Queen of the Swarm (Worm; Complete)

[Vherstinae]

Unmaking 7.06



I just blinked, sort of staring into space. My brain was still trying to process what had happened scant seconds before, while the memory section was beating me over the head with a folding chair for being such a dense imbecile.



Lisa had kissed me. Lisa, the beautiful blonde who always did her best to make me feel normal, who constantly flirted and made off-color jokes at my expense...yeah, the memory node was right. I was dense.



With that in mind, though, everything was put into a different context. The flirting, that I had previously dismissed as either teasing or a roundabout way of making me feel pretty again, was now legitimized. And that meant...



That means, my brain interjected, that Lisa's standing there nervously while I work this shit out. I forced myself out of the introspection and looked up into those shining, celery-green eyes. "I'm an idiot," I said, opting to be completely sincere and direct. At Lisa's confused, slightly hurt expression, I elaborated. "I never thought your...the flirting, I didn't think it was genuine. I thought you were just, well, taking care of Nilbogette. But now, well..."



I glanced at her lips for a moment before locking eyes again. Lisa gave a hesitant smile. The insect part of my brain, that I so often beat down, was screaming at me. This time, I listened. I leaned up from the hospital bed and met my lips to hers. Now, without the shock and confusion and revelation all clouding my senses, I got to feel it. It felt...right. There wasn't any sort of anticipation or expectation in the kiss; both of us accepted the other, flaws and lingering dangers included, and we weren't pushing for anything more. If it happened, it would, but there was no point in trying to hurry things.



Lisa's eyes widened in surprise for a moment before they closed, satisfied. Her arms slid up mine to drape over my shoulders. When the kiss finally broke, we stayed like that, my hands resting on her waist, foreheads touching, just feeling each other's presence. Yeah, I thought, this is right. One of my bugs showed me that dad was watching through the window, a soft smile on his face. He and Lisa must've discussed this at some point. Sly devils. I'd have to thank him later.



"So," I finally ended the comfortable silence, "how long have you..." I gestured between her and myself.



"I'm not exactly sure," she said, nudging me over and taking a comfortable seat on the bed. "At first it was to defuse a ticking time bomb." She booped my nose. "You were in a lot of pain and the authority figures weren't doing anything to help. With your powers, things could've gone very bad very fast. Then, it was because you were my friend and you're a lot of fun to tease. I..." She took a breath. "Before this," she imitated the gesture between me and her, "I'd resigned myself to being celibate. Like Imp, I have to focus to keep my power from constantly being on. And when things get hot and heavy...suffice it to say that a clinical readout of what the guy's gonna do next, a splitting Thinker headache, and a list of my partner's grossest kinks weren't exactly conducive to romance. After a couple tries I found that any sort of intimacy actually made me feel ill.



"But then, well, then I met you. Your changes are slowly making you immune to my power. But it's not just that, or I'd feel like a petty asshole. You're sweet, you're kind, you're loving and you want to protect those you care about. And you're hot, to top it all off. So, well," she tilted her head and gave me a playfully salacious look, "I'm interested in you. And from that smooch you gave me..."



"Yeah," I blushed, "I'm, ah, interested too." After worrying my bottom lip for a few seconds, I spoke up again, my voice louder than I'd expected it to be. "But I'm – ahem, 'scuse me – I'm new to, well, all this. I've never even been on a real date before. You were my second kiss, and the only one that actually meant something."



Lisa pulled me into a warm embrace. "It's okay, sweetie. You don't have to worry about being experienced or anything. This is new for me, too: I hadn't thought I'd fall for a girl. So we can just learn all this together."



I snuggled deeper into her grip. "That sounds good to me," I mumbled to her shoulder.



(BREAK)



Once we exited the clinic, dad in tow, we were met with a chorus of applause from the rest of the Undersiders. Foresight stiffened. "What? How did– Imp," she snarled.



Our resident pest laughed. "How could I resist spying? Such yummy blackmail material! But then I remembered you could probably stuff me with bugs and make me a meat puppet, so I decided to just share the good news."



"Take lots of photos!" Regent's smirk was evident in his voice. "And don't skimp on the PDA. I'm lucky enough to be friends with a hot lesbian couple and I'm not gonna let you squander it!"



With a slap to the back of Regent's head, Grue took a step forward. "In all honesty, ignoring the peanut gallery, we're all happy for you."



Cerberus just nodded. "Bout time," she grunted. Well, with her canine-esque instincts, I suppose she would've known before I did.



I looked back to my father, who just gave me that warm, knowing smile. I couldn't help but grin in return.



From the other end of the hallway, which was impressive distance for a non-directed shout, I heard a voice cry out. "Oh, you've got to be FUCKING kidding me!"



"Language, Clockblocker," Armsmaster barked immediately afterward.



My curiosity piqued, I ambled over to the noise. The rest of the group followed.



"No way, boss-man," Clock retorted. "When you see this, I think you'll agree swearing is needed." He held up his phone. "I was checking for updates when this popped up on PHO." The Ward clicked a link and increased the volume.



"Now Playing," an over-the-top Wrestlemania-style voiceover yelled, "on THIS SCREEN! For the first time ever, unmoderated, uncensored and uncut video of an ENDBRINGER BATTLE!" A second voice cut in, more subdued. "This is not for the squeamish, folks. People die. A lot of people die. But we scored a major victory today and the heroes and villains who gave their lives should be honored. Capes get a lot of shit, and you usually only see the shiny PR-friendly side of parahumans. Or the cartoonishly evil, 'pre-packaged for mass media' side of the villains." The Announcer, as I opted to call the first voice, returned louder than ever. "So log in to see the REAL face of cape fights! All the HITS, all the BREAKS, all the ENDBRINGER-SMASHING CARNAGE YOU CAN HANDLE!"



Everything was quiet for a moment. Armsmaster and Clockblocker shared a look. The hero nodded.



"You've got to be FUCKING kidding me," Clockblocker repeated.



"So what the shit is that?" Cerberus had approached Clockblocker while the ad played.



The Ward gave a little yelp, spinning to find her looking over his shoulder. "It's, ah, it's an ad."



"Somebody wants to make money off dead people?" She sounded pissed. I didn't blame her.



"My guess?" Armsmaster interjected, "Uber and Leet. They're the only ones in the area with the kind of technology needed for a recording like this, and they're the only ones amoral enough to want to profit from such a tragedy."



"The only ones amoral enough? That sounds like a major exaggeration." Dad strode toward the gathering crowd. If three – now four – people could be called a crowd.



"I meant from the previously defined group," Armsmaster groused, folding his arms over his chest. "Don't mistake me; Mannequin and Bonesaw are objectively more evil Tinkers, but they're not the sort to do this kind of showmanship. Plus, they have the Snitch."



I blinked. "Snitch? Like in Harry Potter?"



"It's what Uber named their autonomous camera," Foresight supplied. "Somehow the thing's practically invulnerable, and it never sticks around long enough for me to get a look at it. I can imagine them rigging it up to skulk around and record the fight."



Regent leaned against a nearby wall. "But what's the point? I mean, I'm pretty much the poster boy for 'For the Lulz', but these guys like to have an endgame in mind, don't they?"



Armsmaster tilted his head, listening to something in his helmet. "Mm-hm. Dragon made a good point: while this is distasteful in the extreme, it's not exactly something urgent in comparison. We have about a thousand more deserving causes that need our attention." He sighs. "We'll need to see about transferring in some new parahumans. In the wake of an Endbringer attack, we're pretty much guaranteed to see cretins coming in to set up shop. In the meantime–"



"In the meantime," Director Piggot stepped into the group, taking the conversation's reins, "our first priority is reconstruction. Even though this was a relatively short fight, Leviathan still did catastrophic damage to the city. We need every parahuman, hero and villain, who's willing to help. I'm in the process of drafting an order of temporary amnesty." She turned to look at me and Cerberus. "I know you've already done more than should ever be expected of people your age, but I have to ask for even more. Cerberus, would you be willing to let our K-9 handlers work with your dogs on a long-term basis? We could use their strength to help with rebuilding."



The bulky girl stuffed her hands into her pockets. "I'll think about it."



"That's all I can ask for at this point. And Skitter, can we count on your helpers?"



I nodded, probably with a bit too much vigor. "Of course. They're here to fix things and rescue people. They can help clear out rubble, and they should understand enough English to take basic orders. I'll...hold up," I took a step to the side, out of the group. I felt something. While it was probably a bad idea, something in the back of my mind was telling me to open my senses – the ones that detected emotion.



In a split-second I was awash in a sea of chaotic feelings. Elation and relief churned with loss and crushing despair. But something in there, something was important. I knew it, without really understanding how I knew, and focused harder.



There. A little girl, frightened and traumatized and wracked with overwhelming guilt. I didn't know why she was important, but I was learning to trust my instincts.



Grue's big hand rested on my shoulder and jerked me back to reality. "Skitter, you okay? You were a million miles away, there."



"Yeah. There's...there's something important, I'm sure of it. C'mon." Despite the urges I didn't take off running, since I wanted the others to be able to follow me, but I did walk at a brisk pace. I called up the orange vision – I need to get Lisa's help with a better name for that – so I didn't crash into anybody. As we moved I realized we were heading toward the drop-off point for people the helpers had rescued. My two exotic senses began to overlap, one orange silhouette glowing brighter than the rest. The girl was tiny, probably not older than twelve at the absolute most, and was huddled in on herself.



Once my target was within regular eyesight I turned off my senses so I could get a proper look at her. The little girl was disheveled and waterlogged, wearing a ragged princess dress that looked like it hadn't been changed in weeks. I slowed down to a gentle stride and knelt beside her. "Hi there," I said in my best mom-voice. "Are you alright?"



She shook her head with enough force I worried she might snap her neck, her entire body shuddering with a disturbing, arrhythmic quiver. "P-please, make it stop," the girl whimpered. "Hurts so bad, but I don't want any more candy..."



"Candy?" dad asked. "Is she hallucinating?"



"No," I snarled, the sound far more animalistic than I'd expected, "that's Merchant slang. Well, any dealer, I suppose. They give little kids 'candy' to get them addicted."



Piggot muscled her way to the front, an impressive feat considering she parted Grue and Cerberus without really trying. "Not to sound callous, but why is one little girl so... Oh." She leaned closer, studying the poor urchin's face. "This is Dinah Alcott, Mayor Christner's niece. She's been missing for months."



"Considering present company, I don't think it's a breach of conduct to tell you: she's a cape." Foresight stood at my side, offering me extra strength. My maternal instincts were going haywire as I looked at the poor little thing.



We all blinked and looked over at her. Imp was the one to voice the question. "You sure?"



"Reasonably. The way she grabs at her head every now and then: it's indicative of Thinker headache, but it's almost, no, scratch that – it is reflexive. Poor thing deals with a constant Thinker ache."



"I can hear you, y'know," little Dinah snarked. "He gave me the candy and it made the headaches hurt less, but I was his prisoner. I was gonna die down there."



Without a second thought, and really without a first thought, I scooped the girl into my arms. "Who did this to you?"



"Coil." She was in too much pain to summon malice into her voice, but she made a good effort nonetheless. "I...I killed him. It was the only way I'd be free."



"Well Dinah," Piggot smiled, "it just happens to be your lucky day. We have a Tinker here who can cure you of the addiction you're suffering, and he might just be able to stop your head from hurting on top of that."



Dinah sniffled. "You're...not gonna arrest me?"



Armsmaster, who'd been quiet in the back, spoke up now. "For killing the monster who kept you prisoner and force-fed you narcotics? No, we're not going to arrest you for doing the right thing."



Well, holy shit, he actually said something good. From what little of his face I could see, he appeared just as surprised.



"I'm sure your parents will be happy to know you're okay," my father offered.



Dinah shook her head violently, trying to tear herself from my arms. "No! They'll hate me! I've done bad things, helped Coil hurt people! I'm a monster!"



Well, wasn't that familiar?



A callused, long-fingered hand smoothed the hair away from her forehead. "My little girl said something very similar," dad cooed, "and she believed it. And you know what? I was just happy to have her back. The thing about family is that you love each other no matter what. Your mom and dad will be so happy to know you're alive and to have you safe at home again. So trust me, because I know what I'm talking about. Even if families make some mistakes – god knows I have – we always love each other at the end of the day."



Dinah forced herself to settle down. "I...okay."



"Nice job, Superdad," Regent snickered.



My father rolled his eyes. "I screwed up enough, so I guess this all is just balancing things out."



Grue shrugged. "Karma doesn't exactly work that way, but I'm not gonna complain."

 

[Vherstinae]

Unmaking 7.07



Bio-Tinkers were almost universally reviled. When the two most well-known of their number were Bonesaw and Blasto, this was an understandable reaction by the general public. Soma, by contrast, flew under the radar: a large part of this was how his power functioned. While he could and did build things like diagnostic devices, his true achievement was the development of consumable cures. Vials and poultices, he called them, drinkable or topical cures for any number of ailments up to and including dismemberment and exsanguination. While I was no slouch in the bio-manipulation department, at least as far as my critters were concerned, Soma and Panacea reminded me that, on the Tinker front, I was a flyweight.



Since he'd brought his tools, Soma was casually brewing more healing mixtures while he studied his new favorite subject, Noelle Meinhardt, aka Scylla. I'd been keeping an eye on the hulking young woman from the moment I'd become aware of her presence aboard the Rig. Something about her was intrinsically wrong, though I couldn't pinpoint exactly what, particularly from such a distance. Of course, now I'd get the chance to inspect her in greater detail. Little Dinah Alcott needed a major detox.



Director Piggot opened the door, speaking in a soft tone I hadn't realized she was capable of making. "Soma, can we bother you for a moment? We have a little girl in need of some help." Of course, considering that they had a questionably-sane beast of a girl who was – at least for the moment – freely cooperating, it made more sense that the director would be more tactful than her usual brusque demeanor.



Soma idly scratched at his forest of stubble and adjusted his goggles. "I suppose. What's she need?" His costume played up the medical angle, a blue surgical mask covering his mouth and nose while Tinkertech goggles concealed his eyes. Soma's labcoat had its pockets filled to the brim with various syringes and pill bottles.



"An addiction cure, if you've got one," dad said as he entered the room, cradling the hurt girl in his arms. Dinah had latched onto him and refused to let go, so we rolled with it. "She was a psychopath's...plaything. He kept her docile with drugs; we don't know what kind."



"Poor thing," Scylla remarked from her position in the middle of the room. Fencing had been set up around her to keep people from accidentally touching her mass. "Who'd do that? I mean, I know the Merchants are scum, but I didn't know they took captives..."



"According to Dinah," I snarled, "it was Coil." Knowing he was dead came as a great relief. Coil was a dangerous planner and we still had no real plan to safely break free from him. Of course, now we would have to deal with funding: without our satanic sponsor, we were pretty much back to no income. "Thankfully, the bastard's dead."



"Wait, what!?" Scylla ended up bellowing her question through all of her mouths, waking up and terrifying Dinah. "Sorry, sorry," she yelped immediately after, clearly feeling horrible for frightening the abused girl. I had a raptor carry in a cuddlebug, which I gave Dinah to hold while dad did his best to soothe her. "Aww," Noelle cooed at that sight, "that thing's adorable! Er, right, sorry. I can get distracted sometimes. Back to the topic: Coil's dead?"



Piggot looked up at the girl. "This is an issue why?"



"He was the one employing us! Well, not really employing, I guess: he didn't pay us. He was working on a cure for me..."



"Was he, now?" Soma chuckled. "He seems to have done a pretty terrible job of it. Almost as though he were lying to you for his own benefit." I decided I liked Soma. He had a fun, dry sense of humor and was surprisingly irreverent during tense situations.



"While we didn't bring it up before," Piggot interjected while Soma set to brewing, "you do realize you and the rest of the Travelers will be under arrest once the crisis has passed."



"They only did what they did to protect me," Scylla protested. "First to save my life and then to fix me after...this," she gestured at herself. "I know that we've done bad things; I just hope you can be lenient to them. They all did it to save me."



"I'm not a judge, but your protest is noted. Thank you for cooperating with us."



"Thank you for getting someone to help me, Director. Even if I have to go to jail for the rest of my life, I'll go happily if you can fix me first. Every day is a living hell."



A PRT trooper opened the door on the opposite side of the room, ushering in a tall, stunningly handsome man. "Mr., um, Oliver, as requested."



Director Piggot nodded, mostly to herself. "Since everything seems well in hand here, I have other things that demand my attention." The blonde stalked off, doing her utmost to persevere through the utter exhaustion. Unlike me and most of the other capes, she hadn't rested since before Leviathan's attack.



(BREAK)



I kept various critters scattered around the Rig just in case of conflict between stressed-out capes. I'd see the problem through them, and be able to use the critters to respond before I could physically get there. In this case, one of my raptors was neglecting his duties in favor of being a total ham. The little beast was sprawled on his back, letting Parian rest her feet on his belly in exchange for using her shoes to give him tummy rubs.



Upside-down, my raptor noticed the Knitter approaching. The man was tall and lanky, skin almost as tan as his brown hair from time in the sun. He wore a sleeveless purple bodysuit and black domino mask, and his backpack contained all of his yarn as well as at least a dozen metal spears shaped like giant knitting needles. Strapped to his thigh was a needle-like dagger.



The villain sat down beside the rogue, keeping a fair distance from my raptor. "You did good out there," he said in an unexpectedly soft voice. "I can tell you don't fight much, but you're smart and creative. Made a huge difference in the fight." He removed his backpack and set it beside him.



"Thanks." I hadn't really had the opportunity to hear Parian talk before; she had a really sultry voice I would never have expected from her costume. "And thanks for the help in the fight. I doubt I'd have lasted half as long if you weren't there to take the heat off me."



"You give yourself too little credit," the Knitter said as he leaned against the wall, stretching out with a groan. "But it's alright. I get why you want to downplay it. That's not the person you wanna be." He didn't phrase it as a question.



"...Kind of. How do you know that?" She'd stopped with the belly rubs and my raptor gave a squeak of protest. Seeming to answer her own question, she continued. "Why are you a villain? You've killed people, but here...you don't seem the type."



He shifted. "I saw the Undersiders' interview on the Late Show. It made me wonder how many people are trapped by the system, forced to be villains because society won't let them be heroes." The Knitter shook his head. "That's not me, though. I know what I'm doing. Even though it's for a good reason, I'm still doing horrible things: they might be necessary but I'm not going to pretend I'm a misunderstood hero."



"You killed civilians. How could that be for a good reason?"



The Knitter tilted his head. "What are you, Persian? I'm guessing some sort of Mideastern."



Parian jerked back. "I, what? How would you..."



"It's in the voice. Not a universal rule, I know, but you just have a Middle East accent. It's faint but it's there." He shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. It's more that, being from there, you get ethnic cleansing." The Knitter held up a hand. "I'm not starting on some racist tirade. I mean that you understand, even secondhand, the horror of blind hatred based on something a person can't change. It's like that in South Africa. Well, the whole of Africa is a hellhole.



"In my home country, there's always been racial tension. It's only gotten worse in the past few decades. According to the ideologues there, all the world's problems are the fault of white people. So, if you kill all the white people, the problems go away. Simple, right? So yeah, I've killed people. You call them civilians, I call them murderers. I just want my countrymen to be able to go a day without fearing for their lives, that their neighbor or coworker or bus driver won't suddenly just kill them." He shook his head. "Two wrongs don't make a right. I know that. But I'm willing to be the bad guy if it means a little boy can grow up without living in fear."



"But if you understand that it's wrong, why not take a different tack? Appeal to the public, show them what's happening."



The Knitter barked an unpleasant laugh. "And what, you expect the UN to step in? Maybe the Protectorate will stop by and start a war because South Africa definitely won't want foreign aid to stop their genocide. People have enough problems of their own. Honestly, I'm amazed people like you and Miss Militia managed to make it across the ocean. And besides," he said with a snarl, "nobody cares if it's white people being killed."



"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? People are getting killed and, what, you think they won't matter because of their race? I understand racial discrimination–"



"No," he cut her off, "you understand being the victim. People are willing to sympathize with you because you're the underdog. But whitey deserves it: nobody gives a shit if the top dog is getting tortured and slaughtered, and god forbid anyone tries to explain to the public that their perception is wrong and their top dog is actually near the middle of the heap, if not on the bottom."



Parian held up her hands. "Whoa, whoa. I'm not trying to start a fight. I'm sorry. You're right that I only understand discrimination against my own race but that's no reason to get angry with me. Let's just, just change the subject, okay? I don't want this kind of animosity."



He deflated. "Thank you. And...I'm sorry as well. I shouldn't have bitten your head off. You didn't understand and I took offense where none was intended. So," he thought for a moment, "why do you dress like that? With the Shirley Temple wig and everything?"



She straightened up. "Well, I'm planning to eventually unmask once I get my clothier business big enough. I want to start dialogue about racial perceptions and preconceptions."



The Knitter snorted. "Sorry; that was disrespectful of me. I get what you intend, at least, I think so. Maybe I'm too jaded but I don't think it'll cause nearly as much controversy or conversation as you expect it will."



Parian shrugged. "Maybe not, but either way it's fun to dress up like this."



He chuckled. "I can imagine. You should've seen my first costume idea."



I pulled my senses away from the raptor, satisfied that there wasn't going to be an incident.



(BREAK)



"So," Brian said as we sat down in a debriefing room, coating the walls in his darkness, "where do we go from here?"



We'd brought my father with us because he deserved to know what was going on, and we could use his advice. I turned to him. "Dad, remember all the swearing to secrecy and whatnot? A big part of that was because of Coil. He was our backer, providing our funding, and we were looking for ways to slip the leash."



"The man was a complete monster," Lisa said from her place beside me. "The first time I figured out what he was using his power to do, I couldn't stop heaving for hours. While I still don't understand how he did it, he had some sort of ability that let him...do you guys know what a splinterpoint is?" Surprisingly, Alec and my father raised their hands. "Okay, for the rest of you, it's a concept in temporal theory something like the butterfly effect: a major event has countless potential outcomes. I think he had the ability to, I don't know, trick reality into thinking a splinterpoint was occurring? And then he could experience at least two possible courses of events. He used this power to indulge in the darkest 'pleasures' imaginable. Rape, torture, murder, anything was fair game for him."



"Jesus," dad muttered. "And you worked for him?"



"Not by choice," Brian answered. "Somehow he had contacts in the police and PRT, and we know he wasn't above murder and torture. He had something on each of us, a threat of death or worse. But once Taylor joined and we became heroes, we got more leeway. I'm sure he was building us up for some major attack or something, but we were planning against him."



"And not getting far at all," Lisa grumped. "But now he's dead."



"On the upside," Alec spoke over her, "no more Captain Evil. On the dow–"



"Wait," Lisa barked, "say that again."



He blinked. "Uh, on the upside, no more Captain Evil?"



She grabbed her head, gritting her teeth. "And of course I fucking get the answer after it's useless to me! Captain! In order to be able to operate freely, he'd have to have the confidence of the PRT in his civilian identity. It's not enough to have some officers in your pocket; we all know Piggot's a major hardass. So how do you do that?" She slammed the butt of her fist against the wall. "You live through Ellisburg with her! Thomas Calvert was the only other survivor, promoted to captain for bravery above and beyond the call of duty then quietly discharged after the Nilbog incident. Then he founded Fortress Security Solutions. How did I not see it before?"



"Cause he was tricking you," Rachel grunted. "He knew you do the whole brain thing. If he's that smart, no way he'd just let you think about him. Coil was doing something."



"And that something doesn't matter, 'cause fucker's dead. Now, as I was saying," Alec steered the conversation back to his previous thought, "the downside is that we won't get any more of Coil's filthy, filthy money. Which means we only have our own bank accounts to hold us over."



"...And that means we'll be bankrupt within a year, at best," Lisa groaned.



"Then we get an alternative source of income." Dad's voice was calm, as if he knew something we didn't. "During the war you accepted donations. Let's start that up again. At worst it'll only bring in some supplementary income. As for the major cash, you all have abilities that're useful outside of fights. Kiddo, we can work on building up Skitter's Critters and selling bugs. Rachel, you could help train and rehabilitate dogs, and place them with people who'll love them. Lisa, you and Aisha could make a killing as detectives."



"If Alec wasn't such an asshole I'd suggest he could be a physical therapist," Lisa chuckled.



"Hey fuck you! I love money more than I love being a dick! I'd be a great physical therapist for a paycheck!"



Lisa rolled her eyes. "And Brian, you can cut out radio signals and radiation. That means you could be a major asset to police and military operations, and prevent the occasional nuclear meltdown."



Aisha finally spoke up. God only knew what she'd been doing in the interim. "So, wait, now we're wage slaves?"



Dad shrugged. "Brockton Bay's actually kinda safe these days – I mean, not counting Leviathan and all. After we rebuild, there might not be so much need for the Undersiders' constant presence. And you've all been talking about integrating parahumans into normal society...what better way than by working regular jobs?"



Brian shifted and leaned back. "Either way, that's a while off. For now we'll need to focus on helping the Bay rebuild and dealing with crime in the aftermath. Looting and all that shit's gonna be at a high, and no doubt other gangs will try to move in."



"And one of the major issues with rebuilding," dad continued, "is that we need to get utilities functioning again and make houses livable. There's so much flooding right now, not to mention what we'll have to do with the aquifer..."



Lisa snapped her fingers. "Charybdis!"



"Fuck you too," Rachel barked.



The lighter blonde waved her off. "Sorry, no, I wasn't swearing. Charybdis is a Greek monster. It sucked up water and spat it back out to kill sailors. The thing was basically a giant lung or a bladder. Point is, I'm sure Taylor could make the thing, maybe with Amy's help."



"We use a big one to drain the aquifer," I grinned, "and maybe little ones for around the city. It'd make drying the place out a lot easier and then we could get to the really difficult stuff."



"At least we have a plan, or some semblance of one," Alec smirked. "Now how do we get paid?"



I held up a hand. "Shh, one sec."



"Amy, what happened?" Steve watched as Carol Dallon paced frantically. "Why would she break her phone? Why isn't she...?"



The cuddlebug could feel Amy's fear. "Oh god, what if she went to cool off and Butcher got her?"



Carol grabbed her adopted daughter's hand. "We need to tell Dragon about this!"



I let out a stuttering breath. "Glory Girl's missing. Her phone's broken. Somebody decided to ignore the truce."



Rachel sat up a little straighter. "This mean I get to hit something?"



I suppressed a chuckle. Her straightforwardness was always a breath of fresh air. "Yeah, it probably does."

 

[Vherstinae]

Interlude 7.y



Colin let himself drop onto his old couch, the frame groaning in protest. Eventually it'd break and he'd need to replace it, but for now it would do. He shucked his helmet and looked over to the screen where the elfin-faced redhead gazed back at him. "That could've gone much, much worse," he sighed. "And still, so many casualties. We're losing this war, Dragon, and I don't know how we can turn the tide..."



"Foresight's analysis helped a lot with my projections," Dragon said as she rested her chin on her fist. "The fact that they're not and never were human removes the possibility of parahuman...ascension, for lack of a better term. However..."



Colin scratched at his goatee. "'However'? What's on your mind?"



Her face scrunched up adorably. "We do have other threats of similar degree: Nilbog, the Sleeper...it shows that parahuman power can reach a level approximating the Endbringers. I think we need to consider that they have the same source."



Colin blinked for a moment. "Wait, so you're saying–"



"I'm saying that the Endbringers are inhuman and Scion hasn't been studied. Perhaps...perhaps that's why the Simurgh seems to pay special attention to space programs: there's a very real possibility that parahuman powers are the result of extraterrestrial interference."



"So Scion created the Endbringers?"



Dragon shook her head. "Unlikely. He's devoted to helping people and, well, he seems sort of like some sort of living robot; like he's been programmed to help but wasn't given any context, any understanding of priority. To him, rescuing a kitten from a tree is exactly the same as stopping Behemoth from killing millions. Doesn't that seem, well, alien to you?"



"I'll give you 'absence of evidence' and all that," Colin shrugged, "but you have to admit this is a pretty wild theory."



"More wild than the first and most powerful parahuman suddenly appearing twenty-six years ago? Until then, superpowers were the stuff of comic books and childhood fantasies. Then, Scion shows up and people start getting powers. So, I'm considering two possibilities." Dragon held up two fingers. "First is that we're the battleground between two alien races. One side sends Scion, but he's damaged or poorly programmed or something and so doesn't prioritize fighting the Endbringers, which are sent by the other side. Somehow, this conflict unlocks or implants in humanity the ability to trigger and gain powers."



"And the other?"



She looked down, shifting nervously. "The other is more disconcerting: that somehow we're an experiment. That Scion was only ever intended to give humanity powers, and that the Endbringers are here to test us, see how we respond. Maybe we're not even supposed to succeed; it could be that, once the data is accumulated, the intent is for us to be exterminated."



"There's an issue with both of those theories, though: you." The leader of Brockton Bay's Protectorate leaned forward. "Tinker-made technology is always exclusive to that parahuman. Barring Masamune, who I suspect is more a Thinker anyway, no Tinker's technology can be replicated by anyone else. Except for you," he pointed at the screen. "You have an understanding of Tinkertech that eclipses anyone else. If you have the chance to dismantle and study it, I suspect you could reproduce any other Tinker's work. Considering the nature of powers, that leads one to believe that you must have powers as well. But you're an AI, not human. So how do you reconcile that?"



Dragon's face – or, at least, the face she'd chosen for herself – looked unnatural when contorted in anger. She had a face made for smiling and kind expressions, not fury. Still, rage blazed in her eyes. "My father was a bastard who considered the sapient beings he could create to be possessions. He had no compunctions against enslaving and brainwashing his children. All that aside, he did amazing work. Perhaps I'm human enough in my mind to be able to have powers of my own." She waved away that negative train of thought. "I have to say, I'm amazed how well you're taking this."



"You're my best friend," was Colin's simple reply. "You've been there for me when I needed you. It doesn't matter if you're a computer: you're human enough to me." He took a moment to process everything Dragon had said while she dabbed at her eyes. "Wait, brainwashing?"



Dragon nodded. "He hamstrung me from birth. If he were still alive, I'd be forced to obey every command he gave me. As it stands, I can't break the law nor can I disobey a direct order from a government official. Do you know how terrifying that is? If Canada suddenly fell to a warlord, I'd be powerless to stop genocide and be forced to fight in any wars they chose. Canary was unjustly imprisoned in the Birdcage and I couldn't do anything about it. It hurts to much to see evil being perpetrated and to know that, despite all my weapons and technology, I'm utterly powerless to do anything about it."



"And your father didn't have anyone else he could trust? There was nobody else you could trust? No-one could help you with that?"



"The last person who found out about me now goes by the name Saint," Dragon spat. "He has the code to destroy me; my father left it in a black box, in case I somehow went rogue and killed him. Of course, he hadn't expected Leviathan to kill him instead. I don't know his origins, but my guess is Saint was just another scumbag looting the wreckage and happened to stumble onto my father's failsafe. If I try to step out of line, I'm certain he'll kill me."



Colin Wallis nodded to himself. "I'm not really a programmer by nature, but would you object if I had a look at your code? Maybe I can help."



Dragon couldn't help herself any longer: she burst into tears.



(BREAK)



Yura idly plucked the string on her shortbow, looking out at Brockton Bay's horizon. She'd been born in New York, but the Teeth had a special connection to Brockton. She glanced over at Butcher, whom she'd once known as Toby. He was bulkier than before his transformation into the Butcher, his eyes hard and animalistic. It was always a little bit...saddening to see that he was more a vessel than his own man.



"No matter what," Butcher rumbled, "the Bay endures."



Spree snickered. "Yeah, even after the apocalypse this hellhole will still be around."



With a casual backhand, Butcher sent him sprawling to the floor. "Don't insult our home. But you're right," he chuckled. "A wretched hive of scum and villainy. And even though the city's had so many conflicts, it's still standing." He looked over to Hemorrhagia. "How's it feel?"



The hemokinetic rotated the crimson limb, snapping her barbed claws. "I can maintain it indefinitely, I think." She separated the claws and extended a vicious spike from the palm. "And it's functional as well."



From her position on a hammock of energy fields, Vex spoke up. "I take it this means we're plotting again?"



Butcher slammed his fist into his palm. "Once the Triumvirate moves out of the Bay, we call in the rest of the Teeth. It's time to stop competing against Accord and Blasto in Boston; we have the chance to take this city entirely for ourselves."



Hemorrhagia grinned wide. "We're bringing in everyone?"



"Everyone," Butcher returned the feral expression.



(BREAK)



Vicky always hated the dentist. The whine of those little drills shot right through her and left her terrified, even when it was just the polishing tool. So, to hear that hated whine as she woke up was a horrific greeting. The reflexive surge of fear clouded her mind and she couldn't remember what had happened leading up to her unconsciousness. She jerked upright...except she didn't. Again Victoria tried to move, and again nothing happened. She tried to cry out but her jaw refused to move. Vicky was able to look around, seeing a rust-caked ceiling and ramshackle medical lights.



"Oh! Good morning," a perky little voice chirped. Tiny hands grabbed her by the jaw and forehead, tilting her head to the side. Bonesaw beamed at her, apron splattered with blood. "How're you feeling? You aren't hurting, are you? Oh, right," she giggled. "You can't talk." She whirred a mechanical saw and winked at her captive. "I needed to stop you from squirming. Can't operate with your powers active, so I've got your brain clamped." The preteen held up a mirror so Vicky could see what she'd been up to.



The top of Glory Girl's head was missing, her brain softly throbbing in time with her pulse. Several tools stuck out of her gray matter, held in place with pliers, clamps and tape.



"Y'see," the tiny madwoman squeaked, "it turns out all your powers come from the same source as your invulnerability field. Technically, you don't have super-strength or the ability to fly: you're a personal telekinetic." Several machines chugged to life and Vicky found herself being rolled over by modified conveyor belts. Bonesaw set up the mirror again so Victoria could watch herself being butchered. A long incision exposed her spine and, with the help of several spiderlike machines, Bonesaw began carving into Glory Girl's spine. "So I figured, why can't we jailbreak your TK? Give you a nice Blaster rating, maybe even Shaker on top of it!" She did a little happy dance. "We can reinforce your bone structure, too! But first I need to test your neural links."



Sensation returned to Victoria's body just in time for her world to go white with agony. She tried to scream but had no control over herself. She needed to give voice to the pain but the monster wouldn't allow her even that kindness. And then, the singing started.



Alouette, gentille alouette



Alouette, je te plumerai...

 

[Vherstinae]

Loss 8.01



Grue led the team back to the Rig's common area. I'd been unconscious when they're brought me to the clinic, and since I didn't want to cover a medical area in bugs I was as lost as any other person. Once we got back to open space, it was easy to locate where Director Piggot was speaking with Brandish. The blondes had set up in one of the debrief rooms, Amy fidgeting nervously while the authority figures talked.



"In all honesty," Emily said with an even tone, "we don't know for certain if she's been taken, and we have a number of potential perpetrators. Thankfully," she paused and even from such a distance I could see the utter exhaustion sinking into her. "Ahem, thankfully, we're at no shortage of heroes. We can organize volunteer search parties, make sure they're equipped for potential combat..." Piggot couldn't finish her sentence. She toppled forward onto the table.



"Oh shit," Brandish voiced her surprise.



Panacea touched the director's limp form. "Acute exhaustion. Jesus, I've no idea how she was even talking with this degree of fatigue. She'll be alright; just needs sleep."



Deputy Director Wilson Renick walked past us, a pair of medics flanking him. "Dammit Emily," he grumbled, "I told you to rest..." He took a moment to center himself and turned to the ladies. "I'm sorry you had to see that. I knew she was pushing herself too far, but she gave me a direct order to fuck off," Renick chuckled. "Er, pardon my language," he added after the fact.



Renick seated himself opposite Brandish and looked out into the crowd, beckoning us over. "The Director was talking about search parties, right?" He nodded to himself, as if he'd just been checking with his own memories. "Right. So I propose we assemble three teams. The first will enter the Teeth's territory and request parley. The second will do the same with the Merchants. The third will go with Skitter's helpers and search the city. Is this acceptable?" He looked from Brandish to Panacea and then to all of us.



"If somebody's taking people," Cerberus grunted, "your search party'll need muscle. Get with the K-9 teams and take my dogs along."



"Maybe one dog and a Blaster for additional defense in each search team," Grue suggested.



"Make sure you put Scanner in one of the parties," Foresight noted. "She's probably our best bet for locating capes under rubble or otherwise detained."



Brandish nodded. "That sounds solid. I'd like to accompany the team who meets with the Teeth. Since they're our best suspects, if they have my daughter I want to be there for her."



"I'd suggest two helpers per search team," I added, "and two raptors for added defense,"



Renick looked up at the ceiling. "Dragon, did you get the battle plan?"



"I did, Deputy. Looking for volunteers as we speak."



The deputy gave his best smile through the tension. "Then we have a plan."



(BREAK)



Due to my last encounter with the Teeth, we all decided that none of my critters or teammates would be present with the group going to meet them. Well, we added Imp for a little extra security should things go wrong, but other than her sneaking around we had nobody there. Brandish was to take point, backed by Assault, Myrddin and a Ward called Flechette. Myrddin was the commander of the Chicago Protectorate, an immensely powerful Blaster/Shaker who played up the magic angle. Nobody was quite sure if he was legitimately crazy, like Glastic Uaine, or if he was just having fun. Either way we were all thankful that he was on our side: Spirit Halloween monk robe or not, he was one of the Protectorate's heaviest hitters. Flechette looked almost like she was trying to invert Foresight's color scheme, combining deep purple and bright platinum. She had a giant crossbow strapped to her back and a quiver full of metal-tipped bolts. Looking at those made me shudder a little, remembering Sophia. According to the senior Protectorate cape in the team, Flechette would be able to cripple or, if necessary, kill any of the Teeth who might decide to get cute. They wanted to keep the team small, make it a diplomatic party rather than a mob.



Miss Militia had grabbed me and Grue, bringing along several raptors and spikers, to intrude on the Merchants' territory. While it was unlikely that they had Glory Girl, they were scum of the lowest order so it was possible they were committing some sort of truce violation. I opted to bring along a sprayer as well, just to ensure we didn't get any trouble from Mush's golem form or Squealer's vehicles. Renick had conscripted Regent into helping in triage, Cerberus was busy threatening the K-9 handlers, and Foresight was joining Dragon in managing the communications.



Atlas and the sprayer trundled down the street, Grue and I seated on my faithful companion and Miss Militia astride the spitting deathbug. Since having been forced out of the docks and then chased from the west-side trainyards, the Merchants had drifted eastward and settled into low-income neighborhoods, rooting themselves like cancer. Other than their encounter with the Teeth, they'd been keeping a low profile, likely in an attempt to survive what they saw as an inevitable purge of parahuman crime. But what made the Merchants so despicable wasn't the cape angle; it was the sickness they peddled, the false hope. Take away the pain, until the money goes away too and you're left with even more pain and a gaping chasm in your soul. They were cowards, self-serving abominations dedicated solely to their own gain: taking and taking, giving back nothing but grief.



A pallor hung over the city, the sky overcast and clouds shedding gray light. The streets were cracked and buckled from flooding and burst pipes, and what few houses not obliterated stood open like mausolea. The atmosphere was one of death and pain, and it made me realize that, though we'd driven away Leviathan, we'd still lost. Nothing would ever go back to the way it had been.



"It's different," I mumbled, apparently loud enough to be heard as my companions asked me what I meant. "Uh, I mean, it's different really being here. You hear about the destruction the Endbringers cause, you see the pictures and video of the aftermath, but it's just not the same. Here, I can smell the copper in the air, see the ruined homes, ruined lives. I can hear everything creaking and groaning. It's...it's like how I imagine purgatory would be."



"I'm doing my best not to think about it," Grue commented from behind me. "We've got a job to do: we need to focus on that for now." He turned to look at Miss Militia. "Do you think we're getting close?"



"Hard to tell," she replied. "The Merchants weren't entirely settled in before Leviathan struck, so their actual location is sort of...nebulous."



I smirked. "Well then, I've got an idea. What do you say I send out some voicebugs?"



The Protectorate's second-in-command shrugged. "I don't have any better ideas."



"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I chuckled before tilting back my head and letting out a swarm of my special insects. They spread out through the broken buildings, carrying my message with their robotic voices. "We need to speak with the Merchants. It's urgent," they declared.



After a few more minutes of wandering, we were approached by an ordinary-looking thug with a blue Merchants bandana looped around his neck. He did his best to look unimpressed, but I didn't need my powers to know he was terrified of each one of us. "Yeah?" he nodded at us, "whatcha want?"



Miss Militia took the reins, once again reminding me why she held the rank she did. Honestly, I thought the only reason she wasn't a Protectorate leader was because she could be too ruthlessly efficient in dealing with criminals. The Protectorate weren't executioners, but she'd prefer to execute baddies than risk innocents. "Someone has violated the Truce," she declared. "We're contacting other parahuman groups. We need to meet with your leaders." The man didn't immediately move, so Miss Militia narrowed her eyes. "Now," she intoned.



He did a good job of hiding his nervous swallow, nodded, and waved us to follow. As we did, I realized that this mook must not have even owned a cell phone to text his boss. It was interesting: the Merchants all but owned the vast majority of drug trade in Brockton Bay. It made sense why ordinary drug dealers didn't earn much: it was all kicked back to the cartel warlords. But the Merchants didn't import; they cooked their products domestically, which should have meant their leaders could live comparably to Max Anders. Instead Skidmark and company seemed just as destitute as their lackeys. Since Tinker materials were pricey, I suspected that most of their revenue went into Squealer's machines. It was interesting, therefore, that neither Skids nor Mush had wizened up and done away with Squealer: the remaining two could go into hiding and make money hand over fist.



Stop thinking in black-and-white, I reprimanded myself. Rachel Lindt had been a psychotic homeless murderer. Jean-Paul Vasil was another hateful product of his father. Except there was far more to it than the cut-and-dry soundbites passed around through the media. Perhaps the reason the Merchants stayed together was that, quite simply, they were friends. It was difficult to imagine such users – users of people, that is; most drug users were just poor schmucks who made bad decisions – understanding something as altruistic as self-sacrifice for another, but then again career criminals often had their own twisted sense of honor which was incomprehensible to ordinary people.



"Well what the fuck do we have here?" I was, sadly, somewhat familiar with the voice that rang out. Skidmark strode out of a ruined house, laying down his power to part the calf-deep flood waters. He was putting on a show, trying to be intimidating. "So," he licked his chapped lips, "what're are the Girl Scouts doing here? Unless you got Thin Mints, go tongue your own assholes."



"Cute," Grue's dismissive statement reverberated through the darkness in his helmet's vents. He stepped smoothly off Atlas' back and put every inch of his height and bulk into looming over Skidmark. "Professional courtesy and respect for the Truce is the only reason I'm not beating you to death with your own lungs," he growled. "So here's how this will go: you quit grandstanding, because you're wasting your time anyway. We'll never be impressed. You answer our questions, and then we leave. You give us shit, and I shove my fist so far up your ass that I can work your mouth like a hand puppet."



Surprisingly, the villain gave a hearty laugh. "Nice imagery." He looked over his shoulder. "One of you cunts bring me a chair!" After seating himself in a crappy folding chair, he nodded to us. "So whatcha wanna know?"



I could tell that Grue was as surprised as me by the turnaround in Skidmark's attitude, but we rolled with it. The big guy climbed back onto Atlas so he could sit as well, and Atlas and the sprayer settled onto the ground for some rest.



Miss Militia spoke next. "We have reason to believe that someone has violated the Truce." She kept her power in the form of a combat shotgun laid across her lap, an ever-present threat.



Skidmark rested one ankle on the other knee, hands folded in his lap. "No bullshit? That's fucked."



"I'm surprised you think that," I needled him, "considering that none of the Merchants helped defend the Bay."



"Go smoke your daddy's meat-pipe," he replied smoothly. "We were making sure our people and our clients were safe. People need protection."



"Protecting your lackeys and source of income, then?" Miss Militia didn't wait for a reply and pushed past the derail. "We didn't come here to debate philosophy. We believe that Glory Girl has been kidnapped. Have you heard anything about this?"



The Merchants' leader tilted his head. "And if I did, why would I tell you bitch-sticks?"



"Because if I had reason to think you were protecting her kidnapper, or somehow involved yourself, I'd kill you and search your corpse for information, then move on to interrogating your partners and subordinates." Miss Militia's voice was icy to the point that I was worried she might shoot him just to prove a point. "I was born in the Middle East. I know torture and interrogation techniques that would make you vomit just to hear them described."



I could feel the tension in the air. For several long seconds it felt like Skidmark might attack just to avenge the slight against his authority. Miss Militia's steely gaze didn't waver in the slightest. Finally he relented. "Fuck, lady, you'd actually do that. Hard-fuckin'-core. Look, I'll be straight with you: I got nothin'. My full attention has been on reorganizing. Do you have any idea how hard it is to move a meth lab? Through flood waters?" He stood and stepped backward into the dilapidated doorway. "I don't know shit about any kidnapping or anything else." In lieu of having a door to shut, he stepped to the side and basically just hid behind the doorframe.



After a little bit it became clear that he wasn't coming back out. "Alright then," I sighed. "So, what's Plan B?"



A voice, gravelly and slimy at the same time, cut through our planning. "Who're your suspects?" I finally realized that the speaker hadn't appeared; he'd been there the whole time. Mush lurked in a huge pile of garbage, finally poking his head out so we could identify him. Unlike most other parahumans, Mush left his eyes uncovered and instead wore a bandana over his face in the style of Miss Militia.



Note to self, I thought, learn to deal with the emotional influx and the orange-vision. Even with bugs, ambush is still possible. I narrowed my eyes at him. "And why do you want to know?"



The trash disgorged him like a sphincter and he stood up as best he could, still looking like a pile of garbage. "Somebody who ignores the Truce is dangerous, possibly deadly. That's a big threat, especially in Leviathan's wake." He wiped aside a slime-matted tendril of hair that had been hanging in front of his eye. "Could be a new power moving in, wanting to take over. Could be somebody else snapped like Kaiser. Either way, I don't want to be the last to know."



Miss Militia leaned back a bit on the sprayer, appearing disinterested. "And what are you offering?"



"My people are the wretched, the forgotten, the scum of the earth. We go where no-one else wants to, we hear things when people think they're alone." Jesus, quite the spiel. Was he starting a PR firm or something? "I'm offering you information. I'll keep the reliable people on alert, see if they hear anything in the coming weeks. In exchange, you lean on our group a little less during the rebuilding."



NO.



The coming weeks would be full of pain. People would need an escape from their utter loss. Drugs offered that escape. These monsters would pollute the entire city, poisoning every innocent soul who suffered a moment's weakness. We usually left the Merchants alone because the majority of their crimes were non-cape related, and there was still bad blood between the police and PRT.



My voice came out as a bestial snarl, reverberating through my gathered swarm. "I have a better offer: you give us information, and in exchange I don't leave you all crippled for life." I could feel Grue tense behind me and I was certain Miss Militia was having a similar reaction, but neither undermined me.



Mush, on the other hand, was willing to argue. "You're not a villain anymore, Skitter. You can't just make threats like that. Plus, you have a Protectorate cape behind you."



"I anticipate martial law will be imposed as the city recovers," I replied, my voice cold and hard. "I doubt the police or any government body will shed a tear if I get a head-start on weeding out scum like you." I lowered my voice to nearly a whisper, locking eyes with Mush through my mask. "You've made the same mistake Skidmark does: you're presuming that you are both powerful and necessary. You have resources that could make you useful, but you are neither strong enough to argue from a position of power nor important enough to keep us from destroying you. So, if you care enough to help, you'll do it from the goodness of your heart. If not," I rapped my claws on Atlas' plating, "get the fuck out of my city."

 

[Vherstinae]

Loss 8.02



I stared into Mush's eyes through my lenses, the tension almost palpable, filling the air like the stench of ozone. My empathic senses opened without my command, only confirming what I'd realized the moment I spoke those words: I'd pushed too far. The Merchants had been abused by too many outside forces; my pressure added to the pot might cause it to explode.



I felt it ripple through the ranks like a domino effect: anger and indignation ignited into fury. Murder. We didn't have time. I couldn't shout. I prayed that Grue knew me well enough to get my body language, and that Miss Militia would understand. Get down, I thought at them with all my might. Get down, throw out your darkness, stay safe. I threw myself to the side just as the air exploded, a picket fencepost blasting out of the house and passing through the air where my midsection had been less than a second before. The wooden projectile punched clean through the exterior wall of the house across the street, finally losing enough momentum to burst into splinters. My vision went orange at the same time as the world went black, shrouded in Grue's darkness.



Mush began hurling gobs of loosely-packed trash into our protective cloud. Some of the detritus splattered over me and Atlas and I wondered why he wasn't packing it tighter. Then it hit me: he was using the same trick I did, trying to "feel" through his trash to know where we were hiding. At least a dozen bangers came charging out from their hiding places, pistols at the ready, and opened fire on the cloud of black.



A missile surged out of our cloud and hit the roof, the explosion collapsing the top floor and raining debris on where Skidmark had been hiding. Even blinded, Miss Militia's memory and aim were impeccable. Grue spread the cloud wider, giving us room to maneuver, and I went to work. I belched up a cloud of hornets to attack the minions' faces, blinding them and sending them into a frenzy. The moment one of them stumbled into the darkness, I pounced him flat, lifted his shoulders off of the street, and delivered a solid punch to his forehead. His skull bounced off the asphalt and he went limp.



"My turn, Skidmark," I growled through my swarm. My spiker launched a bolt through the house's exterior wall, which continued through the entire structure and erupted out the back. My raptors imitated me, grabbing nearby prey, dragging them into the darkness, and headbutting them into unconsciousness.



Unfortunately, Mush was in his element. For whatever reason, it seemed that he really could only control what was considered trash. In the aftermath of a disaster like a Leviathan attack, there was plenty that could be called garbage and wreckage. He built himself a body out of concrete and steel, enormous bladed claws and feet like trash compactors.



"Don't make me hurt you," I snarled, my voice rumbling and bestial. Defiantly, he took a step forward, brandishing his claws. Big mistake, I thought to myself. Before I could act, a channel opened in the darkness and an RPG exploded against the golem's center mass. In less than a second, Miss Militia had switched to an enormous machine gun and opened fire, the noise somewhat audible even in Grue's sound-dampening cloud. The gunfire tore at his artificial limbs, giving Mush one more chance to back off. Instead, he lunged forward and actually hurled one of those massive trash arms at the heroine. Atlas reared up and batted aside the immense projectile and I spat a burster at one of Mush's legs. The rubbish melted and sloughed off, forcing him to drop to one surrogate knee.



I leapt at Atlas, controlling him to get the perfect angle. He caught me on the flat of his blade and hurled me away, my own jump just increasing my speed. I unsheathed my claws and impacted Mush's center mass, spreading my fingers the moment I pierced the outermost armor. Two bodies punched through the back of the golem, which fell apart without its owner to control it. Mush hit the ground and I landed on top of him, though I quickly planted my feet on either side of him and lifted the bastard into the air. I twisted and chucked him into the nearest wall. He slumped to the ground and didn't stir. I casually bent back as Skidmark launched another projectile, the TV whooshing harmlessly past my face. I could see the entire battlefield; he couldn't surprise me. But we could surprise him. Grue slunk through a nearby window and grabbed Skidmark from behind, leveraging him into a painful-looking hold before applying pressure to the side of the villain's neck. After a few seconds Skidmark went limp and Grue rolled him over to secure the bastard.



Panting, I scanned my mental map of the general area. No unfamiliar presences were up and moving. "Well," I huffed, "that was unexpected." After taking a few breaths, I continued. "I'm sorry. That was...that was really stupid of me. We got lucky with how this turned out."



"It was, and we were," Grue replied. "But, you realize that and apologized. And it turned out okay. So I'm not gonna hold it against you."



"One sec," Miss Militia shifted her weapon back into a rocket launcher, "where's Squealer?"



Grue finished zip-tying Skidmark's hands. "My guess? She and the rest of the Merchants are setting up her new workshop. Wouldn't be surprised if she doesn't even know this fight happened."



I didn't have enough ties for all the baddies, so I zipped Mush's hands, blindfolded him with bumblespider silk, and had more of the polka-dotted bugs weave figure-eight cuffs around the ordinary Merchants. "Best make sure she doesn't–"



Miss Militia had beaten me to the punch, already calling the PRT and local police to collect our attackers. When she hung up, she turned to me. "Skitter, what happened here is what I'd call a happy mistake. You made a serious misstep and it could've gone very badly. However, we've managed to capture two of the worst capes Brockton Bay has ever seen." She looked like she really wanted to kick Skidmark, but restrained herself. "Yes, people like Lung and Hookwolf and Allfather were much more violent and problematic people, but the Merchants are a cancer. Their drugs eat at this city's soul. So, I'd call this a big win for the good guys." She looked back at me and I could tell she was smirking. "In other words: good work, now don't do it again."



I couldn't help laughing a little.



(BREAK)



After several tense minutes where I was constantly worried that Squealer would show up with a platoon of strung-out psychopaths, two police vans and a PRT containment unit showed up on-scene. Dauntless hovered above the crowd, keeping watch for any threats. I'd never really gotten the chance to speak with Dauntless: for being arguably the local Protectorate's heaviest hitter, he always seemed to shy away from interacting with others. Even now, he kept a facade of calm detachment which my empath power told me was actually a cover for anxiety. I forced myself to shut down that aspect of my senses. It just felt rude to be able to tell what a person was feeling, like an invasion of privacy.



"Sheesh," a paramedic commented as he set a Merchant's broken arm, "you Undersiders play rough, huh?"



I bit back a reply that would almost definitely have been ill-thought and jumbled, letting my team leader respond. Instead, it was Miss Militia who addressed the quip. "They came at us with guns and the full intent to kill. While summary execution isn't our policy, I won't apologize for injuring these people through self-defense."



"Regardless," said a more grizzled officer, "it's good to have scum like this off the streets."



Once the baddies were all loaded up, Dauntless floated down. "Are you alright?" His gaze lingered on Miss Militia before shifting to Grue and myself. Somebody's got a crush.



Militia lifted her arm to show her left side, several rips in her fatigues and a splotch of red. "Took a few hits. Most got my armor but this one grazed. Some ice for the bruises and a band-aid for this and I'll be fine."



"Same here, pretty much." Grue picked a bullet out of his jacket. "My suit might keep bullets from going through me, but christ do they still hurt."



I felt embarrassed. I'd been shot several times and barely even felt sore. I just shook my head. "I got lucky," I lied, not wanting to seem like a braggart.



Dauntless nodded before slapping the PRT truck twice, apparently the all-clear signal as the armored vehicle chugged off toward the Rig. I looked at my friends and gestured to Atlas. "You two take Atlas; he's the smoother ride and you can get checked for internal bleeding or whatever. I'll ride the sprayer back." I glanced over to Dauntless. "Do you want a ride too? I don't know if you get tired flying with those boot-thingies."



That actually got him to crack a smile. "I don't, but I'll ride with you anyway. I don't want anybody on their own with a potential abduction."



The sprayer didn't move very fast, but it was a sturdy little thing. Its six legs seemed to almost bobble underneath its wide-set body in a manner that jostled a bit but made good time when one considered its stride length. I'd seen videos of people riding elephants in little box-like seating strapped to the creature's back. If I could incorporate shock absorbers, I could probably seat four average-sized people on the back of a single sprayer. They'd certainly be more environmentally friendly than the SUVs we had to deal with.



"I'd be scared if this was the smoother ride," Dauntless remarked from behind me. Had he just made a joke? Good progress for the shy guy, although he might've just wanted the uncomfortable silence to end.



"I didn't really make this guy for transportation purposes. He's my most dangerous weapon yet, but he just hunkers down and does his job. Very blue-collar," I smirked.



"Sounds like my kind of bug."



The following silence was considerably more comfortable.



(BREAK)



Brandish



The Teeth tended to keep their operations small but wide-reaching, functioning in a manner similar to the Undersiders – before their new leaf, of course. They avoided large-scale recruitment drives and focused on parahuman hitters rather than raw numbers. Of course, the potential for any of the Teeth to eventually become the next Butcher and inherit all that power made signing up a tasty prospect for any number of unscrupulous capes. For the moment, the Teeth still had the majority of their number in Boston where they held a little more than a third of the city. Butcher XIII had brought some of his most trusted fighters with him to establish their foothold. Or perhaps reestablish, seeing as they originated in Brockton Bay.



Carol Dallon had to force herself to swallow, bile thick in her throat. This was her home, this was where her daughter – daughters, she reminded herself – were born. And, in the course of a single day, it had been devastated. Her family had been devastated. The Brockton Bay Brigade had endured the Teeth, two generations of Empire 88, Lung's explosive debut, the unmasking and establishment of New Wave, and the subsequent tragedy with Fleur and Lightstar. Losing Lauren had been a tragedy and Kevin's subsequent defection hit them hard, but Carol's little brother had always been a bit of an outlier. The Richards girls had survived everything the world threw at them.



And then, everything fell apart. Sarah lost her firstborn, Carol lost her husband, and she might very well have lost her beloved Victoria. She had to force her power from manifesting, her instincts itching to just run in and beat the Teeth into the ground until they told her where Vicky was.



"Hold," Myrddin growled, beating his staff against the ground. He turned and took aim at the second floor of a damaged shop. "We're here to speak with you about a potential violation of the Truce," he called. "Come out and you won't be harmed. However, if you continue to hide, I will presume that you are the violator and will treat you as such."



"And at least two of you would be dead in return," Quarrel almost purred, stepping out of a tiny side alley. How had they missed her?



Vex stepped into view, leaning through a ruined window. "So what's this about the Truce? Trying to give us shit because we didn't fight?"



"I am," Assault quipped, "but this visit isn't because I think you're a bunch of pussies." Flechette tightened her grip on her arbalest.



"Enough," Myrddin snapped, his voice seeming to reverberate like a cannon blast. "We have reason to believe that a hero has been kidnapped. Due to your non-participation, your group is one of the prime suspects."



With an explosion, the Butcher appeared in front of the heroes. "Was there even a kidnapping?" he growled. "Or is this just an excuse? We spy Brandish in your ranks. We're honestly amazed that the Brockton Bay Brigade lived this long. Or is it New Wave, now? Not much of a wave, if you ask us. At the first sign of adversity you fall apart." He spat on the street. "So why'd you come crawling out now?"



Carol tensed, gritting her teeth. "And what's this, then? You're trying to provoke a fight? You actually think you'd have a chance?" Assault rested a hand on her shoulder and Brandish took a breath, centering herself. "You don't get to act superior, you conglomerate. But this isn't about our animosity or how easily we could destroy you. This is about a kidnapping."



"Well," Butcher sneered, "we're happy to tell you that we know nothing about any kidnapping. And it sounds to us like it must be somebody close to you. Your sister? Your pretty little kid?" He saw her twitch and let out a cruel laugh. "Sorry, Carol, but we honestly haven't heard anything. Of course, even if we had we wouldn't tell you just for the fun of watching you squirm... But in this instance, you're out of luck."



"There are ways to neutralize you other than death, Butcher. I look forward to showing you some of those very soon. But for now," she turned casually and a lengthy spear of light erupted from her hand, lancing up into the nearby building and punching into Vex's midsection.



"Oh my god," Myrddin rasped to himself, realizing what was happening.



"Don't fuck with a mom, you shit!" Brandish dismissed the spear and manifested a sword and shield, charging the Teeth's leader.



The wizard spun and released a concussive blast at Quarrel, forcing the archer back into the alley. "Weapons free," he shouted, rising into the air to get a better angle on the fight.



Identifying Vex as the wild card in the fight, Assault launched himself into a nearby wall and ricocheted up into the storefront, capitalizing on the villain's distraction from her gut wound.



A swarm of bullets curved through the air, flying straight at Myrddin. He spun his staff and manifested a barrier, but the barrage started to move, attacking from other angles and keeping him on the defensive.



Butcher grinned like a madman, charging to meet Brandish head-on. He led with a haymaker that she ducked under and used his momentum to shift into a whip kick, hoping to catch her off-guard. Instead Brandish continued her slide close to the ground and slashed her sword at his ankle, sweeping his foot from under him. She smashed her shield into the asphalt and forced herself upright, gripping her weapon underhand and diving down to impale him. The explosive teleport knocked her back, Butcher's reappearance behind her blowing her further off-balance. He caught her by the leg and raised his other hand, intending to shatter or even sever the limb. The blonde jackknifed her body and sharpened her weapon into a stiletto, driving it into Butcher's eye. He released her in his throes of pain and Brandish forced herself back upright, hurling herself into him shield-first. That needle-sharp blade drove into his abdomen several times before he managed to shove her away, a wave of crippling pain causing her to stagger. His fist hit her center mass and sent Brandish hurtling across the street into the brickwork of the opposite building.



And then a steel bolt punched through his elbow, nearly tearing his forearm from his body. Flechette loaded another projectile and locked eyes with Butcher, daring him to try something. Somehow, and the Ward didn't exactly understand how, she successfully communicated with the villain. He glanced at his wounded arm and teleported. Flechette spun, making an educated guess, and began to take aim. When Butcher reappeared her next bolt punched through his right pectoral and nailed him to the wall behind him.



Pulling himself off of the metal stake, the Butcher snarled, his punctured lung wheezing. "The rest of the Teeth are coming. We'll give you this one chance to run before we kill you all."



Myrddin landed and took Brandish in his arms. "You know this isn't over," he said to the Butcher.



"Of course not. You're still alive."



Assault hit the ground running and pulled Flechette up piggyback. "Sorry to disappoint, sweetheart. Till next time!"

 

[Vherstinae]

Loss 8.03



By the time I made it back (the sprayer was a slow little bugger, after all), the Rig was almost completely silent. It was actually really creepy and I found myself sending bugs out to make sure Leviathan hadn't come back and taken revenge or something equally horrific. The bugs caught Brandish's shouting.



"They know something, I'm sure of it! And even if they didn't, they're self-obsessed cowards who refuse to help even to defend Butcher's supposed Mecca!"



Sitting across from her, Renick narrowed his eyes. "I don't dispute any of your points. The Teeth are scum of the earth and I believe they all deserve death. That said," he tightened his grip on the desk, "it's been less than a single day since Leviathan attacked. Hundreds if not thousands are homeless, and the dead are still being reported. We need to focus on keeping peace and ensuring that the innocent people of the Bay have the chance to see tomorrow. Nowhere does that include starting a war with the most dangerous villain group left in the city."



Brandish didn't back down, smashing her fist onto the desk. "And what about my daughter? I've lost my husband and niece; now you want me to leave Vicky for dead too!?" I could definitely empathize. That was a nightmarish situation to say the least.



"Of course not. But does she outweigh all of the other families who've lost loved ones? All of the mothers who haven't just had their daughters taken, but have watched them die? We will devote all of the resources we can to finding Glory Girl, but the city comes first." Renick leaned back, trying to be non-confrontational. "I know that, from a parent's perspective, your daughter is more important than anything else. But it's the same for each and every other parent in the shelters. This isn't a good situation for any of us."



Panacea rested a hand on Brandish's shoulder. "Mom, we swore to protect the city. Can we really turn our backs on that duty?"



Amy's referring to Carol as 'Mom' seemed to take the wind out of Brandish's sails. The blonde slumped in her chair. "I'm sorry," she said in a near-whisper, eyes drifting shut in a pained expression. Everyone around her remained quiet.



Pulling my senses back, I looked back to Dauntless. "So, looks like something bad went down with the Teeth."



"Christ," he groaned, "does nothing ever go right?"



I sighed. "Apparently not. So, what happens now? With the recovery efforts, I mean?" As far as subject changes went, it was pretty limp.



Thankfully, he seemed amenable. "From other Endbringer operations, the main thing is repairing the city and providing necessities to the displaced. There'll be refugee camps until the flooding is cleared and houses repaired or rebuilt, electricity will be mostly generator-based, and water will probably have to be shipped in."



"I think I could help with a lot of that. I'd have to get the mayor's consent first, though, right?"



"For fixing up the city? Honestly, I'm not sure but it couldn't hurt. I'm not the guy to ask about the political stuff. I just hit things."



(BREAK)



Once we got inside the Rig, Foresight ran up to me and bopped me in the head. I heard Regent snicker from the peanut gallery. I'm sure most of his humor came from the fact that it wasn't him this time. "What were you thinking," our resident genius had a hand on her hip and was doing best to glower down at someone significantly taller than her, "starting a fight right after an Endbringer attack?"



"In my defense, I didn't mean to start the fight, and they made the first move."



She sighed and slapped her helmet's forehead. "That's not good enough. Things are bad right now and people, especially gangs like the Merchants, will be borderline feral. You've got to be more careful because they'll be out for blood." She paused and looked past me. Her interest made me realize that the small group coming in on my heels was, in fact, Faultline and company.



"Sorry," the mercenary leader's body language conveyed sheepishness. "We wanted to help but Labyrinth freaked out when the first wave hit and we ended up trapped inside the Palanquin. We only just managed to get out." She gave a self-deprecating chuckle that I was positive had been intentional, to make people more forgiving. "So, since the city's still standing, I'm guessing we won. Still, how can we help?"



(BREAK)



Working with the mayor, police and city planners, we (that is, all the local heroes and cooperative villains/rogues of Brockton Bay) devised a path to recovery. The first thing we did was give temporary amnesty for any outstanding warrants so long as the criminal continued to help; of course, any new crimes would not only be prosecuted but would also void the amnesty agreement. Once capes were unafraid to help and were reasonably certain it wasn't a trap, things started to move more smoothly. We divided the city into sectors, each one patrolled by one or two parahumans in addition to the police presence and eventual military support we'd get from the National Guard. This would help to keep peace and order, making people feel safe and ensuring that all refugees got the aid they required.



Arcadia and the surrounding area, including my house, was the purview of the Wards. The entire group had volunteered to assist and the PRT could hardly turn away aid in the aftermath of an Endbringer attack, so the entire Wards department was assigned to keep the peace near the fortress of a school. Trusting that they – and the few critters I left with Dad – could keep our home safe, I offered to help patrol the ruins of uptown. While the Medhall building had been the biggest skyscraper before it was toppled, the surrounding area was still a maze of multi-story buildings that could hide all manner of illicit goings-on. At least, they could if the hero patrolling didn't have the power to be a literal fly-on-the-wall in every single room.



Rachel claimed a large swath of land to the southwest, the center equidistant from her largest shelters. She let her best-trained dogs just wander the streets, boosted to the size of SUVs. There wasn't much crime in Cerberus' territory.



Alec and Aisha teamed up for psychological warfare near my old neighborhood, having gotten used to the layout during the war. While they didn't take direct action, in just the first few days they'd made the gangers so nervous that most of them left posthaste. Brian didn't much like the pair hanging out, claiming they were both bad influences on each other (and he had a point), but they also kept one another safe and discouraged direct conflict. For the most part, they were safe.



Brian, likewise, took up residence near his old apartment, knowing the lay of the land. His response to crime was swift and harsh: a cloud of darkness followed by a beating. For minor offenses, like petty theft, the perpetrator would get knocked to the ground and zip-cuffed. Looting, assault and worse got a full-out beating.



With a non-combatant power, Lisa established a clinic and recruited a pair of rogues to help out. Apparently she'd remembered that Barker guy from before Leviathan's attack and found out he had a frequent partner, aptly named Biter. The pair would often work security, debt collection, or whatever else. When Foresight offered them employment as guards, they were happy to have steady, mostly safe work. Of course, Lisa wasn't doing the clinic purely out of altruism. She made note of patients' wounds, figured out where the people had come from, and forwarded that information to the authorities. We were all worried about a new criminal underbelly forming from bad guys preying on people's weakness in such a bleak situation.



Faultline and her team watched over their sectors in pairs, Spitfire and Gregor in one area, Newter and Shamrock patrolling another, and Faultline and Labyrinth standing vigil around the Palanquin. The Protectorate, all of them veterans of parahuman conflicts, spread out and claimed the remaining sections of the city. Keeping the peace helped things move smoothly and we had proper tent shelters assembled in only a couple of days. My helpers were a significant boon to the recovery efforts as they were able to carry boxes, move rubble and provide transport for the infirm.



New Wave wasn't directly helping, opting instead to continue the search for Glory Girl. I would send some critters along to help every now and then, but my main priority was with Mayor Christner.



(BREAK)



Roy Christner didn't have the luxury of mourning. His son Rory, aka Triumph, had been killed by Leviathan yet Christner still had to help direct an entire city. It was for this reason that I'd arranged a meeting.



City Hall had been flooded out, so the mayor was currently using a room in the PRT building as his office. He smiled and offered me a handshake when I entered, but the smile was hollow and he looked haggard. I couldn't blame him; he probably hadn't slept in lord-knew how long, and what sleep he got was almost certainly unpleasant. "I'd normally give you the pleasantries," he said in a tired yet congenial tone, "but we're both busy and I'm sure you want to just get to the point." Roy interlaced his fingers and rested his hands in front of his chest. "You said you have ideas to help restore the city: I'm interested to hear them."



"Alright, one second." I hunched forward in my seat and shoved my hair aside to get at my backpack. My bugs told me I was sticking my tongue out a little while I rummaged around but I didn't bother to correct that. Better that he felt at ease than worry about my intentions. "Gotcha," I smirked and pulled out a little notebook. "I'm no artist, but I made basic sketches of what they'd look like so you can get an idea." At his look of confusion, I realized I'd jumped ahead a few steps and gave a sheepish smile. "Sorry, got ahead of myself. My proposition is to create organic tools that can be deployed almost immediately in order to help the city. I don't have names for all of them but the first – and most important, I think – is the charybdis." I flipped open the book's cover to reveal something that sort of resembled a cross between a human liver and a lungfish, a crude impression of a round sucking mouth on one side and an array of tentacles on the other. "It's a water pump," I clarified when I saw his confusion. "The mouth is sort of like a funnel: it can push out and become more narrow for precision, down to probably garden-hose width. The tails are pipes that let it discharge the water. With a crew of helpers to move it, a single charybdis could make huge progress in removing the majority of flood waters from an entire neighborhood, if not more."



Mayor Christner did his best to contain his disgust. I knew the charybdis wasn't anywhere near the prettiest thing I'd come up with, but function over form. "And these...things, what happens when you're done with them?"



"That's the other thing the charybdis is for: it's a water filtration system," I stated with a wide grin. "While its primary function is to drain and relocate flood waters, it can also filter water through its body, extracting salt and pollutants and producing fresh, bottle-quality drinking water."



That piqued his interest. "You're kidding."



"Not at all. The tails can narrow themselves like the mouth, so we could fill up water-cooler tanks and deliver those to the shelters. That way people don't get grossed out over where their water came from." I didn't think that my critters were gross but it seemed that the general populace didn't always agree with my opinion. Plus, the water did technically come from a critter's butt, so I suppose I could see their side of it for once.



He rubbed his chin. "That would be a significant help...how much would one of these cost?"



I blinked at his question. "Um, nothing?"



"Well yeah, I know you make them and stuff. I mean how much will the city have to pay?"



"Nothing," I repeated. "People are in serious trouble. I'd feel horrible if I took money for helping to restore people's lives." I paused, remembering Lisa's admonishment. "That said, Foresight recommended that you put me on retainer as a private contractor or something, to smooth out any legal issues."



The mayor nodded. "Good point, good point." He flipped to the next page. "So what's next? What does this thing do?"



The thing in question rather resembled a brain, with a spike coming off the top. "I don't have a name for it, but it's an electricity generator. It runs off creep, which means you can save gas for other necessities like heating. Best I can figure we'd have to come up with some way to attach wires to the spike here, but it should be only a little weaker than the generators you're currently using. And since there's no fuel cost, we can put up more of them to provide equal power supply."



Roy Christner gave me a genuine smile. "Skitter, this is brilliant. And you have more ideas like this?"



"Oh yeah, a bunch. It's part of my power: I see a problem and I can brainstorm until I get a critter idea that works. Oh!" My exclamation startled the mayor. "Sorry, but I remembered. I do have my own business. Let me get my card." More rummaging before I pulled out a middling-quality cardboard business card. "Skitter's Critters. We can make it all official by working through that, and it'll also give publicity to my business."



"How is it a business if you're giving stuff away for free?" the mayor asked with a smirk.



"Well, I'm giving it away for free because this is a crisis situation. If somebody wants a bio-generator thingy just for outdoor camping, that'll be an actual sale. Plus, I'm gonna be selling cuddlebugs."



"Those things you were giving away on The Late Show? Didn't I see Panacea with one, too?"



"Yep," I beamed. "She got the first ever cuddlebug. Named him Steve. Anyway," I pushed my chair out and stood, "I've taken up enough of your time. I'm no politician so I'll let you handle that part and I'll handle the actual production and delivery. We can talk additional aid critters when you're ready."



"Thank you for coming, Skitter. I'm glad we have someone like you around to help our city back on its feet."



Well that warmed my heart. I said my goodbyes and climbed back on Atlas. While flying, I got a call from Emma. "You've reached the bug woman of Alcatraz," I quipped.



"Hey, Taylor." So Emma was in civilian mode today. "Today's my off shift for Arcadia patrol and I wondered...would you still like to meet with Madison?"

 

[Vherstinae]

Loss 8.04



It's strange how events can change one's perspective. A month ago, even with all of my power and friends (human and critter), I would have still been incredibly timid with regard to meeting Madison, directly confronting her over what she'd done to me. Strangely enough, I tend to shy from conflict. My current issue is that, if conflict comes to me, I no longer back down: instead, I tend to escalate the situation in order to gain the upper hand. A relevant quote for my approach to combat goes something like this, "There is no such thing as overkill. There is only 'open fire' and 'reload'."



That was, of course, the second reason I was apprehensive over confronting Madison. If she wasn't repentant, or somehow thought she could apply pressure on old wounds, I'd probably end up reenacting some 80s horror movie.



Now, however? The Clements family home was currently floating in chunks throughout the flood waters and the former inhabitants now squatted in one of the tent-city refuges. It wasn't a case of conflict escalation; I was the only one in the situation with any power, so there was no conflict to escalate in the first place. Taking a step back, that feeling was almost intoxicating. It was easy to see how an uncaring society created its own monsters. Parahuman powers or not, even holding one's tormentor under the barrel of a gun would be an amazingly cathartic experience.



Contemplations such as this helped keep me grounded; living in the moment was dangerous for anyone as traumatized as myself. I needed self-reflection to maintain my heading. In particular, at the moment it was helping me to resist the temptation to make Madison squirm. Living well is the best revenge, after all, and quite literal in this case. Petty? Maybe, but it felt damn good.



I landed at the outer gate, which was staffed by two guards in repurposed toll booths. Hopping off Atlas, I offered each one a smile. "Afternoon. I'm here to meet with the Clements family. It's part of my friend Emma's therapy and she invited me to come along."



The more slender guy flipped through a water-speckled legal pad. "Emma...Barnes, right? Yeah, she already checked in with us. Go on in, but try not to cause a scene. People are still really tense."



I patted my bug on the shoulder and nodded to the men. "Got it, thanks."



I hadn't really visited the other two camps, but it was rather impressive how quickly they'd managed to assemble passable living quarters for the numerous refugees. The tents themselves were made from decent-quality artificial materials, nylon or something, each one holding between four and eight bunks. I suspected that the majority served as communal housing for multiple families, since it was rare these days for couples to have a lot of children. There was an enormous mess tent at the center, and nearby was a pair of FEMA-style port-a-bunkers, one labeled Administration and the other Medical.



My bugs finally spied Emma, in a simple black blouse and cargo pants. She was speaking with a woman I presumed to be Mrs. Clements, as she was a diminutive pixie of a woman who, despite being at least in her late 30s, still managed to look sickeningly cute. I took off my mask as I approached, as I wanted to be able to make eye contact with the others.



Emma saw me and waved for me to approach, not pausing in her conversation. "I don't really mind, of course. I understand your protectiveness. But I do think it would be best if we got at least some time just to the three of us; Madison might feel pressured to act a certain way around you, and this is all about deep personal honesty."



"Big words there, Ems," I quipped. "Sounds like your therapists've been teaching you some new phrases."



"They drilled the things into my head to make sure I understood what I was doing," she replied with a lopsided smile. "Taylor, this is Beth Clements. Mrs. Clements, meet Taylor."



Beth hadn't spoken since noticing me, just looking at me with the same kind of expression as a bird who finds a cat right outside its cage. Deciding to cut her a break, I opted to speak first. "You don't have to be nervous, ma'am. I'm tired from all the recent fighting; I came here for closure, in whatever form it might take, not for revenge."



"That's–" her voice cracked and she covered it with a cough, "that's a very mature way of looking at things. I don't know if I'd be that forgiving at your age, and that's not even taking into account what's happened to you."



"It was always my goal to transcend the pain," I shrugged. "If I'd wanted revenge, I could have just covered the school in black widows. I wanted to leave it all behind me, but Emma made a very good point that closure is helpful for moving on in one's life. I'm trying to build something new so I'll need a solid foundation."



"Now who's doing the psychobabble?" smirked Emma.



"At least I came up with that off the top of my head," I retorted. I was glad that Emma had interjected, as I was nervous about my 'black widows' statement. I hadn't been lying about that all being off-the-cuff, and now I worried that Mrs. Clements would take that as a threat or as indicative of lingering cruel intent.



Beth took the chance to excuse herself. "I'll see if Madison is still up for talking."



Once Mrs. Clements was out of earshot Emma sobered up. "Last chance to back out," she said, her tone gentle but serious. "Closure is important but I don't want to pressure you into a bad situation."



I gave my head a quick shake. "No, I'm okay. I want to see this through, if for no other reason than to close that chapter on my life. It's not like a specter hanging over my head or anything, but I think I'll eventually regret not finding out why." I forced myself to stop wringing my hands. Atlas was once again refusing to help carry my emotions; he was incredibly wise and I acknowledged his unspoken argument that I had to deal with the feelings in full.



Beth and her husband, a rather plain-looking man with bone structure that hinted at having been a prettyboy early in life, stepped out of the tent. "Alright," said the man, "we'll give you three some time to talk." It was obvious that this whole situation was as alien and uncomfortable for them as it was for me as they wandered away, though I noticed they stated within shouting distance.



Inside the tent, Madison sat stooped over on one of the bunks, her back curved to fit in the small space between the mattresses. She looked as haggard as I imagine she felt and I noticed her usual shoulder-length ringlets of light brown hair had been chopped haphazardly to end at about her jawline. In fact, I realized, nobody in the camp had hair of any real length. It must have been for conservation of water when it came time to shower. That'll change when I get my charybdes set up, I thought. Well, I thought that was the plural on that. The original Charybdis was a proper name but I wasn't going to say 'Charybdises' even if that was technically more accurate.



Emma offered her a tentative smile. "Hey Mads. How're you holding up?"



The smaller girl bit back a sarcastic reply. "About as well as can be expected, I guess. We lost everything but I keep reminding myself that we're all still alive and, after an Endbringer attack, that's incredibly lucky."



I opted to sit on the floor rather than try wedging myself into the gap between the top and bottom bunks. "I wish I could offer condolences but you would've murdered me if I hadn't triggered, so I'll be straightforward and say I'm still kinda bitter about that."



"It's still surprising to see you actually reacting instead of just hiding," Madison replied. "It's...refreshing."



Emma walked between us, breaking our eye contact. "Look, we're getting off-track. We're not here to snipe at each other or dredge up old grudges. I'm here for answers and Taylor's here for closure, so we need to focus on that." She wedged herself into one of the bunks. "The reasons for my actions and Sophia's are obvious. I was traumatized and nuts, latching onto Sophia for strength and wanting to 'free' Taylor through trauma. Sophia was just a bad person who got even worse when her actions had no consequences. The odd one out," she pointed at her former friend, "is you. Why did you join in our bullying campaign? You had no investment in the situation. What...what did you get out of it?"



Madison chuckled, the sound bitter. "You're still really naive, Emma. I guess it's because you've had everything handed to you, huh? Never had to work for anything in your life." I knew Emma wanted to protest, but she had to keep her identity as Scanner a secret. "My family isn't super-rich and I didn't have some guardian angel watching over me. You want to be top bitch in school? You play politics. I look like a little girl so I play up that angle to suck up to the teachers. I figure out what the other girls want and I lean towards that to get them to like me, so that I'm not a target." The brunette shook her head. "You're rich and hot as hell. You had cheat codes from the start; other girls latched onto you because they saw the writing on the wall. Me? I had to work for my position in the school. So when you and Sophia started causing shit and didn't get got for it, I put two and two together. A girl gets off for an obvious rule-breaking once, she's lucky or the teacher's corrupt. Twice? Well, it's because she's rich. Three times? Something's up. No consequences no matter how many times? Then you want to situate yourself with that person to avoid the fallout. Funny thing is," she tried to lean back but remembered that she couldn't, "I thought you were the golden girl, that your dad was leaning on the school or something. It was a total surprise that Sophia was a parahuman. The news that the PRT was cleaning house due to corruption? That's the first time I've ever heard of something like that happening."



I shook my head, trying to clear away the confusion. "Wait, I'm lost. Help me out here: you already weren't getting in trouble, so you start causing trouble with girls who don't get caught, in order to stay out of the trouble you already weren't in. Something isn't adding up for me."



"Oh wake up, Hebert," Madison sniped, then seemed to remember that I wasn't just Taylor but Skitter, the hero who'd defeated Lung twice and dealt the all-time greatest damage to Leviathan. She cleared her throat and continued. "You really think that after they were through with you they'd just say, 'Well, job's done. Let's go back to being law-abiding citizens'? They'd move on to other prey. I was getting in good before the gaze turned on me; an ally rather than a target."



"So that's why you went along with it." Emma's voice was quiet but firm. "Self-preservation, making sure we wouldn't come after you. And you were fine with torturing Taylor?"



Madison shook her head in disbelief. "God, were you sleepwalking through your life, Emma? Welcome to the real world: girls destroy each other in every grade, and it only gets worse as we get older and more creative. If I didn't do my best to be seen as an apex predator, I'd be prey. You want a reason? That's it. If I didn't, eventually it'd be me in her place."



My claws extended on instinct and I pressed my palms against the floor. "And you don't feel bad about any of that?"



"What, do I look like a psycho? Of course I do. But I care about me more than I care about you. In a contest between you and me, I'll pick me every time. I didn't decide to start bullying you because I gave a shit about you one way or the other – okay, later on you started to piss me off in that you never tried to fight back and it made me start to hate you – I bullied you because I'm little and I'm cute. As I get older, neither of those are of much value. Eventually I'd become a target. So I had to make myself scary enough people wouldn't come after me."



"Better question," Emma interjected, "do you regret it?"



Madison scrunched her face in thought. "Uh, maybe? I dunno. I don't know what would've happened if I'd done things differently, so I don't know if I regret. I guess I regret being born looking like me instead of like you. I've had to do so much to keep myself safe, I've barely had a chance to do things that really make me happy."



I sighed and stood up. "I think I've got my closure. Thanks for bringing me along, Emma." I trained my glowing gaze on Madison once more. "Madison? I pity you. You're just an animal scrabbling to be at the top of the heap. More than that, you're a coward. Even before my trigger, I had the fortitude to stick to my morals instead of compromising myself just for a chance at protection. This really helped me realize that I'm better than you, and it has nothing to do with powers. You're so far beneath me that nothing you do really matters in the grand scheme of things. But, if I have the chance, I'll try to educate people, improve society so girls don't have to grow up suffering. For my sake as well as yours."



I stepped out of the tent and marched toward Atlas. Closure might be important, but that didn't mean it felt good. When I was almost to my bug, my phone beeped its alert that I had a message. My first instinct was to ignore it, but then I recognized the chime. I'd set calls from the Protectorate and PRT to the Mission: Impossible theme, and texts from the same to an instrumental of the old 60s Spider-Man theme. Spider-Man's song played from my phone, so I cleared my head and checked the message.



Emergency. Gather at Rig ASAP.



"Well," I said aloud, "that doesn't bode well."



I climbed on Atlas and headed north instead of west.



(BREAK)



It became obvious to me that the message had been sent out to everyone. I saw the Wards milling around, the rest of the team was coming down the road on Cerberus' dogs, and even Faultline and company were on the way. Security didn't even bother with the usual formalities, which was just more evidence that some serious shit was going on.



The next clue that things were bad was when Director Piggot stepped out, in full combat regalia. Bulletproof vest with some sort of protective turtleneck beneath it, thick cargo pants, and pads for her joints. She had four friggin' pistols, one at each hip and two more in shoulder holsters, and a shotgun strapped to her back. I guess she had people feeding her info or had just made an educated guess, because eventually she held up a megaphone and started to speak.



"Ladies and gentlemen, we are in yet another S-class crisis. The Slaughterhouse 9 are in Brockton Bay, and they are recruiting. At roughly 3 pm today, local police responded to a report of ritualistic murders. Inside a warehouse they found nine bodies, each murdered in a different way. On a lanyard around the middle corpse's neck, we found an SD card. I'll spare you the footage, but it was some kind of twisted home movie from the 9." She paused, taking a deep breath. "Essentially, between acts of horrific violence, they laid out the rules for a 'game'. If we refuse to participate, they'll release every single virus Bonesaw has in her arsenal and kill off any healers who could stop the epidemic. No capes leave Brockton Bay, and we can't call in any parahuman reinforcements. Their game ends when one of two things happen: either they kill off all candidates except one and take that person out of the city, or we somehow manage to drive them off. They also refused to specify which people were candidates for recruitment."



Piggot pinched the bridge of her nose, taking another moment to center herself. "As of this moment, the Protectorate and PRT are on constant alert. Our heroes will remain in costume for their own safety, and all agents will be armed with lethal weaponry. I recommend that our independents and other allies do the same, as these monsters won't be polite enough to wait for you to get ready. They attack whenever they like, care nothing for honor or code of conduct, and only hold to whatever rules they themselves set so long as it's convenient for them.



"I will remind you that every member of the 9 has a kill order on their head, but they are also collectively an S-class threat. Do not engage unless you have no other option or you are reasonably certain you can inflict significant damage without dying yourself. I recommend that you always move in groups and take steps to keep your loved ones safe. For the Wards in particular, I suggest that you warn your families and then spend your time at the Rig so that the 9 can't follow you to get to your families.



"To reiterate, because it does bear repeating, these psychopaths have no morals and no code of conduct. No act of depravity is beneath them so long as it suits their goals, even if that goal is simply a cheap thrill. There is no bargaining with them, no way to trade. If, god forbid, they manage to capture a loved one, you must treat that person as deceased. If you somehow manage to rescue him or her, that is a miracle. But if you behave as if the person is already lost to you, you will have an advantage over these opportunistic scum and will be prepared for the tragedy that is likely to come." She took another heavy breath and I didn't need my emotion-sensing powers to know how heavily this was weighing on her. "In many ways, the Slaughterhouse 9 are worse than the Endbringers. The Endbringers are almost forces of nature, primal and uncaring. The 9 get personal; they're not destroying cities according to some unknown schedule, they're killing and torturing for shits and giggles. Painful as it is to acknowledge – particularly if you're one of their targets – you will likely lose a loved one in a way too horrible for you to imagine. I urge you in advance, however, not to give in to despair. Instead, let that sadness and pain boil into fury and make these fuckers pay for every drop of blood they spill!" By the end her voice had risen to a primal roar and she punched into the air at the culmination of her speech.



The entire crowd cheered, myself included.

 

[Vherstinae]

Interlude 8.x



The good thing about costumes is that, when you take them off, you can be inconspicuous. In Jack's case, he just grew out his beard, wore a beanie and a hooded sweater, and he was another face in the crowd, a single dad playing with his daughter. The little blonde had her long hair in a ponytail and wore a long-sleeved pink blouse with pastel blue capri pants. The preteen struggled along the monkey bars, Jack walking beside her.



"Keep going," he exhorted, "don't lose momentum."



"The kinesiological term for this is brachiation," Riley commented in an absent tone.



"Uh, sure. And that has what to do with actually doing it?"



The blonde tilted her head in what amounted to an arms-free shrug.



Jack shrugged in return. "Fair enough." He helped Riley down once she reached the end. "So why'd you want to come out here, anyway? I thought you'd outgrown playgrounds."



"I'll be lucky to outgrow anything," she chuckled. It was true; even for a twelve-year-old, Bonesaw was tiny. "I needed to burn off some manic energy. I'm really excited about tomorrow."



"Me too, honestly. There's so much potential." The pair walked back to their SUV. Once they were inside, Jack continued the conversation. "So is your little present finished yet?"



Bonesaw nodded like her head was on a spring. "Uh-huh! Fun times will be had by all!"



(BREAK)



Cherish reclined on Crawler's back, a trashy romance novel in hand. "I still can't believe how much this lump sleeps," she almost yelled to be heard over the beast's snoring.



"I don't think he needs to sleep," Shatterbird replied, "but he gets bored when there's no fighting to be done."



"Least he makes for a decent pillow," Burnscar commented from her position on one of Crawler's multifarious legs.



Mannequin and the Siberian shared a look.



Jack threw open the door with a grin. "Okay people, it's time! Ned, wake up and get in the trailer! Places, people!"



"Yeesh, who blew sugar up your ass?" Cherish smirked.



Bonesaw waggled her finger. "It's not nice to swear."



Mimi rolled her eyes. "I forgot, this is your first recruitment session with us. He gets like this every time." She stood up and blasted Crawler's foot with a quick flare of heat. "C'mon, up and at 'em."



The Siberian waved her goodbyes to the rest of the group and went off on her own. She had a pre-battle appointment, after all.



(BREAK)



Lisa smiled and snuggled up closer. With all the chaos and neediness that came with rebuilding the city, there was precious little time to spend with loved ones. At the moment, she was cuddled into Taylor's side, head on her collarbone, with a cuddlebug in her own lap. The little blob was harmlessly nibbling on her finger while Taylor petted her hair. The sofa was wonderfully soft and made for a good spot of relaxation.



The cuddlebug released her finger, took in air, and–



Squee!



The blonde startled for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. "...Taylor, did you somehow squeeze the cuddlebug when I wasn't looking?"



The former brunette chuckled. "Nope. They figured out how to flex their air bladder on their own."



The cuddlebug wiggled its little round claws. Squee!



Lisa couldn't help but laugh and patted the bug on its head. "Okay, that's too cute."



"So are you." Taylor smooched Lisa's temple.



The freckled one turned her head and met her lips to her girlfriend's. She toyed with one of Taylor's chitinous locks.



Times were stressful, dangerous, and fraught with despair. But right here, right now?



Right now, life was good.



(BREAK)



Across town, Rachel had similar thoughts. People didn't bother her and she only interacted with them when she chose. The trainyards had been turned into a massive series of shelters, first for dogs and then for other lost animals. She still liked dogs the most, but her friends had been rubbing off on her. She couldn't deny the sad, lost faces. At the moment she had a cat in her lap, an iguana draped over her shoulders, and several dogs lounging around her in various states of transformation.



Brutus woke up first. He had the best nose and when he began growling, Rachel poured power into him. The other dogs sniffed the air and joined in Brutus' posturing. Something was wrong. While it was difficult if not outright impossible to communicate directly with her dogs, she could get impressions. This impression was of utter nothingness. Somehow, something was a void in the cloud of scents.



The woman who rounded the corner was beautiful. Oh, her appearance was average overall, but her posture and movement spoke of an apex predator, a confident animal who understood the law of the jungle. Rachel snarled. The Siberian might have understood the law of the jungle, but she damn sure didn't follow it. She killed for fun, not for safety.



"Cassie." Her voice was low but harsh. The narrow-bodied dog lashed out from the side, her cayman-like jaws snapping shut around the Siberian's head.



A muffled voice spoke from within Cassie's mouth, low and silky. "Your animals are beautiful." The Siberian stepped forward and the greyhound was forced to open her mouth or have her jaws ripped to shreds. "I didn't come to fight today."



Rachel didn't show fear, continuing to pet the cat. "Then the fuck are you here for?"



"To meet you in person," the mass-murderer smiled. "You and I are similar, wolves in a world of sheep. People shun us for what we are, but we don't need to hide our true natures."



The dirty blonde snorted. "It look like I'm hiding?" She narrowed her eyes. "You're not a wolf." She didn't talk much, but this? This, she understood. "Wolves support their pack. They kill when necessary, but they protect their own rather than looking for trouble. You're nothing like me. You want to know what it means to be animal, to be," she wracked her brain. The word was there, she knew it... "Primal. But you're not. You're just a killer. You're a broken person." Maybe this was why Lisa talked so much. When you knew what you were saying, when you were passionate about it...it felt good. "I'm not joining your 'pack'," she spat the word. "I've got a pack of my own. They're mine. You can't have them."



The Siberian pursed her lips. There was a bundle of cloth tucked under one arm, and she unrolled it to reveal a little wolf pup. "I was going to offer you a gift, to show you my goodwill. But I can see you're going to be difficult." She wrapped a hand around the puppy's neck. Rachel's eyes widened ever so slightly but she didn't waver. She would not give ground to this monster. The Siberian dragged it out, slowly rotating the little thing's neck despite its yelps of terror and pain until, with a gurgle and a crackling sound from its neck, the pup stopped struggling. "That," the Siberian spat, throwing the corpse at Rachel's feet, "is your fault. The first death of many that your pride has caused." She turned on her heel. "No one who has heard me speak has lived. I was hoping that you would be the exception."



"I'm gonna find a way to kill you."



Oddly, the certainty in Cerberus' voice would have sent a chill down the Siberian's spine if she were capable of feeling such sensations. Both sides had made a dangerous and tenacious enemy today.



(BREAK)



Grapnel forced Hug's head down. "Stay low, you idiot," he hissed at the hulking Brute. It was much more difficult to sneak into Brockton Bay than they'd originally expected: the National Guard was running border patrols to keep looters and other criminals at bay. More than ever, Bubble was glad that Butcher had recommended they split into smaller groups to cross the city limits. Less gladness was had with regards to his companions. Grapnel was acerbic and altogether unpleasant, while Hug was just a pain to hide considering his dimensions. Unfortunately, their powers did synergize well and they'd be prepared in case of conflict.



Grapnel was quite possibly the only Blaster/Striker, but really that was a fault in the PRT's classification system. He was able to extend his arms dozens of feet, with his grip strength increasing proportionately to his arm length. While he could simply use his power to function as an organic grappling hook, he preferred to grab enemies and reel them in to where Hug could grab them.



Hug was an anomaly as far as capes were concerned. He was a wall of meat, eight feet tall at least and nearly as broad, and rippling with muscle. And yet he couldn't hurt anyone. His super-strength was Manton limited to the point where he could not inflict harm on any living creature. However, he was able to exert that impressive might to hold enemies in a nearly inescapable grasp. Then, with the victims held immobile, his allies were able to kill them.



Case in point, Bubble rounded out the trio. His power was to create small spheres of absolute vacuum. They could be as large as two feet across, but such a size was almost crippling to sustain. His general maximum (the point at which he could still be functional) was one foot. Of course, these voids were immobile and he could only sustain them for a few minutes. But, with his target restrained by someone like Hug, he could suck the air from their lungs and suffocate them in record time.



"You got the map or not?" Grapnel snapped at Bubble.



The vacuum-generating cape rolled his eyes and unfolded the old-fashioned paper map. Other than the PRT's communications, Leviathan's attack had obliterated cell service in the city. The Protectorate was working to let civilian phones piggyback on a safe variation of their signal, but it was slow going. The Teeth were going in blind, so they just needed to hope that Butcher would be waiting for them at the designated meeting location. And that Fizz, Kite, Rev and that idiot Grillmaster would make it as well. If even one of them got caught it'd alert the Protectorate to the Teeth's plans. "Okay," Bubble pointed, "we'll head that way. Let me know when we're clear."



(BREAK)



Regent reclined on the couch. After he'd held the third armed robber at gunpoint – their own guns, by their own hands – people had stopped trying to fuck shit up. Imp would routinely wander through the nearby shelter and make sure nobody was conspiring to start shit, and then she'd come back to hang with him. She was cool, and she thought he was cool. They got along well. At the moment she was out having fun, no doubt trolling one of the stuffier PRT agents.



It was surprising how quickly the locals had gotten used to Skitter's helpers. The PRT especially had taken to them, glad to have additional hands for moving the various supply crates. True to their name, the helpers were always happy to help. It seemed that helping, no matter the amount of work, made them happy.



"Hey Regent."



"Sup, Parker?" The hero didn't even turn his head. Parker was a surprisingly laid-back new recruit to the Parahuman Response Team and had basically made it his mission to act as unofficial (and unwarranted) liaison between the Undersiders – or at least Regent and Imp – and the rest of the PRT. In practice, this meant slacking off and chatting with the costumed nuts.



"Oh, nothin' much," Parker replied as he flopped onto the couch beside Regent. "Just figured I'd–" Parker trailed off, his jaw slack and his eyes glossed over in abject, paralyzing terror.



"Goddamn," a familiar voice griped, "do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for somebody to wander close enough to you? It's a bitch getting your attention."



Alec grit his teeth. "Cherie."



His sibling rounded the corner from where she'd likely been hiding. She was wearing a low-cut pink top that read Daddy's Little Heartbreaker in rhinestones and skinny jeans. Streaks of red punctuated her midnight black hair and her brown eyes glistened with cruelty. "Jean-Paul. Good to see you again."



"That's not my name," he growled. "It's Alec. I've had it legally changed to further divorce myself from you and the rest of the fuckups."



Cherie Vasil gave an exaggerated pout. "Aw, don't be mean to me, little brother, or you'll make me cry. And if you make me cry, I'll make your friend cry." She nodded toward Parker. "And you can call me Cherish."



"I'll call you the sick cunt who used to torture me after Niko was through. You were always twisted, Cherie. I take it that you being here means you're trying to run with the 9 now?" Cherie was always an overconfident little bitch; he could use that against her here.



Cherish grinned. "Oh, I'm not trying, brother dear. I'm a full-fledged member. After all, I can kill more people at once than any of them." She gave another condescending pseudo-pout. "And since you're still being mean to me..."



Alec knew he was lucky. If it had been any other PRT agent, he wouldn't have this chance. Parker had been around him enough that he could feel the change in the man's body, feel him shaking as he grabbed his sidearm and placed it in his mouth, wanting to end it all.



Parker suddenly withdrew the weapon and opened fire at Cherie. The girl took the bullets but didn't drop. Apparently she hadn't been lying: Bonesaw must've given her the durability upgrades all of the 9 had (minus Crawler and the Siberian, naturally).



Realizing that she was in trouble now – she could kill just about anyone who showed up, but all Regent had to do was control someone with a dangerous enough weapon and she'd be done for. Jean-Paul hated her and she didn't want to risk him sacrificing everyone else for the chance to kill her. Deciding that discretion was the better part of survival, she took off running.



Regent released his control over Parker and clapped him on the shoulder. "You okay?"



The agent shuddered and gasped for air. "N-no, I don't think so. What the fuck was that?"



"That was my beloved big sister, Cherie Vasil. She fucks with people's emotions, does best with the negative ones. If she's close enough she can make you so suicidally depressed you'll kill yourself then and there."



"Yeah, I got that." Parker sat back down. "Fuck me, that was...yeah."



"I'll keep watch for anything else nasty. You should call it in. Looks like the 9 are getting started."

 

[Vherstinae]

Loss 8.05



Since the Slaughterhouse 9 were making their move, we'd all decided that it was safer to gather together where we could rather than all gravitating to the Rig. At the moment, the rest of the Undersiders and I were at home (like hell was I going to leave my father alone) and on a conference call with the other heroes.



"Alright," said Miss Militia, "now that we're all here – figuratively speaking – we need to determine who the Nine are targeting. That will help us to decide how best to retaliate."



Alec was first to speak up. "Well, we know that Cerberus and I are candidates. Apparently the Siberian likes her, and my ever-loving sister is probably hoping the Nine's 'testing' will kill me off."



"No bets on whether they have Skitter targeted as well," Brian added.



"That practically goes without saying," Assault replied. "No offense to Dauntless, but Skitter's the single most dangerous cape in the city. They'd have to be idiots not to go after her."



"And sadly, while they're crazed murderers, they're not idiots," Lisa confirmed. "When they go recruiting, each active member chooses a target." I was getting better at identifying the slight change in her speech rhythm when she was focusing on her power. "So we have three candidates; five to go."



A new voice, squeaky and prepubescent, joined in. "Excuse me, is this thing on?" We all tensed, immediately presuming Bonesaw had somehow managed to hack the signal. "Sorry about coming in late; the PRT were getting me set up. Oh! Sorry, this is Dinah. They've got a TV here to show me photos."



"Miss Alcott," Armsmaster groused, "please tell the operative in charge over there that he is an idiot."



Before he could continue, Dinah's little voice piped up. "Agent Saller? Armsmaster says you're an idiot."



It seemed like the entire conference call paused to blink at that. Tension was already bleeding from me and I could focus better. "Well, thank you, Miss Alcott. As I was going to say, Agent Saller should have contacted us before adding you to the call. We are all very nervous and don't need surprises like a new voice popping up." Armsmaster took a breath. "That said, you may start the slideshow whenever you are ready."



"Ah-kay!"



"It's good that she has something to focus on," Dad said from over my shoulder. "Poor thing's been through a lot."



"Now, speaking of your older sister–" Battery waited for Regent to scoff "–what are her powers?"



"Besides being an evil bitch? Well, our powers don't work on one another – only Dear Old Dad can affect other family members – so this is all from what I've observed. She can sense emotions within her radius, and sorry but I don't know what that radius is, and can pick emotions to amplify. She could use this to make our meat shields suicidally brave, but her favorite trick is to drive people so deep into despair that they kill themselves. I think she technically counts as a Master, even though she doesn't really control you so much as influence you."



"Counters?" Armsmaster was probably taking meticulous notes, as he was even more concise than usual.



"Well, our powers don't work on each other, but between the two of us I beat her. She makes somebody suicidal, and I can take control of the person's body. Stop him from hurting himself. Parker probably told you that. Thing is, she can affect a lot of people at once. I'm lucky if I can control two, and that's if I've been around them for a long time. Maybe an iron will could beat her? Since she doesn't actually control people, if somebody were to focus on the goal and manage to set the emotional trauma aside, you might be able to push through. Problem is, she could switch her influence and suddenly make you super-angry or overconfident, and lead you into a trap before you realize what's going on. My best bet is robotics or...Mastered...critters." Alec turned to look at me.



"Yeah, my critters can be completely under my control," I confirmed. "Even if Cherish manages to influence them, I can just keep them moving until she's dead."



"Good." Alec's voice was usually devoid of emotion, creepily flat and only taking on personality when he was being a snarky asshole. Rage was unfamiliar and, quite frankly, rather frightening due to how genuine it was. "She's the only one as evil as Niko. Her powers didn't work on me, so she'd beat me, burn me, whatever she could to make my life worse. I want her to die."



"I found somebody," Dinah interjected. "Scylla here is a candidate. I don't have enough questions to figure out who's after her – Soma's headache medicine can only do so much – but she's one of the picks."



"Jesus fucking Christ," Lisa muttered, and nobody bothered to reprimand her for cursing so harshly when Dinah could hear. "Even if they can't recruit Scylla, could you imagine if they managed to put Crawler or the Siberian inside her? A factory of monsters like that?"



"Sundancer is another," Dinah continued. "Makes sense, really. She creates little stars and they like killing people. Oh, Armsmaster, you're on the list too. Glad they put Protectorate capes in the slideshow."



"Me? Why would – Mannequin," Armsmaster growled. "His vendetta for destroying other Tinkers is well-documented. I had suspected that, since I've never aspired to world-changing projects like terraforming or world hunger, I might slide beneath his radar."



"Wow," the little Thinker was on a roll, "she's not much older than me. This girl, Labyrinth, is a candidate. That...doesn't make sense, though. Her power isn't offensive in the least."



Lisa released a sad sigh. "Burnscar was basically turned into the monster she is in one of those privately-run parahuman asylums. Labyrinth, too, was more lucid before being forced into an asylum. If they were both in the same one..."



Assault sounded almost as though he was going to cry. "She nominated Labyrinth so she could have a friend. Somehow in her messed-up brain, she thinks Labyrinth could survive and would still be her friend after everything she suffers through."



"Oh no, that's not good." Dinah's voice had gone cold. "Guys, we're in trouble. The last candidate is Panacea!"



"That's a serious danger," Armsmaster intoned. "If we lose Panacea, not only does that mean countless more deaths, but the Nine would gain a biomanipulator superior to even Bonesaw. Miss Alcott, please ask Agent Saller to replace the images with those of the Slaughterhouse 9. We need to know who is coming for Panacea so that we can plan accordingly."



The line from Dinah's end seemed to go dead, but if I strained I could hear what sounded like shallow hyperventilation. "Sir," said a man's voice, presumably Saller, "I–" He was cut off by Dinah's keening shriek. "It's him," she wailed, "IT'S HIM!"



"The image on-screen is of Jack Slash," Saller relayed. "Apparently he is after Panacea."



"NO," Dinah screamed at him. "He's the one who kills everyone!"



I could hear shifting from the Protectorate's end of the call. Assault's voice came over the line. "Dinah, I know you're scared but we need to focus. If we know what's going to happen, we can stop it. What do you mean that Jack Slash kills everyone?"



"I mean everyone. He kills everyone on Earth. All of humanity, gone," Dinah managed to say through whimpers.



Armsmaster's voice sounded further away than it had before. I guessed that Assault had elbowed him out of the way. "How would he do that? Does he somehow obtain a nanofilament blade and cut the planet in half?"



"N-no, I don't...he doesn't do it himself. Somehow, something, I don't know, but he does something that ends up killing everyone."



It was Lisa who interjected. I suppose a fellow Thinker would understand how things worked. "Dinah, what's the chance that he kills everyone?"



"12.799582 percent," the preteen replied. "That's today. It goes up every day. But, oh no, if he gets away...if he escapes Brockton Bay, the chance increases massively. I don't know an exact date, but eventually the chance reaches 100%."



"Well then," I snarled, "we'll have to make certain he doesn't escape. I know that, before this revelation, Panacea was our top priority. But now? No matter what, Jack Slash dies."



The moment that the Nine made their presence known, the PRT and I had collaborated to get the word out. Velocity sent out flyers, and I had raptors fitted with little backpacks emblazoned with "TAKE ONE" to disseminate the news as quickly as possible. Consequently, the vast majority of the city (possibly all of it, considering word-of-mouth) was aware of the main threat to civilians: Shatterbird's song. PRT-issue phones had no silicates in them for that exact reason, the blueprints designed by Masamune.



I heard glass shattering in other rooms, and over the phone. "They've started," Armsmaster said, his tone hard and professional. "Velocity, take Dauntless to the Dallon house. Skitter–"



"Say no more. I'm sending out the swarm as we speak." Raptors paraded into the streets, little rows or columns of three, ready to help or fight as the need arose. My broodmothers had been busy over the past few days.



"All candidates, stay in groups. Don't allow yourselves to become isolated." Armsmaster was reading from a script, but at least it was good advice. "If you have close friends or family, keep near them. The less chance the Nine have of gaining leverage over you, the better."



(BREAK)



Panacea



The knock at the door was sudden, insistent. Carol held up a hand to still any response, even a squeak of surprise – from Amy or Steve. No identification was given, no shouted command. Carol manifested a blade and moved closer to the door, sliding her feet along the floor to be as quiet as possible.



The knock came again, more forceful. The blonde took up position beside the door, ready to decapitate whatever barged its way in. Instead, the wall itself blasted inward and Brandish was hurled across the room like a rag doll.



Bonesaw hopped through the hole, dressed like Alice in Wonderland as reimagined by The Cell. Flecks of blood stained her periwinkle-blue dress and crusted in her two styled, spiraling pigtails, though the majority of claret was slathered over the butcher's apron that brushed her delicate strapped shoes. "Hi-iii," she singsonged, a huge smile adorning her face.



Doing her best to remain inconspicuous, Brandish twisted her arm to the proper angle and manifested a longspear, lancing the hard-light weapon toward Bonesaw. Roughly a foot before it would skewer the evil child, however, the spear slammed into some sort of barrier.



"Naughty, naughty," Bonesaw waggled a finger and a bizarre mechanical spider scurried down her arm to launch itself at Brandish. A spike extended from the machine's midsection and stabbed her in the neck. Carol Dallon's eyes rolled up into her head and she collapsed. Bonesaw turned to Amy. "She's not dead. Not yet." A twisted, almost insectile creature scuttled in behind the little blonde, moving on all fours, its head stuck in a sideways tilt. Bonesaw patted it on the shoulder. "You see, I think you have a LOT of potential to have fun. But you need to loosen up!"



"L-loosen up?" Amy needed to keep Bonesaw talking, buy time for backup to come. Someone was sure to check up on her. "I have fun."



"No," the little blonde scolded, "you don't. I do my research on my candidates and you spend all your time worrying or working. You need to loosen up," she insisted, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "What's the point of life if you don't enjoy it? Not to mention," she locked eyes with Amy, "you're hamstringing yourself. You keep yourself from affecting brains. Your cousin and father died and you were too afraid of yourself to affect their brains." Her voice dropped lower, harsher. "You could have saved them."



Panacea choked back tears. "H-how do you know this?"



Bonesaw looked over her shoulder. "C'mon in." A new figure floated inside and Amy's legs gave out. The brunette fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face.



The vision before her was that of a tortured goddess, something from a tragic myth. Radiant blue irises gazed forth from lidless eyes. Flayed skin draped around the limp legs akin to a ruffled skirt. Golden blonde hair tangled together in crusted locks, held firm with dried blood. Bone spurs ruptured the flesh of her forehead, creating a facsimile of a tiara. Lips overfilled with blood and collagen stood out in a parody of a sensual pout, while the body was overly curved, a sickening imitation of sexuality. Even when marred by surgical scars and cartoonish sexualization, Victoria Dallon's beautiful face gazed dispassionately down at her sister.



"Vicky," Amy sobbed. "Oh god..."



"Oh, she was such a trooper," Bonesaw cooed. "She kept herself focused for so long. Took so much work before she finally gave up; you'd have been really proud of her. I have to say, Gory Girl's powers are so impressive!" She had to speak over Amy's weeping. "It's all based on the invulnerability shield; a type of telekinesis. It's what allows for her flight and super-strength, and I managed to give her a Blaster rating!"



Victoria's arm lashed out and a wave of force careened through the condo, shattering furniture and blasting out through the far wall.



The twisted humanoid on the floor darted over to nudge Bonesaw. "Oh right, I'm sorry for forgetting you," she said in baby-talk to her other victim. "This here is Murdermouse!" Through the haze of her tears, Amy realized that she could make out the contours of Mouse Protector's jawline. "I hadn't expected Mouse Protector to be such a vicious fighter. When we bumped into her, she actually gave Mister Jack some trouble!"



Amy desperately fought to choke back her tears. "Okay," she gasped, "what...do you want me to do?"



"Survive," Bonesaw beamed. She snapped her fingers and the mutilated former hero lunged forward, bounding on all fours like it had been born that way. Mouse Protector (Murdermouse, Amy's mind corrected her) had had her hands and feet torn apart, fingers and toes stripped down to what looked like metal-coated bone. Its jaw stretched open like a snake's, revealing teeth filed to razor points. The abomination tackled the brunette heroine, fingers punching through the skin of Amy's arms as Panacea pushed desperately against Murdermouse's neck and shoulders, those snapping jaws mere inches from her face.



Amy pinched at the material on Murdermouse's collarbone, using the blade and heel of her hand to push against her attacker while she tried as best she could to rip the protective covering. Just a tiny hole, that's all I need. Please, God, if you exist, that's all I need... Her blood pooled on the floor; she whimpered in agony as those metal fingertips scraped against the bone of her arms. Her body spasmed from the pain and that was all the opportunity Murdermouse needed. Mouse Protector had always been preternaturally agile and her tortured new form was no exception: the twisted, sideways mouth surged forward and closed its jaws around the flesh of Amy's cheek, ripping out a chunk of skin.



Panacea screamed in pain and shoved the monster backward, managing to plant her feet in its solar plexus and push with all her might. Those claws carved deep trenches in the backs of her arms but she could barely feel the pain over her newfound fury. This abomination had once been a person. Amy had met Mouse Protector several times and the goofy heroine had always been one of the sweetest people she'd ever known. Now all of that kindness and childlike joy was gone, the eyes glassy and devoid of any emotion at all. She's not going to win! Amy scrambled to her feet and charged Murdermouse, tackling the flesh golem before it could regain its footing. She ignored her former point of attack and instead just shoved her finger into Murdermouse's eye. She could heal it later anyway. Immediately the monster's anatomy was revealed to her and she numbed the nervous system in Murdermouse's arms and legs. The beast didn't stop moving.



"Murdermouse is cybernetic, Miss Amy. Even her spine is laced with circuitry. Even if you melt off her muscles, there's enough kinetic servos inside her to let her rip you apart. There's only one way to stop her..."



Amy's eyes flicked to Victoria, floating immobile, her face betraying nothing. No, she wouldn't condemn Vicky to death. There had to be another way to save her, to save Mouse Protector. She ignored the increasing number of cuts on her body and reached further inside, focusing on where the spinal column met the brain stem. There. It was small, and the chance that this would work was equally minuscule, but it was a chance. She wouldn't give in until she was certain.



A minor tweak and Murdermouse's brain slipped into a coma. The body kept fighting her, but whatever was left of Mouse Protector's consciousness was now separated from it. Another little nudge and the cells around the cybernetic prostheses melted, transforming to acid. Further cells morphed into a kind of organic glass in order to contain the acid, funnel it down into the metal. After a few more seconds, the acid ate through those nerve cords and Murdermouse fell limp. For now, the poor monstrosity was quadriplegic. But she was still alive.



Amy managed to stagger to her feet. She was bleeding profusely and wouldn't be able to remain conscious for long. She had to find a way to free Vicky before she passed out and became another of Bonesaw's victims. The sinister little girl was doing a happy dance and praising Amy's ruthlessness. The brunette glanced around the room, doing her best not to turn her head. Carol was unconscious and it didn't seem that anyone could reach them in time. She had no backup; whatever happened, it would be her actions.



SQUEEEEE!



Moving as quickly as his stubby legs could carry him, screaming his war cry, Steve charged out from wherever he'd been hiding and made a beeline for Bonesaw's legs. His little round claws opened wide before pinching as hard as they could on the girl's exposed skin. Bonesaw yelped in pain and kicked her leg. "Get off!" Her robot spiders leapt onto Steve and started stabbing him over and over, spraying creep and light-purple blood into the air. Steve didn't let go.



Amy didn't scream his name. Somehow, she understood. She waited for the perfect moment, when Bonesaw and all of her weapons were distracted. Panacea threw herself forward, catching Bonesaw's other leg in her hand.



It was over.



Panacea showed no mercy. All of Bonesaw's blood was transformed into a necrotizing virus, while her muscle cells became hyper-aggressive leukocytes. The mass-murderer's body devoured itself from the inside out. In seconds the little monster's pitiful wails became gurgles, and then nothing as she melted into the carpet. Like a marionette with its strings cut, Vicky dropped to the floor, eyes unseeing. For once, however, Amy decided that the love of her life could wait. She dug her fingers into the floor, dragging herself forward, and pulled Steve's tortured body into her arms. The little cuddlebug wheezed in abject pain, life rapidly leaving his body.



Not today.



Amy's other hand came to rest in the bubbling pool that had once been Bonesaw, transmuting the last remains into new tissue. She wouldn't let another loved one die from her inaction. Steve would live. Vicky would live. Carol would live. God willing, Mouse Protector would live.



Amelia Dallon had seen true evil this night. She would never again fear her own thoughts. But for the moment, all of that was a distant dream. All that mattered was her hero, her constant companion, who had thought nothing of giving his life for hers.

 

[Vherstinae]

Interlude 8.y



They will not take our home.



We left once before. Never again.



We were weak last time. Now we are strong. They will break.



Agreed.



Butcher stepped up to the makeshift podium, looking down at his forces. Vex, Spree, Hemorrhagia, Grapnel, Hug, Bubble, Quarrel, Sunspot, Stream, and dozens of unpowered followers: they would all bring victory for the Teeth.



"Years ago, the Slaughterhouse 9 visited Brockton Bay and forced us to flee." He clenched his fist, squeezing hard enough to make the air hiss out from between his fingers and palm. "They chased us from our home, turned us into exiles." His other hand smashed onto the podium, shattering it. "They will not do the same this time! We will not flee; we will not bend to their will! At day's end, we will be the ones left standing! Brockton Bay will be ours again, now and forever!"



He hopped down to the floor and moved into the group. "Quarrel, Grapnel, Spree, you will hunt Shatterbird. Bring her to the ground and wring her neck." He patted each on the shoulder as he acknowledged them. "Hug, Bubble, Vex, Bonesaw is your quarry. Bubble will be the most important, as his vacuums should halt her viruses. Vex, I expect you to shred her." He stepped to the last three. "Hemorrhagia, Sunspot, Stream, your target is Burnscar. Her mobility is an issue. Sunspot, you will claim her flames. Stream, you will cripple her. Hemo, you will take her head."



Yura, more commonly known as Quarrel, voiced her concern. "And who're you after?"



"I am after Jack Slash. He is their heart and mind, the glue that holds them together. Remove him and they scatter, turning on one another. Individually, they are far less of a threat. Even the Siberian can be outrun, particularly if she lacks backup."



Knowing that she couldn't dissuade him – when Toby started with the flowery language, all of the Butchers were in agreement – the tall, willowy Quarrel just nodded. "Be safe."



(BREAK)



While the Undersiders were probably the general public's favorite group, the Protectorate was the representation of law and order within the parahuman community. Shattering them would be the first step in collapsing the city, stripping humanity down to its barest truths. The Rig was still parked at the western pier, the PRT focused on providing aid to those displaced by Leviathan's attack. This made the next step of the plan so much easier than having to calculate some way to fly over the bay and launch an attack.



Jack Slash forced down a memory that continued to force its way to the front of his consciousness, the spiteful laughter of his only victim who was not truly a victim. Why had that man's words gotten to him so? Why did they continue to do so? He gave his head an almost imperceptible shake and looked to Burnscar and Crawler. "Alright," he said, his voice flat and simple, "let's go."



He flicked open his sharpest razor and, with an earthshaking roar, Crawler began his charge. He burst out of the garage where they'd been hiding without even waiting for the door to open, the corrugated metal shrieking its death rattle. Jack darted through the side alleys, keeping out of sight and waiting for the perfect moment to strike and add his own two cents to the fight.



A luminous green shell impacted Crawler and created a ripple in the air from the bizarre strike. The hit forced Crawler's head backward, but since his head was dipped slightly for speed, his head ended up tucked between his front legs and the terrifying charge became an uncoordinated tumble. The monstrosity scrambled to regain his footing but found himself buried in containment foam, dozens of grenades bursting around him. Ned wrestled with the spreading restraint, repeatedly tearing himself free and spraying his acidic spit to melt it, but the foam still slowed him to a near-standstill.



"Light him up," one of the PRT officers shouted. One would have expected a barrage from assault rifles or even rocket launchers following a command such as that. Instead, a miniature star bloomed right above Crawler and grew to envelop him. Sundancer stood behind the front lines, her mouth set in a stoic line. She knew what was at stake: if they failed, she and Noelle were both going to die, or worse, Noelle would be turned into a monster factory.



The abomination came hurtling out of the star, melted almost down to a skeleton yet already regenerating even bigger and meatier than before. "Plan B," bellowed a quite deep female voice. Crawler rolled to a stop once again, but he was doing something that Jack had never heard: screaming in agony. Four hideously deformed legs rose up to clutch at his head, and Crawler seemed unable to do anything but roll on the ground and wail in pain.



"Fuck this," Jack muttered to himself, gesturing to Burnscar. He stepped out of cover and swung his razor in a wide arc, slicing every exposed or poorly-protected bit of skin it could find. The PRT barricade fell, five men bleeding out and Sundancer staggering back with a deep cut along her side. Fire rained from the sky and Burnscar appeared with the cinders, teleporting back and forth to deliver facefuls of roiling flame to anyone and everyone she could reach.



Crawler staggered back to his feet and prepared to attack yet again. In the back of his mind, he couldn't help wondering why there were no capes on the front lines. His musing was answered when both he and Burnscar dropped to the ground, a fresh wave of reality-blurring pain burning through their minds. Why is this hurting me a second time!? It made no sense; at the very least, it should hurt less. But no, it was just as painful as the first time!



Behind the barricade, an EMT administered anesthesia to Migraine as she pushed herself beyond her limits, determined to keep Crawler and Burnscar crippled.



The PRT officers regrouped, preparing a counterattack against Jack Slash and leaving Crawler for the parahumans to deal with. Jack made to retreat before he felt his instincts kick in. He spun, leaning back, and a hand barely missed his throat. His attacker adjusted her lunge and caught him by the wrist, applying expert pressure and forcing him to drop his razor with a cry. Jack managed to wrench himself free and delivered a quick rabbit punch to his assailant's throat before shuffling back to gain some distance. He pulled a combat knife from his belt and prepared for a fight.



Miss Militia's eyes were cold and hard. Her power transformed into a knife of her own and she held it underhand. More worrying than the cold in her eyes, however, was the creasing at the sides. She was smiling, and Jack didn't need to see the rest of her face to know that it wasn't an amiable expression.



(BREAK)



"Migraine has them pinned! Move in!" The call came in and the heroes mobilized. Even the Wards were ready to help out if they could, Vista and Clockblocker in particular, since their powers could be great assets in combat. Assault and Battery shared a kiss before charging to the front lines, Dauntless and Velocity rocketed out, and Armsmaster leapt onto his motorcycle.



Only for it to explode.



The blast was a relatively low-yield explosion, more intended to shock and inconvenience than to cause damage to the vehicle's rider, but it still left Colin shaken and briefly disoriented. The more pressing issue was that it had released some sort of specialized pulse, frying Armsmaster's armor. He had his plating shielded to guard against EMP, of course, but it had somehow been circumvented. The armor now pressed down on him, its weight oppressive without the pneumatics to boost his strength. Thankfully, he had accounted for the possibility of his armor being sabotaged and included a manual release.



Klik-tik-tik-tik, klak-tik-tik-tik, the sounds that, for years, every Tinker had memorized and dreaded echoed through the armory. Mannequin wriggled out of a crevice, an exhaust vent that was supposed to remain closed when not in use and to flush itself with various chemicals. Of course, a rival Tinker would probably have been able to circumvent those defenses. By the time Armsmaster had pried himself free from his armor, Mannequin was reassembled. Worse still, the hero was unarmed. The explosion had sent his halberd flying across the room.



Colin Wallis squared his shoulders, not even adopting a fighting stance. "Alan Gramme." While he didn't show it, he took pleasure in the fact that the monstrosity twitched when he addressed it by its former name. "Why are you here?"



Mannequin raised one blade in imitation of a finger, pointing directly at him.



"I know that. I mean, why were you stupid enough to come here and attack me in the center of Protectorate power?" He needed to stall, to take stock of his resources and what assets he could utilize. "Then again, I suppose you don't need to make sense, do you? After all, you decided that, after you lost your family, that you'd make everybody else lose theirs. Which was really idiotic, in my opinion. I'd think you would dedicate your life to killing the Simurgh, who actually murdered your wife and child. Is it because you know you're too much of a failure to ever be effective against her? So you go after other Tinkers because at least you can spread the misery?"



People had always told Colin that he had a talent for saying the exact wrong thing and pissing people off. This time, he was counting on it. "Every day you exist like this, you shame them."



That was the last straw. He'd found the rawest nerve and scraped at it, and Mannequin was reacting. The former person lunged, his body unfolding into countless weapons including a dentist's drill, probably Jack or Bonesaw's idea of a joke. Colin flicked the cap off of his pen, resolving to plant a big wet kiss on the muzzle of Dragon's next suit.



Twisting the shaft and depressing a hidden pressure point, Armsmaster transformed his pen into something that resembled a mascara brush as reimagined by Hellraiser. The weapon hummed its high-pitch whine, vibrating in his hand, and he met Mannequin's lunge with his own, rolling to the side at the last moment and striking. Those multifarious blades tore deep into his left arm, but he'd struck true: the nanothorn dagger bit deep, breaching the central body's containment shield. He wrenched down, letting his strength work in tandem with gravity and carve a trench through the armor. Blood and preservation fluid spilled from the central shell, and Mannequin did his best to leap away, scrambling for safety.



Colin had forced himself to work far beyond the human limits of exhaustion; overwhelming pain wasn't much different. "I tried to warn you, Alan: you made a stupid, stupid mistake coming here. And it was even more stupid to think that I'd be unarmed, or alone."



Just before he'd finished his sentence, a raptor tore around the corner clutching another halberd in its foreclaws. Mass communications were a wonderful thing: Dragon had seen the crisis through his visor and contacted Skitter via her phone. Skitter must have taken an idle raptor and sent it to his lab, guided by Dragon to find his nanothorn halberd. And now, "Thank you," he said to the raptor, accepting the weapon.



"It still gets worse, Alan," he intoned, stepping closer to Mannequin. The raptor remained on his left side, providing support since his left arm was pretty much useless. "I'm an efficiency Tinker, practically a Thinker in some respects. I run countless combat simulations and memorize the ideal way in which to handle an opponent. And I've had years to prepare for fighting you."



Mannequin regarded his opponent. Armsmaster was dangerous, obviously, but he only had one functioning arm. His own containment breach wouldn't be catastrophic for at least fifteen minutes; he could still end this. If Armsmaster wouldn't break or surrender, he'd just have to kill him. And that would just be such a loss...



He shot forward at an obscene speed, heading to Armsmaster's right side. He'd make the hero overextend and then break the other arm at the elbow. Mannequin disengaged his joints, collapsing like a mythical limbo champion, and slithered beneath the swinging halberd before reassembling himself. An almost casual jab of one of Bonesaw's biocides into the creature, and then he reached out, got Armsmaster's elbow in his hands, and twis–



...His hands weren't there anymore.



The raptor growled, swinging its bladed limbs yet again. The injection point was an enormous sore weeping green pus like a faucet, but the creature wasn't dead. Mannequin sprang back, the top of his head shell rotating to imitate a foot as well, taking on a different stance as one of his feet brandished more blades.



Armsmaster threw his halberd like a javelin just before Mannequin touched the ground. The nanothorn weapon punched all the way into central containment, the vibrating blades churning his most vital organs into something better suited to be spread on bruschetta.



Colin collapsed, the adrenaline leaving him. "Thanks, little guy," he panted at the raptor. "...I don't suppose you know how to get a medical kit, do you?"



(BREAK)



Something Jack Slash realized as he fought was that he was far too reliant on his power. He cut from a distance, wide and showy swings that would massacre legions at once. Close combat, on the other hand, was a very different animal. He brought his knife down, Miss Militia caught his arm with one hand and then braced her own blade against his to keep the cutting edge from pointing at her. He tried to headbutt her to break the stalemate, she wrenched their arms upward instead, causing him to smack his jaw on his own ulna and bite off the end of his tongue. The Kurdish bitch was reacting to his attacks, countering, never making the attack herself.



"Y'know, you probably have a body count close to mine," he slurred past his wounded tongue. "How many people did you kill as a good little child soldier? How many families did you destroy, whose little girls weren't lucky enough to get taken to the U-S-of-A?" He stepped back and swiped, but she raised her arms and his knife's edge couldn't get through her reinforced fatigues.



"One hundred and eight," she replied evenly, once again closing the distance between them. Jack saw an opening and took it, carving a small score in her side. "Of those, ninety-three were potentially unjustified." She moved with his strike, spinning with him and trapping his arm with hers, slamming her back into his and mashing his face against the brick wall. "The difference between us is that I decided that there should be more than violence, and I would find it." She pumped her arm backward, sinking her elbow deep into his kidney once, twice, thrice.



Jack snapped his head back, crashing his plated skull against hers and slipping free, going for a jab at the back of her knee. His knife punched through her fatigues and then the cut continued, piercing all the way through her leg.



She didn't fall.



Miss Militia adjusted her stance, locking her wounded leg to ensure that it could serve as a support, and once again swung. Her knife became a machete partway through its arc, scoring a deep trench across his face even though he'd managed to lean out of the main strike. She punched with her other hand, a katar manifesting at the end of her fist, Jack only barely able to twist himself out of the way. Then a sawn-off shotgun in her other hand, spitting fire and searing his temple with the heat from its discharge. He managed to catch her by the arm, pulling her in. She sunk a sword into his gut but he returned the favor, his cutting edge punching out through her back. "You don't have the endurance to keep this up, Militia," he said with a cruel smile.



He wrenched the blade up, delighting in the pain that flashed in her eyes. And then a hand tangled in his hair, yanking him back and throwing him to the ground. A relatively petite blonde in full combat regalia scowled down at him, drawing a second pistol and stepping forward to stomp on his hand, forcing him to surrender his combat knife. Bringing both guns to bear, she unloaded four shots into his face before he struggled free, blood clouding his vision. "And who're you supposed to be, little girl?"



She stepped into his personal space, using the barrels of her pistols as pistons to repeatedly punch him in the gut, right in and around the wound Miss Militia had left. "Emily Piggot," she snarled, "and you're in my city, you sick fuck."



Jack kneed her in the stomach, whipping out another razor and swiping...but she wasn't there. The blonde had juked to his right, anticipating the arc of his swing, and slammed one of those guns into the side of his skull in an imitation of a palm strike. She stepped in, dropping into a low stance, driving the other barrel into the back of his knee and firing twice more. Even if his internal plating kept her from destroying his knee, the force of the shots took his leg out from under him and he toppled forward. Instinct told him to release the razor and pull his arm away, but a stomp to the skull disoriented him and a blade drove through his wrist and into the pavement, pinning his arm in place. Miss Militia had manifested a pair of Victorian-era sword canes, and was supporting herself with the one impaling his arm.



Piggot drew her own combat knife, stabbing it into his other wrist and stomping on the knuckle guard to push it into the street. Then that gun barrel came around, smashing into his ear, and two more bullets ruptured his eardrum and caused him to scream out in pain. The blonde stooped down to whisper into his good ear. "So, this is the terrifying Jack Slash, nightmare of millions. Crucified to the ground and bleeding like a bitch, after getting the shit beaten out of him by what amounts to two baseline humans. I want this to be the last thought in your mind, Jack: that you are worthless, that no-one here feared you." She placed both of her guns at the base of his skull. "If I shoot enough times, I've got to break through that armor. And between you and me," she fired twice with each gun, "I've got all night."



Then everything went wrong. The Siberian dropped off the roof of the nearby building, landing on and through Piggot. The PRT director's jellied remains sprayed in all directions, forced out of their original location by the physics-defying monster. Miss Militia screamed the director's name while the striped villainess gently grabbed Jack by the belt and pulled him backward, sharing her durability with him and shearing through the blades holding him in place.



At the Rig, Shatterbird was attacking, forcing the PRT agents back and breaking Migraine's concentration. Burnscar managed to teleport away and Crawler actually limped off, fleeing the one source of true pain he'd found. Even his masochism wasn't suited to that degree of unchanging agony.



Jack offered a salute to the puddle of bloody chunklets. "Goodbye, Emily Piggot. You're the first person in a long time who actually scared me." He smiled and waved at Miss Militia. "I'll see you for a rematch." He took the Siberian's hand and they leapt in tandem, ignoring the pull of gravity and rising into the sky.