tough targets. Do we really want to put our lives on the line to save two utterly amoral gangsters from a terrifyingly effective hitwoman?"
"That's not our intention," Emily shot back. She surveyed the heroes and PRT officers sitting around the table. "I am not ordering anyone to take a bullet for either one of those—in the case of Lung, it would be superfluous—but if she swings and misses, it might trigger a rampage. More likely in Lung's case than Skidmark's, admittedly, but they both have the potential to be very dangerous when angered. Also, it's public knowledge that Atropos is going after them, and has already murdered three others. If the Asian and black communities see us not doing our best to end this before it goes any further, then it won't matter that they are criminals; this would have a strong possibility of becoming a race-related matter that could sink all our careers."
"Understood," offered Commander Holden, head of one of the PRT strike teams. "How will we be doing this, then? What are the rules of engagement?" He looked like he needed the reassurance, especially since half a dozen moles had been arrested in the wake of Coil's death and the Calvert/Coil reveal, and more again following the cracking of Kaiser's computer systems. A lot of people were looking askance at their fellow troopers and superior officers, probably asking themselves, 'who are they really working for?'. It was not a healthy atmosphere.
"It's going to go like this," Emily stated. "Stage one is shadowing and observation. We have limited fliers, but New Wave volunteered when I asked, so Lady Photon, Glory Girl and Aegis will locate and shadow Lung, while Shielder, Laserdream and Kid Win will locate and shadow Skidmark. They will also be accompanied by remote drones piloted by Dragon, who has sent a suit down to assist us in this matter. The shadowing teams will not approach their observation targets; they will stay in the air and out of range of punitive attack for the duration. Their only task will be to call in any unusual activity, or if Atropos is spotted. At the first sign of danger, they are to leave the area immediately. The Dragon drones will cover their retreat, if need be. Are we understood so far?"
Lady Photon raised her hand. "And if we see Atropos in the process of attacking?"
"Call it in but do not engage," Emily reiterated. "Atropos has been issued a tentative threat rating of Combat Thinker Nine. It is to be assumed that if she's seen you, she's already figured out how to either kill you or otherwise neutralise whatever threat you pose. Only adult heroes with Brute-style powers or troopers with significant armour will be authorised to close with her, and they will all be equipped with containment foam as a primary weapon. Lethal force is only to be used if she poses a clear and present threat to the life of one of your allies or an innocent bystander."
Glory Girl, alongside Lady Photon put her hand up as well. "But why can't we just—"
"Miss Dallon." Emily made her voice hard and sharp. "Are you having trouble understanding the phrase 'do not engage'?"
"But I can take her!" burst out Glory Girl. "I'm bulletproof, and no amount of Thinking beats a fist to the face!"
"You, evidently, are not thinking." Emily laced her fingers together in front of her, in lieu of tearing her hair out. "Oni Lee thought he could take her. She shot him in the face with his own gun. Coil thought he could take her. She cut his throat with a pair of shears, in the middle of a high-end security system that she somehow disabled. Kaiser thought the Empire Eighty-Eight could take her. She shoved a sword through his eye while they stood around like dummies. One more time: I will not be authorising junior or non-Brute heroes to engage Atropos in combat. Once Atropos is sighted, the observation teams will call it in and do nothing else. Do I make myself absolutely clear?"
Brandish, on Glory Girl's other side, put a hand on her shoulder, and she subsided. After a moment, she mumbled, "Yeah, okay."
Emily suspected it was anything but 'okay'; however, she had a briefing to run. "Good. Now for the second stage. Once Atropos is sighted and the observation teams have called it in, the ground teams will be moving in. This will consist of armoured PRT troopers in vans, and Brute-rated or otherwise protected heroes. Armsmaster and Manpower will be in the team covering Lung, and Dauntless and Assault covering Skidmark. We have to assume that this attack will preclude one ground team from being able to support the other in any significant time frame, though I definitely urge you to try. Once this happens, we'll also have a chopper in the air with Miss Militia on board, and Dragon will likewise be providing air cover with her suit and drones."
"Question." Armsmaster had his hand in the air. "What are our priorities for arrests? If, for instance, Lung is disabled during the fight, do we arrest him as well?" His whole attitude said quite loudly, 'we'd be stupid to pass up the opportunity'.
This thought had already crossed Emily's mind. "Our number one priority is Atropos. Once she is disarmed and in custody—and by that, I mean either tranquillised, encased in containment foam, or manacled hand and foot with a bag over her head—then you can turn your attention to any other villains who happen to be lying around. Not until that moment. Is that understood?"
"Understood, ma'am." He put his hand down again.
"Good." Now that the briefing seemed to be on track again, she clicked the remote and projected a map on the far wall. "Team Alpha, on Lung, will be focusing on this area …" A handy laser pointer built into the remote marked the location. "… while Team Bravo, on Skidmark, will look for him in this area."
Hopefully, she mused while the briefing went on, everything would go if not exactly to plan, then close enough that the PRT wouldn't be horribly embarrassed in the process.
Yeah, good luck with that.
<><>
Taylor
The time had come. All the players were in place, awaiting their inevitable movements on the board. I knew where Lung and Skidmark were, where the PRT and allied forces were, and where the Dragonslayers were. I also knew where I'd be, which was nowhere near any of the above, until I chose to be.
Putting on the costume was like coming home after a long day at school. The comforting weight of the long-coat over my shoulders, along with the dagger-shears at my waist, felt right. I left the mask and hat off for the time being.
The container I retrieved from the basement was reassuringly cool to the touch. I wanted to keep the contents of the capsule below sixty-seven Fahrenheit because that was the boiling point of hydrofluoric acid, and it was best for all concerned if it stayed in a liquid form for as long as possible. Gaseous hydrofluoric acid, as my power gleefully informed me, possesses no friends whatsoever.
I let myself out of the house, once more possessed of the Screwdriver of Unlocking, and went looking for a likely mode of transport. The motorbike I'd left a few streets away had long since been located and repossessed by its owner, but there were cars aplenty for me to choose from. Flipping a mental coin, I went with a modest little hatchback, idly wondering if the owner would ever find out that their ride had been 'borrowed' by Atropos, and how they'd feel about that.
Meh; I didn't care anyway.
Sliding into the driver's seat, I found the spare key—in the ashtray, this time—and started the car. Letting my power do the driving, I pulled out onto the road and headed for my first target. I still had an hour to go, which was good, because I had a stop to make along the way.
<><>
Skidmark
"All fuckin' aboard," Adam gloated as he clambered into the passenger seat of Squealer's latest contraption. "Mush, you okay back there?"
"Yeah, I'm good." The words were accompanied by a sigh and a wafting of marijuana smoke. "This is some good shit."
"Yeah, yeah," Squealer snarked as she closed the driver's side door and hit the button to kick over the important systems. "Just don't hotbox us too much. I wanna be able to see where we're going."
"Just so long as we can and that bleeding rectal cyst Atropos can't," Adam said. "Is this a good plan, or is this a fuckin' genius plan? We'll be invisible, we'll be on the move, and this bad boy is fuckin' bulletproof. She can look around our hideouts all fuckin' night and she won't get a thing."
"Damn right," Squealer said, and put the vehicle into gear. "You don't often get good ideas, Skids, but when you get 'em, you get 'em."
"Hey!"
"Well, she's not wrong."
"Shut up, Mush."
As the vehicle rumbled out of the makeshift garage, Adam pulled out his own pipe, along with something a bit stronger than Mush's weed. If they were going to be driving around for the next few hours, he figured he might as well make it enjoyable.
Fuck Atropos and the whore she rode in on.
<><>
Taylor
I pulled to a halt and parked a little way behind the truck that was my target. The car I'd 'borrowed' was just far enough back that nobody looking from one particular motel room would spot it past the other vehicles in the parking lot. Getting out, I closed the door quietly, then pulled on the morph mask and the hat.
The way was clear; I walked briskly up to the truck and pulled out the key I'd fabricated. It slid smoothly into the padlock holding the rear roller-door down on the back of the truck, and unlocked it with a gentle click. Still, I didn't roll it all the way up; lifting it just a few inches, I slid my hand in at one end until I found the first security panel. The six-digit code only took a second to type in, even working by touch. Then I went to the other end of the roller-door and did the same with the panel at that end.
Saint, it appeared, was nothing if not paranoid.
With the security measures out of the way, I raised the door another couple of feet, then rolled up and into the space within. I knew if the door was left even partly raised, Saint would notice it on his next pace around the motel room, so I rolled it down again with my foot. What I had to do next could just as easily be done in pitch darkness, but they'd thoughtfully wired in lights, so I found the switch and flipped it.
Within the truck, taking up most of the available room, were two bulky sets of powered armour and the racks they were attached to. I wasn't exactly well-read on the Dragonslayers, but I got the impression these were smaller than the ones they usually committed crimes with. That didn't matter to me. By the end of the night, they would be better known as 'pile of junk' and 'other pile of junk'.
Up toward the front of the truck, there was a set of heavy toolboxes, bolted to the interior wall. I opened the simple clip holding the third drawer closed and took out what I was looking for; a handheld keyboard. Another tool from a different drawer allowed me to pop open a panel in the side of the nearest suit. The keyboard plugged straight into the socket thus revealed, and I quickly brought the suit to standby.
Then I started typing.
Lesser minds would have reprogrammed the suits, or even locked them down. I chose not to, though I could easily have done either one. Instead, I went into the visual identification section and made a few minor changes in the data I found there.
The helmets of the power armour suits involved a HUD that overlaid imagery for the pilots. For the most part, this was a good thing, because at night or in other low-light conditions, the suit sensors were likely to be far more sensitive than Mark One eyeball. However, this meant that the suits could be made to lie to them, and they'd never know it until it was far too late.
Shutting that suit down, I made the same changes to the other suit before putting the tools back where I'd found them.
It was amazing what possibilities there were in swapping around a few crucial ones and zeroes.
[A/N: So this chapter turned into a two-parter. Expect the next part tomorrow or thereabouts.]
End of Part Ten
Relevant Side Story
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