Fyre place...
Hermione watched as the aurors, who seemed to have slightly recovered from Skitter making her irritation at the panicking wizard problem abundantly obvious in a fashion that doubtless would give most of them nightmares for the rest of their lives, got back to dealing with the dead. Director Bones, someone she'd very briefly met at the end of the Triwizard stupidity, spoke for a few seconds to Dumbledore and Skitter, then moved off to have a discussion with her people, presumably telling them how she wanted things dealt with. The poor woman looked like she'd had a very abrupt and unwanted realization about just how dangerous Skitter really was.

If she herself hadn't seen what had happened downstairs, Hermione mused, she'd probably be in much the same state. As it was, she'd half-expected something impressive to happen sooner or later. Minister Fudge was exactly the sort of person to make anyone get rather annoyed with him fairly quickly, in her view. And Skitter, despite how well she was hiding her emotions, was likely somewhat on edge having found herself completely unexpectedly in a situation such as this.

Not that you'd ever know, though, she thought with a certain amount of admiration. The girl probably wasn't any older than she was, but she handled herself with a degree of certainty and competency which was impressive if horrifying.

And how on earth had she taken control of the fiendfyre like that? Everything Hermione thought she knew about magic said it should be impossible, not to mention instantly lethal in a ghastly manner, but it obeyed Skitter like a happy pet. Even as it gave off a feeling of barely leashed malevolence, it also radiated a sort of cheerful viciousness as if it had been waiting for a very long time for someone to play with it.

That didn't make even the slightest bit of sense, but she could feel it from here. Magic did odd things, she was all too well aware of that, but this did seem to be pushing the envelope rather a lot.

Mind you, how did Skitter control all those creatures? Random insects, the doxies, something she was fairly sure was a huge mass of some sort of pixie she'd never seen before, these ones an iridescent purple rather than the blue of the Cornish variant… Lots and lots and lots of spiders, mostly just normal ones as far as she could make out, but quite a few being obviously magical species considering some were glowing in the dark and at least one type was apparently moving from point A to point B without going through the intervening points. She hadn't realized that spiders could apparate…

Probably best not to mention that to Ron if he hadn't noticed. He'd never sleep again.

And the wasps. So many wasps. Where had Skitter even found them inside the MoM?

She looked to the side and saw forty or so centipedes with black carapaces and bright yellow legs zip down the side of the room, then stop dead and fade into the darkness until they vanished. The size of the mandibles was… impressive.

Shuddering a little, Hermione wondered just how many strange creatures the Department of Mysteries had buried away in it, and whether any of them were still down there. Instead of right here with them.

The researchers in the DoM were going to be upset when they ran an inventory, she suspected.

Oh well. Nothing to do with her, and it wasn't as if Skitter was likely to give them back if someone told her to. Having only known her for about an hour, Hermione got the distinct impression that the other girl was somewhat stubborn in some ways, and not at all impressed by wizards. Bearing in mind what had happened since she arrived the brunette couldn't say their savior was actually wrong. And she had certainly saved them, in a very permanent manner. Tom Riddle and all the followers he'd brought here weren't going to be a bother any more, which had perked Harry's mood right up.

She glanced at her friend and saw he was still grinning in a particularly evil manner, which she found both amusing and disturbing. Sirius, who he was talking to at the moment, had a similar expression. By the looks of it seeing Riddle evaporate in a flash of hellfire had really cheered her friend up, and knowing Pettigrew was finally done for had done the same for Sirius.

Hermione could understand that, all things taken into account. She herself was feeling quite a lot better even under the mild terror.

By the looks of it, Dumbledore was not, though. He looked like he'd seen a particularly unwelcome ghost without warning and she could tell he was, admittedly masterfully, hiding severe worry and quite a bit of nervousness as he kept glancing at Skitter, who was watching Madame Bones instruct the aurors. She was certain the other girl was totally aware of this, as she'd worked out very quickly that not only could Skitter control all these creatures, but use their senses as well. That had become obvious when she'd shot with unerring accuracy several of the Death Eaters without being able to see them herself, and confirmed when she'd told them Dumbledore was fighting Voldemort several floors away.

She wondered what range that ability worked over… Was it something fairly local, or could Skitter control and sense through every single insect in all of London? And how could she possibly handle the sheer amount of information that would produce? It was far, far past what a human mind could cope with, and she'd never come across any magic that could augment someone's mental abilities to anything remotely approaching the level such a feat would require. Certainly not without killing the person in question almost instantly and rather messily.

Presumably it was something to do with this 'Parahuman' thing the girl had mentioned. She wondered what that meant and added that to her internal list of research subjects, which had grown enormously in the recent past.

Skitter was fascinating, even more than the fact of her being from another world and another time. Which itself was incredible.

Hermione had a lot of questions to ask the girl if she got the chance.

Feeling someone move closer to her, she looked to the side to see Luna standing there, her eyes on Skitter too. The other girl turned to her after a few moments and smiled. "I like her," she said quietly.

"She does leave an impression, doesn't she?" Hermione commented just as quietly and somewhat wryly, getting a brief grin out of the petite blonde.

"I've never seen anyone the wrackspurts are scared to get close to," Luna continued after a second or two. Hermione looked at her quizzically, wondering what in Luna-speak that actually meant. Half the time she rather thought the girl was speaking in code, at least a quarter of the remaining time she thought Luna was slightly touched, and the rest of the time she was convinced her friend was playing a subtle and grand prank on the whole world. It could easily be a mix of all of those, of course.

"In fact there aren't any wrackspurts anywhere here," Luna added, peering about with interest. "How odd. But I've never seen so many umgubular slashkilters before." She pointed across the atrium to where some flying things the size of someone's hand, with at least a dozen legs, giant bulbous eyes, and twin stingers were circling. Hermione hadn't noticed them until Luna pointed them out, and stared in amazement. The other girl had mentioned the creature once or twice before, without going into details, and Hermione had always assumed it was as imaginary as so many of her ideas were. But… perhaps she needed to reevaluate that thought? Because those things were very real and looked positively deadly.

"I knew the Department of Mysteries was breeding them for some nefarious reason," Luna went on, smiling happily. "It's probably related to the Rotfang Conspiracy, you know. Daddy will be pleased to see he was right."

Sighing faintly, Hermione shook her head. She loved Luna like a sister sometimes, but other times she was somewhat hard work. Catching sight of the other girl's face out of the corner of her eye she looked quickly to the side. Was that a tiny evil smirk that vanished the moment she turned her head?

Hermione gave Luna a long thoughtful look, which was met by an innocent gaze back.

"Hmm…" she said under her breath.

"Although it's fascinating to learn I was wrong about Minister Fudge having an army of Heliopaths," Luna continued happily. "If he had, they'd have doubtless arrived to battle Skitter's Fyreflies."

"Fireflies?" Hermione echoed.

"No, Fyreflies," Luna corrected. "With a Y. As in Fiendfyre."

Raising an eyebrow, Hermione looked at the other girl. Luna shrugged. "What else would you call that?" She waved a hand at Skitter's back, the world traveler standing a few feet away and watching motionlessly as Madame Bones finished talking to the aurors, who were now levitating the bodies one after another and taking them away.

"What on earth do you mean, Luna?" Hermione queried.

"I think that fiendfyre is made of teeny tiny little things all grouping together," the blonde explained. "I've never seen it before, you know, but there's some right there. If you look very closely it almost looks like a cloud of smoke, which is also made of teeny tiny little things."

Skitter looked around at them, then turned and walked over to stand next to them. "You're very perceptive," she said in that weirdly emotionless voice. "How could you tell?"

"I'm not sure, but I'm right, aren't I?"

"Yes. The fyre is…" Skitter hesitated, apparently searching for the right words. "...not quite alive in the way insects are, but it's much more than not alive like ordinary fire is. It's a vast swarm of incredibly tiny… creatures, I guess? Billions of them here right now, so small you can't see one with your eyes. Almost like atoms, but a little larger. And when they consume something they seem to turn most of what they've burned into more of them. They basically breed really, really fast when they're feeding. Exponentially, like bacteria speeded up massively."

Luna was listening with complete absorption and Hermione was wishing she had a notebook handy, because this was information she was certain no one had the faintest idea about.

"What do they… eat?" Luna asked curiously. "If eat is the right word."

"Everything." Skitter waved a hand in a gesture encompassing the whole world. "I think they particularly like magic, if what I'm feeling is right. They really like it. I get the feeling that using magic on wild fyre would end very badly if you're not careful."

"That's certainly what the books said," Hermione replied, with great interest and ignoring everything else going on in favor of this information. "But they don't say why. If fiendfyre is actually feeding on magic it would explain.. it would explain a lot of things about why it's so hard to control and so destructive. How fascinating." More and more she wanted to sit down and talk to this girl, and she could see Luna felt the exact same thing for slightly different reasons.

"I wonder if it's related to Heliopaths?" Luna mused out loud. "Perhaps it's what they eat? Or what eats them. Who knows what sort of ecosystem there is that we know nothing about? I wonder where they actually come from?"

"I'm not sure, because it's not intelligent in the normal sense of the word," Skitter replied with a shrug. "There's something there but it's not even as smart as a beehive is. Not quite. Perhaps if I had more…" She trailed off thoughtfully and Hermione felt a momentary shiver for some reason. Eventually Skitter shook her head. "I'll have to think about it. But I don't think it comes from here though. When that idiot called it up, whatever he did didn't make it, it summoned it from somewhere else. I felt it."

As Hermione was about to ask another question, Madame Bones turned away from her aurors having watched the last body be removed and headed back towards Dumbledore. Skitter said, "OK, I guess we can get on with it now," without even looking around before she spun and walked over to meet the DMLE director next to Dumbledore. Hermione and Luna exchanged glances, then as one made the same decision and followed quietly.

Both of them wanted to hear what happened next.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

"Well, then, I believe we should be properly introduced, my dear," Dumbledore said with a bonhomie that was only marred by the way he was eyeing Taylor as if he was trying to work out what she was and whether he should be running. "As you may have gathered, I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, the largest magical school in Europe, and Grand Warlock, among other titles I won't bore you with. This is my good friend Madame Amelia Bones, the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. And standing over there looking rather confused is Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge." He raised his voice slightly. "Cornelius. Do stop looking so lost and join us. I'm sure Miss Skitter means no harm. And she did rid us of the threat presented by Voldemort and his followers, albeit in a rather… brutal… manner."

Taylor watched Fudge shake himself, then apparently find some small amount of courage and wander over, having aimed his wand at himself for a moment. It looked like he'd used some sort of cleaning magic, which was a concept she was still having trouble with, to deal with his slight accident earlier.

How versatile was magic? She'd seen it used to kill, and to do something like a forensic examination, and now used as a substitute for wet wipes. That was a pretty extensive range. If it bore any relationship to fiction, it might be technically capable of nearly anything given a sufficiently intelligent user. She needed to investigate the possibilities, she decided. As long as she was here she might as well ensure to collect anything that could come in handy back home, and knowledge was nicely portable.

Recalling the panic from earlier, she then wondered if wizards came in 'sufficiently intelligent.' If so it seemed plausible it was fairly rare… Much like 'sane Parahuman.' Not all of them were as practical and sensible as she was, after all, she knew full well. A lot of them were just nuts. Maybe that was true for wizards too?

Something to find out. But with luck there were enough practical ones available that they could work out how to get her home again before she had to get inventive.

"Ah…" Fudge looked between Dumbledore and Bones, then at her. "What happened? What was that apparition? Why…" he peered nervously around the room for a moment, flinching as he spotted some of her more interesting new creatures on the ceiling watching them, then hastily averted his eyes. "Why is the atrium so… full… of things? Merlin, I don't even recognize half of them! And that fire thingy? What on earth was that? Has the Department of Mysteries summoned a demon again? We had a devil of a time getting rid of the last one, you recall. It only left when we gave it all the eggs we could lay hands on." He yanked his handkerchief out again and wiped sweat from his forehead.

"I can't face something like that again, Albus. I can still hear the snickering sometimes…"

"Calm yourself, Cornelius, I'm sure Miss Skitter is not a demon." He looked at Taylor and smiled slightly. "You're not, I take it?" He seemed to be marginally relaxing as nothing apocalyptic happened, and Bones was listening intently, watching everyone carefully.

"Not to my knowledge," she replied evenly. "I'm a Parahuman."

"Is that like an Italian?" Fudge asked, looking somewhat baffled. Bones, who was out of his sightline, sighed silently and massaged her forehead while Dumbledore's genial smile slipped slightly.

"Not… as such," Taylor responded after several seconds of gazing incredulously at the man. This guy was their head of state or whatever he was?

They were doomed. No surprise that Riddle character had been trying to take over. The only wonder was that he'd failed. Twice, by the sound of it.

"Oh." Fudge fell silent, still looking baffled, and Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"Be that as it may… we can probably leave the details for later. For now, it might be best if we summarize the events of this somewhat unexpected evening for Madame Bones and the Minister, as the outcome has somewhat spectacularly altered the status quo. Is that acceptable?"

Suppressing a sigh, and knowing that giving them an after-action report or whatever it was that the PRT called this sort of thing back home was probably entirely reasonable from their point of view, Taylor nodded. The sooner the cops got their info the sooner she could talk to this wizard about going home without someone butting in asking annoyingly silly questions. "I have no objection, Mr Dumbledore."

"Just Dumbledore is fine, my dear. Minister? Madame Bones? Is that acceptable to you both as well?"

"Yes," Bones replied immediately. "The emergency is over, so finding out exactly what happened is the next priority." She still seemed more than slightly skittish every time she looked at Taylor, and the Minister was deliberately not looking at her any more than he absolutely had to.

"In that case I suggest that standing around in the Atrium is hardly the most convenient way to proceed," the elderly wizard remarked with a look around. "Shall we reconvene in a more suitable venue? I would suggest the Minister's office as it is large enough for everyone to be comfortable."

"My office? Albus, I hardly think…"

'Yeah, I bet that's true,' Taylor thought with an internal smile. She was almost certain that nearly identical thoughts went through both Dumbledore's and Bones's minds by the expressions that flashed across their faces. The Minister didn't appear to notice.

"Cornelius, calm down. Your office is conveniently close, large, and empty at this time of night," Dumbledore soothed. "It's the logical place for…" he looked around, counting. "...quite a lot of people to gather."

"All of them?" Fudge looked around as well. "In my office? Do we need all of them?"

"I'm sure Amelia and her people will carry out most of the interviewing, but we do need to get an overview of the events of tonight first, don't you agree?"

"I… I suppose so. Yes. You're right, of course." Fudge managed to pull himself together slightly, and drew himself up. "Excellent idea. To my office, so we can get to the bottom of this shocking sequence of events!" He waved his hands at everyone, as if to urge them onwards. "Everyone! We're going to my office. Hurry along now, no time to waste."

Trotting off towards the elevators he waved urgently at the group of people nearest it, which happened to be the half dozen that had been with Dumbledore. They exchanged glances then as one followed, the whole assembly vanishing into the elevator as everyone else watched with bemusement. Moments later the gate slammed closed and the elevator car disappeared into the shaft with a clank.

Silence fell, then after a number of seconds, Taylor turned to the other two. "Is he always like that?" she queried with confusion.

Bones shook her head sadly. "I would dearly like to say no, but I prefer not to lie so blatantly."

"Jesus."

"Indeed." Dumbledore sighed a little. "Cornelius, despite his faults, I believe means well. Deep down."

"Deep, deep, deep down," Bones added dryly. "One would need a powerful lumos to see just how far down."

Dumbledore's beard twitched and his eyes twinkled, but he didn't respond, merely turning to address everyone left. "As our dear Minister has said, let us retire to his office and discuss what occurred tonight when our new friend helped us so masterfully. If you would?" He waved towards the bank of elevators. "The sooner we start, the sooner we can go home to bed."

"If you think I'm sleeping at any point in the near future after what I saw your beard has grown into your brain," Bones muttered, almost too faintly to hear. Taylor, even though her self-induced emotionless state, had trouble not laughing.

"Oh, Miss Skitter?" the old wizard said, turning back to her apologetically. "If you could leave your… multitude… here rather than fill poor Cornelius's office with them, I believe he would be far easier to deal with. And it would most likely make everyone else somewhat less nervous."

"Multitude?" Taylor asked quizzically.

"Yes, all the…" He looked around at the entirely empty atrium, where not a single insect could now be found as Taylor had moved them all back into various nooks and crannies, including ensuring that a sufficient number were already in the walls surrounding the office the Minister was heading for, which of course by far the largest and most luxurious room in the building. "Ah." He swallowed a little dryly, then produced something close to a smile. "How… yes, well, excellent indeed. Very well done. Capital. Shall we be off?"

Slightly too quickly he strode off towards the group getting into the next elevator, Bones following closely and visibly trying not to look up at the ceiling. Taylor grinned to herself, then went after them. Hermione and the blonde girl, Luna, who both seemed probably be the most sane people there, and had been listening quietly while they talked, fell into step beside her. "Hermione Granger," the brunette said, holding out her hand as they walked. Taylor glanced at her, then accepted the hand and shook it.

"Pleased to meet you, Hermione," she replied.

"This is my friend Luna Lovegood." Hermione motioned to the blonde, who smiled at Taylor in a slightly vacant manner that didn't quite hide a remarkably sharp gaze. She suspected the girl was actually a lot smarter than most people realized, but didn't make it obvious. For some reason both of them reminded her of Lisa and she couldn't put her finger on exactly why.

"I like your coat," Luna said brightly. Taylor looked down at her fyre jacket and stroked it.

"So do I," she said with total honesty. The fyre seemed to crackle just that little bit more happily for a moment, and she felt her power settle even more deeply into it.

Coming here might have been an accident, and a pain in the ass in many ways, but at least she'd got some cool toys out of it along with a new friend, she thought with satisfaction. Even if she'd had to defend herself rather more excessively than she was really happy with.

Oh well. What's done is done, and those guys were mostly very well done.

The fyre emitted a happy sensation, making her smile to herself.

As they arrived at the elevator where Hermione and Luna's fellow teens were waiting for them, along with that Sirius guy and his friend with the somewhat stressed look, the others having just left in another elevator, Luna pointed at each person in turn. "That's Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, and his sister Ginny. And this is Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, and Professor Remus Lupin."

"I'm not your professor any more, Luna," Lupin said, smiling slightly, although the smile wavered when he looked at Taylor, who nodded politely to him.

Everyone went into the elevator car, most of them standing as far away from her as they could get although Hermione, Harry, and Luna didn't seem bothered any more by her flaming coat. Remus pressed a button and the gate slammed shut.

As the elevator started moving, Harry turned to her. "Thank you," he said with feeling. "That arsehole has been more trouble than you'd believe, and he killed my parents. I am so happy he's finally dead you have no idea. Finally I can relax."

"No problem," Taylor assured him, wondering what the real story behind all this was. Perhaps she'd find out.

"And Pettigrew being officially seen by all those people, including the Minister… That's going to help Sirius." Harry looked over at his godfather, who was staring at Taylor's coat with a sort of horrified interest.

"Oh?"

"He faked his death and framed Sirius for it, and killed a dozen other people, by blowing up a street," Hermione said. "The Ministry put him in prison without even a trial. No one ever even bothered to interview him. He finally escaped a couple of years ago, but he's still a wanted man with a death sentence hanging over his head."

"Which means that since Pettigrew was alive until about twenty minutes ago and we can prove it in a way the Minister can't ignore this time, because of all the witnesses, we can finally prove Sirius is innocent," Harry added with a lot of emotion in his voice. "He knows Sirius is innocent, because I told him last year, when we first caught Pettigrew. But he denied it due to politics."

"And the interference of Lucius Malfoy," Luna commented.

"That guy I shot?" Taylor asked curiously, recalling the name from the crazy-eyed woman's scream.

"Yes."

"You guys have a lot of problems," she remarked. "Terrorists, corrupt government, crazy people trying to cause trouble… It's just like home, only with magic."

Harry looked at her with confusion, then at Hermione, who shrugged. The elevator stopped before he could say anything with the voice announcing their arrival at the required floor and everyone got out. Taylor started walking towards the office she'd detected, which now had quite a lot of people milling around in it. "How do you know which way to go?" Lupin asked, coming up behind her and sounding cautiously interested.

"I see it," she said. Turning her head slowly to fix him with her gaze, she added, "I see everything."

The man gazed at her for a second or two then nodded a little lamely. "All right, I was just curious," he replied, dropping back a few paces and putting Sirius between them. Taylor felt Lisa would have been proud.

There were so many ways to intimidate people, she was realizing. The simple truth was one of the better ones, oddly enough.

She did see everything. Even now, she had some of her new swarm going through a set of filing cabinets several floors away in what seemed to be a records office, looking for information on Sirius Black. It took a tiny fraction of her attention at best, and she was curious.

The books she was also reading in various places were also very interesting indeed. Magic seemed to have some quite useful applications, as well as a lot of major problems.

Taylor wondered if any of this information would be useful to her. Her power certainly seemed to find the subject one worthy of study, considering how incredibly eager it appeared to be to do whatever she asked of it since she arrived…

As they walked into Fudge's office, she was also reading a book on magical creatures and trying to work out how she'd get giant spiders home with her…

Rachel had her dogs. Taylor wanted a riding spider because she'd just discovered you could get a riding spider.

The fact that wizards didn't ride them was more proof they were a little bit dim on the whole, in her opinion. Some people never took advantage of the cool things that were staring them in the face...
 
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Fyre Proof
Accompanying the others into a large luxurious room that was apparently Minister Fudge's office, Harry looked around. The place was outfitted with very expensive-appearing woodwork and accessories, looking like photos he'd seen of mid-Victorian-era houses for the really rich. An aesthetic that pure-blood wizards probably thought was dangerously avant-garde, he thought with inner amusement. Presumably Minister Fudge was perfectly happy to spend his bribes lavishly…

An extravagant desk lay at the far side of the room, baroque carvings embellishing the polished wood, and the Minister was sitting behind it looking important. At least in his eyes. Several matching chairs were nearby, but a couple of dozen simpler and less over the top ones were set out in ranks in front of the desk, like one of the classrooms at Hogwarts. Harry assumed someone had conjured them to accommodate the crowd of people currently either sitting in them or moving to do so.

"Yes, yes, that's it, take a seat!" Fudge directed, waving a hand grandly. "There's lots of room." Madame Bones and Dumbledore were standing next to his desk, watching as everyone else sat. Skitter perched on the end of the last row, and he noticed with inner amusement that everyone else looked glad she was not right next to them. There were a lot of very confused and worried glances being thrown her way.

Harry shrugged and sat beside her, Hermione and Luna taking the next two chairs. Sirius looked at the costumed girl, shuddered very slightly, and walked around the back of the chairs to get at the other end of the same row, Remus following, both of them leaving a gap of several empty seats between them and Luna who was looking quietly amused. Ginny, Neville, and Ron exchanged looks, peered at the empty space, and as one appeared to decide that the next row was ideal instead. Moments later everyone was sitting down and looking at the Minister, who gazed back over folded hands as if he was in charge and had called them here to announce who the murderer was.

Trying not to laugh at his own inner commentary, Harry composed his face into a mask of seriousness and waited. He was still having trouble coming to grips with the fact that Voldemort was actually gone. The nightmare he'd lived ever since he'd arrived at Hogwarts, and arguably since he was one, was finally over.

It was a lot to accept, and he thought it would probably take a fair while to sink in properly. But he was, to his enormous satisfaction and gratitude, free.

He owed Skitter a very great debt of thanks, one he couldn't begin to think how to repay. The girl was terrifying, sure, but she'd done with ease what no one else, certainly none of the adults around him, had done or apparently could do. Riddle was literally ash and Sirius had proof of his innocence, which had cheered both of them up immensely in both cases. Not to mention the most vicious and evil of the Death Eaters were about as dead as it was possible to get.

Hermione had told him that she'd read that fiendfyre even destroyed the soul. Assuming that such a thing really existed, even that was ash in their cases. He couldn't help thinking that it was a well deserved fate.

Malfoy was not going to be happy, nor were a fair number of other Slytherins, when they found out. He'd recognized several of the Death Eaters in the Veil room from that time in the graveyard when Pettigrew had resurrected his evil master, and had realized that they were the parents of several students he knew and heartily disliked, including Malfoy's bookends Crabbe and Goyle. In his heart of hearts he had faint sympathy for them losing a parent, but that was solidly outweighed by the certain knowledge those parents had been doing everything they could to kill him and his friends, and were mass murderers already.

So yeah. They did rather get what was coming to them. Which was apparently an annoyed Skitter to the face.

Hermione was watching his expression with a somewhat knowing look on her own face, he noticed when he glanced sideways at his friend. She gripped his hand and squeezed it for a moment, smiling slightly, and he returned the pressure before she let go and turned to face forwards, while putting on her attentive student mien. It made him smirk slightly inside since he knew full well that she thought the Minister was an idiot at best, which to be fair was something he felt entirely justified. Beyond Hermione Luna winked at him, then also looked forward, while pulling out a ballpoint pen and a notebook from inside her robes. He was amused how Hermione's irritation with quills had led the blonde girl to using the 'muggle' writing instrument when the older one had finally got so annoyed with constantly having to re-ink the traditional tool she'd given up and gone back to using something practical. Several other friends of theirs did the same for their note-taking, although they had to use quills for assignments that got handed in.

The last person stopped adjusting his chair and went quiet, and the Minister nodded with what he probably thought was dignified satisfaction. "Excellent, excellent," he burbled, casting his eyes around the room and looking like he was about to start a speech. His gaze stopped on Skitter, who was staring entirely motionlessly at him as if she was carved out of flaming stone and he paled, then quickly looked away. "Yes… If we're all ready, I think we can start?" Turning to look at Dumbledore, then Madame Bones, he went on a little quizzically, "What do we do next?"

Harry had trouble not snorting with laughter and he was almost certain that he heard a very faint sigh from Skitter, but she didn't move a muscle. Hermione's cheek twitched, he noticed, then smoothed out.

"If you'll allow me, Minister?" Madame Bones said calmly, moving forward a little and not looking like she really intended to pay any attention to the man anyway. "All right. I'm sure we would all like to get home and relax after what was… definitely a more… exciting… night than one would hope for, so what I'd like to do is get an overview of what actually started… whatever that was." She looked at Dumbledore who nodded genially and made a small gesture of acceptance, although he didn't say anything, merely observed. Harry noticed what he was mostly observing was Skitter, with quite a lot of glances his way, glances that quickly moved off him whenever he met the elderly wizard's eyes.

Luna was making notes with quick motions of her hand, not even looking at the pad, and apparently using some sort of shorthand from what he could see, while Hermione was listening very carefully and probably committing the entire thing to memory based on his long experience of the girl.

"As I understand it, the Ministry was attacked by the Dark Lord and a number of his people earlier tonight. I witnessed the aftermath of the fight in the atrium when I arrived, but I would like to know what happened, who was involved, and where all this took place. And why Mr Potter and his friends happen to be here, for that matter." She looked at Harry for a moment, then scanned over the others that had come with him. He noticed her eyes lingered on Sirius for a second or two, his godfather meeting her gaze with a smirk.

"We'll come back to the presence of an escaped prisoner later," she added with an unreadable expression. Several of those present looked back at Sirius as if they'd only just noticed him, got worried expressions, and looked forward again rapidly. A number of the aurors from upstairs had entered the room very quietly after everyone had sat down and were standing at the back of the room, Harry knew, and he was sure they were also dividing their attention between his godfather and Skitter.

He was fairly certain they were much warier of the girl than the alleged murderer. Which was only common sense.

Everyone was scared of what Sirius was supposed to have done. They were fucking terrified of what Skitter had been seen to do

Her coat made of near-living fyre might also be taking up a fair bit of their attention, he thought.

"Harry?" Dumbledore looked directly at him. "Perhaps you could begin, as this whole affair does appear to start with you one way or the other."

He took a deep breath, then nodded. Even Skitter was looking at him now, everyone else turning around in their seats. Director Bones had a dictaquill ready on a sheet of parchment. "Do you want to see our memories of what happened, Director Bones?" he queried into the silent room.

"I will definitely wish to do that, Mr Potter, but a description first if you wouldn't mind, just for the record." Bones nodded with a small smile briefly flickering across her face and he took another breath, feeling nervous suddenly. Something he thought a little odd considering just how insane the last couple of hours had been during which he'd largely been too scared to be nervous, but there it was.

"All right. It started with one of my visions…" he began, which caused many of the people including Madame Bones to look somewhat confused. Minister Fudge had been looking confused from the moment he'd turned up, of course, and Harry assumed that was his default expression by this point…

He started explaining the background to the mad dash to save Sirius, which took a good twenty minutes. Madame Bones went through a somewhat amusing series of expressions including attentiveness, confusion, absolute fury, deep irritation, and impressed horror. He noticed that as he spoke, a few times she cast a rather irked look Dumbledore's way, and he got the distinct impression she was coming to some conclusions about the elderly wizard she wasn't happy about. Conclusions Hermione had also come to and mentioned more than once, and ones he was also coming around to thinking might well have more truth to them than he was happy about.

Eventually he finished describing the mad scramble through the bowels of the Department of Mysteries, chased by murderous Death Eaters intent on killing them all in as horrible a manner as possible. He mentioned how Sirius and the others had come rushing in at the last moment to help, and had probably saved them from a nasty death for the moment, she looked at his godfather with an unreadable expression for a moment then back to him.

He paused for breath at that point, glancing at Hermione and his other friends who had been listening silently and occasionally nodding to something he'd said. "So there we were," he continued after a moment with a small shrug. "In the room with the Veil, and half a dozen or so people wanting to kill us between us and the exit. We were exhausted, we'd been running like mad for what seemed like hours by then, Ginny had a bad ankle, Nev was on his last legs, Ron was all wobbly from those weird brain things, and Hermione had almost been hit by something nasty Dolahov fired at her. She only barely managed to duck and if he hadn't stumbled he'd have hit her anyway. Sirius and the rest were fresher, but they were also outnumbered. Then…" He frowned as he thought back an hour.

"Dolahov tried some sort of spell I have no idea about, and missed me. I ducked and the spell hit the Veil, right at the same time Bellatrix also hit it with something else when I think she was trying to get Sirius. There was a bizarre noise, a blue glow in the middle of the room between us and them, then the next thing we knew Skitter was standing there." He glanced at the girl, who was watching him and listening without motion or word. "Things got a little confused then," he added in about the driest voice he'd ever used.

Harry somehow got the impression she was probably smiling slightly under the mask.

"Not that they were particularly unconfused up to that point of course," Hermione commented, making him grin a little tiredly. Madame Bones, who was watching them with an intrigued expression, snorted with laughter for a moment and even Dumbledore smiled faintly. Minister Fudge was staring at them with the face of someone who really doesn't quite know what's going on. Which seemed to be fairly common with him, based on Harry's previous interactions with the man.

"I see," Bones nodded after a moment or two. "Then what happened?"

"She did," Harry simply said, indicating the girl on his left, who turned her head to look at the DMLE director. Bones swallowed very slightly.

"Skitter didn't seem all that happy to have found herself here, which isn't surprising really," he went on after a few seconds, Skitter returning her attention to him. "She asked where she was and who everyone was. Along with… a fairly strongly worded comment that an answer was urgently required." He couldn't help grinning at the memory, because it had been one of the coolest things he'd seen for some time. If he'd been unexpectedly transported to an entirely different world and time he doubted he'd have had a fraction of the composure she showed.

Luna muffled a laugh behind her hand and even Ron looked amused.

"Her turning up like that seemed to make the Death Eaters pause. I mean, we were all wondering what just happened at that point, even them. They were just as surprised as we were," he explained, spreading his hands. "No one knew what was going on. MacNair demanded to know who she was, she told him, some of the other Death Eaters started shouting, and before you know it Malfoy told them to kill her as well. Then she killed him first."

Minister Fudge looked shocked, as well as worried, and stared at the girl with sweat on his brow. He didn't seem to want to say anything though. Harry had half-expected him to protest that Lucius Malfoy was a fine upstanding member of the public or some such rot, but apparently he didn't quite feel here and now was the ideal time or place to bring that up. Not with Skitter looking right back at him.

"How?" Madame Bones inquired, looking intently at him, then Skitter.

"Shot him in the face," Harry replied. "Bloody good shot too, it got him right between the eyes." That was a memory that he'd treasure for years, as blood-soaked as it was. He'd never liked Lucius Malfoy and after the graveyard he'd always wondered which of them would be left standing one day. She winced very slightly.

"Then Bellatrix got upset and tried to hit her with an Avada, so Skitter shot her as well," he continued. "The ones that were left got really upset at that point and the next thing you know everyone was trying to kill everyone else. I ended up behind the Veil stand thing with Skitter and Hermione, everyone else took cover in other places, and it was total chaos. Skitter shot a couple more of them, then more insects than I ever realized even existed turned up and…" Harry swallowed as the memory resurfaced. Ron was green and sweating, and even Sirius closed his eyes and shuddered. "The next thing I knew every Death Eater in the entire place was being eaten alive by things I'd never even heard of before. Which is probably why someone had the bright idea to summon some fiendfyre…"

He shook his head slowly, meeting her eyes directly. "That did not go the way they expected," he finished.

Everyone looked at him, then as one swiveled their heads to gaze at Skitter, who waved.

There was a long pause, before Bones nodded somewhat shakily.

"Once we got over the shock, Skitter told us that Dumbledore was fighting Riddle upstairs, and said we should go up and deal with him because he was annoying her. So we did." He was glossing over a lot of bizarre details, he knew, but honestly talking about it was never going to do what had happened justice…

"Tom didn't last very long. And he's very dead now. Then you and the aurors turned up, and I suppose you know the rest," he finished.

For the second time there was a pause, even longer this time, before Bones nodded. "I see. I think. I must say that raises more questions than it answers, but thank you for explaining your side of the story." She took a deep breath. "Do any of the rest of you have anything useful to add to Mr Potter's recounting of the recent events?" she asked, scanning first his friends, then Sirius and the others.

"Harry described it well, Madame Bones," Hermione commented after a few seconds. "Obviously there are a lot of details he didn't go into but that's a good summary."

Luna and Neville nodded. Ginny shook her head but it was more in wonder than disagreement. Ron was slumped in his chair massaging his forehead as if he wanted to go to bed, which Harry could well sympathize with. He himself was exhausted.

Madame Bones and Dumbledore exchanged glances for a second or two. "We're going to need to watch the memories to fully understand all this, I believe," the latter finally said, getting a nod of agreement from Bones.

"Yes," she said. Turning back to the small audience, she studied them for a few seconds, clearly trying to think what to do next. He imagined that she was not ready for this sort of problem out of the blue, not surprisingly. Even in the Wizarding world it was a little out of the ordinary to put it mildly.

"Miss Skitter?" she finally asked, very politely.

"Yes, Director Bones?" the girl next to him replied as politely with zero emotion in her voice, cocking her head just a little.

"Can I ask where it is you actually come from? By the sounds of it your appearance here was not deliberate."

"No, it wasn't," Skitter replied evenly. "I was just walking down the street with my friends and the next thing I knew there was some sort of portal right in front of me before I could even react. Then I was here down in your weird room." She shrugged. "I can't say I liked that, but on the other hand I've found some interesting up sides to the whole thing. I still want to go home though." She stroked the arm of her fyre coat in a somewhat possessive manner, which made everyone somewhat nervous. The way the fyre seemed to… shiver… under her hand was the worst part, Harry thought…

"I don't know exactly how I got here, but Hermione and I both worked out here is not actually my world," Skitter went on, which made Dumbledore's eyebrows rise so high his hat nearly fell off. He gaped at her, while Bones was looking thunderstruck and Fudge seemed completely lost.

"Not… your world?" Bones echoed incredulously. "You're claiming you come from another world?"

"Yep. And about fifteen years in the future for that matter," Skitter replied with a nod. She indicated Hermione. "She told me the city I'm from doesn't seem to exist here at all, and where it should be is a completely different one. Which is weird, but I guess it's not all that weird all things considered."

Harry saw that Bones seemed to be having trouble speaking and Dumbledore was still gaping in disbelief. Eventually the director pulled herself together and managed to say, "You're taking this all more calmly than I would expect under the circumstances. Finding oneself on a different world must be a shock."

"It's annoying, yeah," Skitter grumbled, somehow still without any real emotion. He was amazed and a little envious of her ability to remain icily calm. "All this magic stuff is weird too. We don't have that at home."

Everyone who hadn't been in the Veil room gave her odd looks. "Excuse me?" Madame Bones said with a certain amount of bemusement in her voice, as she examined Skitter.

"Yeah, we have people who claim to have magic, but that's pretty much all bullshit as far as I know." Skitter shrugged a little as they stared again. "Lots of Parahumans are kind of deluded if you ask me."

Harry felt, and he could see in Hermione's eyes when he glanced at her, that the same was quite possibly true in the case of wizards. He'd seen more than enough evidence of that over the years.

"But…" Bones paused, then tried again. "But what are you doing if it's not magic?" She pointed at Skitter's lethal coat, then waved a hand somewhat vaguely beyond the room. "None of this is possible without magic!"

"It's Parahuman abilities, not magic."

"Are you claiming to be a Muggle, my dear?" Dumbledore added almost on top of her speaking, stroking his beard in a way that implied interest mixed with deep puzzlement and worry.

"I have no idea what a… Muggle… is," Skitter replied evenly.

"It's the wizarding term for someone who doesn't have magic," Luna helpfully commented, making Skitter look at her for a moment. "It's very discriminatory, Daddy says."

"Ah." The costumed girl nodded. "I understand. Racism. We have a lot of that too."

Her head turned very slowly to fix on Dumbledore's gaze, the elderly wizard having been listening to what Luna said with a look that suggested to Harry he wasn't entirely happy about her comment, even though in his opinion she wasn't wrong. He was almost certain he saw Dumbledore swallow slightly at the yellow eyes fixed on him. "I don't much care for racists."

Skitter's voice was somehow even flatter than it had been up until now. And could he make out the slightest hint of buzzing coming from somewhere in the walls around them?

Everyone else looked around uneasily, but apparently neither Dumbledore or Bones could look away from Skitter.

"I wouldn't call it racism, my dear young lady," Dumbledore said after a few awkward seconds. "The term isn't meant in a discriminatory way, I assure you."

"No?" Skitter asked. "Do they call you… what, Whizzies or something, then?"

Dumbledore winced. Harry tried not to giggle. He was going to have to remember that one…

"The Mug…" Bones stopped immediately, then started again, "The non-magical population doesn't know about the magical one. There's a very long standing legal statute that makes it illegal for anyone who doesn't have magic to know about even the existence of magic itself, with only a small number of exceptions, you see, and…"

"How do you manage to hide something as large as this building right in the middle of a city as big as the one outside from everyone?" Skitter asked, interrupting her. "Or all the crazy people with robes who want to kill everyone? Let me guess, magic again?"

"Well… yes."

"And if someone does find out about you guys? What happens then?" Skitter's voice seemed to have something in it which suggested the question was more rhetorical than it should have been, Harry thought uneasily. He glanced at Hermione again and saw her watching closely, her eyes thoughtful and worried, as well as containing something he couldn't identify.

Bones seemed to feel she was nearing dangerous waters, if her expression was anything to go by, but nevertheless she replied, "The Obliviators deal with the problem."

Skitter nodded in a manner that made Harry fairly sure she somehow knew that already. "So you use mind control. Erase memories. Master people. I see."

He wondered what that term 'Master' meant, because it clearly meant something important based on how she said it. He could almost hear the capitalization.

"Memories are suitably adjusted where necessary, yes," Dumbledore remarked, still watching Skitter with the care of someone who knew damn well he was in the presence of something much more dangerous than he was happy about. "I assure you it's harmless, and required for our own safety as well as theirs."

She cocked her head a little to the side as if she was examining an interesting creature, which seemed to make Dumbledore feel rather uneasy. Everyone else in the room was watching and listening quietly, Harry himself getting the feeling that Skitter was not very impressed by them.

"Fair warning, anyone trying to Master me is going to die," Skitter remarked casually. "My memories are my own and you try to take them from me, you won't live long enough to regret it. Are we clear?" Even as she spoke her jacket flared up behind her into that wasp's head and looked around, the mandibles working, causing nearly everyone present to gasp in horror and lean away. Harry, despite himself, flinched a little although he'd almost expected something like this. Compared to upstairs, this was the girl being very restrained and polite, really. Just giving a warning, which by the looks of Dumbledore's wide eyes and Bones' pale face, was received and understood.

Next to him Hermione made a very small sound that was perilously close to a snicker, causing him to look at her. She looked back with a blank face but her eyes were sparkling. He rather got the impression she liked Skitter.

Which, knowing his friend, somewhat worried him if he was completely honest with himself. He was all too aware that she could be ruthlessly pragmatic if you pushed her hard enough and 'ruthlessly pragmatic' on Skitter's world probably had a picture of her right next to the dictionary entry…

He was getting a touch worried that they might end up comparing notes, and who knew where that would lead?

"I believe we are fully aware of your feelings on the matter, Miss Skitter," Dumbledore said after licking his lips for a moment. "No such action will be taken, I assure you."

She nodded and the jacket was just a simple flaming jacket again. Harry relaxed a little although he could see most of the others present were not even slightly close to being able to do so. Minister Fudge was watching with a look of horror in his eyes but was very obviously trying not to draw attention to himself, like a small rodent confronted by a large and hungry predator.

"We're getting slightly off track, I think," Director Bones said after a few seconds of quiet in the room. "While the fact that your… abilities… are apparently not magical in nature surprises me, that's not immediately relevant. I'm just trying to determine the truth behind this rather memorable night. From what Mr Potter says, it certainly appears as if you have saved all of us a lot of trouble, and undoubtedly saved a lot of lives too, for which I'm grateful." Skitter nodded again, and Bones looked around at the rest of the people there. "Does anyone else here have anything of a material nature to add to Mr Potter's recounting?"

"The boy was accurate," Moody replied, speaking for the first time. Harry had seen how he hadn't looked away from Skitter the whole time, and his right hand was in his robes undoubtedly holding his wand ready. However he didn't look like he was likely to try anything, and if anything his expression suggested that he was somewhat approving of the girl's terrifying ability to solve problems permanently. Tonks, next to him, still had limp brown hair and was obviously having a lot of trouble with the whole situation, as were most of the rest. Even Sirius looked worried, although he'd gradually become less so as time passed and nothing catastrophic happened.

He kept glancing at the aurors along the back of the room. They were going to have to do something about that…

"Good. I think that gives us a decent overview, then." Madame Bones nodded firmly. "So I believe the best thing to do now is to gather memories from everyone…" She looked at Skitter who was watching her. "...Nearly everyone present for later examination, along with witness statements. I will certainly be speaking to various people about the appalling lapses in security that Mr Potter and his friends have highlighted, but I think in light of what's happened we can hardly blame the children for doing what they felt they had no choice about." She met his eyes, then looked at his friends. "That said I would strongly urge you all to consider talking to someone in authority first next time. If there is a next time, which I devoutly hope there isn't. We all got lucky this time and we can't rely on that being the case again. Do you agree?"

Harry found himself nodding, because she was right. Although he wondered exactly who they were supposed to have talked do, under the circumstances.

Oh well. Something to think about.

"Mr Black?" She turned her attention to Sirius, who stiffened slightly. "I would like a word with you, please."

"Ah…" Sirius looked around, at Harry who shrugged a little, then at Lupin. "Am I under arrest?"

"Not quite," she replied, sounding tired. "Because the man you are accused of killing died not an hour ago upstairs, fourteen years after he was supposed to have been murdered. I can't help thinking that as a result your conviction is, to put it mildly, highly suspect. But I would like to get your side of the story before you vanish again. Please."

Sirius nodded his agreement. "Understood, and thank you. Can I point out that I was never actually convicted?"

She stared at him. "What does that mean?"

He shrugged. "To be convicted of a crime, you need to be tried for a crime, and I didn't get a trial. I was just thrown into Azkaban and left there."

Bones closed her eyes and appeared to count under her breath for a little while. Finally she opened them again and turned her head to glare at Dumbledore, who flinched a little. "Of course you were. Why does that surprise me on top of everything else?" Pointing at one of the aurors, she ordered, "Smith, get me Mr Black's arrest records immediately."

"There aren't any," Skitter commented emotionlessly, making everyone stop dead and stare at her.

"Excuse me?" Dumbledore said after a long moment.

"I checked. I found your records room and checked the entire thing. No record of Sirius Black being charged with anything, only a single page saying he was found on the scene of an explosion that apparently killed thirteen people in a state of confusion while babbling nonsense." Cocking her head, she examined the Minister, who was sweating heavily. "And a note ordering him to be transported to some place called Azkaban signed by Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold. Your predecessor, I assume?"

Every single person in the room was looking at her with incredulity by this point, and Dumbledore had gone very pale again. "How…?" he managed, stuttering slightly.

"I see everything," Skitter replied, almost sounding mildly amused. "As I said." She glanced sideways at Remus who was staring at her.

Harry suddenly got an inkling of just how ludicrously dangerous the girl really was. The fiendfyre was the obvious part. The thing everyone noticed. But… if she was seeing through every single creature she was controlling, which he was abruptly certain was true, and somehow could handle all those different viewpoints at the same time…

Had she read everything in the entire building already? If not, it was only a matter of time, he suspected.

Bloody hell.

That was going to cause the authorities to scream in horror if anything would.

Blinking, Dumbledore needed a couple of seconds to take this in, then his face changed to that of a man who had thought of something very worrying indeed. Director Bones kept looking at Skitter for a few seconds more then raised her eyes to the auror she'd addressed previously. "Bring me that folder."

"Yes, Director," he replied, before vanishing out the door.

"Not that I disbelieve you, Miss Skitter," she said, looking back to the girl, "but I need to see it for myself."

Inclining her head in understanding, Skitter didn't reply.

Harry looked at Hermione, and saw from her expression that she'd already worked out what he'd just done. Probably some time ago. He rather felt she envied the other girl that ability, which didn't even slightly surprise him. Past her, he noticed Luna seemed to have figured it out as well. His other friends were looking puzzled and apprehensive, while poor Remus was sitting with his eyes closed obviously attempting to understand what was going on. Sirius just seemed a strange mix of relieved, terrified, and amused.

Moody was still staring fixedly at Skitter and for some weird reason smirking slightly.

"All right." Madame Bones took a deep breath. "We'll start with Mr Potter, then work our way through the rest of you. Once we've done that, most of you are free to leave." As she was about to add something else, Smith came back into the room at a jog, carrying a folder. Even from here Harry could easily see it was nearly empty. He walked over to the DMLE director and handed it to her. Opening it, she looked at the contents, then at Dumbledore. The woman did not look happy, and Dumbledore for a moment appeared somewhat guilty before his expression cleared.

"You and I are going to have a long talk," she said very quietly, before turning to the Minister who blinked owlishly at her. "Minister, in light of this… shambles… I believe it is appropriate that you immediately sign an order rescinding any arrest warrant for Sirius Black, release him on bail to the sum of… one knut, I think, and arrange for an immediate trial in which he can officially clear his name from what is obviously a gross miscarriage of justice. Don't you agree?" Her tone of voice made it very clear that the only possible answer he could give was "Yes, Amelia."

He looked trapped, glancing at Dumbledore who simply looked back, then nodded meekly. "Yes, Amelia."

Harry managed not to laugh.

Moments later he'd fished out a sheet of parchment, scribbled on it with his fancy quill for a few seconds, signed the bottom, and had it removed from him almost too fast to see. Madame Bones inspected the document carefully then nodded and slipped it into the folder she was holding before closing it.

"Mr Black?"

"Yes, Director?"

"Do you have one knut?"

"I do." Sirius held up a small coin, looking like he was doing his best not to grin.

"Smith, please collect the bail money from Mr Black."

The auror, who looked confused but nodded anyway, walked over and held out his hand. Sirius dropped the knut into it. "You're free to go. Please don't leave the country until your trial," Madame Bones said. "You'll be notified as to the date as soon as it's arranged."

Sirius nodded agreement. "Thank you."

"My pleasure."

Bones took a breath, shook her head a tiny amount, and put the folder down next to her on the Minister's desk. He reached for it and she glared at him, which made him pull his hand back as quickly as if he'd touched a fire, then sit there looking worried. Harry was, once more, certain that Hermione stifled a giggle.

She really didn't like Fudge.

"Right." Madame Bones adjusted her monocle, then took a step forward, in an authoritative manner. "Enough distractions. You two, get some more memory vials." She looked at the aurors, a pair of whom immediately left the room, the remaining ones standing waiting for further orders. "Again, we'll start with Mr Potter. Smith, Dawlish, you will document the memory collection. I'll do the extraction myself because I'm damned if this is going to have even the slightest chance of error." She pulled a couple of familiar crystal vials out of her robes and motioned to him to come up to the front. "You're familiar with the process?"

"I am, Madame Bones."

"Excellent. If you would fix the sequence of events leading up to your arrival at the Ministry firmly in your mind, then?"

He concentrated, aware of everyone watching him, and nodded when he'd arranged his memories of the whole bizarre last few hours. "Ready."

Her wand touched the side of his head, then pulled back. A very large collection of wispy memories followed it, making her eyes widen slightly, and Dumbledore look intrigued. "Impressive," she said quietly enough that he was fairly sure she hadn't meant him to hear it. The memories went into one vial, which she closed.

"Now the fight downstairs, please."

That filled another one. By the time that was done, the two aurors had returned with a large box of vials, so she took a third one from it and turned back to him. The first two were being labeled by Smith, and double-checked by Dawlish, who was writing the labels onto a scroll and initialing the entries. "And finally the trip upstairs and what happened then."

Shortly that was also stored away safely. All three filled vials were carefully placed into another case that the aurors had brought with them, and one was currently guarding. Harry noticed Dumbledore was looking at the vials with a gaze suggesting he very much wanted to examine the contents. Bones gave him a warning glance and he sighed faintly.

"If you could go with Auror Jones there and sign the statement on which memories you have handed into evidence, please, Mr Potter. At that point this is done for now." Director Bones indicated a dark-haired female Auror who was standing to one side, in front of a stack of parchment, waiting patiently. He nodded and moved to do as requested. Skitter was intently watching the entire process, he saw, and Hermione was dividing her attention between him and the strange girl. She gave him a quick smile. "Miss Granger? You next, please."

Hermione quickly looked back to Director Bones, then stood up and headed to the desk. Harry answered a few questions Jones asked, then signed the form when she had completed it and handed it to him. Once that was done he went and sat next to Skitter again, who glanced at him. Meeting the intimidating yellow lenses of her costume, he smiled a little.

"What does that feel like?" she queried quietly.

"Not much, really. Your memories get a little less… intense? I suppose that's the best way to put it. But I think she's using a slightly different spell than the one I've come across before," he replied just as quietly. "It didn't seem to have as much effect like that as the last time."

"It's a forensic memory copying spell, I think," Luna, who was listening to them, put in as she leaned slightly towards them while still keeping her attention on Bones, who had so far filled four vials with memories from Hermione. Who apparently overdid this just like she tended to with her essays, something that made him grin to himself. She was such an overachiever…

"If it's the one I read about it's supposed to be faster and more detailed than the usual one, with some changes to make it better for evidence," she added. "That probably alters how it affects the original memories."

"Interesting," Skitter murmured, watching as the fifth and final vial was filled. "Magic has some fascinating differences from Parahuman abilities…" Her voice, even with so little emotion it was almost machine-like, nevertheless betrayed a keen fascination with the whole operation.

Harry had a strong sensation that she was learning a lot more about magic itself than anyone other than perhaps Hermione, and maybe Dumbledore, realized. Especially if she had got into the Department of Mysteries…

They were going to be very, very worried when they found out, he suspected. He was also damn near certain it was far too late.

"What do you know about Acromantula?" she asked out of the blue, turning back to him and Luna. They exchanged glances, both with wide eyes.

'Oh, bloody hell,' he thought with apprehension. 'She's found out about giant spiders…'

Luna suddenly started giggling in a funny way, and by the time Hermione came back and sat down next to him, both he and the blonde were having trouble not roaring with laughter. He was pretty sure Luna was having almost exactly the same images going through her mind as he was, and wondered what Dumbledore, who was looking oddly at them, would say when Skitter rode a spider the size of a horse out of the Forbidden Forest…

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Taylor watched the Bones woman, who was very obviously not particularly happy with Dumbledore for a lot of reasons, finish up collecting the memories of everyone who had been present during this entire bizarre shitshow. The whole process of storing memories in little glass bottles for later viewing was weird, but she'd read up on it and understood the theory behind it pretty well. The research labs downstairs had an enormous library that was chock full of absolutely fascinating information, and her power seemed almost to be salivating as she tasked armies of strange creatures to scan all the books. She got the strangest impression that her ability was having the best time it had ever done, and wondered what was going on, but at the same time was rather pleased with how dramatically improved her ability was by now.

As she'd told that Lupin guy, she saw everything. It was closer to total truth than it should have been possible to be, or had been before she'd arrived here. The sheer number of different viewpoints she was dealing with, without the slightest difficulty, was so large by now it needed scientific notation to properly express. Yet it was still growing, and produced no strain at all.

Back home she'd been pretty good at multitasking. But compared to what she was doing now? It wasn't even close.

Every room of this building had her in it. The streets outside were within her purview, as clearly as if she was standing there, from every possible perspective all at the same time. She was reading hundreds of books simultaneously, examining magical artifacts in various hidden rooms, mapping the entire facility to a level she suspected would let her describe it down to a tiny fraction of an inch, exploring secret passages, and watching everyone at the same time.

It was pretty cool, and if she hadn't been offloading her emotions almost entirely into her swarm, might have been overwhelming. But somehow she was able to keep up, even as that swarm kept increasing. Her fyre was warm against her chest and back, adding to the swarm in a way that was utterly unlike any insect she had ever come across, even the weird magical ones, but at the same time by now feeling so right that she could barely imagine it not being there.

And the fyre was happy. It liked her mind woven so intimately into it that there was almost no gap between them. For some reason it filled a hole that the fyre had, like her mind was the exact part missing that it had been looking for. Bizarre as fuck, yeah, and she had no idea how she could really ever explain just what was happening, but it was a thing.

Admittedly the fyre's happiness was very much not like a normal sort of happiness, it was much too alien for that, but even so she already knew it like her own emotions.

And her power loved this.

She was still pissed that some idiot wizard had yoinked her here without so much as a warning, but… the upsides at the moment far outweighed the downsides. As long as she got home again, a little holiday like this wouldn't hurt, she thought with satisfaction.

Because the benefits certainly seemed to be worth it, and she'd just found references to other magical libraries that might have even more interesting information in them.

Hmm… That school Hermione and her friends went to… Hogwarts, which was a silly name, but wizards seemed to be a silly bunch… It had a big library, according to her information.

She wondered how she could arrange to visit the place…

By the time Bones and her people had finished with all the witnesses, and the woman looked over at her after a short discussion with Dumbledore, she'd finished the library downstairs and was investigating the non-magical building above them just out of curiosity.

"Miss Skitter? Now that's out of the way, we should have a discussion."

"Of course, Director Bones," she replied politely, as the woman seemed competent enough especially compared to most of these peculiar people and she had no reason not to. "Let's talk."

Her jacket hugged her with flamey friendship as she got up, Harry, Hermione, and Luna following. They seemed fascinated to find out more, and she was fine with that as she found them interesting people she could see herself being friends with.

Although she missed Lisa. Her friend was going to have a lot of questions when she got back.

She wondered if she could make a fyre jacket for anyone else?

Lisa would love that.

Probably.
 
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The Prank, Part A...
I thought it was time for a random story, so here you go! I expect there will be a few more parts of this sooner or later... ;)


It started, as is so often the way, with a bet.

It ended, as is also so often the way, with complete chaos.

In between those two points, things became very strange…

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

"Honestly, you boys. That was so immature of you, not to mention… unimaginative."

Fred and George, who had been preening slightly at getting Hermione so flustered and took the complaint of a prank being immature as if anything a compliment, both stopped and glared when she finished the sentence. Call them pranksters, call them nuisances, call them 'those bloody Weasleys!' and they'd accept the praise for what it was. Call them immature and they'd proudly hold their hands up and grin.

But call them unimaginative!?

Heresy.

Both twins straightened and looked directly at the fuming girl, who was standing with her hands on her hips glaring right back. "Unimaginative?" Fred replied with a sniff. George nodded agreement. "Brilliant you may well be, Miss Granger, far be it from us to deny you your due, but you clearly lack the ability to appreciate a proper prank with the respect it deserves."

"What he said," George agreed, too annoyed to do the usual back and forth they enjoyed confusing people with.

"Lack the ability?" she echoed, her brown eyes flashing. Behind her on the sofa, Harry had his hand over his eyes and Ron was watching with an expression suggesting he was ready to duck when Mount Granger went off. The whole common room had fallen silent, everyone else spectating happily. For there was nothing the Gryffindors liked more than watching a good argument, and this one had the potential to become rather impressive.

"Lack the ability?" she repeated more forcefully. "I lack the ability to appreciate something you two came up with? Please. Your pranks tend towards the puerile at best, and are hardly subtle. Yes, you have an impressive ability to come up with innovative applications and combinations of charms and potions, but that hardly takes a genius, does it? Half the time your results don't do what you aimed for in the first place, and the other half they're quite predictable after you've seen a few of your attempts. Turning people into giant canaries? Oh, very funny. Color changing charms on the showers? Ha, ha, ha, whatever would we do without such jolly japery?"

George sucked in a breath and Fred was gaping in horror. Placing a hand on his chest, the latter stated with great dignity, "I will have you know, dear girl, that casting a long lasting and untraceable charm on a shower head to make someone's hair turn bright blue, if that was indeed what was done and we admit no responsibility, would require a significant quantity of research into…"

"Hagen-Daaz's Rainbow filtered through Kolbor's Hydrostatic Modulator via the Selectable Differentiator Mosaic, wasn't it?" she said sweetly, interrupting him.

Both of them stared open mouthed as she looked somewhat, and he hated to admit, with some justification, smug. "Um… How on earth did you come to that conclusion?" he prevaricated, genuinely startled. It had taken the pair of them nearly a month of work to come up with a method to combine those exact charms and get them to work together without everything melting and smelling of rotten bananas, which was a scent he wouldn't forget in a hurry. And they'd only set the prank up thirty-six hours ago! Even Flitwick was still somewhat puzzled about how it had been done.

Yet Hermione had already worked it out?

"Please. It was simple deduction. The combination was the only likely one that wouldn't result in the water itself being tinted and didn't require a catalytic reagent. I inspected the shower and found no such reagent, the water wasn't tinted, and there was a faint hint of rotten fruit. You didn't quite manage to get the Mosaic charm tuned accurately enough." She smirked slightly as they exchanged glances. "It only took about twenty minutes in the library to find the relevant references. And another hour to work out the linkage method. It's very good work, true, as far as it goes, but it's still just a fancy way to make people have silly hair colors. You could have got the same result with dye in the water tank."

She ran a hand through her brilliant sapphire blue locks, then grinned. "I do like the color though."

Every single person in the common room was staring at her in amazement, but she didn't seem to notice, as she was far too invested in their conversation. Fred and George looked at each other again. "Bloody hell, Fred," Fred said.

"Indeed, George," George replied. They had to keep up appearances after all. "She may be small and bushy but she's really quite bright."

"So it would seem."

"Even so, calling our work unimaginative is a true insult to pranksters everywhere. Especially coming from someone not a prankster. I could almost accept it from a source with actual background in the art, but…"

"I agree, Brother Mine. She speaks from a position insufficiently respectable, despite her undoubted brilliance."

Hermione was watching both of them with a look of tolerant amusement. "You are making one critical mistake, I'm afraid," she said when they paused.

"We are?" George examined her curiously. "What, pray tell, might that mistake be? If you would be so kind as to enlighten us, of course."

"Certainly," she replied with a smile. "Your mistake is making the assumption that I don't play pranks."

Everyone present, including Harry and Ron, stared at her open-mouthed. Fred and George did the same, until they started giggling. "You? Miss I-trust-authority Granger? Miss Expulsion-is-worse-than-Death?"

Hermione turned her head very slowly and fixed Ron with an evil glare, which made him pale and swallow, clearly realizing where that little tidbit of intelligence had reached them from. After she'd silently intimidated him, she looked back to them. Both twins were still chortling.

"The true skill in pranking is to not get caught," she said calmly. "To do that you need to do something imaginative. If, for the sake of argument, someone was to arrange to have Professor Snape's robes accidentally become splattered in a potion designed to remove stains, then two days later come into contact with a slightly badly made stone cleaning agent, then a week after that be hit with a misfired wide area lumos spell modified to emit a specific wavelength of light which interacted with the contaminated cloth in a very particular manner, it's possible that on exposure to sufficient heat, for example from a cauldron that boiled over and caught light, the cloth might start to rather rapidly disintegrate when moved. Especially if it was under the influence of a spell designed to make it billow impressively… But that would take imagination you see, so a typical prankster of the sort so common would probably not even consider putting all those things together. A pity, because the results could be quite dramatic."

She shrugged a little as they stared in shock.

"Of course it would be almost impossible to even work out what happened since all the evidence might well turn to dust, and it would certainly be extremely difficult to prove a deliberate action. Both, in my own opinion, quite important aspects of a well-executed prank. But that is just my opinion. Perhaps I don't fully understand the process." She gave them an innocent look behind which lurked a definite smirk.

Fred closed his eyes and tried to get to grips with what he'd just heard. George, next to him, was mumbling something rude under his breath in a stunned tone of voice. He could also hear Harry snickering under his breath behind Hermione. Opening his eyes, he licked his lips then rather hoarsely asked, "That was you?"

"Obviously I would never incriminate myself," she stated with a smile. "I merely posit one possibility for why Professor Snape left the room very quickly last month. I hear he blamed some of the Slytherins…" She tapped her lips with one finger, obviously suppressing a smile. "Poor Draco. Pity about his unexpectedly flammable weight loss potion. Whoever would have thought that adding chopped parsley rather than sliced funkweed would have produced such a dramatic result? Shame they look identical. An easy mistake to make, I suppose."

"Bloody hell," George whispered in awe.

Harry and Ron fell over laughing like idiots, almost unable to breathe.

"But you take my point? A good prank should be subtle. And on a target deserving of the effort. Ideally incriminating an honored enemy. Failing that, Draco Malfoy. It takes thought, introspection, and care. Not slipping someone a dosed sweet when they're not looking. Any idiot can do that." She shook her head as the twins kept watching her like they'd opened the closet to unexpectedly find the Hogwarts Express barreling towards them. "You need to up your game, boys."

"It appears we do," Fred admitted with admiration and worry. "Please don't turn Dark, Hermione, no one will survive."

"I have no intention of doing that, believe me," she replied archly. "I merely intend to learn everything, then find something interesting to do after I graduate Hogwarts."

"Like take over the world?" Harry suggested, making her lips twitch and George chuckle.

"I'm not planning on it, but we'll see, Harry," she replied over her shoulder.

"Yes, you're only in third year, you should wait until at least sixth year to start a revolution," George chuckled. "Unbelievable. I honestly don't know what to think."

"Think about doing something with some real innovation and inspiration to it," she advised, moving to a chair and dropping into it, then picking up a book. "I'm sure you can if you apply yourselves." The girl grinned at them.

Fred looked at George.

George looked back.

They communed silently for a moment, then both nodded. Hermione was watching with an eyebrow up as they turned to her.

"We have a suggestion," Fred started.

"A wonderful one," George went on.

"You are clearly far more than we believed," Fred added.

"And it would be a true crime not to allow such brilliance to flower," his brother continued.

"Which means we both believe that while we can clearly come up with a prank that will meet your lofty requirements…"

"Because we're us…"

"Yes, we are. That goes without saying."

"Indeed."

"But that aside, we both think that we would be spurred to greater heights…"

"Lofty ones, even…"

"Lofty ones, yes."

"If there was some actual competition."

"Pranking at our level is a lonely task, you see."

"That it is. There's only us doing it, after all."

"Or so we believed. Apparently we were mistaken."

"So badly mistaken."

"Exactly. But now we have seen the light."

"And what a glorious light it is."

"Truly impressive and awe inspiring."

"It wouldn't be right if we went on our way without encouraging the younger generation to take up the mantle."

"No, not even slightly. We must nurture talent where it is found, regardless of how bushy haired and small it is."

"For even the lowly third years can pull off greatness."

"As is becoming apparent."

"So to that end we suggest a wager."

They both paused and looked expectantly at the girl, who had been looking back and forth between them in the manner of one following a rapid quidditch play. "A wager?" she echoed suspiciously.

"A wager. In so many words, a bet."

"A bet between two parties. Teams, if you will."

"Even if you willn't."

"Quite. On the one side, it will be us."

"And on the other it will be you. We'll even let you find someone to help you, since it wouldn't be fair to have two against one."

"Very true. We're nothing if not fair."

"And devastatingly handsome."

"Obviously, I didn't think I needed to mention that."

"You didn't, but carry on."

"So then, a wager, or bet, between Team Weasley Twins and Team Granger and Co."

They looked expectantly at her. The room was silent and watching. Hermione looked back narrow-eyed.

"What terms are you thinking of?" she queried after a few seconds.

"Whoever pulls off the best prank wins…" They glanced at each other. "One hundred galleons."

"A substantial sum," she noted. "And what are the conditions for the wager? What timescale are you thinking of? Who judges which prank is best?"

"Hmm." Fred thought, as did George. "Six months?"

"That puts us into the summer holidays. We either need to have a shorter timescale, or a longer one," Hermione pointed out.

"True. And there's no point rushing this, is there?" George tapped his fingers on his leg. "How about leaving it open ended, with a suggested time of twelve months, subject to extension if required?"

"Generous terms," the girl commented, looking thoughtful. "And the judges?"

"Everyone. Whichever prank gets the most people claiming they thought it was best wins. We can poll the entire school afterwards."

She glanced at her friends, who were watching and listening with interest, then looked back at them. "And I can choose my own team?" she asked.

"Anyone you want, yes," Fred replied magnanimously with a wave of his hand. "With sufficient time and effort I'm sure we can top anything you come up with."

"One grand prank, showing imagination, innovation, and subtlety," George added. "Winner takes the title of the best prankster in Hogwarts, the true heir to the mantle of the Marauders of legend, and gains one hundred galleons. The loser slinks off in ignominy, poorer financially and in reputation. What do you say?"

"I say I accept," Hermione replied, hopping to her feet and holding out her hand. Both of them shook it. "Another good excuse to study."

"You are so strange, Hermione," Ron sighed, while Harry shook his head. "Don't say study with such glee! It's not normal."

"Quiet, Ronald. I have reading to do!" Hermione gathered up her homework and books, slipped them all into the bag she had, nodded to the twins, and left for her dorm. Both of them looked after her then at each other. The grin she'd been wearing on the way out was unnerving.

"Do you think we may have made a slight tactical error of judgment, Fred?"

George nodded slowly. "That expression doesn't bode well. I had no idea there was that living inside Hermione."

"You have no idea," Harry advised them from his seat, looking somewhat worried. "On the outside she's a nice obedient girl. But…"

"But?" Fred repeated.

"But you have to understand one thing about our Hermione," Harry went on. "She lives for a challenge to her intelligence. And she can be bloody ruthless when she's got the bit between her teeth."

"And she's much too fond of fire," Ron muttered. They looked at him, then each other.

"Um… oops?" George said weakly.

"Yeah. Oh well, what's the worst that can happen?" Harry asked.

Every single person in the room stared at him in horror as his eyes widened, then he took his glasses off and massaged his eyes. "Oh, hell."

Ron punched him in the shoulder with a grimace. Harry didn't even complain. He deserved it.

That was how it started…

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Six weeks passed in relative, for Hogwarts, peace. The normal level of background events went on as they usually did, with only the occasional near-death experience or random explosion livening things up. Admittedly somehow Dumbledore's throne started playing a piece of music that had all the muggleborn laughing manically when he sat on it, for reasons no one could determine, and despite everything any of the professors could do. Many of the students started humming the catchy and impressive tune, apparently some sort of march for royalty according to a couple of the muggleborn students when they finally explained why they were giggling, whenever they saw the Headmaster approaching. He seemed mildly embarrassed but also amused and in the end it faded into yet another thing that just happened around Hogwarts.

The twins spent some time examining Hermione but didn't catch so much as a smirk from her, and were left wondering.

Quite a few other odd things happened, but most of them were easily explained by, and blamed on, a pair of Weasleys. Almost all of them were even things they had done. And they were quite happy to take credit for the rest, if no one else would. It all helped with their reputations, after all.

Hermione Granger was seen to be spending even more time in the library than usual, surrounded by books and notes. This wasn't particularly remarked on as this was just more of the same behavior everyone was used to. It wasn't until quite a lot later than anyone noticed she wasn't alone a lot of the time…

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

"What's that?" Hermione asked curiously, looking at the title of the book Luna Lovegood was reading. The petite blonde girl was nearly as voracious a reader as she herself was, and the two had bonded almost without realizing it over a mutual love of knowledge during Hermione's second year, after running into each other in the library on many occasions. Hermione tended to look for a quiet place to read without being disturbed, and Luna had been suffering from bullying due to her somewhat unique outlook on life which had led her to retreat to the library as a safe place. It was almost inevitable that they'd eventually end up in the same out of the way niche, and it only took a few weeks before they started talking, both sitting on the little padded bench that ran across the hidden alcove behind the stacks.

Hermione, who had experienced more than her fair share of bullies in her mundane life, was very much not impressed when Luna finally opened up about what her dorm mates were doing. She'd couched it in her own unusual terminology but Hermione had spent enough time talking to her by then to get the idea very quickly indeed.

Oddly enough, several Ravenclaws had a difficult time of things for a month or so after that, with all manner of misfortune befalling them. Nothing that anyone could pin on a third party, but it was noticeable that every time Luna Lovegood had something stolen, or damaged, equal or worse happened to certain people in her house. Normally in as embarrassing a manner as possible.

Ravenclaws not being entirely stupid, they finally managed to link cause and effect enough to decide that perhaps they could make their lives easier by modifying their own behavior. Certainly the one attempt made to blame Luna for the strange problems backfired horribly, and after that no one tried again. She was left alone and all the strange occurrences ceased.

Luna and Hermione never discussed what had happened. Neither felt it was required. The problem was solved and that was good enough for both. There were much more interesting things to concentrate on, after all.

"It's a book I found covered in dust and buried at the back of a shelf, behind the other ones," Luna said without looking up, turning a page very carefully. The stiff paper crackled under her touch. "It must have been accidentally lost there a long time ago. It's very old, I think, but I can't find a date in it."

"What's it about?" Leaning sideways, Hermione inspected the writing, which was in a very clear hand-written copperplate someone had obviously put a lot of effort into.

"It's describing a novel technique for directing one's dreams, by using something that's based on occlumency, I think. Or something that's more or less the same basic idea but taken in a very odd direction…" Luna turned the page, tilting her head to the side and squinting. "I think whoever wrote this had an extremely peculiar outlook on life."

Hermione gazed at her friend, contemplating who had just said that, and suppressed a small grin.

"The author is describing how gaining access to this ability is also very useful for occlumency, as it gives you a remarkable ability to fool even a trained legilimens, or even truth spells and potions."

"Really?" Hermione replied, intrigued. "That's certainly not something I've heard of before."

"Oh, it's known that a talent for occlumency and legilimency is quite effective at causing things like veritaserum to be less effective than it should be, and it can cause problems with extracting memories, but on the other hand it's not even close to foolproof and takes many years of experience. And apparently it's also often possible to distinguish the false memories from real ones even if you can't establish what the real ones are," Luna explained, still reading intently. "That's why the DMLE has to go to a lot of care if they're using such methods to make sure the person they're using them on can't evade the truth, which of course is not easy."

"And this method?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Well, according to the author, it completely bypasses all known methods of determining the difference between real memories and false ones, while also allowing the practitioner to have a much higher resistance to external influence. Such as a legilimens, or a confundus charm, or even things like an imperious."

"I'd have thought that if that was true it would be much more well known."

"So would I," Luna murmured, turning the page again. "Unless the Rotfang Conspiracy has suppressed knowledge that could harm them."

Sighing faintly, Hermione noticed that Luna was giving her a sidelong look, with eyes showing a familiar glint of amusement. "Or whoever wrote that only wrote one book, it got lost in the library for decades, and no one but us… knows… about..." Hermione trailed off as the true impact of what she suddenly realized struck her. Very slowly, an extremely evil smirk grew across her face, making Luna turn to look at her with interest. Their eyes met.

Then both looked at the book in Luna's lap.

"Are you pondering what I'm pondering, Luna?" Hermione said slowly, still wearing an expression that would have had Draco Malfoy deciding to leave the vicinity rapidly.

"I think so, Hermione, but where are we going to get a Dementor's underpants and four horny thestrals at this time of day, and how will we get them into the Slytherin dorm?" Luna replied with a grin.

"Oh, it's simple to get in there, but that's not what I had in mind," Hermione giggled. Leaning closer, she started explaining her idea. Within half a dozen sentences, Luna had both hands over her mouth and was trying not to explode with laughter.

Once they'd settled down, they started making plans. Detailed, very strange plans, that would ultimately cause a remarkable amount of confusion far and wide, which of course was the entire point...
 
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Please leave me alone...
Director Piggot studied the teenager who was apparently thinking hard, wondering what she was thinking about. She was finding herself somewhat worried about how the girl had gone very quiet after her outburst, explaining with considerable venom that Lung was a special case and very few Parahumans were in his class. In almost any way you could imagine...

After a rather pregnant pause, the girl looked up from where she'd been staring at her hands, her face about as blank as anything Emily had seen before. "I think I understand," she said quietly. "What you're saying is that if I want all of you to just leave me and my Dad the hell alone, the way to do that is to be so dangerous that no one wants to upset me. Like Lung."

Very slowly, a tiny and incredibly disconcerting smile grew, while Emily realized that it was likely she'd made a horrible error of judgment.

"Oh, fuck," Assault commented in a soft voice, appearing to have worked out something he really didn't like.

"Fair enough. If that's what it takes." Taylor Hebert nodded and stood up. "Shall we begin?"

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Danny Hebert looked up as the door to the room he'd been locked in for hours opened, to see his daughter step inside. She looked somewhat peeved but also rather satisfied. "Are you OK, Dad?" she asked as she walked over.

He stood and put his arms around her. "I'm fine, Taylor. Nothing much happened other than some very obvious threats and even more obvious attempts at manipulation." With a shrug he smiled slightly. "Nothing I've not seen before. Negotiations can be like that."

"Yeah," she agreed, nodding. "So I found out." Looking over her shoulder at the door, through which a little acrid smoke drifted, she added, "Let's go home. I've had enough of these idiots."

"Sounds like a plan to me," he replied, releasing her and picking his jacket up off the table, ignoring the stack of legal paperwork on it. He'd read the entire thing, of course, having had nothing else to do, and found it almost funny in some ways. The sound of alarms and explosions had made reading it a touch annoying but he'd persisted, if only because he wanted to make sure the PRT really was as stupid as his wife had always claimed.

The evidence did support her opinion, he was forced to admit.

Walking through the PRT building, he looked around at the damage and whistled under his breath. "Gonna be expensive to fix this," he commented as they neared the front door.

Taylor stepped over the groaning figure in power armor on the floor in the lobby without breaking stride, and merely shrugged as she threw him a small grin. "Maybe the Union should put in a bid for the work?"

He was still snickering as they left the building, moving past various comatose bodies in differing states of repair, along with quite a lot of hardware that was well past its best. On the front steps, as he adjusted his jacket, he glanced to the left.

"Why is the Medhall building on fire?" he queried after a moment.

"You know how it goes. Some people won't take fuck off for an answer."

"Yeah. Fair enough. Where did the top… hmm, seven, I think...? Floors go?"

"Eight. Some people really won't take fuck off for an answer."

He grinned and patted her shoulder approvingly. "Your mom was exactly the same."

She laughed, then waved the battered roughly half of a tinker-tech halberd she was holding in one hand. "At least I got a cool souvenir out of it."

"I can get the boys to make a stand for it if you want," he suggested with a smile. "It would look good on the mantelpiece." His daughter nodded approvingly.

Both of them descended to the sidewalk, turned right, and headed for the nearest bus stop. Behind them, smoke billowed from several holes in the PRT building, Medhall merrily burned, and absolutely everyone still conscious stayed very very still because they were not complete fuckwits.

And every last one of them had moved the Heberts to the very top of the 'do not upset under any circumstances' list.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

At the far end of the street, a quarter of a mile away, Kenta watched the tall gangly girl and her even taller father round the corner and vanish, examined the scene with an expert eye, nodded approvingly, and went on his way.

Sometimes you had to be firm. The girl showed promise.
 
Panic, See Her...
"Skitter! I know you're in there!"

Everyone looked around at the hammering on the door downstairs, and a highly, incredibly, extremely pissed off female voice shouting outside.

"Skitter!"

The voice sounded absolutely furious.

The entire group looked at each other, then at Taylor, who shrank back a little on the sofa from the four other gazes. "What did you do this time, Taylor?" Lisa asked, pinching the bridge of her nose with a long-suffering sigh.

"Nothing!" the taller girl protested.

Alec, who had gotten up and wandered over to one of the boarded over windows of the loft to slightly shove a plank aside enough to look out, said over his shoulder, "You sure? You're not expecting a delivery of a fucking peeved Panacea?"

Now they all stared at him.

The hammering continued, along with the shouting.

"Panacea?" Taylor asked, highly confused.

"Panacea, yeah," he replied, still looking down. "In civvies and fuming."

"I can see you up there!" the voice, which they all now more or less recognized, of the Bay's and indeed the world's premier healer, screamed. "Let me in right fucking now or you won't like what happens next!" A burst of invective that was truly inventive followed, making Alec look impressed and pull out his phone to record it.

"Why is Panacea outside in civilian clothing coming up with entirely new swear words on the spot?" Brian asked resignedly. He was giving Taylor a very narrow-eyed look, making the brunette shift uncomfortably. "For that matter, how does she know where we are to begin with?"

"Um…" Taylor looked around helplessly, then shrugged. "I have no idea."

"Really?"

"Really!" she retorted, glaring at him.

"Get down here right now, Skitter! I need to talk to you now!" Panacea howled.

Rachel's dogs howled back, adding to the din, and making Lisa put her fingers in her ears. "Shut them up, Rachel!" she shouted over the cacophony. The other girl growled but stomped off to her room with Angelica and the other two dogs following. A moment later her door slammed and the dogs went quiet.

Amy Dallon did not. By the sound of it she was now kicking the door as hard as she could.

"I think she really wants to come in," Alec drawled, leaning on the wall and inspecting Taylor curiously. "You must have left an impression on her."

"I didn't do anything!" Taylor half-snapped, half-pleaded. "I wasn't even at the bank, I was sick, remember? You guys are the ones who did that job and pissed her off, not me. Why is she after me?"

"You could maybe go and ask her?" the boy suggested, raising his voice a little to be heard over the sound of an incandescently furious healer, who seemed to be getting angrier by the second.

"Do I have to?" Taylor asked a little weakly. "She's kind of pissed…"

"Really? How did you guess?" he queried, giving her a smirk which she responded to with a middle finger.

"Lisa? Help?" the brunette tried, turning to the other girl, who was looking between her and the window with a peculiar expression. "What does she want?"

"SKITTER!"

"You?" Alec remarked idly, turning his head to look out the small gap again. "At a guess, you know."

"Shut up, Alec," Lisa sighed. "I don't know for sure, Taylor. She's so mad it's hard to figure out what she's really after but… I don't think she's actually mad at you." She was frowning in concentration, obviously letting her power go to work. Frothing rage from outside echoed through the room. "But we'd better do something soon or that's going to attract attention we don't need."

"How did she even get here?" Brian asked, cautiously joining Alec at the window and peeking out through another gap. "I can't see a car or anything. And I didn't think she drove anyway."

"She… took the bus, then walked, I think," Lisa replied after a moment.

The hammering on the door stopped. Everyone looked at each other. "Is she still there?" Taylor asked nervously.

"Ah…" Alec was looking down and from side to side. "She went around the other side of the building, I think… Nothing back there but weeds though. No door or anything."

After about thirty seconds he flinched back from the window and paled. "Um…"

"What?" both Taylor and Lisa demanded simultaneously.

"She's back, and she's got… something," Brian replied, sounding as flummoxed as Alec looked.

"What?" they both asked again, with a glance at each other.

"I have no fucking idea but it's angry as hell," he replied. "It's alive, and she's pointing it at the…"

A strange thwick sound came up the stairs.

"Jesus Christ!" Brian exclaimed, jerking back. Alec's eyes had widened. "What the fuck was that?"

Everyone looked at each other, then slowly turned as one to peer at the door to the hallway, through which was now emanating a distinct and unnerving hissing sound. A few seconds later this was followed by a wooden clatter overlaid on a sort of squelch.

"I fucking warned you, didn't I?" Panacea's voice shouted from below them.

"Christ, that came from inside the building," Brian commented unevenly.

"Yeah, she's downstairs," Taylor replied, checking her swarm, but holding back from doing anything precipitous, although she was getting ready. Panacea was one of the good guys and a healer that was known throughout the world, so actually harming her would be a good way to get seriously screwed by almost everyone. She was all too aware of that. And, of course, completely baffled by this whole situation since as far as she knew she'd never even met the other girl, nor done anything to her that could have provoked this entire bizarre event.

"All you had to do was come down and talk, but nooo, I have to get serious about things," Panacea gibbered, footsteps coming up the stairs. She did not sound even remotely pleased, it had to be said. Everyone fumbled for masks, Taylor grabbing a simple silk one she'd made a number of out of her pocket and while Lisa slapped her 'Tattletale' one over her face. By the time the figure of an unbelievably unhappy Amy Dallon appeared in the doorway, they were all at least minimally protected from having their real identities exposed.

The healer was holding a ...thing, in her right hand. It looked like some unholy cross between a weird alien plant, a fire extinguisher, and possibly a small and vicious demonic entity. Everyone stared at it with worry. And wondered what the fuck it was and where the fuck it had come from.

"Ah… this is somewhat irregular, isn't it, Panacea?" Lisa asked very carefully, standing well back as the healer breathed heavily, looking around the room for a moment before fixating on Taylor. "Something of a breach of the Rules…"

"Fuck the Rules, you mouthy blonde twit," Panacea snarled, waving the thing at them all. A small drop of liquid fell from it, splattering on the wooden floor and instantly causing a cloud of smoke to rise with a hiss. Everyone watched open-mouthed as about two square inches of the floor rapidly dissolved into nothingness.

"Holy shit," Brian said under his breath, the sound eerie through the cloud of his smoke that surrounded his head in lieu of a real mask or the helmet he normally used, which was in his room and he hadn't had time to retrieve.

The healer ignored this, and the hole, entirely and raised her free hand to point at Taylor. "You."

"Me?" Taylor pointed at herself, feeling worried, confused, and upset.

"Yes." The shorter brunette stomped closer, Lisa and the others moving away, while Rachel's door opened behind her. Rachel herself looked out, flicking her eyes around the scene, then she shook her head firmly and retreated once more, the door closing with a click.

Stopping a few feet from Taylor, Panacea looked up the few inches difference in height between them. "You control arthropods, right?"

"Um… yeah?"

"Good."

The Dallon girl breathed deeply a few times, apparently trying to calm down, although her voice made it extremely apparent that 'calm' was very much a relative thing right now.

"Good… why?" Taylor asked suspiciously, even more confused.

"I need your help," the other girl snapped. "Someone is going to die, and you are going to help me arrange it."

Taylor stared at her, then looked over her shoulder to her team-mates, who all appeared as baffled as she felt, although Lisa was also starting to seem both surprised and possibly somewhat impressed.

"Me?" she asked tentatively once more, feeling completely blindsided by the comment.

"You, yes."

After a second or two, and almost despite herself, she asked faintly, "Who?"

"Coil," Panacea replied coldly, through her teeth.

Lisa suddenly started laughing like a lunatic, causing everyone, even Panacea, to look at her in puzzlement. Almost wheezing with amusement, Lisa collapsed into a chair and put her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

A few seconds passed, then Panacea shrugged, returning her attention to Taylor. Taylor gaped at her. "I think I need some more context," she finally said.

"That bastard has been doing something to me, and he's violated my privacy and my life," the girl replied in the tones of someone who was in a killing mood. "I don't know exactly how he did it but I know it was him." They all stared at her, even Lisa looking surprised, then exchanged confused glances.

"Ah… can you explain that a little more… usefully?" Taylor said after quite a long and really baffled moment of thought.

The healer started pacing back and forth, gesticulating with the thing she was still holding, heedless of small drops of whatever the hell it was being exuded by the little horror occasionally flying out and causing bits of the scenery to vanish in a puff of smoke. Everyone else made damn sure to back off out of range, as they had no inclination at all to find out what it did to skin…

"I don't know how, and I don't know when, but somehow that shitbag has got hold of ideas I've had, things I've never told anyone, and he's fucking selling them through Toybox! Things that are my private ideas are being sold to villains, and I don't even get fucking royalties!" she snarled, stomping hither and yon and looking not only furious beyond easy categorization but phenomenally insulted too.

"How did you find out?" Lisa asked, then flinched when the other girl turned a burning gaze on her.

"My sister nearly died because of something fucking Victor hit her with two days ago. A biochemical compound that shut down her breathing. I barely got to her in time. And when I tried to find out what was affecting her, I recognized it," Amy hissed with utter rage in her voice, enough to make the blonde lean away. "I designed it. Trust me, I know my own work, and that was it. No one else on the planet should even know it existed. I did it out of interest, checked I could do it, and destroyed all of it because I had no intention of letting anyone else ever find out about what I can do."

Lisa's eyes had been widening steadily as the Dallon girl spoke, and she'd paled. Taylor looked at her, then back to Amy, suddenly realizing exactly what her friend had also worked out, because it was the only possible explanation.

"You're not just a healer are you?" she asked quietly.

"No, I'm fucking not, and no one is supposed to know that," Amy snarled. "I've spent years making sure no one found out. But my power won't let me just heal. I was going fucking insane trying to pretend that was all I could do, and in the end I realized that either I snapped and something horrible happened or I let myself do some experimenting and just didn't tell anyone. And that's probably the only reason I haven't gone bug-nuts crazy and turned the entire city into aliens. Or demons. Or both."

She was breathing hard by the end of the rant, and Taylor was watching her with both the caution one uses around an armed nuclear warhead, and deep sympathy, because she recognized all too well the sort of stress the other girl was suffering from. It was horribly reminiscent of aspects of her own life in some ways…

"But somehow he's managed to get his hands on my work, my ideas, my nightmares, and is letting assholes who should have been drowned in a sack at birth have it. And making a shitload of money just to add insult to injury," Amy went on after visibly trying to calm down for a few seconds, although the words were coming from between clenched teeth in a low growl. "He's already responsible for at least twenty deaths that I'm sure of, and god knows how many more I haven't found out about. Who the hell knows who else has any of it? Toybox sell to anyone who has money. And the worst part is that when someone really starts working out what's going on, they might trace it back to me! I'll get the blame for something that evil bastard is doing."

"Why are you telling us about it if you're so worried about anyone finding out?" Alec asked curiously. She slowly turned her face to him and smiled in a way that made him step back.

"Because you guys owe me, for a start. And Skitter is key to my idea." Showing teeth, she added, "I also know where you live. You're not going to tell anyone else are you?" The grin, which was truly impressively worrying, widened.

Alec very rapidly shook his head. Brian did the same. Lisa didn't seem to notice, lost in thinking about something which based on the expression she was wearing was amusing her probably a little too much to be good. Amy nodded in satisfaction.

Her face abruptly crumbled and she sagged, tears coming. "My own sister nearly died because of something I designed…" she said in a much quieter and despair-filled voice, stopping pacing and just standing in the middle of their loft like a five foot five bundle of depression and angst.

Taylor looked at Lisa, who had one of the weirdest expressions on her face the girl had ever seen and seemed to be deep in her own thoughts, then Brian, who shrugged helplessly, and finally Alec who just shook his head. His face was unusually grave, none of the usual flippancy which he was almost never without present.

In the end she walked over to the quietly crying healer and, very mindful of the horrific little thing Amy was still holding, carefully put her arms around the other girl. "Um… Sorry about all that?" she tried. Then squeaked in surprise when Amy dropped the semi-living weapon/device/demonic entity, which immediately dissolved a hole in the floor and vanished through it, before flinging her arms around Taylor and hugging her desperately, shivering as if she'd been swimming in ice water.

It took a good hour and two mugs of good hot chocolate from Lisa's personal stash before Amy finally recovered enough to talk sensibly, and explain why she'd sought out Skitter specifically.

They listened for another hour, Lisa looking more and more darkly amused, Taylor getting quite excited about the possibilities, and the two boys moving further and further away from the three girls discussing in greater and greater detail plans that would have made the PRT shit themselves and hide in a closet.

A few days later, things in Brockton Bay started getting very strange even by the standards of that city. By anyone else's standards, of course, it was… rather more extreme.

And of course it was far too late to do anything about it by then.
 
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Panic, See Her. The Prequel!
Ok. Looks like O'Make has got wasted again and dropped more of this on me. So here. Have it. See if I care...


The enormous crash of shattering glass and metal caused Amy to startle badly, cry out in shock, and spin around. She was just in time to see someone land on the floor of the hospital ER in a shower of debris, bounce, and slide all the way across it to end up smashing into the chairs on the other side. The occupants of those chairs barely managed to dive clear before impact, shouts of surprise and pain adding to the din of alarms going off and the security staff appearing out of nowhere. At this hour, past eleven at night on a Saturday, there was always the risk of either a particularly stupid druggie or just someone having a really bad day causing chaos, and no one was taking chances.

Things had happened in the past they didn't want repeated if possible, and the people with tasers and a lot of training were there to make sure of that.

She'd been working on a patient who had come in following an unpleasant but not ultimately all that life-threatening vehicular collision and had nearly finished when this had happened. Straightening up from the defensive crouch she'd fallen into, Amy moved sideways to peer past Ed, the very solidly built security guard who tended to be particularly protective of her specifically ever since she'd saved his wife's life about ten months ago, the man glancing down at her, then at her nod stepping out of the way. He followed her closely, his hand on a weapon even so.

The first thing she noticed about the sudden arrival was the blood. The second thing she noticed was…

"Vicky!" Amy couldn't help it, she screamed her sister's name as she rushed towards the figure lying in a tangle of crushed chairs and wreckage, the blonde girl gasping for breath with a sound like a leaky pair of bellows being pumped by a particularly enthusiastic blacksmith.

There was a lot of blood. Far too much to be on the outside of anyone. The other girl's white costume was mostly shades of red, ranging from nearly pink to close to black near her head, and her face was a mask of gore. Dropping to her knees and sliding to a halt next to the clearly dying Dallon sister, Amy slapped her hand on her sister's face, heedless of both the mess she was handling and the pain in her legs where glass kernels from the shattered toughened windows had bit into her flesh. There were glittering crystals all over the room, the extremely tough and highly expensive glass having not been tough enough to stop the super-heroine having gone right through it, although it had certainly slowed her down a lot.

And totally shattered her own force-field in the process, which meant that when she'd hit the floor and the chairs she'd collected quite a few serious traumatic injuries, but those paled into insignificance at what Amy instantly noticed.

"Fuck!" she shouted. "Code Orange! Category A biotoxin! Clear the room, get everyone out of here, now!"

Every staff member present paled horribly, the entire room going still for a second, then activity instantly resumed even more frantically. The main alarm shrieked a five-beat note everyone recognized with horror, voice announcements urgently calling an automated message. "Code Orange. Panacea Alert. Biotoxic exposure in emergency room one. Evacuate first floor to designated disaster locations. Isolation protocol Alpha Six in operation. Contagion teams on standby, await further instructions. Lock down all exits and entrances. This is not a drill."

The horns whooped their alert and the message repeated, but Amy ignored it all in favor of desperately trying to save her sister's life. Every one of her systems was failing rapidly, she was hemorrhaging blood out of almost everywhere, including her pores, like she'd caught a raging case of Marburg fever, one smashed rib had punctured a lung, cellular ruptures everywhere but particularly prevalent in her lungs…

Amy spent about a second having a major panic attack, completely overwhelmed by the sheer number of things going wrong, then mentally hit herself in the face and focused, grim determination replacing horror, with a growing fury lurking somewhere far beneath.

'Forget the bones, that's low priority,' she thought quickly. 'Stop the cellular disruption first. Change those enzymes, that will halt it in its tracks, close up the micro-fissures in the blood vessels… Shit, that's a big aneurysm ready to let go in her brain! Fuck, fuck, fuck… OK, got it. Smooth that out, rebuild the lining… good. Heart is in fibrillation, damp that out, resync ventricle nodes… great, that's working properly. Liver failing, bypass that for now and build a temporary one next to it… nearly there… done. Boost the filtering as high as it will go, force superoxygenation of blood through the lungs… clear out dead tissue and scavenge the biomass for reuse…' She kept working, lost in a haze of power usage, something at the back of her mind whispering things to her that she couldn't possibly have explained to anyone, but conveying a knowledge of biology and her sister's body that was so profound it was almost a religious experience.

If it wasn't for the sheer terror flooding through her mind at who it was she'd almost have enjoyed the work, it was so… all-encompassing.

'Fuck. It's still going. Got her stable, but… oh, for god's sake, now her spleen? Fine, you little shit, see how you like this. Yeah, I thought so. Bow before your master. Rebuild the eyes, jesus it's like someone sprayed her with hydrofluoric acid… got it. Other one… done. But that fucking bioagent is still… what is…' Her stream of consciousness stopped dead with an almost physical jerk, causing her to freeze once more.

The dimly heard sounds of people running around madly in the background faded away entirely as she concentrated completely on what she was looking at with her power, even her normal vision entirely ignored in favor of what she was sensing through methods completely inexplicable to normal science, but very real indeed.

'That's… How? It's impossible! That's KX-19!' Lost in the urgency of immediate requirements while saving Vicky's life, she hadn't looked all that hard at exactly what the bioagent was, only identifying it as a bioagent and a really nasty one, then putting that to the side while she repaired all the damage before it was too late. Now, though, that her sister was stable enough to spare the mental effort of identifying the stuff, she recognized it.

That wasn't surprising, really, seeing as she'd designed it.

As a thought experiment, while surreptitiously playing with her powers far beyond the limited use she made of them as the 'best healer in the world' that everyone knew her as. They'd absolutely lose their shit if they had even the faintest inkling of what her powers really were, and she was very fucking well aware of that thanks very much.

It was something she went out of her way to avoid even hinting at, but it was also something she couldn't deny to herself and for quite a while now she'd been letting herself experiment with something closer to her full ability, because to deny her power to others was one thing, but to pretend it wasn't what it was would only lead to ruin. She wasn't even vaguely an idiot, and had worked that out a long time ago.

But…

Not one other person in the world should have had any idea at all what she could do. And she'd not been stupid enough to write any of this down anywhere, or do anything that might give her away. All samples had been destroyed the moment she was done with them, and the only record she'd kept was in her memory. Which was essentially perfect for anything to do with biology, another benefit of her power, although unfortunately it didn't extend to math. Stupid quadratic equations…

And she was one hundred percent certain that she'd never actually made any KX-19. Yes, she'd designed it, but in her head. Because it was an interesting concept but far too dangerous to actually create. Again, not an idiot, and not a fool either.

Yet she was looking right at it. She'd recognize her own work anywhere. It even had the little biochemical marker she engineered into all her designs, her signature if you wanted to put it that way, which no one but herself or a really experienced biochemist with absolutely cutting edge equipment and years of practice could have ever recognized for what it was.

How?

How in the name of Mendel had her design not only made it into the real world, but into her sister? It was impossible.

But it had happened, somehow.

A wave of absolutely vicious rage swept through her, leaving an eerie calm behind. Someone was going to pay for this.

For now, though, she had a job to do. Bloody revenge could wait until after Vicky was fixed and anyone else who might have been exposed was sorted out too, and every last molecule of the cause was eliminated with prejudice.

When she had a moment to herself, she decided, she would work out how to arrange to do the same to whoever had perverted her work like this.

They were already dead, they just didn't realize yet.

The thoughts had taken mere moments, and she bent to her task with renewed haste, since as she had designed the problem, she also knew the fix. It took almost no time to form the counter-agent in her sister's body, which eliminated all traces of the agent from her tissues in a handful of seconds. Once she was certain that it was entirely gone, she set to fixing all the other trauma. A couple of minutes later she was done, and Vicky was lying still, but breathing normally and no longer in danger.

Amy let out a long sigh of relief and wiped sweaty hair out of her eyes, feeling a cold sensation and only then realizing she'd managed to spread enough blood over her forehead she probably looked like an ax murderer on a break.

Sighing a little again, this time in irritation, she looked over her shoulder, to see half a dozen people in full hazmat gear, bright emergency-yellow suits with self-contained air packs humming away on their belts, staring at her from the other side of the room. Which was entirely empty otherwise. Behind them out the hole where the glass floor to ceiling window had been she could see a hive of activity in the car park, bright lights showing a crowd of people amid a dozen or more emergency vehicles. More were arriving as she watched, the flashing strobes a rainbow of colors from the various services.

She blinked a bit, realizing she'd been working for longer than she'd thought, then said, "She's stable. Needs fluids and biomass, so I'm keeping her unconscious for now, but the danger is over. The agent turned out not to be contagious but we need to make sure anyone who might have come into contact with it is found immediately. It's very fast acting." Standing, she waved at the glass on the floor. "Assume this is contaminated and treat it as hazardous waste. It all needs to be collected and incinerated, along with her clothes and mine. Dilute acetic acid will neutralize any remaining traces on the floor or walls."

"Are you certain about that, Panacea?" the man leading the hazmat team asked, looking worried.

"Yes. Trust me, it will work." She smiled at him, making him look relieved. "I got a really good look at the stuff. I've cleared it out of Vicky, and I can do the same if we find anyone else who's been exposed, but if we don't find them within half an hour at the outside I guarantee they won't need me." She looked down at her sister, then shrugged. "If they got a dose as big as she did they're already dead."

"Fuck." He looked furious now. "What was it?"

"No idea," she lied with a completely straight face and no guilt whatsoever. "I've never seen anything like it before. Very complex neuro- and cyto-toxin, but completely novel. Definitely a weapon, though, this wasn't an accident. Someone did this to her, on purpose, and they were going for the kill."

Every one of the hazmat people wore expressions that boded ill for the perpetrator. None of them fancied biological and chemical warfare on the streets of Brockton Bay. The normal sort was already far too much.

Amy kept watch over her sister while the team spent an hour and a half extremely thoroughly following her instructions and their training, clearing away all traces of the debris, and even removing all the rest of the furnishings and equipment, having copied all the data off the computers over the network. Absolutely everything was taken immediately to the hospital incinerators, which were more than capable of totally slagging even the metal parts and definitely destroying the biochemical agent. She watched carefully, making sure it all went, and felt relieved when they finally finished spraying acetic acid over the now-bare room, followed by sodium bicarbonate to neutralize it. Two of them had also helped her change out of her costume into hospital scrubs, after spraying her with acetic acid too in the closest shower. Luckily it only needed a concentration of about ten percent which was nowhere near dangerous for brief skin exposure.

Once she was extremely clean and smelling strongly of vinegar, she'd made sure the still-unconscious form of her sister was treated similarly and redressed, certain that none of the chemical was present but not wanting to do anything that might give cause for alarm. And just in case she was wrong. Eventually, though, Vicky was sleeping in a private room and the ER was having the missing window boarded over, and she found herself talking to the hospital administrator, the security chief, and representatives from both the police and fire departments, along with the hazmat team leader.

She found it darkly amusing that the PRT finally turned up about two hours after the excitement began and were quite irritated that the hospital had been so effective at completely erasing all traces of the compound at the root of the problem.

"Look, I know you want to play with dangerous toys, Armsmaster," she said tiredly as she sat in one of the replacement chairs someone had brought up from the supply department and glared at the Tinker, who was looking annoyed. "But that stuff was too much of a risk to get you samples. If you want any, find whatever fucker it was that hit my sister with it." 'But work fast', she thought to herself, 'because if I find him first…'

Not a hint of her thoughts made it through her glower.

"It wasn't your call to make, Panacea," Armsmaster said stiffly. "This was clearly a Tinker-tech weapon and as such…"

He didn't get any further as she stood up and took a step towards him. Apparently her expression was sufficient to make him bite his words off and lean back slightly. Around her, the hospital staff, the cops, and the fire people all gave him unfriendly looks.

"It was exactly my call to make, Armsmaster," she hissed in a deadly voice. "I am the expert in biology, not you. This hospital is my responsibility in this sort of matter, I was here in the middle of it, and it was my sister that nearly died as a result of this fucking stuff. I made the call to ensure it was entirely destroyed and I stand by that."

"And on behalf of Brockton General I agree completely with Panacea, Armsmaster," Doctor Kelson, the administrator of the entire facility, added with a frown. "I believe that Captain Halsey and Chief Inger will back me up on that."

"We will," the police captain immediately replied, the fire chief next to him nodding sharply. "We're not going to second guess Panacea, believe me."

Armsmaster looked around at them all and eventually nodded. "I meant no disrespect," he stated, sounding slightly apologetic. "I merely wished to point out that without a sample we can't devise a counter-agent."

"I can pass on a lot of information about it," Amy supplied, yawning. "Tomorrow. I'm about ready to pass out. I'll write you a full report on it, I promise."

"That would be appreciated," he replied. "I will need it to answer questions the Director will doubtless have. Urgent questions."

Everyone present, even Amy, winced at the note of slight worry he had in his voice. A lot of people there had encountered the PRT director and it was an experience few relished repeating. The woman had a way with words…

"When will your sister be able to answer questions about what happened?" the Tinker added a moment later.

Amy yawned again, covering her mouth with her hand. "Sorry," she mumbled. More loudly, she continued, "Not before noon tomorrow. She's on IV fluids, because she lost an awful lot of blood, and needs glucose and some more treatment before I'm willing to wake her. Then she'll need to eat about half her body weight in food."

Everyone looked at her somewhat oddly. "She lost a lot of blood," she remarked.

"I see. In that case, if you could make sure to notify me when she's available, I would appreciate it," Armsmaster said after thinking it over. She nodded agreement.

He turned to leave, then paused, before turning back. "I must compliment you, and everyone here, for their efficiency and professionalism in handling this matter," he said. "Especially under such personally trying circumstances on your part."

"Thank you," Amy replied quietly. It was an unusually pleasant interaction with the man considering what he was often like. He nodded, then turned away again and left. She sighed heavily and slumped back in her seat.

"You need some sleep, Amy," Doctor Kelson remarked gently. "It's nearly two AM and you've done more than anyone could have expected. Go lie down."

"I need to call Carol," Amy replied, "Let her know I won't be back tonight…" She started to pull out her phone but he held up his hand.

"Let me deal with that. You don't need more stress on top of what's happened tonight. Go and sleep."

She looked at him, then sagged, rather gratefully and feeling very suddenly completely exhausted. "Yes, Doctor," she replied with a small grin, causing everyone else to laugh quietly. Dragging herself to her feet she shambled off to Vicky's room, which had an empty bed in it. Having checked on her sister and found her sleeping peacefully, without any signs of the horrific events of earlier, she fell face down on the other bed and was asleep in seconds.

Just before darkness took her she thought, with a sort of anticipatory anger, 'When I wake up I'm going to find you, and I'm going to make it hurt.'

She made it a habit to always keep her promises.

This time would be no different…
 
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Panic, See Her. The Threequel!
Well, O'Make has once again decided that my work is less important than his drinking, and as a result instead of getting a couple of hours of something I can charge for under my belt, this happened.

Idiot Irish drunkard. Stop it. I'm trying to earn a living here!



Vicky's eyes snapped open and light flooded in, making her wince and slam them shut again. A small noise of protest escaped her as she raised her hands and put them over her face, rubbing her eyelids for a moment, before she very cautiously tried again. The sunlight hurt, but only briefly as she got used to it. Raising her head she looked around, just in time to see her sister approaching and stop next to her. Amy reached out and put her hand on Vicky's wrist. "Amy? What happened… Where am I?" the blonde said in confusion, her memory giving her some trouble with recent events.

She sniffed, then put her other hand under her nose and did it again. "And why do I smell like a pickle?" The scent of vinegar was pretty strong and not what she expected, but she recognized it without trouble.

Amy looked tired, but smiled a little. "Acetic acid. It was used to decontaminate you."

Staring at her, Vicky tried to work out what she meant. As she thought, she also became aware that… "Hey! Where are my clothes?" she exclaimed, patting her chest through the blanket over her then lifting it to see she was wearing hospital scrubs, as was for that matter her sister.

"In the incinerator," Amy replied, releasing her wrist and sitting down in the chair next to the bed.

"Where are your clothes?" Vicky queried, examining her sister, who looked like she hadn't slept for a month, was ready to strangle someone with their own intestines, and yet still seemed both relieved and pleased.

"In the incinerator." Amy almost smirked at her.

Looking around, confused, Vicky realized that she was in a hospital bed, in a room she recognized easily enough as one of the nicer ones at Brockton General, since she'd been in enough of them accompanying Amy over the last few years, although never from this side of the patient/healer equation. She looked at the table next to her bed. "Where's my phone? And my keys?"

"In the incinerator," Amy replied for the third time, making Vicky glare at her. The other girl appeared trying to suppress a laugh, even through the worry.

"Why is my phone in the incinerator?" she demanded, irked. That was a very nice phone! Dean had paid a lot of money for it.

"What do you remember from last night?" Amy asked rather than directly replying. Vicky gave her a puzzled look, then thought back. She'd decided to go on a patrol of the city after finishing dinner before swinging by the hospital to pick up her sister, she recalled as she pondered the question, and had stopped a couple of muggings, one very inept shop robbery, and an attempted carjacking, as well as helped someone who was trying to change a flat tire. Nothing difficult or unusual there. Then she'd…

Memories of overwhelming pain, choking for breath, the sensation of burning from within and without, fear and panic and fury and desperation and…

The sudden rush of recalled sensation hit her so suddenly and so hard she froze motionless, before she screamed, thrashing in shock. A moment later she felt something, someone, grab her arm and she found herself going limp, a wave of relaxation going through her like she'd slipped into a warm bath. "I've got you, Vicky," a familiar voice whispered in her ear, arms hugging her tightly as something brushed her hair gently. "You're safe. Calm down."

Desperately holding onto Amy she cried in relief and fear, the memories that had come rushing back so overwhelming she could barely breathe for an unknown time. Amy murmured words of encouragement to her the whole time, giving her something to anchor herself to as she tried to handle the horror of what she remembered happening to her.

Eventually, she was able to recover enough to stop shaking in phantom but very real pain and slowly, ever so slowly, start to calm down. When she was capable of actually paying attention to something outside her own head, she found herself with her forehead resting on Amy's, warm brown eyes peering into her own blue ones with a mix of sadness, relief, and a level of absolute fury that she could almost feel. Her sister wasn't angry at her, she knew that in her bones, but the emotion buried at the back of that gaze was still disconcerting.

"Tell me what happened, Vicky," her sister said softly. "Who did it?"

Memories once more tried to overwhelm her, but she found herself almost instantly calming down, that warmth gently cradling her and allowing her mind to work without being overloaded with emotion. "Victor. It was… it was Victor," she replied, swallowing, her voice faint.

"Victor?" Amy's eyes went flat and thoughtful.

Vicky couldn't help shivering at both the memory and the sensation of incredible danger that momentarily overwhelmed the comforting feeling, but it came back immediately and she calmed down as fast as she'd become upset again. "Yeah…" She tried to distance herself from the emotion while holding onto the memories, which were burned into her brain to the point she could almost see it. "I was patrolling, just flying along a few hundred feet up, and I saw a van driving slowly down the road," she went on after swallowing again, trying to find the words, with her voice wavering at first but strengthening as she spoke. "There was something about it that looked wrong. I'm not sure why, but… Instincts, I guess? I just got the feeling it wasn't some innocent driver. So I followed it. Kept back, kept my attention around me in case something else was up, but all I could see was the van moving through traffic. It wasn't speeding, it was just driving along like the driver was trying to avoid attention…"

She paused, then continued after a couple of breaths, "That might have been it, actually. He was driving too carefully. Like he was sticking to every single traffic rule. Who does that if they're not suspicious, right? Everyone breaks the rules of the road all the time, only bad guys drive properly." Amy snickered, her eyes showing understanding, and Vicky almost smiled. "Anyway, I followed it for about two miles, from a safe distance. They had no idea I was there. It ended up going into a parking structure on Bleeker Avenue, the one down near the waterfront, near that Medhall warehouse, you know?"

Amy nodded.

"I found a good point I could see inside without being obvious and watched. The van parked, and just sat there for about ten minutes. Then another van turned up, from the north entrance, the first one came in the south one. That one parked at the other end of the structure about a hundred feet away and also just sat there. A couple of minutes later, it started up again and drove over and parked right next to the first one. I had to move closer and find a good angle, but I managed to watch what was going on. The side doors on both of them opened and some guys in body armor got out of the first one. Victor and a couple of skinheads got out of the second one. They talked for a minute, Victor handed over a thick envelope, and the body-armor guys started transferring boxes from their van to the second one, while the skinheads were inside sorting it out. Whatever was in the crates was heavy, I could see the suspension getting lower."

"Weapons."

"Yeah. That's what I thought too," Vicky replied, her answering nod moving her hair against Amy's. She was completely ignoring everything but her sister's eyes and her memories, trying to keep her emotions in check. "It was some sort of E88 weapons buy. I don't know who the other guys were, but they looked professional. Two of them were armed, some sort of Tinker gun and a machine gun too. Those guys were watching the area, the other two were watching Victor. He was watching them. I got the feeling none of them trusted any of the others."

"Criminals are so untrusting these days," Amy chuckled, making Vicky almost smile.

"I know, it's weird, right? Back in our day they were much better people."

"What can you do? Nazis ruin everything."

"Yeah." Taking a couple of deep breaths, Vicky calmed herself once more, then continued. "I watched for long enough to be sure that they were definitely doing something illegal, then I decided to join the party. I… probably should have called for backup…"

"Oh, Vicky," Amy sighed, sounding unsurprised but also sad. "You really need to think things through more often."

"I know," Vicky said almost inaudibly. "I fucked up." In hindsight she could see that she'd made a pretty stupid mistake. Just like her mom had said the last time…

They were both silent for a few seconds, then she sighed and carried on. "They still had no idea I was there, so I went in through the next deck up, flew over to right above where they were, and dropped down the middle of the structure behind them. The look on their faces when I said hi was fucking hilarious." She couldn't help grinning at that memory, because it really had been funny. Seven bad guys suddenly realizing they had an unexpected Glory Girl looking at them from about ten feet away in the middle of an illegal weapons deal had definitely upset them.

"The armor guys reacted first. The one with the Tinker gun, which was some sort of energy thing, shot at me a lot quicker than I expected, but I moved enough he missed. I jumped him, grabbed his gun and took it away, then hit him with it. Pretty hard, he just dropped. Machine gun guy opened up on me from about two feet away, hit me once, my shield tanked the hit, and I dropped and rolled under the van before he could do it again. He didn't manage to stop firing in time and put half a dozen shots through the E88 van, which didn't help the skinheads inside at all. Pretty sure he got both of them. I went under the van, out the other side as my force-field reset, then pushed the van into their one, which… Probably fucked him up good. There was a kind of… crunch. And a scream."

She winced at the memory even as Amy seemed somewhat viciously amused. Swallowing, she added weakly, "I might have overdone it."

"Serves them right," Amy commented idly. "Then what happened?"

"The other two got out the other side, and Victor must have jumped out of the way in time, because he came around the front of the van while the two remaining armor guys were coming around the back. I punched one of them in the chest, dropped him. His friend shot at me with a pistol, I ducked, the shot went past me, and then I took his gun away. And a finger, I think. I was kind of pissed by then." Pausing for breath, Vicky swallowed dryly. "Mom is going to be really upset."

"Forget her, just go on," Amy instructed softly but firmly.

"So all the armor guys were down, or disabled, the two Empire assholes were either dead or bleeding out in the back of the van, and there was only Victor left. All this only took about thirty seconds, it was kind of a blur really. I threw the gun away and turned around and that Nazi bastard was standing there about twenty feet away holding something in his hand. A grenade, I thought. He was way too close to use it, so I assumed he was bluffing." Vicky stopped again, feeling memories well up and tears come. "I was wrong. I was so wrong…"

Amy didn't say anything but the look in her eyes was disturbing, although the blonde wasn't really paying attention to that at the moment. "He kind of laughed at me, bowed a little like he was mocking me, then threw the grenade right in my face. I was expecting an explosion, and thinking he was crazy even for a Nazi because at that range he was in more danger than I was. The armored guy I took the gun from screamed something and tried to run, but I didn't see what happened because the thing Victor threw wasn't a normal grenade, it was some sort of gas thing, and it went off right in my face. Just popped like a balloon and the next thing I knew I was in more pain than…" The girl took a breath, almost unable to continue until warmth calmed her again.

"I've never felt anything that painful. My lungs felt like they were on fire, my skin was like I was swimming in lava… I could barely see and couldn't hear anything." Her voice was so quiet no one more than a few feet away could have made it out. "I panicked. I didn't know what was going on, all I could think was to get away as fast as I could. So I just went straight out the side, then up. The pain got worse and worse and I knew I was really fucked. I thought I was dying."

Amy didn't respond and Vicky felt a very unpleasant sensation in her stomach. She kept her gaze on her sister's, not wanting to think about it. "The only thing I could think was to get to the hospital. Get to you. So I just headed that way as quickly as I could. I don't remember getting here. Guess I made it, though." She tried smiling but was pretty sure that whatever her mouth was doing, 'a smile' wasn't it.

"You made it, yeah," Amy replied after her arms tightened around her sister. "Barely. Did a real number on the window too. And the floor. And the chairs. And the wall."

Vicky winced. Amy just grinned at her in a weary way. "Scared the shit out of everyone having you come flying through the window like the Kool-Aid man. Luckily I was only about fifty feet away and got to you a few seconds later."

After a long pause, Vicky asked, knowing the answer, "I really was dying, wasn't I?"

Her sister nodded, not looking away. "You were. It was an incredibly potent biotoxin, worse than VX gas. I think your force field probably meant you didn't get a good lungful, but enough got through that it was bad. Anyone else wouldn't have made it here with that amount of exposure. One tiny drop on your skin would kill you inside forty minutes, a full inhalation of it would do the job in probably about thirty seconds or so. Another five minutes, less, and I wouldn't have been able to save you."

Cold overwhelmed the warmth and Vicky felt like the world was swimming. "He tried to kill me. He really tried to kill me."

"Oh, he did, yes," Amy whispered right next to her ear. "But he failed. And I'm going to have a word with that man, believe me. I have… questions."

The tone in her voice was absolutely deadly and Vicky stared at her with shock. The moment passed as her sister smiled, the dark and lethal expression being replaced with weary normality. "But right now we need to get some food into you," she added in a more audible voice. At the comment, Vicky suddenly realized she was incredibly, unbelievably ravenous. Her stomach made a sound like a demonic alien wanting an egg the size of an oil drum, a peculiar thought that made her giggle almost hysterically, wondering where it had come from. She felt light-headed at the realization that she'd come closer to dying than anything she'd ever experienced.

"Food," she exclaimed with the air of someone who had an epiphany. "I need it."

"And you shall receive it," Amy declared, releasing her and leaning back with a broad grin. "In vast quantities." As Vicky moved to shift the covers, her sister pointed sternly at her. "In bed. You are not going anywhere until you've eaten half a horse and you're fully recovered."

"But…"

"No. Healer's orders. Pay attention. You will not get up until I say you can, hear me?"

"Wow. Are you like this to all your patients?"

"Only the stupid ones."

"Hey! And isn't that most of them according to you?"

"Yes. Most people are indeed stupid. I'm a healer, I know what I'm talking about."

Vicky burst out laughing, her sister smirking at her, the familiar byplay helping enormously to push away the dark memories. She was still aware that she was likely to have nightmares for a long time, though. And she was incredibly grateful once again for having her brilliant and sometimes terrifying sister in her life.

"Yes, Miss Healer. I will obey," she giggled. Amy nodded portentously.

"Excellent. Stay. Food will be brought to you and you will eat it all. Or I will be… disappointed." Her sister folded her arms and looked at her firmly. "You do not want to see me when I'm disappointed."

"Oh, Ames, I always want to see you," Vicky remarked, pleased at the small blush that came and went. Amy didn't take compliments well, not being used to them, something Vicky was all too aware of, and she enjoyed bringing a little pleasure to the other girl when she could. She deserved it and much more.

Feeling a lot better emotionally after the talking, although still with a deep undercurrent of sadness she was doing everything she could to push away until she was in a condition to deal with it, she looked around once more. A thought had struck her. "Where's mom?" she queried, raising an eyebrow. "I'd have expected her to be shouting about now."

"I told her that I wouldn't allow her in here, or anyone else without a very good reason, until you were fully recovered. Because you didn't need the stress. Neither did I."

"Ooh. Bet she didn't like that," Vicky said with a wince. She had no illusions about how her mother tended to treat her sister and the older woman was often dismissive at best of other people telling her she couldn't do something.

'Controlling' was a fairly accurate one-word description of Carol Dallon. She loved her mother very much, but at times she was hard work.

Amy met her eyes with an understanding air. "Yeah, she wasn't happy," the girl replied with a grin, a rather malicious one. "Doctor Kelson backed me up and told her that this room was off limits for medical reasons to anyone I didn't personally approve, and that she was going to have to deal with it. You should have seen the look on her face…" Her sister laughed, as did Vicky, although she couldn't help flinching at the thought of what her mother was going to be like thanks to that.

"How long do I need to stay here?" Vicky asked quietly, picking at the cover over her with one finger. Amy put her hand on her wrist and smiled.

"A day or two. You're healthy enough but you're severely undernourished because I had to use a lot of biomass to repair the damage. A few big meals, plenty of protein, and you'll be fine."

She nodded understanding. "Thanks, Ames."

"Any time, Vicky. You know that."

"Yeah. I do." She heaved a sigh. "And mom is going to ground me for the rest of my life after this."

"Probably." Amy grinned again. "Plus you're going to have a lot of questions from the PRT at some point, but that can wait. Don't worry about it, just eat your vegetables, and no elbows on the table, young lady!" Her voice was a dead on ringer for Carol's for the last few words, causing both of them to laugh. With a smile, Amy headed for the door, opening it to admit a couple of nurses who were pushing a trolley laden with food who she quickly spoke to, and a burst of noise in which their mother's raised voice could clearly be heard complaining about something rather vigorously. The door closing behind Amy as she left cut out the racket entirely, impressing Vicky with the quality of the soundproofing.

She watched the meal, which was indeed enormous, approach and felt her mouth water. Pushing the horror of last night firmly down into a tiny pit of despair and future angst, she sat up and accepted the first tray of food with no hesitation.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Amy handed the small recording device to Armsmaster, ignoring Carol who was shouting at Doctor Kelson, the man standing his ground in the face of an angry superhero slash lawyer with the aplomb of someone who has seen it all many times before. "This should be enough for now. Once I'm sure she's fit, you can interview her properly, but right now she's not in a good place to go over what happened again. Trust me, it wouldn't be good for her."

He took it with a nod of thanks. "I do trust you, Miss Dallon, certainly when it comes to medical matters and those regarding your family. Thank you."

"You're welcome." She nodded back. Both of them looked at Carol Dallon, shook their heads with eerie synchrony, exchanged a glance of understanding, and went their separate ways.

As she headed towards the locker room for a shower and a change of clothes, and to call Arcadia to tell them neither of the sisters would be attending due to a medical emergency for a couple of days as she had no intention of leaving Vicky, she made plans for locating, chastising, and questioning Victor.

She'd finally have a good excuse to use some of her ideas on a richly deserving target.

And she'd get answers leading her one step closer to finding the person who was going to feel her full wrath…

Amy didn't notice the people stepping out of her way as she stalked through the corridors of the hospital, smiling in a way that was… not even slightly pleasant.

Every one of them felt sorry for whoever had roused her ire, though.
 
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Panic, See Her. The Interlude... Quel?
I've had an unpleasant weekend due to a close relative ending up in hospital with serious burns, and as a result found myself unable to concentrate on work today. So I decided to give Nazis a hard time instead which always cheers me up :)


"YOU FUCKING IDIOT!" Max Anders screamed into the face of a sweating Victor from about six inches away, while half the rest of the Empire capes watched with various expressions of confusion, anger, and worry. "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?"

He swallowed hard, feeling the residual injuries to his throat and chest ache. Othala's healing had saved him from the unexpectedly powerful splashback from the device he'd hit Glory Girl with, but it had been a near thing and he still wasn't back to one hundred percent. His wife's powers were not even remotely as effective as Panacea's were and had struggled with the exposure to the virulent toxin, and no one had managed to get the counter agent that had been buried in the shipment fast enough to help.

"I was trying to stop that crazy bitch from catching me," he replied after a few seconds, flinching at the look in Max's eyes. "She'd already taken out everyone else."

The other man raised a hand in a sharp gesture as if he was about to smash Victor in the face, but aborted it halfway and turned it into a pinching of the bridge of his nose. With his eyes shut and his voice quieter but trembling with rage, he asked, heavy sarcasm in the words, "So your immediate brilliant idea was to grab an untested Tinker chemical weapon and try it out on the invulnerable brute with a reputation for causing massive collateral damage?" He opened his eyes and fixed them on Victor's, the look in them extremely unnerving. "You didn't stop to think for one moment that either it wouldn't work and she'd get very angry indeed that you tried to kill her then tear your goddamn head off before you could react, or it would work and she'd croak, causing the PRT, New Wave, and probably fucking Legend to come after us for killing a hero with nerve gas?"

"Well…" Victor found his mouth drying out as Max produced a nastily sharp dagger from nowhere and pointed it right between his eyes from much too close, leaning towards him and glaring.

"Those grenades were specifically for examination and discreet testing, not for use on one of the most famous capes in the city, especially considering our history with those lunatics," he grated in low deadly tones. "They cost me literally half a million dollars each, they're extremely experimental, I had to call in a lot of favors to get Toybox to even sell them to us in the first place, and the whole fucking point was that no one was supposed to know we had them! Now the PRT is all over that parking garage like lice on a Merchant, you managed to kill eighteen people we're aware of so far from contamination with that fucking stuff before it degraded, pissed off Toybox by getting their security people killed, and worst of all you didn't manage to actually off Glory Girl so her sister was able to save her life. Which means she'll tell the PRT who did it, and they're going to be up my ass and cause god knows how much trouble as a result. All because you couldn't either notice the flying girl in the brilliant white costume literally watching you from yards away, or succeed in finishing the bitch off once you decided to be an idiot. Jesus. Is it too much to expect basic competence from my staff? I should kill you and give them your body. Save them the trouble of hunting you down. It might get them to back off if I blame it on a loose cannon with no brain."

Victor wondered if he was going to need to run about then. He glanced around very carefully, noticing that Hookwolf was watching him all too closely with an expression of anger, Krieg seemed torn between being furious and find it funny, and everyone else didn't appear to know how to react. It wasn't common to see Max lose his shit to this level. But the man was not happy. Not even slightly.

Max poked him in the forehead with his blade, causing a sharp pain and a sensation of wet warmth running down between his eyes. He tried not to flinch too hard, but his eyes were flicking around as he tried to work out what to do. He'd massively screwed up, he'd known that from the moment he'd felt the burning sensation on his skin, but in fairness he hadn't realized what that damn grenade actually was. No one had told him it was a portable WMD or he'd at least have made sure to be further away…

He'd just grabbed what he thought was probably something like an enhanced teargas grenade, based on the looks, and hoped a lungful or two might occupy the girl's attention long enough for him to get away.

Well, it had done that, true enough, but the fallout was definitely an issue…

In more than one way, some of them literal. Luckily the wind blowing through the parking structure had been blowing towards Glory Girl, so he only got a minute dose of whatever hell-chemical had been in that damned thing. Even that was enough to nearly kill him within twenty minutes. He'd barely made it to the street while calling for backup before he'd collapsed, and he'd woken up hours later feeling like shit with a worried Othala hovering over him wearing a full NBC suit.

And smelling of vinegar.

Which was a little weird.

"You are very fucking lucky I need your abilities or I'd be solving the problem you represent in a permanent manner." Max pressed a little harder with his blade, then removed it. Victor didn't dare reach up to touch the cut on his forehead and simply stood there with blood slowly running down the side of his nose. No one else appeared to think saying anything was wise either. "If you ever do anything that stupid again, don't bother coming back."

Lowering the knife, which caused Victor to very slowly exhale in relief, the incandescently furious man whirled and stomped over to the chair at the head of the long table in the boardroom and dropped into it. He twirled the blade through his fingers as he regarded Victor balefully. After some moments he sighed in disgust. "Christ. I really expected better of you. Do I need to staple 'Do Not Play With Experimental Weapons' to your forehead?"

Victor shook his head even as Hookwolf snickered. "No, Max. Look, I fucked up, I know that."

"You think?"

"
I'm sorry. In my defense I didn't know what that damned thing was. It wasn't like it said 'Pull pin to wipe out city' on the side or anything! It was just a gas grenade in the first box I could reach. I've used them before, so I expected tear gas or smoke or something, not the chemical equivalent of a fucking nuke!"

"It was from Toybox! They don't do standard weapons!" Max roared, slamming his hand on the table in fury. "If I want tear gas I steal it from the national guard like a normal person, I don't buy it from crazy overpriced Tinkers! Don't play with unknown Tinker tech you fucking mad bastard!" Breathing heavily, he closed his eyes for a moment, apparently trying to calm down, then opened them and continued in a more conversational tone although still expressing deep anger. "You should have let that girl arrest you, then waited for us to get you out like we always do. It would have been the sensible and least-problematic solution to the complete lack of situational awareness I find depressing in the extreme. But now you've opened a can of worms the size of anacondas and fuck knows where they're going to end up. Toybox is pissed off like you wouldn't believe and to be honest I don't blame them. We'll be lucky to repair relations with them any time in the next year and Christ knows how much it will cost."

He heaved a breath and shook his head. "The PRT are the bigger problem though. They're on the warpath and that's going to cause trouble. We might even get the FBI sniffing around, and they're actually good at their job. So thanks very much for that. Well done."

Victor felt the other man was rubbing it in a little excessively but didn't think it was a good idea to point that out. Max didn't seem in the mood to listen.

"And of course New Wave are going to be more of a pain in the ass than they already were, because nearly killing that blonde disaster area didn't make them any happier with us. Plus, for some reason the girl is popular, so we'll lose favor with aspects of the public which is a damn nuisance. It takes a lot of work to capitalize on public relations and you managed to undo months of effort in one easy move. Again, well done. Do it again and I'll kill you." He met Victor's eyes directly. "You're valuable, but you're not that valuable."

Swallowing again, because he could see Max was entirely serious, he nodded his understanding.

"The only good part of this entire fucking fiasco is that we were quick enough to get hold of the evidence before the PRT rolled in. Hopefully they won't find out about the Toybox link, because if they do that's going to make it even harder to get Toybox to play ball with us again." Max glanced at Krieg. "You're sure we got everything?"

"Yeah." The other man nodded. "My guys cleared out the entire van, every last box, and made sure to torch both vehicles. Tossed about fifty pounds of thermite into each of them just to be sure. They got all the ID they could find first too, and the plates and VIN data from the vans. The bodies are charcoal, so that'll slow them down at least, and hopefully there's nothing left to connect it with either us or Toybox."

"They already know we were involved, but I suppose not handing them more evidence on a plate is something, at least," Max snarled, giving Victor his attention again. "And now we only have eleven grenades left. Six million dollars… And you used half a million just to fuck things up."

"Um…"

The room got very quiet as Max, slowly and dangerously, turned his head to look at Krieg again. The leather-coated man appeared suddenly extremely worried indeed.

"What?" Max hissed through clenched teeth. He didn't look or sound even vaguely like he was in the mood for more bad news.

Krieg swallowed hard. "There were ten grenades left in the crate."

Silence so profound Victor could distinctly hear his pulse in his ears covered them all for long enough to be horrifying, while Max's color changed from red to a rather unpleasant shade of puce. His hands clenched, which resulted in the one holding the blade suddenly getting red on it. He didn't even seem to notice as he fixed his eyes on Krieg, who had paled even further.

Then things got excessively loud.

By the time it calmed down to merely apocalyptic levels of fury on Max's part, Victor was surrounded by enough sharp steel to outfit an abattoir, bleeding from several shallow cuts, and every other person in the room, even Hookwolf, was making sure to be as far away from the pair as they could possibly get. The crazed look of nearly unhinged rage in Max's eyes was horrifying and Victor was getting a far too close look at it as the other man was nearly nose to nose with him, a blade in each hand poised on each side of his neck.

"HOW. DID. YOU. LOSE. THE. TINKER. WEAPON?"

"I don't know," Victor, who was almost literally shitting himself in terror, squeaked. He wasn't used to finding himself so close to being slaughtered by his own boss and was seriously wondering if he should use his power and try to escape, or just close his eyes and hope that it was quick.

Heavy, hot breathing was the only answer he got and he tried frantically to talk his way out of being in infinitely deep shit and sinking fast. "She came at us too fast. I had no idea she was there. The Toybox goons shot at her instantly, but she was too quick, and the next thing I knew she's shoved our van into theirs and crushed one of them, and taken out the other two. I saw the crate lying there where it fell out of their van when she hit it with the other one, and the lid had come off, so I just grabbed what I thought was a tear gas grenade or something," he explained as quickly as possible. Max kept glaring at him like a basilisk for long enough that he was convinced he was about to die, then took a step back.

"And you didn't notice that one of the grenades fell out of the box," he said in deep irritation.

"I guess it must have done," he admitted, his throat feeling raw, which made him cough a moment later. "Maybe it rolled under the van? I mean, the box must have slid out from between them when they hit, and it might have tipped… over…" He trailed off as the other man stared at him furiously. "Afterwards I wasn't capable of checking," he added faintly, recalling the sheer pain he'd found himself in without any warning at all.

"I find myself wondering how I ever thought you were capable of doing anything more complex than eating and shitting," Max growled. "You clearly didn't steal the skill of common sense or thinking things through."

Turning from him without waiting for an answer, and there wasn't really one that wouldn't get him a knife in the kidneys anyway Victor thought, he snapped, "Get back there and find that fucking grenade."

Krieg and Hookwolf exchanged looks.

"The PRT are all over the place, Kaiser," the latter commented. "We won't be able to look around without them seeing us. And they probably already found it." Brad wasn't a complete idiot, clearly. And despite his general willingness to get into fights, he didn't look all that keen about getting the PRT with their current likely mood on his ass.

"FUCK!" Max slammed his hand on the table next to him hard enough to make the windows rattle, then dropped into his chair again and tossed both blades to the floor. Glowering at everyone, he silently thought for a while, then finally pointed at Hookwolf. "You, get some people who are not idiots to keep watch, and the moment they can do it without the PRT noticing, sweep that entire building just in case my grenade is still there." His finger swung to Krieg. "You, check with our moles and see if we can find out what they think happened and if they have it." Moving around, he ended up pointing at Victor. "You. You go and keep the fuck out of sight. Do nothing. Talk to no one. Just… get out of my fucking sight and don't cause any more trouble until I think what to do with you." The forest of blades around Victor retreated and he nodded, then left the room with the gazes of everyone else following him, various expressions showing irritation and incredulity.

It was downright embarrassing, to put it mildly. He was going to have to work hard to get back his former status with the Empire.

As fuckups went, this was an impressive one. Luckily he doubted he'd ever make a worse one, so the only path was up, although it was going to be a tedious one which contained a lot of grovelling and proving that he wasn't an idiot. He'd made a mistake. Anyone could do that, and he could point out mistakes everyone else had made in the past. Although right now wasn't the ideal time for that, it had to be said...

Grumbling to himself, patting at one of the still bleeding cuts with a wad of paper towel he stopped at the bathroom to get, he went on his way trying to think how to get back on Max's good side. And regretting he'd ever even heard of fucking Glory Girl or Toybox.
 
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Panic, See Her. It continues...
Well would you look at this! I found some more wordz under the sofa! Yay!

:)



Amy listened to the shouting coming from downstairs as Carol made her feelings clear to everyone in earshot, particularly Vicky who was the target of her ire along with the hospital for not letting her get her own way, the E88 for existing, the world in general for being annoying, and probably the Simurgh for being the Simurgh. Weirdly, about the only person she wasn't shouting at or about was Amy, which was kind of disturbing. But for one reason or another she seemed to have internalized the fact that if Amy hadn't been right there, she'd be down a daughter, and even though she glowered at her whenever they were in the same room, not a word had been spoken about being denied entrance to Vicky's room once they'd got home nearly two days after it all happened.

It was, frankly, quite disconcerting. Especially as Carol had an awful lot to say to Vicky, starting with how stupid she'd been jumping into the middle of a situation like that by herself and moving on from there. To be honest Amy felt she had a point but she sure as hell wasn't going to say that because it would only confuse the issue right now. And she had other things to think about. She'd talked to her sister far more gently than Carol had and expressed her fervent wish for Vicky to be more careful, but both of them were dealing with the trauma of the whole thing in their own ways and had reached a mutual understanding that they'd talk it out privately when both were ready.

Vicky was still in shock, Amy suspected, at how close she'd come to a gruesome death, and much quieter than she normally was. She'd taken the lecture from Carol without really saying much in return, leaving Amy worried that as the true seriousness of what had happened sank in her sister would end up in a bad place mentally. She'd decided that she'd make inquiries at the hospital about arranging some neutral third party who knew about this sort of traumatic issue to have a few sessions with Vicky, because she was pretty sure the other girl was going to need to talk about it. To people other than her, or their mother. Or even their aunt, who had arrived about an hour ago and was currently trying to calm Carol down.

Amy could hear Aunt Sarah's voice, raised a little but still even and soothing, talking over Carol's, which finally died away. "Thank fuck for that," the girl mumbled as she looked up from the notebook she was writing in and listened for a moment. The voices downstairs died back to a mumble and she listened more, then shook her head and went back to making plans.

It had been a rather intense forty eight hours. Vicky had needed a lot of food and fluids to get back to proper health physically, and Amy with the full support of the hospital administration had kept her isolated completely from her family for the first twenty four of those, since her sister absolutely did not need that stress on top of everything else. She'd spent almost the entire time in the same room, talking about whatever came to mind, the other girl clearly not wanting to think too much about what had happened and grasping at anything else as a topic of conversation. When she'd had to leave to heal a few other serious cases she'd made sure that one or other of the nurses she really trusted and Vicky knew well were present, with their full support, so her sister wouldn't be left alone. Vicky, although she hadn't been obvious about it, was quietly grateful for all this. Amy could see it in her eyes and Vicky had whispered thanks to her the second night just before both of them fell asleep.

The next day she'd allowed Aunt Sarah to come in and sit with Vicky, which had peeved Carol all over again, but the older woman had been completely understanding as to why this was how Amy was handling things, fully agreed with the necessity of it, found it rather amusing in some ways, and was impressed with how much trust the hospital had in her niece. Crystal had come back from college to visit, and Eric turned up too, both cousins very concerned about what had happened. Amy had made sure not to have everyone arrive at once because her sister was still in a state of needing things to be calmer than it might otherwise have been. Both her uncle and her father had also visited, Mark looking quietly furious at the Empire, his depression apparently bypassed for the moment, and Uncle Neil obviously thinking that some Nazis needed a good thrashing.

Which was true in general, of course, no one would argue about that, but he clearly had specific people in mind.

Amy approved, but she was still going to make sure she was the first one. There was an order of precedence in play, in her view. Everyone else could have what was left when she was finished…

But in the end, after a couple of days of recovery, she'd decided that Vicky was about as close to normal as she was going to get in the short term. While she'd need to still eat more than she usually did for another week to be certain, physically she was basically fine now. Mentally was another matter, but her sister was resilient, and Amy was sure she'd recover. At least she was now able to handle their mother going off without too much trouble although she winced a lot when Carol got particularly shrill and kept looking to Amy as if she wanted to be rescued from the older woman. Mark had noticed, slightly to Amy's surprise, and diverted Carol's attention several times, taking the pressure off Vicky and causing her to sigh in relief.

Their family dynamic was not ideal, Amy thought with a scowl, not for the first time. Luckily Sarah turning up had meant that Vicky was able to escape and hide in her room, and although Amy had checked on her, she'd mostly wanted to lie down and get some sleep. Which was probably the sensible thing aside from being a good excuse to get away from Carol fuming.

It would die down eventually, Amy knew. Carol had an impressive ability to stay mad about something far past the point of it being useful, but even she would finally run out of things to complain about and go back to just quietly seething at the world as a whole, which seemed to be her normal state. It wasn't good but it was so familiar to them all that everyone just tried to ignore it and move on with their lives.

Carol Dallon had a lot of not-all-that-suppressed anger, Amy mused as she tried to work out what her next step was.

Actually, she already knew what the next step was; Find Victor. There were a lot of steps after that, many of them revolving around questioning Victor and how hard she was going to do it, which started at 'very' and escalated from there depending on his answers, but that first one was key. It was just the method of performing it she was having trouble with.

It was complicated by how the PRT was heavily interested in locating the man themselves and the Empire, from what she'd been told by various people she knew, was being unusually discreet. Victor was apparently staying well out of sight. Which complicated her task, but the bastard couldn't hide from her forever.

He knew he'd fucked up, she assumed. He didn't know how badly he'd fucked up though. She was looking forward to explaining that to him. At length.

It might take a while, but she was fairly sure she'd pull it off. She was persistent and had a significant drive to follow the chain of evidence to find whoever was at the far end, the person who had somehow laid hands on her private work and ideas and stolen it.

That alone was enough to make her want to have an involved and far-ranging discussion about how inappropriate and unwise this was. The fact that Vicky had nearly died because of it? Yeah. Someone was going to have a bad, not at all fun time.

The tiny dark smile she was wearing as she scribbled would have worried Leviathan never mind a mere human, but she didn't realize this.

Some time later, she was deep into her plotting, when there was a tap on her door. Blinking she looked up, only then realizing that it had gone fairly quiet downstairs and there was just a faint mumble of voices that no longer sounded quite so aggrieved. Presumably Carol's head of steam had finally condensed into the hot water of general Carolness, she thought with a small snort of laughter. The door opened to reveal her dad, who smiled at her as he came in then closed it behind him.

"Hi," she said quietly, wondering why he was visiting her. He didn't often do that, these days, but he'd looked much more aware since the hospital. His depression came and went at the best of times, the drugs not always helping even if he remembered to take them, but at the moment he seemed mentally present and accounted for, which was something she wished was more common.

Carol was, to be honest, a pain in the ass a lot of the time, although Amy did believe that deep down, deep deep deep down, she actually cared for her. She just had a very odd way of showing it. Mark, on the other hand, she was well aware did care for her more than a small amount, but was so often lost inside himself he couldn't show it. She and Vicky had discussed this a lot over the years.

"Hi, yourself," he replied as he walked over and looked down at her, his eyes flicking to the notebook for a moment then back to her face. She casually put it face down on her bed and slid back to sit up against the pillows. Nothing in the book was incriminating unless you knew her personal code and had a lot of imagination, and she was going to destroy it when she was done just in case thanks to a level of paranoia that would have made Carol nod approvingly, but no sense taking chances.

A small smile flickered across his face, before he turned to pull the chair at her desk around and sat in it, regarding her for a few seconds without saying anything, as she watched him. Eventually he smiled more widely. "Thank you for saving Vicky," he commented.

"She's my sister and even aside from that I couldn't do anything else," Amy replied, folding her hands one over the other on her stomach and meeting his eyes. "But you're welcome. And thanks."

He nodded a little. "Carol does appreciate it too, she just has a… funny way… of showing things sometimes," he went on after a moment with a wry twist to his lips. She snickered, making him grin briefly. "And she's terrified. We nearly lost Vicky…" He shook his head as she gazed at her hands, taking in his words. "She couldn't face that. So she lashes out. It's how she reacts to surprises."

"Violently and loudly," Amy couldn't help saying, meeting his eyes again a little guiltily, but seeing he wasn't angry. In fact he smiled again.

"That… isn't wrong, I'm afraid," he said with a small sigh. "She's a complex woman, for a lot of reasons." Leaning forwards he rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face tiredly. "And I'm not what I was, so it's hard to keep her from, well… being Carol."

"It's not your fault, Dad," she told him.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." He shrugged. "But life is never easy or fair, so we all end up with problems of our own." Reaching out her took one of her hands in his considerably larger one and squeezed it. "Even so, and no matter how I act too much of the time, I'm very proud of you. And Vicky." She was certain, both from his voice and through her power, that he was utterly sincere. A warm feeling inside her chest made her smile almost shyly. "Although Carol is going to ground her forever," he added with a sly wink, causing her to laugh.

"You have many talents, Amy, and healing is only one of them." Mark gazed seriously at her, squeezing her hand again. "Never forget that you are loved, and your family stands with you."

She returned the squeeze. "Thank you," she whispered almost inaudibly.

They looked at each other for a moment, then he smiled and let go, straightening up and glancing at his watch. "Nearly eleven. I should probably think about getting some sleep. So should you. It's been a long day and the hospital doesn't want you going back for a few days. You need a break after what happened. Please don't ignore yourself and your own needs. I worry about you sometimes, you work too hard."

Amy examined him, then slowly nodded. Satisfied, he stood. "I'll leave you to your fanfiction writing or whatever it is," he joked with a glance at her notebook, making her gape, then sputter.

"What?" she exclaimed in startled confusion. He grinned widely at her reaction.

"There's no shame in it, my girl," he teased. "Remind me to show you some of the things Sarah wrote about a decade ago…"

Amy shook her head in disbelief, then watched as he chuckled, turning to leave. As his hand landed on the doorknob, he paused. Without turning around, he said, "Just one more thing, while I think about it."

Puzzled now, she asked, "What's that?"

He put his hand in his pocket and retrieved a small card, which he turned and handed to her. She took it and saw it had a phone number on it, glancing up at him in confusion. "Tell him I gave you that number and I would consider it payback if he helps you," her dad said, smiling very faintly. "Don't mention it to your mom. She wouldn't understand." His eyes flicked to her notebook then went back to her face. "I do."

He slipped out of her room while she was wondering what just happened, the door closing almost silently behind him. A few seconds later she heard her parent's bedroom door close as well.

Staring after him she thought for some time, her eyes finally lowering to the business card in her hand. Turning it over she checked the other side, seeing it was entirely blank. Blinking a couple of times, she finally tucked it into her notebook, then slid that and her pen into the drawer of her bedside table and lay down, trying to work out what her dad knew and how.

Half an hour later, long after Aunt Sarah had left and the house had gone silent, she was still no closer to an answer, so she finally just went to bed and dreamed of weird creatures.

That was normal, though. So it wasn't a problem.

She liked weird creatures.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Dean watched Amy Dallon warily. The girl had been radiating a sort of lethal anticipation and deep fury ever since she and Vicky came back to school yesterday, but there wasn't a hint of that in her expression. The normal slightly sullen grumpiness was there, sure, but what he was sensing and what he was seeing didn't quite match in several critical ways.

And when he'd met her eyes at lunch yesterday and started to very carefully ask a question, the look she'd given him along with the sudden wave of something that was clearly aimed right at him had made him close his mouth so quickly he nearly swallowed his tongue, so taken aback was he. She'd nodded very slightly as if satisfied, given him a very distinct warning look, and gone back to her book.

He wasn't entirely certain what was going on, but based purely on what her emotions were telling those with the ability to read them, there was no way he was going to step in her path. It wouldn't end well, that much he was absolutely sure of.

Mama Stansfield hadn't raised no idiot, he thought uneasily. Despite what his friends sometimes claimed.

So he was going to pretend he didn't know anything, and just let Amy get on with whatever she was up to without standing in the way, because he didn't fancy finding out the hard way. It was the only sensible thing to do.

Amy was a nice girl under the snark, but by the gods she could be fucking terrifying. He pitied whoever it was that had roused her ire.

Looking at Vicky, who was picking at her food in a much less cheerful way than normal, he had a fairly good idea where the problem probably laid. His girlfriend wasn't fully recovered from her ordeal, that much was obvious, even if you didn't have the ability to feel her mix of depression and worry. However, even in the last twenty four hours that had reduced quite a bit and he felt sure she'd bounce back in time. He'd just make sure to avoid upsetting her and try to get everyone else to help.

"I'm telling you, she's not human."

The sound of Dennis grumbling next to him made him sigh and look around. His friend and teammate was complaining to Carlos, who saw Dean look and rolled his eyes when Dennis couldn't see it having turned to Chris for a moment. He was, yet again, bitching about Skitter, as he'd dubbed the absolutely terrifying addition to the Undersiders.

He very much had not enjoyed the time a few weeks ago when he, Chris, and Sophia, along with Assault, had run across the small group of villains engaged in a spot of light thievery. Apparently they'd picked up a new member since the previous interaction, and that new member was, according to Dennis, 'All the plagues of Egypt given human form and a warped sense of humor.'

Apparently fifty or sixty thousand bugs arriving out of nowhere and jumping you tended to freak you out, even if you weren't entomophobic. And from what Chris and Sophia had told him, once you encountered Skitter, you very definitely were entomophobic…

He shivered slightly recalling the latter's vivid description of far, far, far too many insects deciding that she was a convenient place to congregate. Sophia had not looked even slightly happy as she'd recounted her story, nor nearly as confident as she normally was. From what she'd said the insects had gone for her more than anyone else, but she was probably exaggerating for effect. Even so, even Assault had looked freaked out after the fact, and none of the four really had any wish at all to ever meet Skitter again. At all. Anywhere.

Their description had been so vivid, in fact, that it had led to further embarrassment when the Undersiders for some reason robbed a bank a little over a week ago. It turned out after the fact that Skitter hadn't even been there, but they were so reluctant to engage when they found out it was the Undersiders at work that by the time they got over the well-founded worry of being eaten alive by literal tons of insects, the gang had finished what might rank as one of the fastest bank robberies in Brockton Bay's history and got away clean. Not a single person was even scratched, fifty eight grand and an unknown amount of safety-deposit box contents was gone without trace, and Amy had snarked that Skitter was so terrifying she could fight them to a standstill while she was somewhere else.

He wasn't sure if he liked the comment or the fact it was basically true less. Although it had certainly amused Amy more than he really felt warranted…

And the Director had been even more sarcastic, which hadn't been fun.

Yeah. They weren't going to live that down for a long time. The memes on PHO were… memorable. And copious.

He was fairly sure Amy was responsible for several of them but he couldn't think how to prove it. And he knew Tattletale had made a couple of the damn things too, because she'd happily admitted to it, causing considerable hilarity among the PHO commentariat, and even a few of the PRT troopers.

It had not been their proudest moment, it was fair to say. And Dennis was still complaining about Skitter even now, both because she'd embarrassed him, and because she utterly terrified him. Even though he should really keep his mouth shut at school. At least no one at the table right now was out of the loop and it was so noisy in the cafeteria no one more than a few feet away could possibly hear him.

Still, he poked his friend in the ribs, and when Dennis turned to complain, hissed, "Will you please not talk about that here?" Making a small motion indicated the rest of the students around him, he glared at the red-head, who opened his mouth to reply, paused, then closed it with a sigh and a nod.

"Sorry. But it…"

"Bugs you?" Amy queried idly without looking up from her book. Dennis gave her a flat stare, making her sister giggle quietly and Amy briefly lift one corner of her mouth in a sardonic grin.

"Not funny," Dennis growled.

Amy merely snerked under her breath and kept reading. A flash of amusement came and went over the constant deep annoyance, Dean noticed, but he said nothing. Grumbling, his friend found another subject to complain about and went on a rant about how the evil English teacher had it in for him. As usual, it was over the top, funny, and had enough truth to it that everyone else ended up joining in for the fun of it.

And so passed another lunch break, in the way that they'd become accustomed to.

When they got up to return to class, Dean watched Amy walk off deep in thought and shivered a little, before going in the other direction. That girl was nearly as worrying as Skitter was…

Hopefully they never met. He wasn't sure the city would survive.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Pushing the door open, Amy looked inside the building she'd made her way to, frowned a little at the odd characters inside, then mentally shrugged and entered. Walking over to the man watching her from behind the counter, she opened her mouth.

"Gotta be over twenty one to order alcohol, lass," he warned her in a pleasant voice flavored with a distinct Irish accent, not rudely at all but just in an informative fashion.

"I'm aware, thanks," she replied, not offended. "I don't drink anyway. Coke, please."

"No problem." He quickly had her beverage in front of her, accepting the cash she handed him in return. "Best to sit over there," he added with a nod to a table on the far side of the large room, one of a series of booths along the wall. She glanced that way, looked back to him for a few seconds as she thought, then turned and walked over. Sitting down in the two-person booth she put her glass on the table and leaned back, looking around curiously. There were at least forty people present, most of them obviously working-class types, mostly large, burly, and very strong. The men were even more so. And not one of them was paying her the slightest bit of attention although she was sure they'd all noticed her come in.

Picking up her glass she took a sip.

"Your dad doing all right?" a gravelly voice said from directly behind her, quite quietly but audibly.

"He's… been better," she replied, not looking around. She took another sip.

"Sorry to hear that. Give him my regards."

"I will do."

"Good. You said you needed something."

"Yeah. I need to find Victor of the Empire."

"Ah."

She sipped her coke while she waited. From behind her came the sound of someone taking a drink. After a few seconds, the voice asked, "You need him intact?"

"Preferably. I need to ask some questions and it will be annoying if I have to fix him first."

He snorted, sounding approving. "Are you going to fix him afterwards?"

"Haven't decided. Depends on what he tells me."

"Fair enough." Another silence was ended by a large and scarred hand appearing from over her head, a folded piece of paper in between two digits. She took it with her free hand and flicked it open, reading the address and other information written on it. "Need help? Never liked Nazis."

"I can probably manage, but thanks for the offer."

"Bear it in mind. Good luck."

She finished her coke and put the glass down. "Thank you."

"No problem. You know my number if you need anything else. Tell your dad it's my pleasure."

"I'll do that."

She got up, collected her glass, and walked back to the bar. The man behind it nodded his thanks as she put the glass down, then turned to a new arrival, a tall skinny guy with glasses who glanced at her then moved past with a smile and a nod. "Danny. How's it going?"

"Well enough, Pat."

Amy left the waterside bar, smiling faintly to herself, and trudged through the misty rain towards the nearest bus stop, feeling it had been well worth the trip. In her pocket, the key to her next step lay.
 
Last edited:
Panic, See Her. Things get real.
Hopefully this will suit those wanting Victor to have a hard time :) Because he really does.
I'm not sure where all these wordz are coming from, though. They just seem to appear. I blame O'Make. It's usually his fault...


"I need a car. Something old, untraceable."

"Yeah, I can do that. I suppose I won't get it back?"

"You won't want it back."

"Just like old times. I'll leave a can of gas and some road flares in the trunk. Might come in handy."

"Might at that."

"Anything else? Plastic sheet, bleach, maybe a good hammer? I know a guy who has lots of hammers, he won't mind me borrowing one."

"I can sort out cleaning products myself. Thanks anyway."

"No problem. I'll send you an address later. Have fun."

"Oh, I think fun is entirely the wrong word, but it will be an experience."

"Heh. Yeah, I expect so. Later."

"Later. And thanks again."

"My pleasure, lass."

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Muttering to himself, Victor left the house wearing the fairly basic disguise he'd been using the last few days, a dark wig, fake glasses, and older clothes than he really liked. It was simple but surprisingly effective, and had allowed him to go out and visit a few shops without anyone looking twice at him. He'd even been passed by a PRT patrol the previous day and they'd driven past without slowing, which had come as a relief. He wasn't sure whether being caught by the PRT right now would be better than or worse than having Max get even angrier at him, but one way or the other he was absolutely certain he wouldn't enjoy either option.

Kaiser was not a happy leader, and one thing that was very high up in his personal approach to life was that when he was unhappy, he made sure to share the pain so everyone was unhappy. And he was being more than generous with sharing the bulk of it in Victor's direction. The number of dark looks he was getting from the rank and file, and the general air of feeling that he was to blame for the PRT becoming even more enthusiastic than normal at fucking up their day on a whim was still increasing.

Even the sympathizers in both the BBPD and the PRT were becoming remarkably obtuse and hard to deal with at the moment, apparently having decided that the amount of attention the Empire was getting from the authorities wasn't conducive to business as normal, or keeping your freedom. Several of their moles had abruptly gone dark which suggested either that they'd cut their losses and run, or more likely been found out by a newly-incensed PRT and were currently being vigorously queried about their true loyalties.

As Max had feared, the FBI had indeed arrived on the scene very soon after that first meeting, and they were also sticking their noses into places they were not even remotely welcome. They also seemed more competent that the PRT, which to be honest wouldn't be all that hard a lot of the time, and had even less sense of humor about his little mistake.

It was one he wasn't going to live down for a very long time, he feared. Even his wife was pissed with him at the moment and was sleeping in another room having had a very ugly argument with him two nights ago. He wasn't used to her standing her ground like that and it had come as an unpleasant surprise to find that under her normal demeanor lay a pretty vicious bitch.

It was fair to say that Victor wasn't having a very good time all things considered. And now he'd run out of beer, pretzels, and anything to make a decent sandwich from. The bloody woman had laughed when he requested that she acquire any of this, said if he wanted it he could get it himself for once, and slammed the door to her bedroom then locked it. He'd heard her talking to someone on the phone moments later, probably her cousin Tammi. The younger girl didn't like him, although she was normally discreet enough to hide it and at least pretend to respect his position in the organization, but since that meeting…

Well, respect wasn't something she was showing, it had to be said. Which pissed him off something fierce but he didn't dare show her what he felt about it because that would just get Max even more furious with him and he was on thin ice as it was. Which was why he was being very careful to stay well out of sight until the man cooled off.

If he ever did.

Which didn't seem likely if that fucking Grenade of Mass Destruction didn't fucking turn up.

Victor dearly wished he'd never even heard of Toybox. They seemed to have brought him nothing but trouble. Fucking Tinkers.

He'd never met one that wasn't a pain in the ass. From Armsmaster down, villain or hero, they were all assholes. Especially Squealer.

Victor grumbled to himself as he walked. He'd liked that car.

Looking both ways he crossed the street, taking the next left, heading towards the small bodega a few blocks down, a block or two outside Empire areas. It was run by inferior scum, like they all were, but they were cheap, open, and had the beer he liked in stock so he'd live with it for now. One day… well, one day he'd need to find a purer source of beer, but until that day, one had to simply hold one's nose and pretend.

Turning the corner he noticed that a couple of the streetlights were out, casting quite a lot of the next block into darkness. One past the dead pair was flickering, blinking on and off erratically in a way that suggested it wouldn't last much longer either. This wasn't all that unusual as maintenance of city facilities wasn't a very high priority these days, probably because the people doing the work were mostly the lower races and you could never trust those people to do anything right after all. He sighed faintly, shaking his head in disgust. But even though it was probably just lack of maintenance, he slowed a little and kept looking around just in case it was someone playing games. Although he was currently right on the edge of Empire territory, he was still in it, so it seemed unlikely to be the ABB or some other scum trying something, yet he wasn't going to take chances.

But he wanted his beer, dammit, and he was going to get it. Keeping one hand on the pistol in his coat, ready to pull it out if required, he entered the darker zone. Ahead of him two hundred yards of barely visible sidewalk lay, a few lights on in the buildings around him, but at this time of night, nearly eleven, and on a Sunday, it was very quiet. He could hear traffic some distance away to the north nearer the business area, and through the gaps between the buildings in one direction he could see the main artery leading into the heart of the city, raised above the ground-level streets by a couple of stories. Cars and trucks passed in both directions, their lights sweeping across the skyline and illuminating the misty air with brief flickers of brilliance that came and went in moments.

In the other direction he could see the black of the bay, a few lights moving around on it from small boats, and far off across the water, barely visible, the other side of the city as pinpricks of streetlights through the mist. As the light breeze blew the lights twinkled, while the temperature was low enough to let him see his breath.

At least it wasn't snowing, so there was that. Still cold though, and the puddles in the gutter were slushy mud.

He was passing a narrow service alley when he heard a sound down where no light penetrated, a sort of soft rattle accompanied by a sliding noise. Stopping dead, his hand clenched on the gun as he put his finger very lightly just next to the trigger. Victor peered into the darkness, every wary sense a lifetime of being on the side of the law he was telling him he was being watched. He listened very carefully, letting every skill he'd stolen and honed for years come to the fore, wondering if he was imagining it or whether he was correct that something was wrong.

After a few tense seconds, he quickly looked around, just in case someone was trying to sneak up on him using some sort of distraction, but as far as he could tell he was the only person in sight right now. A car drove past the end of the road he was on, in the direction he'd come from, but didn't stop. The faint howl of the lighthouse way off at the entrance to the bay echoed across the water, then died again. Other than that and the distant noises of the city itself, everything was completely quiet.

A moment passed, then he pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket with his free hand and flicked it on, aiming it towards where the sound had come from because the hair on the back of his neck just wouldn't settle. Two green-white dots reflected the light back at him and there was a protesting yip, followed by a clatter, even as he whipped his pistol out and aimed it. Moments later whatever it had been was gone, a faint pattering sounding for a second or two.

'Fuck. A cat or a raccoon or something,' he thought to himself in irritation. 'I'm jumping at shadows now.'

This whole fucking nightmare was getting to him if a simple animal in an alleyway could spook him like this. Sighing, he turned the flashlight off, put the gun back in his pocket, and resumed his walk.

Five seconds later a car without any lights on, the engine turned off and the vehicle coasting almost silently, hit him from behind and slammed him all the way across the street into the wall of a building on the other side.

Fifteen seconds after that the street was empty again, car and Victor gone with no trace other than a small puddle of blood on the sidewalk. Blood that was fizzing away into nothingness as something ate it completely. By the time anyone else passed a few minutes later, nothing was left at all.

Othala didn't even notice Victor was missing until the next morning.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

"Hello, Victor."

He found himself completely and utterly awake without any memory of falling asleep, so suddenly it was almost like having been showered with ice water. The surge of adrenaline made him yelp and try to sit up, at which point he found he couldn't move.

Not at all. Not even twitch his fingers.

Oh, fuck. This was not good, he thought as he tried again, his heart hammering. What the hell had happened? The last thing he could recall was looking down an alley, then… he was here. Blinking, he tried to make out anything in the darkness that might give him a clue. The voice that had spoken a moment ago wasn't one he recognized. The tone was weird, his skills at reading vocal clues and subtexts which had stood him in good stead in many interrogations and operations not having any real luck. But it was only two words so far…

He couldn't see anything. It was as dark as the inside of a coal mine with the lights out. Not a hint of illumination came to his eyes. Listening, he could hear dripping water somewhere in the distance, sounding like it was falling onto concrete, and very faintly the sound of… waves? It did sound like water lapping onto rock. Near the shore maybe? An old warehouse, there were certainly enough of them around the place, so many in fact it was practically a cliché to use them for dark ends. The sound of the lighthouse horn came to his ears, a little louder than he'd heard it earlier, which also fitted his conclusion. And it was freezing cold and damp, too, adding to that.

OK, he was quite likely in a warehouse. In the dark, lying on what was probably a concrete floor, unable to move. Restrained, or some sort of power? Who did he know who could paralyze someone?

"I know you're awake, and I'm sure you're trying to work out where you are and who I am. And why you're here, I expect."

The voice was still odd. He couldn't work out if it was male or female. And it seemed to be coming from behind him, perhaps six or seven feet away. Trying again to move, he found the only parts of his body that seemed to work were above his neck. As he shifted his head he heard a sort of plastic rustling, as if he was lying on something made of the stuff laid on the floor.

"You may be wondering why you can't see anything," the unknown assailant commented.

He was. And worrying that whatever had paralyzed him had also somehow rendered him blind.

"That is because I have… put a bag over your head." The pause in the middle of the sentence was deliberate and caused him to have a bad moment. He'd imagined things far less prosaic than a bag.

His imagination wasn't doing him any favors right now, it had to be said. If only because he'd been involved in something similar to this himself from the other side of things and he knew full well what he was capable of.

This was about as far from good as it was possible to be. The best case scenario was Kaiser teaching him a lesson. The worst case scenario was Kaiser teaching him a final lesson. Although the man wasn't prone to hiding his face from those he intended to kill, he preferred to watch their expressions.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice a little raspy from both worry and a dry throat.

"Me?" The person behind him chuckled quietly. "I'm the one asking the questions."

"Very helpful," he couldn't help snarking, since he couldn't do anything else to get himself out of this even though he was frantically trying to come up with a plan. Without being able to see anything he couldn't use his power, so whoever it was had done their homework and identified his power's main weakness. None of his stolen skills would help if he couldn't fucking move.

The situation was not one he was happy about.

Another chuckle came to his ears. "You have spirit. Pity you're a murderous Nazi."

That suggested it wasn't anyone to do with the Empire. So ABB? No accent he could hear although that didn't necessarily prove anything. Almost certainly not law enforcement. Either the PRT or the FBI would have him in a chair in an interrogation room, and while he knew the BBPD had occasionally had one or other officer get creative, this didn't seem right for that either.

"No, Victor, I'm not any of the people you're thinking about right now," his captor commented, the voice moving a little as if they'd stood and taken a step or two. "You'll never guess who I am. I can almost guarantee that."

"Toybox?" he asked, since it seemed plausible. There was a long pause and he became sure he was correct.

"Now why would you ask that I wonder?" the voice said thoughtfully, moving again to his other side. "How very interesting."

Not Toybox, he realized.

After some time, the voice resumed. "You have information I want, Victor. So I went to some trouble to arrange to have this little chat with you. I'd say I'm sorry about the inconvenience, but to be brutally honest I'm really not. What I'd like to do to you, and all your Nazi friends, is probably something I shouldn't think too hard about, because… well, let's say I'd get a certain reputation." The person paused as he swallowed, because whoever it was sounded idly curious in a way that was genuinely disconcerting.

"If you kill me, Kaiser will have your head," he warned, somewhat stretching the likely truth. Right now, Kaiser would probably laugh, although he'd kill whoever it was anyway because it would be an insult to the Empire to let someone get away with something like this. But this person didn't know this.

"Considering how pissed he is with you he might thank me," they said.

Apparently he was wrong. Fuck, again.

"Yeah, I've done some digging. You're not the most popular fascist around right now, are you? Bad Victor. Although that seems redundant considering you're, you know, a murderous Nazi bastard."

"Let me guess," he growled. "You're one of those races we justifiably look down on, taking the opportunity to cause trouble for your betters."

It seemed plausible. There were far too many of the lesser types around and they held a grudge. But laughter met his ears. When it died away, the person snickered, "Wrong again. White as a white thing." There was a sound like someone cracking their knuckles. "Well, as fun as it is bantering with you, we have work to do. Where did you get the biotoxin grenade you used on Glory Girl?"

The voice had gone absolutely deadly serious on the last sentence, a change from the almost playful tone of earlier that was so jarring he twitched.

Oh, bugger. This was worse than he'd thought. That information was something that could and would get him killed. If Toybox found out he told someone, even though he had no loyalty to them and to be honest would be just as happy if they all committed messy suicide after the trouble they'd caused him, they would become extremely, incredibly upset with the Empire and they were already not exactly in a good mood as it was. Max was vastly annoyed about that and had been trying to mend bridges because they were a highly useful source of unusual technology. Telling whoever the fuck this was about them being the source of the damned grenade would, especially if it got back to law enforcement one way or the other, put the spotlight on Toybox which in turn would make Toybox become murderously furious with the Empire. And Victor himself.

Max himself would end up wanting his head on a spike if he gave up either Toybox, due the aforementioned can of shit it would open, or the Empire for very similar but closer to home reasons. Either would be enough to get Victor killed, probably after quite a long process.

And if this was some weird law enforcement organization doing something off the books, at best he'd get a bullet in the brain once they had what they wanted. No one on that side of the law would want something like this being known about, especially if it might get brought up in court.

"Grenade?" he asked, playing for time as he tried to figure out which combination of his acquired skills might help.

"Ah. You're going to need encouragement, then," the voice said. "Have you ever read any Harry Potter books?"

The total non sequitur made him blink into the darkness of the bag over his head. "...what?" he replied after several very confused seconds, despite the seriousness of the current situation finding himself wondering what this person was talking about.

"Harry Potter. Boy wizard, you know? Interesting if derivative setting, fairly good world-building, poor execution in many ways, and describing a world that's really not very nice. For quite a few reasons similar to those you represent, to be honest." His interrogator sounded almost blandly informative now, and his confusion deepened. What did any of this have to do with anything? Wizards? Books? He vaguely remembered the name now, but it was childish garbage a true patriot wouldn't find even remotely interesting.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said honestly, wondering what the fucking point was.

"Ah. Pity, this would be more threatening if you did," the person behind him said, sounding mildly regretful. Which was… concerning. "Oh well. Anyway, yeah, like I said, wizards, boy hero, lots of stupid plots, people doing idiotic things that don't make nearly as much sense as you'd hope… a lot like real life, I guess. Except for the wizards."

There was a pause, and then the voice came back from a little closer and off to his right. He couldn't help turning his head that way although he could still see absolutely nothing. "Thing is, in those stories, they had some spells that did horrible things. I don't have magic. But I can do horrible things too. And the books gave me some ideas."

The speaker apparently leaned right next to him, because the next words were clearly audible although they were spoken in a low voice. "This one is called cruciatus."

Victor couldn't even scream, the pain was so intense. Every nerve in his body lit up in agony, his mouth opened in a silent rictus, and he saw flashes of light. It seemed to go on forever, unending agony penetrating ever cell of his body. When it finally stopped, days later, he had a mouthful of blood from nearly biting his tongue off and was panting for breath.

"That was five seconds," the voice calmly informed him. Gurgling in residual pain, his face twitching as muscles fired randomly, Victor was horrified at what had happened and that he somehow knew they were entirely truthful.

"Where did you get that grenade?"

He clenched his teeth, squeezing blood out through them. Pain was transient, even that amount of it. He was one of the chosen race. He wouldn't give up without a struggle.

Although at the back of his mind he couldn't help wondering just how much more of that he could take.

"I see." The voice sounded mildly impressed. "Despite you being what you are, I'll admit you have guts. In a sense. I could show them to you if that would help?"

"Who the fuck are you? Bonesaw?" he snarled, spitting blood into his hood.

Whoever this was snorted. "Bonesaw lacks both imagination and restraint," the person said in a terrifyingly contemplative manner, making him feel faint. Because he wasn't sure they were joking. "And is an evil little bitch. I'm many things but I'm not evil."

There was a pause, then the person added, "Probably."

Breathing heavily, Victor swallowed some blood as he waited for the pain to come back, wondering how much more he could take before he cracked. And then died, either due to Max, Toybox, or some rogue intelligence organization or whoever the fuck this was. The warehouse was silent aside from the dripping water in the distance, and a faint chugging of a boat out on the bay. If by some miracle he did get out of this he might be able to find out where he'd been held, and that could lead to whoever this was. Because if he survived, they certainly weren't going to assuming he had any say in the matter.

After another few seconds, just as the tension of waiting for more incredible pain to hit was starting to get to him, the voice said, "Do you know what the problem with torture is? Aside from it being basically wrong?"

He shook his head, not able to come up with any good answer, as his head was throbbing and as the nerve twitches died away, his tongue was screaming in agony.

"It doesn't work. You tend to find people will tell you anything they think you want to hear to get the pain to stop. Well known issue with it. It doesn't stop people doing it of course." The voice was still calm and reasonable. "I could sit here all night making you experience a fraction of the pain that Glory Girl went through, break your mind with the agony, and while it might be sort of fun in a very wrong way, and honestly be what someone like you probably deserves, it wouldn't necessarily get me what I want. Not in a way I can trust."

The speaker came closer to his ear, causing him to lean his head away. "But I have another spell. Those books are full of interesting ideas. This one is called Imperius."

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Amy listened as Victor's monotone voice droned on, while she made sure the voice recorder in her hand caught the entire thing. It would take her quite a while to go through all the information and work out the next step, but she had a lot of leads now. The problem had become quite a lot more complex than she'd expected, unfortunately, and she could tell it was going to need some careful thought if she was to find the ultimate source of her ire, but she wasn't going to give up.

Victor was a cog in the machine, one that needed to be dealt with, but nowhere near the importance of the one right at the beginning of the trail she was slowly following back from that awful night in the hospital.

Asking the last of the questions she'd come up with, she listened to the answer, nodding to herself. She ticked it off on her notepad, scanning the various scribbled comments she'd jotted down as the questioning went on. As far as she could tell she'd covered everything important and quite a few side-quests when one of his answers had sparked a few more.

Finally, she reached out and touched Victor's exposed hand, removing the effect she'd imposed which had acted like the world's best truth serum. Far better than any actual truth serum, in fact, as they didn't really exist despite what the movies might claim. Some drugs removed inhibitions and caused a form of disassociation during which a person was highly suggestible, and that certainly would aid an interrogation, but what she did was as far beyond that as Legend was beyond a laser pointer. Because her truth serum worked.

As she flushed the remains of the incredible complex biochemical compounds out of his blood system, Victor babbled incoherently for a moment, then went silent. Eventually, he groaned. "Back with us?" she said in her disguised voice, which was deliberately as anonymous as she could manage and intended to convey the minimum of emotional cues. It had taken quite a lot of work to come up with the small living organism that was currently sitting at the back of her throat in a somewhat uncomfortable fashion, but it was worth both the mild inconvenience and hard work.

"What did you do?" he asked weakly.

"What I needed to. Thank you for your help."

He swore at her rather inventively, apparently feeling aggrieved. She shook her head. Nazis. Pity she couldn't do something permanent to the shit, but she couldn't risk anyone figuring out that some form of bio-tinkering was involved. It was too dangerous. She'd love to do something that would really cause him some sort of ironic trouble for the rest of his life, and god she had ideas for that, but…

No. It wasn't worth the danger to her or her family. What she'd done was bad enough, despite being as careful as she could be to avoid leaving any traces.

Putting both the recorder, which she turned off with a click, and her pen and pad into the bag next to her, she hopped to her feet and dusted her jeans off. "I'd say this has been fun but it really hasn't. Probably less for you than me, but…"

He made noises indicating he didn't appreciate her comment, which caused her to smile briefly.

"So this is the point where you kill me?" he asked after a moment, still sounding like he was fishing for information. "You never even told me who you are."

"I said you'd never guess, didn't I?" she responded, squatting next to his head, her sneakers squeaking on the plastic sheet on the floor. Putting a finger on his hand, she made sure all traces of her special chemical cocktail was gone, then nodded to herself. She'd healed up all the indications of him having been involved in a traffic collision too. He was in perfect health.

"You're not going to reveal yourself at the end? I thought that was how these things worked," he said. She laughed a little. The man, despite who and what he was, definitely had a way with words. Pity he was a piece of shit who made a good case for post-natal abortion…

"That's in stories, Victor. In real life, you don't get a nice neat monologue at the end. No, I'll just let you go."

"That seems… unlikely," he replied after quite a long moment, during which she walked over to the far side of the room and retrieved what she needed. "What's to stop me telling Kaiser about this?"

"Oh, you won't remember anything about any of this," she assured him cheerfully. "That's what obliviate is for." She hefted the crowbar in her hand thoughtfully, looking down at him. "Which is almost a pity because you'll never remember how your arms and legs got broken."

"Wait…!" he screamed after a frozen moment of horrified realization.

She brought the crowbar down for the first time.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Switching his bike off, Armsmaster dismounted, then walked over to where the ambulance and PRT troop carrier were parked, both vehicle's lights strobing away in the darkness and lighting the area in alternating colors. The EMT team was working on the figure lying on the ground, while half the PRT squad watched. The rest were keeping a wary eye on the surroundings, weapons ready but lowered. He glanced at the man on the ground, then looked around.

Turning to the PRT sergeant who had stepped back from the EMTs to meet him, he asked, "Sitrep?"

"Victor of the E88, apparently," the man explained with a gesture to where the EMTs were carefully immobilizing both arms and legs of the groaning man. "According to the note stapled to his chest."

"Stapled?" Armsmaster repeated, not sure he'd heard correctly. The other man smirked.

"Yeah. Literally stapled. Right into his breastbone." He handed the Tinker an evidence bag containing a bloodstained piece of office paper. Holding it up to the illumination from his bike's headlight, Armsmaster read the writing that had been printed with what looked like a basic laser printer out loud.

"Victor, Nazi bastard. Take this as the only warning you will ever receive. Consider yourself lucky I'm not more like you or you'd be floating face down in the bay. I'd suggest leaving the city and never, ever returning. If we ever meet again you won't survive the experience."

There was no signature, no other marks on the paper except for blood and some small holes. He turned it over and checked the other side, which was blank aside from more bloodstains. Scanning it with his helmet camera, he performed some quick measurements, which only told him what his eyes could, that it was completely standard office paper, the exact same thing you'd find in almost any office anywhere in the country. They could undoubtedly locate the manufacturer but that would be completely useless in tracing the author since there were only about three extant sources for paper like this these days. The laser printer was definitely an older model, the resolution wasn't very high, which meant it was a monochrome one, which in turn meant it didn't print any hidden identification marks on the paper like modern color ones did.

So that would most likely also turn out to be a dead end.

And he suspected there would be no fingerprints. Certainly he couldn't see anything suggesting such, either by visible light or under fluorescent scanning. Possibly residual DNA might be present but that would have to wait until he got the note back to the lab. For now, this was a dead end.

Handing it back, he nodded, then turned to examine Victor, who was being loaded onto a gurney now. Neither of the two EMTs, one of whom was black and one hispanic, seemed to be being quite as careful as they might have been. Victor wasn't happy about this, but they were ignoring his swearing without a change of expression.

"What can you tell me about this?" he asked.

The PRT sergeant watched the loading process as well. "We got a call saying that Victor of the E88 could be found here, about half an hour ago, from an anonymous source. Dispatch couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. Whoever it was gave the address, said we should hurry in case the wolves got him, and hung up. We found a high end phone in his pocket which was the one used to call us. It's unlocked, and the password has been removed." He held up another evidence bag which Armsmaster took possession of immediately. "Bet it's got some interesting stuff on."

"I expect so," he replied, feeling satisfied indeed. "First impressions of the scene?"

"Whoever did him over was a pro." The man looked at him, then back to the ambulance, as the doors closed and the vehicle started up. It drove off a moment later. "Both arms broken in two places each, both wrists, both legs, both knees, both ankles, and four ribs. Very neatly done. It was as expert a beating as anything I've ever seen. Whoever it was has done this before, that much I can pretty much guarantee."

Armsmaster nodded slowly. "I see. Do you think it might have been one of his people?"

"Might be. Probably not a cape, most of them would just have killed him." The sergeant looked thoughtfully at the disturbed ground. "That said I can't help feeling the Empire wouldn't have left him for us like this. He'd wash up on the beach in a week, or just vanish. Why would they leave him alive to incriminate them?"

"A valid point," Colin replied, thinking it over carefully. "A new vigilante, then?"

"Not a new one, for sure. Like I said, this was experienced. And personal, I suspect. Someone wanted him to hurt, and wanted him alive. Rules out the ABB and the Merchants too I guess. Cop, maybe? Or just someone who knows how to administer a good old fashioned physical admonishment the way they used to do it back before capes turned. Lot of those people around here. It didn't need powers, it just needed a baseball bat and an attitude."

"If we assume it was someone who didn't like the Empire that narrows it down to approximately half the city," he replied dryly, causing the other man to laugh briefly.

"Most of the other half wouldn't have left him alive," the sergeant noted, causing Colin to nod with a sigh.

"True." He walked over to inspect the ground. Tire tracks of the PRT vehicle and the ambulance had mostly obscured anything that might have been considered useful evidence, but he could just make out tracks that seemed likely to have come from another vehicle. Scanning the crumbling concrete, he looked for any useful evidence. Eventually he stopped and raised his eyes to examine the surroundings again. This location was not quite in the Docks, but it was certainly largely abandoned and he doubted any witnesses would be found. Undoubtedly why Victor had been dropped here. As far as he could work out the man had probably been thrown from a car that either didn't stop or only briefly did so. By now it would likely be miles away, possibly entirely out of the city. If it had driven through the docks, with the complete lack of anything useful in the way of cameras, there would be no chance of tracking it.

"A tricky problem," he noted as he came back to the PRT sergeant who had been watching him.

"Is it even one we need to investigate?" the man asked. Colin gave him a quizzical look. "I mean, sure, someone got the shit kicked out of them, but it was Victor. I'm not sure if we should be trying to find this person to arrest them or to thank them."

Armsmaster gazed severely at him. "A crime has been committed, Sergeant," he admonished.

"Yes, Sir," the man replied, not quite sighing.

Turning to leave, Colin added over his shoulder, "That said, it's a very low priority one under the current operational conditions, so I expect it may well be some time before we have the resources available to investigate it properly. A pity, but we do have more immediate issues to deal with." He got on his bike and started it, the other man nodding as he lifted a hand in a wave, then drove off.

All in all, he pondered, he was minded to not investigate too hard right at the moment. It could wait. And they did at least now have Victor in their custody, which would go a long way to making quite a few people much more cheerful. In a way that Victor wouldn't enjoy at all, of course.

The man did seem to be having quite a rough time at the moment.

But then he was a Nazi. Colin rather felt that he was getting what was coming to him.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Watching the small pile of organic matter dissolve into goo, then further into particles that got washed away by the next wave, Amy felt a distant sort of satisfaction. She was horrified at her own actions in one part of her mind and completely happy with them in another.

She suspected that when she got home, she was going to throw up, then sleep surprisingly well.

And now she had a lot of things to think about. Not to mention managed to test quite a few of the neat ideas she'd had and never had a good reason to actually try. The special fungus bodysuit that completely contained all her DNA, removed her fingerprints, and handily dealt with every other way to identify someone she could think of had worked perfectly, even if it felt weird when applied to the body. And her special solvent got rid of the evidence even better than burning it would have done. All the clothing she had worn was gone completely too, the only things left being her notes and recordings, which would get very carefully stored in a way no one other than her could ever find.

Satisfied she'd cleaned up after herself, she turned and trudged back across the rocks, the incoming tide washing away even the minute traces left of footprints behind her. Climbing up the steps that led from the base of the old wharf to the road at the top, she gazed at the car parked there, smelling strongly of gasoline. Raising her eyes she looked beyond it back towards the city, wondering if anyone had picked up Victor yet. Hopefully the PRT would act quickly before someone else got him.

Shrugging, she pulled the road flare out of her pocket, struck it alight, then tossed it through the open window of the car from a safe distance. The whoomp of it igniting in a rather impressive fireball and blast of heat made her step back and shield her face. She watched it burn for a moment before turning and heading off through the cold icy roads towards home and somewhere she could fall over.

She was very tired, very sickened, and very satisfied. But also knew she had a lot of work ahead of her.

As she walked she pulled out her phone and deleted the recording she'd made inside a warehouse near the shore a couple of days ago.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Looking at the car smoldering next to the shoreline, he smiled slightly, nodded approvingly, and went on his way. There was beer to drink, even this early in the morning. No matter what certain bartenders might claim.

"Girl's got promise," he muttered to himself as he pulled his wool hat down over his ears. It was always nice to see the younger generation doing things correctly.
 
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