58.1 Interlude Gregor
Gregor made his way up the stairs through the nest of apartments built above the Palanquin nightclub. A series of doors layered with soundproofing served to insulate the living quarters from the busy dance floor below, in the event the team chose to retire before the club died down. It wasn't uncommon for members of the crew to see the night through in one of the VIP rooms, but that hadn't been the case lately.
The club was still seeing active business. They were far enough from the damaged areas of the city for it to have minimal impact on them and the aftermath of a disaster led many people to seek what escape they could. In a way, Palanquin was serving the same purpose as the nightly Merchant block parties north of the Dark Zone, though for a markedly different demographic.
Most people would see that distinction as a slobs and snobs affair, or a divide between exclusiveness and inclusiveness. Gregor didn't tend to view things that way. The advantage of not truly fitting in anywhere. It was easier to set aside the false fronts and pretensions of openness. You could fit in around people you built relationships with, people you trusted. Without those bonds first impressions carried the day.
His footsteps sounded through the hallway, provoking a response from one of the bedrooms. A door cracked open and a freckled girl with curly brown hair peaked out.
"Gregor?" She called.
"Good morning Emily. Did I wake you?" He asked.
"No, I was awake, just hadn't gotten up." She shook her head, glancing back into the room. "Elle had a rough night, so she's still out."
Gregor paused. "How is she doing?" He asked, trying not to let his concern show.
"Physically, fine. It was just scratches and bruises. Not something she's used to, but nothing serious." Gregor nodded, remembering the aftermath of the attack. "Emotionally, it's still hitting her. That thing with Leet, right at the end? It really got to her. She's been having a bad time since then."
"Nothing serious?" He asked, fully aware of what one of Labyrinth's bad times could mean.
"No, or not like it used to be." Emily clarified. "We've been working on it. Mostly drawings or videos." The girl paused, then looked back into the room for a second. "Videos of the fight, mostly."
"Apeiron?" Gregor asked, with the phrase 'The Enigmatic Artificer' jumping to his mind as he spoke.
Emily nodded. "I think she likes the design, the way he presents things. Not sure if it's just the aesthetics, or something about how her power works. Or maybe she just likes seeing Leet get trounced."
Gregor smiled at that thought, but flashes of the night in question ran unbidden through his mind. He had to wonder, was it their fault? Did they not take the situation seriously enough? Not until after the duo were already tearing through them like wet paper.
Gregor didn't like thinking about it. Didn't like that feeling, the helplessness that came from being so totally outmatched. Apeiron had been able to counter the villains, but it was clear that they were not Apeiron. That most people weren't Apeiron. He shuddered to imagine what would have happened if Leet's resurgence had not been accompanied and overshadowed by the tinker's meteoric rise.
Probably what would have happened if Apeiron hadn't been available to counter the ABB on Thursday night, only several days sooner and to a much bloodier degree.
"I think most of the city is enjoying those videos for the same reason." Gregor suggested.
Emily smiled. "Most of the country, based on view counts."
Gregor nodded. All of Apeiron's appearances had a certain artistry to them. It was a feature that only got more prominent as they progressed. Even the apparently disastrous fight with the ABB carried significant stylistic elements that were only more apparent once the immediate tension of the conflict was over and they were being viewed in retrospect. And that wasn't even getting into the effect of his immersive attack names.
"Will she be ready for tonight?" He asked in concern. The meeting had been looming over the entire team. In other circumstances it would have been of tangential interest at best. A vested interest in the future of the city, but nothing more.
That was before the attack. Before villains who nobody took seriously had picked them apart like they were nothing. It had hit hard on multiple levels. The duo had done the same to the Undersiders and had at least been an impediment to Apeiron, but those were newcomers. The scale of what they were capable of wasn't clear until they had walked through everything the team had been able to throw at them.
They needed this meeting, both to get a grip on the uncertain future and to reestablish themselves as a credible force. Gregor knew that had hit Melanie hard, that she was scrambling to find some way for the crew to regain their footing. The summit was a big part of that.
Emily nodded. "I think so, or at least as well as any of us." She didn't elaborate, but Gregor knew where she was coming from. The crew wasn't composed of soft capes, but a loss like that, coupled with the injuries they had suffered, wasn't something that you brushed off.
"We still have the rest of the day to rest up and get ready. That should help." He offered.
"Yeah." Emily stifled a yawn. "A lot of the day." She took another look at him. "Were you out? This early?"
He nodded in response, glancing back at the stairs. "Not on business. Early mornings are a good time to see the city. Things are quiet." And private. That peaceful hour before dawn, where any chaos of the previous evening had settled and his only company was businesses preparing for the coming day. It gave him freedom to walk the streets without attracting attention, without stares or questions. It was a time he treasured.
He could tell Emily understood at least part of that. She nodded, then glanced towards the stairs as well. "What's it like out there? For the city, I mean?"
He considered how to answer. It wasn't possible to gauge the mindset of the citizens from the odd sight of a delivery man or baker. But at the same time he could tell things were progressing. Businesses were still operating; people had fallen into their routines. For an event that everybody seemed to be equating to an Endbringer attack the city had bounced back relatively quickly, and to the greatest degree it could.
"It's holding together." He said. "Even into the Docks. People are managing. I think if things get a chance to settle people are going to be alright."
"Yeah." Emily said in a shaky voice. "Well, let's hope the meeting goes well."
"Indeed." He replied in what he hoped was a comforting fashion. He wasn't accustomed to being a comforting presence, but Emily had adjusted to his appearance relatively quickly. He had been somewhat concerned when she joined and intently studied him every chance she got, but after that she fell into a comfortable companionship. It was like she got all of her staring out of the way as quickly as possible, then moved on to the point where there was nothing else to see. Honestly, despite the initial discomfort, he preferred it to the more artificial attempts of people pretending they weren't bothered, but sneaking looks whenever they thought he wouldn't notice.
He always noticed.
The faint sound of movement from the room at the end of the hall told him Melanie was awake. "I should check in with Faultline." He said to Emily. "If she has any last-minute plans we should get an early start."
An early start hadn't been necessary, not with a lunchtime appointment already arranged for them. He approached the restaurant flanking Faultline's left side with Newter covering her right. The boy was still covering a limp from his run in with Uber. His physiology allowed him to heal quickly, but that hit could have taken his leg off. It was an early demonstration of why closing to melee range with either of the villains was a terrible idea.
"We looking at any trouble in there?" Newter asked. The question was phrased like a formality, pre-mission banter, but Gregor could see his tail thrash back and forth, betraying his tension. Faultline could see it too.
"No." She assured him. "This is on the up and up, completely above board, or as close to that as we're ever going to get. The only outlier is the short notice."
Referring to it as short notice was something of an understatement. This was a rush order all the way, and not something Faultline would have typically tolerated. Gregor desperately hoped that the team's situation hadn't clouded her judgement. It might technically count as 'above board', but this was nothing to trifle with.
A well-dressed member of staff, possibly the maître d, met them at a side entrance and escorted them to a private dining room. His behavior was curt and direct, but also extremely polite. Based on his reactions Gregor would bet that he had been extensively briefed ahead of time.
Inside the dining room stood a table with four place settings, though only one seat was occupied. The man at the table had already been served and set down his utensils as they entered. There was a slight shimmer over his elaborate suit and mask that flickered briefly at his movements. Behind him stood a severe looking young man in a black suit lined with electric blue trim.
"Ah, welcome, welcome. Please forgive me for not rising to greet you, but I'm afraid circumstances do not permit it." Uppercrust called.
"That is no problem." Replied Faultline. "I believe we are all saving our strength for this evening."
The man smiled and gestured to the open chairs with one arm, the other staying locked in place. "Please sit down. It's always a pleasure to have company for a meal." His eyes dropped to his own plate, some kind of simple vegetable dish, and there was a flicker of emotion on his face. "I'm afraid I am on something of a restricted diet, but this establishment has an excellent reputation for quality. It would be criminal to not take advantage."
If anything, the Elite leader was understating things. Gregor had only been tangentially aware of the location, and mostly by reputation. The wine list alone resembled a phonebook and would have left him and Newter at a complete loss.
Faultline, ever adaptable, settled in next to Uppercrust and opened with small talk about appetizers and wine pairings. She was in a set of welding goggles in place of her typical mask, allowing more expression and the ability to actually enjoy the upcoming meal. The serious consideration being given to said meal impressed Gregor more than the money being thrown around. In their business anyone could end up with a small fortune after a handful of jobs. There were plenty of people who would flash it on frivolities as a demonstration of power and success. While there was clearly an element of that to this meeting, more care was being given to the experience than to the resources of the one providing it.
Through the conversation Gregor noticed more details. Faultline had shared her suspicions with them, and the display before them as good as confirmed them. The basic meal, simple and inoffensive, with none of the wine pairings the man extolled. The way his costume hung to conceal what, on close examination, was clearly a weak frame, close to the polar opposite of Gregor's own bulk. Most of all, the lack of movement. The fields that held the man's body in place, being released just enough to allow one motion at a time, and with evidence of effort and exhaustion behind even the most casual of movements.
By the time his mushroom risotto arrived and was joined by Faultline's swordfish and Newter's steak, he was sure of it. The 'rumors' about Uppercrust's failing health were only rumors in the sense that they hadn't been publicly confirmed. But there was another level to this. With negotiations like this there always was. He was allowing them to confirm his state for themselves before making any pitch, giving them the context for his situation.
"You have certainly picked an interesting time to visit the city." Faultline said between sips of wine. "In the Chinese sense, if nothing else."
"Quite." The man said with a smile. "Though I must admit, this is an interesting place, regardless of the timing. So many players, and with the ball still in the air."
Faultline smiled back. "I would not wish to belabor a metaphor, but my organization has no interest in competing in the game."
There was mirth in the man's eyes as he spoke. "I admire your directness, though it is a shame to cast down so much potential. Are you certain you don't wish to comment about your desire to play ball, or perhaps some insight into court placements or penalties? Final scores or halftime comebacks?"
She took another sip of wine to cover her growing smile. "Would I be right to assume you've had an excess of experience with theatrical posturing?"
Uppercrust let out a sigh. "More than you could imagine. It will be a miracle if tonight's summit doesn't descend into veiled threats and symbolic pronouncements."
Faultline set down her knife and fork, and Gregor echoed the action. There was a moment before Newter became aware of the trend and pulled himself away from what looked to be a very enjoyable meal to follow their example.
"Which finally brings us to the matter at hand." Faultline stated, turning to Uppercrust. "And what exactly your intentions are."
"I assure you; my offer of employment was completely sincere." He said casually. "Given the somewhat rushed nature of my deployment to this city, my own forces are less robust than I would prefer. Normally it would be a simple matter to acquire some additional support, but I believe bringing additional capes into the city would not be welcome at this juncture." He took a sip of water. "Particularly so soon before the summit."
"So, you are hiring locally?" She asked.
"Generally, a good policy, though your reputation speaks for itself even beyond the bounds of the city."
Faultline nodded, quickly glancing to Gregor and Newter. "What precisely did you have in mind? While we would not be opposed to it, my team doesn't have experience with private security, and our relationship with the Protectorate is complicated. If you're looking for bodyguards, our ability to function in that role would be somewhat limited."
He shook his head, then returned it to a neutral position, the fields shimmering slightly at the motion. "Nothing of the sort. No, what I am looking for is the mitigation of disruptive elements in the city where I will find myself operating for the next several weeks."
Faultline quirked an eyebrow. "What sort of elements?" She asked.
The man smiled. "The remnants of the ABB and their associates, including Uber and Leet. Additionally, any groups that could prove to be a threat to the general welfare of the city, based on how the chips fall during tonight's summit."
She took a breath, then exchanged a glance with Gregor. "So, you wish to hire us to attack the remains of the ABB and Uber and Leet?"
Uppercrust picked up on her tone and seemed to be amused by it. "I always believe in finding people who would be motivated for the task at hand. Additionally, I understand you have a policy of never fighting without pay. A lovely sentiment, though troublesome in some cases. This should prove to resolve things."
He allowed the offer to sink in for a moment. Gregor joined Faultline in pondering the matter, but Newter proved to be less restrained.
"So what, you just want to hire us to do what we want to do already?" He asked, giving a questioning glance to Faultline only after the question had been blurted out. Apparently he decided to press on without further consideration. "Not that I'm going to complain about the money, but you've gotta have more reasons than just wanting to throw around cash, right?"
Uppercrust gave Faultline an amused look. "Ah, the impertinence of youth. Quite refreshing in its directness. And yes, there is an ulterior motive to my offer."
Gregor blinked along with Faultline. Uppercrust, clearly amused by their reaction, continued.
"Sufficient to say, this is far from my first conference of supervillains. These things tend to play to a certain trend. Power blocs will be staked and sides will be picked. If you will indulge a slight return to our earlier metaphor, I am a visiting player and have no interest in picking sides in the game." He spoke with a smile, but then his eyes turned hard. "The more force one side can assemble, the more likely they'll be to make a move. Given the state of this city I do not believe it can handle another conflict, or Apeiron's response to one."
Faultline nodded. "You're hiring us before we can be bought by another player." She said, and Gregor could see the wheels turning in her head. "But Skidmark wouldn't try, and we'd never take a contract with the Empire." She gave Uppercrust a serious look. "Coil? Coil's going to make a play?"
He took a sip of his water before replying. "Officially, I couldn't say. There is almost nothing on the man, but with enough experience in this industry you learn to recognize patterns. That, combined with the implications of some of the rumors I've been able to track down, suggests that this would be a prudent measure to take."
That did get a smile out of her. "You know, that may be the first time I've heard anyone refer to our rates as 'prudent'."
Uppercrust returned the smile. "My dear, you should see what Strider charges for a standing contract. But, as always, prudence is about value, not cost, and I trust in the value of this operation."
"Not many people would be willing to invest in a situation like this one." Faultline replied.
The man's sunken eyes sparkled. "Another perfect setup for strained metaphors. In any other situation we'd have five minutes of tortured references to risk/reward balance, investment returns, toxic assets, and probably some kind of threat in veiled mention of foreclosure. But yes, I do trust that this investment will prove fruitful."
"Apeiron has medical technology." Gregor spoke for the first time in the meeting. "You will be approaching him for a contract."
The man gave Gregor a direct look, taking only the slightest moment for his eyes to dart across translucent skin and visible bones. More control than most people, but he was still human. "Ah, a 'contract' with Apeiron. Truly the most valuable coin on the planet at the moment." He turned to Faultline. "See, this is where investment metaphors would be truly helpful, particularly with respect to the Undersiders."
Faultline smiled at him. "I suppose I could humor you. What would it be? Penny stocks turning gold, or getting in on an overlooked IPO?"
"Something like that." He turned back to Gregor. "And yes, as anyone familiar with my circumstances can guess, I will be approaching Apeiron regarding his services, though I will hardly be the only one."
"I imagine many sick or injured people would have such a hope." Faultline stated neutrally. For some reason that seemed to amuse the man.
"Now, that is interesting." A confused expression flickered across Faultline's face before she schooled her features. "Despite their abysmal information leaks, it seems not every group in the city has a inside line to the PRT."
Gregor recognized the signs of Faultline tensing. "The bulk of our operations are outside the city. We prefer a policy of non-interference with local authorities."
"Quite a sensible one, but if I may? Jacob?" He raised a hand and his assistant approached, offering a thick manilla folder to Faultline. She gave him a cautious look before opening it.
"I was aware Gully had relocated to the city." Faultline paused. "But an unofficial transfer? And multiple Case 53s moving towards Brockton Bay?"
"Now, if you wish to avoid legally compromised information you should avoid the red section." Uppercrust said. Faultline gave him a critical look and turned to the red section. Then she froze. She stayed silent, scanning the pages with her eyes and flicking through them at an accelerating pace while Uppercrust watched with a satisfied expression.
"I believe we can consider this a signing bonus, in addition to our original terms? If that is amenable, of course." He said, observing her expression carefully.
There was a slight pause before she looked up. "I can agree to that, and the other terms outlined. You have a deal."
"Excellent." He said cheerfully. "I will see to the initial transfer immediately. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other obligations I must see to. Please enjoy your meal, with my compliments."
Faultline nodded while Uppercrust slowly extracted himself from the chair, bowed his head politely, then turned to depart. Once he was gone Newter expressed the curiosity that Gregor had been working to contain.
"So, what's the deal? What's happening with Case 53s?" He asked, leaning forward over the remnants of his steak.
Faultline took a breath, then extracted some papers from the file. Medical reports from the PRT hospital, incident accounts, and official department policies that had been put in place. The fact that all of them had been marked with the highest confidentiality seemed to have been no obstacle to Uppercrust.
"Apeiron was the one who recovered Weld from the bay." Faultline explained, walking them through the reports. "As part of his recovery he traded a tissue sample for medical treatment. Apparently Apeiron considered that to qualify as a contract, with everything that implied."
Gregor sat stunned while Newter wrestled with the implications spelled out in the reports. "Better control of power? Improved senses? Fuck, even better shapeshifting?" He looked up at Faultline. "Apeiron can do that? Like, permanently?"
She turned to another medical form. "There's no sign of any regression of the effects of the treatment. They don't know about the long term, obviously, but so far everything matches up with what Apeiron promised." She swallowed. "And he did it in less than five minutes at the bottom of the ocean."
Newter collapsed back in his seat. His solid blue eyes dropped to his hands, to the bandages covering most of their surface and the exposed orange skin that would send anyone into a drug induced haze with an instant's contact.
Weld had struggled with the same class of issue, one of restricted contact, and Apeiron had been able to resolve it. He had been able to manage even cosmetic changes, as was noted in the file. Surface finish now dull enough to pass as human from a distance. A purely cosmetic change, but one that resonated with Gregor.
"Power blocs." He said, earning a nod from Faultline and a confused look from Newter.
"What?" The boy asked. "What does that have to do with this?" He gestured to the files he was handling carefully.
"Local powers aren't just going to be arranging themselves with respect to each other. It's also going to be about their stances on Apeiron." Faultline explained.
"What stances on Apeiron?" Newter asked. "What are any of them going to do to him?"
"Even if you can't match someone in combat, you can still impede them." Gregor answered. "Assuming Apeiron doesn't launch into direct combat with a group and wipe them out, they can still make things difficult for him in other areas."
"Until he decides to wipe them out." Newter remarked. "Nobody can seriously be thinking about facing off with him, right?"
"He's still just one man." Faultline replied. "There's a limit to his attention and influence. Even if they can't face him, they could still affect that limit."
"Uppercrust wants healing. The more people who are hostile, or even just unfriendly to Apeiron, the harder it will be to arrange." Gregor explained.
"Right. Hard to set up a friendly chat if Apeiron's off razing the Merchants or whatever." Newter said, then looked at them. "Not that it's easy to set up a chat in the first place." He gestured to one of the reports. "I'm as on board for this as anyone, but do we have any idea how to get an in, or what it will cost?"
Faultline shook her head. "No, but the summit is a good place to start." She smiled and took a sip of her wine. "Uppercrust wanted another group in Apeiron's corner. I think we can say he's accomplished his goal."
Gregor nodded and felt a smile come to his lips. Thoughts he hadn't dared to indulge in, not for years, not since he had come to terms with his place in the world, were flooding back. Hope. It was hope. They just had to make sure the city could hold through the aftermath of the meeting.
They finished their meal with light conversation but buoyed by the potential of the future. Good food and good news carried them well through the afternoon, but Somer's Rock came all too quickly.
They drove near the location in an unmarked van, the kind Newter made jokes about. He was still young enough to engage in dreams of youth, including some sleek dedicated vehicle for cape operations rather than the kidnap-mobile. Gregor appreciated the anonymity it provided, leaving them only a short walk from a nearby alley to the entrance of the bar.
It was his first time visiting the location, but it was instantly familiar the moment he stepped inside. It brought back earlier memories of his time as a bouncer, or of jobs taken prior to his time with Faultline where it seemed half of the negotiations were required to take place in the seediest bar imaginable.
It was dark, dingy, and carried a depressed atmosphere, which was probably for the best. The coming meeting was likely to be hectic enough without any added stimulus. He took a brief moment to scan the assorted tables and booths, noting the two that were already occupied, one by a thin figure in a black body stocking with a white snake printed on it, the other by a quartet of capes, two of which were familiar.
Uppercrust glanced towards them from his own table. The man in the blue lined suit, Jacob's Ladder, sat to his right. To his left was a woman in and red a blue costume with thick iron bracers on her wrists and a mask across her lower face. Opposite him sat a man with an agitated posture wearing armor consisting of yellow and black bands. He reacted immediately to their arrival and alternated between tracking their movements and leaning forward to whisper to Uppercrust.
Faultline moved smoothly through the bar, breezing past the tables with their shabby green tablecloths and selecting one of the booths. Newter slid in first, pressing against the wall and allowing Faultline to take the outside seat. Spitfire helped Labyrinth into the seat opposite Newter. Her state wasn't the worst Gregor had seen, but the weight of the other night was still apparent. Once she'd settled she leaned her head against the wall and stared through the eyeholes of her mask at the moldering plaster.
Rather than try to press into the limited space Gregor liberated a chair from one of the nearby tables and settled at the outer edge of the booth's table. A quick glance to the bartenders didn't show any specific objection to the act. He assumed that there wouldn't be unless someone decided to mess with the rough assembly of tables that had been pressed together for the leaders of each group to meet for the summit proper.
"Are we early?" Spitfire asked, glancing around. "I thought there'd be more people here."
"I wanted to get a sense of the place as it filled up." Faultline said, glancing towards the door. She had chosen her seat for easy viewing of anyone who entered. Gregor would need to twist, while Spitfire and Labyrinth were nearly cut off.
"And it's probably for the best if the gangs minimize socialization time before the meeting." She added. "This will be tense enough without someone sparking a conflict."
Gregor nodded. There were far too many ways things could go wrong. The prospect of Apeiron both abiding by and upholding the truce was a powerful one, but high-strung villains didn't always make the best decisions. He had to wonder, if Leet somehow walked through that door and claimed the protection of the truce, would he be able to restrain himself?
He glanced over at Labyrinth remembering the way the villain had stood over her helpless form, drawing out the moment while holding the girl in terror, at his mercy. The absolute miracle that he had been able to push through the pain and reach her in time.
Yes, he would be able to restrain himself, but only just, and he didn't credit his level of restraint to most of the capes who would be in attendance. Fortunately, the chance of the duo making an appearance was unbelievably distant, about on the same level as the remnants of the ABB deciding to come out of hiding to plead for their lives. With any luck grudges could be set aside long enough for an agreement to be reached and the city to recover.
The deaf waitress brought their round of drinks without any additional arrivals. Gregor felt himself grow tense as he began to dissect the operation of the bar, drawing on his own experience as the other members of the crew made awkward small talk.
The waitress was the only server, cycling between the tables and booths and the two brothers at the bar. It seemed staffing was limited to the owning family, which was a sensible precaution given the nature of the event. Nobody was here to enjoy themselves and he doubted the girl would be overly pressed even when all the capes arrived. The brothers never left the bar, which had a decent gap between the tables and booths and stood at the opposite end of the room from the long table. There would be no chance of being overheard, which was ideal. At a time like this privacy was preferable to quality of service.
The sound of the door opening drew their attention, with Faultline glancing up, Gregor turning to the side, and Spitfire working out how to rotate in her seat.
The figure that stepped through the door was an imposing mass of shadows. It took Gregor a moment to identify him, which was a moment longer than it should have taken. Grue had arrived, but in a new costume.
Simply referring to it as such didn't do the outfit justice. Gregor remembered the earlier appearance, really the first clear picture of the cape. For a costume Grue had used motorcycle leathers and a helmet with a skull painted on it. A fairly basic arrangement, and one he had seen plenty of capes use, though it did fit Grue's theming better than most.
It wasn't basic any more. The standard motorcycle helmet had been replaced by a custom sculpted assembly bearing highlights of bones and fangs. It held the same silhouette, but carried a completely different feel. A looming, demonic skull that leaked clouds of darkness from every gap.
The same effect had been applied to the rest of his costume, only somehow in an even more striking manner. Somehow the material allowed the black miasma from the cape's body to flow through freely despite also seeming to be solid leather. The only points that weren't saturated with clouds of darkness were the seams, trim, and detail work. Stark outlines of aggressive biker gear standing within a black aura.
There was barely a chance to appreciate the impact of the new costume before the rest of the Undersiders flowed into the bar. Tattletale was next, her purple and black bodysuit now switched out for a more solid looking jacket and pants, still as fitted, but much more robust. Her mask had a slight asymmetry that complemented the patterns of her costume, now composed of the seams and edges of clothing rather than just a printed pattern.
Regent sauntered in behind her, twirling his scepter while displaying a replacement for the costume that had been burned along with the cape himself. You would never connect the grinning boy with the figure who had screamed under the effects of Bakuda's fire bombs.
Perhaps it was the outfit that made the connection so difficult. The loose, puffy shirt replaced by a jacket edged in ermine, a redesigned mask, complete with a much grander coronet, and a general improvement in the fit, design, and style of the rest of his outfit.
The figure marching after him was only recognizable as Bitch by process of elimination. The girl had never given more than a token acknowledgement of the conventions of cape identities, consisting of merely a dog mask over her street clothes. While the new costume definitely had elements of her earlier pragmatism, it was at least identifiable as a costume.
Most apparently, the plastic party mask was gone, replaced by what looked to be a carefully sculpted and embroidered half-mask covering the top of her face. It resembled a German Shepard, or some similar breed, with the tones of the 'fur' extending through the rest of her costume. A pilot jacket with fur at the cuffs and collar, fingerless gloves, and pants and boots that looked to be carefully fitted rather than thrown on.
"Wow." Mumbled Spitfire. "Looks like someone's gotten an upgrade. I wonder if-"
Her voice caught in her throat as the final member of the group walked in. Seeing the figure that filled the door, referring to it so casually didn't seem appropriate. It was more like she floated into the room, or deemed to grace the building with her presence. The dim and shadowy space seemed to glow as the golden figure entered the room.
Khepri looked like a goddess. There was really no other way to describe it. The new costume had a similar cut to her old one, but instead of drab panels she was covered in gleaming golden plates bearing a vaguely Egyptian design. Armored plates, arranged with care and detail enough to turn a simple protective design into a work of art. Tresses of raven hair flowed down from a forehead band that could have put crowns to shame. As she moved the metal of her costume shimmered with a captivating light, drawing the eye to such an extent that Gregor had to wonder if it was a feature of the design, some subtle feature for distracting opponents or captivating casual viewers.
If there was any doubt as to the origin of the new outfits, Khepri's appearance had put it to rest. Apeiron's work was as recognizable as a signature. The Undersiders made their way to an empty booth and took their seats. The entire room seemed to dim as Khepri slid out of view, but Gregor couldn't tell if it was actually a change in light levels, or just a trick of the mind.
"Okay." Spitfire breathed, twisting back to settle into her seat. "Undersiders have new costumes. Expected, really, but… wow."
"They do." Faultline said. "And decent odds they're armored." She paused. "I mean besides Khepri's, obviously."
"Yeah." Newter said, leaning forward. "Once again, Apeiron's best girl gets the top shelf treatment." He turned towards Spitfire. "You regretting not taking them up on that recruitment pitch?"
Spitfire glanced over her shoulder, then shook her head. "No. Not with Bitch on that team. I'm not dealing with that. Also, no amount of gear is worth what they went through on Saturday night."
The reference to the Undersiders' fight with Bakuda drained any levity the appearance of the new costumes had introduced. Faultline pressed in, bringing the conversation back on topic.
"It's confirmation of continued contact between Apeiron and the Undersiders. Also means whatever deal they have; it hasn't been compromised or expended. Have to keep that in mind during the talks."
Gregor nodded. Separate from the spectacle was the statement. A confirmation of support and connections. It was an open display of the strength of the Undersiders' position, their luxury of being the one group in the city who didn't need to worry about Apeiron. Honestly, he couldn't help but envy the stability they were able to enjoy.
58.1 Addendum Alec
Alec looked over the mess of his team, wondering how they ever imagined they were ready for something like this. Oh sure, they looked like they had their shit together, but Alec was pretty sure you could put a gibbering mental patient in one of Joe's suits and he'd be able to bluff his way through a charity gala.
"This was a mistake." Taylor muttered from her seat. "I should have said something, or just worn my old costume. Everyone was staring at me."
Yes Taylor, when you dress up like something out of a barbarian fantasy and strut through the room like a supermodel people tend to take notice. He really worried about how sheltered and closed off the girl seemed at times. It wasn't a good combination for someone with her level of power, connections, and ruthless impulsiveness.
Taylor turned to the group. "Should I have set the armor to black? Would that have been better?"
The image of Taylor in the armor's 'dark mode' flashed through Alec's mind. There was a faint possibility that it wouldn't have the same impression in a dark room with most of the detail hidden that it had created when she displayed it for the team back in the hideout, but considering the near supernatural design aspects of Joe's work somehow he doubted it.
Brian coughed and shook his head. "Probably not."
Taylor sank back in her seat with a slight nod. He knew she was distraught, the team knew she was distraught, but beyond her whispered concerns she displayed no sign of that state. It was something he noticed. Taylor didn't show weakness, not if there was any possible way to conceal it. It was a principle he was all too familiar with, growing up with his own family, but seeing it to such an extent from someone like Taylor was concerning.
Or it was concerning now. Previously it would have been, what? Interesting? Noteworthy? Maybe he would have looked into it out of curiosity, and maybe done something if it was interesting and not too difficult, but that wasn't the case anymore. He was thinking about Taylor's life, what kind of situations would have made her like that, and he didn't like the conclusions he was coming to. Didn't like how those thoughts made him feel.
Because he was broken. Or he had been broken for so long that when Joe fixed things he pulled everything out of alignment. You adjust to walking a corked trail and then someone decides to straighten it and you can't find your footing anymore. He didn't know exactly what it meant, but there was one thing he was sure of.
He wasn't ready for this. He wasn't ready to deal with this summit and whatever stupid plans Lisa and Brian had cooked up. He wasn't ready for whatever expansion of jobs or higher stakes missions they were pushing the team towards. And he knew the team wasn't ready either.
Another skill polished to perfection from a lifetime in that house. Knowing when someone was near the breaking point. Around his family stress and mental trauma were depressingly common, and not just in their victims. He had seen more breakdowns by his tenth birthday than most people did their entire lives. Hell, he had been the source of his share of them. He knew when people were near the edge, and the team was near the edge.
Weirdly, Rachel seemed to be in the most stable place. Sure, she didn't like owing a mid-sized fortune to Joe, but she seemed to accept he wasn't going to raid her snack fund and would keep making with the new toys. She also had pulled something from seeing Joe in that monster transformation that she felt was frustratingly obvious to the point where she couldn't even explain it to the rest of them.
When Bitch was the high water mark you knew things were bad. Taylor was possibly the least traumatized, but she was leaning hard into whatever coping mechanisms let her get through. For Brian and Lisa, well he doubted they were really over what happened a week ago. Brian might be able to cope, but he hadn't been running himself ragged like Lisa had. The benefits of whatever rest had been mandated for her was quickly running out and he was recognizing the signs of caffeine being used to hold her together.
He just hoped it would stay at that level rather than go to anything stronger. He also found it weird how he was really hoping that for the sake of someone else, and not just because of the mess it would cause when it caught up to her.
And that summed up his situation. Broken from being fixed, to the point where he couldn't even figure out what way he was supposed to be facing. And this was the crack team that had burst in wearing million-dollar costumes like they owned the place. It was like they were begging the universe to bring things crashing down on them.
Taylor was looking over the costumes of the rest of the group, particularly Bitch's 'comparatively' plain outfit. "Maybe I should have just asked him to make me a new costume, like yours."
Alec scoffed. "I doubt you'd end up with something like ours. He was going to swing for the fences on yours no matter what." There were no arguments from the rest of the team on that. "Though I have to admit, it would be fun seeing Tattletale wrack her brain trying to figure out another custom outfit."
"It's not my fault all of these have custom technology." Lisa muttered and rubbed the side of her head. "He didn't even repeat fiber types between them."
"Man of talent, I suppose." Alec said, running his hand over the impossibly soft black speckled white fur lining. "And you're sure this isn't real? Because it feels real."
"It's not real fur, just like Bitch's isn't real fur. They're just completely different types of not-real fur. Also, every piece of leather is both fake, and a different kind of fake." Lisa replied.
"Well yeah. Leather's not bulletproof." Alec said, feeling the reassuring solidness of his own jacket.
"Should we even be talking about this out here?" Taylor asked.
Lisa shrugged. "Waitress isn't going to talk. Overhearing's not likely, and all they'd get is the fact that we're impressed by Apeiron's work, which anyone would be."
"Because it's good." Rachel said, feeling the fur collar of her jacket. "Fake or whatever, it's comfortable and doesn't even get too hot." Alec nodded. Somehow he suspected he'd be able to keep the fur lining through summer without discomfort, and Rachel would probably be wearing hers continuously.
Really, it was probably a shame they'd only been able to show off the costumes for three groups. It was definitely better for Taylor's state of mind, but despite all his doomsaying he knew the importance of image. They might not be able to handle what was coming, but looking like they could was the only conceivable way they were going to get through it. Honestly with Joe's costumes they were about 90% there already.
"Any word on when Super Tinker is going to get here?" Alec asked.
Grue glanced down at his watch but didn't call up the view screen. "I checked in with a text before we left. He's on his way. Might get here before any of the other groups.
"So, do we have any idea what to expect?" Looking around he could tell that wasn't a comforting question. "He's not going to burst through the door in dino-wolf mode or teleport into the bar, is he?" He noted the way Rachel perked up when he mentioned the dino-wolf. Another thing he was noticing, and another thing that was more than just curiosity and entertainment.
"Not likely." Lisa said, though not with the confidence she was used to showing. Either it was something specific to Joe, or the consequences of running herself ragged for a week solid. "I told him it was important to make an impression, so there's probably going to be some display, but nothing that's going to brush against the truce. Just a bit of showmanship."
Alec blinked. Glancing to Taylor and Rachel he confirmed that neither of them had been briefed on this either. "Can he even do a 'bit' of showmanship? Like, physically, is it possible for him to hold back to that level?"
"I'm sure it will be fine." Lisa didn't sound sure. Alec didn't feel sure. Really, there was nothing sure about any of this.
He felt his watch vibrate slightly, then the slightly echoey sound of a message that was only audible to him. Audible to the entire group, by the look of it.
"Just arrived at the bar." Joe's voice said. "We're heading in now."
There was no delay between the message being delivered and the door swinging open, drawing the gaze of the entire bar. Even the waitress and barkeepers' intentionally disinterested demeanor couldn't hold out against that entrance.
Honestly, Joe looked so different that he barely would have connected the image before him to the man who dropped off their costumes. He never would have connected it to the guy thay bartered with over pizza a week and a half ago. It wasn't just the costume, though once again that had been revised, this time to a less militant cut with a tight jacket and flowing cape over one shoulder. The key elements were there, the boots, the white gloves, the visor, but it was what was missing that drew the eye.
Joe was nearly unmasked. Aside from the visor over his eyes his face was completely open. At the same time, there was no chance of him being recognized. Something was different about it. It was still Joe, or still enough that Alec could see the connection, but it was like a more refined version. Stronger and sharper features, better balance, and an expression he never would expect from Joe in his civilian life. Pure confidence radiated out as he walked into the bar.
That wasn't the only thing that radiated out. There was a kind of pressure from his presence, something that was hard to define. Additionally, he was actually glowing. Both the visor and some of his armor plates were clearly technological, but the striking thing was his hair. Joe had colored it dark gray in place of his usual brown, but there was a single lock of red hair at the front that stood out so strongly Alec swore it was glowing.
"Wow." It took a moment before he realized he was the one who had said the word, but a quick glance at the rest of the group confirmed the impact had been as severe for them. And for the rest of the bar. Something wormed itself into his head, bringing up highly troubled emotions with it. "Wait, did he say 'we'?" Alec whispered, then fell dead silent as he saw the figure who stepped in behind Apeiron.
Alec was no stranger to beautiful women. Their presence at his home had been a depressing consequence of having Heartbreaker for a father. None of the man's targets would be considered unappealing, and more than a few had been women of pronounced beauty. Models, actresses, or the like. Women who built a career on the quality of their appearance.
The figure who stepped into the bar blew all of them out of the water. Her features were exposed save for a translucent band across her eyes, some kind of token version of Joe's own visor made of a tinted material that seemed to hold itself in place with no clear mechanism. Her features were delicate but also perfectly proportioned. High cheekbones, a small chin, full lips, and a delicate slant to her eyes.
Her hair was silver, not white but actually shimmering silver, and flowed down to what looked like mid-back. It had just enough of a wave to it to give it a sense of motion without edging into untidiness. The few locks that traced down her shoulders drew the eye to her costume. Her very fitted costume.
She had some kind of short jacket that only extended behind her, giving a cape-like effect, but otherwise she was wearing what could be called a two-piece body suit. Tight fitting top that hugged in perfectly, matching the shade of blue that glowed from her visor and complemented her hair. The color scheme continued through her pants and boots, creating an incredibly striking figure.
As she walked in Alec had to be impressed both by how well she was managing her heels, and for the fact that they actually seemed to be a serious part of her cape outfit. Either she had some supporting power, Joe's work was picking up the slack, or she was inviting disaster during her first run of combat.
He glanced at the rest of the team seeing varying shades of shock and wonder. Clearly he wasn't the only one floored by the woman's appearance. The implications were overwhelming. What it could mean and how it could impact things. They were as much in the dark as anyone else, and he could guess how much Tattletale liked that.
Before he could comment on it the door darkened again and another figure walked in. Taller than the woman, but slightly shorter than Joe, he wore what looked like a modified flight suit. Assorted armored plates glowed with unknown technologies and a fighter helmet sat on his head, concealing his eyes with a reflective visor but leaving his mouth and chin exposed. The entire costume had the unmistakable detail and workmanship of Joe's creations, as had everything the woman was wearing. There was no doubt being left about any aspect of their association.
The man had a satisfied grin on his face as he glanced around the room, pausing as he looked towards the team, then continuing to scan past as he followed Joe and the mystery woman. Two. Joe had a team of three. At least three.
He quickly turned towards the door to spot a familiar armored suit walk through. His first thought was that heels seemed to be something of a theme with Joe and Lisa and Rachel were probably lucky to be spared that in the redesign. It was the same suit that had been spotted recovering Joe after his battle with Lung. There had been speculation that it was some kind of drone or autonomous response, but he could feel the presence of a nervous system within the suit. Actually, he could feel it in a way he couldn't from the man or woman who preceded it.
The suit's behavior was enough to indicate the presence of a person, rather than some computer system. Little things like pauses in motion, glances towards the rest of her group, or hesitance in entry gave that away. Four. It was four now, and Alec wasn't prepared to assume it would end there.
And he was right. They were followed by a cat, standing a bit over three feet tall and wearing one of those Greek helmets, but made of some kind of glowing black metal. He had a fan of feathers sticking out of either side of the helmet and a similar grouping just above his tail that looked to be actually attached rather than part of his costume. The costume in question was a dark gray and red jacket cut to look like Greek armor with pants in the same theme, and heavy, solid boots. Some kind of double ended spear was attached to his back with no clear mechanism, but that seemed to be par for the course with Joe's work.
After the relatively normal appearance of the cat the entire bar was shocked by the sudden swerve that was the next entrant's appearance. It was some kind of glowing bipedal animal composed of near solid masses of red strings. The fibers were closely packed, but emerged in a facsimile of fur across what parts of the creature's body were visible. It was wearing a long, black cloak that allowed the light from its body to leak through the seams in a way that was as striking as it was unnerving. Wide, molten eyes scanned the room, darting from person to person and a wicked grin revealed a mouth full of burning red teeth.
It was the nature of the creature that was so unsettling. More than just the unnatural nature of seeing an animal walk on two legs, it moved with bursts of energy that caused its body to strobe, casting the entire room into a crimson glow. As the creature approached Alec spotted its hands, one of which bore a glove with a disturbingly organic looking eye and a lining of teeth between the thumb and forefinger.
The glowing beast pounced forward and darted around the cat, casting the contrast between the unnatural movements of the mass of fibers in sharp relief with what seemed to be the most grounded member of the group. The creature prowled towards Joe with an aggressive stance, causing him to pause and look back at the thing. He stared at the silent form as it worked it's mouth open and closed, showing off way too many burning teeth.
Then Joe smiled, nodded, and extended an arm. The thing shot upright, then darted forward, pouncing at Joe and clambering onto his costume. Incredibly, Joe seemed to find the assault endearing and hefted the beast to his shoulder before turning towards the rest of the group. The cat looked at the display, particularly the creature's position on Joe's back, with a complicated expression. Really, he seemed to stand as the one stable point in the insanity that was unfolding.
Insanity that wasn't done yet. A towering shape obscured the doorway as a hulking form ducked to enter the bar. Once again, it was a suit Alec recognized, but the last time anyone had seen it the scale had been somewhat different. Substantially taller than the 7+ feet before them.
Shimmering in gold, a miniature version of the mech that had battled Lung stepped into the bar. It sounded like the setup for a bad joke, but that would require there to be a punchline that didn't end in disaster.
No, there actually might be a punchline. Like with the rescue suit, it would make sense to assume the mech had been unmanned. Based on what he and the rest of the group knew it seemed like a safe bet. Alec couldn't feel any nervous signals from the suit, but he also couldn't feel any from the man and woman, or the red nightmare beast. Though he did feel something from the glove on its hand, which had concerning implications.
Once again, it was mannerisms that gave things away. While the rescue suit had been curious and a touch uncertain, there was a very different set of emotions being conveyed from the hulking suit. Through nothing but the way it regarded the bar it was able to convey horror, disgust, and disbelief. The mech's head reoriented itself from stained tablecloths to flickering light bulbs to crumbling plaster. It looked over to one of the front windows where tattered drapes were pulled to conceal the bars outside. It dragged a finger along the windowsill then held it up, staring while stock still. Quickly it reoriented on Joe and hurried through the bar.
It was unsettling to see the massive mass of metal move so lightly, or to see something Alec would bet held an arsenal that could level a city fretting at Joe over the décor. The conversation was brief and inaudible, but it seemed to settle the suit enough for him to follow the rest of the group to one of the tables.
The assorted individuals settled into their seats, with once again the massive form of the armored suit acting in defiance of its apparent mass, settling into a thin wooden chair as easily as the woman or the cat. Joe helped the burning red creature down from his shoulder and onto the seat next to him. Watching the exchange Alec had a horrible realization, a sense of familiarity.
He had recognized the high-heeled suit from when it collected Joe. He had recognized the still-agitated armored form from when a larger version of it battled Lung in the sky over the bay. Now he recognized a third participant from that fight, and dearly wished he hadn't.
The creature, the way its body seemed to be composed of coiled fibers, the way it glowed and pulsed, the sense of pressure that accompanied the light from its body, it was all familiar. Anyone who watched the view would recognize it, only it had last been seen as a concerning mass snaking through Joe's body, not a tiny mink-like creature seated next to him, glowing with what was unmistakably the same kind of light.
Now that he thought about it, it was the same light that seemed to be coming from the red lock of hair on Joe's head. Exactly the same, even blending together perfectly.
Alec was so shocked he almost missed the nod Joe directed at them as he moved with an easy smile and unnatural grace. Somehow, it was even more pronounced than when he faced off against Bakuda, becoming both tighter and somehow more efficient in what it was conveying. Alec slowly turned from the group of presumed parahumans that Joe had assembled on short notice to gauge the reactions of the rest of the Undersiders.
It was about what he expected.
"So, that's a bit of showmanship?" Alec asked, mostly in an attempt to say something. Seeing the way the stress crashed down on Lisa he almost regretted it, but the concern was evident through the group, plain as day.
"Did anyone know about this?" Taylor asked, leaning to keep Joe's table in her field of view.
"No." Lisa said in an unsteady voice. "This shouldn't even be… I mean, it's not…" Her eyes rapidly darted between the members of Joe's table, then to the other groups in the room. The Elite, Faultline's Crew, Coil, then quickly back to their table. "Fuck."
"What does this mean?" Brian asked. He was keeping his voice low, but there was mumbling from every direction save Coil. Whatever stir had been caused by their own appearances; it was playing a hundred times over for Joe.
"I don't know. Nobody knows. This is completely off the map." Lisa muttered. "Everything I've prepared, everything everyone's prepared, it's all up in the air. There's no telling how it will land."
Alec didn't have much faith in their ability to predict the outcome even if Joe had showed up on his own in gear from three days ago. Wasn't there something about predicting unpredictability? Or not planning precisely when nothing was precise? He was probably remembering rambled quotes from his childhood, usually thrown out more in an effort to look cunning than out of any appropriateness to the situation.
One quote did jump out to him. 'No plan survives first contact with the enemy'. While he didn't think they precisely fit into the 'enemy' category, the sentiment still stood. No plan survives first contact with Apeiron. Really, they should have expected as much.
Well, at least whatever overambitious nonsense Lisa had set up got an early start on its collapse. A few more 'first contacts' with Apeiron and maybe the schemes would fall back to a level that the team could actually handle.