130 - Brockton Interludes
GraftingBuddha
Retired Pooh-Bah
130 - Brockton Interludes
"…And that's all from the weather. Now, let's turn to Janey Summers, who has a special update on what the PRT has termed 'the Conflagration'. Janey, great to have you back."
"Great to be back, Tom. Well, for anyone just tuning in, things are slowly but surely getting back to normal in the neighbourhoods surrounding the blast sites, damage is being repaired, and the overwhelming feeling we're finding amongst residents is one of 'cautious hope' - people are eager to rebuild and recover, but there's some trepidation over the causes of the Conflagration itself, with dissatisfaction with the PRT over their investigation and the lack of transparency involved."
"No kidding, it feels like we can't go a day without reporting on some protest outside city hall or another!"
"You're absolutely right Tom, and it looks like even the abrupt resignation of Deputy Director Renick hasn't improved moods. His replacement, Deputy Director Calvert, has quite a job ahead of him if he wants to rehabilitate the PRT's public image, according to most surveys. There's been no official confirmation, but our sources at the PRT suspect that there's going to be some changes in the Directorate, though of course that'll be kept entirely confidential for security purposes. But about that public image, it's really been taking some hits, hasn't it?"
"Yeah, I mean, I can't drive to work without being stopped by a few PRT checkpoints, it's understandable that so many people have been getting nervous enough to protest."
"Yeah, yeah, I drop my kids off at school and they're checked over by these guys in full combat armour carrying assault weapons - I just wonder what kind of example that's setting, and what kind of image the PRT is projecting by stationing so many troopers around the city."
"Agreed, but to play Devil's Advocate for a moment Janey, couldn't it be argued that the PRT needs these troops to keep the peace while their capes are indisposed?"
"Fair point, Tom, but while Dauntless' loss is still very keenly felt - and memorial services will be held next month to coincide with the unveiling of a commemorative statue - there's really no excuse for the rest of them. Velocity has really been pulling his weight in the Docks suppressing petty crime, Triumph stopped that bank robbery last week, but Assault and Battery seem to just be doing public relations work instead of crimefighting, and Miss Militia has made one public appearance since Leviathan's attack on Miami. I mean, where are they?"
"And what about Armsmaster?"
"Exactly! What about Armsmaster? We've all seen the footage of him fighting the Endbringer one-on-one, saving an entire shelter in the process, but we've also seen the footage of him being injured. Surely Panacea should have healed him by now?"
"Well, Janey, let's not underestimate the psychological impact of being so badly injured…"
"But if he was that badly injured, surely they would have brought in backup from other cities? And yet it feels like we're only seeing a few capes out at a time. I'm just saying-"
"Fair enough, Janey, but let's turn to another topic dear to everyone's hearts - the upcoming memorial to Gallant."
"Yes, of course, you're right, sorry, got a bit overexcited there! Yes, Gallant's memorial will be held Thursday next week. We've received confirmation that New Wave will be attending in their entirety - excluding Panacea, naturally - alongside the rest of the Wards and representatives from other branches of the Protectorate. There are some rumours that Legend will be making an appearance, but thus far the PRT is keeping everything close to their chests."
"Indeed. And the Youth Guard has been threatening major legal action over the death of a Ward. But, the PRT's internal investigation revealed that he died out of costume, helping save a number of civilians from debris caused by the Conflagration, before being overwhelmed by a large number of creatures the PRT is assuming were of biotinker origin. No update on the status of that legal action, but we'll keep you up to date."
"Yes, and… oh, one moment, we're just getting something through. The PRT have released more details of the in-progress investigation into the Conflagration, specifically the working name for the cape who instigated the disaster - based on what interrogated gang members have stated, the name 'Ordeal' has been chosen. So, Tom, any thoughts there?"
"'Ordeal', huh? Quite a name. Anything else on them, Janey?"
"Current projections are that the gang was comprised of several capes - Ordeal who served as the leader, the bomb tinker tentatively named 'Fawkes', at least one biotinker and a pyrokinetic Breaker who attacked a PRT patrol just before the explosions began. But that's all, there could be more, and there's always a possibility of there being fewer, if some members had very diverse powersets or were using their abilities highly creatively. The pyrokinetic Breaker, for example, has been speculated to be the result of an exotic bomb built by Fawkes, and Ordeal's powerset hasn't been reliably pinned down, though it's assumed that there was a strong Master element. And, of course, there's unconfirmed reports of a powerful blaster, though the PRT has declined to verify the footage of this cape killing a number of people just outside the buildings before detonation."
"Interesting, very interesting, and very pleasant to have some insight into the PRT's investigation at last! Now, we're just starting to run out of time here, so let's go to some of your own emails. Simon, 23, informs us that he was at the bomb site, and that he's wondering why only one of them burned, while the others were blown up. Well, Simon, if you'd tuned into our earlier segments, you'd have seen that the PRT has confirmed that the burned building was the result of an exotic tinkertech bomb, with independent confirmation by the School for Explosive Trauma and Recovery up in Boston."
"Yes, but keep staying tuned and you'll have all the up-to-date information on the Conflagration as it comes out! Ellen, 42, comments that perhaps we shouldn't use the PRT-suggested names, as some of these capes may still be at large and wouldn't take kindly to being misidentified. Well, this is a good point, but if they wanted to be identified under their preferred cape names, they have every opportunity to let the world know!"
"Indeed - and, preferably, turn themselves in at the same time. And just in case things are getting too serious, here's one from Archibald, 33, who notes that the weather has been awful all week, ever since Gilbert started presenting it! He suggests that we should sacrifice him to appease the gods, who are clearly enraged, and then there's a bunch of untranslated Latin. What do you think of that, Gilbert?"
"Well, uh, thankfully human sacrifice isn't part of Channel 5 policy, so, uh…"
"Yes, quite right, at least until we finish the merger with Channel 6. Another fun one, this time from Greg, 15, who asks why we haven't gotten to the updates we're all actually interested in - well, Greg, fair enough. So, let's turn to our Mush tracker - satellites have confirmed that he's making good speed on his journey to the North Atlantic garbage patch, but has been set off course by a nasty storm and is now heading in the wrong direction. Current projections have him entering the Caribbean in a month - maybe he'll have a nice vacation in Aruba before reorienting himself, it'll certainly be better than the weather we're having - thanks again, Gilbert. As for-"
Taylor shut off the hospital TV. The news just kept getting weirder every day.
Mouse Protector perched on a rooftop, staring out across the Bay. She took in the view as much as she could, enjoying the sight of the ocean. She was going to be moving on soon as a matter of necessity - she was an independent hero, and while the PRT could give her some nice tips every now and again they weren't exactly proper employers. She needed to get back on the road, needed to hunt down some more villains and turn them in for a healthy payout. Her lifestyle was a little mercenary, sure, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that she was still doing proper hero work, even if she was paid a commission rather than a salary. It still stung a little when she saw the enormous bounties that people were putting together for the capture of the bomb tinker they'd nicknamed 'Fawkes', and who M.P. knew was currently lying in a hospital getting her stumps tended to. The woman had helped kill a lot of people, and while she had been doing it under duress, she didn't exactly seem too worked up over the fact that her bombs had ended or ruined lives - more irritated that she had been forced to do it. M.P. had seen the reports on the Cornell Bomber, that woman was trouble if she'd even seen it.
She scanned the streets with a sigh, trying to figure out how she'd get to the next town over. Still, it could all wait until Taylor was out of the hospital, the kid deserved a proper housewarming party. God, she'd really need to restrain herself - housewarming after her old house was burned down, the desire to make some seriously dark puns was irresistible. She teleported down from her brooding spot and started to stroll, whistling tunelessly. Wasn't even that much crime to deal with at this point, the gangs had gone dead silent after the police crackdown following the 'Conflagration' - and that was a stupid name if she'd ever heard one. She needed a distraction, and desperately. In these quieter moments, she swore she could smell pungent rust, felt the scar on her chin start to crackle like it was full of static electricity, almost saw a shining razor glinting in the alleys. Needed to move on. Didn't like staying in one place for too long. Hell, she was patrolling in confirmed Empire territory, anything to try and find some action.
There was the sound of sharp edges scraping against brickwork, a harsh whine that set her teeth on edge. M.P. whirled, drawing her sword. A small smile started to cross her face. Action! Finally! Her eyes were peeled, her muscles were tense, she was ready for action, ready to do something that wasn't introspection. Mouse was in the house! She saw a pair of shining blades, sickle-shaped, emerge from the dark. Eyes flashed with violent intent, a mouth curled into a cruel grin… and then froze. Cricket blinked. Mouse Protector blinked right back. Abruptly, the villain realised she had her kamas out and ready for action, and snapped them behind her back, acting as casually as a cage-headed cape could. Wasn't very casual, as it turned out. M.P. sighed, pinching her nose.
"What do you want?"
Cricket rasped, paused, then held up one finger as she dug around for a voice synthesiser. It took some rummaging in a small fanny pack, but she finally pulled it out - along with a wad of tissues that fell to the ground in a loose pile. M.P. tutted, a bit of her usual self returning.
"Ah, you dastardly villain, first you join the Empire, now you litter? What about the good, inbred, psychotic Aryan children, what about the example you're setting for them? The Fourth Reich will drown in crumpled tissues with an attitude like that! For shame!"
She paused.
"But seriously, what are you doing here. And do I need to arrest you. Please say I can."
Cricket fiddled with the synthesiser, then pressed it to her throat.
"OK, this was an accident. Didn't mean to run into you. Also, hi."
"So you were just going to stab whoever was here? Oh, and hi."
"I heard armour, I heard whistling, no-one does that around here unless they want a fight. And lucky for them, I do too. Want a fight, that is. I really wanted to fight someone tonight."
M.P. looked at the cape disdainfully, her sword still at the ready even if the villain wasn't moving to attack.
"Not enough violence at the factory?"
"That was weeks ago. Nothing ever since, nothing but roughing up a few of our own who stepped out of line."
"So you want to fight a random innocent."
"I wanted to fight, who I'm fighting doesn't really matter. Oh, and, uh-"
She bent down awkwardly, still balancing two kamas and a voice synthesiser in a rather impressive circus act, and tried to pick up the tissues. She was able to get most of them before a gust blew through the street, sending a few scattering to M.P.'s feet. Cricket looked crestfallen, and with a grunt M.P. bent over and started to pick the rest up.
"Weren't you guys meant to be well-organised or something? Or are you just the 'untidy Nazi'? Is that your thing?"
Cricket tried to glare, but it died halfway through and she just looked a bit sheepish. She pressed the synthesiser against her throat.
"Actually, it's good that I ran into you."
"How could it possibly be good."
"I wanted to… look, I wanted to run something by you."
M.P. froze.
"You, Cricket, member of the E88 with multiple crimes to her name, want to run something by me. Me."
"Well, yeah… uh, look, I've never told anyone this, but… you were my favourite Ward growing up."
M.P. very slowly blinked.
"I just really liked all your puns, I liked your costumes, I just thought you were the coolest."
"Oh my God."
"But then, you know, started growing up, joined the fighting pits, became buddies with Hookwolf, things went south, now I'm here. So… yeah."
"Oh my God."
"It's why I was so awkward at the factory. It's funny, but I almost wanted you to sign my kamas."
"Oh my God."
"I know, I know, it's stupid. Unless…?"
She tinked her kamas together, an expression somewhat like a hopeful puppy crossing her scarred, caged face. This was her evening now, this was what her nice, calm patrol had turned into, she almost preferred being tormented by old memories and bizarre visions. This was weird on so many levels.
"I'm not signing your kamas."
"Oh."
Hopeful puppy turned to kicked puppy.
"Actually, I think I might need to go back home, donate a lot to my grandma's old church just to make up for not immediately arresting you."
Cricket tilted her head to one side.
"Why would you-"
"My grandma was Polish. So was my grandpa. And that entire side of my family. I speak Polish, for crying out loud!"
"Hm."
A pause.
"Why would-"
"You're a Nazi! Can I spell this out any clearer, I'm half-Polish, you're full-Nazi, it's weird that you want me to sign your kamas!"
Cricket straightened up, a little part of her dying inside as she saw her childhood hero insulting her. Unfortunately for M.P, the insult only strengthened her resolve.
"...well, that's what I wanted to talk with you about. I'm leaving."
M.P. blinked. That was… new. She was honestly expecting a fight.
"You're leaving? Like, this conversation? Because I can get behind that."
"No, Brockton. Things aren't pretty here, and I've been thinking about leaving for a while. Seeing what that cult was doing, what they did to Othala… I don't want to be here anymore. Still have nightmares about it sometimes, and if that cult came here, when will the next one?"
She shrugged.
"Talked to Hookwolf a few days back, apparently another cape just… vanished during the whole mess. Bitch, used to attack his dog fighting rings. She could turn regular dogs into these huge, muscled, bone-plated monsters. Sound familiar?"
It did. The things they'd fought, the monsters that had spilled from every alley and had almost overwhelmed them, had successfully torn off Ahab's arm. And now she thought about it, this made sense - Bisha had modified Othala to create those worms of his, and he had evidently modified another cape to make her more useful. Worked once, why wouldn't it work again?
"Oh."
"Yeah. That's two capes. And Gallant… no way he just died like they said. I think they're lying."
"They are. Bisha killed him, he was helping us. Died a hero."
"Hm. Good for him. Shame when a kid dies, especially a wh-"
She paused.
"Especially such a well-respected one."
"I know what you were about to say, don't try and hide it."
"...so Bisha's dead? Like, actually dead? Permanently?"
"I know the person who killed him - he's definitely gone. Anyway, what, you want to leave Brockton now? Scared? Going to join another Neo-Nazi gang?"
Cricket scowled.
"No. I'm leaving. Thinking of joining a PMC, actually. It's… messy, at the moment. With Othala gone, everyone's tense. I hated getting healed by her, felt like cheating, but the others loved it. Got too used to it. Now they're nervous that they might get all messed up in their next fight. Kaiser's been all tense, trying to play everything safe - see, we know that Oni Lee's dead, that the Merchants are gone, but it's more than that. Coil's gone, his mercenaries split town and his employees just stopped getting paid. That's two gangs gone, and one gang is down to a single cape. There's a gap, and Kaiser knows that someone's coming to fill it. Teeth, most likely. Ambassadors, possibly. Maybe some of the capes out of Miami, I hear the Cubans can get real nasty. Who knows what else - it'll be Boston all over again."
She sighed.
"Kaiser wants us to stay put, build our numbers, get ready for what's coming, avoid enraging Lung. Hookwolf wants us to expand as quickly as we can, make sure we own the entire city before any more threats show up. People are picking sides - doesn't help that Kaiser's been all shaken up lately, not doing things the way he should. He got a bomb delivered to his actual door, like, out-of-costume. Had a note and everything. Even the twins - Fenja and Menja - are starting to distrust each other. And those two never disagree. I… look, I don't know what's about to happen, I don't want to know. Don't want to fight these people, I know them, they know me, I go to their barbeques. Don't want to just wait for the Teeth to come along, no idea how long that'll take and, honestly, they're a bunch of freaks anyhow."
A shiver ran through her.
"I've seen what the Teeth do, saw their members joining up in the fighting pits sometimes. They're no fun to fight - don't even seem to care about being hurt, they just like lashing out. And they're infectious, too. Back in the day I'd try and get to new fighting pits as soon as they arrived, because they'd turn everything bloodier. No more wounding, every fight ends up being the death, the audience starts joining in if they don't like how things are playing out, and by the end the Teeth just get dozens more recruits. Like the violence goes airborne or something. They show up and a few months later there's a cult where there used to be a fighting pit. Bad stuff - and I don't want to see what they're like when the Butcher is personally leading them. Even if I wasn't leaving, I'd want to tell you to get out of town. There's no winning against the Teeth, just… surviving. They're like starving wolves, those freaks."
A pause. What she didn't want to say was that she knew Hookwolf was a savage - a monster after her own heart, really. And while she respected him, feared him, was willing to follow him… she wasn't willing to sit around and watch the Teeth make contact. All that savagery turning outwards, losing any trace of civility… it wasn't her style. Not at all. She knew full well the Teeth would make a beeline to her old friend, and she wasn't going to stay to see the result. She mustered the will to keep speaking.
"I guess I just don't want to wait for another cult to do something to me like they did to Othala. Maybe it's the Teeth, maybe someone else, but I don't want a part of it."
She stopped, her throat sore from too much talking. She never talked this much, not even to her actual comrades. M.P. looked shocked, and tried to muster a few words.
"So your response to wanting to avoid dying is… to go and join a PMC and put your life at risk?"
"Yep. I still want to fight people. I really enjoy it. A lot. And it's simple. I go, fight people, make money. Simple. Like the old days in the fighting pits, before all this gang sh- stuff happened."
"Did you just censor yourself."
"N- yes. Anyway. Others won't agree with me, won't like me leaving. Wanted to tell someone before I did it."
"So you're leaving your Neo-Nazi gang. You're definitely leaving."
"Joining up with Rogue Coyote, handling a contract out in the Caribbean, some place called 'Arulco'. Standard contract, apparently, take out the regime that our employers don't like, install new regime and call it a day. Lots of cash. Straightforward, just fighting, killing, none of this gang politics bullsh- stuff."
"...I'm very conflicted right now. You're a Nazi, but you're leaving the Empire… to go and kill people for money. I honestly don't know how this ranks morally. And you're telling me because you were a fan when you were a kid."
"Didn't really have anyone else I wanted to tell before I did it. Me and the others don't talk much. I guess it's weird, now I think about it."
"This entire evening has been bizarre. I'm still debating arresting you."
"Hm. Anyway, I'm leaving the country, all my friends, comrades… could you please sign my kamas? Just as a little thing to remember home?"
"To remember all the innocent people you've sliced up with them?"
"Hey, I sliced up gang members too - honestly, they were most of the people I fought, regular civilians don't put up a good fight. And I like fighting."
"So you've said, and it's not making this sound any better. I'm not signing your kamas, because if you come back, there'll be a Nazi running around with my name on her weapons. Not exactly willing to do that. Goes against a lot of what I stand for."
Cricket debated this internally, trying to find a way out of this fiendish conundrum. This would quite possibly be the last time she'd ever see Mouse Protector, her childhood hero… the same person who'd also very loudly denounced her and the gang that paid her. Wasn't fair, she barely cared about the stuff Kaiser peddled - way she saw it, if she was born Asian she'd be in the ABB killing people, if she had grown addicted to painkillers and stimulants in the fighting pits she'd be in the Merchants killing people, if she'd gone into this PMC thing from the beginning she'd be in Coil's organisation killing people, if nothing particular had come along she'd be in the fighting pits killing people… but Hookwolf had killed someone the E88 wanted dead, and she'd come along with him in the aftermath. What mattered was that she liked fighting, dancing around an opponent and bleeding them dry, cut by precious cut. She was a sociopath, she understood that. Everything else was pretty vestigial, at the end of the day - who cared who was on the business end of her kamas, she just cared about having kamas and being able to use them in an entertaining way. She wasn't some tortured heroic soul, she was quite contentedly villainous, but she had no great attachment to the Empire's specific way of doing things or the Empire's membership. Part of the reason why she was leaving, honestly. She had no real attachment to anyone beyond Hookwolf and Stormtiger, and they'd not seen what she'd seen.
She was in a liminal state, uncertain about many things, unsure of what she was doing and where she was going. Midway upon the journey of her life, she'd found her notions of what was possible and impossible completely subverted, and suddenly nothing appeared as safe as it once did. She could have kept fighting people forever if she was allowed to, when the biggest risk was being killed. But she'd seen what happened to Othala. And she knew there were much worse fates than simply dying or being in great pain. Rogue Coyote was a chance for a fresh start, leaving behind this city of dark corners where anything could be lurking. Just a place where she could go around killing with impunity. She had no intention of returning, was quite happy to wander from place to place, unbound from a territorial gang. And all she wanted before she set off was a tiny souvenir of a time in her life when she was genuinely happier, and more ignorant. The two were probably connected, now she thought about it. She sighed.
And took the cage off her head, revealing her entire scarred face. She stared boldly at M.P., challenging her to refuse again, inwardly terrified that her childhood hero would again reject her. She was in a very emotional state right now, she was never in a very emotional state, and it was seriously unnerving her. Still, nothing else to do about it, the move had been made.
"Could you make it out to Melody, then? Not going to show off a kama with my actual name on it, right?"
M.P. blinked.
"What the f-"
Sanagi sat up. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. She stepped out of her bed, trying to put her finger on what was going on… and felt something beneath her feet. Her bedroom had carpeting all around, came as standard with the house and she wasn't willing to tear any of it up. The floor beneath her feet, though, was hard, cold, wood. The room was dark, and she felt around for her lamp in the usual spot, and found nothing. Just air where the bedstand should be. Her bed felt wrong too, her sheets weren't made of this material. She was stumbling around trying to find something, anything, when the curtains started to open themselves, the whirring of a tiny motor filling the air as they did so. She blinked. Something was very wrong indeed. That wasn't Brockton out there, that wasn't even close. A field of endless step pyramids loomed before her, each one absolutely massive, packed to the brim with tiny windows. They didn't look like temples, they looked like… buildings. Normal buildings, just shaped like ancient monuments. If anything, they looked art-deco in design. The land around them was covered in neatly planted trees which gently rained down autumn-coloured leaves. Another thing that was wrong, it wasn't even close to Autumn at the moment, the leaves were all green outside her house.
Something clicked. She was dreaming. This was just an incredibly vivid, weird dream. That was all, she just had an overactive imagination. If she told herself that over and over she almost believed it. At least she was still wearing her normal clothes - well, that was abnormal in its own right, she hadn't been wearing smart clothing when she climbed into bed. The room around her was painfully bland, nothing about it suggesting a hint of personality. The cabinets were nice, admittedly. A part of her wondered if she had a career in graphic design, because the carvings on the cabinets were nice - very art-deco. Shrugging, she walked out. If this was her dream, she didn't want to spend the whole thing trapped in a boring room. The building outside was enormous, and door after door flashed by. She processed none of them, everything slipping into the haphazard glow of a proper dream - space meant nothing, time meant nothing, and she found herself riding an empty elevator down to the ground before she knew it. A lobby awaited her, including a desk with… no-one behind it. Hmph. Definitely a nightmare - unstaffed desks, loudly ticking clocks on the wall, piles of neat paper with no ink besmirching their surface… Wait. She blinked. One of the pieces of paper did have something written on it, but she could have sworn… no, never mind. Dream. She plucked it up, staring inquisitively at what her subconscious was telling her.
Focus on this symbol.
And then a scrawled raindrop. She stared. That was weird - and she was feeling a sense of unease in her stomach. Something was very wrong here. She stared at the raindrop… or was it a teardrop? Either way, she found the smooth contours oddly fascinating, the way that at first glance it appeared simple but was in fact made of dozens of smoothly interlocking patterns so subtle as to be almost invisible. Someone had taken time with this, and it showed. Somehow, a smooth teardrop had jagged geometric patterns inside it that made it seem more smooth. There was a harmony of space about the thing, a sense of everything fitting together perfectly, and as she looked at the few blank spaces, she could see where the pattern might be elaborated and expanded on. It was beautiful. It was… no longer in front of her.
She glanced around. She wasn't in the lobby anymore, she was outside, amidst the looming ziggurats. This place, dream or not, was beautiful. The ziggurats were pleasingly shaped and cleverly placed, never overwhelming the senses but always remaining a constant, soothing presence. The trees above her were healthy, hearty, and she couldn't see a single infesting insect crawling along their huge branches. The sunlight was golden and cast long shadows - it was sunset, she somehow hadn't realised before. She walked hurriedly along the wide-paved path, enjoying the scenery while also being intimidated by it - what the hell was going on, this didn't feel like any other dream she'd had. For every similarity - the blurring of time or space, the general soothing tone - there were far too many differences, too many intricate details for her to really imagine. It was too cohesive here. She walked aimlessly… and a building appeared before her. Another ziggurat, but a giant statue was in front. A raindrop composed of dozens of interlocking patterns, a harmonious object that satisfied every basic aesthetic sense at once, seeming completely well-placed and well-made, every dimension perfect. She almost kept staring at it… but snapped away. She'd been told to imagine that symbol. Now she was here.
Things were definitely wrong. She walked towards the building, seeing nothing else to do. There were other people inside, she realised, orderly rows of people wearing business dress. Most of them were standing in huge queues, and she hesitantly came to join them. Might as well see where this strange rabbit hole was going. She paused as she stepped inside. Something had shifted. One of the people in the queue, a man, turned to give her a look. She flinched. The man had no mouth. As she tried to say something, she realised she had no mouth either. No-one did. She turned, thinking that this was about to take a turn for the nightmarish, and saw… no way out. Nothing. Just a blank wall and a stark white sign reading 'this is not an exit' in over a hundred languages, most of which she didn't recognise. This was bad, but her best weapon was gone. She couldn't peel her face off, couldn't unleash a laser, her skull felt whole, there were no nebulas burning inside. The mouthless man shrugged at her confusion, then gestured, indicating that she should get in the line. She wanted to resist, wanted to run away and start finding a way out.
Why was she in the line? Why was she in the middle, how… what… why? This wasn't happening. She was having a weird Kafka nightmare, that was it. Nothing more, nothing less. The line was moving faster and faster, yet somehow she couldn't remember taking a single step. Huge counters approached, looming high above her. The masses of humanity pressed in on all sides, everyone calm and orderly, never shoving her roughly or yelling if she trod on their toes. Hell, no-one trod on her toes, and that was remarkable in its own right. Now matter how crowded things became, it never felt claustrophobic or aggressive. This was good, because there were so many damn people here, too many - the building hadn't been this huge when she entered. A thought occurred - could this be more of the weird crap she'd dealt before? As soon as the thought came, it left. This wasn't like anything she'd experienced before - no centipedes, no worms, no flames. Just calming music played over an invisible speaker system and a city of enormous ziggurats. The counter came close. And the thing manning it came into view, resolving as if emerging from a deep fog. She had to suppress a scream - well, the feeling of a scream, given that she had no mouth.
It was something out of a nightmare, all bones and feathers, shaped vaguely like a human. As she looked closer, she saw… it was a human, or a human skeleton. But the bones were misshapen, blackened, larger than they should be. An ornate headdress protruded behind it, made from multicoloured feathers. Jewels stared out from eye-sockets, shining in colours she couldn't quite name. Random chunks of what looked like diamonds emerged from the bones themselves, and tattered rags that were once fine cotton hung loosely. It looked like something she'd seen in a book about the Aztecs she'd perused idly once. This dream was specific, it seemed, drawing on stuff she'd practically forgotten. The skeleton tapped a single bony finger on the stone counter, commanding her to come forwards, and somehow she obeyed - no memory of walking, but here she was, in front of the giant skeleton. It rumbled ominously. Was this how her nightmare ended? Did she get eaten by a giant Aztec skeleton? What a way to go.
The skeleton rumbled, and this time it spoke, a voice that seemed to echo from a very long way away, hollow, dry, and incredibly old. Definitely female, though.
"Come."
And they were suddenly somewhere else. There was no counter between her and the skeleton now, and they were completely alone in a cramped room. The skeleton made to sit down… and there was a table and chairs. How had she not noticed that? It tapped its finger once more, and she hurried to obey. Wouldn't do to piss off the giant Aztec skeleton. For some reason she could hear faint hissing, though she couldn't be sure from where it coming from. The skeleton was huge compared to her, it could crush her head in one hand if it wanted to. She very much hoped it didn't. Her mouth was still sealed. The skeleton picked up a suddenly-present file and flicked through it delicately, the subtle movements of her skull indicating she was carefully reading it. Abruptly, she set it down, and rested her skull on her hands.
"Etsuko Sanagi, officer with BBPD, commended for service during Conflagration."
Sanagi blinked. She hadn't been commended. The Conflagration was too recent, no-one was being commended, it would feel like counting their chickens before they hatched - patting themselves on the back too soon.
"Brief run-in with PRT, but we won't hold that against you. Good improvision skills, adequate in physical combat, very good against the Frenzied Flame and its servants, successfully shook off Bisha's influence, instrumental in securing the help of Ellen Chua."
The giant Aztec skeleton knew more than it should.
"I am Reclaimed Thoughtform 552201, and I have the privilege to process you."
The jewels in its eyes glinted.
"You're hired."
"What?"
Oh, her mouth was unsealed. That was nice. She coughed.
"Uh, what?"
"You're hired. Congratulations."
"Hired?"
"Indeed. Now, about your first-"
"What's going on?!"
The skeleton sighed and drew a line over its teeth. She felt her mouth sealing again.
"Hm. Panicked response. That'll go in the permanent record. If you wish to continue your employment, I suggest being more level-headed. You won't be promoted if you keep that up."
What? Employment, promoted, permanent record? Those words shut her up. She had a permanent record and they recorded her panicked responses, oh dear, that wasn't - wait, this was a dream, why was she worrying about the permanent records that existed in her dreams?! She tried to speak, but her mouth was still sealed.
"Your first assignment is elementary, a simple test of competence suited for your clearance level. There is a supermarket you go to regularly - you know the one, I believe. On your next grocery visit, predicted to be this Saturday, you will poke a tiny hole in the surface of a pre-packaged sandwich, specifically, the tuna sandwich on aisle 3, third shelf up, second to the left."
The skeleton tilted her head to one side.
"Analysts are predicting a low chance of acceptance. Understandable. Unconscious compliance is still compliance. Remember - aisle 3, third shelf up, second to the left, a tiny hole. Do not concern yourself with the consequences of success, but beware the consequences of failure. Do you comprehend?"
Sanagi blinked, trying to process everything.
"Your comprehension is noted."
A bony fist slammed down on the table like a judge's gavel, once, twice, three times.
"Rejoice, for you are integrated, predicted, and accounted for by the Grid. Dismissed."
Sanagi woke up, flailing, trying to extract herself from her blankets. That was bizarre, that was alien, she needed to discuss this with Taylor and the others. Obviously she wouldn't do whatever they wanted her to do, this seemed like an obvious trap. Taylor might know what to do, Arch could do some research, they could get together and make sure this kind of thing didn't happen- what? What kind of thing? Why did she want to meet Taylor? The dream faded from memory, and all she was left with was confusion. She'd woken up earlier than usual, nice enough, but peculiar. Ah, these things happened. Just a bad dream, that was all.
She stood. It was Friday.
Hm. Food was running low. Need to do a grocery run on Saturday, definitely, too busy to do it tonight. She was in the mood for tuna.
"…And that's all from the weather. Now, let's turn to Janey Summers, who has a special update on what the PRT has termed 'the Conflagration'. Janey, great to have you back."
"Great to be back, Tom. Well, for anyone just tuning in, things are slowly but surely getting back to normal in the neighbourhoods surrounding the blast sites, damage is being repaired, and the overwhelming feeling we're finding amongst residents is one of 'cautious hope' - people are eager to rebuild and recover, but there's some trepidation over the causes of the Conflagration itself, with dissatisfaction with the PRT over their investigation and the lack of transparency involved."
"No kidding, it feels like we can't go a day without reporting on some protest outside city hall or another!"
"You're absolutely right Tom, and it looks like even the abrupt resignation of Deputy Director Renick hasn't improved moods. His replacement, Deputy Director Calvert, has quite a job ahead of him if he wants to rehabilitate the PRT's public image, according to most surveys. There's been no official confirmation, but our sources at the PRT suspect that there's going to be some changes in the Directorate, though of course that'll be kept entirely confidential for security purposes. But about that public image, it's really been taking some hits, hasn't it?"
"Yeah, I mean, I can't drive to work without being stopped by a few PRT checkpoints, it's understandable that so many people have been getting nervous enough to protest."
"Yeah, yeah, I drop my kids off at school and they're checked over by these guys in full combat armour carrying assault weapons - I just wonder what kind of example that's setting, and what kind of image the PRT is projecting by stationing so many troopers around the city."
"Agreed, but to play Devil's Advocate for a moment Janey, couldn't it be argued that the PRT needs these troops to keep the peace while their capes are indisposed?"
"Fair point, Tom, but while Dauntless' loss is still very keenly felt - and memorial services will be held next month to coincide with the unveiling of a commemorative statue - there's really no excuse for the rest of them. Velocity has really been pulling his weight in the Docks suppressing petty crime, Triumph stopped that bank robbery last week, but Assault and Battery seem to just be doing public relations work instead of crimefighting, and Miss Militia has made one public appearance since Leviathan's attack on Miami. I mean, where are they?"
"And what about Armsmaster?"
"Exactly! What about Armsmaster? We've all seen the footage of him fighting the Endbringer one-on-one, saving an entire shelter in the process, but we've also seen the footage of him being injured. Surely Panacea should have healed him by now?"
"Well, Janey, let's not underestimate the psychological impact of being so badly injured…"
"But if he was that badly injured, surely they would have brought in backup from other cities? And yet it feels like we're only seeing a few capes out at a time. I'm just saying-"
"Fair enough, Janey, but let's turn to another topic dear to everyone's hearts - the upcoming memorial to Gallant."
"Yes, of course, you're right, sorry, got a bit overexcited there! Yes, Gallant's memorial will be held Thursday next week. We've received confirmation that New Wave will be attending in their entirety - excluding Panacea, naturally - alongside the rest of the Wards and representatives from other branches of the Protectorate. There are some rumours that Legend will be making an appearance, but thus far the PRT is keeping everything close to their chests."
"Indeed. And the Youth Guard has been threatening major legal action over the death of a Ward. But, the PRT's internal investigation revealed that he died out of costume, helping save a number of civilians from debris caused by the Conflagration, before being overwhelmed by a large number of creatures the PRT is assuming were of biotinker origin. No update on the status of that legal action, but we'll keep you up to date."
"Yes, and… oh, one moment, we're just getting something through. The PRT have released more details of the in-progress investigation into the Conflagration, specifically the working name for the cape who instigated the disaster - based on what interrogated gang members have stated, the name 'Ordeal' has been chosen. So, Tom, any thoughts there?"
"'Ordeal', huh? Quite a name. Anything else on them, Janey?"
"Current projections are that the gang was comprised of several capes - Ordeal who served as the leader, the bomb tinker tentatively named 'Fawkes', at least one biotinker and a pyrokinetic Breaker who attacked a PRT patrol just before the explosions began. But that's all, there could be more, and there's always a possibility of there being fewer, if some members had very diverse powersets or were using their abilities highly creatively. The pyrokinetic Breaker, for example, has been speculated to be the result of an exotic bomb built by Fawkes, and Ordeal's powerset hasn't been reliably pinned down, though it's assumed that there was a strong Master element. And, of course, there's unconfirmed reports of a powerful blaster, though the PRT has declined to verify the footage of this cape killing a number of people just outside the buildings before detonation."
"Interesting, very interesting, and very pleasant to have some insight into the PRT's investigation at last! Now, we're just starting to run out of time here, so let's go to some of your own emails. Simon, 23, informs us that he was at the bomb site, and that he's wondering why only one of them burned, while the others were blown up. Well, Simon, if you'd tuned into our earlier segments, you'd have seen that the PRT has confirmed that the burned building was the result of an exotic tinkertech bomb, with independent confirmation by the School for Explosive Trauma and Recovery up in Boston."
"Yes, but keep staying tuned and you'll have all the up-to-date information on the Conflagration as it comes out! Ellen, 42, comments that perhaps we shouldn't use the PRT-suggested names, as some of these capes may still be at large and wouldn't take kindly to being misidentified. Well, this is a good point, but if they wanted to be identified under their preferred cape names, they have every opportunity to let the world know!"
"Indeed - and, preferably, turn themselves in at the same time. And just in case things are getting too serious, here's one from Archibald, 33, who notes that the weather has been awful all week, ever since Gilbert started presenting it! He suggests that we should sacrifice him to appease the gods, who are clearly enraged, and then there's a bunch of untranslated Latin. What do you think of that, Gilbert?"
"Well, uh, thankfully human sacrifice isn't part of Channel 5 policy, so, uh…"
"Yes, quite right, at least until we finish the merger with Channel 6. Another fun one, this time from Greg, 15, who asks why we haven't gotten to the updates we're all actually interested in - well, Greg, fair enough. So, let's turn to our Mush tracker - satellites have confirmed that he's making good speed on his journey to the North Atlantic garbage patch, but has been set off course by a nasty storm and is now heading in the wrong direction. Current projections have him entering the Caribbean in a month - maybe he'll have a nice vacation in Aruba before reorienting himself, it'll certainly be better than the weather we're having - thanks again, Gilbert. As for-"
Taylor shut off the hospital TV. The news just kept getting weirder every day.
* * *
Mouse Protector perched on a rooftop, staring out across the Bay. She took in the view as much as she could, enjoying the sight of the ocean. She was going to be moving on soon as a matter of necessity - she was an independent hero, and while the PRT could give her some nice tips every now and again they weren't exactly proper employers. She needed to get back on the road, needed to hunt down some more villains and turn them in for a healthy payout. Her lifestyle was a little mercenary, sure, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that she was still doing proper hero work, even if she was paid a commission rather than a salary. It still stung a little when she saw the enormous bounties that people were putting together for the capture of the bomb tinker they'd nicknamed 'Fawkes', and who M.P. knew was currently lying in a hospital getting her stumps tended to. The woman had helped kill a lot of people, and while she had been doing it under duress, she didn't exactly seem too worked up over the fact that her bombs had ended or ruined lives - more irritated that she had been forced to do it. M.P. had seen the reports on the Cornell Bomber, that woman was trouble if she'd even seen it.
She scanned the streets with a sigh, trying to figure out how she'd get to the next town over. Still, it could all wait until Taylor was out of the hospital, the kid deserved a proper housewarming party. God, she'd really need to restrain herself - housewarming after her old house was burned down, the desire to make some seriously dark puns was irresistible. She teleported down from her brooding spot and started to stroll, whistling tunelessly. Wasn't even that much crime to deal with at this point, the gangs had gone dead silent after the police crackdown following the 'Conflagration' - and that was a stupid name if she'd ever heard one. She needed a distraction, and desperately. In these quieter moments, she swore she could smell pungent rust, felt the scar on her chin start to crackle like it was full of static electricity, almost saw a shining razor glinting in the alleys. Needed to move on. Didn't like staying in one place for too long. Hell, she was patrolling in confirmed Empire territory, anything to try and find some action.
There was the sound of sharp edges scraping against brickwork, a harsh whine that set her teeth on edge. M.P. whirled, drawing her sword. A small smile started to cross her face. Action! Finally! Her eyes were peeled, her muscles were tense, she was ready for action, ready to do something that wasn't introspection. Mouse was in the house! She saw a pair of shining blades, sickle-shaped, emerge from the dark. Eyes flashed with violent intent, a mouth curled into a cruel grin… and then froze. Cricket blinked. Mouse Protector blinked right back. Abruptly, the villain realised she had her kamas out and ready for action, and snapped them behind her back, acting as casually as a cage-headed cape could. Wasn't very casual, as it turned out. M.P. sighed, pinching her nose.
"What do you want?"
Cricket rasped, paused, then held up one finger as she dug around for a voice synthesiser. It took some rummaging in a small fanny pack, but she finally pulled it out - along with a wad of tissues that fell to the ground in a loose pile. M.P. tutted, a bit of her usual self returning.
"Ah, you dastardly villain, first you join the Empire, now you litter? What about the good, inbred, psychotic Aryan children, what about the example you're setting for them? The Fourth Reich will drown in crumpled tissues with an attitude like that! For shame!"
She paused.
"But seriously, what are you doing here. And do I need to arrest you. Please say I can."
Cricket fiddled with the synthesiser, then pressed it to her throat.
"OK, this was an accident. Didn't mean to run into you. Also, hi."
"So you were just going to stab whoever was here? Oh, and hi."
"I heard armour, I heard whistling, no-one does that around here unless they want a fight. And lucky for them, I do too. Want a fight, that is. I really wanted to fight someone tonight."
M.P. looked at the cape disdainfully, her sword still at the ready even if the villain wasn't moving to attack.
"Not enough violence at the factory?"
"That was weeks ago. Nothing ever since, nothing but roughing up a few of our own who stepped out of line."
"So you want to fight a random innocent."
"I wanted to fight, who I'm fighting doesn't really matter. Oh, and, uh-"
She bent down awkwardly, still balancing two kamas and a voice synthesiser in a rather impressive circus act, and tried to pick up the tissues. She was able to get most of them before a gust blew through the street, sending a few scattering to M.P.'s feet. Cricket looked crestfallen, and with a grunt M.P. bent over and started to pick the rest up.
"Weren't you guys meant to be well-organised or something? Or are you just the 'untidy Nazi'? Is that your thing?"
Cricket tried to glare, but it died halfway through and she just looked a bit sheepish. She pressed the synthesiser against her throat.
"Actually, it's good that I ran into you."
"How could it possibly be good."
"I wanted to… look, I wanted to run something by you."
M.P. froze.
"You, Cricket, member of the E88 with multiple crimes to her name, want to run something by me. Me."
"Well, yeah… uh, look, I've never told anyone this, but… you were my favourite Ward growing up."
M.P. very slowly blinked.
"I just really liked all your puns, I liked your costumes, I just thought you were the coolest."
"Oh my God."
"But then, you know, started growing up, joined the fighting pits, became buddies with Hookwolf, things went south, now I'm here. So… yeah."
"Oh my God."
"It's why I was so awkward at the factory. It's funny, but I almost wanted you to sign my kamas."
"Oh my God."
"I know, I know, it's stupid. Unless…?"
She tinked her kamas together, an expression somewhat like a hopeful puppy crossing her scarred, caged face. This was her evening now, this was what her nice, calm patrol had turned into, she almost preferred being tormented by old memories and bizarre visions. This was weird on so many levels.
"I'm not signing your kamas."
"Oh."
Hopeful puppy turned to kicked puppy.
"Actually, I think I might need to go back home, donate a lot to my grandma's old church just to make up for not immediately arresting you."
Cricket tilted her head to one side.
"Why would you-"
"My grandma was Polish. So was my grandpa. And that entire side of my family. I speak Polish, for crying out loud!"
"Hm."
A pause.
"Why would-"
"You're a Nazi! Can I spell this out any clearer, I'm half-Polish, you're full-Nazi, it's weird that you want me to sign your kamas!"
Cricket straightened up, a little part of her dying inside as she saw her childhood hero insulting her. Unfortunately for M.P, the insult only strengthened her resolve.
"...well, that's what I wanted to talk with you about. I'm leaving."
M.P. blinked. That was… new. She was honestly expecting a fight.
"You're leaving? Like, this conversation? Because I can get behind that."
"No, Brockton. Things aren't pretty here, and I've been thinking about leaving for a while. Seeing what that cult was doing, what they did to Othala… I don't want to be here anymore. Still have nightmares about it sometimes, and if that cult came here, when will the next one?"
She shrugged.
"Talked to Hookwolf a few days back, apparently another cape just… vanished during the whole mess. Bitch, used to attack his dog fighting rings. She could turn regular dogs into these huge, muscled, bone-plated monsters. Sound familiar?"
It did. The things they'd fought, the monsters that had spilled from every alley and had almost overwhelmed them, had successfully torn off Ahab's arm. And now she thought about it, this made sense - Bisha had modified Othala to create those worms of his, and he had evidently modified another cape to make her more useful. Worked once, why wouldn't it work again?
"Oh."
"Yeah. That's two capes. And Gallant… no way he just died like they said. I think they're lying."
"They are. Bisha killed him, he was helping us. Died a hero."
"Hm. Good for him. Shame when a kid dies, especially a wh-"
She paused.
"Especially such a well-respected one."
"I know what you were about to say, don't try and hide it."
"...so Bisha's dead? Like, actually dead? Permanently?"
"I know the person who killed him - he's definitely gone. Anyway, what, you want to leave Brockton now? Scared? Going to join another Neo-Nazi gang?"
Cricket scowled.
"No. I'm leaving. Thinking of joining a PMC, actually. It's… messy, at the moment. With Othala gone, everyone's tense. I hated getting healed by her, felt like cheating, but the others loved it. Got too used to it. Now they're nervous that they might get all messed up in their next fight. Kaiser's been all tense, trying to play everything safe - see, we know that Oni Lee's dead, that the Merchants are gone, but it's more than that. Coil's gone, his mercenaries split town and his employees just stopped getting paid. That's two gangs gone, and one gang is down to a single cape. There's a gap, and Kaiser knows that someone's coming to fill it. Teeth, most likely. Ambassadors, possibly. Maybe some of the capes out of Miami, I hear the Cubans can get real nasty. Who knows what else - it'll be Boston all over again."
She sighed.
"Kaiser wants us to stay put, build our numbers, get ready for what's coming, avoid enraging Lung. Hookwolf wants us to expand as quickly as we can, make sure we own the entire city before any more threats show up. People are picking sides - doesn't help that Kaiser's been all shaken up lately, not doing things the way he should. He got a bomb delivered to his actual door, like, out-of-costume. Had a note and everything. Even the twins - Fenja and Menja - are starting to distrust each other. And those two never disagree. I… look, I don't know what's about to happen, I don't want to know. Don't want to fight these people, I know them, they know me, I go to their barbeques. Don't want to just wait for the Teeth to come along, no idea how long that'll take and, honestly, they're a bunch of freaks anyhow."
A shiver ran through her.
"I've seen what the Teeth do, saw their members joining up in the fighting pits sometimes. They're no fun to fight - don't even seem to care about being hurt, they just like lashing out. And they're infectious, too. Back in the day I'd try and get to new fighting pits as soon as they arrived, because they'd turn everything bloodier. No more wounding, every fight ends up being the death, the audience starts joining in if they don't like how things are playing out, and by the end the Teeth just get dozens more recruits. Like the violence goes airborne or something. They show up and a few months later there's a cult where there used to be a fighting pit. Bad stuff - and I don't want to see what they're like when the Butcher is personally leading them. Even if I wasn't leaving, I'd want to tell you to get out of town. There's no winning against the Teeth, just… surviving. They're like starving wolves, those freaks."
A pause. What she didn't want to say was that she knew Hookwolf was a savage - a monster after her own heart, really. And while she respected him, feared him, was willing to follow him… she wasn't willing to sit around and watch the Teeth make contact. All that savagery turning outwards, losing any trace of civility… it wasn't her style. Not at all. She knew full well the Teeth would make a beeline to her old friend, and she wasn't going to stay to see the result. She mustered the will to keep speaking.
"I guess I just don't want to wait for another cult to do something to me like they did to Othala. Maybe it's the Teeth, maybe someone else, but I don't want a part of it."
She stopped, her throat sore from too much talking. She never talked this much, not even to her actual comrades. M.P. looked shocked, and tried to muster a few words.
"So your response to wanting to avoid dying is… to go and join a PMC and put your life at risk?"
"Yep. I still want to fight people. I really enjoy it. A lot. And it's simple. I go, fight people, make money. Simple. Like the old days in the fighting pits, before all this gang sh- stuff happened."
"Did you just censor yourself."
"N- yes. Anyway. Others won't agree with me, won't like me leaving. Wanted to tell someone before I did it."
"So you're leaving your Neo-Nazi gang. You're definitely leaving."
"Joining up with Rogue Coyote, handling a contract out in the Caribbean, some place called 'Arulco'. Standard contract, apparently, take out the regime that our employers don't like, install new regime and call it a day. Lots of cash. Straightforward, just fighting, killing, none of this gang politics bullsh- stuff."
"...I'm very conflicted right now. You're a Nazi, but you're leaving the Empire… to go and kill people for money. I honestly don't know how this ranks morally. And you're telling me because you were a fan when you were a kid."
"Didn't really have anyone else I wanted to tell before I did it. Me and the others don't talk much. I guess it's weird, now I think about it."
"This entire evening has been bizarre. I'm still debating arresting you."
"Hm. Anyway, I'm leaving the country, all my friends, comrades… could you please sign my kamas? Just as a little thing to remember home?"
"To remember all the innocent people you've sliced up with them?"
"Hey, I sliced up gang members too - honestly, they were most of the people I fought, regular civilians don't put up a good fight. And I like fighting."
"So you've said, and it's not making this sound any better. I'm not signing your kamas, because if you come back, there'll be a Nazi running around with my name on her weapons. Not exactly willing to do that. Goes against a lot of what I stand for."
Cricket debated this internally, trying to find a way out of this fiendish conundrum. This would quite possibly be the last time she'd ever see Mouse Protector, her childhood hero… the same person who'd also very loudly denounced her and the gang that paid her. Wasn't fair, she barely cared about the stuff Kaiser peddled - way she saw it, if she was born Asian she'd be in the ABB killing people, if she had grown addicted to painkillers and stimulants in the fighting pits she'd be in the Merchants killing people, if she'd gone into this PMC thing from the beginning she'd be in Coil's organisation killing people, if nothing particular had come along she'd be in the fighting pits killing people… but Hookwolf had killed someone the E88 wanted dead, and she'd come along with him in the aftermath. What mattered was that she liked fighting, dancing around an opponent and bleeding them dry, cut by precious cut. She was a sociopath, she understood that. Everything else was pretty vestigial, at the end of the day - who cared who was on the business end of her kamas, she just cared about having kamas and being able to use them in an entertaining way. She wasn't some tortured heroic soul, she was quite contentedly villainous, but she had no great attachment to the Empire's specific way of doing things or the Empire's membership. Part of the reason why she was leaving, honestly. She had no real attachment to anyone beyond Hookwolf and Stormtiger, and they'd not seen what she'd seen.
She was in a liminal state, uncertain about many things, unsure of what she was doing and where she was going. Midway upon the journey of her life, she'd found her notions of what was possible and impossible completely subverted, and suddenly nothing appeared as safe as it once did. She could have kept fighting people forever if she was allowed to, when the biggest risk was being killed. But she'd seen what happened to Othala. And she knew there were much worse fates than simply dying or being in great pain. Rogue Coyote was a chance for a fresh start, leaving behind this city of dark corners where anything could be lurking. Just a place where she could go around killing with impunity. She had no intention of returning, was quite happy to wander from place to place, unbound from a territorial gang. And all she wanted before she set off was a tiny souvenir of a time in her life when she was genuinely happier, and more ignorant. The two were probably connected, now she thought about it. She sighed.
And took the cage off her head, revealing her entire scarred face. She stared boldly at M.P., challenging her to refuse again, inwardly terrified that her childhood hero would again reject her. She was in a very emotional state right now, she was never in a very emotional state, and it was seriously unnerving her. Still, nothing else to do about it, the move had been made.
"Could you make it out to Melody, then? Not going to show off a kama with my actual name on it, right?"
M.P. blinked.
"What the f-"
* * *
Sanagi sat up. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. She stepped out of her bed, trying to put her finger on what was going on… and felt something beneath her feet. Her bedroom had carpeting all around, came as standard with the house and she wasn't willing to tear any of it up. The floor beneath her feet, though, was hard, cold, wood. The room was dark, and she felt around for her lamp in the usual spot, and found nothing. Just air where the bedstand should be. Her bed felt wrong too, her sheets weren't made of this material. She was stumbling around trying to find something, anything, when the curtains started to open themselves, the whirring of a tiny motor filling the air as they did so. She blinked. Something was very wrong indeed. That wasn't Brockton out there, that wasn't even close. A field of endless step pyramids loomed before her, each one absolutely massive, packed to the brim with tiny windows. They didn't look like temples, they looked like… buildings. Normal buildings, just shaped like ancient monuments. If anything, they looked art-deco in design. The land around them was covered in neatly planted trees which gently rained down autumn-coloured leaves. Another thing that was wrong, it wasn't even close to Autumn at the moment, the leaves were all green outside her house.
Something clicked. She was dreaming. This was just an incredibly vivid, weird dream. That was all, she just had an overactive imagination. If she told herself that over and over she almost believed it. At least she was still wearing her normal clothes - well, that was abnormal in its own right, she hadn't been wearing smart clothing when she climbed into bed. The room around her was painfully bland, nothing about it suggesting a hint of personality. The cabinets were nice, admittedly. A part of her wondered if she had a career in graphic design, because the carvings on the cabinets were nice - very art-deco. Shrugging, she walked out. If this was her dream, she didn't want to spend the whole thing trapped in a boring room. The building outside was enormous, and door after door flashed by. She processed none of them, everything slipping into the haphazard glow of a proper dream - space meant nothing, time meant nothing, and she found herself riding an empty elevator down to the ground before she knew it. A lobby awaited her, including a desk with… no-one behind it. Hmph. Definitely a nightmare - unstaffed desks, loudly ticking clocks on the wall, piles of neat paper with no ink besmirching their surface… Wait. She blinked. One of the pieces of paper did have something written on it, but she could have sworn… no, never mind. Dream. She plucked it up, staring inquisitively at what her subconscious was telling her.
Focus on this symbol.
And then a scrawled raindrop. She stared. That was weird - and she was feeling a sense of unease in her stomach. Something was very wrong here. She stared at the raindrop… or was it a teardrop? Either way, she found the smooth contours oddly fascinating, the way that at first glance it appeared simple but was in fact made of dozens of smoothly interlocking patterns so subtle as to be almost invisible. Someone had taken time with this, and it showed. Somehow, a smooth teardrop had jagged geometric patterns inside it that made it seem more smooth. There was a harmony of space about the thing, a sense of everything fitting together perfectly, and as she looked at the few blank spaces, she could see where the pattern might be elaborated and expanded on. It was beautiful. It was… no longer in front of her.
She glanced around. She wasn't in the lobby anymore, she was outside, amidst the looming ziggurats. This place, dream or not, was beautiful. The ziggurats were pleasingly shaped and cleverly placed, never overwhelming the senses but always remaining a constant, soothing presence. The trees above her were healthy, hearty, and she couldn't see a single infesting insect crawling along their huge branches. The sunlight was golden and cast long shadows - it was sunset, she somehow hadn't realised before. She walked hurriedly along the wide-paved path, enjoying the scenery while also being intimidated by it - what the hell was going on, this didn't feel like any other dream she'd had. For every similarity - the blurring of time or space, the general soothing tone - there were far too many differences, too many intricate details for her to really imagine. It was too cohesive here. She walked aimlessly… and a building appeared before her. Another ziggurat, but a giant statue was in front. A raindrop composed of dozens of interlocking patterns, a harmonious object that satisfied every basic aesthetic sense at once, seeming completely well-placed and well-made, every dimension perfect. She almost kept staring at it… but snapped away. She'd been told to imagine that symbol. Now she was here.
Things were definitely wrong. She walked towards the building, seeing nothing else to do. There were other people inside, she realised, orderly rows of people wearing business dress. Most of them were standing in huge queues, and she hesitantly came to join them. Might as well see where this strange rabbit hole was going. She paused as she stepped inside. Something had shifted. One of the people in the queue, a man, turned to give her a look. She flinched. The man had no mouth. As she tried to say something, she realised she had no mouth either. No-one did. She turned, thinking that this was about to take a turn for the nightmarish, and saw… no way out. Nothing. Just a blank wall and a stark white sign reading 'this is not an exit' in over a hundred languages, most of which she didn't recognise. This was bad, but her best weapon was gone. She couldn't peel her face off, couldn't unleash a laser, her skull felt whole, there were no nebulas burning inside. The mouthless man shrugged at her confusion, then gestured, indicating that she should get in the line. She wanted to resist, wanted to run away and start finding a way out.
Why was she in the line? Why was she in the middle, how… what… why? This wasn't happening. She was having a weird Kafka nightmare, that was it. Nothing more, nothing less. The line was moving faster and faster, yet somehow she couldn't remember taking a single step. Huge counters approached, looming high above her. The masses of humanity pressed in on all sides, everyone calm and orderly, never shoving her roughly or yelling if she trod on their toes. Hell, no-one trod on her toes, and that was remarkable in its own right. Now matter how crowded things became, it never felt claustrophobic or aggressive. This was good, because there were so many damn people here, too many - the building hadn't been this huge when she entered. A thought occurred - could this be more of the weird crap she'd dealt before? As soon as the thought came, it left. This wasn't like anything she'd experienced before - no centipedes, no worms, no flames. Just calming music played over an invisible speaker system and a city of enormous ziggurats. The counter came close. And the thing manning it came into view, resolving as if emerging from a deep fog. She had to suppress a scream - well, the feeling of a scream, given that she had no mouth.
It was something out of a nightmare, all bones and feathers, shaped vaguely like a human. As she looked closer, she saw… it was a human, or a human skeleton. But the bones were misshapen, blackened, larger than they should be. An ornate headdress protruded behind it, made from multicoloured feathers. Jewels stared out from eye-sockets, shining in colours she couldn't quite name. Random chunks of what looked like diamonds emerged from the bones themselves, and tattered rags that were once fine cotton hung loosely. It looked like something she'd seen in a book about the Aztecs she'd perused idly once. This dream was specific, it seemed, drawing on stuff she'd practically forgotten. The skeleton tapped a single bony finger on the stone counter, commanding her to come forwards, and somehow she obeyed - no memory of walking, but here she was, in front of the giant skeleton. It rumbled ominously. Was this how her nightmare ended? Did she get eaten by a giant Aztec skeleton? What a way to go.
The skeleton rumbled, and this time it spoke, a voice that seemed to echo from a very long way away, hollow, dry, and incredibly old. Definitely female, though.
"Come."
And they were suddenly somewhere else. There was no counter between her and the skeleton now, and they were completely alone in a cramped room. The skeleton made to sit down… and there was a table and chairs. How had she not noticed that? It tapped its finger once more, and she hurried to obey. Wouldn't do to piss off the giant Aztec skeleton. For some reason she could hear faint hissing, though she couldn't be sure from where it coming from. The skeleton was huge compared to her, it could crush her head in one hand if it wanted to. She very much hoped it didn't. Her mouth was still sealed. The skeleton picked up a suddenly-present file and flicked through it delicately, the subtle movements of her skull indicating she was carefully reading it. Abruptly, she set it down, and rested her skull on her hands.
"Etsuko Sanagi, officer with BBPD, commended for service during Conflagration."
Sanagi blinked. She hadn't been commended. The Conflagration was too recent, no-one was being commended, it would feel like counting their chickens before they hatched - patting themselves on the back too soon.
"Brief run-in with PRT, but we won't hold that against you. Good improvision skills, adequate in physical combat, very good against the Frenzied Flame and its servants, successfully shook off Bisha's influence, instrumental in securing the help of Ellen Chua."
The giant Aztec skeleton knew more than it should.
"I am Reclaimed Thoughtform 552201, and I have the privilege to process you."
The jewels in its eyes glinted.
"You're hired."
"What?"
Oh, her mouth was unsealed. That was nice. She coughed.
"Uh, what?"
"You're hired. Congratulations."
"Hired?"
"Indeed. Now, about your first-"
"What's going on?!"
The skeleton sighed and drew a line over its teeth. She felt her mouth sealing again.
"Hm. Panicked response. That'll go in the permanent record. If you wish to continue your employment, I suggest being more level-headed. You won't be promoted if you keep that up."
What? Employment, promoted, permanent record? Those words shut her up. She had a permanent record and they recorded her panicked responses, oh dear, that wasn't - wait, this was a dream, why was she worrying about the permanent records that existed in her dreams?! She tried to speak, but her mouth was still sealed.
"Your first assignment is elementary, a simple test of competence suited for your clearance level. There is a supermarket you go to regularly - you know the one, I believe. On your next grocery visit, predicted to be this Saturday, you will poke a tiny hole in the surface of a pre-packaged sandwich, specifically, the tuna sandwich on aisle 3, third shelf up, second to the left."
The skeleton tilted her head to one side.
"Analysts are predicting a low chance of acceptance. Understandable. Unconscious compliance is still compliance. Remember - aisle 3, third shelf up, second to the left, a tiny hole. Do not concern yourself with the consequences of success, but beware the consequences of failure. Do you comprehend?"
Sanagi blinked, trying to process everything.
"Your comprehension is noted."
A bony fist slammed down on the table like a judge's gavel, once, twice, three times.
"Rejoice, for you are integrated, predicted, and accounted for by the Grid. Dismissed."
Sanagi woke up, flailing, trying to extract herself from her blankets. That was bizarre, that was alien, she needed to discuss this with Taylor and the others. Obviously she wouldn't do whatever they wanted her to do, this seemed like an obvious trap. Taylor might know what to do, Arch could do some research, they could get together and make sure this kind of thing didn't happen- what? What kind of thing? Why did she want to meet Taylor? The dream faded from memory, and all she was left with was confusion. She'd woken up earlier than usual, nice enough, but peculiar. Ah, these things happened. Just a bad dream, that was all.
She stood. It was Friday.
Hm. Food was running low. Need to do a grocery run on Saturday, definitely, too busy to do it tonight. She was in the mood for tuna.
AN: That may well be all for today, though I'll probably be posting a chapter of my other story. Possibly.
