Queen of the Swarm (Worm; Complete)

[Vherstinae]

A/N: In order to further flesh out the world of Worm, I'm borrowing blatantly from real life. I'm not writing any real people, as that's just awkward, but I expect a number of you will recognize the upcoming format.



Colony 6.03



The floodgates had opened.



Talk of my being the new Nilbog had spread like wildfire across PHO and even moved into Brockton Bay itself. My bugs could hear absent conversations regarding me; while it was a bit of a comfort that I wasn't received entirely with fear – awe and intrigue were two other major emotions people seemed to have – I really didn't want to be correlated with an S-class mass murderer.



Dad rolled his eyes as I paced past the couch yet again. "Taylor, you're gonna make me strain my neck. Will you perch or something?"



Dammit, parent playing the guilt card. I should see these things coming, but even when I do they still sting. And here I was happy you finally got released from the hospital, I thought wryly. I sat down beside Aisha, who gave me a hug.



From his seat beside my father, Brian spoke up. "I still don't get why you're so dead-set against another press conference. The last one went pretty well."



Lisa and I replied at the same time, our voices mingling into nonsense. She stopped and nodded for me to talk. "Yes, it did go well last time, but now people are already commenting on the PRT making major allowances for me. I can't come out and reveal the reasons why Piggot trusts me, so something like that is going to lead to suspicion. Corruption at best; thinking I've got the Director mind-controlled at worst."



The blonde shrugged. "Roughly what I was gonna say. Way I see it, we're kind of up shit creek."



Lying atop a spiker, the both of them in a patch of sun, Alec added his two cents. "Why not go around giving out your little squishy-bugs? Seemed to work with the Dallons."



I shook my head, inadvertently whipping Aisha with my hair. She let out a few choice curse words before going off to flop beside Alec. After I took a moment to blink at that turn of events, I recovered my train of thought. "Problem is, people would think I'm trying to go all brain slug on them. I wouldn't have too many volunteers...here..."



"Oh good god," Lisa said, noticing as the gears in my head began to turn. Maybe she knew what I was going to say before I said it, but she didn't necessarily protest.



"Alec, you're right in a way. We need the human element, a way to show people I just want to help. Something not as...sterile as a press conference."



"Fuck me, this is such a bad idea but I can't say no," Lisa muttered.



I smiled around the room. "What do you guys think of doing a talk show?"



Brian and my dad had nearly identical nonplussed expressions. "...Taylor," Brian started, "you do realize why heroes don't do talk shows, right? The drama, the blindsiding, the danger of being in a less-than-secure location?"



"That's why it's a good idea," I argued. "For one, nobody will be expecting it. For another, it'll give people the chance to observe us in a much more...congenial setting. When we're not being badasses we're just a goofy bunch of kids trying to get by. I'd peg us for a sitcom rather than a horror movie."



"I dunno; you're practically giving me a heart attack right about now." While I understood my father's objection, his phrasing still felt like a low blow. "Taylor..." He must've noticed how his words affected me. "I'm just afraid for you. So much could go wrong."



I tried not to sniffle. "Dad, Nilbog isn't a name people throw around casually. Sure, not everybody's freaked out, but if I keep fighting villains things are eventually going to escalate and more people will get scared. If we don't do something to show them our good side, to give them hope, then eventually I'll end up labeled a threat."



"And you haven't done enough of that already? Taylor, I really hope you don't take this the wrong way, but it seems like powers just make everything worse."



I laughed; it sounded a little hysterical. "No, you're totally right. Powers...we trigger when we're at our absolute lowest. I don't think it's the universe's way of making up for a shitty life; I think it's yet another challenge piled onto us." I toyed with a dreadlock. "But I have powers, and other people have them. People can do things we can barely imagine, and a lot of them use those powers for really bad things. It's not fair, but I feel obligated to use my powers to stop those really bad things."



Alec piped up again. "We gonna be having this same philosophical discussion every week? 'Cause if so I can write up a script for you guys."



"Well I'm sorry we can't all channel Cheech and Chong," dad retorted. He moved his eyes back to me. "Look, this still worries me, but Lisa hasn't nixed it yet and I'd figure she'd say something out of self-preservation at least. So maybe this idea of yours has a chance. And yeah, life sucks, but we make the best of it. And I'm proud of you, kiddo."



"I think it does have a chance," Lisa confirmed, "especially if you bring more squishies."



Brian just facepalmed. "Why did I ever let myself get saddled with you people?"



"What do you mean, 'you people'!?" Aisha snapped. "You're sayin' it that way because I'm black, aren't you?" Her brother just let out a groan of endless suffering.



"It'll be a good chance to see if my power works through cameras," Alec grinned. "Look for a news story the next day about rampant cases of open masturbation."



Aisha slapped him upside the head this time.



Brian shook his head. "Okay, fine. We're doing this. Now, who's gonna tell Rachel?" Before the last syllable had fully left his mouth, he transitioned into two dreaded words. "Not it!"



(BREAK)



New York was still arguably the media capital of the world. That it was relatively close to the Bay also helped. Dad always had a soft spot for The Late Show, so we contacted Terry Norman's people. Thankfully, the host and his producers all smelled ratings gold and jumped at the chance to get us on set. After only a couple hours' negotiations, we were scheduled to appear on Friday.



Preparing for the trip, though? That was the problem.



Alec waved his wallet at Brian. "I've got my license, dammit! I'll drive!"



"It's fake. Plus, you're a dick."



"What's your point?"



Across the room, Rachel was debating which dogs to bring, and looking terribly cute doing her best mother-hen. Not that I'd ever tell her that. "But Angelica gets nervous when she's alone, and Brutus doesn't like loud noises, and Cassie has bad experiences with cars..." A spiker wrapped its tail around her and snuggled her close, making her pause.



"Look," Aisha interjected now that Rachel had quieted down, "we'll only be gone for a day or two. We can put most of the pups in HQ and they'll be fine. Judas and Twinkles are registered therapy dogs, and Bentley's cute. How 'bout we bring them? We can rent a minivan or something to keep 'em in the back."



Rachel nodded, the spiker gently nomming her hair. "Okay, that sounds...yeah, that sounds okay. You gonna help me with that?"



Our youngest member shrugged. "Why not?" They got the spiker to release Rachel – albeit grudgingly – and went to round up the dogs.



I sat with dad, going over the security schtick. "So are you okay with just two raptors here?"



He chuckled. "Yes, kiddo. Two armored deathbugs should be enough to keep your old man safe."



"They're not just deathbugs. They'll help you around the house, grab drinks, that kind of thing. They can't open doors, though."



"Long as they can use the fridge handle, I should be good."



I giggled. "Yeah, they can do that."



"Cool. And at headquarters?"



"Two raptors and a spiker will take shifts keeping watch. With the dogs in the kennel, we should be safe in that department." I sighed. "I'm not sure if I want to bring Atlas. He could be a big help in keeping you safe..."



Dad rested a hand on mine. "Yeah, but he helps you with your stress. You'll need him more than I will, little owl." He drew my hand over and gave it a little kiss. "I might not be able to keep you safe, but I can still give you good advice. Take him with, kiddo."



And then Lisa spoke up. "Everybody shut your ass. I got us a van."



(BREAK)



Manhattan was huge. Yes, Brockton Bay covered more area than New York's most famous island, but Manhattan made far better use of the space it had. Buildings towered into the sky, narrow streets crisscrossed in order to make the most of the limited room. There weren't really any single-story places to be found: everything was built on top of everything else.



I found it to be incredibly efficient, even if the human element led to congestion. The idea of building up and using the underneath for transit was a good one, like those giant African anthills, and gave me ideas for updates to the hive. Perhaps I could install a second story, bring in some sheet metal and hold it up with creep. It'd give my critters a lot more room.



Lisa had recommended that we go straight to the studio and see the sights afterwards, which was a sensible suggestion. In light of that, I'd had Atlas rest up in an old farmhouse the night before so that he could fly straight in. No sense in having him flit from building to building and draw too much attention.



We pulled up to the back of the studio and were surreptitiously ushered inside, fawned over by a number of crew and interns before finally getting to the green room. We must have looked like something out of a comic book: six capes, three dogs, two raptors, one spiker and a partridge in a pear tree. And Atlas, who would be flying in a few minutes before the show started.



As we did our best to center ourselves, Terry Norman himself came into the green room. He was a little taller than me and a little shorter than Brian, his skin a light tan sort of like Nurse Shelby's. His ash-colored suit was crisply pressed and his black hair was clipped short. The talk show host gave an easy smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you all in person," he said, immediately plunking into one of the unoccupied chairs. "I figured I should double-check with you before the show, make sure you don't have any other topics I should avoid, that sort of thing." He was doing his best not to glance nervously at the spiker.



"Well, I'm still not sure how well-publicized it is, but trigger events – the things that unlock powers – tend to come from Silence of the Lambs-level shit," Foresight expounded, "at least for first-generation capes. So just remember not to press too much if we start getting uncomfortable. For as badass as we are, we all suffered through nightmarish situations when we were just kids."



Norman shuddered a bit. "Gotcha. And I didn't know that about powers, thanks." He looked over to me. "I know you've assured us all those things are safe, but they're still kinda scary..."



Before I could reply, Regent stepped in. "Did Cujo make you scared of Saint Bernards? Just because you saw 'em at their worst doesn't mean they're not good pets." He skritched behind a raptor's horn and it gurgled happily.



He shrugged. "Fair enough. And the other critters?"



Buzzing from the roof was his answer. "Right on time," I grinned. I stood and my raptors rose with me. "We'll be right back." After only a couple of minutes, we returned with four bucket of uglybugs. "If one of the crew could show me to a stock room or something, I can turn these ugly things into pure adorableness."



(BREAK)



It was interesting, sitting in the green room and waiting for our cue. The TV showed us a live feed and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't bouncing in my seat. Despite everything, this was still ridiculously exciting. Three beeps in a row signaled the beginning of the broadcast and we all turned to watch.



"From New York, the greatest city in the world! It's the Late Show with Terry Norman!" The usual opening video played. "Tonight, in a VERY special episode: straight from Brockton Bay, New Hampshire... The Undersiders!"



Terry did his usual schtick, various current-events wisecracks and mocking over-the-top news stories. The words were so much noise to me; I think I was suffering stage fright. I'd actually be exposing my powers and personality in a live, mostly unscripted broadcast. Old anxieties flared and I almost started hyperventilating. Before it could progress further, a cloak of comfort settled around my shoulders. Atlas connected his mind to mine, accepting my stress. I let it wick away and took the time to re-center myself. I didn't need to be scared. This was where I'd truly prove I was a good guy, where the Undersiders would reassure the nation.



A page poked her head in and smiled at us. "Okay, c'mon out. He's about to announce you."



Sure enough, as we walked, Terry's voice echoed through the speakers. "And now, for our special guests. In the first parahuman interview in, jeez, twenty years? We have Grue, Foresight, Cerberus, Regent, Imp and Skitter. Ladies and gentlemen, the Undersiders!"



Lisa had selected the music for our walk over to the chairs, and I could have kissed her.



I'm just a soul whose intentions are good... Oh lord, please don't let me be misunderstood.



We took our seats, Grue in the front and Cerberus and I furthest from Terry, mostly so we could keep close to our pets. Judas and Twinkles were decked out in their orange vests and Bentley had his big mouth open in a huge doggy smile, hamming it up for the cameras. My raptors laid at my feet and the spiker rested his head on my shoulder.



"Now, it's great to have you all here," Terry smiled, "but what made you decide to come on the show? I was under the impression that capes were boycotting talk shows."



Grue shrugged. "We needed the human element. There's only so much you can convey in a sterile press conference, and that creates distance between us and the people. After our last fight, some folks are understandably scared. We want to fix that, show them we're not here to hurt innocents."



"You gotta admit, though, you're all pretty intimidating. And the fact that Cerberus has living tanks and Skitter has...whatever those critters are, well, it's not the easiest thing to be comfortable around."



"I don't think people should be comfortable around us," I interjected. "We don't do PR events like most other heroes; if we show up, that means there's a good chance something bad is going to happen. What we want is for people to not be afraid of us. Yes, our being somewhere means danger is on the way, but we're there to prevent that danger and keep people safe."



Norman nodded. "Good point. Now, I'm sure what everybody's wondering is, how did you all get started? What caused the Undersiders?"



Foresight fielded that one. "It's not too exciting. We all got hired by a client to run a job; I guess they wanted to cover their bases, so they grabbed four different capes. Turned out, we worked pretty well as a team. Figured it'd be safer to keep working together than to go out alone."



"And what about the name?"



She laughed. "Would you believe none of us remember? I'm sure we came up with it at too-damn-early o'clock and thought it sounded good. Guess we stuck with it because we couldn't think up anything better. Now, of course, it makes more sense: as heroes, we cover the seedier sides of the cape world. We have insight into villain culture, for lack of a better phrase, so we can handle threats from different angles than the Protectorate or New Wave. It also helps that we're not so mired in organizational red tape."



Terry took the reins of the conversation. "And speaking of your being heroes, I understand you had a lot to do with that, Skitter."



I blushed; it was probably visible at the borders of my mask. "I don't know about that. My teammates are all good people who just ended up in bad situations. I think I might've been the final push they needed to genuinely do good, but they all had it in them."



"That's sweet of you to say. Now, Imp, you're the youngest member of the team; how'd you join?"



She shrugged. "Well, Grue's my brother. He didn't want me getting into danger, so I wasn't part of the Undersiders until Bakuda went Sum of All Fears on us. At that point it was too dangerous to keep me tucked away, so I made a nuisance of myself until they let me help."



"She's good at that," Grue confirmed.



"You're all teens, working close together," Terry's grin was like a shark's. "Is there any inter-office romance going on?"



"You got us," Regent confessed. "They're all in my harem and Grue's my bouncer."



Foresight, Grue and I all slapped him upside the head in succession. He just laughed.



"No," Foresight corrected, "there's no romance yet. But we are hormonal teenagers, so it's a possibility. But it certainly won't be in the tabloids if something does happen."



"Spoilsport," the host said with a good-natured grumble. "Anyway, I've been dancing around the topic for long enough, but I think the audience will skin me alive if I keep going." He paused for the audience to laugh. "Skitter, from your perspective, what happened with Animos?"



All the laughter died off and I almost froze. Being put on the spot like that was a surprise, even though I'd been expecting the question. "W-well," I stammered, "you're familiar with flashbangs, right? They blind and deafen you, leaving you totally disoriented. While most capes simply lose their powers, I lost a whole suite of senses. It was like waking up and finding out you're paralyzed."



"Even without her powers, though," Foresight added, "her critters are still good animals. They lined up to protect us. You've seen news stories about, say, a dog fighting off a bear? Same principle. The raptors – these guys," she tapped the sleepy one with her foot and it cracked an eye and grunted grumpily, "really are like big dogs. They'll protect those they care about. The spikers – like this guy – wanted to keep their mommy from getting hurt."



I picked back up. "They would've been fine with just staring down the baddies until they left. It was the Teeth who escalated, trying to attack us. Without my control to keep them from exercising lethal force, they met attempted murder with attempted murder. My critters were just more successful."



"Dark," Norman said flatly. "Still, at least it's a little comforting hearing you explain things." He turned toward the camera. "We'll be back with more dirt on everyone's favorite former criminals."



The house band teased me by playing Jitterbug during the commercial break.



"Annd we're back," the host smiled at the camera. "So we're here with the Undersiders and their pets. Now, something I think we've all been wondering is how secret identities work out. Cerberus and Regent, your alter-egos are public knowledge and Skitter, your...appearance means you can't really have a secret identity. How does that work for you?"



"I don't really care," Cerberus grunted.



"One of the rules of parahuman conduct is that we don't go after people's alter-egos," Foresight explained. "For people like Skitter, Narwhal or Case-53s, that means when they're off the clock. You're probably all wondering why villains would go along with this. Well, that's pretty simple: if the villains don't obey those rules, we won't either. We'd seize all their assets, throw their loved ones in the slammer, or just snipe 'em while they slept." She shrugged. "It's a code that keeps crime from turning into full-out war. It's not necessarily the most pleasant idea, but villains have just as much of an interest in keeping the status quo so they come down hard on any baddies who get the idea of breaking that rule."



"Pretty much the Golden Rule for capes," Regent affirmed.



Terry nodded, the wheels in his head turning. "So, you three go to Arcadia, right? How's school treating you?"



"I want to murder everyone associated with school."



I sighed at Cerberus' statement. Yeah, that's what the public wants to hear...



"Except Sean." I could hear Regent's grin from behind his mask. He stage-whispered over to Terry. "First crush." The brunet found himself bonked in the head by one of Cerberus' boots. "Aww, she wants to defend her boyfr-wagh!"



Cerberus tackled him and the pair rolled around behind the couches. None of us flinched.



Grue took hold of the conversation. "While those two settle their differences, what else did you want to ask?"



"...I take it this happens a lot?"



"We're teens and Regent's an ass. Yes."



Terry let out a genuine guffaw. "Alright then. Let's see...well, I was gonna ask if Cerberus had any Stupid Pet Tricks, but since she's busy..." He stood up as the pair rolled past him, taking out his chair in the process. "You're sure we don't need security?"



The audience was dying with laughter. I think they were under the impression this was a skit. Well, it might as well have been.



"How about you, Skitter? Your guys do any tricks?"



My raptors stood up. One moved into a handstand, its forelegs and blade limbs supporting it. The other stood on his companion's rump, balancing precariously. It gurgled in the rhythm of a common Arcadia High cheer. The spiker slithered over and the topmost raptor hopped off his companion to stand on the spiker's head. The serpentine critter hissed happily and did a little dance.



"We just came up with that on the spot," I smirked.



Terry grinned. "Well I'm impressed. Now, I've gotten word that we have the go-ahead on your next little idea."



My smirk erupted into a thousand-watt smile. "Well then, allow me to do the pitch." The raptors ambled backstage and began to bring out large cardboard boxes. "With my father's help, I'm starting a business: Skitter's Critters. Panacea of New Wave is already a satisfied customer, and to help with publicity I'm giving everyone in the audience my company's first product." I reached into the box and lifted out a round, squishy little critter. It waved a pincer. "The cuddlebug!" I handed that one to Terry.



He stared at it. It gurgled. "...This is almost painfully cute."



"Give him a squeeze," I grinned.



The host did so and was rewarded with a soft, gentle squeak. "Okay, so I'm keeping this one. The rest of you can get your own."



"That's the plan!" I directed the raptors to lift cuddlebugs out of the boxes and hand them to audience members, two by two.



The cameras switched to the audience, showing people cuddling their gurgling new pets.



I smirked up at the announcer. "Give 'em the spiel, Rick."



"If you say so... Introducing the cuddlebug, the world's first no-maintenance pet! It never needs to be fed, needs no litterbox, and is there to be your friend! Cuddlebugs are the perfect first pet, durable and able to generate antibacterial goop to help with cleaning or injuries. They can tell you when they're upset and make it known when they're happy. The cuddlebug: it's like a pillow that hugs you back! ...Really, Skitter? That's your tagline? Whatever."



"You do need to get a professional writer," Terry confirmed. "Still, for anybody in the audience who's nervous, we've had these little bugs checked out and they're not dangerous at all. If you don't want it, you're free to return it at the end of the show. Otherwise, enjoy!" He squeaked his again. "After the break is the Top Ten!"



I smiled warm and wide. This was what genuine hope felt like.

 

[Vherstinae]

Colony 6.04



Once the lump in my throat had shrunk to manageable proportions, the rest of the show went by in a blur. We did the Top Ten with some generic cape jokes, talked about Cerberus' past, how Regent escaped from Heartbreaker, and cut to one of the crew interviewing Atlas for some reason. Obviously, the big lug couldn't do more than chitter and buzz, but apparently the so-called interview was a hit with the audience. Oh well, whatever works.



After the show, we unwound at a cheap motel and watched a sappy Lifetime movie before bed.



(BREAK)



"Taylorrr..."



"Snurk...whuhuh?" I rolled over, jumbled memories of some bizarre dream slipping from the forefront of my mind. I opened my eyes to see Lisa's face less than an inch from mine. "Gah!"



She giggled and sat upright. "That never gets old."



"Next time I'm covering myself in roaches so you don't try it," I grumbled.



Lisa stuck out her tongue. "You know you love it."



Smacking kissy sounds drew my gaze to Aisha, clearly mocking us. I rolled my eyes. "How long have you been there?"



"Rachel snores. I snuck into Lisa's bed last night because at least she and your bugs are quiet."



"Her snores aren't that loud," the blonde replied.



"Fine then. I snuck in to see if there was hot lesbian sex going on and, if so, to blackmail you two about it."



My arms were still trapped in the sheets with the blonde sitting on them, so I had my spiker facepalm for me. "Well, on that note," I paused mid-sentence. My formerly foolproof plan fell apart before my eyes. "...Fuck."



"Hey, not with me in the room," our youngest teammate protested. "Well, not now that you know I'm in the room." I sent a moth up her nose.



"Quit being an ass, Aisha." I didn't have the patience for her antics at the moment. "In my excitement for this tour, I realized that three of us have publicly known identities. While Alec and Rachel can go relatively incognito, I don't have that luxury." I sighed. "I guess I could send some bugs with you and try to see through their eyes, though that's a lot of range." Oh well. It's my life, after all. If everything started going right I'd know the apocalypse was on the way...



Aisha whapped me on the head, having Imp'd her way over to me. "Don't be a dumbass, dumbass. We're not gonna leave your dumb ass here while we go have all the fun. You're our friend."



I looked back to Lisa, wondering why she was still sitting on my bed. "...Oh, goddammit! Aisha Imp'd!"



The blonde scrunched up her face in thought, compressing the freckles, then sighed. "Yep, she did. Though I think she's telling everybody to suit up. Now that you reminded me she was here, I realize she wants us all to go out as a group."



"So we'll be tourists who draw tourists. Great."



"On the upside," she booped my nose, "this gives us yet another opportunity to show the world our happy-go-lucky side. So, serendipity."



"That's not what serendipity means. You sure you're the smart one?"



"Hey," she winked, "I managed to get you alone, didn't I?"



My blush was positively incandescent as Lisa laughed and took first turn in the bathroom.



(BREAK)



New York City was the most bizarre place I'd ever visited. People on the subway dressed up like giant acorns or saltwater taffy. A naked cowboy played bad music in Times Square.



This weirdness was so concentrated that it extended to the parahumans, both hero and villain. Aside from Legend, whose image was pretty much a brand, the other capes just wore masks and basic attire like jackets with armored bodysuits. Too often had a cape been mistaken for just another New York weirdo, so now they stood out by dressing normally.



For that, I was thankful. It actually made the locals pay less attention to us than I'd expected. While most of the people would have sense enough to do a double-take and realize we weren't just costumed goofs, it reduced the attention enough that we could actually move without being swarmed by people.



...Well, we would have moved if not for out disagreement on which landmark to visit first.



"Empire State Building!" Regent was unrelenting in his insistence.



"I still think you want to go there due to some deep-seated desire for overcompensation," Foresight quipped. "We should go to the Met. Get you philistines some culture."



"Natural History Museum," Cerberus growled.



"Better idea," Imp chirped from her seat atop Atlas. Then she was gone and I only had the vaguest recollection she'd ever been there in the first place.



Our debate continued until we saw Imp again, dragging a confused and somewhat frightened woman by the wrist. "Tour guide," she declared matter-of-factly.



We all stopped to stare at that. "Imp," Grue ventured, "where'd you get that woman?"



She pointed to a nearby bus, which was now parked on account of having no driver.



"I apologize for her," Foresight wheedled as she extricated the woman from Imp's grasp. "She understands propriety; she just doesn't care. Though, now that she's harassed you, would you be willing to give us a tour?"



The woman – about 5'5", average build, with dark eyes and overly curly brown hair that frizzed around her head – shrugged. "Do I have a choice?"



"Of course you do," I interjected. "Despite the, ah, insistence of our teammate, we're not gonna force you. We'd like to hire you."



She eyed my critters and Cerberus' dogs. "Normally I don't do pets, but in this case...I'll have to charge extra for each of 'em."



"Understandable," Grue said, reaching into one of his pockets. "You take debit?"



"Just roll with it," our guide muttered to herself as she accepted the card, charging it to our Undersiders account. She let out yet another sigh when Atlas landed on top of the bus. "Roll with it," she whispered yet again.



(BREAK)



"New York City has a rich history," our guide – Sandra – said over the speakers. "Originally the Dutch colony of New Amsterdam, it was conquered by the English and quickly turned into the main shipping port between Britain and its colonies. In fact, New York was so important that it was the United States' original capital."



Sandra pulled the bus to a stop. "Times Square is probably the single most recognizable location within the city itself, while the Statue of Liberty is the most famous overall."



"I could've told you that," Regent commented in a stage-whisper. Grue slapped him upside the head.



The doors opened. "Alright, we've got some time to look around and take pictures. Any takers?" Sandra ushered us back off the bus, my critters hopping off last, as we looked around at the towering buildings.



"Wow," I mumbled. "Seeing them in the day, it's like the buildings go all the way up to the sky." I chuckled at my own comment. "And now I feel like some podunk girl."



"Well, New York built the skyscrapers because Manhattan Island doesn't have anywhere near the space Brockton Bay does. The downside is all the metal leeches heat from the air, so our winters are cold as hell," Sandra explained.



"I'm not sure if that's scientifically accurate," Foresight commented.



Cerberus shrugged from where passersby were petting her dogs. "Makes sense to me."



Regent grabbed me by the arm, hauling me through the gridlocked intersections. "C'mon, guys! Let's get a picture in front of the huge TV screen they always show in the movies!"



"Even I think you're too easily amused." Coming from Imp, that was saying a lot.



"Fuck you," he replied without missing a beat.



With equal seamlessness, Imp tilted her head. "When and where?"



Grue made a noise like a buffalo being molested. "The shit!? No, hell no. Any more innuendo from you two and I'm tying you up for Atlas to babysit."



Atlas buzzed from atop the bus. I translated from his emotions. "Yeah, he doesn't want to deal with those two."



"Nobody does," Cerberus grumped.



"Moving on," I withdrew a digital camera from my armored backpack. "Sandra, would you take a picture of us?" Without my insistence, Atlas and my other critters congregated behind us, wanting to be in the photo as well.



Our tour guide, who'd been unsure whether it was safe to laugh, snapped back to the real world. "Oh, yeah, sure." She accepted the camera and crouched down to get a good angle. "Now say, uh..."



The idea was goofy, but I couldn't help myself. "Say 'bees'!"



We all laughed, but my teammates did as prompted. A chorus of "Bees!" rose up from around me. The picture captured our relaxed, happy postures and my beaming smile. Even Sandra couldn't help grinning, finally starting to loosen up around us.



While I hadn't been actively scanning the area with bugs, I still absentmindedly watched and listened through their senses. I became aware of a larger, more familiar presence approaching and looked over just as a squeaky voice rang out.



"Mommy! Mommy! Over there!" A tow-headed little boy, probably around six, gestured as best he could with his head. He couldn't use his hands, as they were occupied by a softly gurgling little ball of love. He dashed ahead of his mother, her exasperated sigh turning to a cry of panic as the boy moved into traffic. I was about to send a raptor out at full speed when the blond came to a dead stop and started backpedaling, an expression of complete confusion on his face.



Looking through the spiker's eyes, I saw that Regent was standing very still, completely focused on getting the kid out of danger. I couldn't help the warm smile that split my face. He'd come so far in such a relatively short time.



Once the kid was back on the sidewalk and in his mother's grateful embrace, Regent called over to him. "Hey genius, try not to run into traffic. I won't be here next time and you'll be street pizza. Lady, maybe you should get a leash." Our tour guide looked scandalized while Imp snickered. None of us had the heart to slap him upside the head this time, though, since he did just save the little boy's life.



Once the lights changed, the boy's mother led him over to us. "Thank you so much," she smiled, still a little pale from the shock. "Brady was so happy when I brought home that cuddlebug; I never expected we'd see you out in the street, though."



I stooped down to Brady's level, watching his eyes dart between all of us including my critters. "So, Brady, you like your cuddlebug?" The round little creature batted at one of my hairs.



The blond boy nodded so enthusiastically I was worried his head was going to pop off. "Uh-huh! I named him Pinchy! Mommy gave him to me this morning, said you gave him to her!"



By now we'd drawn a sizable crowd, and I noted that a lot of people were gathering around to take pictures of Atlas. He, of course, had no problem with this. Between the flashes, I caught glimpses of Imp and had to exert a monumental effort to keep from busting a gut. She was using her power to be the ultimate photobomber! Never change, Aisha.



"That's right," I said to the little boy. "You're being good to him, right?"



"Mm-hm! I love him!" He nuzzled his face into the soft critter, who was quite pleased with the situation.



I stood back up as I could tell the mom wanted to say something. "Thank you," she smiled, then looked over to Regent. "And thank you so much for catching Brady there. He's still in that phase where he has to be everywhere right now." While she was doing her best to be happy and friendly, I could tell she was exhausted.



I brought over a raptor to keep Brady occupied – and chase him down if need be – and stepped closer. "You're taking care of him by yourself?" I looked through even more of the local swarm, seeing countless cute little situations. Grue had himself a couple of fangirls and looked thoroughly flummoxed. Foresight was eager to chat away and be the smartest person in the crowd. Cerberus let people pay attention to her dogs and was happy to fade into the background. Regent had an obviously gay guy flirting with him and was flirting right back. And Imp... I caught a glimpse of her putting a wallet back into someone's pocket, and a scummy girl looking confused. Anti-pickpocket, activate.



The mom nodded. "Yeah," she lowered her voice, "his dad was a relief worker. He was killed by a gang after Newfoundland."



Her facade broke for just a moment and I saw the utter weariness and pain, the same kind my dad used to carry with him. I froze up, time seeming to slow down as I had a miniature panic attack. I wanted to help this woman, needed to help her, but I had no idea how. The organic computer bank that was my mind showed me several instances of Rachel hugging me. If she can do it...



I stepped forward and pulled her into a tight hug, mindful of my armor. I held the embrace for several long seconds before retreating. She sniffled a little but her smile was genuine. "I, um, thanks."



And that was it. Like the Pied Pipers of Hamfist, we inadvertently formed a parade of civilians who were more than happy to follow us on our tour of the city, chatting away with endless questions and compliments. We took selfies, gave autographs and discussed parahuman theory. Our shifting entourage followed the entire time, drawing more and more publicity as people raised camera phones to record the event.



It was bizarre, it was crazy, it was encouraging. We could do this, be genuine heroes. Not just the gritty Punisher-style antiheroes we'd already been, but the shiny people giving speeches at podia. Now, I didn't exactly want to give speeches to large crowds, but I'd rather do that than spend my days worrying that a government-sponsored lynch mob might come after me.



We wandered back toward Sandra's bus, saying our goodbyes to the disappointed crowd. Our guide opened the doors and let out a relieved breath, happy that her day was coming to an end.



Then the bus exploded.



My critters had climbed on first, in order to set up in the back, and one of my raptors died in the blast while the other raptor and the spiker were significantly injured. I took a moment to assess the damage. Raptor? Missing a foreleg, a horn and an eye. Significant burns. Spiker? Blind and in crazy amounts of pain. Team? Foresight, Regent and Imp looked hurt, but only superficial bruising from being thrown back by the blast. Grue and Cerberus were already on their feet and the dogs were growing.



Sandra? ...God, she was dead. Except for some burning pieces of flesh, there was nothing left.



I choked down my tears, turning the lump in my throat into a creeper. I spat it at my critters, adding a little creep to wake my creation, and left them to heal.



My bugs finally found our attacker: perched on a nearby building was Coal, a member of the loose villain conglomerate commonly known as the Subway Sinners for some reason I'd never bothered to research. The Sinners weren't an official team, but they commonly cooperated and covered one another's backs.



Coal was a Striker 1/Blaster 6. By touching stone or other such minerals – including concrete – he could infuse it with an explosive charge. Then, when the object was damaged, it would explode. He liked to use loose chunks of rock or cement and throw them at people. "All you fuckers still alive?" he called down to us. Not waiting for an answer, he began a rant. "You think you can come into my city," he tossed a pebble which exploded like an M80, "start up a dog-and-pony show and turn capes into a joke!?" A larger chunk flew through the smoke and burst like a grenade, the shockwave laying me out. I tried to sneak Atlas through the back alleys, wanting to get the drop on Coal from above.



Coal reached into another of his vest's many pockets, pulling out a fist-sized rock. He ran a hand through his dyed hair, black interlaced with reddish-orange streaks. "This is New York, cape capital of the world! You come here, you're playing with the big leagues!" The stone glowed like it was made of floodlights, and I knew we'd only survived the last rock that size due to sheer luck. The villain wound up like a pitcher and hurled it.



I unhinged my jaw and let out a torrent of insects, spiraling together like they had against Trickster. Like a chitinous fist they impacted the rock at the halfway point. The explosion blinded us but I felt the dogs launch into a charge. Twinkles was the best climber and jumper, and Judas was no slouch either. Bentley had more trouble, but then again he could probably bite through a tank.



Coal must've had protective lenses in his goggles, as he was already charging up another stone. "Bad dogs! Play dea–"



The rock exploded, splattering Coal across the rooftop. Atlas got another angle and saw Imp at the rooftop access, panting for breath. I sent a voicebug up to her. "Imp! Are you alright?"



I could hear the weariness in her voice. "Y-yeah, I'm okay. Just, really had to run to get up here in time. Managed to hit him with a cell phone."



"You said 'a' cell phone, not 'your' cell phone."



"Yeah, I appropriated one on the way. Was gonna use mine, but some guy was being a dick."



I landed Atlas. "Climb on. Sinners don't take kindly to their friends getting hurt or killed, so we should regroup and wait for the Protectorate."



Aside from her one little joke, Imp was surprisingly reserved. Of course, as the adrenaline bled away, I realized why: she'd killed someone. Yes, Coal was a psycho who'd killed one innocent person and was going to try killing us, but Aisha had still taken a life. When Atlas brought her down to us, I hugged her tight. For once, she didn't resist.

 

[Vherstinae]

Colony 6.05



We sat in the lounge of the national Protectorate headquarters, being looked over by several medics. Grue had given Imp his jacket and she refused to take it off, but for procedure's sake they'd draped a shock blanket over her as well. Atlas perched atop the building, keeping vigil for any of the Sinners who might want revenge. The door slid open with a soft hiss and Legend strode in, sitting beside Imp whose feet were propped up on Bentley. He wrapped an arm around her, an act that would get most people struck, yet she leaned against him. Well, he's not the Protectorate's leader for nothing.



"That was your first time taking a life." It wasn't a question. "It doesn't get any easier, and it shouldn't. Unless we're up against monsters like the 9, there's always the lingering questions, the guilt: could I have done something differently? Did it have to end like this?" Legend squeezed her against his side. "You did the right thing."



Imp looked up at him; I could tell she was blinking incredulously behind her mask.



He continued as though she wasn't giving him the full 'dafuq?' stance. "You've been lucky so far; most of your fights have ended without casualties, and the only fatalities you were exposed to were hero-on-villain and suicide-by-cape. Unfortunately, not everything can end so cleanly. You were forced to take action to protect your friends' lives, and you ended up taking another life." Legend locked eyes with Imp through her mask's black lenses. "But tell me this: could you live with yourself if you hadn't killed him, hadn't stopped him from killing your friends, killing your brother?"



Not trusting herself to answer, Imp shook her head.



"And that's why you did the right thing: you didn't murder him. You killed him in defense of others. In fact, you used his own weapon against him. If he hadn't been making a bomb, he wouldn't have died. Coal had no-one but himself to blame for his death."



Imp spoke, the softest we'd ever heard her voice. "...He killed Sandra."



"That's not your fault, either." Legend looked to the rest of us. "That goes for all of you. You did nothing wrong. The blame can be laid solely at Coal's feet."



"'Cause that's about all there is," Regent chuckled under his breath. We all shot him a look and he, thankfully, reneged. "Sorry, bad attempt to lighten things up."



The blue-clad hero cleared his throat. "We can't prevent people from doing bad things. That would require tyranny or mind control, neither of which are morally viable options. What we can do is offer deterrent, and punish those who aren't deterred."



I continued to listen, not trusting myself to speak up. My human and insect sides both called for retribution, punishment for the Sinners on behalf of Sandra. My rational mind only barely kept the fury at bay.



Thankfully, Grue helped to distract me by asking a question. "What I want to know is, if he was that dangerous, why hadn't you stopped him before this?"



"This was an anomaly for him. Of course, hindsight being 20/20, I realize we should've expected this based on his history." Legend held up a hand to stave off more questions, taking a breath. "In general, Coal was a getaway specialist. He'd charge patches of road or leave rock grenades in key places, deterring heroes from following. He only attacked outright against decently rated Brutes.



"The problem, and why we should've anticipated that he'd react like this, is that he was a radical. He'd published several manifestos on PHO regarding the future of human evolution. Coal was a rabid believer that parahumans and those with the potential to trigger – 'Pollentiae,' the theorists call them – are outright superior to the rest of humanity. One of his essays, entitled 'The Return of the Gods,' argued that parahumans were the origin of the ancient pantheons and should rule the world like feudal lords."



"While I too relish the idea of big-titty girls with palm fans and grapes," Regent interjected, "that doesn't really explain why he wanted to blow us up."



Foresight took over the lecture. "Actually, it does. A fanatical believer like that, he'd want capes to be respected and feared. We were funny and fun-loving, showing that beneath the powers we're average people. Coal couldn't be an average person; his psyche couldn't take it. He had to kill us as punishment for making him feel ordinary."



"That's our interpretation too, Foresight. Whatever caused his trigger, he needed his powers to mean something, to have a higher reason for being than simple bad luck. His suffering needed to have been for a purpose. If it wasn't, then his shitty life wasn't preparation to uplift him into godhood: it was just life, good luck and bad. He couldn't deal with that."



Our resident Power Ranger once again picked up Legend's train of thought. "And any challenge to that concept he could normally dismiss as the bleating of the lesser masses. But when such prominent and powerful capes – not trying to self-aggrandize, just sayin' – make a mockery of his world..."



"...Boom goes the dynamite," our Canadian member finished for us.



Legend inclined his head. "I'm sorry that this was your introduction to New York's cape scene." He then looked straight at me. "I was glad to see you on the Late Show, by the way. My son wants a cuddlebug now," he smirked. "I think you guys are doing a lot of good, not only through your heroics but from things like that: it's been thirty years and we still have a disconnect between parahumans and the rest of society. Maybe we just needed some goofy kids to help show us that we're all the same deep down."



"Quit with the sappiness or I'll kick your ass like I did Regent's," Cerberus threatened, to which Legend just gave a goodnatured chuckle.



The world's foremost Blaster stood up, addressing us once more as a group. "I don't like it, but it's probably a good idea for you to head back to Brockton Bay. We can get a transport van to take you home, just so you don't risk getting blindsided by the Sinners if they decide to get revenge."



I finally found my voice. "But will you guys be alright?"



He smiled. "Definitely. The Subway Sinners just lost one of their heavier hitters and, with the subject of their anger gone, will probably burn themselves out anyway. Most times they're more of a nuisance than a genuine threat."



With that, Legend said his goodbyes and returned to patrol while a PRT officer escorted us to their garage.



We all fell asleep on the way home, bundled around little Aisha.



(BREAK)



After being dropped off at HQ and making our way back home, we had to endure what felt like hours of dad clinging to one or all of us like a beartrap. My best bet was that Coal's attack somehow gave him flashbacks to the time before my powers, when I was broken down and pulling away from him and he felt utterly powerless to do anything.



Once we got set up in the living room, Brian started making some soup for Aisha and I went down to the basement so I could make some more critters. Dad, having finally calmed down a little, called down the stairs.



"Oh, by the way, Emma called...two days ago, I think? She wanted to talk with you about your therapy, when you get a second."



"Thanks, dad. You should check on the others. I'll be down here for a bit."



"Sure thing, sweetie." He shut the door so my mild retching wouldn't echo up into the rest of the house.



I leaned against Atlas, feeling my throat stretch before doubling forward to spew forth a half-dozen or so of my nasty little grubs. Wiping my mouth, I grabbed my phone while I brewed my newest batch. Three raptors and two spikers, while the last was set to be a new experiment.



The phone rang several times before my oldest friend answered. "Taylor! Oh my god, I was so worried! I saw what happened on the news and – shit, are you okay? Is anybody hurt?"



Replaceability has been the main issue thus far. Need something to offer support in that respect. "Emma, calm down. We're all fine. Our," my breath caught for a moment. "...Our new friend, the bus driver – Sandra – she didn't make it. And Imp had to kill him."



"Oh fuck, that's horrible. Um, give her a hug from me, I guess? You know I've never been good at the whole comfort thing. S-sorry for that..."



Supplementary creation for greater production, but to what end? Just churning out more critters would make the Protectorate nervous. Cuddlebug assembly line? Wait, the next Endbringer attack is coming soon. Working in tandem with this new critter, I could create a small army to hopefully keep the monsters from killing more people... "Water under the bridge, Emma. We agreed to just move on, so let's keep it like that. Now, dad told me you wanted to talk about something to do with your therapy?" Multiple bladders of creep, sectioned off. Rearmost one works until empty, then everything pushes one bladder down the line. Frontmost one then starts to fill back up, rinse and repeat.



"Yeah. Sorry. Uh, yeah, I'm still kinda flustered from the whole 'you getting attacked' thing. I...my therapist says the next step to really healing is to confront the people who enabled me, ask them why they were complicit – or actively helped – in my being a horrible person. I already had my talk with dad on the subject...shouting was had. But next I'm gonna talk to Madison, and I wanted to know if you wanted to talk to her, too."



My biological blueprints glitched. "...'Scuse me?"



She giggled. "I pretty much knew you'd react like that. Look, Sophia was a psycho but that's taken care of. But I never stopped to ask Madison why she was sticking around with us and torturing you. I thought you at least deserve the chance to ask her what the fuck."



I left the final uglybug paused, the little grub squirming in the creep as its siblings bloated into eggs. "I'll have to think about it. This is a pretty big thing to ask, Ems. Give me some time, okay?"



"Sure. And would you mind if I came over tomorrow? I'm still worried for you and I'd like to see you."



I rolled my eyes. At least clingy Emma was better than devil Emma. "Fine," I huffed theatrically. "But you start humping my leg and you get the rolled-up newspaper."



She couldn't reply, just give the little arrhythmic giggle she did when she was nervous. "See you tomorrow at 1, then," she managed to say before hanging up.



I shook my head. My life was so weird. Leaving Atlas in charge of the eggs – he was such a good bug – I went back upstairs. My thoughts with regards to the latest bug needed to be shared before I made any further plans.



The sight that greeted me was an adorable one. A raptor had its head in Aisha's lap and she was using its noggin as a tray to rest her soup bowl. Rachel had the ball of chub that was Bentley sitting in her own lap, and Alec was cuddled up beside Aisha. I hadn't expected Alec to be that touchy-feely without having the excuse of a group-hug or possible groping, but it actually looked...sweet.



"Hey guys." I sat down in a chair and a spiker slithered over to me, wanting head scratches. I slipped out my claws and dragged them along the critter's foreskull just how he liked, rewarding me with a breathy hiss of happiness. "So, minor news: Emma freaked out when she saw Coal's attack on the news, so she's coming over tomorrow. Also she's dealing with her enablers as part of her therapy, and offered to bring me along when she confronted Madison. I haven't decided on that one yet, mostly because we have bigger fish to fry."



Another raptor climbed fully into my lap and I began petting it as well, my spiker resting his head on the raptor's rump so he could still get skritchies. "The next Endbringer attack is coming soon. With my power, I think it's my duty to help." Dad made a strangled noise but I continued before he could interrupt. "I don't plan on getting anywhere near an Endbringer, but the creatures I make can hurt Lung, they can survive horrible injuries. If nothing else, they are replaceable – much as it pains me to admit it – so I could use them to distract the monsters and save lives."



My father was a very concerning shade of red, but he took a deep breath and a moment to center himself. "I can see that look in your eyes. It's the same look I used to get when obsessing over the ferry." He let out a sigh that was somewhere between wistful and defeated. "I love you, Taylor; you're all I've got left. But you're right that you can save lives, and I don't think I could live with myself if I kept you here, knowing so many other parents would lose their children..."



I tilted my head, surprise written all over my face. "That was a lot more painless than I'd expected."



Dad chuckled. "I'm coming to terms with what you having powers really means. There really is a moral responsibility to use your abilities to help others, just like a millionaire would have the obligation to donate to charity. Plus, I almost lost you once. Maybe I'm being a bit of a wet blanket now, but I don't want to risk that a second time."



Aisha spoke up, her voice still subdued. "So what about the rest of us?"



I looked down at my raptor, whose expression said 'don't look at me'. Traitor. "Honestly? I don't know. Other than me and Rachel, our powers aren't suited to heavy combat, and I wouldn't want to risk the dogs' lives in an Endbringer fight. Alec, does your power work on unconscious people?"



He nodded. "It's sloppier when they're not awake, like dial-up, but it does work."



"Then you'd be perfect for rescues. You could walk downed capes back to the medical area."



"Holy shit," he grinned, "you actually had a good idea!"



"Yeah, yeah, blow me." I turned to Lisa. "If I put you on Atlas and brought you near an Endbringer, you think you could figure it out?"



The blonde shrugged. "Maybe? I dunno; I've never done something like that before. I mean, I should be able to because my power's bullshit like that, but the Endbringers are unlike anything else. I could give it a shot, if I don't go from Thinker headache to head-explosion."



"Brian and Aisha could help load people onto the dogs," Rachel looked over at me. "Get hurt people back to base."



I nodded, more to myself than anything, and patted my spiker on its pate. "I want us all to stay out of danger if we can, and make it back home safe and sound."



Lisa held up a finger. "Speaking of, won't you be in danger when the Endbringer sees you spitting up uglybugs?"



"Follow me into my underground lair," I said in my best Dr. Evil voice. I'd been running more simulations in my head, fine-tuning my newest creature. It would have to be large, with numerous legs to support it. However, those legs ran the risk of becoming injured and immobilizing my creature, so I included fleshy webbing between the limbs that would help distribute the burden if a leg or two got hurt. It would have a large head, comparable in size to a spiker's, but for different reasons. My new creation needed to be able to receive complex recipes and then transmit that to the uglybugs to start their metamorphoses.



Activating uglybugs actually took a fair bit of my concentration, which would put me in danger if I tried to do it in the field. I included sensitive antennae encased within the armored head, giving my creation a greater functioning range than most of my critters. I gave it a humanoid (or humanoid-esque) upper torso with three-clawed hands that included opposable thumbs, just in case emergency situations might arise.



Once we got to the bottom of the steps, I activated the uglybug with the new bio-blueprint and watched as it started to swell. Atlas gave an indignant buzz and shifted over as the egg budged into his personal space. This was one of my biggest creations, only a little smaller than Atlas himself.



My creature burst free with a weird chittering shriek, and I was pleased to find that when its mouth was closed the seam looked rather like a kitty-face emoticon. It – she, I corrected myself – tilted her head at me and scuttled forward to bat at my hair. I giggled and gave her a hug. "What is it with you guys and my hair?" I turned back to my family. "Ladies and gentlemen, and I use those terms lightly, allow me to introduce the broodmother."

 

[Vherstinae]

Colony 6.06



My newest creation blinked her beady little eyes, surprisingly small for her head, and let out a gentle squeak. Her tongue poked out from between her jaws, a cute light purple. Then she crossed the distance between us with surprising speed and snatched me up.



I couldn't help the startled yelp that escaped as the broodmother grabbed me, and my bugs and critters saw my friends and family take a collective lunge forward. And then she nuzzled her chitinous cheek against mine. And cooed. I giggled a little awkwardly and hugged her back, eliciting a happy squeak.



"...Okay, you can put me down now, sweetie." I then realized she had no such intention. Apparently she felt entitled to far more cuddle time. Taking control, I had her put me down. "You can't hug me all the time," I replied to the depressed expression she managed to adopt.



To back me up, a raptor ambled over and pawed at her with its forelimbs. She snatched him up and began the snuggles.



I sighed. "I've created a monster."



"It's too funny to be a monster," dad observed.



Alec shook his head. "It's equal parts terrifying and strangely cute. My brain can't process this."



"I hate to rain on the love-fest," Lisa interrupted, "but something's occurred to me." When we looked over to her, my stomach (or what passed for a stomach) dropped out. Her face was exceedingly serious. "You made Kitteh-Face over there without so much as notifying the PRT beforehand. And our PRT district is run by a survivor of Ellisburg." She didn't need to say anything else.



My palm made immediate contact with my face. "Oh dear god, this is gonna go so bad."



Brian shrugged. "Not necessarily. Grab your phone and we'll do a speakerphone call to Piggot."



I'd laced elastic through my smartphone's case. Flies grabbed the little anchors and airlifted it through the house down to me. "So...how does one open a conversation like this?"



The dialtone emanated from my phone. Aisha made herself known beside me and I deduced what had happened. Dammit, Imp! "Just act natural. Awkward and geeky is prob'ly better than rehearsed, anyway."



A male operator picked up this time. "Parahuman Response Team non-emergency line. How can I help you?"



I cleared my suddenly dry throat. "Yes, this is Skitter of the Undersiders. If Director Piggot isn't busy, I have something to discuss with her. It's not 'drop everything' urgent, but still important."



I heard tapping, probably him checking my authenticity. "Okay, I'll check if the Director is available. Hold, please."



The broodmother made a high-pitched gurgling noise that sounded like a girlish titter. I looked over to see her trying to braid Alec's hair with her three-fingered hands, and failing spectacularly. I facepalmed again. Lord, give me strength...



The line clicked. "Alright, the Director has some time. I'll patch you through." After a moment, I heard the voice that had become quite familiar in my time as a cape. "Skitter. What's the issue? If any of you need counseling after the Coal incident, you're better off going through Renick than me."



"No. Well, maybe. I mean, that's up to Imp." I waved off my stuttering train of thought. "Whatever, that's not the reason I called. I made an impulsive decision and Foresight reminded me I should've contacted you first, rather than after the fact."



I could hear the withering look through the phone. "...I'll bite. What did you do?"



"I made a new critter. Now, in my defense, we'd just come through a traumatic experience and I was obsessing over ways to be more helpful–"



"Focus, Skitter. You can tell me the backstory later. What. Did. You. Do?"



I sighed. "Sorry, sorry. I can babble when I get nervous. Anyway, I was obsessing over how to help in an Endbringer situation–"



She cut me off. "Dear god, Skitter, if you tried to make Godzilla or something, so help me..."



I sputtered. "N-no! Nothing like that! It's just that I can only make so many uglybugs at a time, I'm helpless when I'm spawning them, and transforming them takes a moment of total concentration. So, I made a critter to fix that." I paused to take a breath and the Director prodded me to keep talking. "I call her a broodmother. She's a walking creep tank who can produce uglybugs and, at my direction, cause them to activate. With her I can churn out a massive amount of critters in a short time. While I hate to think of sending my babies to their deaths, the fact is they're replaceable and they can take the hits in place of capes."



"Can we examine this...broodmother?"



"Long as it's not an autopsy or dissection, then, sure?"



Piggot spoke before I could continue. "Then we'll meet you at your headquarters in one hour. I'd like to see a demonstration of this new creature's capabilities." As if she was reading my mind, she answered a question I hadn't yet asked. "If we can produce forces to reduce the number of parahuman deaths in Endbringer attacks, we need to take advantage of it. And you're also going to use it to mass-produce those little pet-things, aren't you?"



I blushed. "Well..."



"I can already feel a migraine coming on. One hour." She hung up the phone.



Blinking, I looked back to the others. "So, uh, maybe Atlas can carry her?"



(BREAK)



Despite her size, the broodmother wasn't particularly heavy. Atlas had indeed airlifted her to headquarters and we set about getting set up. The broodmother immediately laid down and nestled into the creep, gurgling happily. Atlas lumbered over to his stall (he'd claimed the biggest one as his territory) and settled in for a nap.



Soon after, an armored black SUV pulled up outside and Piggot stepped out, flanked by two troopers and backed by Velocity. It was still amazing to see her as she'd been before Ellisburg; she'd obviously been working to get herself back into shape, as the new suit pulled against her musculature when she moved. My spiker's precise eyes identified shoulder and hip holsters.



As team leader, Grue stepped up. "Director, Velocity, it's good to see you both again." He offered nods to the troopers. "This has been a really stressful couple of days for us all, as you can imagine."



The director nodded. "I can. That said, this meeting has a purpose. We can discuss other topics afterwards. Show me to this new creation."



We walked as a group, Foresight taking the conversation's reins. "Until now, you've just seen what we call Central, which is sort of a combination common-room and dormitory. Our other two buildings are the Kennel and the Hive. You can figure out their purposes, I'm sure." Remembering something, she added, "Oh, and the creep is really thick in there. Don't freak out; just walk on it like it's a gym mat."



Piggot made a noncommittal grunt, looking a bit uncomfortable, while Velocity – what we could see behind his mask – appeared curious. With a brief mental command I sent my bugs and critters scurrying away from the doors. As soon as we entered, the broodmother looked up with a happy squeak and I kept her seated. It wouldn't do for her to charge us and create a panic.



One of the troopers cleared his throat. "Permission to speak freely, Director?"



"Granted, but make it quick."



He pointed. "That is the most shit-your-pants-terrifying thing I've ever seen in my life."



"Wow," Regent snickered, "and people call me tactless. You're gonna make Skitter cry."



Fuck you, Regent. I didn't want him calling attention to me before I could get myself under control. That statement really had hurt me; I loved my critters and thought they were all beautiful. Well, the uglybugs were an exception, but they were a transitory stage anyway. I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my lip from quivering. Great. We survived Coal's attack and NOW all that emotion decides to come bubbling up...



In that split-second, Piggot turned to the trooper. "Soldier, I granted you permission to speak because I expected you would have something useful to contribute. Instead, you insulted and, yes, hurt the feelings of a teenaged girl who's just been through a horrific experience. Expect appropriate measures once we return to base."



As within our group, Grue stepped in to mediate. "Like you said, Director, we're here for a reason." He gestured to my newest creation. "Skitter calls this the broodmother. I'm pretty sure she's controlling it right now, mostly because it's a hugger."



Velocity responded with a flat, "What."



Tension broken, I stepped in. "She's kind of like an overly-affectionate mom who doesn't realize she embarrasses her kids." I broke off a safe distance from the group and finally relinquished control. Sure enough, she practically tackled me and started cuddling.



The other trooper cocked his head. "You don't see that every day."



Piggot huffed. "Skitter, there's no other way I can think to phrase this: What the fuck?" She pointed at various points on the broodmother. "Just, why? Why the creepy legs? Why the disturbingly human torso? Why?"



"I don't think it's disturbing," I muttered before managing to convince the broodmother to let me down. "We'll have to wean you out of this clingy phase," I said to her. Fixing my hair, I turned back to Piggot. "As for the human-like body, I think it's a mental thing. I'm delegating some aspects of my control to her, and I guess it's easier to have a bug that looks a bit like a person in that respect."



Velocity stepped forward. "This is all very interesting, in an unsettling sort of way, but we did come here for a demonstration. Can we see this thing's capabilities?"



"Sure." I shot my broodmother a quick look and she straightened up, waiting for instructions. "While I can control her fully, I've also designed her to take brief mental commands and extrapolate from there. For example." I put out an order for four uglybugs. The critter grunted softly and the caterpillar-like abdomen opened at the rear, disgorging creep and a quartet of squirming grossness. I had to admit, the sound was kind of nasty even to me. "And next..." Another thought demanded four cuddlebugs. Rather than the brief tunnel vision-style focus I got from activating the uglybugs, I felt nothing, but the bugs morphed all the same. After about half a minute the four eggs popped without fanfare and out crawled my little cutie-pies. "I made one for each of you, on the house."



While the Director looked a bit nauseous, Velocity was curious enough to pick his up. It looked at him with round, soulful eyes. He smiled. Then, still holding the little bug, he stepped back in line. "My girlfriend would like this."



Piggot's eyes bored into my skull. "So this creature can produce anything you can?"



I shrugged. "So far, yeah. I'm not sure if it can make other broodmothers, or if it'd be able to produce new critters I invent after having hatched her."



"And what stops it from flooding us with raptors?"



Ah, so that's what this was about. "The broodmother herself, actually. I made it so she can't independently manipulate her creep. The best she can do is spread it in its natural form, or produce the cuddlebug variant, an antibacterial coagulant. Only I can flip the switch that lets her produce and activate uglybugs."



Seemingly satisfied, the director relaxed her posture. "Very well. You've been a model citizen thus far so I'm content to continue your free rein. But this is your only warning: outside of a state of emergency, you always alert the PRT to the creation of new creatures."



At that moment, two sets of what sounded like miniature Endbringer sirens went off. Piggot and Velocity both checked their phones.



(BREAK)



Meanwhile: Dragon & Armsmaster



Dragon's fuzzy image followed her dear friend around the room. "Colin, you haven't slept since I last spoke to you, have you?" A grunt was the only reply. "Or the time before that?" Another grunt. "Damn it, Wallis, you're going to go insane from sleep deprivation or screw up and get yourself killed!"



Armsmaster scratched behind his ear like a squirrel while he moved from computer bank to computer bank. "I can't rest yet; you know this. The next Endbringer attack is due to come any minute now and I don't have complete coverage. We're blind, here!"



"Set your perfectionism aside, Armsmaster, and think! We're only blind because you refuse to switch it on! I know you have the North American continent covered as well as most parts of South America."



"But it'll be exponentially more difficult to adjust the system once it's functional!"



"And you'll have TIME to adjust the system! Leviathan's coming next; divert resources to coastal areas and switch it on!"



"Fine, fine!" He wanted to pout like a chastised child but he couldn't even take the time for that. Running some calculations, he adjusted the satellite coverage and was grateful that Dragon was assisting him from her end. Several minutes and an oncoming bout of carpal tunnel later, he finally hit 'Execute'. "Alright, we're live in ten."



The seconds ticked by. Where there was supposed to be the Protectorate logo with his halberd serving as the P – his own trademark for Tinker devices – there was instead a large red readout: ABNORMAL WEATHER CONDITIONS. CHANCE OF ENDBRINGER: 90%



"What!? Damn it!" Switching to one of the satellites with imaging capability, he zoomed in. The comparatively tiny yet overwhelmingly intense stormcloud was all he needed to see. "Dragon!"



"Already contacting the Protectorate. Where's he headed?"



"Running the projections..." Colin Wallis was not a man who was good with words. Furthermore, he found cursing to be crude and useless. Only under the utmost stress would anything more severe than a network TV-safe cuss pass his lips. "Fuck...Fuck ME!" Despite the fact that Dragon could hear him clearly, Colin found himself screaming. "He's heading here! He's heading for Brockton Bay!"



(BREAK)



Scarcely a moment after the phones rang, deafening sirens shook through my body. The Endbringer alerts. "Oh god," I whispered, inaudible over the clangor, "it's coming here."



Piggot spun on her heels and was mobile, screaming at us over her shoulder. "Come on! Everyone to the Rig!"



I blanched. "My dad!"



Beside me, Cerberus growled. "My dogs!"



Velocity was beside me in an instant. "Give me his address and I'll grab him for you."



Piggot got Cerberus' attention. "Come with us and we'll bring K-9 handlers. Get all the dogs out of the shelters and, in exchange, you send as many as you can with us for rescue."



I swallowed hard. Thus far, I'd been lucky. I'd only seen a handful of deaths and life had been mostly fun and games. Now, a Monster came for my home. It came to destroy everything I held dear.



And it was my duty to stop it.

 

[Vherstinae]

Interlude 6.y



All for naught. He'd been working on – maybe – one or two hours' sleep a night, cashing in favors, plotting – endlessly plotting... And it'd all turned to shit. Deep within his office, away from prying eyes, Coil allowed his emotions to get the better of him. With a savage scream he threw his chair into the wall, stomping as if he intended to break the floor, swinging clawlike hands at imaginary victims. He rounded on his desk and computer, lifting up the latter and shattering it on the former, breaking his bones in the bout of fury that shattered the desk into kindling.



His frustration abated, Coil closed off that possible universe and leaned back in his chair, appearing to any observer to be completely calm and in control. The sirens were deafening even within his underground lair, and were making it difficult for him to focus. Rather than looking forward, his mind couldn't help but look to the past. Everything, everything had gone wrong. He'd had a plan, one judged by Accord himself as 'banal, imbecilic, but passable'. And then, somehow, it was as though fate took one step to the side.



The first inconvenience had been when a major prize fight at the Ruby Dreams had been canceled, on account of the challenger injuring himself in training. Instead of going after Lung's finances, he'd diverted his pet villains to a civilian establishment, the Clams Casino...which was itself now targeted by the ABB since the Ruby Dreams wouldn't bring in the quarterly revenue it had expected. The Undersiders hit first, aggravating Lung, who retaliated. Coil had expected for one of the Undersiders to die in the ensuing fight, likely Bitch or Regent, but then Skitter intervened.



For whatever reason, rather than ally themselves with the other villains as was typical, E88 had made a power play in the wake of Bakuda's rampage. They had the numbers but hadn't expected the local PRT to go so radically against regulations. Neither had Coil, to be honest. He'd been looking to salvage the catastrophe by stepping in and cleaning up the mess, insinuating Thomas Calvert as new head of the PRT East/Northeast.



Peace, while less desirable than the endless struggle that had formerly defined Brockton Bay, was nevertheless preferable to the carnage of the war. But when Kaiser – having apparently suffered a nervous breakdown and second trigger, now calling himself Der Klingengeist – resurfaced, Coil saw the perfect opportunity. While negotiating a nonaggression pact with the madman, he let slip a handful of ideas, at least one of which had wormed its was into Anders' mind: kidnapping Panacea would make the heroes panic, leading a frenzied search for the healer. While the guardians were away, one could strike at the PRT itself – remove the eyes and ears, shatter the leadership, leave the heroes easy pickings. And after the Director and her Deputy were dead, Coil would break his treaty with Anders and Thomas Calvert would step in to fill the power vacuum. Who better to stabilize the city than a native of the Bay, and a decorated PRT veteran to boot?



Yet again, the Undersiders (specifically, Skitter) had interceded and managed to unknowingly sabotage his plans. After the Animos incident, Coil knew he couldn't directly kill Skitter without a legion of bloodthirsty monsters hunting him until either he was dead or all of them were. So he had to bide his time, wait for an opportunity to direct an even bigger threat the girl's way.



Coil paused in his thoughts, then smiled behind his helmet. The malice in that expression could wilt flowers, curdle milk and make puppies cry. Leviathan might destroy the city, there was always a chance of that, but he still had his little pet. He could rebuild. More important was that the Endbringer was one of the biggest threats in existence. And he knew Skitter's messiah complex would force her into combat with the monster. With just a bit of manipulation, the right paranoia whispered into the right ears, he could arrange it. He could finally be rid of the thorn in his side. Then he would exterminate Foresight and wash his hands of the Undersiders; they had become too inconvenient to sponsor further.



Letting out a sigh, Coil leaned back in his chair. He buzzed the intercom. "Pitter, bring our guest in for a visit. I need to run some numbers."



(BREAK)



In her cell, Dinah Alcott could feel the numbers bombarding her. Leviathan was coming; so many possibilities were now in play. So many horrible, horrible possibilities... She knew she was Coil's slave, wished for nothing more than to escape, and yet the 'candy' with which he plied her made the pain go away. She'd learned that the sensation was referred to as 'Thinker's headache' and that it typically only affected Thinkers when they used their power too much.



For Dinah, even when she tried to ignore the numbers, her power wouldn't shut up. The pain thrummed endlessly at the back of her mind, red-hot and pulsating, pressing against her eye sockets from within and threatening to burst open her skull. Actually using her power? That was like splitting her head with an axe. But she knew she needed to, before Coil gave her another dose and sent her into the drifting dream-world.



Chance that, after Leviathan's attack, I'll no longer be captive? 50%. That, in itself, was unusual. Her power was precise to an infinite number of decimal points: to have an exact 50/50 chance was something she'd never experienced.



Chance that, during Leviathan's attack, I'll die? 50%. That was less heartening. Still, one more question nagged at her through the deathly agony.



Chance that, after Leviathan's attack, I'll still be Coil's captive? 25.116%. That result confused her. Did that mean her lack of captivity would only result from her death? No, that couldn't be right, because of the 25% chance. Could that mean...



Chance that, after Leviathan's attack, I will be alive and not Coil's captive? 10.3125%. Dinah clutched at her temples, barely avoiding biting through her tongue. She needed more answers, but it hurt so bad–



The cell door creaked open, Mr. Pitter's haggard face framed in the dim light. "Dinah? You need to come with me."



(BREAK)



Sleep-deprived and arguably delerious, Colin Wallis staggered to his Armoire. The name had to be capitalized, as it was the biometrically-sealed vault wherein he kept his armor and weaponry.



"Colin," Dragon admonished, "You can't fight like this. You haven't slept, you're barely acting like yourself. You'll get in the way." The cameras tracked him around the room, her avatar's eyes following him on the screen.



"I couldn't get any sleep with the sirens anyway, so it's not like I could rest up before the fight." Slightly numb fingers worked the clasps on his boots. "Besides, I need to do this. I'm the leader of Brockton Bay's Protectorate: I can't be seen hiding from a fight. Moreover, the Bay is my home. I have to defend it."



"No, Colin," Dragon's voice was surprisingly firm. "I won't allow you to go out there just to die. You have too much good to do. You can't throw it away trying to be a figurehead."



"What would you have me do? Sit back and work comms?" He donned his helmet, attaching it to the cuirass. "I have to be there. People look up to me and the rest of the Protectorate needs to see me fighting alongside them. If morale fails, we stand an even greater chance of losing."



The redhead huffed, her pale features reddened with frustration. "Stop for a second and just listen to me!" Her shout caught the hero by surprise and gave her the chance to talk with his full attention on her. "You can pilot one of my suits. Normally I can only deploy one at a time and still reliably maintain the support network. But you're the Tinker I trust the most; if you can control one alongside me, we can bring a lot more firepower to the fight." She looked down, a bit nervous. "Please, please don't take this the wrong way, but my suits are immensely more effective than your halberd. With your talent and expertise driving one, you can hit Leviathan even harder than normal."



That gave him further pause. Armsmaster didn't know of a single Tinker who would turn down the chance to drive one of Dragon's battlesuits. She was offering that opportunity to him.



"...I'll just need your help to jailbreak it first."



"...What." Either Colin was more slaphappy than he'd thought, or something weird was going on.



"You're my closest friend. I can't stand the thought of losing you. But I'd rather lose your companionship than your life." The projection blushed. "There...there are some things I've never told you..."



(BREAK)



Ethan held his wife close, relishing in the warmth of her embrace. As the PRT scrambled and evacuation procedures commenced, the couple stole away to a currently unused quarters for privacy, where they could just be themselves. "We'll be okay, hon. You'll see." Assault had not been a good man. He willingly helped monstrous parahumans escape from Birdcage transport, all for money. Huge amounts of money, yes, but just money. But Alice, his little kicked puppy, she made him want to be a better man. The hope and determination she'd showed him had awoken something in him, something he'd thought long dead. While he now felt guilt over his prior actions, he had no regrets. Because it was only through living that life that he had met the most wonderful woman in existence.



Alice swallowed. When her husband stopped using that asinine nickname, it meant things were deathly serious. Of course, Endbringers were always serious, but this time...this time it was attacking their home. They'd fallen in love in Brockton Bay; they'd gotten married in Brockton Bay. And now a monster was coming to destroy all of that. She took a shuddering breath. "I know." Taking him by the collar, eyes shining with determination, she led Ethan to the bed. "Just once before we go, for good luck."



Despite the gravity of the situation, Ethan couldn't help the goofy grin that spread across his face. "As you wish, my dear."



(BREAK)



Noelle whimpered, the various nightmarish maws vocalizing in synch. Krouse wanted so desperately to take her hand, to comfort her with more than words, but he knew that was impossible. This horror had been their lot in life since the day the Smurf pulled them into this dimension.



"It's coming for me," the delicate girl squeaked, her frailness only further accentuated by the titanic piles of misshapen flesh that comprised her lower body. "They pick out capes most of the time, right? Kill big threats or big hopes? It's gonna kill me." She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.



"Noelle," Krouse swallowed when his voice threatened to crack, "we'll be okay. We always are. We're survivors."



She sniffled. "Maybe...maybe it's a good thing. First Cody went crazy, and I keep hurting people wherever I go. Maybe I should go out and fight it, die doing something good for once in my miserable life!"



Terror lanced through him. No, she was his world, his everything. She couldn't sacrifice herself. "No, babe! No! We'll get you cured and then you can use your powers to make things right! We'll fix the world, get it to make sense again! And then, then we can go home!" He barely avoided touching her. "We can do it if we stick together," he offered her a lopsided smile that couldn't quite reach his eyes. "You and me, girl, against the world."



Noelle halfheartedly nodded, worry gnawing at her.



(BREAK)



David slapped his hand on the desk. "I need another booster shot, now!"



The aging dark-haired woman stared him down. "So you've kept shouting. And I am telling you, it is too soon. An overdose would likely cripple you in the short term and damage your agent, further degrading your powers in the long term. You will have to do without." Despite not raising her voice, she managed to affect the attitude of some supreme power, incontestable and overwhelming.



"People will die! People who I could save!"



Doctor Mother narrowed her eyes. "And so what? A million people die, a few thousand parahumans at most? That is not even half of one percent of our absolute lowest estimated casualties when Zion finally attacks. You are our single greatest weapon against him and you'd rather throw away your life fighting Leviathan. What, do you think the enemy will leave the people you saved alone out of professional courtesy? They'll die all the same, only in a few years rather than now, and so many more will die with them. All because you were impatient."



Eidolon screamed, his eyes burning with hate as he slammed his fist into the desk, some power or another turning the wood to ash.



"Do you think that I enjoy this?" The Doctor's tone was cold and hard. "That I get off on knowing that countless people are dying in screaming agony? My objective, David, is the preservation of humanity. My goal – my only goal – is to ensure that the greatest number of people survive. Millions will die; more likely billions or trillions or more. That is unavoidable. It is a horror that we cannot prevent and we will all die trying. Instead our goal is to mitigate the casualties, reduce a death toll in the quadrillions to one in 'only' the hundreds of trillions, and end Zion's existence so that we can continue onward." Unable to rest her hands on her desk, she placed them in her lap. "It is a burden that I bear with, if not pride, than dignity. We're archiving human culture, scientific achievement, things that would otherwise be lost forever. You, me, all of Cauldron, none of us may live to see humanity rebuild. I am fully prepared to die in service to our cause. But we must ensure that humanity does live on. So tell me, David, will you die now to merely stave off the deaths of a paltry million? Or will you suck it up and keep going, so that we can preserve the entire race?"

 

[Vherstinae]

Unmaking 7.01



The Rig was chaos. PRT agents scrambled back and forth, trying not to inconvenience the rushing heroes. All the while, the enormous structure rumbled and shook as it drifted toward the western pier, ready to lock in so that the Protectorate's headquarters wouldn't be the first casualty of Leviathan's attack.



I spied New Wave's white suits, Panacea clutching her cuddlebug like a lifeline. In one auditorium, members of Empire 88 – members we'd imprisoned – were being barked at by what appeared to be a drill instructor. I chose to listen in.



"...new work-release program. The armbands you had to put on before we released you are modified Simurgh-attack bands. If any of you assaults a civilian or fellow cape, or if you go more than five miles past city limits, you go boom. If you survive, you'll get a minimum of five years knocked off your sentence..."



We moved on, headed for the main conference room. Several auditoria were being used as drop-off points so the helipads didn't get overcrowded. A teleport chamber, courtesy of the Spanish Tinker Locomotor, continually spat out that nation's best and brightest. Legend appeared in the sky, making a sonic boom as he decelerated from his light-form. Strider was working himself to exhaustion bringing in waves of capes from all over the world.



Still more heroes were being brought in. I overheard PRT administrators saying that Monorail was trying to cram as many heroes as he could into his car, while Rocketman was loading his ICHM (if I remembered right, Intercontinental Heroic Missile) with whatever heroes Australia could spare.



Narwhal's unmistakeable form announced the Guild's presence, and I felt a stab of jealousy. She was more than a foot taller than me but could make Emma look like she had my figure. Life is so unfair... After that moment of self-loathing, I noticed that Dragon wasn't with them. The Canadian team's frontwoman stepped up and saluted Piggot and Miss Militia (that was odd; Armsmaster wasn't present). "Dragon's working on a last-minute invention. She'll be here before the fighting starts."



Then, looming up behind Narwhal, was something malevolent. Clad in a ragged robe the green-brown of moldy burlap, voluminous hood casting much of the face in shadow, the figure must have been eight feet tall at least considering how easily it cleared her head. The skin was mottled gray with the texture of paper, like a mummified corpse, and the almost nonexistent lips split in a sinister rictus grin to expose age-worn teeth. The light caught its face for a moment and I saw that its eyes were a solid, actually pristine white.



Two feet below and to its left was a man who stirred a brief memory, which helped me put two and two together. He wore a heavy gray leather trenchcoat reinforced with armored plates over a kevlar bodysuit, a hood of the same gray leather somehow attached to the coat. A shiny green mask covered the upper half of his face, the edges descending like fangs to flank his mouth. A weary yet defiant smirk adorned his lips as ash-colored smoke clouded around his fingers. The Chaturagh was one of the few capes New Orleans could offer who could be of any real use against Leviathan. The city's combination of occult past and party-central present led to mostly theatrical heroes and villains playing a big game with one another. The Chaturagh was a rogue who didn't bother with the typical goings-on, apparently spending most of his life as his alter-ego. He only came out to play when shit got real.



Narwhal turned and started. "Dammit, Prophet," she admonished the towering ghoul, "don't sneak up on me!"



"Apologies," the monster rasped in a voice reminiscent of Dr. Claw, "I'll be sure to stomp around next time." I got the feeling he (it?) was being sarcastic.



"Shut up, Prophet," Chaturagh admonished his companion (or was that his projection? Prophet was one of his Returned, beings he manifested with his Master ability, yet Prophet was also supposedly independent). "We're here to play nice and I don't need you being your usual self."



Somehow, even with a mostly immobile face, Prophet managed to sneer. "Fine. I'll go support the walls." The being stalked noiselessly through the crowd.



Piggot offered him a nod. "Chaturagh. Good to have you with us. Hopefully your firepower will make a difference."



"Well, technically all I do is call 'em up," he replied, and I was struck by how normal a powerful parahuman necromancer sounded. "The Returned do all the heavy lifting."



A squat, grouchy-looking man elbowed past. "Where do I get my armband?"



The director was unamused. "Speak with one of the PRT operatives in the Parapet or Bulwark auditoriums, Mr..."



"Barker," he replied. "Freelancer. I usually work security, but if Big Ugly's comin' to smash my hometown, I'll toss my hat in."



Piggot snapped an arm out in an impatient point and sent him on his way.



I'd left the broodmother in the Hive, with the main gate open, so she could produce as many raptors and spikers as possible. However, looking at all these heavy hitters – so many insanely powerful heroes and villains – made me realize that I might need even more firepower to keep Leviathan's ire focused on my critters instead of the irreplaceable human lives.



While Foresight rattled off cape names and powers to the rest of the team, most likely drawing on memory instead of her power considering what I'd asked her to do in the fight, I let myself zone out. I fell into the depths of my mind and began spinning strands of possibility, countless what-ifs that would forge my next creature.



For all of his size and power, I'd seen the footage. Capes like Alexandria could knock Leviathan flat; he wasn't unstoppable. Add to that his spindly frame and you had a being that was, well, kind of like me – thin and with a shit center of gravity. An army ant-style swarm of raptors could probably tackle him, and a barrage from my spikers might stagger the beast, but I wanted to lay him flat. Think, Taylor!



Creatures like mantis shrimp can make plasma cannons through sheer force and friction, infusing heat to alter water's natural state. Maybe I could work with that, create something like a chemical reaction, a... What did those old spy movies call it? A binary-agent bomb! Upon impact, the divider breaks and the chemicals mix, causing an explosion. In this case, though, an explosive would be too cost-intensive. But what about two substances that combine to make a gas? The sudden form shift would burst out, mostly harmless, but would definitely stagger the big bastard!



I started with a shrimp but discarded the idea, though the multiple legs felt like a good concept. In order to force the projectile out, they'd need to brace themselves first. I added four-clawed feet like cranes had, then realized I needed the creep reservoir. Multiple legs, big reservoir...spider! I took a tarantula base, fused the eight legs into six with the middle pair now thicker and designed to dig into surfaces for stability. The face split cleanly in half, opening up to reveal a straight channel. The abdomen was the reservoir, the projectiles took full form in the thorax, and blasted out through the head. These new creatures were crude, quick-and-dirty creations that wouldn't live long on their own. I could refine them later, but for now it didn't matter that they probably wouldn't survive a day: they would serve well against Leviathan. Opting to call them launchers for now, I saved the mental template and moved on to search-and-rescue.



The new critters would need to be able to move through flooded areas, so I started with the principle of a hovercraft. Instead of drifting on an inflated bottom, though, I had the idea for them to move on an undulating sheet of creep. They'd need to be able to dive if necessary, so I made them short and flat; flounder-like. Pincer claws, much like my cuddlebugs', could be used to lift the injured as well as jaws-of-life if people were trapped. How would they move? Spinny tail like from Looney Tunes? No, that wouldn't work on land. Legs? Yes, that could work, use the webbing like the broodmother. The legs could 'row' back and forth to move over water, and then they could scuttle on land. I gave them the generic name of 'helpers' and moved on.



Somebody tugged on my hair, jerking me out of my trance. I looked over to see Foresight pointing. Following her gesture, I found a PRT agent with a box of armbands. I slipped it on and it automatically tightened to fit snugly around my bicep. "State your name," it commanded in Dragon's voice. "Uh, Skitter," I replied, then immediately found myself terrified that I'd be forever recorded as 'Uh, Skitter'. Thankfully, "Processing. One moment please. Confirmed, Skitter of the Undersiders."



Moments later, my armband beeped, as did everybody else's. Dragon's voice came out again, this time not sounding generic and pre-recorded. "Oh, crud. That's the one-hour estimate. I'm on my way, ETA 25, but you should get ready now."



"Alright," Legend's voice replied. I realized that we'd be getting an inspirational speech from Legend, the hero of heroes. You could practically see his halo, and that wasn't because of his light powers. "Everyone, thank you for coming. You are prepared to sacrifice everything, no matter your world view, for the greater good of humanity. We will never be able to properly express our appreciation, especially should you die in the fight. I'm sure you don't want to hear about the possibility of your death, but it's a reality we all have to face. On average, in a fight against Leviathan one out of every four parahumans will die in the battle." Okay, maybe not so inspirational. "But you must be aware of this now, and come to terms with it; not only with your own mortality but that of your fellow capes. We have to be prepared to change our plans should a key player die or become incapacitated. The jaded have taken to referring to our battlefield-report program as the 'kill counter', but it is a necessity so that we can keep track of who's available to help."



Legend took a moment to breathe. "Above all, we need to fight smart. We're told that Leviathan is not as powerful as Behemoth or as insidious as the Simurgh and we begin to think that he is the weakest and least threatening of the Endbringers. Unfortunately, it is more like he is the median between his siblings, possessing terrible strength and surprising cunning. The monstrous appearance belies an impressive intelligence devoted solely to exterminating us.



"No-one is expected to throw their life away in a suicidal charge. We are not necessarily fighting to win; we are fighting to not lose. Behemoth may hold the record for most parahumans killed, but Leviathan's total body count far exceeds his siblings' by several orders of magnitude. He comes not for us, but for our families, the innocents we protect every day." He took another pause; I thought I heard him choking up a little. "When Leviathan attacks, we designate the city as a 'hard' or 'soft' target. A 'hard' target is more stable, able to take a beating and endure. With a 'hard' target, we have the option to regroup, wear him down, draw him away from the population centers. With a 'soft' target, we don't have the luxury of time. For whatever reason – unstable soil, underground rivers – the city is a prime target for Leviathan's macrohydrokinesis. We have to hit him hard and fast, keep up the pressure and force him back into the ocean. Unfortunately, Brockton Bay is a 'soft' target. Not only is the bay itself a threat, but an aquifer beneath the city is ripe for attack. This means we must work together, and that Search-&-Rescue is even more important than usual, because we have to get as many capes back in the fight as possible to keep the pressure on. As we prepare, we have to remember what is truly at stake: the times Leviathan won."



I found myself saying the names under my breath. "Kyushu. Newfoundland..."



"We've set aside ten minutes for a prayer session. If you wish, press both buttons and say your religious denomination, and you'll be connected to the closest match."



I tapped Grue. "I'm working on critters. Bug me when they're done." He nodded before pressing the buttons and saying, "Christian."



Imp gave an exaggerated eyeroll/headroll before reluctantly doing the same.



I sank back into my mind, focusing on ways to further refine and reinforce my critters. Before I knew it, I was pulled back into the real world. Armsmaster's voice was coming through the armbands. "To brief you on your armband functions: The top button is a beacon. Use it if you require assistance or to gather a group of combatants for an attack. The bottom button is a communicator. Use it to contact individual capes, but do not abuse this. For emergencies or group communication, hold down both buttons to speak to every armband. If you need to reorient yourselves, hold down both buttons and say 'map'. As an aside, for those wondering where I am, I am remotely piloting another of Dragon's battlesuits. We will both be arriving within ten minutes."



At this point we could hear the wind howling, the waves crashing against the breakers. It shook the Rig and made my reservoir splash.



Legend's voice rose up. "Brutes, Masters with durable or disposable projections, and anyone confident they can take a hit, you'll be with Alexandria's group. Blasters and other ranged combatants, with me. Unconventional capes will gather with Eidolon and his veteran lieutenants, to devise battle plans. S&R will gather here, centered around the healers. Panacea and Othala are familiar with Brockton Bay and can help with rescue planning."



Upon hearing that, I ordered Atlas to pick up the broodmother and bring her to the Rig. My other critters were ordered to zero in on my location. Foresight and Regent moved to Eidolon while Grue, Imp and Cerberus went to S&R.



When the broodmother landed, I managed to successfully produce several helpers and a voicebug from her. "You can talk to this bug here," I said to Panacea (who had her cuddlebug cradled in her hood like a hammock), "and I'll hear it. These guys are helpers for Search-and-Rescue. I'll be sending them out to canvas the city once the fighting starts."



"Got it, Skitter," Panacea gave as an offhand reply, still nervously eyeing Othala beside her.



My broodmother backed out, sticking near the Rig, ready to spew out new critters. Now that I understood that she could make new creations too, I immediately set her to work creating launchers to supplement the rest of my swarm. I'd spent the whole transit time gathering bugs as well, and I pulled them together into a warehouse to access as needed. If nothing else, they could serve as a living smokescreen.



Dashing up the rooftop access stairs, I emerged onto the helipad and leapt into the open air, dropping right into Atlas' saddle.



As we swept through the air, I saw the waves churning. A long-fingered hand split the water's surface and gripped one of the breakers, cracking the concrete. The deformed skeletal figure rose from the sea in total silence, four glowing eyes piercing the fog like floodlights.



As if to officially announce his presence, one more massive wave crashed into the breakers, showering almost the entire city in seafoam.



Leviathan had arrived.

 

[Vherstinae]

Unmaking 7.02



"Alright people," Legend's voice reverberated from my armband, "Shielders and anybody who can block the waves, follow Narwhal's lead! Masters on Chaturagh, Brutes on Alexandria, Movers and Blasters with me!"



Spotting the assembled Masters, I began moving my critters to their location. My helpers hung back, hopefully out of the carnage, ready to rescue injured capes. My launchers were too slow to turn and keep track of Leviathan, so I'd had them take up various positions. My goal was to have one launcher covering every nearby section.



When you see something as big as Leviathan, you tend to think it's going to be slow. Its sheer mass would weigh it down, and its size would produce a lot more wind shear. And then you see Leviathan move. Its arms, longer than its legs and tipped with spindly fingers, tore into the ground and helped propel it forward while it dashed like an Olympic runner. Uncaring, Leviathan barreled its way through a platoon of Brutes before Alexandria crashed into it. Rather like a wrestler, she caught the monster around the neck and bore it to the ground, the impact shaking the ground so much so that I could hear the shockwaves from my perch atop Atlas.



Wordsmith down, CF-6. Protontress down, CF-6.



Leviathan called in a surge of water from his afterimage, wrapping it around Alexandria. She was forced to break off to keep from drowning, and Leviathan swam through his own afterimage to stand once more. Not for long. My launcher opened its gullet and fired out a projectile. With a strangely mute whump, the hardened creep casing burst and the blast sent Leviathan back to the ground. The monster undulated its body like a snake, swimming in the shallow pools of water to get out of the line of fire.



Before I could react, Leviathan shot out of the water like a rocket. It tore the entire roof off, crushing my launcher in the process. Despite how much it hurt to lose a critter, knowing that I'd successfully kept Leviathan occupied was a boost to my confidence. I started bringing in raptors and spikers to keep the pressure on.



Leviathan hit the ground and hurled the chunks of concrete at other heroes, squashing several of them. It grabbed a smaller female hero but before it could crush her the girl was replaced with Brandish's invulnerable hard-light form. Spinning, Leviathan pitched the glowing orb into Legend before breaking into a flat-out run. A horde of Crusader's copies tried to slow the creature but couldn't do much.



"Wave!"



Everyone braced themselves and my critters ran for high ground. An enormous swell of water flowed around the breakers like they didn't exist, flooding the city and washing over the defenders. In that instant Leviathan controlled the battle, swimming through the wave and tearing through heroes.



Tractor down, CF-8. Klinger down, CF-8. Gatling deceased, CF-8. Darling down, CF-8...



My raptors launched themselves from a taller building, crawling over one another like a swarm of army ants. They landed on and around Leviathan, swarming over him. Their blades couldn't do much more than chip at its immensely thick hide, but however minute it was still damage. The weight alone, my raptors moving at my direction, was dragging it down. Leviathan tore at the crowd atop him, massacring my babies. I was rewarded, however, when Purity and Narwhal caught it in a pincer and poured on the hurt. Purity blasted it from above while Narwhal sent bladed forcefields from below. The impact from Purity's shots drove him down into the fields. With a brutal twist of its unnaturally lithe body, Leviathan pried itself free from the fields and charged Narwhal, who desperately fought to keep the Endbringer at bay.



A blast of...the only way I could describe it was sickly-looking energy caught Leviathan in the face, filling the air with the scent of long-rotted mold. A quintet of mismatched humanoid creatures leapt upon the hydrokinetic and began tearing into him. Three were shriveled and emaciated, clawing at Leviathan with skeletal fingers and spitting up some sort of corrosive fluid. The other two had enormous blades (when I was better familiarized with weaponry, I'd recognize them as falchions) in place of their right arms and were all too happy to hack at the monster's hide. In front of Leviathan, Prophet stood tall and unloaded another blast of power into its chest.



Spiker volley. Tracking Leviathan from countless angles, I aimed and my spikers launched their spines on a deadly arc, raining needles onto the beast. Unfortunately, Leviathan yet again capitalized on something that was supposed to be a detriment. With another surge of water he broke free of his attackers and swam away, looping back to sector CF-6 and plowing into an S&R group. Those spines lodged in him became lodged in them.



Blasters riding some of Rocketman's mobile platforms gave chase, unloading their best shots into Leviathan. The monster continued to flee until he suddenly doubled back. A thick column of water erupted, knocking the Blasters off their vehicles and turning the intersection into a killing field. The water surrounding Leviathan suddenly turned to ice, forcing the abomination to tear itself free. Eidolon led a charge, providing more of a support role with his current powers while other capes dished out the hurt. Flashbang was in the throng, pitching huge explosive orbs. Using the flashes as cover, Glory Girl shot out with a brutal straight punch to Leviathan's face. She kept flying until she was out of reach for easy retaliation, looping around a warehouse to strike at his leg. Glory Girl succeeded at knocking the monster off-balance but Leviathan caught her with his tail, the strike audible even over the storm. She pinwheeled through the air and crashed into a nearby building.



Glory Girl down, CF-7.



Leviathan righted itself and charged Eidolon's team. It leapt, jetting itself forward by turning its afterimage into a water rocket, and was stopped dead by a huge kinetic blast from Eidolon. He formed water into icy spikes, Leviathan impacting them as it dropped. The buildings on which Eidolon's strike team had gathered began to rumble before collapsing. My best guess was that the monster had taken out the support beams and retaining walls while they were distracted fighting him.



Chameleo down, CF-7. Grand Graham deceased, CF-7. Flashbang deceased, CF-7. Euclid down, CF-7... The names just kept coming. I needed to get my helpers there to rescue whoever I could.



I managed to get my broodmother to create a second broodmother, which was necessary to keep production steady. Still more raptors stormed through the shallows, hunting Leviathan. The monster moved to finish off the survivors but was stopped by a veritable curtain of guided missiles. Two enormous suits of armor floated in the air, glorious and defiant, daring Leviathan to attack. He accepted the challenge and the armors juked out of the way, peppering Leviathan with laser fire in order to keep its attention.



"Wave," I screamed the moment I saw the swells. Energy fields, rock walls and countless other blockades rose up and were subsequently hammered down by the sheer force behind the water. They served their purpose as breakers, however, and the wave merely flooded the docks rather than drowning the whole city.



Aegis crashed into Leviathan from behind, shattering his body but able to keep right on fighting. The Endbringer swatted him out of the sky and moved on, only to get pounced yet again by the persistent Ward. I would've sworn Leviathan looked annoyed as he impaled Aegis on a spear-like finger and then flung him into the water yet again. The distraction paid off as Fenja and Menja managed to grab Leviathan's arms. Holding him still, they kept his attention while Vista compressed the space and let Clockblocker tap him.



Instantly, everything went silent. The storm dissipated, water stopped crashing against the breakers. "Alright," Alexandria said, a little out of breath, "We've got a few minutes to regroup. Search-and-Rescue, I recommend you move as fast as you can."



Various requests came through the armbands. Chaturagh wanted an airlift, as he and Prophet had been (unsuccessfully) chasing after Leviathan since the monster broke free. Chevalier ordered a Blaster perimeter around the Endbringer.



Through the voicebug I'd left with Amy, I heard her sobbing. She managed to compose herself enough to ask if I could retrieve Flashbang's body with one of my helpers. I couldn't find it in myself to say no. Dozens of helpers spread out through the waterlogged docks district. My first rescue was a Case 53 covered in multicolored scales – Chameleo, if I remembered right – who was pinned under some rubble. Planting its little legs, my helper gripped the chunks of concrete and began moving them aside.



The jostling brought Chameleo back to consciousness. "What the fuck is this shit!? What the fuck is this shit!?" Apparently consciousness had a pottymouth. He tried to squirm on his injured back but the helper scooped him up and set him on its back. Feeling bad for him, I sent a message to all comms. "Anybody sees big flat bugs with lobster claws, they're search-and-rescue critters. Totally safe, and they'll bring you to the healers."



"Couldn't you have said that BEFORE the thing grabbed me!?"



"...Didn't think of it," I admitted sheepishly. From my vantage point I saw other capes gathering together. Legend was talking with Sundancer and Foresight was speaking to Alexandria. Elsewhere, dozens of Cerberus' boosted dogs were helping with further evacuation. I had a pair of raptors wander over to listen in.



"...sustain your suns?" Legend inquired.



"I don't know; they're harder to keep manifested – and controlled – the bigger I make them. I guess one Leviathan's size, I could keep it burning for a couple minutes?"



"Then wait for my signal and make one about half Leviathan's size, centered on him. When he unfreezes, it should deal considerable damage."



On the other side of the time-locked monstrosity, Alexandria was devoting her full attention to Foresight. "What did you discover?"



"I discovered that I'll need to sleep for about a month," Foresight snarked. "In seriousness," she added before pissing off the world's most durable hero, "my Thinker almost broke. There's just so much information it felt like I was gonna die."



"Then give me the most pertinent first." Alexandria's tone was brusque and impatient; understandable, given the situation.



"Okay: Leviathan isn't a parahuman. Whatever it is, it is not nor was it ever human."



"...Seriously? So, what, is it an alien?"



Foresight shrugged. "Honestly? I don't know. They don't have...they don't have biology. The skin, the blood? It's all superficial. It's like, like... I don't know what it's like. Never seen anything like it. I'd say it was some sort of Master projection, but I can't imagine any Master in existence having the kind of power to manifest and sustain a single Endbringer, much less three."



"And what does that mean, Foresight?"



My friend groaned. "Like I said: I. Don't. Know. I felt like I was on the verge of an aneurysm just from getting the info I did. You want more? Get some other Thinkers." She strode smoothly over and climbed atop my raptor. "Home, James." Complying, I had the raptor ferry her back to the Rig.



Well, I thought, Legend must've given the signal. I knew this, of course, because I was suddenly blinded by a freaking two-story star that appeared in the middle of the docks.



And then everything went to hell.



I would have thought that finding oneself inside a goddamn star would be a major issue. Apparently, this was not the case with Leviathan. It took less than a second to apparently figure out what was going on, and then it bolted. A massive swell of water, narrow and towering, hurtled in from the bay to drown Sundancer's manifestation. The steam, superheated from smothering a miniature star, then flowed into the crowd. I desperately tried to shut out the screams of agony.



Rune deceased, CG-8. Laserdream deceased, CG-8. Patron down, CG-8. Pistoleer down, CG-8. The names kept rolling in and I had to close off my own senses, feel through my swarm.



Leviathan was moving inland, heading for the population centers and the Endbringer shelters. Fenja and Menja intervened, taking up defensive stances and intending to – hopefully – stop or at least slow the monstrosity. Despite their equal size and the twins' immense strength, they only managed to delay him for a few moments. Leviathan skidded to a dead stop just feet in front of them, its afterimage blasting forward and nearly sweeping the ladies off their feet. The sisters moved in synch, covering each other's weak points, but that couldn't save them. An enormous claw drove into one girl's abdomen, wrenching up and tearing open her ribcage. The other went wild with grief, attacking Leviathan with abandon, which left an opening the Endbringer exploited. Its tail tripped her into it, and then it laid her out with a shoulder check. It continued that motion, lunging over the survivor's prone form and quickly regaining speed.



I managed to wing Leviathan with one of my launchers, sending him reeling and affording my raptors time to catch up. Yet again a swarm of my critters crawled over his legs, biting and clawing, doing their best to waylay him. It gave us enough time for Alexandria to swoop in, carrying the Chaturagh and Prophet. She dropped the pair on a nearby rooftop and accelerated, tackling the beast. Again Leviathan trapped Alexandria in a ball of water, trying to drown the world's foremost Brute. Prophet bombarded Leviathan with those blasts of pure wrongness while Dauntless and the twin Dragon suits got the chance to turn the tide.



Relying on Alexandria's invulnerability, Dauntless sent an arc of lightning lancing through the water bubble, flowing straight from it into Leviathan. I could smell the ozone from my vantage point. The more sluggish suit seemed to brace itself before its arms opened into enormous...I suppose they were laser gatling guns. Red lit up the sky as a torrent of beams peppered Leviathan's hide. The Endbringer ran toward the danger, tackling the suit and dragging it fade-down along the street. Asphalt and concrete flew into the air as the suit's armor was slowly whittled away. Dragon (as I presumed Armsmaster was piloting the slower suit) gave chase, another volley of homing missiles closing in on Leviathan. At the last moment the monster turned, presenting Armsmaster's suit as a shield. The missile barrage obliterated it and he let the twisted hunk of metal fall from his over-long fingers.



It's not enough, I thought to myself. We just can't do enough damage. Whatever aspect of my power granted me the ability to run simulations in the back of my mind, I would gladly convert to any religion in thanks. My memories cascaded through me, all the times I'd faced seemingly implacable foes. Time and again, my first instinctive creation, the burster, had saved me. But the bursters just weren't big enough. Their alkali would get washed away before they could do any real damage, and I didn't dare experiment with them because there was a good chance they'd explode in...my...



"That's it!" I am (mostly) unashamed to admit that I hollered out loud when the epiphany hit me. I reached into one of my broodmothers and began tinkering. The new creature would be a firehose for the chemical, carrying an armored tank of the alkali. Perhaps I could design it like a creep reservoir, constantly refilling. Yes, that was doable. It would probably be too heavy to fly, so instead I gave it study legs: I started with scaled-up versions of cuddlebug legs, then added plating and pick-like claws so it could get traction on virtually any terrain. The armor for the reservoir would extend around the creature's entire body, like a turtle's shell, with the head section flaring slightly so it could aim.



I called the template the sprayer, at least until I could invent a better name, and set my broodmother to work. Either this would be a success, or I'd have to hatch a new broodmother.



A lance of lightning, like the finger of god, plunged from the sky and crushed Leviathan into the ground. Eidolon floated down, arms folded over his chest. "It's time for you to die," I heard him snarl while he tensed up, likely gathering energy for another strike.



Instead of getting up, Leviathan tore into the street. And disappeared into the water main.



"God damn it," Eidolon bellowed into his armband, "he's in the pipes! We need somebody to find him, now!"



I ran his route through my head, combining my vantage point with my knowledge of Brockton Bay. "Converge on the Endbringer shelter," I screamed, holding down both buttons. "He's headed there to kill everyone! His movement pattern fits!"



I felt my first sprayers hatch and urged them toward the shelter as fast as their stocky legs could carry them. Atlas dove, picking up speed, and carried me to our destination.



Thankfully, we had time. When Leviathan burst back out of the water main, he found himself facing a very dangerous team. Parian was a rogue who preferred making custom clothing over combat, but the gigantic and murderous stuffed animals she could create were very dangerous. The Knitter was a South African villain who created 'yarn golems' to do his dirty work. The two together supplemented one another, keeping the Endbringer occupied with attacking animate puppets.



Migraine down, BX-19.



I hadn't even realized Migraine was in the fight, much less that she'd gotten hurt.



"Fuck," Migraine's deep voice rasped from our armbands, "I can't hurt him. Almost killed myself trying, but my power won't work on him."



I finally zeroed in on where Migraine had fallen, and I saw Ballistic of the Travelers running to stand behind Juggernaut. He gave the leather-clad parahuman a shove and, after a moment of practically hovering in midair, Juggernaut shot like a rocket straight at Leviathan, winding up a punch.



The impact was deafening. Windows shattered for blocks. Leviathan was sent flying backward, a visible crater in his hide from the hit.



Juggernaut down, BY-17.



"Wave!"



Shit, we didn't have enough people back at the coastline. While we fought Leviathan, the docks were drowning.



Another lance of lightning barely missed the Endbringer, punching a deep, perfectly round hole in the street. Leviathan looked around at the assembled parahumans, all standing in defiance of him.



Then the earth fell away.

 

[Vherstinae]

Unmaking 7.03



The intersection buckled inward, falling away. Like an ant-lion's trap, the surrounding city blocks followed in kind, flowing down into the abyss. Air rushed into the hole like a vacuum, pulling Atlas and me downward. Buildings folded in, spilling down and disintegrating. The deafening rumble of the water and the crumbling structures overwhelmed the screams. I could see expressions of panic as parahumans vanished into darkness, their wide eyes and desperate, silent wailing burned into my memory.



Eidolon down, BZ-18. Ballistic deceased, BZ-18. Angelus down, BZ-18. Ferrite down, BZ-18. Justiciar deceased, BZ-18. Hanuman deceased, BZ-18. Archaeon down, BZ-18. Gordius down, BZ-18. Cricifixion deceased, BZ-18. Boreal down, BZ-18. Triumph deceased, BZ-18. Gallant down, BZ-18.



The names continued to roll in, seemingly endless. Then my armband was drowned out by another rumbling. Water erupted from the hole like an unholy geyser, tearing away at asphalt and concrete, tearing down still more of the city.



"Oh god," Dragon screamed from the armband, "evacuate the shelter! Leviathan's trying to destroy it!"



Leviathan launched himself out of the geyser, tackling Alexandria and plunging her into the water. It was obvious he was trying to stall, keep our attention while he killed the innocents. I still have no idea what possessed me, but I switched on the group communicator. "Alexandria, Legend, Dragon! Keep Leviathan occupied while the rest of us evacuate the shelter!"



All of my helpers converged on the shelter while my sprayers got in position. As soon as the geyser died out – if it ever died out – I'd hose the monster down with the alkali. Why am I still fighting? The question lingered in my mind. Eidolon is down, trapped in that...that mess. What chance do I have if he couldn't help? Do we even have enough hope to wait for Scion? My train of thought was interrupted by a roar, slowly becoming audible over the storm.



"The fuck is that!? ...Incoming on Leviathan! Scatter!" I didn't know who said it, but the statement drew my eye to the Endbringer. A titanic, deformed figure – barely shorter than Leviathan itself and significantly broader – bowled the monstrosity over. Between the various nightmarish maws screaming their wordless hatred, I could make out a girlish wail of incoherent fury. Atop the immense pile of flesh, wriggling like a maggot, was the figure of a human girl.



"You killed Luke! You killed Luke! I'll fucking eat you! Fucking die! Die! DIE!" The high-pitched screams melted into a savage, bone-shaking roar. The thick legs – or were they arms, like some sort of Dali anatomy chart? – slammed onto the confused monstrosity before Leviathan finally retaliated. The beast shoved against the...other beast, its long arm sinking into the deformed flesh. Leviathan jerked its arm back, but it didn't come back. I actually saw the Endbringer's eyes widen in what I assumed to be distress, and the water that had been hammering at the shelter and streets changed direction to pummel Leviathan's attacker.



Dragon's voice came through the armband. "Unknown cape currently has Leviathan engaged. Focus on evac while she keeps it occupied!"



Legend and Dragon kept on the other side of Leviathan, peppering his back and sides with firepower while he wrestled with the female parahuman abomination.



"Use the big guns," the girl bellowed, "I regenerate!"



That was all the incentive I needed. My sprayers poked their heads out of their fluted shells, took aim, and spat two thick arcs of fluorescent green. The substance began to hiss as soon as it impacted Leviathan – some of it splashing on the female – and quickly ate at its hide.



I never knew if that was a big mistake or a stroke of brilliance.



Immediately Leviathan disengaged, enormous waves pushing back the monster-girl and batting aside the fliers. It was on my sprayers in a split-second, ripping up chunks of concrete to squash them. Somehow, be it deductive reasoning or some manner of sixth sense, Leviathan turned to look up at me. Oh, fuck. I spurred Atlas with all my mental might, doubling back toward the coastline. The Endbringer gave chase, pushing water in front of him so he could swim through it, right on my heels. Come on, I exhorted my swarm, work faster!



Flies grabbed extruded silk, carrying it out while others wove a pattern. A voicebug settled on Clockblocker's shoulder. "Get a Mover! You need to get to CG-9, ASAP!" I would have just contacted him via the armband, but I was clinging to Atlas for dear life. I was pushing my beloved bug to his absolute limit; I could feel his muscles shredding as he flew with desperate abandon.



I suddenly felt my voicebug vanish, reappearing in the designated sector. He must've gotten a teleporter or Legend to ferry him there. Flies shoved the thick cord of webbing into his hand. "When I give the signal, use your power on this!"



My swarm, millions of insects strong, set up like a gigantic quilt. I could only pray to whatever higher being would listen that this would work. Leviathan was right behind me; there was no more time. If I hadn't timed this perfectly, I'd die. Even if I had timed it perfectly, I didn't know if it would work. There was a good chance I'd die anyway. Still, if it had the effect I thought it would... I leapt from Atlas' saddle, the bug veering to the side, and careened into the curtain of bugs. "Now," I screamed aloud as well as through the voicebug. As I hit the curtain, I found myself wondering if it would work. If I would live through this. Please let th–



(BREAK)



The buzzing went silent, and for a fraction of a second all that could be heard was the wind and the rain. And then Leviathan hit the curtain. The crunching, crashing noise was loud enough to shatter glass as the Endbringer jerked to a sudden stop, stuck in midair like a ragdoll. "Holy fuck," Clockblocker gasped. Then Leviathan started to move again. "Shit, shit," he fumbled at his armband. "Leviathan's stuck at CG-9! Every Brute, Blaster, and anybody who thinks they can shove him around, get here now and dust this bitch!"



Scanner's voice came through the speaker. "Anybody else, join me and the helper-bugs. We're gonna go rescue the capes in the pit at BZ-18!"



Legend got to Leviathan first, shooting some sort of freaky kinetic beams at the Endbringer's limbs, smashing them further into the time-locked insect tapestry. More deafening cracks came as the hide shattered against true immovable objects. Then Alexandria shot in like a bullet, smashing into Leviathan's center mass and cracking him even more. Strider appeared with a good dozen Brutes and Blasters, and it became a shooting gallery. Impact after impact drove the monster further, punching through more and more of its body.



"Wave!"



Everyone scrambled for high ground, but the wave didn't travel very far. Instead, the powerful swell slammed into Leviathan from the front and dislodged him from the frozen curtain of bugs. Though, he didn't come in one piece. With an earth-shaking crash, Leviathan's right arm fell to the ground. The Endbringer staggered to its feet and pulled the water yet again, diving forward and swimming into the bay. Several long, tense seconds later, the storm ceased.



The cheers that rose up were even louder than the storm they replaced. They'd done it; they'd fought off Leviathan. Dennis let himself drop onto his back, gasping for air as the adrenaline left him. He cast his gaze over to the paused cloud of insects. Skitter was in there; he was sure of it. He just hoped she was okay.



(BREAK)



"Scanner," Vista inquired while bending space to aid the helpers in moving rocks, "correct me if I'm wrong, because things have been hectic recently, but didn't your dad refuse to sign the Endbringer waiver?"



The redhead nodded, bracing a rock against her chest armor to help shove it aside. "Mgh! Yeah, I'm not supposed to be here. But I can help rescue people and Leviathan attacked my home. So I snuck out." She sat down, breathing heavily, while the Knitter held up the archway. Several helpers scuttled inside, ferrying out the injured. "I know I'm gonna face sanctions or whatever, but I'd do it again." She slowly turned her head, then perked up. "Ooh! I found Eidolon! C'mon!" Scanner tapped a helper on the back, the creature chittering and following behind.



Vista hopped on top of the critter, her weight completely negligible to it. "Wait, how do you know it's Eidolon? I know you can recognize power residue, but..."



"Because his glow is like a kaleidoscope. It's constantly shifting colors and patterns. Only one that does that, just like how Skitter's the only one I know with two glows. There're a few other people in the wreck with him." Scanner stopped, pacing back and forth. The Medhall building, one of the tallest in Brockton Bay, was bent on its side like a boomerang. The whole thing rattled menacingly, threatening to fall even deeper into the aquifer.



Rocketman floated down on a ramshackle barge, probably built in the aftermath of the attack, carrying several more parahumans to help in the evacuation. "Sweet fuckin' Christ," Emma thought he said; the Australian's accent was so thick that he might have launched into a monologue from Richard III for all she knew. "This place is huge. It's like you got a whole 'nother world down here."



Armsmaster stepped off the barge, tapping the side of his visor. He nodded to himself and jammed his halberd into a crack in the building's exterior. "Vista, when I give the word, I want you to widen the gap I make. The moment she does, Bunker," he gestured to a slightly chubby twentysomething in blocky Tinkertech armor, "you deploy the Brace. This leads to a main thoroughfare and we should be able to reach the survivors." One hand twisted the weapon ever so slightly while the other pushed a button. A kinetic burst greatly extended the length of the crack. "Now, Vista!"



The hairline fracture suddenly enlarged to a full three feet in width. "That's...that's the best I can give it," the preteen grunted, the sheer mass of the building fighting her power. Bunker strode forward and jammed something like a giant tire iron into the gap. It made an unpleasant mechanical sound before shooting out, jamming against the borders. The vertical piece split in half, sliding to each side enough to create a person-sized doorway. The building rumbled, dust and concrete chunks tumbled into the depths, but it held.



Rocketman passed out foot-wide discs, looking like futuristic frisbees or contact lenses for giants. "Won't really be able to walk around with this mess being sideways, so we'll float instead." Armsmaster stepped on one, which promptly levitated. The rest of the rescue team followed suit, Scanner taking the lead.



(BREAK)



Chariot had expected the job to be harder. The plan had been for him to join the Wards as a new trigger, and Leviathan's attack made that cover story even easier to buy. Then the order had come in. He was only too eager to bump off the competition, but had expected things to be more problematic. With the aquifer caved in and dozens of parahumans – including Eidolon – lost in the abyss, everyone was focusing on Search & Rescue. Really, the only one keeping an eye on Skitter's time-locked form was Clockblocker, and a simple surface-transference taser had sent the teen off to la-la land.



He'd been warned that she was tough, that she wouldn't go down easy. Well, she hadn't dealt with someone like him. Movement was his specialty; while that meant he wasn't good at building guns or lasers, it did mean that he could build one nasty-as-fuck mass driver. He loaded a crossbow bolt into the device. If the initial impact didn't kill her, the vacuum force evacuating her innards certainly would.



"That is not a good idea."



The olive-skinned teen jumped, spinning and bringing his railgun to bear. The newcomer casually batted it aside, her movements nonthreatening. The woman adjusted her stylish fedora, her expression blank. If Chariot had to guess, he'd say she was somewhere in her mid-to-late 30s. Her skin being darker than his meant Native American, mixed-race, or Mediterranean. When she made no move to attack him, he un-tensed, if only slightly. "What are you talking about?"



"What you are planning," she replied. "The whole thing is a bad idea, honestly, but right now? This is the worst part of it."



Drawing his arms closer to himself, Chariot once again aimed his railgun at her. "You gonna stop me?"



The woman shook her head. "There is no need for me to intervene. I am simply telling you that this is not going to end well. Do with that information what you will." And with that, she turned and left.



Chariot stood in confusion for several seconds before a noise brought him out of his stupor. The curtain of bugs collapsed, Skitter's form dropping to the ground like a sack of potatoes. "Fuck it," he muttered to himself, taking aim.



A loud, angry buzzing was the last sound he heard. Before he could even turn to see what was coming, Atlas had already lopped off Chariot's head. Bugs immediately began crawling on the corpse.



(BREAK)



Krouse and Marissa sat as close to Noelle as was safe, while Oliver was wheeling Jess over to the Rig. Soma, a low-ranked bio-Tinker, prodded the hulking girl-thing with various instruments. "You, my dear, are fascinating. And you say you only took half of this formula?"



Atop her enormous bulk, Noelle nodded. "That's right. I...I know I've said it already, but I'm sorry for all the trouble we caused. We've been so scared all this time."



"What's surprising to me is that you're willing to cooperate. For someone who was exposed to the Simurgh's song for so long, you're surprisingly calm."



She giggled nervously, the sound disturbingly replicated by the dozens of mouths along her body. "I'm not sure about that. I think I had a nervous breakdown or something when L–, I mean, when Ballistic... I just went nuts and tore my way out of the shelter. I think maybe I'm still in shock or something.



"While I'm deeply sorry for your friend," the hook-nosed parahuman commented, "I'm very thankful that you intervened. You likely saved hundreds of lives."



Her entire lower torso darkened slightly as she blushed from the praise.



(BREAK)



Vicky hadn't stopped crying. Amy didn't have the luxury of tears. Her cuddlebug, Steve, was nuzzling at her neck in a vain attempt to cheer her up. It wasn't working. Even if they weren't related by blood, Amy had lost her cousin and the only father she'd ever known. Both were horrifically maimed, Mark almost broken in half while Crystal had been boiled alive.



A gentle hand rested on her other shoulder. "I can handle the rest for a while," Othala said with surprising sincerity. "Go see your sister."



Amy didn't want to see her sister. She didn't want to face the truth. She didn't want to have to grieve. But she couldn't say that, didn't dare say it. It would be cruel. So, sucking up her feelings even more than she already had, Amy lurched over toward the corpses and the sobbing blonde. She sat down, Steve giving a soft squeak to announce their presence.



Vicky sniffled and inhaled, trying to stop her sobs. Once she did, they sat in silence for an indeterminate length of time. "...Bring them back."



Amy looked up. "Huh?" She must have misheard her sister.



Victoria lifted her head, gazing at her sister with bloodshot eyes and a zeal bordering on madness. "Bring them back, Amy!" she shouted. "Dad and Crystal can't be dead! They can't be! Fix them!"



Dumbstruck, the brunette stammered her confusion. "I, Vicky, I don't know what you're saying. They're, they're..." Like a switch had been flipped, she suddenly burst into wailing sobs. "They're dead! Nobody can fix that!"



Glory girl grabbed Panacea's robes. "Bonesaw can! And you're Panacea! You're better than her! Fix them! Bring them back!"



"I can't," Amy shrieked. "I can't even do brains, let alone bring the dead back to life! You don't think I want dad back? You think I'm glad Crystal's dead!? I can't do it!" She pounded on her sister's invulnerable shield. "I can't! Do! Anything!" Like a marionette with its strings cut, she collapsed onto Victoria. "They're gone, Vicky. I can't save them."



Glory Girl cradled her sister in her arms. "Maybe not by yourself," she said at length.

 

[Vherstinae]

Unmaking 7.04



I blinked, confused and disoriented. Everything was in different places, I'd fallen a couple stories and splatted on the ground – which hurt like fuck, by the by – and Atlas was pissed about something. But, as my mental haze dissipated, I realized something important: it was no longer storming. My bugs, the ones still in my range, told me the majority of buildings were still standing. We'd won!



I went to push myself up...and couldn't. Looking at myself from different angles, I realized my head was turned the wrong way. I must've landed on my neck, snapped my spine. "Well fuck," I grumbled. Atlas could be angry later; I needed a ride now. Taking control, I buzzed him over and lifted my body with his legs, then flew off to the Rig.



Cheers rose up the moment people saw me, which made me blush. I tried to have Atlas set me on a stretcher, but it was a really precise drop and, in addition to being done in a relatively tight space with so many other injured, my control wasn't quite as fine as it usually was. So I bit the bullet and dropped onto the stretcher. One good thing about being temporarily paralyzed: the fall didn't hurt.



My father muscled his way through the crowd to reach me. "Taylor! Oh thank god, you're–" His voice died off as he saw my crumpled body.



"Hey Dad," I said in a casual tone. "Yeah, I landed on my neck. Upside of being paralyzed? Aside from phantom pain I feel great!" I couldn't help a little laughter. "Y'know, I think I'm okay with this after getting the shit kicked out of me so many times. It's sort of the monthly routine now. Anyway, could somebody grab Panacea when she has a minute?"



He petted my hair and kissed my forehead. "Sure thing, honey. I'm just glad you survived." He started laughing too. "And I can't believe I'm not freaking out about your neck being snapped!"



"Eh; considering the weirdness we've been dealing with? This is just a drop in the bucket."



"So you can't feel this?"



I looked through Atlas' eyes to see Imp poking me in the butt. "No, but that doesn't mean I'm okay with it."



Dad swiped halfheartedly at her. "Stop molesting my daughter."



"No prob," Imp replied, settling in beside me. "I'll leave that to Lisa."



"Ooh," I smiled, "the cavalry's here!" Steve came into my range and I realized Glory Girl was ferrying Panacea over the crowds. The brunette had her cuddlebug snuggled close and was still sniffling. It was easy to understand why: she'd lost her father and cousin today.



Amy steeled herself and stepped up. "W-what's the problem?"



"Fell down a few stories and snapped my neck," I replied as if I was discussing the weather. "Not sure if I broke anything else; I can't see any other injuries and I certainly can't feel 'em."



The healer nodded. "Okay then; we'll start at the main problem." She pushed my hair aside and set her fingers at the base of my spine. "Severed spinal cord's the only major injury you have. A couple minor sprains and a broken ankle, but those are simple. Ready?"



I went to nod, then rolled my eyes at my own idiocy. "Yeah, ready. You have permission to heal me, yadda-yadda."



The sensation of rapid regeneration is always odd, feeling my body crawling and shifting. This goes double for when feeling is suddenly restored to my body. I jerked in surprise when I could suddenly feel every part of myself once more. I became aware of a stretching sensation, and of my body rubbing against the stretcher. My best guess, from looking at myself through multiple eyes, was that I'd put on an inch or two. From the angles, however, I couldn't see what had everyone most apprehensive.



"Well," Amy winced, "uh, sorry in advance. I know you'll say it's not my fault but I did accelerate your regeneration, and..."



"Amy, focus. What's the issue?"



Dad stepped in. "Kiddo, you're... You're kind of, um...purple."



I blinked. "What." Rolling over so Atlas could get a look at me, I breathed a little sigh of relief. I wasn't grape-flavor purple, but there was a distinct lilac sheen to my skin. Hydrangea, I thought to myself. "Well, there are worse things that could've happened..." Before I could continue to another train of thought, Glory Girl lifted both me and Amy into the air.



"SorryMr.HebertIgottaborrowTaylorbye!" The blonde surged above the crowd as fast as she could, bringing us back to the main triage room. I was about to complain when she set me down, but then I saw what was in front of me.



The bodies of Mark Dallon and Crystal Pelham were untouched, not yet in bodybags or tagged for cremation. "Uh, Vicky," I said with a nervous laugh, "why am I here?" From Amy's rather defeated, almost haunted expression, I got the feeling I wouldn't like the answer.



"So you can fix them," the blonde chirped. I didn't like the tone of her voice. Oh, it wasn't threatening or sinister, but I honestly wish it had been. The upbeat, almost innocent way she said that was infinitely more disturbing than if she had been forceful and angry. Something was very wrong.



I looked at her in confusion. "But I'm not a healer. Best I've done is give the cuddlebugs and broodmothers special creep for field triage." I gestured at the bodies. "I have no idea how I could possibly help."



"It's pretty simple, at least I think it is." Vicky sounded less unhinged and more intellectual. Maybe it was just an outpouring of hope I'd heard before. "You can create life out of nothing. Well, yeah, it needs your goo, but that comes out of nothing too so my point stands. If you can make something to restore bioelectricity to their brains, Amy can pull a regeneration trick like she does on you and get them working again."



I blinked. That actually sounded like a half-decent idea. And if it worked, if we could bring dead people back to life? Dear lord, the repercussions would be nightmarish. Amy and I would be swarmed endlessly. But, if we could restore even a tenth of those lost in Endbringer attacks, maybe it'd be worth it. I looked to Panacea. "If I can make a thing like Vicky said, are you willing to try?"



The brunette nodded, albeit reluctantly, and I figured she was only doing this because of her literally unnatural love for her sister. Still, if this worked... If someone with this kind of power had existed, maybe we could've brought Mom back. The idea of another child not having to lose a parent was all the motivation I needed.



I sat down and closed my eyes, thinking about what was needed. Bioelectrical signals had to be restored in the brain, so a sort of living battery was necessary. But it would end up more like a parasite if I left it there...it wouldn't be easy to get back out, and the moral implications of a creature living inside a person's brain – or even brain-adjacent – were way too dark (and fraught with Birdcage-level bad PR) to continue down that avenue.



Instead of storing and transferring power, the creature would cause the reaction within itself. Yes, this was the way to go. It'd burn itself out into a biodegradable husk over time and be broken down by the human body's natural enzymes. Just a little bit more simulation and I was ready for the attempt. I nodded to Amy. "We should start with Laserdream first. She's younger; her body can take more strain. Plus, she's mostly intact." I disgusted myself with the way I was talking, but now was the time to be clinical, professional.



The brunette swallowed hard and I coughed up my newest creation. It looked like a miniature version of an uglybug crossbred with a tapeworm. "You might want to look away. This...this is gonna be horrific." Amy immediately averted her eyes; she didn't need to see any more awfulness befall her family. I set the bug on Crystal's face and it slithered over to her eye. God, I wish I could look away... The critter pushed itself around her eyeball and compressed itself around her optic nerve, sliding into her skull and settling itself at her brainstem. Its pincers, sort of like jumper cables, attached to relevant nerve clusters and the critter started processing itself, sending electrical signals. "Your turn, Amy."



Panacea looked like she was going to be sick but, with Steve under one arm, she placed a hand on Crystal's cheek and focused, forcing the cells to regenerate. The cuddlebug opened its little mouth and, with a determined squeak, sprayed creep all over the heroine's corpse. That biomass was quickly cannibalized to rebuild cells, forcing them to reactivate.



Lumps began appearing and Amy whimpered. "No...no, no, no!" The lumps went down but she gasped in horror. "No! Damn it! It's too much! I can't do it all!" She collapsed, sobbing, on Crystal's body.



Victoria stepped closer, quietly terrified. "What...what went wrong?"



"I couldn't do it all," she said between sniffles. "If I made the body regenerate, the brain might wake up but the body would be eaten by cancer before it ever could. And if I took direct control, killed off the mutant cells, then I couldn't get the brain to heal. I'm sorry Vicky; we can't bring them back."



"Well maybe if you tried harder–"



"Tried harder!?" Amy shot up like a ramrod, eyes blazing into her sister's. "That's rich coming from the girl who never bothered to try harder to control herself! How many late nights did I have to sneak out of the house, how many horribly mutilated bodies did I have to see and hope I could fix, because you thought it'd be okay to drop a dumpster on someone or throw them through a brick wall!? How many times did you just brush off my suffering because you were having another little spat with Dean, or upset that people were lusting after the big-titted blonde? I killed myself every day at the hospital, trying to clear a karmic debt from my murderous father, and you never once told me I wasn't a monster like him! You never just hugged me and said I'm a good person! You always thought I needed to go out and socialize!" She didn't let Vicky reply, steamrolling over her and actually starting to crawl over Crystal's body just to get closer to her sister, to look her deeper in the eyes. "I understood when Mark didn't realize I was hurting. I got that Carol didn't care. But you never got it! And you never figured out the most fucking obvious thing in the world, either!" She took a deep breath, and I realized what she was going to say. It was the point of no return.



"I fucking love you, Vicky! Not just as a sister, as a woman! I worship the ground you walk on! And I hate you for it! I never had a choice! Your powers forced me to fall in love with you! Do you really think I'd support you as much as I have, without you giving back nearly as much, just from a sisterly bond? When we're not even real sisters!?" She whipped out her hand and slapped Victoria. While it only hurt Amy's hand, the emotional effect it had on the blonde was obvious. "And now, you demand I play god, and you don't even give any thought to what bringing back the dead would do to me, or how it would affect me in the future. And I go along with it, because I love you. But now, after all that, compromising myself, resigning myself to suffer for the rest of my life, when it fails you say I need to try harder? Fuck you, Victoria Dallon. Never come near me again."



With that, Panacea turned and walked out of the impromptu morgue. Her cuddlebug was left on the slab, squeaking in confusion and loss.

 

[Vherstinae]

Unmaking 7.05



Vicky and I – and the aid workers making comfortable those capes who couldn't be saved – stared open-mouthed as Amy left the room, going back to the main triage area. Not knowing what to say, I scooped Steve into my arms and carried him away from the corpses.



I jogged out of the room, not really knowing what I intended to do until I saw Panacea's retreating form. Her hood was up and she was hunched in on herself, the posture equal parts hostile and antisocial. "Amy!" I put on an extra burst of speed to catch up with her.



The brunette turned toward me, revealing that she was already crying. "What do you want?" Her voice was heavy with disdain, though since she'd just had a blowup I didn't hold it against her.



I held out the cuddlebug. "You left Steve. I didn't want you to regret that later." Honestly, I wasn't certain if she would accept him; would she see Steve (by virtue of being directly related to me) as a reminder of the attempted necromancy?



She stared for a moment, then accepted the little ball. Steve gurgled, elated to be reunited with his girl. Despite herself, a smile tugged at the edge of Amy's lips when Steve nuzzled against her stomach. "Thanks, Skitter. I, I just need to work for a while, not think about...that."



I could understand. I simply nodded and let her walk away. I would have been left alone with my thoughts in a deserted hallway, but I heard the rhythmic clomping of armored boots jogging toward me. Through various displaced insects, I saw Armsmaster approaching.



The blue-clad hero slid to a stop beside me. He blinked when he realized he actually had to look up a tiny bit to see my eyes. I gave a shrug in reply. He rolled his shoulders in a sort of subdued 'let's get on with it' gesture. "Skitter, Dragon and I saw something happen in the morgue. What...what exactly was that?"



I flushed from not having thought it through. Of course there would've been security cameras to protect the dead from being vandalized or, worse, stolen by some nutjob like Blasto. "Honestly? Glory Girl recruited Panacea and me to try bringing their relatives back to life."



From the neutral line of his lips, I didn't need my emotion senses active to know Armsmaster was completely nonplussed. "Wait...you were trying to bring the dead back to life?"



I nodded. "Tried and failed. Honestly? In a dark way, I'm kind of glad that didn't work. I can't imagine the pressure – local and international – to resurrect people."



"You're glad!?" And of course Vicky would finally snap out of her stupor just in time to hear that part. The blonde flew right up in my face. "You're happy my father's still dead!?"



I placed a hand on her shoulder and forced her to the ground. I didn't really advertise my enhanced strength, so she hadn't been anticipating it. Her rage mingled with surprise as I made her feet meet the floor. "No," I said sternly, locking eyes with her through my mask, "I'm not happy your father's dead. I'm not happy that anyone died today. But if we had succeeded, do you really think people would just say 'That's nice' and move along? No, we'd be endlessly guilted at best by anyone who had a loved one die, and more likely there would be constant kidnapping and assassination attempts. Would you trade Amy's life for Mark's?" My words were harsh, but I felt she needed to hear it. Perhaps, said in a calmer fashion, the words might penetrate.



"It would also limit Panacea from being able to heal as many people," Armsmaster interjected, "increasing the rate of decline from Endbringer attacks."



While I was strong, Glory Girl was significantly stronger. She whirled on Armsmaster, shrugging off my hand in the process, her blue eyes blazing. "You don't get to talk! Not about the value of life, not about my family!" She floated up to stare him down eye-to-eye. "My family fought for parahuman accountability, for better integration of capes into normal life, and the Protectorate never lifted a hand to help. We got more help from villains after Fleur's death than from the Protectorate!" She paced back and forth, legs moving even though she was floating. "Oh, you're all too happy to accept our help, but you won't extend an olive branch of your own. And you especially, Armsmaster!" She poked him in the chest, the force causing him to rock back on his heels. "While my family risked their lives, you hid and fought with a remote-controlled robot! You risk nothing while we die for a cause that you trump up!"



"Shut up." Armsmaster's voice was the hardest I'd ever heard it. At this point the yelling had drawn rubberneckers, but he didn't seem to notice. "I was more than willing to lead the charge. It was Dragon who talked me down, convinced me to use one of her suits. I've been awake for almost four days straight now; she was right that I'd be a liability on the field. Better to fight through a proxy if it gives us a greater chance of success." He took a step forward, regaining the ground he'd lost from Vicky's prodding. "I respect what your family was willing to do, but New Wave's policy cannot work in the larger cape world. Parahumans have existed for less than thirty years; we don't have the cultural stability to act freely. The rules of conduct exist to protect us and our loved ones. Fleur's death is proof of what can happen when identities are revealed and the rules of conduct rejected.



"Every single person who was out there today, from the Triumvirate to the weakest independent cape, and even the Wards – who didn't even have to be there – was willing to lay down his or her life to protect others. Your family members happened to die today. That is a tragedy but it doesn't make you special."



"Shut the fuck up!" The act seemed to be reflexive, driven by stress and rage, and gave credence to Amy's earlier accusation that her sister didn't know how to exercise restraint. The blonde's fist drove into Armsmaster's visor, sending him crashing into the wall. Upon realizing that people were staring at her in shock and disappointment, Victoria looked around like a cornered animal. "What're you looking at!?" Not waiting for a reply, she took off toward the nearest exit. I tracked her as best I could with insects, and it seemed that she left the Rig and headed toward her condo.



I moved over to Armsmaster, who was cricking his neck while slumped on the ground. "Are you alright?" I didn't know how to fix neck damage, but I could always send a messenger to Panacea or Soma or Othala or – yeah, even my brain was rambling.



The big man shook himself off. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Shock absorbers to protect against whiplash." I offered him a hand and he hauled himself to his feet. "It still hurt, and it was quite the shock."



"She's hurting. She lost her dad, her sister blew up at her, she got made out to be the bad guy. Foresight's told me that New Wave tend to see things in black-and-white morality, so being called out as a wrongdoer...I think we're lucky she didn't have a nervous breakdown with everything else already on her plate."



"Holy shit," Alabaster called from the peanut gallery of onlookers. "I always knew somebody'd slug Armsy during one of these shindigs, but I never expected it'd be Glory Girl!"



Miss Militia approached from behind the albino. "I see you're still wearing your armband," she commented to him in a threatening tone. It took me a moment, but I remembered that the villains who'd been captured in the war had those exploding armbands.



With tensions high and a punch already having been thrown, Alabaster showed a remarkable sense of self-preservation and stalked away. Preoccupied with watching the villain slink off, I was actually caught off-guard when a red-haired missile impacted me from behind, almost tackling me to the ground.



"Ta- um, I mean, Skitter!" Emma (Scanner when she's in costume, I reminded myself) remained latched onto me like an overly busty limpet. In all honesty, this gave me a chance to inspect her full costume. Last time we'd seen other in our secret identities, PR was still working on her outfit.



Her entire outfit was dominated by a gentle magenta bodysuit, with white and darker red armor plates. Her shin guards were white, the knee guards above red, her bracers white and the breastplate red. The curve of her chest armor helped to minimize the appearance of her bust, reducing her overt sexualization. While she had no emblem, her visor was pretty much her trademark: red plating fit it to her head, while the visor itself was a deep sapphire decorated with various reticles.



My brain caught up with the present, having processed nearly being bowled over. "Scanner? I thought your dad–"



"Right, he didn't sign my waiver. I know I'm gonna get in trouble but I had to help with search-and-rescue."



I smiled. "I thought that was you with the helpers in that hole, but my head was still fuzzy and my spine was broken."



She blanched. "You broke your spine!?"



Chuckling, I shrugged. "I fell funny after unfreezing, my neck broke my fall."



Scanner did her best to facepalm with a visor in the way. "Sweet Jesus... Then again, with all the other shit you've been through, of course you'd be nonchalant about that." She gave me a gentle slug in the shoulder. "And shit, girl, did you get taller? And, um, purple-er?"



"Yes on the purple, and I think so on the whole taller thing. I haven't really gotten the chance to measure myself or really cool down at all." I let out a sigh and felt my whole body deflate. While a reprieve from stress was nice, I realized that residual adrenaline was all that had kept me going. The life-or-death battle, all the bodies, the destruction, and then the little encounter with Glory Girl and Panacea? I was utterly exhausted. I found myself slumping onto Scanner, who let out a 'meep' under the weight. "C'n...can you help me to a bed? I just...need some rest..."



The redhead squared her shoulders, bracing herself to act as my crutch. "Sure; c'mon. I'll see if I can find your dad and the rest of the team."



"Thanks, Ems," I said groggily, staggering as she led me. "Y're a good friend." I meant it: regardless of what had happened before, Emma was doing her best to turn her life around. She'd even defied her father and the law, risking life and limb to help rescue survivors who might have otherwise died while waiting for help to arrive. And if, as we walked, her hand rested on the small of my back and drifted almost dangerously low? Well, I was too tired to object if I would have anyway. I passed out on my way to wherever Scanner was leading me, the last of the adrenaline having left my body.



(BREAK)



I opened my eyes. Only, they weren't my eyes. The world had a strange tint to it, like when I wore my old orange-lensed mask, but living things were a brighter, more indistinct orange. I noticed something bright behind a – wall? Door? – and for some reason I focused on that, wanting to know what was there. The world seemed to ripple and suddenly I could see it. I had the outline of the hallway outside the room, which faded into being until it was as solid as the room I was in. A couple of people were milling around near my door. I focused, and was almost able to make out what they were saying when–



"Taylor? Are you okay, sweetie? Can you hear me?"



My eyes – my real eyes – popped open and I saw Dad at my bedside, the rest of my friends gathered around me. I was in the room I'd seen before, in the orange vision. What did that mean? As my brain reorganized itself, I understood: Either there had already been bugs here, or I'd subconsciously brought them with. Regardless, my brain had figured out how to overlay the sensory input from my insects and make them into a single cohesive map. Sorting out the input from all those eyes would get difficult at times, so if I could tap into this at will it'd be a welcome advantage.



My father ran a hand over my chitin hair. "You looked...stressed. Or in pain. Are you alright, kiddo?"



I nodded. "Just a bit of sensory overload from waking up. I think I've got it under control now."



"Everybody's talking about Glory Girl's freakout," Regent remarked in his typical flippant tone. "Did you and Panacea really try going Frankenstein on her cousin?"



Foresight shook her head in disgust. "Really? All the horror movies about the dead coming back to life, and you picked one that pieces together a body? Moron."



I looked around. "Wait, where's Rachel?"



Grue turned up his palms. "There's a no-animals policy here in the recovery wards. Cerberus didn't like that, obviously, so she's waiting outside."



Turning my head back to Foresight, I asked the most important question. "So what happened? I'm guessing we won but I was kinda time-locked for it."



"Hey, where's the room-service button on this thing?" I looked over to see Imp fiddling with the bed control. "Hey, gimme tha–"



"Well," Foresight answered while I absently adjusted the bed's elevation, "while we didn't kill Leviathan, I think we got closer to it than anybody save Scion. His whole right arm came off!" She shook her head in frustration. "And while that's awesome, there's just too much that doesn't make sense to me. Clockblocker's power time-locked you. It should have sheared clean through, well, anything. While I don't have any direct evidence, I think even Alexandria would've been julienned if she flew through that swarm. Leviathan, though? He crashed into the cloud and got stuck."



Regent continued the train of thought. "Then Clock woke the fuck up and got all the heavy hitters together, and they beat Leviathan further into the swarm until he was sunk about halfway through. Managed to pry himself off, but he left his arm as a souvenir."



"Which the PRT is currently carting off to a secret facility for testing," Foresight finished.



I sat up, feeling more like myself by the minute. "So, that's it? It's over?"



Dad gave me a little hug. "Yes, thanks mainly to you. It'll be a long road to recovery, and I have no idea how the city will function with a lot of the utilities – and the capitol building – fallen into the aquifer, but there were very few casualties overall. Stuff can be rebuilt; lives are gone forever."



Grue stretched. "Well, with that heavy statement, are we ready to go? I'm kind of afraid to leave Cerberus out there by herself."



Regent gave a theatrical shudder. "Good point. Let's go before they decide to arrest us."



Foresight nodded. "You guys go ahead. I'll make sure Skitter's in fighting shape." Oddly, she seemed to share a look with my dad before he joined the rest of the group in leaving. Once the door was shut again, she removed her helmet. Like always, she still had her little domino mask beneath it, as well as that perpetual grin. "So when you were making faces before Danny 'woke' you," she drawled playfully, leaning on the bed, "what was going on? Some new sense?"



I nodded and shrugged together. "Kinda. It's...weird. It's like a map overlay from a video game. Things...well, lemme see if I can show you." I concentrated on seeing things like I had before. Lisa made a quiet noise of surprise and suddenly all was orange once again. "Okay, cool. It still works."



"Ooh," she shuddered, "that was freaky. Your pupils stretched out and turned slitted again!"



"Really? Bizarre. Anyway," I focused and yet again more rooms became visible, "it's like a way of reconciling the different viewpoints I get from my bugs, melding them all together into one cohesive map."



"Okay, that's really awesome. And Taylor?" The outline that was Lisa (I was getting better at noticing how individuals were represented in this vision; it was a different nuance that'd take some practice) leaned in. My vision turned back to normal as a gloved hand gently stroked my cheek, then a feather-light touch of her lips against mine. "I'm glad you're okay," she smiled, cheeks slightly pink.

 

[Vherstinae]

Interlude 7.x



The city burned. Bodies were strewn everywhere, the survivors desperately scrambling through rubble in futile attempts to escape before ultimately being torn apart. The apocalypse was spreading; nothing could stop it. The Triumvirate had been at ground zero, and they were all dead. The Slaughterhouse 9, who'd also been in the area, had been exterminated. The tide of death, endlessly multiplying, surging over every obstacle through sheer tenacity and force of numbers, was consuming the entire East Coast. If the rate of expansion stayed constant – and there was a good chance it would only multiply – the entire North American continent would be overrun in less than a week. The world would follow, with disparate survivors eking out a worthless existence for around a year before the last human died.



And at the center of it all, the devil with orange eyes...



Coil continued to drag himself toward the medical wing, stopping only to slam his head against the wall. Eventually he had to concuss himself enough that the memory of the bad timeline would go fuzzy. Even for a man as twisted as he was, and Coil held no delusions about his status as a monster, the end of the world – with his actions as the inciting event – was still too much for him.



Much as it pained him to admit, he'd been caught off-guard. Coil had been saving a timeline split for if Leviathan came for him, or for Noelle. None of his projections, from statisticians or from his little pet, had hinted that the monstrous girl would batter her way free and take the fight to the Endbringer. Worse still, since she was still in what passed for her right mind, she didn't animalistically beat at the reinforced door: she broke through a less-armored wall, which resulted in the destruction of a support beam. The effects of the cave-in were felt throughout the complex, with a large chunk of stone crushing his left foot and shin to pulp.



Still, he was nothing if not professional. He couldn't allow pain to stop him. So, while most of disloyal wretches he called soldiers fled for the lives, Coil forced himself to push on toward the medical wing. And, when the time was right, he split the timeline. In one, he gave the order to kill Skitter. In the other, he called it off.



Fucking Contessa!



She showed up in both timelines. In the timeline where he gave the order, she distracted Chariot enough to get him killed. In the other timeline, she was the one to kill Skitter. Or rather, try to kill Skitter. While the girl's humanity died, the monster that rose from her corpse was the physical manifestation of death. That Italian bitch was taunting him, forcing him to accept the timeline where he failed, and leaving him with visions more horrible than he could imagine.



He still couldn't comprehend that; he was a Cauldron asset. They were tacitly supporting him, or at least refusing to stop him. Why, then, did their bogeyman fuck his plans so thoroughly? Then it hit him: Skitter was a more valuable asset to them. Was she one of theirs? A Cauldron cape, the only one thus far who could rival (or, in his failed vision, far exceed) Eidolon? Coil could think on this nonsense later. For now, he needed a cast and a motorized wheelchair. He could get to a proper doctor for full treatment, but he remembered enough of PRT field triage training that he'd get by until then.



Coil opened the door and immediately split the timeline. Facing him was little Dinah Alcott, holding one of his specialized rifles.



In timeline A, he dodged to the right. The blindingly white beam came down and lopped off his legs just above the knee. It dragged up, slicing him in two until his head was removed from his body.



In timeline B, he dodged to the left. The beam hit him in the chest and carved a trench outward until severing his arm. Blinded with pain, he fell back. The beam then split him in half, straight up and down, bisecting his skull.



The little girl dropped the rifle, falling to her knees and sobbing. She'd taken a life, even one as monstrous as Coil's, and it hurt in her heart. I can't stay here, she said to herself. Bad people will come, or there will be another cave-in. She had to get back home. The rifle's battery was drained, and Dinah was well aware that she'd be more likely to kill herself from the recoil if she tried firing bullets. Sticking to back hallways and driving herself to suicidal levels of pain with constant questions, Dinah finally made it out of the headquarters. One more series of questions, and she knew which way home was. Dinah only made it a block or so before passing out, crashing forward into unconsciousness.



A large, flat bug found her, scooped her up and placed her on its back. After looking for others, it headed back toward the Rig.



(BREAK)



She couldn't go home, not yet. Maybe not ever. Her daddy was gone. Even on his worst days, he was the heart and soul of their family. Mom was too intense, too work-focused. Dad was the sweet one who tucked her in at night, who used to read her stories with all the little voices. And she'd never see his smile again.



Victoria Dallon landed in an abandoned building, far from prying eyes. She collapsed in a heap and began to sob, giving voice to the damage her soul had suffered.



"Why are you crying?"



Vicky sat bolt-upright, looking around. Through her blurry eyes, she saw a little girl with bright golden hair. Her first thought was that she'd gone insane and was hallucinating herself as a child, but she dismissed that. Could this be a survivor? "H–" her voice cracked and she swallowed. "Hey there. Are you lost? Do you need help finding your parents?"



The girl might have pouted; it was difficult for Glory Girl to tell, in all honesty. Her tears were still in the way. "Mommy and Daddy have been gone for a long time. Mr. Jack takes care of me now."



Oh fuck. That name jogged everything back into focus. Little blonde girl, Mr. Jack... Without saying anything further, Glory Girl lunged forward, intent on killing Bonesaw. The evil pixie took a step to the side and held out an arm. A black-and-white hand gripped hers.



Vicky blinked and Bonesaw yelped in shock. Her fist impacted the blonde's face, but with only as much force as any normal girl could put into a punch. At the same time, she felt the sensation of her invulnerability shield breaking. She needed to get out of there. Bonesaw AND the Siberian? There was no way she could take the monster-woman who'd killed Hero.



Rubble crunched and Victoria mentally cursed. Of course they wouldn't just show up in a pair. "Imagine my surprise," spoke a masculine voice, "when I saw Little Miss Perfect streaking through the air." Jack Slash stepped out of the destroyed kitchen. "And then our Cherish tells me that you're a boiling little kettle of pain and shame. So we figured you'd be a fun little toy for a while."



One of the huge rubble piles shifted and Crawler rose up. "I hear you're invincible, little girl." The voice vibrated her entire body even as it sent chills up and down her spine. "I'm looking forward to testing that."



"Oh don't give us that face, Vicky," Jack Slash scolded. "You should know we enjoy little games. It's just no fun if the win is guaranteed. So, here're the terms: if you can get away, we'll let you. You can go back and warn everybody, get the whole hero community against us. Of course, if you can't..." He flicked open a switchblade and gave her a sinister grin.



Victoria took a moment to formulate a plan. She had to take into consideration that the rest of the group were there, and it included someone new called 'Cherish'. That said, the greatest threats were Hatchet Face and the Siberian. Thankfully, neither one could fly. She just needed to get into the sky; only Shatterbird could give chase there.



Jack expected her to go for him; he was the weakest of the 9 and he'd left himself open. That meant he had a trap ready to spring. Glory Girl pushed off from the floor with enough force to shatter the linoleum, immediately pushing her flight to its maximum. She slammed into Crawler, delivering an uppercut to his chin. The monstrosity's razor-sharp jaws snapped off his own tongue, which quickly melted its way into the ground. Grabbing him by one leg, she swung around to his back before spinning as quickly as she could with the multi-ton beast in her grip. She aimed for Bonesaw as best she could, hurling Crawler at the little girl. His body splattered all over her and the Siberian, but Glory Girl didn't stay to watch the carnage. She launched into the sky, trying to get as much height as she could.



Waves of sand and glass washed over her. Instead of attacking directly, it rushed around her like water, throwing her off-course and sending her spiraling. Some bizarre magnetic net wrapped around her, the weight suddenly increasing exponentially. Vicky found herself falling, still lost in the shower of silica, before impacting the ground.



Dizzy and concussed, Glory Girl heard the voice as though she was inside a giant cube of jello. "Hold her down, Neddy. Mama Bear, your powers seem to cancel each other out, so hold her head for me. Now..."



A sharp pain lanced through Vicky's neck, and suddenly she couldn't feel anything. She stared vacantly. "Very good," Bonesaw smiled. "Now let's take her back to my office. I've got ideas!" The group of maniacs marched off, the little blonde in the lead whistling Peter's theme from Peter and the Wolf.







A/N: At the suggestion of some readers, I've decided to set up a Patreon. I'll be posting more information once I get some chapters set up; that is, you're not allowed to profit from fanfiction, so I'll be revisiting some of my old story ideas. Part of what destroys my writing is that I get a lot of good scenes but often get lost between those scenes. With the ability to release chapters as anthology series instead, I should be able to post a lot of content for patrons.



Moreover, I've been unemployed for over a year and, due to my location, can't find many prospects. Money from Patreon will help keep me housed and allow me to keep up my work. So if you like my stories and want to see some of my original works, or if you just want to support an autistic guy who loves to write, keep your eyes open for future updates!

 

[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.

 

[Vherstinae]

Loss 8.06



There were very few people whom I truly hated, and the majority were already dead. That day, I decided that I hated Bonesaw. It wasn't enough for her to come into my city for the sole purpose of torturing and murdering innocent people; she had to further extend that to the truly innocent, having released a virus into the water. Animals – dogs, cats, rats, et cetera – who drank the standing water were subject to a transformation somewhat akin to Cerberus' power, becoming vastly larger, more durable and more aggressive. They didn't attack other infected, but anyone and anything else was fair game. There was no way to capture and study the animals to look for a cure without risking people being massacred; horrific as it was, I had to direct my critters to cull the mutated animals, guilty only of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.



It was a war in the back alleys and sewers, an endless orgy of blood and violence. I sobbed while directing my broodmothers to hatch more raptors, organizing my critters tactically to minimize losses. I created bottlenecks, taking advantage of my raptors' reach with their blades, and assembled firing lines of spikers to thin the numbers.



"Skitter!" Dragon's voice shrieked through my earpiece and I leapt off my bed, falling in a heap.



"D-Dragon? What is it?"



"Crawler's attack was a bluff! Mannequin is inside the Rig and he's after Armsmaster! I lost contact with him; his armor's been compromised. Do you have any critters that can help?"



I clenched my eyes shut, forcing my mind to stretch its range to the absolute limit. "Yes, there are a couple of raptors. One's near Armsmaster's lab."



I added that raptor to my list of controlled critters, following Dragon's directions. Using one of its little finger-claws, the raptor punched in the emergency override code. While Armsmaster had his weaponry locked with biometric security, Dragon had convinced him to include an override just in case he was ever incapacitated and in need of equipment. My raptor took the halberd Dragon indicated and rushed to Armsmaster's side. Mannequin tried to kill it with a poison, but it was just painful rather than fatal. I got the satisfaction of watching a mass-murderer killed by his own intended victim.



Instead of triumph, however, Dragon's response was a keening sob. "The Director...why was she out in the field? Why did she..."



My blood ran cold. Something had happened to Piggot? I'd come to think of her as a good friend. "Dragon, be specific. What happened?"



"I'm sorry. Emily was fighting Jack Slash, and winning. Then the Siberian...killed her."



I swallowed hard. "If you have video of the fight, send it to Foresight. Maybe she can come up with a plan. Where did Jack go?"



"They were headed southwest of the Rig before I lost visuals."



"Alright. Focus on coordinating a counteroffensive. I'm going to try to find them."



While it was taxing on my brain, I forced myself to look through the eyes of every single bug in my range, all while still controlling my critters, and processed the images in order to locate the murderous monsters. I could feel something hot running out of my nose and over my lips; it tasted of copper.



There! One of my flies caught a glimpse of a striped figure. I had it move as quickly as it could, perching on her long hair and hiding within one of the black stripes. Releasing the rest of the bugs, I focused to listen in. Ordinary insects weren't as good as earbugs, but I'd been getting better at hearing through them.



I heard someone slammed against a wall; the feminine grunt accompanying it was too old to be Bonesaw. "What the fuck was that!?" Only two of the remaining men in the Nine spoke, and Crawler sounded like a nightmare from the few audio clips I'd heard. Therefore, by process of elimination, it was Jack Slash who was shouting. "It was supposed to be a curbstomp!" A weird metallic slick-click; probably unsheathing a straight razor. More female grunting, open-mouthed. He was jamming the razor into her mouth; since she wasn't yet screaming, I presumed he hadn't started cutting. "Instead, we nearly lost Crawler and Burnscar and I was almost killed. By an ordinary woman! If the Siberian hadn't been there..." His voice became far sweeter, yet infinitely more menacing. "So I ask again, dear Cherish, what was that? Were you being a naughty little girl and backing up the Protectorate? Maybe trying to bump us off so you could welch on our agreement?"



"Blow me, Jack," Cherish protested, forcing the razor out of her mouth. "Somehow they weren't responding to fear or despair. Only other way I could back you up was suicidal overconfidence. And it worked, didn't it? You didn't get your head blown off."



"That doesn't explain why Mannequin hasn't been reporting back, or why my little Bonesaw is MIA. Have you been working behind our backs?"



"Maybe it's 'cause you got comfortable," Cherish spat. "You're so used to everybody panicking when you come to town, you're not prepared to deal with actual opposition. Fucking Hatchet Face was so arrogant he offed himself before even realizing he was being Mastered."



The tinkling of glass. "Watch what you say, little girl," an accented voice threatened. Shatterbird. "Or I may just carve out your eyes."



Good, they were arguing, caught up in petty squabbles. I could zero in on my bug, bring in the sprayers and every other critter in my arsenal, and–



My orange vision vanished. I couldn't feel my critters. Even Atlas disappeared from my contact. Hatchet Face! But wait, wasn't he dead? It didn't matter. I bolted down the stairs. While I trusted my critters to protect themselves, they couldn't organize themselves like I could, and if the Nine were coming to call I needed to confront them before they got to my dad. Of course, Atlas was guarding him in the basement, but that wouldn't be enough against something like Crawler.



The hideous roar of gear chains revving up became audible and the door splintered inward, battered down by some bizarre axe/chainsaw monstrosity. The creature wielding the weapon was every bit as monstrous. It was as though someone had taken Hatchet Face, shoved his head down into his ribcage, and piled on an entire person's worth of additional muscle. The immense hunched back flexed, muscles designed for swinging that axe demonstrating their power as he drove that weapon into the wall for intimidation's sake, easily cleaving through pipes, wires and a support beam. The ceiling above groaned in protest. The beast's glassy, unfocused eyes turned toward me.



The rest of the team was prepared to join in, but without their powers only Grue would have a chance, and even that would be a remote one. Instead, I motioned for them to stay back, my gaze fixed on Hatchet Face. "Oh, I've got a lot of anger and self-loathing I need to work out," I snarled, unsheathing the claws from my fingers and toes. "Thanks for volunteering." I dropped into a low stance, fingers curled not quite into fists, hoping that Brian had drilled the fighting style into me well enough. I pushed off toward him, dipping down my left shoulder and digging my claws into the floor to suddenly pull my upper body parallel to the ground, sliding like a baseball player to avoid the next swing of that axe. I tucked my right leg under myself and sprang back upright, digging my claws into his back. Getting a grip on a clump of muscles, I put all of my weight into continuing that momentum and threw him back out the doorway.



I tried to hock up some bursters but my creep refused to transform; apparently his power kept me from controlling my internal creep as well as my critters. Oh well, doing this the hard way. I broke into a dead run, aiming a palm strike at his shoulder. All of my strength and body weight focused into the heel of my hand and I sent him sprawling again, the mound of muscle forcing himself back upright before I could capitalize on his stagger a second time.



With surprising dexterity for an undead Frankenstein/Igor hybrid, Hatchet Face spun his axe-saw and whipped it back and forth, warding me off. Even a glancing hit from that could deal major damage; while he wasn't swinging it that hard (comparatively, given how much force he could exert), speed took priority over power.



"Skitter! Pull back!" Grue's voice simultaneously filled me with hope and despair. Hope, in that I wanted to believe he and the others could help. Despair, because it was unlikely. The big man came sliding in, legs spread, and clamped them like scissors around Hatchet Face's own legs, twisting and pulling the abomination backward. Hatchet Face landed hard on his back with a heavy thud and Grue immediately scrambled away, but not fast enough. That mutant axe caught him in the leg and I could hear the meat churning between those vicious whirling teeth, Grue falling forward with a scream of total agony.



"Motherfucker!" It was bad enough that they turned innocent animals into weapons. It was bad enough that they killed and tortured people. But they'd killed one of my friends, and were hurting another. It ends now! Before I realized what I was doing, I'd closed the distance and was grabbing the weapon. The blades tore against my costume, ripping through it like it had Grue's, but I squeezed tighter. The chain stopped moving. I could hear the metal screeching beneath my grip, protesting its abuse, but I didn't feel any exertion: I didn't feel anything except pure animalistic rage. I squeezed and wrenched the weapon and tore it from Hatchet Face's grasp. The behemoth seized me by the neck and squeezed, those thick, sausage-like fingers squeezing off my air supply.



I wanted to respond in kind but his head was sunken in and surrounded by those immense muscles. So instead I extended my claws and drove them deep into the flesh, digging for his skull. I was going to tear it off his spine!



Apparently, while I didn't need food or drink, I still needed air. The fury of the fight was turning against me as I felt my energy draining, my body running out of oxygen to power itself. This only spurred me further to end the fight before I gave out, bracing a foot against his shoulder and pulling harder, my claws hooking beneath his jawbone, trying to get as much leverage as I could.



Then his other hand, damaged from my destruction of his weapon, tangled itself in my hair and pulled me down into a piledriver. I felt his boot come down on my head, exerting as much pressure as he could, trying to pop my skull like a zit. I kicked and struggled, trying to push myself up, but he had leverage and I couldn't see where he was positioned. Hatchet Face's body shook a bit; presumably someone had tried to tackle the undead monstrosity, but to no real effect. Then, however, I heard a sound that gave me genuine hope: the loud buzzing of immense wings. Either Dad had released him or Atlas had simply pried through the garage door, but either way my boy was here. I could hear the meaty impact even through the asphalt, and the weight vanished from my skull.



Cerberus was on the ground, clutching her ribs. Foresight was administering her best first-aid to Grue. Hatchet Face was wrestling with Atlas, and losing.



While the dead villain was certainly strong enough to match or even overpower my bug, he didn't have Hookwolf's durability and Atlas' enormous blades were slowly carving through his arms, splitting them apart. I staggered backward until I was out of Hatchet Face's range and forced myself to cough up an uglybug; we'd need a cuddlebug to help staunch Grue's bleeding. The moment I was clear, I felt Atlas' mind touch mine once again. I took control and had him give ground, only for a moment, throwing Hatchet Face off-balance. I spread his blades wide and then scissored them together, neatly separating the murderer's torso from his legs. Hatchet Face's halves landed on the street with a meaty slap and then I brought down the blades again, hacking off his arms. I didn't know how much damage a reanimated corpse could endure, but without limbs it wasn't much of a threat.



My cuddlebug hatched and I lurched over to Grue, pointing it at his wound. Squee, it declared, spitting creep onto his mangled leg. It then turned and spat onto my hand, helping my wounds knit together. I could actually see the purple goop melding with my flesh, causing it to close up. "Alright," I panted, "is everybody okay?"



"I'll need a visit from Panacea if I want to keep use of my leg," Grue said, "but I'm not in danger of bleeding out and it doesn't hurt as bad anymore. Those cuddlebugs do good work."



Squee, the bug agreed.



"It feels like this was all a distraction, though," Foresight said while helping Cerberus brace her ribs. "Couple of these are broken," she commented while the stockier girl grunted in discomfort. "Like they were testing you, testing us," she returned to her previous train of thought.



"They were." Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the sadness returned. "They attacked the Rig. Director Piggot was killed."



Grue looked up from the pavement. "Wait, what? How?"



"Apparently Cherish dosed the area with suicidal overconfidence," I answered. "I managed to spy on the Nine for a bit, before Hatchet Face negated my power. The upside, if there is one here, is that Piggot fucked Jack Slash up before she died." I couldn't help the hint of a cruel smile that blossomed on my lips. "From how he sounded, I think she came close to killing him."



Foresight had frozen in place, arms limp at her sides. "Uh, Foresight? Hon? You alright?" I reached over to poke her.



"Holy fuck," she whispered. "Holy fucking fuck."



From where he and Imp were jury-rigging stretchers for Cerberus and Grue, Regent spoke up. "Oh great, our Thinker's broken."



"This is the second time it's happened," Foresight said, standing and beginning to pace. She was talking a mile a minute, her motions frenetic. "Relying on my power is almost second nature. While I can't use it too much or it's migraine city, I base my further deductions on conclusions reached with my power. First it was Calvert somehow hiding an obvious connection from me, and now..." She turned to look at me. "Jack has a second power!" She answered my question before I could ask it. "It's how he's survived for so long: some sort of Trump ability that interferes with other parahumans!"



"Not that I doubt you," Grue said as Regent and Imp helped him crawl onto the stretcher, "but how'd you figure this out?"



"Because I finally wasn't using my power," she replied. "I've made it second nature to briefly activate my power whenever I'm faced with a puzzle: it helps me suss out the answers much more quickly. But just now, I was so stressed with everything that happened that I forgot to switch my power on. Everything makes sense: there's no way that someone like Jack could command a group of killers all so much more powerful than him. Charisma only goes so far, after all. Moreover, it's pretty much impossible that he's escaped more than one attack by the Triumvirate. Unless, he has some sort of fuck-up shield. But it must only work on other capes, like..." She paused. "Huh, that's something for later. I just figured out that Migraine's power only works on parahumans. But she was able to use it on Leviathan, even if it didn't work. But that's a problem for another time. Anyway, if we consider his secondary ability to be a Trump, then it makes sense that it only works on capes. So somebody like Piggot – admittedly a badass, but a baseline human – would be able to move around his defenses."



"So we arm the PRT for lethal combat and send them after Jack while we deal with the greater threats," I concluded, using spiders to weave cables and attach them to the stretchers. Atlas was ready to grab them up. "Cerberus, grab your dogs. Let's head to the Rig. We'll need to get some equipment of our own. Foresight, while we're in transit, I want you to think on the Siberian. We need a way to kill her."



"Even better if I can do it with my bare hands," Cerberus added, wheezing through her broken ribs. "I owe that bitch."



Atlas lifted off, airlifting my wounded teammates. "Everyone, be ready to kill without remorse or hesitation. It's time for a counteroffensive."

 

[Vherstinae]

Loss 8.07



The battles beneath the city were over. It was terrifying, honestly, to realize how much my humanity was holding me back. While my human mind let me plan more elaborate plans and seek out advantages not clear to an animal mind, my morality kept me from being as truly savage as I was capable of being. When my senses returned, I could feel that the majority of my critters were dead. But so was every infected animal in the city. Without my control they had gone into a blood frenzy and the resulting carnage made me sick to my stomach...if I still had a stomach, at least.



I leapt off Atlas, falling into a somersault. It hurt to drop from so far up, but haste was paramount. "I need to speak to Deputy Renick," I shouted at the nearest PRT officer. She didn't bother with red tape and just led me through the halls.



The Rig was hurting. I could feel the pain and sadness: the PRT's leader, the woman who had rallied our forces and dispelled the fear, was dead. Wilson Renick was a quiet and unassuming man, one who did a wonderful job acting as middle-man between heroes and ordinary people, but he wasn't equipped emotionally to take an outright leadership role. Everyone was lost and wondering what had happened to change the dynamic so drastically.



When I was led to Renick, I could see that he'd been crying and doing his best to conceal it. "Deputy-Director," I addressed him by his former title rather than Acting Director, hoping to briefly lessen the blow, "I have important information. We know how to kill Jack Slash."



That moved his focus from the confusion of the last skirmish. "You have my attention, Skitter."



"Slash has a secondary power, a Thinker/Trump sort of precog that basically gives him superhuman reaction time against capes: he literally knows what we're going to do before we do it. It could even extend to force of personality, which is why he's able to corrupt and lead villains far more powerful than he is."



The haggard man contemplated my words. "That would explain why Militia didn't just finish him off with a bazooka or something..." I could see the gears turning in his head. "And that's why Emily was able to beat him so thoroughly." He grabbed his communicator. "I'll get the PRT outfitted for war. Now we just need to hope you have a way to beat Crawler and the Siberian."



I gave Renick a reassuring smile. "If anybody can figure it out, it's Foresight."



(BREAK)



Down in the medical wing, both Steve and the emergency cuddlebug I'd made for Grue's wounds observed the bustle. Two nightmarish-looking female figures were strapped down onto tables, life-support systems attached to them.



"Jesus," Regent muttered. "What happened to them?"



Panacea tried to answer but had to clear her throat to get rid of the tears and phlegm. "That's Vicky and Mouse Protector. Bonesaw got to them... I'm keeping them in induced comas for now. It's horrible, but we can't spare staff to help them cope."



Brandish stood up from where she'd been hunched over Glory Girl. "I'm just waiting for the word. I'll unleash hell on these monsters."



Panacea finished her work on Grue and Cerberus. "You two ready to go again?"



The stocky girl nodded. "I'm gonna kill 'em all."



Foresight sat down and rested her palms on her knees, head tilted back ever so slightly. I recognized that pose as her ultimate Thinking position. "The remaining members are all pretty straightforward: Burnscar needs to be doused, Shatterbird can be taken out with sufficient small-arms fire, and Cherish? Either snipe her or send in the critters. Even Crawler's simple – not easy, but simple. Either hit him just once, hard enough that he dies before he can regen, or somehow turn his body against him. It's the Siberian who's the problem. She completely defies the laws of physics. Someone like that, who can bypass even...Alexandria's...invulnerability..."



My violet-garbed girlfriend leapt off the chair. "Somebody get me Clockblocker and Skitter!"



(BREAK)



I was honestly surprised at the sheer amount of offensive weaponry the PRT had at their disposal. "We'd stockpiled guns in the event of an outright gang war," Renick explained. "Not just the skirmishes, but outright war. And after everything came to a head between the ABB and E88, we decided to keep the stock just in case martial law was needed."



Automatic rifles, grenades, a freaking TOW missile launcher, and siege armor manufactured by Dragon herself: our PRT agents were now bona fide soldiers ready to exterminate the greatest threat we yet faced. I couldn't help but think it was poetic and fitting, that normal people would be the ones to kill the leader of a villain group that enjoyed slaughtering those same normal people.



I'd coughed up three new broodmothers who were immediately put to work replenishing my swarm's numbers, Cerberus was working with K-9 units to prepare them for combat, and the PRT had armed Imp with some heavy weaponry for surprise attacks. In just a little bit, we'd be ready to take the fight to the 9.



And that's when an aide came running in, holding a phone. "Director! You need to hear this! Now!" Without waiting for permission, he hit the speaker option.



"Well, that frantic shouting sounds like we're here. Hi there, Acting Director. Did you manage to scoop up all the pieces of the last one?" Jack Slash's smooth, sinister voice grated on my ears. I wanted nothing more than to somehow reach through that phone and tear his head off. I thought I could hear whimpering on the other end and suddenly found myself wondering just whose phone this was. "Anyway, I was calling to check in, see how you're doing, and find out if you're planning to hide out on that oil rig forever. It's fine if you are; we'll just have our fun out here. To be less obtuse," the playful tone dropped from his voice and it became downright menacing, "we're going to start killing people now. No real rhyme or reason; wherever we decide to head, we'll kill anyone and everyone nearby. If you're fine with all that innocent blood on your heads, feel free to keep hiding. If not, just follow the trail of corpses to find us and try to stop us... Oh! Shit, I almost hung up. That'd sort of defeat the purpose of calling you. Y'see, we rounded up these people for a reason."



Jack Slash didn't speak any further; he didn't have to. The screams and pleading of his victims said more than he ever could have. The wet sklutch of human flesh being parted, the agonized shrieks transitioning into death rattles...we didn't dare hang up. It seemed that everyone was of the same mind: horrific as it was, to hang up would be to disrespect these poor people. They were dying, and we couldn't just shut that out and pretend it wasn't happening.



Once the noise quieted down, the Director hung up. He only spoke one sentence, calm and even. "We're going to kill them all."



(BREAK)



I'd made larger-than-normal spikers for transportation: there were only so many K-9 dogs available, so those who were left without flight or vehicles could hop piggyback on a spiker and make good time. Of course, the spikers were also excellent offensive weapons, so that was another benefit.



The remaining members of the Slaughterhouse 9 had kept true to their word: it was easy to follow the trail of carnage that wound randomly through the streets. They hadn't gotten nearly as far as I'd expected, though. Their rampage had been halted by two other cape teams working in tandem.



The Butcher tangled with Crawler, handling the immense Brute like a mantis fending off a bird. He charged Crawler, dropping into a baseball slide to duck under the monster's enormous jaws. The explosive teleport knocked Crawler into the air, then slammed him back down as Butcher appeared on his back, slipping behind him and catching Crawler by a back leg, hurling him through a building.



Gregor the Snail was providing support alongside another cape who manifested odd rippling spheres in the air, the two of them snuffing out Burnscar's fires. Working in tandem with that pair, Spitfire had teamed up with another of the Teeth, a guy decked head-to-toe in black with orange circles popping up on his costume. He crystallized the flames into tiny points, smaller than marbles, and then launched them like bullets of pure heat.



Spree was doing his best to keep the Siberian distracted, endless waves of clones spilling over her, blood and viscera obscuring her vision. In the air, Shatterbird darted back and forth, dodging storms of bullets while Vex's bladed forcefields blockaded her from rising too high. On occasion, a cape on the ground extended one of his arms, trying to snatch her out of the sky.



The rest of the Teeth lay dead or dying on the street: Hemorrhagia was the only one I recognized, her head having been separated from her body. Shamrock was in a standoff with Jack Slash. I had no idea how she was doing it, but she dodged every attack he sent her way. She retaliated with a massive cannon of a pistol, but he was always one step ahead of her aim. It was like they were both predicting the other's movements, too slow on the offense and too fast on the defense.



Of our own group, Scanner and Foresight hung back, studying the fight. My spikers overheard their conversation. "Holy shit," Scanner gasped. "The Siberian, she's...she's not showing up as a cape. She's...it's like when Skitter controls bugs!"



I could hear the smile in my girlfriend's voice. "Perfect. Skitter, Clock, you ready?"



I tilted my head back and released a torrent of bumblespiders. The yellow-black bugs buzzed over to the pile of corpses that the Siberian was trying to wade through, laying down webbing over the gore. As Foresight gave the signal, I sent some of my bugs upward, trying to wind silk around Shatterbird. They didn't reach her before Vista closed the distance and Clockblocker tapped the silk. His time-freezing power took hold, affecting the bodies beneath the webbing, just as the Siberian pushed against them. There was an odd sound like cracking glass and the frozen pile went limp, caving in as the Siberian winked out of existence.



"No!" Jack Slash noticed the Siberian's disappearance, turning to us and swinging his razor. Atlas darted into the way, the cut harmlessly scratching against his carapace.



The world lurched and I fell away from reality, into my own mind. I saw my mother's car T-boned, my text message still on her phone as her neck snapped from the impact. I saw the face of Alan Barnes, the man I'd thought of as an uncle, as he took pleasure in fighting for Winslow and his daughter, betraying the man who'd been his brother in all but blood. I saw Sophia Hess spreading her poison, the corruption within the Protectorate that allowed a psychopath like that to be given free rein. I saw the Undersiders and Faultline's team being used as cannon fodder while the heroes hid within the Rig, emerging only to claim the victory. I saw my own monstrousness, my body mutating further and further until I wasn't even sapient anymore, a feral beast killing those I loved.



Mommy. It wasn't a word; more, a concept. I felt it more than I heard it. Mommy. What was this? Who was talking to me? Then I saw them: my babies. From the tiniest cuddlebug to Atlas, they were my children, my family. They still needed me. I couldn't give up.



Don't worry, babies. Mommy's here.



I clawed my way back through the abyss, feeling the tendrils in my mind trying to force me back down. Instead, I focused on those tendrils, tracing them back to their creator. I felt her, smelled her, knew her. But she wasn't mine to kill. One of my children slithered toward her, carrying his black-haired passenger.



The gladiator charged the bird, lightning crackling along his spear. She threw feathers at him but he blocked and dodged, striking again and again. She managed to keep him at a distance, forcing him to pay more attention to her feathers. But in her arrogance she forgot, just for a moment, about the frog on the tar. It shot out a long, five-pronged tongue and caught the bird around the leg. It didn't have time to shriek before being dragged down onto a bed of sharp stones, breaking its wings and moaning pitifully. The bird tried to gather her feathers, to flap away, but the gladiator dropped on top of her, driving the lightning bolt through her spine.



I blinked away the fog in my head, my thoughts coming more into focus as Dauntless wrenched his arc lance free from Shatterbird's back. "Nice hit," the long-armed Tooth grinned and shot the hero a thumbs-up. Dauntless gave an awkward smile and a little salute with his lance.



Jack Slash turned and ran. His team was falling apart and he wasn't the type to go down with the ship. Fortunately, there was a reason the PRT hadn't yet entered the fight: we'd been waiting for Jack to cut and run.



The military-issue personnel carrier pulled up, cutting off Jack's primary escape route. His eyes darted from side to side, trying to decide on which way to go, only to refocus on the APC when a panel slid loose. "Well, shit," he muttered, seeing more than a dozen assault rifles brought to bear. Jack Slash bolted, for all the good it did him. The storm of bullets hit him like a truck, knocking him back and shredding his skin. Every single PRT officer emptied their clip into him, then paused to reload. Half of them shot him more as he tried to crawl away, the other half exiting the carrier. They cuffed his hands and feet, but made no attempt to move him. Instead, one more soldier brought out a canister.



He stooped down next to Jack. "My sister was in Reno. You killed her. I've been waiting for this." He poured the odd metal powder all over the mass-murderer.



Faultline must have realized what was going on, because she grabbed Newter and Vista and rattled off a quick plan. The little Shaker warped space to put Newter in front of Burnscar, where he promptly spat in her face. Faultline then sent a crack through the street and Vista widened it, letting the mass-murderer drop into the hole, releasing her control just before her Manton limit would have torn it free. The street slammed shut, crushing Burnscar into a pulp.



With the pyrokinetic gone, the PRT had no worries in igniting the thermite and letting Jack Slash melt into ash and pink paste.



"Only two left now," I muttered.



"One, actually," Foresight smirked at me. I realized that Cerberus was absent.



I was about to ask where Butcher and Crawler had gotten to when my question was answered. The Butcher smashed through a building, his body apparently having taken out one support beam too many in the second floor. The third floor collapsed onto the first, crushing the entire structure. The Teeth's leader was missing an arm at the shoulder and a leg at the hip, his wounds seared with acid.



Crawler burst through the street from beneath me, catching me by the leg. "This is all your fault, little girl," the monstrosity bellowed at me, dozens of malevolent golden eyes focused on mine. "You took away my only friends, the ones who helped me hunt..." His tongue uncurled, covered in octopus-like suckers, dripping acid onto my leg. "If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to EAT YOU!" The other heroes were blasting Crawler, trying to pry him off me, but he refused to let go. He was dedicated to vengeance.



Wait, I thought, if he makes acid... I spat a burster into his mouth. The monster screamed in overwhelming pain, his mouth bubbling from the acid/base reaction. I wrenched my leg free, most of its costume and skin remaining in Crawler's grip, but I was loose. I scrambled back but Crawler's eyes were already back on me, the beast lunging forward. I couldn't get out of the way in time.



Atlas slammed into Crawler head-on, the two falling end-over-end until Atlas righted himself, trying to pry himself free of Crawler's grip. The Brute grabbed onto one of his blades, tearing it out of its socket and flinging it aside. Atlas didn't falter, staring deep into Crawler's primary eyes. I could feel the strength and determination emanating from my big guy.



I love you, Mother. I could feel the thought, understand it clear as day. And I understood why he sent it. "Atlas, NO!"



The beetle shrugged off my attempt to control him, spreading his wings and carrying Crawler into the air. He intended to fling the Brute into space. He never made it: Crawler punched a hole through Atlas' torso, pulling out his organs and killing my baby, my favorite son. He plummeted back to earth with my child's corpse, slamming into the street with enough force to leave a crater, the impact laying most of us flat.



"Trash," Crawler muttered, kicking aside my baby's remains.



My humanity fell away. With a roar louder and more feral than one of Crawler's own bellows, I charged on all fours. I impacted him with enough force to knock him onto his back, and opened my mouth wide. I felt my creation's clawed legs tearing my throat apart but that didn't matter. What mattered was that this creature suffered. It shot forward into one of his eyes, tearing it open and crawling inside. I leapt off Crawler before he could retaliate, and then the screaming started.



The monster rolled around in agony, wailing and gnashing his teeth, begging for the pain to stop. His flesh crawled; rather, things crawled beneath his flesh. His body tried to heal itself, but only continued to fuel the conversion. His flesh was turned to creep, the parasites multiplying within him, consuming his innards as food. He rose onto his back legs, screaming to the sky, and then the noises stopped. Thick purple creep bubbled up from his throat, spilling down onto the street, his skin sloughing off and his body melting into a conical, pulsating structure.



Crawler was no more. Regent's last tie to his family was broken. Cerberus had killed the Siberian's creator with her bare hands.



But my baby was still gone.



Foresight wrapped her arms around me and I snarled, nearly bit her. She touched my cheek.



I cried.

 

[Vherstinae]

Interlude 8.z



Welcome to the Parahumans Online Message Boards



You are currently logged in, Titania



+Topic: Slaughterhouse 9 DEAD!



In: Boards > News > Events > America



Snickersnack (Original Poster) (Boots on the Ground)



Posted on May 29, 2011:



It's the end of an era, people. Every last one of the Slaughterhouse 9 are dead, with very few (as in, I think less than 50) casualties total. Good ol' Jack Slash got the ultimate fuck-you from the normal people, as the PRT were the ones to finish him off. Burnscar was Vista's first confirmed kill, and I have it on good authority that she's getting counseling to deal with having taken a life, even one as wretched as Burnscar's.



I'm sure the PRT will do a press release soon [EDIT: They did. See here], but I wanted to get the news out as soon as I got my hands on a computer. Coming on the heels of Leviathan's most brutal defeat to date (Suck it, Lung!), it brings to mind two questions:



First, could this signal a return to peace and safety, now that we're successfully beating back or killing off the greatest threats to the world?



Second, just what's going on down in Brockton Bay that they could put up this kind of fight?



(Showing page 1 of 212)



>Brocktopus (Veteran Member)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



Holy shit, seriously? They're dead? As in, all of them, even Siberian? Am...am I smiling? I think I am. It kinda hurts from underuse. I think I'm actually proud of my hometown again.



>EyMaan



Replied on May 29, 2011:



So first they took Leviathan's arm, now they killed the entire Slaughterhouse 9 in, what, a day? Two? Fuck Scion and Eidolon, next time shit goes down I'm calling BB.



>LordBravery



Replied on May 29, 2011:



Agreed, Maan. Is there something in the water over there in Brockton? Seems like they're breeding badasses recently.



>Foresight (Verified Cape) (Yes, I'm psychic)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



This was a major victory but, like all things in this shitty world, came at great cost. We've lost good friends like Director Emily Piggot, and Skitter lost Atlas. She still hasn't stopped crying...



>Tin_Mother (Moderator)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



Foresight's right – I don't mean to rain on anybody's parade, but we should remember the sacrifices made to stop these monsters.



>TheAngryJew (Veteran Member)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



I'm still wondering just how they killed some of 'em. I mean, Siberian was known for being invincible and Crawler's power was basically "fuck you." Plus, y'know, Bonesaw.



I'm not disbelieving the good news; I'm just interested in how they did it.



>Brockton Bay PRT (Official)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



The PRT is putting together a press statement that will be read later today. In it, we will list those who died to earn us this victory, as well as a short description of each kill.



>Winged_One



Replied on May 29, 2011:



No, not Atlas! Poor Skitter; he seemed like such a sweet bug!



>IneedAHero



Replied on May 29, 2011:



Congratulations and hearty thanks to everyone who helped put those bastards six feet under. I know it took a lot of sacrifice to do, but the entire nation owes you its gratitude. Coming from someone who survived the 9 tearing through my town, I can't imagine how scared you must have been. Thank you all for having the courage to fight back against evil.



>Mockery (Verified Cape)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



The 9 got arrogant. They'd been around so long they thought they were the untouchable cocks of the goddamn walk, especially Jack Slash. Turns out he was just like Grey Boy: a big fish used to small ponds that suddenly found itself in the ocean.



Rest in pain, you bastards.



(Showing page 212 of 212)



>TheMagicWaffle



Replied on May 29, 2011:



God, I swear I can still hear her crying. It's like her child was killed. Maybe it was, in a way. I mean, we've seen how Skitter can spit up bugs, and people have stories of the critter production lines during the Leviathan attack, maybe she made Atlas like her other monsters. The way she reacted, though, I don't think she could control it. They had to literally carry her off.



>Bagrat (The Guy in the Know)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



And don't get me started with what became of Crawler. The thing's spreading her bio-goo and occasionally spits up those gross squirmy things, and it just sits there and makes weird noises and creeps me out. Sorry to say it but I'm not in the know on this one.



>DeeDeeBeeDeep (Veteran Member)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



I still can't get over the fact that they're gone. My brother died last time they went through Shreveport. He was still on the phone with me. It's a relief, like a weight's off my shoulders, but also a disappointment of sorts. I'd always imagined that I might get the chance at revenge.



>SirNotAppearingInThisFilm (Aptly Named)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



At least the dead can rest. Even if it wasn't by any of our hands, they've still been avenged and nobody else will die to those monsters. Focus on the positive rather than feeding what-ifs or letting your grudges stew against people who're burning in hell right now.



>Leet (Verified Cape)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



Wait, it's over already? I hadn't even finished my latest weapons! It was gonna be my big...ah, screw it. I'll find another occasion. Also, @Tin_Mother, what does one need to do to change a screenname? PM me and I'll give you the 411.



(BREAK)



+Topic: The Death of Fear



In: Boards > News > PRT Announcements > America



Brockton Bay PRT (Official)



Posted on May 29, 2011:



This statement is a companion to our Press Release earlier today, a summation of events as well as a statement of intent for the future. The Slaughterhouse 9 are indeed all dead and bounties will be issued accordingly: Bonesaw – Panacea. Mannequin – Armsmaster. Hatchet Face – The Undersiders. Shatterbird – Dauntless as well as villains Vex and Grapnel. Burnscar – Vista as well as mercenaries Newter and Faultline. The Siberian, aka William Manton – Cerberus. Cherish – Regent. Crawler – Skitter. Jack Slash's bounty will be split between the PRT troopers on-duty today, as they were the ones to kill him.



As those who saw the press release will know, it was discovered that the Siberian was in actuality an extremely powerful Master projection from Dr. William Manton. After being exposed to the Simurgh, Manton became obsessed with resurrecting his daughter. When that failed, the man who was once the world's foremost parahuman researcher determined to somehow acquire powers of his own and destroy the world he'd helped to create. While the Siberian was thought to be unstoppable, it was a projection that ignored the laws of matter. When put against something that ignores the laws of space and time, the projection was temporarily destroyed. Undersiders member Cerberus wrung Manton's neck, snapping his spinal column.



When asked why she performed that specific action, Cerberus was more talkative than usual: "She, or he, f*** it, it came to my animal shelter and wrung a puppy's neck, just because it could. I promised that I'd kill it. That way seemed only fair."



At the moment, the PRT has no plans to deal with what onlookers have dubbed the Crawler-Cone. We understand that it blocks a major intersection but Skitter is currently unavailable and we have no desire to attempt to relocate it and risk a catastrophic mistake. Click here for a list of detours.



(Showing page 1 of 10)



>Birb (Veteran Member)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



Congratulations to everyone who contributed to this victory, and my deepest sympathies for those who gave their lives to achieve this. I salute each and every one of you. *raises a glass*



>Xerxes (Verified Cape)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



While I'm not American, I have much experience with roving murderers. The most cunning and powerful of them can last for years, and the Slaughterhouse 9 seemed almost more like a cult than a simple criminal group, and whatever doctrine they followed served them well. A hearty kudos to everyone who's ever stood against them, and especially to those heroes who stopped this reign of terror. If I wore one, my hat would be off to you.



(BREAK)



The buzzer rang and the computer shut itself off. So fleeting, she thought to herself. These internet privileges do not last near long enough. She strode out of the communal room, noting all of the empty seats. It was disappointing, but not entirely unexpected. Others could not be expected to withstand her glory for long. Only a scant few had the fortitude to stand before her: the skeletal baron, whose nobility had earned her respect; the snarling beast of fury, who presumed to be her equal; the broken songbird, whose gentle nature belied a deep hopelessness. And the spirit of machines, she smiled as a screen blinked to life.



"Ah, my landlady appears before me. How are you today, dear Dragon?"



The redhead offered a deferent smile. "Queen of all Faeries, it's always a pleasure. I had noticed your choice of topics on Parahumans Online, and I was wondering your purpose?"



The magnificent Glastig Uaine returned the smile. "My friend – I believe that, after such time, I can call you a friend – I have been reviewing the recent news from the world surrounding. Such achievements have drawn my eye." Despite her bearing as a monarch, she allowed a tiny hint of a mischievous smile to grace her lips. "I would like a cuddlebug of my own."

A/N: And that's everything thus far! Upcoming will be the first chapter of Arc 9!

 

[Dark Mage]

Adorifying Taylor story located and watched!

Only gripe is the formatting is placing double spacing between paragraphs.

Oh and:

The magnificent Glastig Uaine returned the smile. "My friend – I believe that, after such time, I can call you a friend – I have been reviewing the recent news from the world surrounding. Such achievements have drawn my eye." Despite her bearing as a monarch, she allowed a tiny hint of a mischievous smile to grace her lips. "I would like a cuddlebug of my own."

Click to shrink...

Let the screaming begin!