Strain 2.1a
New
Forenote
We've hit 50,000 words! (Probably! Close enough!) I commissioned this piece from Intrigue_Diablo to celebrate.
I didn't have voices in my head, not really. "The Tinker" was a pattern I'd taken to recognizing, sure, but it was just that: A pattern of anal-retentive 'Tinkery' thoughts, always thought by me, always in my own voice. If I'd ever been dissociative or psychotic or any other psychologist-thing, the Protectorate shrinks had never told me.
And yet it seemed that I had the capacity to go into those psychological uncharted waters inside me all along. First, the spine dream, and now: this.
It felt like taking two steps back from "life TV," like I was looking from a point just behind my own eyes. The scene looked off-kilter right from the jump as my view was raised about a foot higher off the ground than normal. I really could fly.
The thing in focus was Tattletale. She was bloodied to the point of being shiny, staring intently at me with a hard-to-read expression. Maybe it was the lighting — I couldn't really make out what kind of face she was making with the dim orange forcefield being the only light source around. Scared, maybe? Neutral-scared. I'd be scared of me.
I blinked—
—When I opened my eyes again, it wasn't Tattletale that I was looking at.
I was still flying — standing still on thin air, which felt somehow distinct from hovering. Bees, hummingbirds, and helicopters hovered by moving huge volumes of air toward the ground to resist gravity. For me, air and gravity barely merited consideration.
The streets of downtown Brockton Bay took Tattletale's place in the centre of my vision, as seen from several hundred feet up. (I couldn't spot a skyscraper taller than my vantage, so at least as high as the tallest building downtown.) Slightly below centre frame, my old Kid Win costume was draped across my arms.
"Still can't believe you said 'yes' and did this on the day of," said Carlos' voice, only I felt his words coming out of my throat—
"Well, start believing," said my voice, interrupting that train of thought. "Fly a block over, I wanna see DesmesneSoft Tower."
Carlos-me chuckled, and started on a lazy flight path floating to the right.
The city stretched out below us. The sun had just begun to set, casting ruddy-yellow beams across the skyscrapers' glass panes. Cars' lights painted red-and-white lines up and down the highways in pointillist style. Parks cut into the skyline, more near the 'safer' bits of Downtown, closer to the PRT headquarters.
I hardly ever looked out at the harbour at sunset — God, I stayed indoors way too much. Looking out now, I saw ferries going across the Bay and what seemed like a neverending flotilla of cargo ships floating nearby the Docks, some covered in containers, some just covered by tarps. There was a building I'd never paid attention to nearby, the Air Traffic Control for the boats — Sea Traffic Control? It looked like any other building, except for a glass 'bulb' at the top. Carlos-me didn't have super-sight; Squinting only revealed the barest hint of a person's silhouette moving around inside the 'bulb.'
It was hard to believe that Brockton had ever looked like this. I'd seen nothing but desolation for what felt like the past year, though it couldn't have been more than a month since Leviathan hit. It was harder still to remember taking it all in with an actual friend by my side. Or, well, holding me.
"It's just, you can already fly," he said. "And I didn't expect the binoculars."
My vision panned left, settling on the costume in my arms — no, on me in his arms — and then it hit me all at once, what was going on here.
"I can barely fly with the Hoverboard, and going above 40 feet without a parachute is both forbidden by our adult overlords and genuinely terrifying," past-me said. "You, on the other hand: You aren't even flying, you're cheating. And I can just use you as my parachute, this high up."
"Excuse me, Mister Win. I don't see how I'm cheating, and I don't love the way you're talking about using me."
"What, as a crucial thing to keep me from a horrible and untimely death? I'd be flattered. Anyway, you are cheating. Draw a free-body diagram of your flight and it'll look like this: your body as a point mass in the middle; an arrow labelled 'Gravity' pointing down; a 'Wind' arrow pointing at some random direction, and finally a big arrow resisting all the forces labelled with a question mark."
"Right. I see you're taking me back to Physics 11. It's impressive the places you find to think about math — I thought you hated it."
"I do hate it, up until the point that it becomes cool. Physics is cool."
"Nerd."
We came to the end of the flight path and Carlos gently slowed his movement, coming to a smooth stop like a fancy elevator.
"Anyway," he said, "There's the DesmesneSoft Tower in the distance. That what you wanted to see?"
Past-me made some hesitant noises. "Ehh… shoulda bought better binos. These were a thrift store find, it's too far to make out anything interesting. Set me down on a rooftop a few blocks up."
Carlos started moving again. I didn't need to keep watching — I knew exactly how would end. Tears should have welled in my eyes, but the sensation didn't make it through to the world of Carlos'-my memory. I knew how this would end, but I was stuck here. There was no option to leave.
Flying as Carlos did really did feel different. Past-me was right, it was cheating. Wind didn't matter, nor gravity. There was no constant roar of electric thruster packs, no 80 Hz drone coming from the inverter, no servo noise, no subtle crinkling of metal fatigue. Flying with the Hoverboard wasn't really flying, hell, flying with the Zephyr wasn't really flying, either. Carlos' flight — real flight — involved nothing more than his body and the skies.
And on this lazy summer day, I had happened to tag along.
We came to another silky-smooth stop, gliding down to a nearby rooftop. Carlos set past-me down in a gentle, well-practiced motion.
"Forward, genius," past-me intoned. He stood right on the edge of the roof, leaning forward to see further. Trusting Carlos to catch him if he fell.
"Come on, it can wait a second. I'm a little tired from flying," Carlos lied. He didn't get tired from flying, or from anything, really. He needed to sleep, sure, but tired was as foreign a feeling to him as pain. "And I was wondering. The binoculars, why, uh— Seriously, I wasn't expecting that."
Past-me turned back and stepped off the edge of the roof, closer to Carlos. He extended the hand holding the binoculars towards Carlos. "See for yourself."
Through the binoculars, Carlos saw a red blur — ("You're gonna wanna turn, captain.") — then, to the left, a city-shaped blur — ("Focus dial is by the right lens.") — then, the city, close up.
The close zoom made it look like a diorama. Carlos could make out people, cars, bikers. Two people playing table tennis on top of one building. Rows of cubicles through the windows of another. Cats sitting on windowsills. Ships, making way through the harbour.
"I come up sometimes, bring my binoculars to the revolving restaurant. If you get a soda or something, it's free to lounge about and just look around.
"We go on patrols, but even then we don't really feel the whole city. It's so big. And everything happens around us, all at once. We're so, so small. Am I making sense?"
"Yeah," Carlos said, pausing to look some more. "It's beautiful."
Past-me stumbled over his words. "And, uh. I don't know. You offered, and I knew Missy would say 'no' and Sophia would be Sophia, and then I talked to Dean and Dennis, so, well, I kinda rigged it."
"You rigged… My friendly offer to take someone flying?"
"When you put it that way, it sounds stupid, Yeah. Carlos, can I ask you something? —"
I was slammed back to reality, sense-by-sense: the sound of gentle gusting wind replaced by an eerie silence; a beautiful tilt-shift view of Downtown Brockton replaced by the sight of dimly-lit rough-hewn tunnel and team of two-bit villains in unwashed costumes arrayed before me. Smell, barely present in the memory, was violently overpowered by the stench of fresh death — of warm blood.
The scene was absolutely still. I was angry at Tattletale, I remembered, and before that, overcome with something from the dream. These were all memories of feelings. The real ones had shut off completely, at some point.
My clothes felt weird, like the parts of them that were still attached both fit me and didn't. Parts of the fabric were torn apart and their ragged edges rubbed up against me, itching a little. One thing was easy to surmise — pretty much everything I was wearing had been soaked through with sticky blood, warm against my skin.
When I took a deep breath in and spread my hands, Tattletale flinched; Grue and Bitch stood their ground; Regent still lay insensate. Skitter, I couldn't get a read on, as she idly performed something between motion and stillness. She had been shuffling her bugs around before, when the meat hadn't hit the fan — not now. Her swarm, still sizable, looked as though it was glued to the walls of the tunnel, shimmering slightly with the individual motions of a myriad carapaces.
I was still reeling from Carlos' memory, but I couldn't show that on my face. I found new confidence — I had to stop freaking out and start beating Tattletale at her own game. Do what Assault would do. Better yet, what Aegis would do. Come on, Win, act like a superhero.
"Don't talk anymore," I said.
Tattletale said, "We're listening—"
"You're a manipulative Thinker," I said in my firmest voice. "Don't talk."
She formed her mouth into a tight line and took a breath in.
I felt like I should have had a million thoughts running through my head, but none were strong enough to voice. Still, I had that heroic determination. I started pacing, then realized that I wasn't actually walking. I floated back and forth, hand on forehead. The villains tracked me with their eyes. Again, I tried to emulate my team leaders.
"You. You always do the most self-serving thing. I'm in here with you, that means you must need me." I stopped moving and faced Tattletale. "Gauntlets off," I said. "Gun on the ground."
She took another breath in. Deeper, this time.
"Do it!" I commanded. A day ago, this might have felt good. Keep calm, I reminded myself.
Tattletale put her hands up, and slowly undid the clasp holding the right gauntlet on, then gently set it on the ground. She stood back up to do the same for the left gauntlet, keeping both hands in front of her.
"Gun," I said.
She was already fishing around for it. There was a holster of sorts on her hip, from which she produced a small pistol I couldn't identify. She fiddled with it, keeping her hands visible and the barrel pointed down. The clip — magazine, maybe, I didn't know guns — fell out of the bottom and clattered to the floor.
She kept fiddling with it, looking back up at me for a moment.
"Don't try anything, now," I said.
"I'm going to get the chambered round out, don't panic."
I felt myself going for a "Shut up!" but bit my tongue. Calm. Game face on.
Jerking the slide of the gun back, she got the remaining bullet out. The empty pistol dropped to the ground soon after. Tattletale met my gaze.
"Now," I said. "I ask, then you answer. No extra manipulation, or anything. So: What did you do to my laser cannon?"
Tattletale opened her mouth a hair, then closed it again.
"I don't understand."
"You brought the roof down on the heroes with it. I did not make a bomb-gun, so what the hell did you do? Bakuda's stuff? Are you hiding a Tinker rating?"
Tattletale paused, putting on a pensive expression and looking up at the ceiling as though the answer was written up there. Behind her, the rest of the Undersiders were slowly becoming a little more lively. Skitter was beginning to stand up, motioning Grue closer. She ended up having to lean on him to keep vertical.
Finally, Tattletale turned her eyes back to me. "Sorry, that wasn't the question I expected," she said. "Gas. It was natural gas, that's all. 1937, there was a horrible explosion at a school in Texas, New London School. Hundreds dead, mostly kids, because, y'know, it's a school. They tapped a waste gas line to run heating. There was a leak; no smell; enormous crawlspace full of gas — then, one afternoon, boom."
She sounded so even-keeled and reasonable. Likeable, almost. Maybe if I had fallen in with villains instead of the Wards, I might have ended up on a team like hers, going on the same carefree crime sprees.
"So Coil was cheap, he just tapped the city's gas line to run heating for the lair. Completely illegal, but minor in the grand scheme of things. Above us, there's a narrow crawlspace. I knew from the plans we managed to recover that he installed a reservoir tank somewhere nearby, and there was a line running from it. Leviathan damage to the bunker didn't look that bad, so I figured the gas was still around and the heroes' efforts might break it. Apply heat — boom."
Honestly, I was still shooting from the hip. This answer didn't matter. Probably, none of the others would, either. I wasn't emulating Aegis, I was stalling — I didn't have a plan. The next question that came to mind was:
"Is that… Am I covered in his blood?"
There was a pause.
"It's not your fault. I think— I don't know for sure, but I think it's how the Jelly-monster works. It's been giving my power some trouble but I have a theory. It has — had — a pool of, resources, let's say. And it reallocates them, between people. I don't think it was ever meant to live this long, and I really, really don't think it was ever meant to have people pulled out of it. You must have gotten one of the nasty components it needed to work, like taking a fuel rod out of a nuclear reactor.
"Skitter's messed up, too, but I guess she got lucky. And Kid. You're not a killer."
I clenched my fist. Somewhere in the middle of her explanation, that verge-of-tears feeling from the memory floated back up to the surface. Then, the little lick of manipulation at the end of her spiel just made me angry. "That wasn't my fucking question!"
"It's your blood, not his. I saw how it happened."
I let that sit for a while. Stupid question — Again, it's not like it even mattered, in the end. All of them were as good as dead before I fell into this Tattletale thing. Now they were really dead, big whoop. I breathed in and out. Try again. Calm down. Think.
Something resembling a plan came to me.
"You're going to stay here. I'm going to dig my way through the mess you made, and then I'll get you arrested."
"Stop!" — Skitter, this time, and in English, not just moaning.
"Did I say you could talk?!" — I tried to keep the anger out, but it just came out of me.
"You are covered in blood," Skitter said, "You can fly now. You said it was 'your' laser cannon, and Tattletale is talking to you as if any of this is normal, so I have to assume you're Kid Win. But you don't look like him. Going to the heroes is not going to end well for any of us."
"And you kill people when you touch them," added Tattletale.
"And that. So, stop," Skitter said. "You have time. We're all full of adrenaline after the collapse. Stop and think."
"God damn it! You're just doing it again! Everything you say, you lie, you twist your words, and you get whatever the hell you need and what you want and fuck collateral damage!"
Silence. I resumed fly-pacing and tried to get my head back in the game.
"Fine. What was your escape plan? Tattletale, shut up. Skitter, talk."
"I don't know the details, but I think we were going to take the way we came back up. This was the backup option. Tattletale said we should have had at least until morning before the heroes arrived. We'd fake the feed to your bedroom camera to delay them, probably do some other things. I guess that didn't work out. I don't know why she didn't go for the entrance, anyway, ask her."
"So, where does the tunnel go?"
"I don't know," said Skitter. "We didn't investigate it. Thinking was that it would surface somewhere, but my bugs fly out of range before it ends. Grue says there's nothing nasty, just rock."
"Fine. Tattletale, where does this tunnel go? No deviations, just answer."
"Not sure. East — nothing in this direction except Crater Lake and the Bay. It might not end for miles. I thought our best shot would be using your gadget to float up through the rock once we were at the beach on the opposite side of the crater, then book it from there. I have a couple of favours I can call in for getaways, the last ones I've got."
"That's an awful plan. And you didn't take the Ring with you."
"I was otherwise occupied."
I fly-paced more, in a wide path that almost intersected the walls of the tunnel.
"So, now what? How do you plan on getting out?"
"That laser handcannon you had me put on the floor might be able to bore a hole upward, vaporize the stuff that comes up. Cover our asses with a forcefield. Wearing your suit, you could carry people one at a time. Fortunately, you're still a flier, so, that probably still works, so long as you don't manhandle us too much. So, that's it. You're the only way this works out for us."
Funny how often the Undersiders gave me ultimatums. Tattletale probably didn't even intend this one, at least not from the start. That didn't make it better.
If I went back — Yeah, I wouldn't look like a hero. I was covered in my own blood, and had managed to both kill my already-dead boyfriend and to frame myself for my own murder.
If the heroes thought they'd have to fight me, or even try and arrest me like they would normally, they might die in the process. If I went ahead, I'd be helping these assholes out again.
"Option C," I said. "I get myself out of here and leave you behind."
Tattletale had lost that look in her eyes, that genuine fear, at some point. She spoke calmly.
"I meant what I said, Kid. You're not a killer."
I approached Tattletale — who sensibly backpedalled, maintaining about five feet of space between us. I put on the gauntlets that she had gingerly set on the ground. Right for laser, left for stun. They were a bit tighter than I was used to.
I wasn't sure what I was going to do yet. I turned away from the Undersiders and looked up at the ceiling, wondering if I could actually punch my way through.
Something came to me. "Oh, you're lying, of course you're lying. Steps away from getting mulched, alone in a room with someone with every reason to kill you, and you still don't stop with the goddamn lying. What if I'd died, or chickened out? What if you needed to get out of dodge, quick? I'd just have someone sitting on top of the tunnel, ready to dig me out. Who's left in Brockton, anyway? I lost track."
Tattletale kept her normal, unassuming expression for a few seconds, then looked to the side. Changing tack? She took another breath and cleared her throat.
"You're right. Faultline was our backup plan," she said. "Her outfit's in Chicago, now, so they're taking a field trip to meet us."
"And you've got some way to signal her, I suppose."
"No, I gave her a spot to cut through at 8, which should be about half an hour from now. If you don't get us out, she will. Assuming the whole area won't be crawling with PRT by then."
"Fucking — fuck off! That can't be it — stop lying! If my Ring gets Regent out, and either the Ring or Faultline gets you out, why the hell did you bring me here?"
"Great question," said Grue.
"Wasn't talking to you," I said. "You need me — why do you need me? Why did you pull me out?"
"We needed you to break through Coil's vault faster than Bitch's dogs could. And, it turned out, to make the Ring work at all — you'll remember the adjustment you had to do. That improvisation," (she turned to Grue as she said the word,) "turned out to be necessary. As for pulling you out — we pulled out Skitter, then it was her call to save you."
I cocked my head to the side and stared at Skitter. "And?"
"I felt bad for all the Wards. And I didn't want to leave you, uh, in there. With the, you know." She rubbed her back, turning to show me the gesture.
The absurdity of this whole situation dawned on me. Whatever remained of my 'team leader' mask fell off entirely. I laughed.
"And I killed him! I killed him. Aegis was alive and now, what, he's a thick red mist?"
"Well," started Tattletale, before taking a sharp breath in and stopping herself.
"Go on. Go. Quip."
"It's just that it's you, your body, that's the… blood-part. You exploded, your body is the thick red mist. You're inside him, now."
"Even better." I landed at one of the tunnel's walls, facing the villains, then collapsed into a sitting position. "Now what? We wait for rescue and once it comes, hold hands marching out of Brockton?"
"I don't know," said Tattletale. "I don't know. I fucked up. If there's a way to save Regent, or to turn you back into Kid Win, only the bastards who built that thing know. I'm going to find them. You have good reason to hate our guts, but — this is cold, we were just using you. We didn't mean to fuck you over. We're not on the same side, but right now, our interests align."
"I'm out," said Grue. "Your fuckups killed my sister, T. You brought the fucking roof down on her. With gas, apparently, thanks for letting us know that detail ahead of time. And now you're doing this. I'm gone. Bitch is coming with me."
Bitch didn't say anything in agreement. At some point, she had started glaring at Tattletale.
"Grue," began Skitter.
"Don't Grue me. If you're on her side, you're not on mine. I'm leaving. He's here, my sister isn't. Shows you where her priorities are."
"There are no sides! And it was an impossible choice: There was no way to get me and Imp both. We couldn't even touch her — he couldn't even touch her, with forcefields. Don't leave. We have to stick together."
"Fuck you. I should have gotten Aisha out instead of you."
Grue and Skitter shared a long look.
"Great," said Tattletale. "So that's our plan, or what remains of it. Faultline's crew can take us out of town. They have experience working with powerful Strikers, and they've got a place where we can hide out — so you could tag along, too. Or go turn us in, or kill us, or whatever it is you were trying to threaten us with, earlier. If we're playing the blame game, the heroes only came early because you left your suit's trackers turned on, so maybe Grue wants to have words with you about that."
"I'm done with you, T," said Grue.
"I'm sorry, I am. Fuck, I'm going to be thinking about the way I fucked the dog on this every night for years. All the ways I could have prevented this. So I understand why you want to have nothing to do with me. But right now, you're being a moron. Bitch, you too. We have to stick together. We're the only friends we've got for sure, and we need to—"
"To do what? Lose more people in more places like this? Fuck you," he said.
"Just wait until tomorrow to decide," said Skitter. "Please."
"You're not coming with me? Then fuck you. It's over, Skitter."
We sat in silence for a while more. Grue and Bitch found a spot out of earshot of the main throng and stood there, resuming whatever conversation they'd been having earlier.
"I'm done doing my thing on you, by the way, if you hadn't noticed," Tattletale said. "Radical candor from now on. Not because you could kill me right now — top notch threat by the way, high marks — There's just no point. And I'm basically out of juice."
"Great," I said. "'Your thing,' as far as I can tell, is just talking. So you talking about not manipulating me anymore isn't doing much convincing."
Tattletale shrugged, giving me half a glance.
"This is a dick move," said Skitter, "But I did save your life. Kind of. Half and half, Tattletale and I saved your life. I told her to go get you. So, just asking a favour…"
"…What, don't get you arrested?"
"Yeah."
"If I called the Protectorate on you — first of all, with what phone, but — If I called the heroes, they'd be more interested in arresting the zombie Aegis who murdered Kid Win than chasing after you. So, congrats, you've got me right where you want me, again."
"So come with," Tattletale said. "Not asking you to join the Undersiders. I mean, there's just us two now, what's even the point of using the name — Anyway. Come with. Hide out in Faultline's safehouse. Recover and figure out how to work your fucked-up body explosion power without adding to the body count. Then we'll find whoever did this and rip them a new one."
I flinched at 'body count.'
"We owe you that much after all the… shit. The blackmail," added Skitter. "We should all keep moving forward. And… It's not a good excuse, I guess, but I know you'd do the same thing to save your guys. Sorry."
I was saved from lashing out again or having to give them an answer. Dust and rubble began to fall from the ceiling, moving down the tunnel in a thin line.
Proper endnote coming whenever I come back to full mental function.
And with that, we are finally, mercifully, out of Arc 1. Long-time readers may empathize with me, as I've been mentally stuck in this goddamn underground vault for the better part of nine months now, as the rewrite began in March of 2024. (Of course, not all of that time was spent writing, but seriously, imagine having this bleakness on your mind whenever you sit down to write. Endo is going to maintain its characteristic tone, but I'm going to be moving the story to slightly less dark and depressing environs posthaste.)
I'm going to note this here while I can, because I suspect it may be something I get comments on down the line: Yes, Chris implies that Carlos was his boyfriend, that's not a joke or a mistake. I had a past relationship between Carlos and Chris in mind when I started the fic, but I didn't set it up very well in preceding chapters. I can partially excuse it by saying that it fits his characterization — he is well and truly damaged by the events of Endo!Leviathan — but if I were writing a second draft, I would go back and add more passages that emphasize it, or at least hint at it.
(For example, when Shadow Stalker teases Chris about 'missing his boyfriend' in 1.3, his internal monologue probably should have registered some emotional pain. But, well, ça ira, I'm not doing any more edits until the fic is done. Maybe not even then.)
This chapter was fun, and I've gotten some really awesome feedback on it through SV/SB replies and elsewhere. Usually I don't mention fan response to the current chapter in endnotes as I write them up at the same time I'm finishing the chapter, but I'm really glad people are enjoying my fucked up alternate universe. If you've read this far, you've crammed nearly a full novel's worth of Endo into your brain. Consider buying me a coffee if you like the fic!
Finally, hey, let's do one for Grue and Bitch: Would you leave the Undersiders after this fiasco?
We've hit 50,000 words! (Probably! Close enough!) I commissioned this piece from Intrigue_Diablo to celebrate.
I didn't have voices in my head, not really. "The Tinker" was a pattern I'd taken to recognizing, sure, but it was just that: A pattern of anal-retentive 'Tinkery' thoughts, always thought by me, always in my own voice. If I'd ever been dissociative or psychotic or any other psychologist-thing, the Protectorate shrinks had never told me.
And yet it seemed that I had the capacity to go into those psychological uncharted waters inside me all along. First, the spine dream, and now: this.
It felt like taking two steps back from "life TV," like I was looking from a point just behind my own eyes. The scene looked off-kilter right from the jump as my view was raised about a foot higher off the ground than normal. I really could fly.
The thing in focus was Tattletale. She was bloodied to the point of being shiny, staring intently at me with a hard-to-read expression. Maybe it was the lighting — I couldn't really make out what kind of face she was making with the dim orange forcefield being the only light source around. Scared, maybe? Neutral-scared. I'd be scared of me.
I blinked—
—When I opened my eyes again, it wasn't Tattletale that I was looking at.
I was still flying — standing still on thin air, which felt somehow distinct from hovering. Bees, hummingbirds, and helicopters hovered by moving huge volumes of air toward the ground to resist gravity. For me, air and gravity barely merited consideration.
The streets of downtown Brockton Bay took Tattletale's place in the centre of my vision, as seen from several hundred feet up. (I couldn't spot a skyscraper taller than my vantage, so at least as high as the tallest building downtown.) Slightly below centre frame, my old Kid Win costume was draped across my arms.
"Still can't believe you said 'yes' and did this on the day of," said Carlos' voice, only I felt his words coming out of my throat—
"Well, start believing," said my voice, interrupting that train of thought. "Fly a block over, I wanna see DesmesneSoft Tower."
Carlos-me chuckled, and started on a lazy flight path floating to the right.
The city stretched out below us. The sun had just begun to set, casting ruddy-yellow beams across the skyscrapers' glass panes. Cars' lights painted red-and-white lines up and down the highways in pointillist style. Parks cut into the skyline, more near the 'safer' bits of Downtown, closer to the PRT headquarters.
I hardly ever looked out at the harbour at sunset — God, I stayed indoors way too much. Looking out now, I saw ferries going across the Bay and what seemed like a neverending flotilla of cargo ships floating nearby the Docks, some covered in containers, some just covered by tarps. There was a building I'd never paid attention to nearby, the Air Traffic Control for the boats — Sea Traffic Control? It looked like any other building, except for a glass 'bulb' at the top. Carlos-me didn't have super-sight; Squinting only revealed the barest hint of a person's silhouette moving around inside the 'bulb.'
It was hard to believe that Brockton had ever looked like this. I'd seen nothing but desolation for what felt like the past year, though it couldn't have been more than a month since Leviathan hit. It was harder still to remember taking it all in with an actual friend by my side. Or, well, holding me.
"It's just, you can already fly," he said. "And I didn't expect the binoculars."
My vision panned left, settling on the costume in my arms — no, on me in his arms — and then it hit me all at once, what was going on here.
"I can barely fly with the Hoverboard, and going above 40 feet without a parachute is both forbidden by our adult overlords and genuinely terrifying," past-me said. "You, on the other hand: You aren't even flying, you're cheating. And I can just use you as my parachute, this high up."
"Excuse me, Mister Win. I don't see how I'm cheating, and I don't love the way you're talking about using me."
"What, as a crucial thing to keep me from a horrible and untimely death? I'd be flattered. Anyway, you are cheating. Draw a free-body diagram of your flight and it'll look like this: your body as a point mass in the middle; an arrow labelled 'Gravity' pointing down; a 'Wind' arrow pointing at some random direction, and finally a big arrow resisting all the forces labelled with a question mark."
"Right. I see you're taking me back to Physics 11. It's impressive the places you find to think about math — I thought you hated it."
"I do hate it, up until the point that it becomes cool. Physics is cool."
"Nerd."
We came to the end of the flight path and Carlos gently slowed his movement, coming to a smooth stop like a fancy elevator.
"Anyway," he said, "There's the DesmesneSoft Tower in the distance. That what you wanted to see?"
Past-me made some hesitant noises. "Ehh… shoulda bought better binos. These were a thrift store find, it's too far to make out anything interesting. Set me down on a rooftop a few blocks up."
Carlos started moving again. I didn't need to keep watching — I knew exactly how would end. Tears should have welled in my eyes, but the sensation didn't make it through to the world of Carlos'-my memory. I knew how this would end, but I was stuck here. There was no option to leave.
Flying as Carlos did really did feel different. Past-me was right, it was cheating. Wind didn't matter, nor gravity. There was no constant roar of electric thruster packs, no 80 Hz drone coming from the inverter, no servo noise, no subtle crinkling of metal fatigue. Flying with the Hoverboard wasn't really flying, hell, flying with the Zephyr wasn't really flying, either. Carlos' flight — real flight — involved nothing more than his body and the skies.
And on this lazy summer day, I had happened to tag along.
We came to another silky-smooth stop, gliding down to a nearby rooftop. Carlos set past-me down in a gentle, well-practiced motion.
"Forward, genius," past-me intoned. He stood right on the edge of the roof, leaning forward to see further. Trusting Carlos to catch him if he fell.
"Come on, it can wait a second. I'm a little tired from flying," Carlos lied. He didn't get tired from flying, or from anything, really. He needed to sleep, sure, but tired was as foreign a feeling to him as pain. "And I was wondering. The binoculars, why, uh— Seriously, I wasn't expecting that."
Past-me turned back and stepped off the edge of the roof, closer to Carlos. He extended the hand holding the binoculars towards Carlos. "See for yourself."
Through the binoculars, Carlos saw a red blur — ("You're gonna wanna turn, captain.") — then, to the left, a city-shaped blur — ("Focus dial is by the right lens.") — then, the city, close up.
The close zoom made it look like a diorama. Carlos could make out people, cars, bikers. Two people playing table tennis on top of one building. Rows of cubicles through the windows of another. Cats sitting on windowsills. Ships, making way through the harbour.
"I come up sometimes, bring my binoculars to the revolving restaurant. If you get a soda or something, it's free to lounge about and just look around.
"We go on patrols, but even then we don't really feel the whole city. It's so big. And everything happens around us, all at once. We're so, so small. Am I making sense?"
"Yeah," Carlos said, pausing to look some more. "It's beautiful."
Past-me stumbled over his words. "And, uh. I don't know. You offered, and I knew Missy would say 'no' and Sophia would be Sophia, and then I talked to Dean and Dennis, so, well, I kinda rigged it."
"You rigged… My friendly offer to take someone flying?"
"When you put it that way, it sounds stupid, Yeah. Carlos, can I ask you something? —"
I was slammed back to reality, sense-by-sense: the sound of gentle gusting wind replaced by an eerie silence; a beautiful tilt-shift view of Downtown Brockton replaced by the sight of dimly-lit rough-hewn tunnel and team of two-bit villains in unwashed costumes arrayed before me. Smell, barely present in the memory, was violently overpowered by the stench of fresh death — of warm blood.
The scene was absolutely still. I was angry at Tattletale, I remembered, and before that, overcome with something from the dream. These were all memories of feelings. The real ones had shut off completely, at some point.
My clothes felt weird, like the parts of them that were still attached both fit me and didn't. Parts of the fabric were torn apart and their ragged edges rubbed up against me, itching a little. One thing was easy to surmise — pretty much everything I was wearing had been soaked through with sticky blood, warm against my skin.
When I took a deep breath in and spread my hands, Tattletale flinched; Grue and Bitch stood their ground; Regent still lay insensate. Skitter, I couldn't get a read on, as she idly performed something between motion and stillness. She had been shuffling her bugs around before, when the meat hadn't hit the fan — not now. Her swarm, still sizable, looked as though it was glued to the walls of the tunnel, shimmering slightly with the individual motions of a myriad carapaces.
I was still reeling from Carlos' memory, but I couldn't show that on my face. I found new confidence — I had to stop freaking out and start beating Tattletale at her own game. Do what Assault would do. Better yet, what Aegis would do. Come on, Win, act like a superhero.
"Don't talk anymore," I said.
Tattletale said, "We're listening—"
"You're a manipulative Thinker," I said in my firmest voice. "Don't talk."
She formed her mouth into a tight line and took a breath in.
I felt like I should have had a million thoughts running through my head, but none were strong enough to voice. Still, I had that heroic determination. I started pacing, then realized that I wasn't actually walking. I floated back and forth, hand on forehead. The villains tracked me with their eyes. Again, I tried to emulate my team leaders.
"You. You always do the most self-serving thing. I'm in here with you, that means you must need me." I stopped moving and faced Tattletale. "Gauntlets off," I said. "Gun on the ground."
She took another breath in. Deeper, this time.
"Do it!" I commanded. A day ago, this might have felt good. Keep calm, I reminded myself.
Tattletale put her hands up, and slowly undid the clasp holding the right gauntlet on, then gently set it on the ground. She stood back up to do the same for the left gauntlet, keeping both hands in front of her.
"Gun," I said.
She was already fishing around for it. There was a holster of sorts on her hip, from which she produced a small pistol I couldn't identify. She fiddled with it, keeping her hands visible and the barrel pointed down. The clip — magazine, maybe, I didn't know guns — fell out of the bottom and clattered to the floor.
She kept fiddling with it, looking back up at me for a moment.
"Don't try anything, now," I said.
"I'm going to get the chambered round out, don't panic."
I felt myself going for a "Shut up!" but bit my tongue. Calm. Game face on.
Jerking the slide of the gun back, she got the remaining bullet out. The empty pistol dropped to the ground soon after. Tattletale met my gaze.
"Now," I said. "I ask, then you answer. No extra manipulation, or anything. So: What did you do to my laser cannon?"
Tattletale opened her mouth a hair, then closed it again.
"I don't understand."
"You brought the roof down on the heroes with it. I did not make a bomb-gun, so what the hell did you do? Bakuda's stuff? Are you hiding a Tinker rating?"
Tattletale paused, putting on a pensive expression and looking up at the ceiling as though the answer was written up there. Behind her, the rest of the Undersiders were slowly becoming a little more lively. Skitter was beginning to stand up, motioning Grue closer. She ended up having to lean on him to keep vertical.
Finally, Tattletale turned her eyes back to me. "Sorry, that wasn't the question I expected," she said. "Gas. It was natural gas, that's all. 1937, there was a horrible explosion at a school in Texas, New London School. Hundreds dead, mostly kids, because, y'know, it's a school. They tapped a waste gas line to run heating. There was a leak; no smell; enormous crawlspace full of gas — then, one afternoon, boom."
She sounded so even-keeled and reasonable. Likeable, almost. Maybe if I had fallen in with villains instead of the Wards, I might have ended up on a team like hers, going on the same carefree crime sprees.
"So Coil was cheap, he just tapped the city's gas line to run heating for the lair. Completely illegal, but minor in the grand scheme of things. Above us, there's a narrow crawlspace. I knew from the plans we managed to recover that he installed a reservoir tank somewhere nearby, and there was a line running from it. Leviathan damage to the bunker didn't look that bad, so I figured the gas was still around and the heroes' efforts might break it. Apply heat — boom."
Honestly, I was still shooting from the hip. This answer didn't matter. Probably, none of the others would, either. I wasn't emulating Aegis, I was stalling — I didn't have a plan. The next question that came to mind was:
"Is that… Am I covered in his blood?"
There was a pause.
"It's not your fault. I think— I don't know for sure, but I think it's how the Jelly-monster works. It's been giving my power some trouble but I have a theory. It has — had — a pool of, resources, let's say. And it reallocates them, between people. I don't think it was ever meant to live this long, and I really, really don't think it was ever meant to have people pulled out of it. You must have gotten one of the nasty components it needed to work, like taking a fuel rod out of a nuclear reactor.
"Skitter's messed up, too, but I guess she got lucky. And Kid. You're not a killer."
I clenched my fist. Somewhere in the middle of her explanation, that verge-of-tears feeling from the memory floated back up to the surface. Then, the little lick of manipulation at the end of her spiel just made me angry. "That wasn't my fucking question!"
"It's your blood, not his. I saw how it happened."
I let that sit for a while. Stupid question — Again, it's not like it even mattered, in the end. All of them were as good as dead before I fell into this Tattletale thing. Now they were really dead, big whoop. I breathed in and out. Try again. Calm down. Think.
Something resembling a plan came to me.
"You're going to stay here. I'm going to dig my way through the mess you made, and then I'll get you arrested."
"Stop!" — Skitter, this time, and in English, not just moaning.
"Did I say you could talk?!" — I tried to keep the anger out, but it just came out of me.
"You are covered in blood," Skitter said, "You can fly now. You said it was 'your' laser cannon, and Tattletale is talking to you as if any of this is normal, so I have to assume you're Kid Win. But you don't look like him. Going to the heroes is not going to end well for any of us."
"And you kill people when you touch them," added Tattletale.
"And that. So, stop," Skitter said. "You have time. We're all full of adrenaline after the collapse. Stop and think."
"God damn it! You're just doing it again! Everything you say, you lie, you twist your words, and you get whatever the hell you need and what you want and fuck collateral damage!"
Silence. I resumed fly-pacing and tried to get my head back in the game.
"Fine. What was your escape plan? Tattletale, shut up. Skitter, talk."
"I don't know the details, but I think we were going to take the way we came back up. This was the backup option. Tattletale said we should have had at least until morning before the heroes arrived. We'd fake the feed to your bedroom camera to delay them, probably do some other things. I guess that didn't work out. I don't know why she didn't go for the entrance, anyway, ask her."
"So, where does the tunnel go?"
"I don't know," said Skitter. "We didn't investigate it. Thinking was that it would surface somewhere, but my bugs fly out of range before it ends. Grue says there's nothing nasty, just rock."
"Fine. Tattletale, where does this tunnel go? No deviations, just answer."
"Not sure. East — nothing in this direction except Crater Lake and the Bay. It might not end for miles. I thought our best shot would be using your gadget to float up through the rock once we were at the beach on the opposite side of the crater, then book it from there. I have a couple of favours I can call in for getaways, the last ones I've got."
"That's an awful plan. And you didn't take the Ring with you."
"I was otherwise occupied."
I fly-paced more, in a wide path that almost intersected the walls of the tunnel.
"So, now what? How do you plan on getting out?"
"That laser handcannon you had me put on the floor might be able to bore a hole upward, vaporize the stuff that comes up. Cover our asses with a forcefield. Wearing your suit, you could carry people one at a time. Fortunately, you're still a flier, so, that probably still works, so long as you don't manhandle us too much. So, that's it. You're the only way this works out for us."
Funny how often the Undersiders gave me ultimatums. Tattletale probably didn't even intend this one, at least not from the start. That didn't make it better.
If I went back — Yeah, I wouldn't look like a hero. I was covered in my own blood, and had managed to both kill my already-dead boyfriend and to frame myself for my own murder.
If the heroes thought they'd have to fight me, or even try and arrest me like they would normally, they might die in the process. If I went ahead, I'd be helping these assholes out again.
"Option C," I said. "I get myself out of here and leave you behind."
Tattletale had lost that look in her eyes, that genuine fear, at some point. She spoke calmly.
"I meant what I said, Kid. You're not a killer."
I approached Tattletale — who sensibly backpedalled, maintaining about five feet of space between us. I put on the gauntlets that she had gingerly set on the ground. Right for laser, left for stun. They were a bit tighter than I was used to.
I wasn't sure what I was going to do yet. I turned away from the Undersiders and looked up at the ceiling, wondering if I could actually punch my way through.
Something came to me. "Oh, you're lying, of course you're lying. Steps away from getting mulched, alone in a room with someone with every reason to kill you, and you still don't stop with the goddamn lying. What if I'd died, or chickened out? What if you needed to get out of dodge, quick? I'd just have someone sitting on top of the tunnel, ready to dig me out. Who's left in Brockton, anyway? I lost track."
Tattletale kept her normal, unassuming expression for a few seconds, then looked to the side. Changing tack? She took another breath and cleared her throat.
"You're right. Faultline was our backup plan," she said. "Her outfit's in Chicago, now, so they're taking a field trip to meet us."
"And you've got some way to signal her, I suppose."
"No, I gave her a spot to cut through at 8, which should be about half an hour from now. If you don't get us out, she will. Assuming the whole area won't be crawling with PRT by then."
"Fucking — fuck off! That can't be it — stop lying! If my Ring gets Regent out, and either the Ring or Faultline gets you out, why the hell did you bring me here?"
"Great question," said Grue.
"Wasn't talking to you," I said. "You need me — why do you need me? Why did you pull me out?"
"We needed you to break through Coil's vault faster than Bitch's dogs could. And, it turned out, to make the Ring work at all — you'll remember the adjustment you had to do. That improvisation," (she turned to Grue as she said the word,) "turned out to be necessary. As for pulling you out — we pulled out Skitter, then it was her call to save you."
I cocked my head to the side and stared at Skitter. "And?"
"I felt bad for all the Wards. And I didn't want to leave you, uh, in there. With the, you know." She rubbed her back, turning to show me the gesture.
The absurdity of this whole situation dawned on me. Whatever remained of my 'team leader' mask fell off entirely. I laughed.
"And I killed him! I killed him. Aegis was alive and now, what, he's a thick red mist?"
"Well," started Tattletale, before taking a sharp breath in and stopping herself.
"Go on. Go. Quip."
"It's just that it's you, your body, that's the… blood-part. You exploded, your body is the thick red mist. You're inside him, now."
"Even better." I landed at one of the tunnel's walls, facing the villains, then collapsed into a sitting position. "Now what? We wait for rescue and once it comes, hold hands marching out of Brockton?"
"I don't know," said Tattletale. "I don't know. I fucked up. If there's a way to save Regent, or to turn you back into Kid Win, only the bastards who built that thing know. I'm going to find them. You have good reason to hate our guts, but — this is cold, we were just using you. We didn't mean to fuck you over. We're not on the same side, but right now, our interests align."
"I'm out," said Grue. "Your fuckups killed my sister, T. You brought the fucking roof down on her. With gas, apparently, thanks for letting us know that detail ahead of time. And now you're doing this. I'm gone. Bitch is coming with me."
Bitch didn't say anything in agreement. At some point, she had started glaring at Tattletale.
"Grue," began Skitter.
"Don't Grue me. If you're on her side, you're not on mine. I'm leaving. He's here, my sister isn't. Shows you where her priorities are."
"There are no sides! And it was an impossible choice: There was no way to get me and Imp both. We couldn't even touch her — he couldn't even touch her, with forcefields. Don't leave. We have to stick together."
"Fuck you. I should have gotten Aisha out instead of you."
Grue and Skitter shared a long look.
"Great," said Tattletale. "So that's our plan, or what remains of it. Faultline's crew can take us out of town. They have experience working with powerful Strikers, and they've got a place where we can hide out — so you could tag along, too. Or go turn us in, or kill us, or whatever it is you were trying to threaten us with, earlier. If we're playing the blame game, the heroes only came early because you left your suit's trackers turned on, so maybe Grue wants to have words with you about that."
"I'm done with you, T," said Grue.
"I'm sorry, I am. Fuck, I'm going to be thinking about the way I fucked the dog on this every night for years. All the ways I could have prevented this. So I understand why you want to have nothing to do with me. But right now, you're being a moron. Bitch, you too. We have to stick together. We're the only friends we've got for sure, and we need to—"
"To do what? Lose more people in more places like this? Fuck you," he said.
"Just wait until tomorrow to decide," said Skitter. "Please."
"You're not coming with me? Then fuck you. It's over, Skitter."
We sat in silence for a while more. Grue and Bitch found a spot out of earshot of the main throng and stood there, resuming whatever conversation they'd been having earlier.
"I'm done doing my thing on you, by the way, if you hadn't noticed," Tattletale said. "Radical candor from now on. Not because you could kill me right now — top notch threat by the way, high marks — There's just no point. And I'm basically out of juice."
"Great," I said. "'Your thing,' as far as I can tell, is just talking. So you talking about not manipulating me anymore isn't doing much convincing."
Tattletale shrugged, giving me half a glance.
"This is a dick move," said Skitter, "But I did save your life. Kind of. Half and half, Tattletale and I saved your life. I told her to go get you. So, just asking a favour…"
"…What, don't get you arrested?"
"Yeah."
"If I called the Protectorate on you — first of all, with what phone, but — If I called the heroes, they'd be more interested in arresting the zombie Aegis who murdered Kid Win than chasing after you. So, congrats, you've got me right where you want me, again."
"So come with," Tattletale said. "Not asking you to join the Undersiders. I mean, there's just us two now, what's even the point of using the name — Anyway. Come with. Hide out in Faultline's safehouse. Recover and figure out how to work your fucked-up body explosion power without adding to the body count. Then we'll find whoever did this and rip them a new one."
I flinched at 'body count.'
"We owe you that much after all the… shit. The blackmail," added Skitter. "We should all keep moving forward. And… It's not a good excuse, I guess, but I know you'd do the same thing to save your guys. Sorry."
I was saved from lashing out again or having to give them an answer. Dust and rubble began to fall from the ceiling, moving down the tunnel in a thin line.
And with that, we are finally, mercifully, out of Arc 1. Long-time readers may empathize with me, as I've been mentally stuck in this goddamn underground vault for the better part of nine months now, as the rewrite began in March of 2024. (Of course, not all of that time was spent writing, but seriously, imagine having this bleakness on your mind whenever you sit down to write. Endo is going to maintain its characteristic tone, but I'm going to be moving the story to slightly less dark and depressing environs posthaste.)
I'm going to note this here while I can, because I suspect it may be something I get comments on down the line: Yes, Chris implies that Carlos was his boyfriend, that's not a joke or a mistake. I had a past relationship between Carlos and Chris in mind when I started the fic, but I didn't set it up very well in preceding chapters. I can partially excuse it by saying that it fits his characterization — he is well and truly damaged by the events of Endo!Leviathan — but if I were writing a second draft, I would go back and add more passages that emphasize it, or at least hint at it.
(For example, when Shadow Stalker teases Chris about 'missing his boyfriend' in 1.3, his internal monologue probably should have registered some emotional pain. But, well, ça ira, I'm not doing any more edits until the fic is done. Maybe not even then.)
This chapter was fun, and I've gotten some really awesome feedback on it through SV/SB replies and elsewhere. Usually I don't mention fan response to the current chapter in endnotes as I write them up at the same time I'm finishing the chapter, but I'm really glad people are enjoying my fucked up alternate universe. If you've read this far, you've crammed nearly a full novel's worth of Endo into your brain. Consider buying me a coffee if you like the fic!
Finally, hey, let's do one for Grue and Bitch: Would you leave the Undersiders after this fiasco?
Last edited: