43
Lung was on time for the meeting at Somer's Rock, that dingy little bar that had, until recently, been the city's one recognized neutral territory for the unlawful parahumans that resided there. Now, as he directed the deaf waitress to bring him a bottle of strong drink and took ownership of an ugly, worn chair at the similarly ugly, worn table in the center of the bar, Lung couldn't help but scoff. He needed to find an excuse to call a meeting like this at the Pawprint Shrine, so he could watch Kaiser choke on his territory's relative luxury and fine culture. He'd gladly lose his legs to another four-hour ceremony if it meant forcing the self-styled Iron King to do the same. After all, Lung's would grow back.
Said false king was already at his usual place at the table, his women at his sides, though his attack dog and his thief were noticeably absent. Purity as well, perhaps the rumors of their falling out had some grain of truth to them. Kaiser usually brought a larger entourage as a show of strength, as numbers were the Empire's sole quality. And Lung usually arrived late, making the gathered capes wait for him simply because he could, because who would dare speak against him, or pretend to mold the city without him included?
But not today. Today, Kaiser's table had empty seats, and Lung was on time, and both of these were for the same reason. The city had changed.
More parahumans filed in, as Lung took his first pull of liquor and Kaiser pretended not to care about anything. First Faultline and her two mutants, the mercenaries taking up stools at the bar rather than the center tables. A car door slammed shut outside and Coil walked in, the snake claiming a spot at the table nearest the door. A rag-tag trio of teenagers were last, from some gang Lung didn't care to know about, and they wisely occupied a pair of booths rather than try and take one of the open spots at the table.
11:30, and not a single Merchant on the premises. No great loss, that. Kaiser glanced at the grimy clock on the far wall and nodded. "Everyone's here. Let's begin. As you surely know—"
The bar's door opened, shoved by the large head of a large wolf, and in walked the Ōkami, with the Miko riding sidesaddle on its back. Lung recognized the kimono she'd chosen to wear in place of a costume, and the Miko's formal appearance with the wolf spirit's bright fur painted a sharp contrast to the bar's other inhabitants.
"Oh— hello. I'm not late, am I?" The Miko scanned the room once, visibly taking note of first the seating arrangement, and then the clock Kaiser had just looked to a moment before. The Ōkami padded further into the room, making the bar seem that much smaller by comparison, and stopped at a set of booths at the far side of the tables. The Miko then grabbed a chair from the empty places near Kaiser and set it against the booth's table before sitting down, facing the gathered villains. The Ōkami jumped up onto the booth table behind her, the wood creaking in protest, and laid down, with its paws hanging over the edge and flanking the Miko's shoulders and its head high above the girl's, forming the image of a living throne. Inside his mask, Lung grinned as he heard Kaiser's armor clink together as the Nazi's fist tightened.
"Brushstroke—and Good Dog, too—I didn't expect to see you here," Coil spoke clearly from the end furthest from the Miko, drawing their attention. The Ōkami's eyes sharpened.
"And I didn't expect to see so many here already. The invitation I received said to be here at noon. I hope I didn't make anyone wait."
There was a moment of strained silence, until Faultline snorted and shook her head. "Nobody? Fine, I'll say it: I don't think you were invited, Brushstroke. Bit late to complain now."
"Indeed," Kaiser muttered, then raised his voice again, "but perhaps for the best. I should like to discuss your recent actions, once the matter at hand is concluded."
"As you wish," the Miko demurred. She did glance sidelong at the teenagers in the booth, signaling them out clearly for some involvement, which made their shadowed leader fidget. "Please excuse my interruption, then."
"As I was saying— as you surely know, Legend has relocated to the city temporarily, while the local Protectorate turns its attention to wiping away the stain of the Merchants. I would like to propose a moratorium on overt conflict for the duration of his stay. His duties in New York cannot be put off forever, I suspect that if no trouble arises here he will leave all the more quickly."
Typical. Kaiser wanted to play for time, give his crumbling Empire time to shore its defenses. He was known for calling in favors, drawing capes from near and far to his banner as needed. Using the threat of the Triumvirate as a smokescreen to cover for his weakness, and more than likely parceling out the Merchant's territory to new vassals before he'd even claimed it. The Trainyards were a squalid ruin, but Lung was half a mind to conquer it anyway, before some new pest moved in or Kaiser got a foothold.
What had Lee said? The Protectorate had asked the Miko to negotiate a ceasefire. Lung felt a smile spread upon his face. He'd send a group of men to the Merchant lairs, test the waters of the Protectorate's tolerance, and perhaps steal the vacant territory from Kaiser before his very eyes. "I find this acceptable."
"I'm not starting trouble unless I'm paid to— and it'd have to be a hefty check to do so while the Triumvirate is watching," Faultline agreed, as she leaned back against the bar.
"We're fine with laying low for a while. He's just keeping watch while the heroes arrest the remaining Merchants, isn't he? That shouldn't take long at all," the smoke-obscured teen rumbled, his voice distorted by his power. "How many are left besides Squealer and Mush?"
Coil glanced at the teen, and Lung could almost hear the smirk. "Likely a handful of no-name dredges. My sources—"
"GAH!" A sudden shout and a slap drew all eyes to the booth, where the blonde cape had her hands covering her face. Lung saw the Ōkami quickly lean back out of the corner of his eyes. "Stop— stop photobombing my power!"
The smoking leader of—ah, now he remembered—the Undersiders quickly shushed his compatriot. Lung heard the Miko scolding the Ōkami ("Sunny, be nice!") but the damage was done. Kaiser raised his voice but lowered the tone, saying, "Brushstroke, are you aware of the rules of this sort of arrangement? You're quite new, so I shall enlighten you— use of parahuman powers is forbidden under truce, as is goading another into aggression."
The Miko tilted her head slightly, and regarded the Empire leader. "I see. Thank you for taking the time to explain this, but I don't see how it's relevant here. Sunny isn't doing anything other than existing. I'm sorry if that inconveniences anyone."
"Hm. Well, I think we are all in agreement regarding the moratorium. I believe there was something else you wished to discuss, Kaiser?" Coil spoke up, diverting the conversation before Kaiser could get a proper retort in. No doubt the snake was enjoying the Empire's loss of face, as well. Kaiser must have been seething behind his iron facade.
"Indeed. As a matter of fact, it concerns our," he nearly spat the word, "guest. Namely, why is she here?"
"...do you mean in the building, or in the city?"
"Either."
"Well," she said, "I'm in the building because I received an invitation. I'm in the city because I live here." The Miko reached into her obi and withdrew a small notecard, then rose and walked over to Kaiser, handing it to him. "This was delivered to me."
"We don't do written invitations, Brushstroke," Faultline commented, leaning forward a bit as she did to eye the card.
"Then perhaps there has been a mistake? But I can't imagine why someone would go to the trouble of getting me here." Was she being facetious? The Ōkami's narrowed eyes and her careful tone implied that she was. If there was some sort of ploy involved, the list of suspects was dangerously narrow.
"Is there a point to this diversion," Lung rumbled, "or will you continue to waste our time, Kaiser?"
"There is. I want to know why someone in collusion with the Protectorate is allowed here." Kaiser gestured at the now-seated Miko with an iron gauntlet. "Time and again, this one has set up situations for the heroes to rush in, and yet she claims to be neutral?"
"I do, yes, because I am. I offer the same privileges to the Protectorate as I do to everyone here."
"You delivered Skidmark to the Protectorate only a few days ago. As abhorrent as he was, you cannot claim—"
"I did no such thing," she interrupted, and over her head the Ōkami focuses its large eyes on Kaiser. "Members of the Merchants attacked my house, and Sunny held the leader responsible for the actions of his men. That the Protectorate picked him up after she was done with him is not my concern. I took no oath of pacifism, nor have I promised to uphold a status quo. If someone breaks the rules of the Shrine or attacks me, Sunny can and will redress it. Is that a problem?"
Against Lung's expectations, Kaiser was silent for a long moment. "No," he eventually ground out, "it is not." Even his women exchanged a glance with each other. Backing down was not the response one expected from Kaiser.
Coil was the first to stand, his chair screeching on the wood floor. "Well then. If our business is concluded…?" There were murmurs of agreement. The Undersiders didn't quite flee, but they were first out the door, followed by Faultline and her bestial help. Coil slithered out, then after another moment—seeing Brushstroke had made no move to leave—Kaiser and his diminished entourage stood and left. Once he did, the Miko hurried to her feet and— Lung felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle, just a little. She smiled and walked over to him, the Ōkami on her heels.
"Excuse me, Lung?"
"What is it?" Up close, he could see the strained quality to her expression, and the involuntary flick of her gaze. She didn't seem to approve of his jacket, worn open over his bare chest, but of course was too polite to say so. Heh.
"I wanted to give you this. I thought about passing it along through Oni Lee, but since you were going to be here I brought it with me." She reached back into her obi and pulled out a thin wooden slat, the wood stained cherry-red and then painted. On the item was an image of a tiger, painted like a paper screen, and a small stylized paw print in black ink. "I don't think I'll have the hot spring ready this year—there's not much left of it, y'know—but since you helped make it happen I wanted you to have this."
"And 'this' is?"
"A pass for the hot spring. Or it would be. It's more a ceremonial gesture now, I suppose. Next year's will have a rabbit, but you get the first."
An appropriate if materially empty gesture, honoring his generosity in allowing her to claim territory and— wait. Paranoia spread through Lung with the Ōkami's smile. Every time the Miko had acted with anything approaching obeisance it had only been a trap to pull him deeper into the kami's debt. What was hiding behind this trinket? He needed to consult with Oni Lee, the assassin had a better grip on the nonsense paths of faith.
Out loud, he responded with a curt, "Thank you, Miko." The Ōkami's attendant smiled a bit wider, dipped into a light bow, and left. The wolf winked at him as it followed her. Fuck.
* * *
Kaiser walked quickly, Fenja and Menja having no problem keeping up, but the pace made them exchange another worried glance. They remained silent until they got back to the car, and as soon as the door shut and the tinted windows hid the Empire's leadership, Kaiser cursed. "Son of a bitch, I knew it."
"What is it?"
"Brushstroke. She wasn't working with the PRT, she had a grudge the whole time." His fists clenched, iron fingers creaking against each other. "I began to suspect when she was outed, but now, after Skidmark, I know for sure."
"Kaiser, what is it?"
"Brushstroke's name is Taylor Hebert— she's not hard to find. That would make her father Daniel Hebert; he worked for the Dockworker's Union, until Hookwolf had it burnt down. Her little crusade against the Empire was delayed, but personal, and it more or less justifies her dog's little stunt against Hookwolf." Biting him in public just as he was lighting something up. He'd admire the girl's vicious irony if it wasn't so goddamned inconvenient. And he hadn't forgotten her warning, staring at him through his office window.
At least the moratorium bought him some time, but he'd need to be ready before it ended. Lung and Coil were the only two big names left in the city outside the Empire, and there was blood in the water. And with Purity compromised… dammit.
"Hand me my phone, I need to call Krieg."
* * *
She shouldn't have left the swing-set. She knew it was risky to go to the little girl's room, but she'd had to, and now they were going to catch her and kill her and—
12.473% chance they will kill me.
—Okay maybe they were gonna do something worse, it didn't really—
89.673% chance it was something worse.
—Holy crap, Dinah hated her power sometimes. No, all the time. It had brought her nothing but trouble and headaches. She'd only had it for a month, not that anyone believed her! And then last week she'd started seeing some really skeevy-looking guys hanging around, and her power had been way too eager to give her the odds on what it meant.
She turned left, nearly stumbling, already lost. She didn't know where the men were except that they were following her, and as long as she kept using alleyways and making turns they couldn't use cars to follower her faster. But she couldn't run forever. Maybe she could catch a ride on a truck again? That had seemed to throw her pursuers off a bit, her standing on the back bumper and gripping the pickup's bed rim for dear life. Except she couldn't see any around here, there was less and less traffic, and her chances were getting lower and lower.
Dinah's feet hit a stretch of sidewalk and she nearly fell over, not from fatigue but shock: 74.538% chance of escape. A jump of fifty percent?! She pumped her legs faster, fueling her stride with desperate hope. As much as her power sucked, it hadn't ever been wrong, so when the black pawprints on the sidewalk made a right turn across an intersection, she followed. She heard yelling behind her as the men caught sight of her again. Please don't shoot, please don't shoot, please don't shoot…
The pawprints juked left again, onto a rough stretch of road lined by painted fences and empty storefront. Dinah sobbed—she couldn't run much further, and her head hurt so bad—and then the paws turned again at a red archway. She stumbled through it, and fell over onto a stretch of grass. She spat out a few yellowed blades of vegetation, and raised her head to look around.
She'd managed to not fall onto a cobblestone path, which led straight to a funny-looking building with a weird roof. There was somebody kneeling at the end of the path, and Dinah felt her heart skip a beat when he turned his head. A leering mask like some sort of monster, painted red looked back at her. The man stood and turned, and started walking towards her. Was that Oni Lee?
That's it. She was dead.
As if to confirm her prophecy, footsteps quickly gained on her, until the men she'd been running from arrived. They stopped outside the red arch, slowing to a walk by the sound of it. Oni Lee stopped entirely— she saw his mask turn from looking at her, to looking at the men. From behind: "The little bitch is ours, she stole something. We're just gonna take her and walk away, no need for trouble. Alright?"
Oni Lee's mask turned towards her again, as if to consider their proposal. He looked back towards the men as Dinah squeezed her eyes shut tight. "I will need to clean my tools again," he said.
"Look, just—"
There was a sudden shink and squelching sound behind her, and yells, and then a gun went off really loud. Dinah clapped her hands over her ears like it could stop the ringing. And after a few moments, it did. Dinah opened her eyes—still alive, apparently—and withdrew shaking hands from her ears. Past the pounding of her pulse, she heard the man—Oni Lee—speaking quietly. It took a couple tries, but she lifted herself off the ground, and stood up.
"...four. Yes; clean them up before the Miko gets back." And then a faint beep, as the demon hung up his phone. Oni Lee turned around, and regarded her just as silently as before. He walked forward, as slowly as before, and Dinah swore she could sense his gaze moving from her scraped knees, to her grass-stained shirt, to the half-unwound ribbon in her hair. The ABB assassin stopped, a couple feet in front of her. Her head hurt, but she had to ask. She barely saw Oni Lee kneel down, through the well of tears:
02.573% chance this man wants to hurt me.
His voice was calm, like he hadn't just killed four men and saved her life. "Are you lost?"
Dinah blinked away the tears. "Yes."
A moment, and then Oni Lee held out his hand. "I will walk you home."
