113 - The Tea Shop Conclave of the Impending Inferno
GraftingBuddha
Retired Pooh-Bah
113 - The Tea Shop Conclave of the Impending Inferno
Chaos reigned. As the trio walked through the streets, they saw signs of Bisha's influence wherever they looked. Buildings were visibly scarred by his renewed bombing campaign, and Taylor found herself involuntarily reminded of Mound Moor with its myriad anomalies. For every building scarred by a simple bomb, there were places where reality had simply given up. One building had been partially turned into perfect aquamarine crystal, visibly straining under its own weight. Another was slowly being consumed by a fire which seemed to feed on the concrete itself, even the heavy rain incapable of suppressing it. Taylor had always known that tinkers were potent, but this… it wasn't a good thing when she was being reminded of Mound Moor, a place where a deluded god had ripped reality a new one. The streets were either crowded or completely empty, with almost no inbetween. People were trying to stay at home, but in some cases 'home' was a pile of smoking rubble, or was actively being invaded by mad cultists with shrivelled eyes. Taylor thought she saw people from Winslow at one point - a group of teenagers she remembered wearing the ABB colours at one point, standing around a collapsed cultist. Blows rained down on the barely responsive body, and the sweat-slicked faces of the terrified young gang members were contorted into snarls. Each strike released a small gout of yellow liquid that steamed in the cold air, before being washed away into the drains by the endless rain. Taylor hoped there wouldn't be any long-term effects from that - weird yellow liquid gets into the water supply, people promptly start hallucinating about the source of all reality. One of them - a boy, just slightly older than her - turned to check out the newcomers. He blinked, processed what was before him, but no flash of recognition crossed his eyes. With a shrug, he returned to kicking the steaming body before him. Taylor wasn't quite sure how to feel about that. It was nice to not be bothered, but… had she really been that forgettable? Or had she changed that much? Chorei spoke up, sensing a certain amount of combined relief and indignation.
Think nothing of it, you just had your skull drilled open. Clean yourself up and they might notice you more, eh?
Taylor grumbled.
"Not remotely what I was thinking about."
If you say so.
Living with Chorei was going to be an experience. Like living with a weird immortal grandma who lives vicariously through her grandchildren. What fun. They walked onwards, keeping a good distance from anything that looked unnatural. Her swarm moved out to scan for anomalies, but when she found nothing but scared citizens, she relaxed her efforts. She might be reminded of Mound Moor, but there were important differences. For all the destruction around her, there was still none of the all-consuming strangeness of that now-destroyed town. The tea shop should be nearby, and a momentary pulse of fear rippled through her. Maybe Bisha had decided to wipe out their base of operations - maybe a bomb had been hidden there for weeks, ready to go off the moment they entered. Maybe they'd find nothing but a smoking ruin, or worse - a brief morbid image of her friends being torn apart in slow motion by a similar effect to that she'd seen in Dakota came to mind. With a shudder, she pushed it away. Then again, destroying them with an impersonal bomb… that didn't seem like his style at all. He'd want to rip them apart personally. If there was one impression she'd gleaned from their brief connection, other than arrogance, it was sadism. Light spilled into the street, and for a moment she raised up her priceless antique rifle, ready to shoot at anything with shrivelled eyes.
She blinked. The light was wrong - it wasn't a sickening yellow. It was warm, homely. Comforting. She trotted forward with the others, and saw a fully intact tea shop staring back at them. Detonations were continuing to go off throughout the city, but their home away from home seemed to be intact. The term 'home away from home' sparked a strange sadness in Taylor, though. Her home was burning the last time she saw it, would probably be nothing but ash now. For all intents and purposes, this small tea shop might as well be her home - it was the closest place that qualified now. Inside waited Turk, Ahab and Mouse Protector (tense as a coiled spring). Taylor hesitated when she saw the Khans waiting there as well, looking oddly jittery and nervous. Everyone looked up as the bell jingled, announcing the arrival of the rest of their merry band. The bikers gave Sanagi a look, which Taylor wasn't quite in the mood to decipher. As long as no violence broke out, they could distribute all the looks they desired. Taylor opened her mouth to speak, but Turk beat her to it. Not by speaking, of course. Instead, he surged to his feet and rushed forward. For a moment, Taylor felt something like elation. She wasn't overly fond of physical contact, but the idea of Turk giving her a massive bear hug after everything she'd been through sounded… oddly pleasant.
Turk stomped past her and up to Sanagi, who reeled back, fully aware of what was about to happen. She bumped into the wall, hesitating for a moment too long. One of Turk's hands grabbed her forehead, holding her in place. The other reached forward and plucked out her glass eyes, one by one. Sanagi wasn't silent during all of this, snarling viciously as she tried to escape from his grasp, and the dark edges of her pincers began to emerge from her mouth. Turk poked her on the nose, putting an end to such silliness. He growled.
"No eyes for you."
Sanagi pouted, the expression slightly marred by the fact that she no longer had any eyes. With a grumble, she pulled on a pair of sunglasses, feeling deeply ridiculous. Ahab cackled loudly, and even Mouse Protector let out a solitary giggle. Taylor's swarm jittered in irritation, and Taylor herself coughed to try and get things back on track.
"So. A lot has happened, and I have good news and bad news. Bad news - Bisha is sending his cult out, and is detonating all his remaining bombs. Good news - he's getting desperate, so we must be doing something right. More bad news, though. If he's moving this quickly, his plan is probably coming together tonight, or very soon. Either way, we need to move quickly. And a final bit of good news, we have some addresses to check out. Places we haven't examined yet."
Everyone perked up.
"Khans, can you try and keep some order in the streets? Ride around, fight any cultists you see."
She would have asked them to accompany her, but honestly, based on what Sanagi had mentioned the bikers wouldn't be much use here. Voodoo Child was dependent on feeling distaste or hatred for those he fought, and against Bisha, fear seemed to be the overwhelming response. Against a bunch of cultists, though? She anticipated some resistance to this duty… but to her surprise, the bikers shrugged contentedly. Their leader spoke up.
"Sounds good to us. But, uh, we're probably going to have some fun, you know?"
Taylor's eye narrowed.
"Fun?"
"Stress is a killer, you daft bitch. All I'm saying is that if some bartender abandons town without locking his door…"
"Please don't get drunk tonight. Afterwards, do what you like."
"Don't worry, we won't."
He grinned.
"We'll get hammered. Big difference."
Savages. Barbarians. Unwashed degenerates. No better than the Mongols!
For once, Taylor and Chorei were in agreement. Well, except about the Mongol thing, she wasn't going near that one. This had happened a few times before, but it was always a little disconcerting when she found herself agreeing with the immortal nun in her head. She sighed. No point disputing her, though. The Khans were barely allies - more 'violent gang members with whom she shared a certain enemy'. So long as they ran interference on the cult, Taylor was happy. As for the others…
"So, I do have a plan. Everyone but the Khans, we're going to check out these addresses. See what we can do."
Ahab tilted her head to one side.
"What are the addresses?"
Taylor scribbled them down on a piece of paper - four addresses in total - sliding it over the table for the others to look at. After a moment of thought, Sanagi spoke up.
"Two of these are fairly small buildings, but the others… they're skyscrapers. Proper office blocks."
"Huh. That's not good. Either way, we'll check them out, but we should prepare for heavy resistance. Very heavy resistance. If Bisha is getting this desperate, it means these addresses are probably important to his plan. Turk?"
The cyclops grinned, and reached behind the counter to withdraw a pile of black cases. One by one, he flipped them open to expose their exceedingly deadly contents. Mouse Protector paled, and protectively shielded her sword with one hand. Seeing all these instruments of death was making her feel a little… inadequate? Was that the word? She was definitely dis-cheesed, that was for sure. These guys cheddar have some gouda reasons for using this stuff.
She killed her sometimes.
Turk gestured to one of the open cases, which contained a particularly nasty-looking assault rifle. On its side was a series of what looked like Chinese characters.
"Chinese type 56. I have a few of these - back when the CUI was starting up, arms dealers made a fortune selling Communist military gear to foreigners. No serial numbers, nothing to trace it back to us - at least, so long as you wear gloves. Illegal, but at the moment…"
Ahab grinned widely and snatched the rifle up, cradling it to her chest, making distressing cooing noises over it. Mouse Protector somehow became more uncomfortable. Turk opened another case, revealing a good number of cardboard boxes. A single one was opened, revealing a host of red shells.
"Dragonslayer-brand Viscerators. Ahab's pistol? Use it when you want to put a hole in someone. The rifle is for putting a hole through someone. Use these when you want someone to no longer exist in our reality. Dragonslayers used these out in the Balkans a few years back - painted a hundred bunkers red, spat on the Geneva Suggestion while they were doing it."
A slow grin was spreading across his face as he said this. He idly glanced over to Arch.
"You can have some."
Arch paled.
"...I don't think I'm the person for that particular position. But thank you for the offer."
"You're badly trained. A pistol is useless for you, so is a rifle. With these, just aim vaguely in someone's direction and they will cease to exist."
"What if someone else gets in my way?"
Turk looked around the table, taking in the sight of his new companions. Ahab, a veteran mercenary like himself. Sanagi, a parahuman who'd evidently endured a hell of a lot during her little road trip. Taylor, who'd… well, grown up. A lot. And Mouse Protector. He didn't have much to go on there, but she seemed basically competent. Though she was looking very pale.
"If any of you die because you stood in front of Arch while he's firing a shotgun, you deserved it, and I will mock you at your funerals."
The others nodded solemnly. One by one, he ran through the rest. Pistols, more exotic ammunition types, a pile of grenades, and their few melee weapons. Ahab immediately dashed away to attach her Secateurs, unsurprisingly, but Taylor's own choice surprised him. He'd made sure the spring-loaded trap fist (courtesy of Meister Electromechanical Solutions) was still tightly-wound and properly oiled, but he'd suspected that no-one would want to use it. Melee weapons in general were a tough sell, and this particular one generally put people off. The Secateurs were elegantly designed and obviously effective, while the trap fist was an ugly mass of brown metal and coils. If improperly fitted, it could break your arm with the force of those coils springing into motion, or could snip off one's fingers when it activated. Nonetheless, the girl he remembered staggering into his shop covered in orange juice took this brutal weapon of war. Though, looking over her scars, it seemed as though she'd had more than enough experience in close-quarters combat. He helped her attach the vicious melee weapon - and it was vicious. The Secateurs at least had the decency to just rip off a limb or two, the blood loss made sure you could barely feel it anyhow. The trap fist, though… that thing would clamp down into your flesh, pinning it in place while the user repeatedly punched you in the face. Or shot you. Or stabbed you. Or did anything they wanted, because you were immobilised by what was, in effect, a wrist-mounted bear trap. As he helped her attach the thing, Mouse Protector spoke up, her tone uncharacteristically serious.
"Now, this is going to sound strange. Maybe even insane. But why don't we call the PRT."
The others glanced in her direction, blinking. Taylor opened her mouth, then closed it again. Turk scratched his head. Ahab picked at her sores. Sanagi scratched her chin, her hidden pincers clicking slowly. Finally, Taylor spoke properly.
"...huh, you know, you might have a point there. The cult's out in the open, it's fairly obvious that someone is causing problems in the city. Maybe we should… no, wait. This is coming to a head now, the last thing we need is for the PRT to hold everything up while they check our evidence over. Speaking of which, we don't really have any evidence beyond our own testimony."
Mouse Protector sagged back in her chair sulkily. Probably disappointed about not being able to get in touch with her old friends - hadn't she mentioned being friends with Miss Militia? Still, simply not an option at present. That being said, the PRT should be invaluable in keeping things calm - they had numbers and resources, they should be able to crack down on any major cult outbursts. Probably. Hopefully. It was within the realms of possibility. With capes on their side, they'd almost certainly win - Taylor actually felt content to let the heroes deal with most of Bisha's chaos. They were competent enough, and if Armsmaster was any indication, they'd be able to handle almost anything short of Bisha himself. Slowly, they outfitted themselves to the gills, gradually starting to resemble a proper ragtag group of mercenaries. Spidersilk suits for all but Mouse Protector and the Khans, covered with kevlar vests. Pistols for everyone, even Taylor - she'd rather have a pistol and not need it than the opposite. Then, the proper weapons. Ahab held her assault rifle loosely, her Secateurs retracted to allow her to use the rifle effectively. Turk slipped his sawn-off shotgun into a holster on his thigh, another assault rifle fitting easily into his well-practised hands. Arch hesitantly clutched a shotgun of his own, currently unloaded - his Viscerator rounds were stowed securely, ready to be used at a moment's notice. Taylor slung a priceless antique rifle over her shoulder, securing it tightly. And Sanagi… well, Sanagi hardly needed any weapons, but nonetheless she took a pistol and a knife, just in case someone got too close for her to use her laser. Each one of them, save for Arch, took a vacuum grenade, a flashbang, and a gas grenade.
Mouse Protector watched in mounting horror as five walking war crimes slowly emerged in front of her. This was definitely not cash money. The Khans seemed to come to a similar conclusion, and quietly left to go about their chaotic business. The final touches to their warlike costumes was, actually, quite reasonable. Their weapons were very visible, and very illegal, and thus they stowed them in black cases which, from a distance, resembled instrument cases or briefcases. Their body armour was covered up with large coats. They still looked ridiculous and threatening, but at least they were vaguely presentable. At least, until you looked too closely and realised that Ahab had no arm in her right sleeve, and upon closer inspection you could see glinting axe blades badly concealed beneath the main body of her coat - the Secateurs were hard to conceal as it turned out. She was almost tempted to set aside her own armour, to try and keep her identity as Mouse Protector very separate from whatever mess she was about to become embroiled in. But that seemed excessively cowardly, and a noble mouse should never be afraid of showing her true colours - as a righteous hero who occasionally works with lunatics for the greater good of the city. It wasn't because they'd run out of kevlar vests.
Not at all.
As one, they departed. The streets were still filled with rubble, and the rain was coming down in sheets. The rain made everything seem that bit more post-apocalyptic - the ruined buildings were one thing, but the puddles of water which turned every crater into a small pond, that seeped into every nook and cranny… it made the ruin somehow feel lived-in. A barren, bare ruin was one thing, but to see something embracing the rubble, tethering it to reality in a way, made it seem more permanent. The dust was washed away too, leaving only mute piles of rubble that could have been standing for a year, ten years, a century even. A temporary disaster site was turned into a sodden ruin. They soldiered on through the rain, and Taylor could already feel it starting to weigh down her coat. As they walked, they saw PRT troopers patrolling in small groups. Taylor had seen quite enough PRT troopers by this point, but these guys (and gals, she assumed, though it was hard to tell with all the body armour) had the rare distinction of being in the middle of a warzone. They were tense, their weapons were primed, their fingers were poised above the triggers. They moved swiftly and silently through the streets, scanning buildings for any signs of activity before moving on. Taylor's swarm identified a whole host of bodies, most of them with shrivelled eyes, lying in the streets where the PRT had patrolled. The First Rifle silently pulsed with eagerness, and Taylor's mind was briefly flooded with images of what the PRT could do if they had no fetters, if villains were treated as enemy combatants and nothing more. Squads of black-armoured soldiers roving the streets with automatic weapons in hand, implants making them sharper than any normal human had a right to be. Uber and Leet would be dead in a week. The E88 would be speedily disassembled, especially now that Othala was gone, and even the ABB might be destroyed if they tried to assassinate Lung while he was in an untransformed state. It would be nightmarish for everyone else, of course - but the gun didn't exactly care for them.
Stop listening to it.
Taylor blinked, snapping out of her reverie.
There is a very good reason why we kept that gun in a secure vault, and why I kept it far from my own base. The dreams it inspires are… not pleasant.
"No kidding."
The others glanced sharply in her direction, and while Sanagi and Arch shrugged and kept moving, Turk and Ahab lingered a little while longer.
"...oh yeah, Chorei's living in my brain."
Ahab blinked. Turk grunted.
"It's a very long story."
Tell the leper she… uh. Hm. She's already a leper and appears resigned to that fact, I believe I need a new angle. Any insights?
"She's trying to insult you right now, do you want me to…?"
Ahab shrugged apathetically.
"Nah. I killed her, that kinda overwhelms everything else she might churn out."
You bitch.
"She called you a bitch."
"Tell her that was sub-par. She'll need to improve her insults if she wants to hack it in life."
She flashed her Secateurs, clicking them menacingly. To Taylor's surprise, Chorei said nothing. Instead, she retreated into a sulky silence, and Taylor imagined her glaring while clenching her fists. The image was oddly funny, in a faintly sadistic way. Her swarm tagged any PRT trooper in range, and she led her team around them, keeping a wide berth just in case they had anything which might detect them even at long range. Detonations continued to echo through the night intermittently - and that surprised Taylor a little. Bisha was delaying some of his explosions. Or maybe his cult was simply finding it difficult to get to the bombs, and thus some would detonate later than others? Who knew. Either way, they were still blowing up buildings, and presumably killing a good few people. Her swarm sensed troopers herding civilians towards the Endbringer shelters - Taylor very much hoped that they'd checked those shelters for bombs before putting anyone down there. The civilians looked like drowned rats - the rain was still pelting down, and anyone stuck outside for an extended period became a bedraggled creature weighed down by too-heavy clothes, desperate to simply get back indoors. If anything, they'd appreciate the shelters as respite from the rain.
They made good progress, all things considered, avoiding any patrols which came close and staying out of the way of any clusters of conflict. Based on the bodies she saw scattered here and there, she could guess that a change of strategy had taken place. The cult had initially hurled itself against PRT troops and random civilians, attacking indiscriminately with anything they could find. This had worked fairly well for some civilians, but against PRT troopers it had failed miserably. The survivors had changed tactics, shifting instead to hit-and-run tactics. She sensed a civilian rooting through an apartment - based on how he was going for photo albums and books, it looked as though he was the owner, not some random looter. Cultists silently approached down the hallway to his open front door, clutching steel bars in their shaking hands. With a flick of her swarm, they were sent scurrying away back into the shadows, flinching at a dozen painful stings. But there were places she witnessed where she'd arrived too late - apartments with people beaten to death inside, or isolated civilians on the street who'd been cut off and surrounded. Their bodies were far outnumbered by the cultists, but it was a grim sight nonetheless. If she'd walked faster, if she'd taken less time, if she'd plotted a beter course through the city, maybe she'd have been able to save some of them. She paused for a moment and murmured quietly, so the others wouldn't overheard her.
"Have you ever seen anything like this?"
I grew up many centuries ago. Life was, invariably, more violent. Even as a young girl I saw criminals being hung, beheaded… on one occasion I even saw a man being crucified upside-down. Very painful.
"Oh."
She started walking again, but Chorei refused to stay quiet.
Why did you ask?
"I just… saw a few people I could have saved if I was faster. That's all."
…I must confess, I find it difficult to relate. People die sooner or later. The rare visitors we had at Senpou always found us strange because we pitied them - we lived forever. They did not. To us, all other people were walking corpses.
"Chorei, speaking as someone who's going to be living with you for the foreseeable future, you're going to have to cut that out."
Cut what out?
"The whole disaffected sociopathic immortal thing. I'm not immortal, and that means you aren't either. I'm bothered by the people who died because I wasn't here. Most people would be."
Hm. You might have a point. But I have been immortal longer than I have been mortal… this perspective is one I have possessed for multiple centuries, as a mortal I lived barely twenty two years. How do you Americans say… 'cut me some slack'?
Taylor grunted and moved on. The others trailed behind her, sharing concerned glances. From their perspective, she'd just started mumbling to herself in an increasingly agitated way before abruptly calming. She and Chorei desperately needed to figure out a better way to communicate. Maybe she should just walk around with one of those stupid bluetooth headset things, pretend she's on a call with someone. That might work, but she'd look like a dick. Hm. Bit of a conundrum, that one. She poured her attention into her swarm, gathering as many insects as she could, keeping track of all the PRT troopers she could find. Exerting herself a little, she tried to listen in. She'd gotten better at this over time, but it still required some focus.
Most of the troopers were silent, or talked only briefly about utilitarian matters - 'check that window' or 'look over there'. Some, though, were engaged in something closer approaching conversation. Two troopers were talking to one another - nothing of importance. A few complaints, a few observations. A commander was criticised, a story was exchanged, a joke was made. A group of three was chuckling while poking the corpse of a cult member. A group of four were laughing at one of their own who'd filthied her uniform after dispatching a cultist at close-range. She was about to tune out, content that nothing of value had been gained by this little exercise, when a burst of static caused every single trooper in her range to stiffen. Her bugs heard everything clearly - the same message, repeated over and over again in loud, alarming tones.
Console Alert - Move to Alert Status 12. Leviathan incoming on Miami. PRT Department 44 assuming command of relevant parahumans. All troopers standby for orders.
Oh.
That wasn't good.
That wasn't good at all.
Chaos reigned. As the trio walked through the streets, they saw signs of Bisha's influence wherever they looked. Buildings were visibly scarred by his renewed bombing campaign, and Taylor found herself involuntarily reminded of Mound Moor with its myriad anomalies. For every building scarred by a simple bomb, there were places where reality had simply given up. One building had been partially turned into perfect aquamarine crystal, visibly straining under its own weight. Another was slowly being consumed by a fire which seemed to feed on the concrete itself, even the heavy rain incapable of suppressing it. Taylor had always known that tinkers were potent, but this… it wasn't a good thing when she was being reminded of Mound Moor, a place where a deluded god had ripped reality a new one. The streets were either crowded or completely empty, with almost no inbetween. People were trying to stay at home, but in some cases 'home' was a pile of smoking rubble, or was actively being invaded by mad cultists with shrivelled eyes. Taylor thought she saw people from Winslow at one point - a group of teenagers she remembered wearing the ABB colours at one point, standing around a collapsed cultist. Blows rained down on the barely responsive body, and the sweat-slicked faces of the terrified young gang members were contorted into snarls. Each strike released a small gout of yellow liquid that steamed in the cold air, before being washed away into the drains by the endless rain. Taylor hoped there wouldn't be any long-term effects from that - weird yellow liquid gets into the water supply, people promptly start hallucinating about the source of all reality. One of them - a boy, just slightly older than her - turned to check out the newcomers. He blinked, processed what was before him, but no flash of recognition crossed his eyes. With a shrug, he returned to kicking the steaming body before him. Taylor wasn't quite sure how to feel about that. It was nice to not be bothered, but… had she really been that forgettable? Or had she changed that much? Chorei spoke up, sensing a certain amount of combined relief and indignation.
Think nothing of it, you just had your skull drilled open. Clean yourself up and they might notice you more, eh?
Taylor grumbled.
"Not remotely what I was thinking about."
If you say so.
Living with Chorei was going to be an experience. Like living with a weird immortal grandma who lives vicariously through her grandchildren. What fun. They walked onwards, keeping a good distance from anything that looked unnatural. Her swarm moved out to scan for anomalies, but when she found nothing but scared citizens, she relaxed her efforts. She might be reminded of Mound Moor, but there were important differences. For all the destruction around her, there was still none of the all-consuming strangeness of that now-destroyed town. The tea shop should be nearby, and a momentary pulse of fear rippled through her. Maybe Bisha had decided to wipe out their base of operations - maybe a bomb had been hidden there for weeks, ready to go off the moment they entered. Maybe they'd find nothing but a smoking ruin, or worse - a brief morbid image of her friends being torn apart in slow motion by a similar effect to that she'd seen in Dakota came to mind. With a shudder, she pushed it away. Then again, destroying them with an impersonal bomb… that didn't seem like his style at all. He'd want to rip them apart personally. If there was one impression she'd gleaned from their brief connection, other than arrogance, it was sadism. Light spilled into the street, and for a moment she raised up her priceless antique rifle, ready to shoot at anything with shrivelled eyes.
She blinked. The light was wrong - it wasn't a sickening yellow. It was warm, homely. Comforting. She trotted forward with the others, and saw a fully intact tea shop staring back at them. Detonations were continuing to go off throughout the city, but their home away from home seemed to be intact. The term 'home away from home' sparked a strange sadness in Taylor, though. Her home was burning the last time she saw it, would probably be nothing but ash now. For all intents and purposes, this small tea shop might as well be her home - it was the closest place that qualified now. Inside waited Turk, Ahab and Mouse Protector (tense as a coiled spring). Taylor hesitated when she saw the Khans waiting there as well, looking oddly jittery and nervous. Everyone looked up as the bell jingled, announcing the arrival of the rest of their merry band. The bikers gave Sanagi a look, which Taylor wasn't quite in the mood to decipher. As long as no violence broke out, they could distribute all the looks they desired. Taylor opened her mouth to speak, but Turk beat her to it. Not by speaking, of course. Instead, he surged to his feet and rushed forward. For a moment, Taylor felt something like elation. She wasn't overly fond of physical contact, but the idea of Turk giving her a massive bear hug after everything she'd been through sounded… oddly pleasant.
Turk stomped past her and up to Sanagi, who reeled back, fully aware of what was about to happen. She bumped into the wall, hesitating for a moment too long. One of Turk's hands grabbed her forehead, holding her in place. The other reached forward and plucked out her glass eyes, one by one. Sanagi wasn't silent during all of this, snarling viciously as she tried to escape from his grasp, and the dark edges of her pincers began to emerge from her mouth. Turk poked her on the nose, putting an end to such silliness. He growled.
"No eyes for you."
Sanagi pouted, the expression slightly marred by the fact that she no longer had any eyes. With a grumble, she pulled on a pair of sunglasses, feeling deeply ridiculous. Ahab cackled loudly, and even Mouse Protector let out a solitary giggle. Taylor's swarm jittered in irritation, and Taylor herself coughed to try and get things back on track.
"So. A lot has happened, and I have good news and bad news. Bad news - Bisha is sending his cult out, and is detonating all his remaining bombs. Good news - he's getting desperate, so we must be doing something right. More bad news, though. If he's moving this quickly, his plan is probably coming together tonight, or very soon. Either way, we need to move quickly. And a final bit of good news, we have some addresses to check out. Places we haven't examined yet."
Everyone perked up.
"Khans, can you try and keep some order in the streets? Ride around, fight any cultists you see."
She would have asked them to accompany her, but honestly, based on what Sanagi had mentioned the bikers wouldn't be much use here. Voodoo Child was dependent on feeling distaste or hatred for those he fought, and against Bisha, fear seemed to be the overwhelming response. Against a bunch of cultists, though? She anticipated some resistance to this duty… but to her surprise, the bikers shrugged contentedly. Their leader spoke up.
"Sounds good to us. But, uh, we're probably going to have some fun, you know?"
Taylor's eye narrowed.
"Fun?"
"Stress is a killer, you daft bitch. All I'm saying is that if some bartender abandons town without locking his door…"
"Please don't get drunk tonight. Afterwards, do what you like."
"Don't worry, we won't."
He grinned.
"We'll get hammered. Big difference."
Savages. Barbarians. Unwashed degenerates. No better than the Mongols!
For once, Taylor and Chorei were in agreement. Well, except about the Mongol thing, she wasn't going near that one. This had happened a few times before, but it was always a little disconcerting when she found herself agreeing with the immortal nun in her head. She sighed. No point disputing her, though. The Khans were barely allies - more 'violent gang members with whom she shared a certain enemy'. So long as they ran interference on the cult, Taylor was happy. As for the others…
"So, I do have a plan. Everyone but the Khans, we're going to check out these addresses. See what we can do."
Ahab tilted her head to one side.
"What are the addresses?"
Taylor scribbled them down on a piece of paper - four addresses in total - sliding it over the table for the others to look at. After a moment of thought, Sanagi spoke up.
"Two of these are fairly small buildings, but the others… they're skyscrapers. Proper office blocks."
"Huh. That's not good. Either way, we'll check them out, but we should prepare for heavy resistance. Very heavy resistance. If Bisha is getting this desperate, it means these addresses are probably important to his plan. Turk?"
The cyclops grinned, and reached behind the counter to withdraw a pile of black cases. One by one, he flipped them open to expose their exceedingly deadly contents. Mouse Protector paled, and protectively shielded her sword with one hand. Seeing all these instruments of death was making her feel a little… inadequate? Was that the word? She was definitely dis-cheesed, that was for sure. These guys cheddar have some gouda reasons for using this stuff.
She killed her sometimes.
Turk gestured to one of the open cases, which contained a particularly nasty-looking assault rifle. On its side was a series of what looked like Chinese characters.
"Chinese type 56. I have a few of these - back when the CUI was starting up, arms dealers made a fortune selling Communist military gear to foreigners. No serial numbers, nothing to trace it back to us - at least, so long as you wear gloves. Illegal, but at the moment…"
Ahab grinned widely and snatched the rifle up, cradling it to her chest, making distressing cooing noises over it. Mouse Protector somehow became more uncomfortable. Turk opened another case, revealing a good number of cardboard boxes. A single one was opened, revealing a host of red shells.
"Dragonslayer-brand Viscerators. Ahab's pistol? Use it when you want to put a hole in someone. The rifle is for putting a hole through someone. Use these when you want someone to no longer exist in our reality. Dragonslayers used these out in the Balkans a few years back - painted a hundred bunkers red, spat on the Geneva Suggestion while they were doing it."
A slow grin was spreading across his face as he said this. He idly glanced over to Arch.
"You can have some."
Arch paled.
"...I don't think I'm the person for that particular position. But thank you for the offer."
"You're badly trained. A pistol is useless for you, so is a rifle. With these, just aim vaguely in someone's direction and they will cease to exist."
"What if someone else gets in my way?"
Turk looked around the table, taking in the sight of his new companions. Ahab, a veteran mercenary like himself. Sanagi, a parahuman who'd evidently endured a hell of a lot during her little road trip. Taylor, who'd… well, grown up. A lot. And Mouse Protector. He didn't have much to go on there, but she seemed basically competent. Though she was looking very pale.
"If any of you die because you stood in front of Arch while he's firing a shotgun, you deserved it, and I will mock you at your funerals."
The others nodded solemnly. One by one, he ran through the rest. Pistols, more exotic ammunition types, a pile of grenades, and their few melee weapons. Ahab immediately dashed away to attach her Secateurs, unsurprisingly, but Taylor's own choice surprised him. He'd made sure the spring-loaded trap fist (courtesy of Meister Electromechanical Solutions) was still tightly-wound and properly oiled, but he'd suspected that no-one would want to use it. Melee weapons in general were a tough sell, and this particular one generally put people off. The Secateurs were elegantly designed and obviously effective, while the trap fist was an ugly mass of brown metal and coils. If improperly fitted, it could break your arm with the force of those coils springing into motion, or could snip off one's fingers when it activated. Nonetheless, the girl he remembered staggering into his shop covered in orange juice took this brutal weapon of war. Though, looking over her scars, it seemed as though she'd had more than enough experience in close-quarters combat. He helped her attach the vicious melee weapon - and it was vicious. The Secateurs at least had the decency to just rip off a limb or two, the blood loss made sure you could barely feel it anyhow. The trap fist, though… that thing would clamp down into your flesh, pinning it in place while the user repeatedly punched you in the face. Or shot you. Or stabbed you. Or did anything they wanted, because you were immobilised by what was, in effect, a wrist-mounted bear trap. As he helped her attach the thing, Mouse Protector spoke up, her tone uncharacteristically serious.
"Now, this is going to sound strange. Maybe even insane. But why don't we call the PRT."
The others glanced in her direction, blinking. Taylor opened her mouth, then closed it again. Turk scratched his head. Ahab picked at her sores. Sanagi scratched her chin, her hidden pincers clicking slowly. Finally, Taylor spoke properly.
"...huh, you know, you might have a point there. The cult's out in the open, it's fairly obvious that someone is causing problems in the city. Maybe we should… no, wait. This is coming to a head now, the last thing we need is for the PRT to hold everything up while they check our evidence over. Speaking of which, we don't really have any evidence beyond our own testimony."
Mouse Protector sagged back in her chair sulkily. Probably disappointed about not being able to get in touch with her old friends - hadn't she mentioned being friends with Miss Militia? Still, simply not an option at present. That being said, the PRT should be invaluable in keeping things calm - they had numbers and resources, they should be able to crack down on any major cult outbursts. Probably. Hopefully. It was within the realms of possibility. With capes on their side, they'd almost certainly win - Taylor actually felt content to let the heroes deal with most of Bisha's chaos. They were competent enough, and if Armsmaster was any indication, they'd be able to handle almost anything short of Bisha himself. Slowly, they outfitted themselves to the gills, gradually starting to resemble a proper ragtag group of mercenaries. Spidersilk suits for all but Mouse Protector and the Khans, covered with kevlar vests. Pistols for everyone, even Taylor - she'd rather have a pistol and not need it than the opposite. Then, the proper weapons. Ahab held her assault rifle loosely, her Secateurs retracted to allow her to use the rifle effectively. Turk slipped his sawn-off shotgun into a holster on his thigh, another assault rifle fitting easily into his well-practised hands. Arch hesitantly clutched a shotgun of his own, currently unloaded - his Viscerator rounds were stowed securely, ready to be used at a moment's notice. Taylor slung a priceless antique rifle over her shoulder, securing it tightly. And Sanagi… well, Sanagi hardly needed any weapons, but nonetheless she took a pistol and a knife, just in case someone got too close for her to use her laser. Each one of them, save for Arch, took a vacuum grenade, a flashbang, and a gas grenade.
Mouse Protector watched in mounting horror as five walking war crimes slowly emerged in front of her. This was definitely not cash money. The Khans seemed to come to a similar conclusion, and quietly left to go about their chaotic business. The final touches to their warlike costumes was, actually, quite reasonable. Their weapons were very visible, and very illegal, and thus they stowed them in black cases which, from a distance, resembled instrument cases or briefcases. Their body armour was covered up with large coats. They still looked ridiculous and threatening, but at least they were vaguely presentable. At least, until you looked too closely and realised that Ahab had no arm in her right sleeve, and upon closer inspection you could see glinting axe blades badly concealed beneath the main body of her coat - the Secateurs were hard to conceal as it turned out. She was almost tempted to set aside her own armour, to try and keep her identity as Mouse Protector very separate from whatever mess she was about to become embroiled in. But that seemed excessively cowardly, and a noble mouse should never be afraid of showing her true colours - as a righteous hero who occasionally works with lunatics for the greater good of the city. It wasn't because they'd run out of kevlar vests.
Not at all.
As one, they departed. The streets were still filled with rubble, and the rain was coming down in sheets. The rain made everything seem that bit more post-apocalyptic - the ruined buildings were one thing, but the puddles of water which turned every crater into a small pond, that seeped into every nook and cranny… it made the ruin somehow feel lived-in. A barren, bare ruin was one thing, but to see something embracing the rubble, tethering it to reality in a way, made it seem more permanent. The dust was washed away too, leaving only mute piles of rubble that could have been standing for a year, ten years, a century even. A temporary disaster site was turned into a sodden ruin. They soldiered on through the rain, and Taylor could already feel it starting to weigh down her coat. As they walked, they saw PRT troopers patrolling in small groups. Taylor had seen quite enough PRT troopers by this point, but these guys (and gals, she assumed, though it was hard to tell with all the body armour) had the rare distinction of being in the middle of a warzone. They were tense, their weapons were primed, their fingers were poised above the triggers. They moved swiftly and silently through the streets, scanning buildings for any signs of activity before moving on. Taylor's swarm identified a whole host of bodies, most of them with shrivelled eyes, lying in the streets where the PRT had patrolled. The First Rifle silently pulsed with eagerness, and Taylor's mind was briefly flooded with images of what the PRT could do if they had no fetters, if villains were treated as enemy combatants and nothing more. Squads of black-armoured soldiers roving the streets with automatic weapons in hand, implants making them sharper than any normal human had a right to be. Uber and Leet would be dead in a week. The E88 would be speedily disassembled, especially now that Othala was gone, and even the ABB might be destroyed if they tried to assassinate Lung while he was in an untransformed state. It would be nightmarish for everyone else, of course - but the gun didn't exactly care for them.
Stop listening to it.
Taylor blinked, snapping out of her reverie.
There is a very good reason why we kept that gun in a secure vault, and why I kept it far from my own base. The dreams it inspires are… not pleasant.
"No kidding."
The others glanced sharply in her direction, and while Sanagi and Arch shrugged and kept moving, Turk and Ahab lingered a little while longer.
"...oh yeah, Chorei's living in my brain."
Ahab blinked. Turk grunted.
"It's a very long story."
Tell the leper she… uh. Hm. She's already a leper and appears resigned to that fact, I believe I need a new angle. Any insights?
"She's trying to insult you right now, do you want me to…?"
Ahab shrugged apathetically.
"Nah. I killed her, that kinda overwhelms everything else she might churn out."
You bitch.
"She called you a bitch."
"Tell her that was sub-par. She'll need to improve her insults if she wants to hack it in life."
She flashed her Secateurs, clicking them menacingly. To Taylor's surprise, Chorei said nothing. Instead, she retreated into a sulky silence, and Taylor imagined her glaring while clenching her fists. The image was oddly funny, in a faintly sadistic way. Her swarm tagged any PRT trooper in range, and she led her team around them, keeping a wide berth just in case they had anything which might detect them even at long range. Detonations continued to echo through the night intermittently - and that surprised Taylor a little. Bisha was delaying some of his explosions. Or maybe his cult was simply finding it difficult to get to the bombs, and thus some would detonate later than others? Who knew. Either way, they were still blowing up buildings, and presumably killing a good few people. Her swarm sensed troopers herding civilians towards the Endbringer shelters - Taylor very much hoped that they'd checked those shelters for bombs before putting anyone down there. The civilians looked like drowned rats - the rain was still pelting down, and anyone stuck outside for an extended period became a bedraggled creature weighed down by too-heavy clothes, desperate to simply get back indoors. If anything, they'd appreciate the shelters as respite from the rain.
They made good progress, all things considered, avoiding any patrols which came close and staying out of the way of any clusters of conflict. Based on the bodies she saw scattered here and there, she could guess that a change of strategy had taken place. The cult had initially hurled itself against PRT troops and random civilians, attacking indiscriminately with anything they could find. This had worked fairly well for some civilians, but against PRT troopers it had failed miserably. The survivors had changed tactics, shifting instead to hit-and-run tactics. She sensed a civilian rooting through an apartment - based on how he was going for photo albums and books, it looked as though he was the owner, not some random looter. Cultists silently approached down the hallway to his open front door, clutching steel bars in their shaking hands. With a flick of her swarm, they were sent scurrying away back into the shadows, flinching at a dozen painful stings. But there were places she witnessed where she'd arrived too late - apartments with people beaten to death inside, or isolated civilians on the street who'd been cut off and surrounded. Their bodies were far outnumbered by the cultists, but it was a grim sight nonetheless. If she'd walked faster, if she'd taken less time, if she'd plotted a beter course through the city, maybe she'd have been able to save some of them. She paused for a moment and murmured quietly, so the others wouldn't overheard her.
"Have you ever seen anything like this?"
I grew up many centuries ago. Life was, invariably, more violent. Even as a young girl I saw criminals being hung, beheaded… on one occasion I even saw a man being crucified upside-down. Very painful.
"Oh."
She started walking again, but Chorei refused to stay quiet.
Why did you ask?
"I just… saw a few people I could have saved if I was faster. That's all."
…I must confess, I find it difficult to relate. People die sooner or later. The rare visitors we had at Senpou always found us strange because we pitied them - we lived forever. They did not. To us, all other people were walking corpses.
"Chorei, speaking as someone who's going to be living with you for the foreseeable future, you're going to have to cut that out."
Cut what out?
"The whole disaffected sociopathic immortal thing. I'm not immortal, and that means you aren't either. I'm bothered by the people who died because I wasn't here. Most people would be."
Hm. You might have a point. But I have been immortal longer than I have been mortal… this perspective is one I have possessed for multiple centuries, as a mortal I lived barely twenty two years. How do you Americans say… 'cut me some slack'?
Taylor grunted and moved on. The others trailed behind her, sharing concerned glances. From their perspective, she'd just started mumbling to herself in an increasingly agitated way before abruptly calming. She and Chorei desperately needed to figure out a better way to communicate. Maybe she should just walk around with one of those stupid bluetooth headset things, pretend she's on a call with someone. That might work, but she'd look like a dick. Hm. Bit of a conundrum, that one. She poured her attention into her swarm, gathering as many insects as she could, keeping track of all the PRT troopers she could find. Exerting herself a little, she tried to listen in. She'd gotten better at this over time, but it still required some focus.
Most of the troopers were silent, or talked only briefly about utilitarian matters - 'check that window' or 'look over there'. Some, though, were engaged in something closer approaching conversation. Two troopers were talking to one another - nothing of importance. A few complaints, a few observations. A commander was criticised, a story was exchanged, a joke was made. A group of three was chuckling while poking the corpse of a cult member. A group of four were laughing at one of their own who'd filthied her uniform after dispatching a cultist at close-range. She was about to tune out, content that nothing of value had been gained by this little exercise, when a burst of static caused every single trooper in her range to stiffen. Her bugs heard everything clearly - the same message, repeated over and over again in loud, alarming tones.
Console Alert - Move to Alert Status 12. Leviathan incoming on Miami. PRT Department 44 assuming command of relevant parahumans. All troopers standby for orders.
Oh.
That wasn't good.
That wasn't good at all.
