Sir Flufflewuff's Wufflefluffs (Snippets and oneshots)

[Sir Flufflewuff]

All Hands on Deck
In which the PRT ENE needs all the help it can get.
---‐---------------------

Ahh Brockton Bay it's been so long. I remember the last time we were here. Well, I was here. The entire team's changed since then. Hmm I wonder how Kurt's doing.

I gaze around at the what's left in Leviathan's wake. It's a sight to behold. Thousands of people milling around with no hope in their eyes. Not even a will to live or struggle. Like they're just breathing out of habit. And the cries of mothers missing their children, the choked moans of husbands mourning their wives, the wails of children who will never find their parents. It's intoxicating.

I breathe in the seaside air, and enjoy the smell of suffering with a hint of despair. No wait, that's smoke. It seems like Burnscar's been getting restless. I'll have to find some way to calm her down. It would be no good to give away the game before everything's in place.

"Hi! You're a cape right? Man, you really look like Johnny Depp," a peppy voice pops up while I'm lost in thought. I really should stop these moments of introspection when I'm away from my team. If she recognized me, I'd possibly be dead. Well, probably not. You don't survive living with mass murders trying to compete with Endbringers by being easy to kill.

Anyway, I look at the girl in front of me. Based on her voice, I'd peg her around 15 or 16. She was tall for her age and her lanky build kind of resembled Alan's. She was wearing...... a ladybug suit? Complete with wings, antennae headband, and... a fuzzy domino mask.

"Anyways, I was wondering if you'd like to join the Protectorate ENE?"

I blink rapidly in response. I have no idea whether I should laugh, be insulted, murder her, or say yes for the hell of it.

After a quick recovery, I simply ask, "What makes you think I'm a cape?"

Her answer leaves me utterly speechless.

"Well you're Jack Slash aren't you? Your picture is on the kill order posters."

.......

I think I actually short-circuited for a second there. It says something that I can't actually get a good read on her. It says more things that she's actively recruiting who she assumes to be Jack Slash.

"So let me get this straight. You think I'm Jack Slash, and you want me to join the Protectorate."

"Yup! We need all the heroes we can get you see! Especially after Leviathan. Just look around, the city is practically burning dow- Huh. It's actually burning down. Anyway, here's a pamphlet! I gotta go help put out the fires. Bye!"

.......
Well that happened. I guess I may as well read the pamphlet. After getting to a safer location of course. Oh shit that conversation threw me off too much. I need to go stop Burnscar before she ruins the game!

I dash off and follow the flames. Burnscar is bound to be at the end.

I take full advantage of my little poppet's enhancement and charge full speed ahead.

I sprint along the road for a bit before an explosion catches my ears.

I immediately bank right and go through one of the ruined buildings.

Then take a left and stop, because Mimi is right in front of me and not on fire.

"Uncle Jack! Look at all the pretty fires. I wasn't going to nominate anyone, but I think I wanna recruit whoever set off all the pretty flames."

I am way off my game today.

"Sure thing Mimi, how about we get the rest of the gang together first? Maybe Cherish can help you find them."

"Really? Thanks Uncle Jack!"

--------------

Well yesterday was a train wreck, but today is bound to better. Can't let bad days get you too far down after all.

Right now Cherish and Burnscar are off finding the pyromaniac, while Mannequin is breaking into the Rig's defences. Shatterbird is off looking around for a candidate, and Riley is mixing up something special for Panacea. Crawler is... I honestly have no idea what he's doing. Ned was sniffing around like a dog before he went and tunneled underground. The same can be said of Siberian. She just poofed into thin air.

Well I suppose I may as well read the pamphlet. The pamphlet that's in my back pocket... Huh it must have dropped out. Oh well, nothing for it. I have a candidate to monitor anyway. Now if I was a teleporting serial suicide bomber, where would I be...

Hmm I suppose I should try out the ABB territory. It's somewhere in the docks if I recall correctly.

-------------

Ahh the docks. I remember you. Once the hope of a burgeoning port city, now a representation of utter failure. It seems like the air of despair is even thicker over here.

"Hi Mr Slash! Have you considered the offer?" the same peppy voice from yesterday sounded off right behind me.

"Jesus Christ! How do you keep sneaking up on me?"

She tilts her head and responds, "I just walked over."

I'm calling bullshit on that. Between my enhanced senses and my intuition, there's no way someone just walks up behind me without me noticing. Especially when there's no one else around.

"So you're a Stranger then?"

"Huh? Nope. I control bugs."

She does an impression of a biblical plague by bringing up a buzzing swarm behind her. Hmm perhaps she would be a good candidate. Nothing quite like a nigh infinite number of creepy crawlies to terrify the populace. Perhaps I could get Riley to mix up some superbugs for her to play with.

"So! Will you be joining the Protectorate?" her voice shocks me out of my thoughts. ...That's another sign that something is wrong. I'm letting my guard down around her far too easily. Best to play along for now and find out what I can.

"Sorry, I lost the pamphlet before I could read it. Haven't really had a chance to make an informed decision."

"That's okay! Here's another one!" she pulls out another pamphlet from beneath her fake wings.

"Ah thank you. I'll be sure to take good care of this one. That aside, assuming that I actually am Jack Slash, which I'm not, this is purely hypothetical, but if I were the leader of the slaughterhouse nine, not saying that I am, because I'm not. But if I were, why would the heroes accept me instead of trying to kill me?"

"Because we need all the heroes we can get! As long as you're willing to join the side of justice, we'll take you in!"

...I'm beginning to pity the heroes. They must be REALLY desperate.

"Even though I'm a murderous psychopath."

"You wouldn't be first!" Somehow her voice got even cheerier.

"A murderous psychopath who leads a band of roving murderohobos, some of which are trying to compete with Endbringers in terms of kill count."

"That just means you'd be a shoe in for leader of the Protectorate ENE. With Armsmaster out of commission after the battle with Leviathan, the Protectorate needs new leadership! Why not have it be you?"

...This is obviously trap. There's no way this isn't a trap. Then again turnabouts are pretty fun.

"You know what? Why not. I'm in. When and where is my interview?"

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

When it rains, it pours
When the floodgates open brace your shores.
That pressure don't care when it breaks your doors.
Say it's all you can take, better take some more.
- Linkin Park & Steve Aoki, 2013

A fat lady, a fat man, and a balding man were in a room, behind five sheets of brute-rated glass, with a bottle of alcohol. All four of them moaned their inability to drink. One of them was at risk of renal failure. One of them was trying to lose weight. One of them was overcoming addiction. The last one had no mouth. Or eyes. Or ears. Or nose. It did however have hair. No wait that's a wig.

"JESUS CHRIST!"
"WHAT THE FUCK!?"
"HOW THE HELL!?"

The three shouted at the fourth.

The fourth simply held up a sign.

'I have come to join the Protectorate' it said.

The three remained silent. They silently communicated through a complex serious of glances and micro-expressions. Eventually, it was decided that the fat lady would sing.

"Why do you want to join? And more importantly what makes you think we'd even accept you?"

The fourth turned the sign around. On it was written:
'A girl that reminded me of my daughters asked me to join. I could not refuse. You have accepted my leader. Therefore it is reasonable to assume that you would accept me as well.'

The three were at a loss for words. Eventually, the balding man spoke, "Alright, well... uh... just wait outside and we'll call you in after this interview is done."

Mannequin nodded, crawled through a hole in the wall, and sealed the air vent behind him.

After he left, Piggot spoke up, "That girl is starting to be way more trouble than she's worth..."

Chambers responded, "Starting to? I had to rebrand an actual nazi, a mass murderer claiming to be a nazi, a sex slaver, an emotionless suicide bomber, and a drug lord last week alone. And that's less than half the waiting list. A waiting list that's apparently grown to include the Slaughterhouse Nine."

Renick chuckled sardonically before saying, "Look on the bright side. Brockton Bay has more heroes than any other city now. And no villains at all to boot. Plus, Glenn, you get to live up to your reputation of being able to make a Slaughterhouse Nine candidate look good."

The PRT Head of Imaging glared at the PRT ENE Deputy Director, "A Slaughterhouse Nine candidate. Not a full-time member, certainly not their leader, and sure as hell not the whole group."

The PRT ENE Director sighed, "Well technically it's not the whole group. Just half so far. But at the rate we're going I should probably add a yet to that statement."

Glenn sighed deeper, "Are we sure she doesn't have a Master power?"

The other two stared at him like he was an idiot.

"For controlling humans," he clarified.

Piggot and Renick entered another silent discussion. Eventually the balding man sang without his barbershop quartet, "Can Crawler even still be called human? Mannequin too. Either way, both of them have shown an immunity to master effects."

The three of them sighed once more, then went back to mournfully staring at the bottle of Spiritus instead of watching the interview in the other room. They already knew the answer, and an interview was just tradition at this point.

What else could they do? Pick a fight with the Slaughterhouse Nine which would lead to the death of countless civilians? No. The only option they had was to induct the roving band of murderhobos. All other choices led to unacceptable casualties.

And God only knows what Maidenfly would do if they refused 'possible heroes'. She'd somehow pin the blame for every man, woman, and child killed in the resulting conflict on the PRT's head.

Meanwhile...

Hannah Monroe loved her country. Her new country. Not her old country. Her old country was a terrible, terrible place that she did not regret leaving behind and cutting all ties with.

Her new country on the other hand, was a wonderful place which she dearly wished to defend. Her new country was an honest place where its leaders only did what was right.

So when she was sent to interview Jack fucking Slash, leader of the Slaughterhouse Nine. She did it. After all she was a good soldier. And good soldiers do what they're told. Good soldiers don't question orders from their superiors.

She may have been more than a little brainwashed. It's what happens when you take a child soldier, put her in a different place, and hide everything that could remind her of home. By the time she grows up, she believes anything similar to back home is the due a few individuals instead of a systemic failing on the country's part. After all, her new nation was a utopia. What better way to save it, than to follow orders from those made it?

So yes. Hannah was a good soldier. A good soldier who was currently smiling and interviewing an S class threat, with a kill count in the thousands, that claimed to want to become a Hero.

There comes a day when a good soldier eventually realizes, that to be a great soldier, you call out your superiors' shitty commands. Today was not that day.

"So, Mr...." Hannah trailed off as she looked at the file in front of her, glanced up at the man opposite her, then looked back down at the file again.

"Bowie. Jacob Bowie," Jack Slash gently smiled.

"Right... So, Mr Bowie, what kind of qualifications do you have?" Miss Militia asked.

"Well, not to toot my own trumpet so to speak, but I have killed several thousand people. So I'm very good at combat. I also lead a team of mass murders, cannibals, and Endbringer wannabes with individual kill counts in thousands or tens of thousands. I think Shatterbird hit one hundred thousand just last month. We've gone toe-to-toe with the Triumvirate multiple times, and won on several occasions. Most notably, when Siberian killed Hero and tore out Alexandria's eye," Jack Slash boasted.

If we were still watching the world from his perspective, we'd probably see him internally rolling on the floor, laughing his ass off, and crying acid out of what used to be his tear glands.The Protectorate was legitimately recruiting him! With Mannequin already in the PHQ, and Bonesaw and Crawler nearby, he was going to see how far he could push before they cracked.

Miss Militia's whole face twitched. It was obvious. She didn't bother trying to hide it. She liked Maidenfly, she really did. The girl's heart was in the right place. But Hannah was beginning to think that there was something seriously wrong with that girl's mind. First she brought in Uber and Leet. Then she recruited Circus. Then she got Rune, Purity and Squealer to join. Then she took in the Undersiders. Then Bakuda. Then Crusader, Night, Fog, Cricket, and Alabaster. And before you know it? KAISER, LUNG, AND SKIDMARK WERE MEMBERS OF THE PROTECTORATE!

HOW THE FUCK DID SHE RECRUIT THE THREE MAJOR GANG LEADERS!? The only villain that didn't join was Coil. And that's because he committed suicide. She was going to going out for a lo~ng drink with Commander Calvert and his team after this.

Brockton Bay officially had no villains whatsoever and zero gang presence. The Merchants became actual merchants, the ABB joined the PRT, and not willing to be shown up by Asians, large portions of the Empire signed on too. The ones that didn't, went on to do odd jobs like clearing up the Boat Graveyard and Trainyard.

Things were actually looking up for the Bay. Then Leviathan struck. Leviathan. Who was currently in the basement. Yes. The Endbringer was in the basement. No one had any idea what to do with him. Thankfully, he hadn't tried to join yet. YET.

Hannah could feel serious migraine coming on. But a job was a job, and she was a good soldier. So she soldiered on.

"Alright Mr Bowie. Welcome to the Protectorate," she forced a smile and put out her hand.

Jack Slash subconsciously raised an eyebrow. He had gone on for an hour talking about every single town he destroyed and every hero he killed. And they said welcome to the Protectorate. He was so shocked that he numbly took her hand, shook it, and dazedly said, "Thank you for having me. I'll do my best."

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

In which Colin's last name is Holmes, and he greatly enjoys the sound of silence.


Woof. Writing serious stuff is tough. So hard to get in the right mindset, and keeping that state of mind is exhausting.
-------------

"Yeah," she tried and failed to sound confident, "But I should explain things first. First off, the Undersiders offered me a spot on their team. I took it." I remained silent and simply stared at the girl in front of me. Words have a dozen meanings, sentences hundreds. But silence? Silence says nothing. And everything.

"I joined the Undersiders because you said you were having trouble getting info on the guys. Now I know their faces, I know the names they're using, I have a pretty good idea about what their powers do, and I know where they're living."

There's a 'but' coming. I know it. I motion for her to carry on.

"But I can't tell you yet." Called it. "There's one more thing I need to find out for you."

Finally, I speak, "which is?"

"What if I told you there was a spy in the PHQ?" She's lying. But why? I need to lead this just right...

"Are they watching us now?"

"No but I can't say anything more without them figuring out I told. Just my being here is really risky."

"Even if I kept silent?"

"Yes. They'd find out." So the issue isn't on my end. It's on her's. And if they're not watching now, then they're finding out afterwards with no direct evidence. No direct evidence except her. But even then, unless she outright stated or otherwise implied it, there's no way they'd know she sold them out.

That leaves more esoteric means of finding out. If Tattletale was a postcog, she wouldn't be here right now. Instead she believes she can deceive Tattletale somehow. Back then, Tattletale knew I was coming. If she was a precog, then this meeting is already fucked. No. No precogs are that precise save for the Simurgh. That leaves some sort of information gathering power. But if Tattletale is as powerful as Bugs over here thinks, then she'd already know that Bugs is a hero. She thinks she can suborn Bugs.

"Alright, so what are you here for then?" Let's see if I can get a bargaining chip.

"They're planning something. They want me to help them. I do this, maybe one or two other jobs, I'm sure I can get that last essential detail, and you'll have what you need to capture these guys."

Once more, silence said all I needed it to.

"I need to know that if things go sour or if I need to sabotage their plan, I'll have you to pull my ass out of the fire and keep me out of jail." That is one big favor. Well, one big favor for another.

"On one condition. You tell me what that detail you're looking for is."

"I can't. If I told you, they'd know." Her voice was anxious and tense. Time to push it into guilt and fear.

"Does it really make a difference then? Whether you tell me or not, they know you met me. At which point they'll likely guess that you're a traitor and either deal with you accordingly, or feed you false information. The former means you could get hurt or killed. The latter means the Protectorate heroes you want to help could get hurt or killed. You might be fine with putting yourself at risk, but are you really willing to risk everyone else? If Miss Militia or I were to die because the intel you gave us was bad, could you really bear that on your conscience?"

"I-" she opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off.

"Take a moment to think it over first."

We both sit in silence for a few minutes

I broke it first this time.

"Have you ever played blackjack?"

"Huh? Err... No. I don't gamble. What's this got to do with anything?"

"There's a feature in the game called insurance. If the first card the dealer pulls is an ace, you have the option to buy insurance. It costs half your current bet. If the dealer gets a blackjack, you don't lose anything. But if the dealer doesn't get a blackjack, and you win, your winnings are reduced by half your bet. That's what you're trying to do right now. And insurance isn't free. If you want my support, tell me the detail you're looking for."

"But if I tell yo-"

I cut her off again, "It won't change a thing. Your odds remain the same. This isn't blackjack. Your winnings aren't cut if you buy insurance. You have nothing to lose by telling me what you're looking for."

I can see her hesitate.

"Alright." Hook, line, sinker.

"The Undersiders have a boss. They haven't met him yet, except for Tattletale. If I do this and a few other jobs I should be able to meet him."

....... Seriously? That's it? That's what I wasted all this effort for?

"Seriously? That's it? I can tell you who it is."

"Huh?"

"It's Coil."

"Whu-"

"The only external forces that would push into Brockton Bay are the Elite and Boston gangs. The Elite would openly announce their presence and go straight into recruiting rogues. So clearly the Undersiders aren't members of the Elite. As for Boston gangs only the Ambassadors would bother sending in a proxy. But based on their M.O., the Undersiders clearly aren't following any of Accord's plans. They lack the sheer meticulousness those plans contain. Furthermore, they tend towards chaotic situations. This puts them at severe odds with Accord's OCD. The Teeth are the Teeth. They'd come in directly and announce it to everyone. Blasto has his hands full dealing with Accord and he lacks manpower, so he wouldn't try to expand anyway."

"It could be a new player in Brockton Bay."

"I'm getting to that. Just listen. They clearly don't work with or for Faultline, and based on the incident the other day, it's not ABB. The Merchants wouldn't bother with this, and considering Hellhound is a member, they're not Empire. Moving on, a boss means they're employed. This means that they're being paid. Capes in general, especially villains out for money don't work for cheap. Then we account for the fact that this 'Underboss' is trying to keep his identity secret. Even from his own subordinates. So tell me this, which villain clearly has large amounts of funds and is trying to keep an extremely low profile?"

"Uhmm.... Coil?"

"Yes. You can tell he has assets from his prodigious use of mercenaries and tinkertech. One is expensive, the other is extremely expensive. Clearly he has money to burn. Now this is a tidbit you might not know, the PRT file on Coil is almost blank. We're not even sure if he is a parahuman. Aside from the obvious, the sheer lack of information also tells you that he's actively suppressing information. And seeing as you brought up a spy in PHQ, well, the pieces fit together nicely don't they?"

I silently stare at her as she processes that information.

"But you don't know where his base is right? Or even what he looks like? I can find that out for you!"

Not for the first time am I glad my visor is a one-way mirror. It's a lot easier to hide annoyance and disappointment when they can't see your eyes.

"Tell me honestly. What's the real reason you want to join the Undersiders?"

Her silence says nothing, but tells me everything.

"Think long and hard about why you want to be a hero. About what being a hero means to you. Give me a call when you have your answer."

With that, I stand up and leave.

I wonder if she even knows the real reason. Or if she actually believes the lies she tells herself. I hope she can reach a true answer. After all, a hero's greatest opponent isn't Evil. It's not villains. It's not even Endbringers. It's the Greater Good. It's so easy to justify everything under something as vague and nebulous as the Greater Good. But at the end of the day, all those excuses fall flat when faced with sins committed in justice's name.
------------------

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

This is an AU where most of the similarities are names. And even then, a lot of the cape names have been changed.
Fun fact: the name of Jackie Estacado's father, was Danny Estacado.

I'm not sure if this can be considered mature. It's definitely much darker than my other snips, so just in case it is, I'll be putting it in a spoiler

Spoiler: The chapter

-------------

All are equal in death. The rich, the poor, the healthy, the diseased, the strong and weak. Everyone dies one day. Everyone is the same when they're dead.

A Cape burned down half the docks. The PRT caught him and let him out the next day.

A Cape killed his wife. The PRT doesn't even try to oppose him.

A Cape tortured his daughter. The PRT employs her.

Enough was enough.

In the deepest darkest pits of his hollowed out heart, Danny Hebert felt something wake up.

"Da~nn~y."

"Da~n~ny"

"Danny."

"Danny!"

"Huh? Whu?" Danny woke up from his stupor and glanced around like a startled gazelle.

After a few moments he saw the person calling him. It was Kurt.

"Are you ok Danny? You blanked out for a bit over there."

Danny remained silent as he looked at Kurt, and remembered.

A bloody floor
A rusty knife
A silent room with broken lights

The lingering screams
Of crushed hopes and broken dreams
Blood flows a cold stream

A dark room blacker than night
The false angel weeps
As beasts feed on her cruel light

"Kurt, call Alan." Danny made his decision. Enough was enough.

"Planning on suing them huh Dan? Do you really think you can win?" Kurt misunderstood.

"The other Alan."

Kurt silently stared back into his old friend's hollow eyes. There was something there now. Something more. Something other. Something wrong. And Kurt realized. And Harbinger remembered

A soulless man
A hollow man
A broken man

The demon
The herald
The lost lamb

They laid low
A bringer
Of the end

"There's no turning back." He eventually responded.

"Enough is enough." The Demon declared.

And thus the Herald sought the Lost Lamb.

A moment later, Harbinger brought over a phone

Alan Gramme spoke through the device, "Are you sure?"

"Yes." Souleater said.

"I'll be there in an hour."

An hour passed. Alan Gramme entered the room, looked at Danny, and asked once more, "Are you certain?"

In response, his deliverer tore off the pendant keeping the beasts in check.

Alan Granme watched. Blasphemer remembered.

He had a wife and two daughters.
He had wondrous dreams and brilliant goals
He had a peaceful life; a happy life.

Had. Had. Had.
She took. And took. And took.
Until he had nothing left.

Then along came a man as empty as he, followed by a beast that wore darkness as skin.
The three heretics brought down what the world once held holy.

Alan Gramme, Sphere, Blasphemer asked for the third and final time, "are you absolutely certain?"

Danny Hebert, bearer of the curse, Souleater responded for the third and final time:
"They took my home;
They took my wife;
They took my daughter.

You know my rage;
You know my pain;
You know my sorrow."

The heretic nodded. The message was clear. Enough was enough.
---------------

Tried for a more intense, mystical writing style. You'll notice the repetition, the rhyming and the rhythm. All of which have an emphasis on threes. The first 2 memories were in 3 3-line stanzas, the 3rd memory repeated it's words 3 times. Etc etc. This is cause of the idea of 3 being a special number. 3am being the haunting hour, the 3 fates etc. So I figured a combination of short loaded sentences with an emphasis on repetition in threes should hit the notes I was aiming for. Also, trying for a specific style and having to ponder over every word is exhausting. So I'm gonna stop here, call it the prologue and do less straining chapter later.

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

Ok yeah, I'm fairly certain this one isn't rated PG. It's probably bordering in between the teen and mature ratings, so it's being spoilered. I'll probably just put all the snips of this one in spoilers to be on the safe side.

Trigger warning: Implied torture. Implied dismemberment.

Spoiler: The chapter

"Optimus."

"Director Calvert."

"What the hell is going on out there Optimus?" Thomas questioned.

Optimus remained silent. There was just no good way to say it.

"Well? Spit it out Colin," the director pressed.

"It's The Three Heretics," Optimus finally admitted.

It was Thomas' turn to keep quiet. There was simply no way to respond to that statement. He could laugh, but Colin's sense of humour wasn't remotely dark enough to joke about something like that. He could ask for more details, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He could ignore it entirely — enjoy sweet blissful ignorance as the world fell apart around him. He really wanted to pick option three. He really wished Optimus was lying. He hated that he couldn't lie to himself.

But the world waits for no one. Eventually he responded, "what the fuck are those three doing in Brockton Bay?"

Optimus simply placed a series of pictures on his desk. One showed human skin, perfectly stripped from flesh without a single cutting mark. One showed a human's muscular structure lying on the floor without skin or bones. One showed a pristine human skeleton. No chips, no cracks, no blood. One showed a human's internal organs. All of them, hanging from the ceiling, held up by human hair, and arranged like they would be, if they were still inside the person. The last one was of the human circulatory system. Someone had taken the pains to pull out every single one of the victims blood vessels, without tearing, cutting, or otherwise damaging any of the other body parts. They were splayed across the wall in perfectly readable, ominous words.



"Wha- What the fucking hell am I looking at Colin?"

"Sophia Hess."

"God fucking dammit. What did she fucking do to piss of those monsters? How do you even know it's them? This doesn't look like their style."

Optimus placed a another picture on the table. It was a camera hooked up to a power socket. Except the cable was made of the human nervous system.

Then he placed the camera(thankfully without any body parts attached) on the table.

"They recorded the whole thing on that camera. Left it plugged in so it wouldn't run out of battery before we saw it."

Thomas Calvert knew he was going to get nightmares from this. But as much as he would regret it later, a job was a job. He accessed the recording.

He vomited 15 times. The Three Heretics certainly earned their title. They pulled her apart while keeping her alive until the very end. Even now he could still hear her screams, her cries, her pleas. She may have been a belligerent ward, but no one deserved that fate.

After his last dry heave, Thomas Calvert asked, "Who else knows?"

"No one. I immediately filed the camera footage under level 9 classification, and these are the only photos available. As far as anyone else is concerned, this is the act of a new killer tentatively called Flay."

Thomas sighed in relief, "Good work Optimus. Take the rest of the week off. Maybe go on a date with Matrix or something."

"Thank you director," Optimus said before leaving the room.

After Optimus left the room, Calvert picked up his phone and dialed in a number.

It was picked up before the first ring.

"Viva la Victoria," Thomas said.

"The cat is a zombie," a female voice replied.

"Nike."

"Schrodinger."

Schrodinger paused for a moment and organized the words in his mind. Then, he spoke, "You probably already know this, but just in case you don't, The Three Heretics are back." Then he hung up. There was nothing else to say.

Thomas sighed and smashed his forehead onto his desk. Then, he sighed and leaned back. Finally, Thomas tilted his head towards the ceiling and shouted his lungs out. He was glad the room was completely soundproofed. Little things like that make absolutely horrible days just a little bit better.

"The Three fucking Heretics, in Brockton fucking Bay. Just my fucking luck," Thomas bitterly muttered to himself, "Well here's to hoping they don't pop up ever again." Thomas reached under his desk and began chugging the bottle of gin.

-------------------------------------------------------
I could go on, but I think I'll end it here. It feels like shorter chapters are more suitable for this type of fic. Still dark and edgy and whatnot, but far less draining to read.

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

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♦Topic: Uber and Leet Join the Protectorate ENE
In: Boards ► Local ► Brockton Bay ► News ► Capes

Ze Ubermesch (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Protectorate ENE)
Posted on February 19, 2011:

Hi guys! Uber here, as of today, Leet and I are officially members of the Protectorate ENE. Now that doesn't mean we'll stop streaming. In fact, the PRT is willing to help out! That means higher quality videos, more manpower, and tinkertech support from ARMSMASTER!


You guys can look forward to way better content.

(Showing Page 1 of 36)

► GamerGirl1572 (Cape Groupie)
Replied on February 19, 2011:
Whoa! That's awesome!

► XxVoid CowboyxX
Replied on February 19, 2011:
No way! You guys actually joined the PRT!? Man you can do so much cool new stuff with them on your side. Like Supreme Commander or Warharmmer 40K! The PRT troops would be awesome space marines!

► 1337 (Verified Cape) (Protectorate ENE)
Replied on February 19, 2011:
Correction: We joined the Protectorate. The Protectorate and PRT, while working closely together are actually two completely seperate organizations. The PRT trains normal humans to deal with cape conflicts, while the Protectorate hires, manages, and supports Heroes in their fights with Villains.


Also, WHOO! I GET TO TINKER WITH ARMSMASTER!

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End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 34, 35, 36

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♦Topic: Circus Joins the Protectorate ENE
In: Boards ► Local ► Brockton Bay ► News ► Capes

JokesOnYou (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Protectorate ENE)
Posted on February 26, 2011:

Hello. This is Circus. I'm in the Protectorate ENE now. ^_^

(Showing Page 1 of 17)

► Whackograve (Temp-banned)
Replied on February 26, 2011:
wowza. By the way, are we gonna find out your gender now?
[Redacted]

Sexual harassment is not allowed. Have some time to cool off - BanHammer

► White Fairy (Veteran Member)
Replied on February 26, 2011:
Oh cool! Uber and Leet signed on just last week. Things might actually be turning around for us with villains joining the light side.

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End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 15 , 16, 17

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♦Topic: Protectorate and Wards Welcome New Members
In: Boards ► Local ► Brockton Bay ► News ► Capes

Reave (Original Poster) (Verified PRT Agent) (PRT Official)
Posted on March 7, 2011:

Hi everyone!
Reave here,

In case you guys missed the official statement on the news, the Protectorate ENE has 2 new members, and the Wards have 1.

These are:

Prisma, a mover/blaster.
Actuator, a tinker.
Glyph, a shaker.

We're not revealing any more details on their powers as we wish to hold onto the element of surprise.

We might just be able to turn things around!

Here's a link to the official press release.


(Showing Page 1 of 100)

► Nod
Replied on March 7, 2011:
Those are Purity, Squealer, and Rune.
Those are PURITY SQUEALER AND RUNE.
WHY THE FUCK ARE THEY IN THE PRT!?

► MagicMetal
Replied on March 7, 2011:
Nah, can't be. My bro snagged a pic of Purity and Prisma going at it by the docks a couple days ago!

► Nod
Replied on March 7, 2011:
1) That image is clearly fake.
2) I live at the docks. Nothing has happened here for the past week.
3) Is the PRT seriously using shill accounts to hide the fact that they're recruiting villains?

Shame on you. Just. Shame.

► XxVoid CowboyxX
Replied on March 7, 2011:
Holy shit! The villains are infiltrating the PRT!
[Redacted]
Move it over to Tinfoil, Void - Tin Mother

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♦Topic: New Wards
In: Boards ► Local ► Brockton Bay ► News ► Capes

Reave (Original Poster) (Verified PRT Agent) (PRT Official)
Posted on March 9, 2011:

Hi Everyone!
It's Reave again,

This time we've got 4 new members for the Wards!

They are:
Blackout
SuperSleuth
Angelo
PuppyPal

Please give them all a warm welcome!

Here's a link to the official press release.

(Showing Page 1 of 22)

► WagTheDog
Replied on March 9, 2011:
Uhm, is it just me or does PuppyPal look really familiar for some reason?

► WickerPoodle (Cape Groupie) (Power Guru)
Replied on March 9, 2011:
Yeah that's Hellhound, also known as Rachel Lindt. Her power turns dogs into monsters that she can control. She's been charged with several counts of murder, including her foster family. Recently she's been seen hanging with the Undersiders. They're a new villain group that specialize in smash and grabs.

They only reason this post is still up is because of how wrong it is. That said, have some infraction points. Speculating the identity of capes is against the rules. - YabadabaDont

► Robby
Replied on March 9, 2011:
...I'm not sure what would be more suspicious. Removing the post or leaving it there. Ugh this is like a Ziz plot. And thinking around in circles just leaves you insane.

► Oogie Boogie
Replied on March 9, 2011:
Isn't that darkness thing Grue's power? You know, Grue from the Undersiders? Anyone know what the Villain to Hero ratio in the Protectorate is right now?

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♦Topic: ARE YOU READY FOR THE NEWEST BOMBSHELL ON THE BLOCK!?
In: Boards ► Local ► Brockton Bay ► News ► Capes

Firework (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Protectorate ENE)
Posted on March 10, 2011:

WHAT IS UP BROCKTON BAY!
This is Firework, the NEWEST and BEST Tinker in the city! I make bombs baby. BIG BOMBS! And I'm coming to you live from the rig. That's right, those gangs better watch out cause this bombshell babe is gonna take em all down!

Even had those bozos Uber and Leet make me this trailer.

You all can feel free to worship me now. I know it's hard to resist the urge to kiss my feet.

(Showing Page 1 of 44)

► MiracleMic
Replied on March 10, 2011:
Wow. You love explosions more than Myrddin loves fire. And that's really saying something. Please don't nuke the bay. I live here.

► AznBadass
Replied on March 10, 2011:
Bakuda you bitch. Lung will kill you for your betrayal.

► WickerPoodle (Cape Groupie) (Power Guru)
Replied on March 10, 2011:
Wait, isn't Bakuda the crazy bomb lady that held Cornell University hostage? Didn't she join the ABB?

► Firework (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Protectorate ENE)
Replied on March 10, 2011:
@AznBadass HAH! YOU CAN TELL THAT SOGGY SNAKE FUCKER TO LICK MY CLIT! HE AIN'T GOT NOTHING ON ME!

► WickerPoodle (Cape Groupie) (Power Guru)
Replied on March 10, 2011:
... Did you just admit to being Bakuda?

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♦Topic: What Happened to the E88?
In: Boards ► Local ► Brockton Bay ► Gangs

HitlerLovedPuppies (Original Poster)
Posted on March 19, 2011:

Seriously, it's like they've gone to the ground. You barely even see any of their capes anymore, and the protection racket they run seems really inconsistent now.

I hate them as much as everyone else, but there's something wrong with this. They might be planning something big.

(Showing Page 1 of 62)

► ANTIFA
Replied on March 19, 2011:
And yet your username is HitlerLovedPuppies. Yeah somehow I don't buy that you're anti-E88.

► WagTheDog
Replied on March 19, 2011:
It's true though. The original Nazis, from World War 2, really loved animals, especially dogs. Hitler had Goring send animal abusers into concentration camps. A large part of the Nazi platform was anti animal abuse. It's also considered part of the reason Hitler hated Jews and Christians. Because those 2 religions drew a distinction in the value of animal lives and human lives.

If Adolf Hitler was still alive, he would have most of the E88 gassed.

► Tin Mother (Moderator)
Replied on March 19, 2011:
Mod Warning: This thread is starting to get derailed. Please keep it on track.

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---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I think I'm gonna end the interlude here and do a second part later. Also, this was done using the PHO Interlude Generator by Conceptualist

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

The number is not a typo. I'm still thinking of how I wanna handle 3, but I got a bunch of ideas and the timeskip is too big, so here's 4 in advance.

---------------------------------------------------
I sighed. How the fuck did it come to this? Oh right. I remember now.

"Hey Director Piggot! Leviathan said he wants to join! And he'll call all his siblings too!"

It would be bad enough if it was just the three Endbringers. But no. When Leviathan said all, he meant ALL. So here I was, in a room with Tohu. Tohu, the fifth Endbringer. Fifth out of twenty.
Apparently the Endbringers outnumbered the Protectorate and Wards ENE.

We have 15 heroes. AND I REFUSE TO COUNT THE FUCKING GANG MEMBERS THAT SIGNED ON. So yes. 14 heroes available to interview the potential recruits. Maidenfly can't do it because she's the referrer. That left me, Renick, Calvert, and Glenn to pick up the slack. Thankfully, Dragon agreed to handle the Simurgh. So we had just enough people to conduct the remaining interviews. I'd rather just skip this step, but no. Apparently Endbringers had to follow formalities too. Fucking Costa-Brown. She's not one talking to monsters capable of wiping out all life on Earth.

What exactly did I do to deserve this?
...
...
...
I hate my memory sometimes.
---------------------------------------------------
"So you're saying, that I have to work with the FUCKING BITCH that CAUSED MY TRIGGER? THE BITCH THAT TURNED MY BEST FRIEND AGAINST ME, AND TORTURED ME FOR YEARS!?" the lanky girl screamed.

"The city is literally falling apart. I'd like Shadow Stalker in juvie too, but we just don't have enough manpower right now. We need every hero we can get. Even if they have some unsavory tendencies. So you're just going to have to suck it up and work with Shadow Stalker. Dealing with people you hate is a part of growing up anyway."

Suddenly, the girl smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It wasn't a happy smile. It wasn't a sad smile. It was the smile of someone that was pushed beyond insanity, and had reached enlightenment.

"I see," the girl said, "So we just need more heroes huh?"

Emily Piggot did not understand why she had a sinking feeling in her gut at those innocuous words.
---------------------------------------------------
Sophia Hess was having a very bad day. She was being forced to patrol with a certain someone she'd normally very much wish to shoot. Unfortunately, because of another certain someone that deeply despised her, that ship had long since sunk. Shooting an allied 'hero' would be in direct violation of her probation. Also her target would actually, literally, kill her.

Apparently the reason for this patrol was to correct this certain someone's misconceptions.

That certain someone was Bladesmith. Everyone else knew him as Kaiser. The PRT didn't bother trying to hide it anymore.

"Just because there is no crime whatsoever in Brockton Bay, does not mean we can neglect patrolling. Heroes are more than senseless gorillas that only know violence. Heroes are shining beacons of light that help the lesser man. If we are to secure the existence of this city and a future for our children, we cannot be mere brutes seeking the thrill of a fight. We must be ideal role models. True pillars of the community that uplift the ones around us. Patrols are more than just opportunities to succumb to our baser urges and animalistic desires. They are chances to connect with our fellow man and support the the people. To bring them over to our righteous cause."

Sophia tried to count the number of dog whistles and racist euphemisms that were in that short speech. 'Too many', she concluded. Sophia was beginning to regret not going to juvie.
---------------------------------------------------
Bladesmith sighed internally. Teaching this child was virtually impossible. Apparently her definition of predator was stretched to include gazelles struggling inside a crocodile's jaws. Instead of getting it through her head that he was her superior and she should obey him, systematically beating her down with both hands tied behind his back, while wearing a blindfold, only served to make her more belligerent.

She was literally the stereotype he used in his hate speeches. The speeches he doesn't believe in, but makes anyway in order to retain power. She was bullheaded, aggressive, had a primitive mentality, and was completely uncultured. And he was supposed to make her understand the importance of a good reputation, teamwork, and helping others.

Bladesmith sighed out loud this time. He was beginning to wonder why he joined the Protectorate ENE in the first place. Then he remembered that it didn't matter anymore. The current alternative to being a Protectorate Hero was picking a fight with twenty Endbringers. Max Anders was not willing to commit suicide. Not yet anyway.
---------------------------------------------------
It was a great day to be Adam Mustain. As soon as he had the Merchants go legal, he started raking in wayyy more dough. Apparently sugar was more addictive than cocaine. At least he thought it was more addictive. Why else would so many people buy it? At a higher price too.

The PRT had tried to make him cut ties with his boys. Something about heroes not being allowed to own businesses. But thanks to that bitchin' Tinker from the guild, Dragon, they backed down like the little pussyshits they were, and he was still in charge of the Merchants.

With Leviathan camping in the PHQ basement, import-export was starting up again. Import-export run by his Merchants.

Life was looking up for Adam Mustain. He even got a sick new ride from his girl. A flying fucking yacht. ON WHEELS. Tanks were for plebs. And Surge was not a pleb.
---------------------------------------------------
Danny Hebert stared out the window as a yacht with wings drove into the Dockworkers Association's parking lot. They had a special lot reserved for it. Mostly because it totaled everyone's cars the first time it came. But bygones were bygones. After all, Surge had certainly held on to his end of the bargain. He also literally threw money at everyone. Wads of paper could be surprisingly painful.

He exited his office and went to meet the former drug lord.

"You got the goods?" Surge asked.

"Yup. I'll have my boys load it onto your yacht."

"This the real shit yeah? Straight outta Columbia?"

"India and Brazil too."

"Good shit man. The money's on its way. What about that other stuff I asked you for?"

"Well ever since Goliath paid a visit to the CUI, China's opened up, so we got stuff coming in from there. But it's mostly India and Thailand for the moment. It should arrive next week."

Surge smiled and shook Danny's hand.

"What about that little favour I asked?" Danny questioned while holding onto Surge's hand.

"My boys are taking care of it," Surge answered.

Danny, "A pleasure doing business with you as always, Surge."

"Course it is. Who the fuck do ya think I am? You got anymore good stuff comin' in you come to me ya hear?"

"Of course," Danny agreed.

The ferry terminal was finally getting fixed. And with the spice trade starting up again, the dockworkers were getting their jobs back.

Things were looking up for Brockton Bay.
---------------------------------------------------
Kenta stared at his former mentor. He recalled the battle that sunk Kyushu. How he was thoroughly trounced. Everytime he got back up, Leviathan just beat him back down. No matter how much stronger he grew, no matter how hot his fire burned, the gap never narrowed. All he saw was how big the difference truly was.

The world claimed it was a draw. The world was filled with idiots. The island fucking sunk and they called it a draw? Self-delusion should have its limits.

Now was no different. As he watched Leviathan relax on a custom-made, giant, tinkertech massage chair, Ryu understood once more just how much he had left to learn: far too much.
---------------------------------------------------
Days like this made Thomas Calvert wish he had actually committed suicide. In front of him was Goliath, the seventeenth Endbringer. The one that destroyed the Yangban and slaughtered the CUI's armies on his way out of the country. His presence in Brockton Bay and desire to join the Protectorate would likely have led to a declaration of war from China. Except China was currently undergoing a second communist revolution. With the Imperial Family's armies destroyed, the populace decided it was the perfect time to take revenge for their years of oppression. Also, the revolutionaries hailed Goliath as the reincarnation of Mao Zedong.

Thomas Calvert looked at the paper in front of him, then at Goliath.

Goliath looked back.

They both knew there was only one way this could end.

Thomas signed the paper.

"Welcome to the Protectorate. I wish you a fruitful career. You'll have a meeting with imaging at the end of the week. That should give you time to settle in," he said.

Goliath nodded, then left the room. The ridiculously flexible Endbringer somehow left through the doorway smaller than him, without damaging anything.

Thomas Calvert wished he could get drunk. But he knew that Renick, Piggot, and Glen would kill him out of jealously.

He would split timelines, but getting drunk in one affected the other as well.

Suddenly, Oni Lee Shinobi appeared right in front of him.

"Calvert-san, Ryu-sama has a request," the ninja said as he placed an equipment requisition form on Thomas' desk.

Lung Ryu wanted a custom-made massage chair similar to Leviathan's. Thomas Calvert stamped it with his forehead.
---------------------------------------------------
Outside of Brockton Bay, various capes dressed strangely similarly had gathered.

"NO LONGER ARE WE THE FALLEN! FOR OUR GODS HAVE ARISEN! WE ARE NOW THE RISEN!" one of the leaders shouted.

"THE GODS HAVE DECIDED! THEY HAVE CHOSEN BROCKTON BAY AS THEIR HOLY CITY!" another of the leaders shouted.

"WE SERVE THEIR WILL! WE SHALL JOIN THE PROTECTORATE ENE!" the last major branch leader shouted.

The rest of the members began chanting at the top of their lungs.
---------------------------------------------------
Note: While Colombian Sugar is a slang term for drugs, Columbia has actual sugar too. It's called Panela.

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

Over at the Wards common room, Maidenfly was happily watching Care Bears. The show had it right. You didn't fight villains with violence, you showered them with love beams and converted them to your side. Also the bears were absolutely adorable. Dawww look at them hugging.

She turned at the sound of the main door opening, and spotted Bonesaw happily skipping in.

"Hi Riley!" the lanky girl in a ladybug suit greeted the young biotinker.

"Hi!" Bonesaw greeted back.

"How about we have a tea party? We could have tea and crumpets, and Mr Slash could bake cookies," Maidenfly suggested.

Riley's eyes widened, "That sounds great!" she beamed.

At a bar that recently had to serve actual drinks after Villains stopped existing in Brockton Bay,

"Why do we even go to bars again? The three of you don't drink, and you start glaring at me like you want to kill me when I so much as order a beer," Calvert was annoyed. He could've been getting wasted with his boys, but no. Piggot just had to promote him to Deputy Director. So here he was, at Somer's Rock, staying sober. He really wished mental effects didn't bleed over timelines. He could be actively getting drunk in his secret base. He may not have been Coil anymore, but who doesn't want a secret underground bunker?

"Truce meeting with the villains," Piggot growled. Literally growled. They could hear the guttural gurgling.

"What villains? The only villain left was Coil. And we found his body outside the PHQ last week! It even came with a suicide note and recording," Coil Calvert exclaimed.

"Out of towners. Little shits are offering help to 'justify the continued existence of the PRT ENE'," Renick was pissed. Those punks from crime-ridden cities dared to come over to his perfectly clean city and disrupt it!? It wasn't easy cleaning up Brockton Bay. And if they thought they could make a mess? He was going to sic a bunch of S-class threats Triumverate-tier Heroes on them. ...He was also engaging in large amounts of self-deception. After all, if you're the only sane person in an insane world, then you're the one who's actually insane. And George Renick was nothing if not the paragon of mental stability.

"What's Glenn here for then? This sounds more like a military matter than PR one," Calvert knew the real reason deep down inside. He just didn't want to admit it.

"To get a feel for how to rebrand them when Maidenfly inevitably recruits them," Glen stated matter-of-factly.

The ward had successfully convinced the Slaughterhouse Nine to join the Protectorate ENE. He was currently considering retiring and dumping the problem onto someone else. How the fuck was he supposed to convince the public that a bunch of mass murderers were heroes? Jack Slash, Bonesaw, Burnscar, and Shatterbird were fine. He could shove them in different costumes. Maybe hide their genders with breast padding/wraps, or gender-neutral full-body plate armor. Nobody even knew about Cherish, so his only worries were her Master power. But Crawler, Mannequin, and Siberian? Glenn really wished he kept himself in better shape. Then he could afford a few drinks without risking diabetes, cardiac arrest, and hypertension.

Finally, the only villains in Brockton Bay(who didn't even come from or operate in Brockton Bay), arrived.

"GAHAHA you fools actually came!? Well, enjoy your HQ getting blown up while you're not there!" the Butcher guffawed.

The four members of the PRT Directorate stared at her like she was an idiot.

"You realize that we currently employ every former villain in the city right? And the Slaughterhouse Nine. And are currently in the midst of inducting Leviathan."

Meanwhile,

Over at PHQ, the rest of the Teeth were enjoying tea and crumpets in a posh reception room. They were insane, not stupid. It'd take a special kind of stupid to attack Brockton Bay's PHQ. They'd have better luck hitting the Triumverate during an Endbringer battle.

Fifty-four capes, and one Endbringer.

It wouldn't be a fight. It wouldn't even count as a slaughter. They'd just be disappeared.

So yes. The teeth were enjoying tea and crumpets. They were very good tea and crumpets. The little girl really knew how to host a tea party.

"This is delicious!" Spree exclaimed as he nommed on a crumpet.
"Pass the sugar please," Vex requested.
"Here you go!" Bonesaw replied.

"So have you guys considered joining the Protectorate ENE?" a certain headache inducing Ward asked.

"Unfortunately we have commitments in Boston to attend to. So for now that isn't possible. We'll be sure to consider it further after those commitments have been settled," Animos stated.

"Ah, how unfortunate. Well, we'll be here if you ever change your mind!" the Ward announced.

Hemorrhagia smacked Animos on the back of his head.

"Don't ruin a little girl's dreams!" she scolded.

"Now, now, let's not fight in front of the children," Reaver tried to placate them.

"As Animos said, we have some things to handle back in Boston. But we'll be right back after they're done," he assured the Ward.

Right then, Jack Slash, wearing an apron and holding a tray between his oven mitts walked right through the door, "Who wants cookies~?"

Spree immediately hopped up, "Oooh me!"

The party carried on and they eventually parted amicably.

After they left the building, the Teeth members swore to never come back to Brockton Bay. They weren't used to fearing for their lives quite so much. They also reaffirmed their decision to never have children. Little girls were terrifying.

Back at Somer's Rock

The Butcher silently stared at the four people that were definitely lying. She was insane, not stupid. What kind of idiot would actually believe those words?

Admittedly she didn't see any gang activity or crimes at all when she was walking over. Which was very strange in a post-Leviathan city. Not to mention random citizens on the streets were wishing her well in her new job and asking her what her new name would be. Apparently there was a betting pool going on for villain rebranding.

Yeah, the Teeth were fucked.

"Well, at least I can kill you," she raised her gattling gun.

Before she could fire, her surroundings suddenly changed. Then she felt a tap on her shoulder and went flying towards PHQ.

Just as she was about to teleport back, Animos roared at her, Hemorrhagia clubbed her on the back of the head, and Spree dogpiled her. Then, while she was dazed, Reaver put a chloroform-soaked cloth over her nose and mouth. They proceeded to drag the now unconscious Butcher back to Boston.

Once again at Somer's Rock
A woman in black body armor emblazoned with red suns, appeared where the Butcher was. The four were unphased.

Sundancer was confused at the reception, but hid it well and spoke, "Hi, I'm Sundancer with the Travellers. We've been in Brockton Bay for a couple weeks. We were originally supposed to work for Coil, but he committed suicide. He also left a note saying the Protectorate would take us in. We need help with something before we join the Protectorate ENE."

Calvert, already knowing the answer, simply asked, "Help with?"

"One our friends, something went wrong with her trigger. The lower half of her body turned her into a monster that creates murderous clones of capes it touches. We need help fixing her," Sundancer responded.

The PRT Directorate members simply looked at each other. Eventually Glenn opened his mouth, "Whelp. Let's see her."

That was when Piggot's phone started ringing. She took one look at the called ID, sighed and picked up.

"Hey Director Piggot! Leviathan said he wants to join! And he'll call all his siblings too!" the annoying cheerful voice said.

"...Of course he does," Piggot sighed.

"Also, I got a message from the Simurgh saying she can help with the Traveller's problem."

"And how exactly did you get this message?" Piggot asked.

"She made a weird tinkertech typewritter with stuff lying around the common room and typed it out," her single most hated enemy best Ward replied.

"....Why exactly aren't the Endbringer sirens ringing?" Emily was going to murder whoever thought it was a good idea to not sound the alarm.

"Oh she isn't actually here. She used telekinesis to make it."

"I'll call you back. There's something I need to check out," she said before hanging up.

Then, she turned to Renick and Calvert and said, "You deal with this. I have a call to make."

Piggot looked back to her phone and dialed Dragon's number, "Hello, Dragon? Where is the Simurgh right now?"

Dragon was confused by the question but responded anyway, "Currently in orbit over Southeast Asia. Why?"

------------------------------------
Note: The threadmarks are fine. I just didn't write the chapters in order.

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

Taylor Hebert has schizophrenia. She sees, smells, hears, and feels things that aren't there. Sometimes they tell her things. Bad things. But those can't be true. Can they?
She'll betray you. they'll all betray you.

After all, those are just parts of her delusions. Except... what if they aren't? What if she isn't schizophrenic? What if it's everyone else that's insane?
Puppies bearies snug hug whorf. Cuddle the fluffer!

Taylor honestly couldn't decide what would be worse. And was there even a difference?
Did you hear? About Mr Bearington and his son?

She was afraid. That one day she wouldn't be able to keep them in anymore. That the voices would take over.
Ring around the rosie a pocket of london bridge is burning down.
-
And then she stopped caring. If the world of sanity was a cruel place, better then, to return to the world of insanity.

"What's the matter Taylor? Missing mommy dearest's flute? Are you going to cry yourself to sleep for a week again?"

Taylor couldn't take it anymore. So she stopped trying to hold them in. They came out on their own.

"That's a pretty butterfly" she thought to herself and reached for it.
She gently touched Emma's nose with the back of her nail.

"Do you know where the garden is?" the butterfly asked.
"No, sorry. Although I think the bee knows" she replied.
"Nose," Taylor murmured to herself. Emma froze. Her memory dredging up demons that never truly died.

Taylor didn't like flies, but she didn't particularly hate them. So she simply waved away the one in front of her.
The back of Taylor's hand brushed across Emma's eyelids. Emma could feel her pulse quicken.

"You should join us next week. Me and him are going bowling," the guy next to her invited.
"The correct term, is he and I," Taylor corrected. 'He always mixes the order up,' Taylor thought to herself with a smile.
Taylor smiled. It was a cold smile. An empty smile. "Eye," she whispered. Emma wasn't in Winslow anymore. She was back there.

The button said push for cake. Well Taylor wanted cake, so she pushed the button.
Taylor pressed her finger against Emma's lips. Instead of the soft touch of skin, Emma felt the cold steel of a knife.

Taylor chewed with a smile, "It melts in my mouth."
Taylor's smile widened. She flashed her teeth in a cruel grin. "Mouth." Emma could see it again. The alley that she never left. She went absolutely still, her mind its own prisoner. Her past the jailer.

"I'm not weak!" she cried, "I'm stronger than you!". She swung her fists wildly. Fighting to get away from the ABB member with the knife.

"Ooh a quarter!" Taylor bent down to pick it up.
Taylor ducked beneath the fist.

The quarter began rolling away. Taylor hopped after it.
Taylor tackled Emma to the ground. Emma began to struggle harder. "NO! NO NO NO!" she tried to claw at Taylor's face.

"You're doing it wrong," Taylor's burly instructor said as he corrected her form. "When you swing you need to put your back and waist into it," he continued. "Watch," he demonstrated.
Taylor leaned back. Emma pressed forwards.

Taylor leaned back, twisted her torso to the left, and raised her arm. Then she simultaneously bent down and twisted her body to the right as she swung. The hammer struck molten steel with a satisfying, resounding ding.
Taylor leaned back further. Then, she twisted her hips, arched her back, and swung her fist. Two successive cracks were heard. The fist on Emma's chest, cracking her sternum, and the back of Emma's head suddenly hitting the floor.

---------‐----------------------

Sophia's eyes widened at the sight in front of her. Taylor. Taylor the victim. Taylor the prey. That Taylor. Had just beaten the living shit out of Emma in what was technically two hits, and arguably only one. Now Emma was on the ground bleeding out the back of her head. It was a lot of blood.

Then she realized her only friend was bleeding out in front of her. Then she saw Taylor drop to all fours. She didn't know what the creep was going to do, but she wasn't going to let it happen. Sophia saw red and charged.

Taylor's leg suddenly shot up behind her. The heel smashing into Sophia's crotch. The only saving grace was that Taylor wore sneakers. Still hurt like hell though.

Taylor's leg dropped back down then came back up again. And again. Sophia avoided the fourth by dropping to the floor.

Sophia rolled back and slowly crawled back up. Taylor stood up and turned to face her.

Sophia cocked her first back and charged. She gave a strong right cross at Taylor's face. In response, Taylor simply tilted her head and let the fist fly right past her. Then she stepped forward, gently caressed Sophia's cheek, and softly whispered, "We're going to have a fun time aren't we Sophie?"

Just like Steven.

Sophia blindly lashed out. With a hint a hint of terror and a touch of hate this time. She felt her fist connect with something. Then the sharp aching pain of broken knuckles.

Taylor had lifted her arms and redirected Sophia's fist into a locker.

Blinded by rage, hate, and terror, Sophia ignored the pain and charged.

This time, Taylor simply crouched down and let Sophia trip over her. Then she stood up, and walked over. Face down on the floor, with her nose most likely broken, the last thing Sophia heard before blacking out, were three simple words.

-------‐----------------------

Taylor glared at the insect in front of her. It kept dodging around. But not this time. This time she was serious. "I hate cockroaches," she declared as she stomped her foot down.
Taylor walked over to Sophia's head, declared her hatred for cockroaches, and stomped down. The crowd could practically feel the sneaker on their heads next. The message was clear. Taylor Hebert was done playing victim. She was about to exterminate them like the vermin they were. The gathered cronies scattered like wind and ran for the hills.

-------‐----------------------

Beneath her blanket, Madison Clements was trembling with fear. Taylor had one-sidedly beaten down Emma and Sophia. The two of them were currently in the hospital and undergoing surgery. Both of them had major concussions. Emma had a stroke. Sohpia needed facial reconstruction.

No matter how she told herself that she wouldn't be a prime target. That it was all Sophia and Emma. That she only did small pranks. Deep down inside, Madison Clements knew the truth. And it terrified her. She wouldn't be going back to school for awhile. And when her parents eventually dragged her in, she would be doing her absolute best to avoid Taylor. She rather liked not getting brain damage or being at risk of dying.

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

Note: This snip series will never be released in order or become its own story. Anyone else wants to take it? Feel free. Just treat it right.

She danced through the storm of glass with unmatched grace and beauty. A waltz flawlessly transitioned to a pirouette into a box step. The blades of glass flew at her from every direction. She dove into them without hesitation. Yet not a single blade found its mark. It was an absolute impossibility. But it was clearly possible.

Every single step a blow to my ego. Every single spin a stab at my pride. I hated her and wanted to kill her. But I couldn't. No matter how hard I tried, I could not reach her. Eventually, she arrived in front of me.

"Why are you sad?" She asked.

I had no answer.

"How much did it cost?" She asked.

Again I had no answer.

"What do you have?" She asked.

I could not answer.

I knew the answer. I had nothing. Nothing at all. No skill, no grace, no will, no heart. But to say it, would be cementing it. A theory turned fact. Then again, did that really matter?

I was a mass murderer. The only ones that caused more damage than me were Endbringers. But was I truly happy? No. Was I proud of it? What pride was there in winning a competition with no competitors? Especially when you weren't even the true victor?

I began to attack again. And once more I saw her wondrous dance. A dance I would never, could never replicate. I could not match her in skill. I could not reach her with power.

She stepped through the storm once more. Then she reached out, gently grabbed my upper arm and smiled.

"Don't be ashamed of yourself. Everyone has something only they can do." She said.

She was right. I was ashamed of myself. Always had been. Shame, it followed you for life. She was right again. There was something only I could do.

Shame followed me for life. Would continue to follow me for life. For life.
------------------------
The woman in glass became the woman of glass.
The glass bird fell, and shattered.
------------------------

The girl in front of him moved and acted so much like Catherine. The face and figure were different, but the presence and demeanor were oh so painfully familiar.

He moved unnaturally. His arms, legs, and even head contorted at impossible angles as he charged at her. Hooks flew and claws flashed. But nothing hit.

She stepped forward, ducked beneath an arm, and touched his shoulder.

What was left of the once kind man ached and cried and howled.

He was always chasing but never reaching. It was her that reached him. Every time he'd come up with some foolish way to get her attention. To gain her affection. She'd simply call him a fool and tell him he already had it.

Then she said five simple words.

"Marie and Annie are crying."

The machine broke. The man awoke.

All the beautiful memories turned horrific torture that he sealed away. It came back.

He could see them. He could hear them. He could practically feel them. His beloved and their two beautiful daughters.

His first date, his first kiss, his one and only love.

His two little princesses. One wanted a castle on the moon. The other wanted a palace under the sea.

Then he saw their tears. Tears at what he'd done; what he'd become.

Tears at being forgotten; being abandoned.

No more. He wouldn't let them cry anymore.

------------------------
Alan Gramme disabled Mannequin's suit.
The lifeless doll died a human.
------------------------

Siberian fought viciously. Her invulnerability meant she could completely ignore defence. On both sides of the fight. But being able to bypass your opponent's defence didn't mean shit when you couldn't hit them.

Her movements were erratic, but effective. And for some reason, strangely familiar. Then Manton realized it. She was spelling letters and numbers with her body.

"F 1 6 1 1 D E U S" Manton muttered to himself.

"F 1 6 1 1 D E U S" Manton repeated.

"F 1 6 1 1 D E U S" Manton couldn't stop.

He knew what that meant. He wished he didn't. But he did.

Then the girl spoke, "She's dead".

Manton broke down laughing. It was true. His precious baby girl was dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

And that whore he thought he loved left him.

The girl spoke again, "It's your fault".

NO! IT WASN'T! Manton told himself. But the voices deep inside. The ones he smothered as best he could. They broke free. You gave her the vial. You made her drink it. You killed her.

And they were right. It wasn't his wife's fault. It was his. He killed their daughter. There was no one else to blame but him.

This time the girl asked a question, "What would she think?"

Manton couldn't bear it. Manton couldn't bear to guess at the answer. But the voices wouldn't leave him be. She'd hate you. She'd fear you. You parade around a naked monster made in her likeness. She's right to be disgusted. To never want to see you again.

The girl asked one more question, "Don't you want to see her?"

He did. And he would.

------------------------
The father sought the daughter.
He already knew where to find her.

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

Shove the muscle memory of a bunch of martial arts legends into the body of a traumatized teenage girl in a gang-filled, crime-ridden hell-hole and watch the blood flow.

-------------
I woke up in another pool of blood. No memory of what happened.

Around me were scattered body parts. Not a single whole corpse.

It was practically the scene of a Slaughterhouse attack.

But deep down inside, I knew who'd done it.

I did. I don't know how. But I know I did it. I can't remember why. But I'm certain I'm the one that killed them all.

All I remember is that everything felt like I dream. That I was a passenger in my own body, watching someone else move it.

Then it all faded to black. When I came to, my muscles were burning, my lungs were heaving, my blood was practically on fire. So it must have been me. There's no other explanation.

The first time it happened, I panicked and froze up. I curled up into a ball and cried. I couldn't think, much less seek help. Eventually someone found me and called the cops. Actually, come to think of it, you look a lot like the lady who took my statement the first time. Are you two sisters?

Ah sorry, I'm getting off topic. But really, there's nothing else to say.

I'm a mass murderer. You could probably charge me with attempted genocide. I may not remember it, but that's hardly a defense for leaving behind several hundred dead bodies.

-------------
Armsmaster stared at the interrogation recording. The girl sounded broken. Empty. Hollow. It would be sad, if those adjectives didn't also describe how she looked when she was tearing through a horde of gang members and parahumans like Leviathan on steroids.

The fight recordings were incredible and horrifying in equal measure. The only reason Taylor Hebert was in custody, was that she turned herself in. The girl was afraid of hurting the one person close to her.

And wasn't that a terrifying thought: if she didn't fear that she'd kill her own father, she'd have gone on an unstoppable rampage. One that definitely required Triumvirate intervention. It was frankly galling to admit, but he was absolutely certain that the Protectorate ENE would've stood absolutely no chance against her.

He looked at her ratings once again. Thinker 10, Brute 3, Mover 4, Striker 3. Just strong enough, just fast enough, just enduring enough, to take full advantage of what was essentially Simurgh levels of precognition. Then, there was the striker power. Any weapon she used was harder and tougher. Not to the point of being able to cut through anything and everything. But sharp enough to be noticeable. Sharp enough to slice Hookwolf into several dozen pieces.

Armsmaster brought up footage of her first fight. It was a compilation of distant, shaky, low resolution, cellphone camera recordings.

If he could input her combat style into his prediction software, and use his armor in place of her enhanced physique, then with the addition of his nanothorn blade, he may just be able to end and endbringer.

-------------
A lanky figure, female, was surrounded by 7 large figures. They were later found out to be male members of the Winslow Track Team.

The girl was retreating, pulling her shoulders close, presumably afraid.

The boys advanced, two of them had duct tape, 3 had makeshift weapons.

They said something. Suddenly, her body language changed. She stopped trembling, she stopped retreating, what little that could be seen of her facial expression was blank. Similar to someone in shock.

She stepped forward, ducking under a fist, stepped right up til she was almost touching the puncher, then struck. She pivoted her back foot, rotated her hips, threw forwards her shoulder, twisted her wrist, anything at all she could do to increase the amount of kinetic energy going into her fist at point blank range. It was a perfect one-inch punch targeted at the boy's solar plexus.

The boy dropped to his knees heaving for breath. One of his friends came in swinging with a crowbar. She darted forwards, used both hands to push the arm of the boy swinging, and redirected the blow onto the head of the one on the ground. Then she followed up with swift throat jab, a punch to the kidney, and finally a cuff around the ear.

Within seven seconds, two of her would-be assailants were incapacitated, and the other five were intimidated. She took the chance to grab the crowbar the second attacker dropped, and procceded to continue the offensive.

She charged at the nearest one, who reflexively swung his fist at her. The girl slightly shifted out of her way, then used both their momentums to drive the curved end of the crowbar at his heart. As he collapsed on the ground, she struck his chest once more to jump-start the heart she stopped. This was the first sign that she had some sort of thinker ability. She struck her target's heart at just the right time to stop it from beating, then hit it again to restart it.

The other four snapped out of their stupor and came at her. She spat into the eyes of one holding a baseball bat, stunning him for a few seconds. Within that time, she dodged a blow from a 2x4, then took a punch in the shoulder, and used that force to spin around and strike even harder at the jaw of the third one.

Four down, one temporarily occupied. All within twenty seconds, and the only time she was hit, was intentional.

Of the remaining two, one had the presence of mind to throw his duct tape at her before charging her. She dropped her crowbar, caught the duct tape, and partially unwound it. As he charged, she sidestepped him then looped the tape around his neck, and tightened it. Then she dropped it, did a forward roll under a baseball bat swing, crouched on one knee instead of standing all the way up, reached out around the swingers testicles, and clenched her fist.

While still holding onto the poor man's testicles, she rolled to the side, causing him to sidehop and fall along with her roll, lest she somehow ripped it off. And seeing what had happened to his compatriots, he fully believed castration was a possibility.

The last man dropped his weapon and ran. She stood up, grabbed the baseball bat, and threw it at the back of his knee. He fell, and began begging for mercy as she walked up to him.

She simply stomped on his head until he stopped moving.


-------------
Colin shuddered at the cold brutality. The ruthless efficiency. It was a miracle they all survived.

Then he brought up another video. This one of her going against actual gang members. This would be the first time she 'woke up in a pool of blood'.

From what he could find out, one of the boys in the previous video had gang connections. Specifically, with the ABB. Things escalated from there.

-------------
It was only three thugs this time. But they all had knives.

They circled in on her. Again, the girl looked close to a panic attack.

But the moment they were about to attack, something changed.

She fell backwards into a roll, and picked up a stick on her way up. Then she charged forwards at the closest target.

As he reflexively swung at her, she sidestepped the swing, used one hand to jam the stick into his eye, then followed up with a palm onto the protruding end of the stick. The man fell back dead. Lobotimized by a stick.

The sheer brutality shocked them. She took this chance to slip out of her jacket and wind it around her hands. One of the knife wielders recovered sooner and charged her. She wrapped the jacket around his wrist, then used her body weight to redirect the knife into the neck of the person just behind him.

Afterwards, she pulled his arm down, put his elbow on top of her knee, and applied pressure to dislocate the joint. Unable to apply any strength into his arm, and in too much pain to think clearly, he could not resist her bringing the knife back into his chest. Tip first, repeatedly.

-------------
This was his tenth time watching this. And Collin was still disturbed.

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

If the first video implied precognition, the seventh proved it. After leaving behind almost a hundred corpses, Lung finally took notice. So he sent Oni Lee to get rid of her.

As she was walking along the street, her shoulders slumped, her facial expression screaming, 'I have clinical depression', she suddenly stopped. Her 'other side' had taken over once again.

Taylor Hebert stepped into a small alley, limiting the possible avenues of attack.

Lee, being the unthinking, brain damaged, assassin that he is, teleported behind her, prepared to stab her in the spine, and be done with it. She reacted before he had even appeared. She pivoted around and struck the clone in liver, then slid her foot back, kicking the next clone's legs out from under it, before using her shoulder as a fulcrum to throw it onto the ground.

Then she let herself fall, rolled to the side, and used the resulting momentum to uppercut a third clone between its legs. As it turned to ash, she turned a kick up into a flying roundhouse and struck a fourth clone in the head. Then she used her legs to sweep the ashes into the air, obstructing the assassin's vision.

Oni Lee took to a nearby rooftop to get a better view of the situation. Taylor had thrown a knife beforehand at where he would've been, and struck him in the eye before he could react. The assassin fled. The girl did not pursue.

-------------
Oni Lee tried once more. This time, with thirteen gang members armed with guns by his side. The result was something you'd see in an over-the-top, unrealistic action film.

It was an abandoned warehouse. The girl had obtained a katana from god knows where. Well, the PRT later discovered a body hidden an alley a block away. It was likely she'd ambushed a gang member and stole his weapon.

She was hiding behind a pillar, completely still, her breathing shallow, slow, and silent. The gang members had split up to search the place. It was her last known location. As one approached the pillar, she slashed upwards, cutting through his arm and slashing the front half of his head off.

Before the others noticed, she pulled the corpse behind the pillar, then switched cover to a nearby piece of rusted machinery.

Someone noticed the blood. They called for backup and moved to investigate. Three others, two male and one female, went to assist. The girl rushed out from cover, bisected two of them, impaled a third, then disarmed the fourth and used her as a bullet sponge before dashing back into cover. She had lost her weapon, but her enemies lost over a third of their number.

Oni Lee teleported to the pillar she was hiding behind, but she was no longer there. She had wall-runned into a backflip over Oni Lee. By the time the assassin saw her shadow, it was too late. She shot him in the top of his head.

Seven minutes in, five gunmen and one of the most dangerous capes in the city were dead.

In doing so however, she had exposed herself. The remainder immediately opened fire. She dodged a few shots, shot several out of the air, and deflected the rest by hitting it with her handgun. It was abject insanity. And somehow she lasted long enough for them to need to reload. Taking advantage of this lapse in bullets, she dashed forwards attempting to turn the battle into a melee. She managed to jam the barrel into a person's eye, then pull out his knife and slit his throat, before the others finished reloading.

As they opened fire once more, she threw the knife at a nearby woman. It landed in her throat. Then, Taylor dived for cover. Several bullets grazed her, cause superficial wounds across her back, stomach, legs, neck, and arms, but none had truly hit her. She moved in their general direction as she continued avoiding shots. Eventually, she reached one, jammed her middle finger all the way through his eye, and wiggled it around.

Eight dead. With only scratches to show for it. It was intimidating to say the least. She wasn't like Hookwolf, or Lung, or Glory Girl. She didn't just shrug off bullets and charge. Instead, she simply moved through the storm with inhuman precision, and finished them off with cruel efficiency. The disparity between her appearance and her actions were unnerving to her opponents. She had the appearance of a young girl, but her actions belonged to a warrior of ten thousand battlefields. But they too were veterans. And they were desperate, so instead of retreating, they pressed the attack and continued shooting.

It made no difference to her. If anything, it made things even easier. She simply closed in and finished them off one by one.

-------------
The sudden loss of manpower, and death of Oni Lee, led to an attack by the Empire, looking to push even further into ABB territory. Upon finding out about her, the E88 attempted to recruit her. That was the beginning of a bloody storm in Brockton Bay. One that Taylor Hebert was the center of.

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

The President of USA read the report in front of him. The S9 were spotted on the road heading to another small town. His hometown. There they'd torture and murder everyone and he couldn't do anything. It was frustrating. Military intervention would lead to the PRT and Protectorate kicking up a fuss.

A worse than useless organisation with too much political powered summed them up nicely. Those leeches took funding from more useful sectors of government like education and healthcare. And what did they have to show for it? Fat fucking load of nothing. Hell those sons of bitches were the spearhead of the NEPEA 5 laws that drove so many capes into villainy. Backed by the fucking house and the fucking senate to boot.

His hands were completely fucking tied and the public blamed him for all its problems. Well. He had enough. And there was one thing he could do. He picked up his phone and called an old friend.

"This is James Tagg."

"James, I need you to stall those cockmongling cuntmunchers you call colleagues."

"Can I ask why, Mr President?"

"I'm getting rid of the S9, and I'm not letting those worthless parasites stop me this time. If you can stall them a few hours longer, I plan on fully activating the military and dealing with our villain problem."

"Sir yes sir."

The president hung up, then picked up his nuclear football.

Hundreds would die. Millions would be saved. He hit the button. A second sun appeared on U.S. soil.

He paged his secretary and told her to prepare an online, public press teleconference in five minutes. The capes and cowls wanted to play the PR game? He could do that too.

His office phone starred ringing. He looked at the caller ID. It was Rebecca Costa Brown. He knew what she planned. She'd declare that he'd been mastered, then use that to impress the importance of the PRT on the populace. Not this time you fucking bitch.

Alexandria was immune to physical damage, but she could still hear. He was about to correct that. Yes. He figured out that RBC was Alexandria. The man was around enough body doubles to know one when he saw one. Even if that was someone else's body double. He also caught the telltale signs of a glass eye.

The president grabbed a megaphone, put on some earplugs, answered the call, and began screaming obscenities until she hung up.

It was only a matter of time until she sent people over. So he called his people over first. He hit the 'broadcast to whole White House' button on his desk and spoke into the mic.

"Attention all personnel, the PRT has been compromised. I repeat. The PRT has been compromised. Alexandria is Rebecca Costa Brown. As we speak, they are sending people over for a hostile takeover. WE FIGHT FOR FREEDOM! WE SHALL NOT LET THEM OVERTURN OUR DEMOCRACY!"

That sent the base onto high alert.

Just in time for the press conference. He opened his computer and began the livestream. News quickly spread. News does that when a nuke is dropped on USA.

"Citizens of the United States of America. I come to you now with both bad and good news. Mere minutes ago, a nuclear missile hit Vermont. This was not an enemy attack. This was us cleaning house and doing what the PRT and Protectorate promised decades ago. We have ended the Slaughterhouse 9.

When you elected me, I promised to cleanse this country of powered crime. I spent three quarters of my term hamstrung by our so called heroes. I know your complaints. I read every single one of them. Well, my secretaries, interns, public relations people and other assorted employees read them. Then they give me the report of what you all said.

Unfortunately, I have been completely unable to do anything. Instead I've had a target painted on my back and been forced to take the blame for every poor policy passed under this administration, when we've had no real power to even pass policies. I'm here to tell you why. The government as a whole is nothing more than a figurehead. It is the capes in power. It always has been.

They have people in both parties. Enough to pass any bill they want and make it seem bipartisan. Some of those people are mastered. Others are mere patsies. More are simply corrupt. But the fact of the matter is that they all operate under the orders of the PRT. Even the head of the PRT, the organisation supposedly devoid of parahumans, has a cape at its helm. Rebecca Costa Brown is Alexandria.

But this changes today. I am declaring a state of emergency. Parahuman crime has gone on too long. Destroyed too many lives. Just look at Brockton Bay and Detroit. Mass murderers with bodycounts in the hundreds if not thousands. And we just let them walk around on the off chance that they'll participate in an endbringer fight and actually be useful.

NO MORE! I TELL YOU, NO MORE! WE WILL NO LONGER BE VICTIMS. IT IS TIME TO FIGHT BACK! TO USE YOUR SECOND AMENDMENT RIGHTS!

As we speak, the traitors are coming to detain me. They will tell you that I've been mastered. That a new villain trying to destroy the country has appeared. They will have me assassinated in prison and declare it the work of some nebulous villain. That is a lie.

It is time to fight back against our oppressors. They think themselves gods among men. They think themselves beyond reproach. Untouchable. They play their games with their own rules, heedless of the pain and suffering they inflict upon us mortals. No more! I say NO MORE!

As of today, with the powers granted to me during this state of emergency, I hereby declare it fully legal to kill someone with a birdcage order. I refuse to let mass murderers walk the street any longer and go home without fear of reprisal just because they put on a mask. If they take human lives, then let their lives be taken in turn.

I know some of you will talk about how escalation of force on our end will lead to those villains escalating in kind. To that, I simply say: what escalation? They're already killing us. And we're rolling over and dying because we're afraid they'll kill us more? No. No more.

I hereby order the NSA and military to actively track and kill villains with a known bodycount in their civilian identities.

This is America. We are Americans. We will not bow down to tyranny! We did not bow to the British. We did not bow to the French. We did not bow to the Japanese or the Germans. AND WE WILL NOT BOW TO CAPES!"

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

Some people just want to see the world burn. Literally. As in they literally want to raise the temperature of the entirety of Planet Earth until every bit of matter underwent the chemical processes of thermal decomposition and combustion.

After all, fire is beautiful. Flames just have that exquisite flicker, that gentle all-consuming extreme warmth. A picturesque work of art. And art is meant to be shared. At least, that's what Taylor Hebert - rampant, unrepentant, clinically insane pyromaniac Artist Extraordinaire thought. No one else agreed. Funny how delusions of grandeur worked Everyone else was stupid. She would show them all! That's what artists do.

It didn't matter if the masses were too boorish to appreciate their work. Or if the culture was too sensitive to understand true beauty. An artist sought to inspire change. Just look at Igor Stravinsky's Rite of Spring. Or Adolf Hitler's Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei. Or that guy who ate a ridiculously overpriced banana. Seriously, what kind of fool would pay $120,000 dollars for a banana? Even the emperor from "The Emperor's New Clothes" wouldn't be that stupid.

But anyway, Taylor was an artist. And her art, was not of dance and music. It was not of splotches of coloured liquid on a canvas. It was not of a comedic performance. No. Her art, was fire. Literal fire. The beauty and grace of a burning building.

It all started with Winslow High. Long story short, it was the standard artist's past of being poor, bullied, misunderstood, and ignored. Not unlike Vincent Van Gogh who died eating paint.

------

"Taylor, please... You don't have to do this," said a teacher whose name she couldn't remember. She vaguely recalled that it started with g. Gerald? Geronimo? It didn't matter.

"Taylor. Please. You don't have to do this. I promise we'll take better care of you. Just don't do this." Was what he said.

What she heard was, "................." nothing. She wasn't paying attention. Instead, she was busy setting up the last of the explosives she got from her new best friend Bakuda on the final support pillar.

Bakuda was nice. Bakuda loved explosions. Some explosions are fiery, some are purely concussive, some are icy. She wasn't purely devoted to fire like Taylor was. But that's okay. Besides, the world would be boring if everyone was the same. So they respected each other's differences like proper friends, and fed off of each other's enthusiasm for their respective forms of art. As the old saying went, 'your kink is not my kink, but your kink is still ok.' It wasn't like Bakuda hated fire. She just didn't love it as much.

"Taylor... why... why are you doing this?" asked her ex-best friend Emma. Emphasis on EX. Now, Emma was just well... Emma. Eugh, Her hair wasn't even the right shade of red. Better to have an entirely wrong colour than be the wrong shade of the right colour. Emma was a prime case of 'first loser is worse than last place.' She was also apparently tough enough to survive having a plastic bag filled with smoke put over her head — long enough to tear the bag. Taylor knew she should have gone for a bucket of acid and taser like she did for Sophia. But for the sake of what was once friendship, Taylor decided to answer.

"Because it's cold. Haven't you heard? 'Build a man a fire, and he'll be warm for a day. Set a man on fire, and he'll be warm for the rest of his life.' — Terry Pratchet. You should read more Emma."

Emma Barnes stared in mute horror. Taylor had gone insane. Everyone was going to die. It was all her fault. Or at least that's what she would have told herself if she hadn't been neck deep in denial and unhealthy coping mechanisms from day one of her would've-been-a-trigger-event-except-she-couldn't-trigger event. Instead, she struggled harder against Bakuda's trademark ultra flammable containment foam. She tried digging up Taylor's old wounds. Anything she could think of to slow her down.

"Taylor! What would your mother think!?"

Taylor's wounds had long since been cauterized. Such was the beauty of fire! It didn't just burn people. It stopped them from bleeding. Also, she's delusional.

"She'd be proud of course. Didn't you know? She was one of Lustrum's lieutenants. She was a revolutionary. I'm just following in her footsteps and starting an artistic movement. Anyway, that's enough talking. Time to burn the school down."

-----

And thus marked Taylor's first case of arson work of art: Flaming Pile of Shit.

Her second target, was the Medhall building. Had to keep the momentum going lest she caught a case of artist's block after all.

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

Villains breaking out of prison keeping you down? Annoying bastards in multiple timelines proving difficult to kill? Worried about leaving evidence behind when you commit murder? Have no fear! Introducing.... THE CANCER BLASTER! A specialized flashlight which blasts ultra high frequency ionizing radiation outside the visible light spectrum. Here, just listen to some of our users review it.

George Gonzales, BBPD Chief: Bringing cancer blasters into the showers of our cape containment cells was an absolutely inspired move. Giving all our villains everything cancer, and I do mean everything, then denying them treatment has greatly reduced Brockton Bay's villain population. Now the Protectorate can fight on even terms with the Nazis.

Taylor Hebert, Bullying Victim: I used to be bullied really badly. My best friend betrayed me and shoved me in a locker filled with used tampons and rancid menstrual blood. In exchange I gave her cancer. Chemotherapy really helped mellow her out. She's too busy dealing with agony to trouble me any more. And ever since everyone bullying me got cancer, people have noticed a pattern and are leaving me alone. Thank you Cancer Blaster, for fixing my school life.

Amy Lavere Dallon, Panacea: Stop. Please. Just stop. What is wrong with you people? Ho- HOW COULD YOU JUST GIVE PEOPLE CANCER!? DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MORE WORK I HAVE TO DO!? I'M ALREADY OVERWORKED ALREADY! FOR FUCK'S SAKE JUST STOP. Wait. Lavere? Isn't that Marquis's name? What.

Max Anders, Kaiser: I am not Kaiser. Medhall has no association whatsoever with the Empire Eighty-Eight. I will sue you for slander and defamation. Is purposefully giving people a terminal illness not morally repugnant enough for you? Do you really have to stoop so low as to slander good, honest, men? Have you no shame?

Buy your Cancer Blaster now and solve your problems the natural way!

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

To kill something with Kindness, one must first know what Kindness is. Kindness, the older brother of Mercy, is a 23-inch serrated blade, each tooth set for cutting off faces. Faces which are then either sewn onto clothing or worn as a mask. Usually both.

Said 23-inch serrated blade, was currently in the possession of one Taylor Anne Hebert.

Hence when given the advice "kill them with kindness" with regards to dealing with her bullies, Taylor heard, "kill them with Kindness". The distinction was important. That single capital letter denoting a proper noun was the difference between being like Christ, and sending people to Christ. One means to treat others extremely kindly, the other means to kill people with a 23-inch serrated blade.

Suffice to say, she succeeded. But before going into detail on how she succeeded, one must first understand the history of Kindness.

Kindness, was not a normal 23-inch serrated blade favoured by deranged serial killers. No. Kindness was a serial killer turned cult leader's ritual weapon of choice. Said cult leader actually fell so deeply in love with Kindness that she sacrificed her soul to the devil and offered her body to the blade. The ritual was bloody, disgusting, creepy, and by the end of it, even Lucifer was weirded out.

The former angel was so creeped out that he actually began supporting atheism to prevent further occurrences of such rituals. So in one sense, Kindness was a holy blade.

Either way, Kindness was magic. Literally. How it found its way into Taylor's hands? God only knows. Maybe literally. The blade did have an uncanny ability to be in the hands of people about to change history or reshape the world. While it didn't remove that potential, it did alter the course of the user's destiny. Sometimes for the better, many other times for the worse. What did you expect? It's a weapon that the devil is disgusted by.

Anyways, back to the story at hand, Taylor decided to kill her bullies with Kindness. She wasn't stupid enough to simply go up to them in the middle of the day and stab them. That would've been ridiculous. Instead, she first decided to stalk them, starting with the biggest threat: Sophia Hess.

Sophia Hess, like all humans, was a creature of habit. Emphasis on creature in Sophia's part. Note that habit and routine are two different things. Sophia had ingrained habits, but constantly diverged from her would-be routine. How Taylor even knew about Sophia's routine, could be chalked up to Kindness.

Sophia headed to a nondescript car after school everyday. That car drove her to the PRT HQ, where she changed into her Wards outfit. And wasn't that a shocker. It would've been problematic if Taylor hadn't already decided to murder her. Now it was problematic in a difference sense. However, it also gave her an opportunity. Wards went out on patrols regularly. Patrols which Sophia deeply loved deviating from. She constantly ditched her patrol mate, thinking that her power made her untouchable. Technically it did. But magic 23-inch serrated blade that even the devil avoids does what it wants. In this case, cut through intangible objects. Par for the course, really, when you consider that it's used to sacrifice souls. Hard to tie down a soul if you can't make it corporeal.

After her scheduled patrol, Sophia would sneak out during the Witching Hour for a second, unsanctioned, patrol. Boy was Kindness happy about that. The target happily going out during the Witching Hour on a regular basis? Alone? Into dangerous areas? The only way it could be easier was if Sophia was also a devil worshipper that had set up a satanic ritual to sacrifice herself on.

During her extra patrol, Sophia had a notable habit. Namely, she didn't give more than a passing glance at people calling for help. She mainly sought out the sounds of fighting. This was tied to her life philosophy of strength and willingness to defy destiny. Taylor heard Kindness wheezing with laughter. It was a disturbing sound, between a chuckle and a sob, akin to deflating lungs. Suffice to say, the idea that simply being willing to fight back turned you into a "Predator", regardless of how pathetically weak you were, even if a teacup puppy could beat you in a fight after you ambushed it with a baseball bat... Kindness found that notion ridiculous, and was more than happy to correct it.

So it was in the dead of night, when Taylor waited near, but not at, Sophia's most common patrol route, that someone decided to mug her. 'Perfect!' She thought. It saved her the trouble of acting. She screamed, first in fear, then in rage. It was essentially Sophia's mating call. Naturally our dear "Shadow Stalker" and wasn't that a ridiculous name. It's what kids would call pedophiles. But yes, "Shadow Stalker" appeared. Seeing as Taylor had already stabbed the man 17 times, the wannabe hero was very late.

Taylor, having hidden Kindness in its sheathe at her lower bank, had dropped to the ground, held her face in her hands, and begun crying. She acted distraught and seemed to be breaking down over killing someone. Sophia, upon seeing this, decided to break into her whole predator-prey spiel in the hopes of recruiting another "Emma". For all her talk about being strong and cunning, she was clearly neither, as she didn't think that something was wrong with the situation. Or maybe that was Kindness at work suppressing her instincts. Either way, she was screwed.

The moment Ms 'has the name of a pedophile' stepped close to comfort the 'traumatized girl on her first steps to being a vigilante', Taylor drew Kindness and drove into Sophia's waist until it went through her spine. Her next step was to remove Sophia's ability to communicate, so she brought Kindness down on Sophia's fingers. And just in case the PRT phone was voice activated, Taylor reached into Sophia's mouth, ignored the biting, pulled out the the tongue, and cut it off. With no way to run, no way to call for help, and no way to fight back, the predator had become the prey. The young gazelle would be an example of why medium sized herd animals did not provoke actual apex predators. Unfortunately, she wouldn't learn from that lesson. She would be the lesson.

All that was left, was mangled, skinless pile of indistinguishable flesh. Taylor needed a new bag; the trio had ruined her current one.
---------
Fun fact: Mercy is actually a type of sword used during the medieval era to finish off wounded knight instead of letting them slowly bleed to death.

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

Content warning. This one is significantly darker and less humorous. Think canon s9 levels of messed up.

Spoiler

Kindness alone is not enough. A lot of the time, words are just that. Words. They don't have substance until you put action behind them. Sure a kind word could save a life. But usually it's useless. And often enough, it could doom one. That's where charity comes in. Actually reaching out and giving to those who need it. A lot of the time, tangible support is what saves lives.

Even Kindness alone was not enough. As great as the magical 23-inch serrated blade was, it could not solve all problems. Hence Taylor created Charity.

Charity was the name of her brand new bow made out of bones and sinew. It was made in the same manner as Mother Teresa's bow. According to Kindness anyway. Kindness told Taylor a lot about its past users. Mother Teresa's lack of actual care for the people she supposedly helped made so much more sense now. Boy was she crafty. Ritual sacrifice under the guise of compassion? No wonder Kindness loved her.

But this all raises a question: why would Taylor need Charity? The answer... was Madison Clements.

You see, Madison Clements was a herd animal that unlike Sophia Hess, was not rabid.

Individually, it made her less dangerous. She never dared to get physical, didn't know the right way to twist a knife, and stuck with petty pranks like the rest of her group. She was like an annoying piece of background noise that slowly but surely built up. She wasn't the straw that broke the camel's back per say. But she certainly put a lot of straw on that camel's back.

The problematic thing about Madison Clements, was that she was never alone. Even Emma spent time by herself. But Madison? Never. Not even in her own home. When she went out, it was always in public spaces crowded enough that there were people watching, but empty enough that you'd notice someone going missing. To make matters worse, she always had at least two friends with her. Safety in numbers. Naturally those two friends joined in on the bullying as well. But while Madison may have been nothing more than a hanger-on, in that small group, she was the undisputed leader.

She thrived on popularity and constantly craved safety. This made dealing with her troublesome. There was simply no way to get her alone in an isolated location. So a more crude approach was necessary. But Kindness convinced her otherwise. A public execution would cause too many problems in getting to her next target. So Taylor instead decided to monitor Madison for a while longer.

Every Sunday afternoon, Madison would meet up with a group of friends to go shopping at the Boardwalk. The group would be between three to seven people. They would meet up at Madison's house, then her father would drive them over. They always started at 'Madam Zanya's Botique', then went for desert at 'Antonio's Gelatinous Gelato'. Afterwards they would head to 'Ms Frilly's Fortunes' - usually to ask about their inability to hold a healthy relationship. Finally, they'd wander around window shopping before being driven back home by Madison's father.

This routine made her predictable. It also kept her safe. There was no way of approaching her that didn't involve a very high risk of getting caught. That just meant Taylor had to change tactics. If she couldn't go to Madison, she'd just have to bring Madison to her. Perhaps showing a little kindness (the act, not the knife) would help.

After all, Sophia's untimely demise must have shocked the poor girl. Then again, a sudden showing of sympathy would be suspicious. No, Taylor would have to be even more cunning than that. Herd animals may not be particularly intelligent, but they were very good at recognizing danger.

Everyone desires something. A craving in the depths of their soul hidden from the world as a whole. Something deep and fundamental to their being. The perfect bait. From what she could tell, Madison's was safety. Popularity was simply a means to that end. She wished to avoid bullying, so she joined up with the group picking on Taylor. Being liked by her surroundings reduced the chances of anyone daring to attack her. Her routine kept her safe, so she kept to it. Therefore, what Taylor had to to do, was compromise that sense of security. But simply threatening it would be far from enough. All that would achieve was making Madison even more cautious. No... She had to do it in such a way to it brought Madison away from people. That meant making it seem like people was the threat.

And wasn't that a challenge. Humans naturally craved other humans. Isolation was an age old method of driving people insane. Even the shyest, most introverted people had some level of desire for social interaction. To actually make a person fear other humans? That was difficult. While it's true that there are people who grow up antisocial and/or anthropophobic, those are the distinct minority. Luckily for Taylor, she learned first hand how to make someone fear people. Experience was an effective teacher. It was time to repay those grievances in kind.

The first step, was to buy a cellphone capable of taking pictures. Madison was known and well-liked, but her position was by no means unassailable. In fact, her group wouldn't even count as a plurality. They were sizeable, but not major. Other groups, such as the gangs, the sports clubs, and the truly wealthy, were much more influential. They just didn't care about Taylor. And approaching them would be stupid. For starters, they would charge a price for help. Furthermore, it would leave traces of her over everything they did. No. Much better to bring their attention to Madison more organically.

Teenagers have often have severe self-esteem issues. This could manifest as crippling anxiety, clinical depression, nihilism, inferiority complexes, superiority complexes, and an assortment of other issues. Generally speaking, it also leads to a desire to be deemed superior to others. To recognized for achievement, and failing that, to tear down people around them such that they, by comparison, seem stellar. These tendencies are by no means limited to teenagers. Many many humans, from children to the elderly, have them. Such is the problem with a non-eusocial pack animal.

Adding on, all life has reproductive instincts. Hence the human emotion of lust. It's an in-built drive to reproduce, and with no available outlet, pornography was invented. Which brings us to religion and its impact on human cultural behaviour. Namely the avoidance, disdain, and shame attached to licentious acts. Humans desire to be special. To be more than mere animals. What better way than to actively look away from our primal instincts?

Put all of this together, and you get revenge porn. Combining biologically ingrained instincts with societal norms to cause utter humiliation in a widespread fashion so as to destroy a person's social life.

Hence why Taylor needed a cellphone with a camera.

Madison's obsession with routine even made it easy. After gym class, she always showered in the same cubicle. Taylor simply had to set the small device record, tape it to the corner of cubicle, apply a bit of Kindness magic, and voilà. Though of course, while that would be popular, it wouldn't have the degrading effect needed. Which was why Taylor spent the past couple days urinating and defecating into a bucket. The only issue, would be her company. But they were easy enough to distract and redirect for the few short moments needed. She simply needed to steal borrow Emma's phone for a short while.

With her sense of security near people compromised, Madison was far more willing to be alone. That left the second step. Luring her out. Here, computer class came in handy. Specifically, making deepfakes. A dubbed gif of Madison speaking would do the trick. Simply catch her speaking in private, remove the audio, then add a mimicry of her voice ranting about the gangs in the city. Kindness would help with the vocal mimicry.

With the recording complete, Taylor wrote a note telling Madison to go alone to an isolated part of town at a specific time, then snuck it into her bag with the recording. Madison would come. Or she'd get hunted down by the gangs. Either way she would be dead. The question, was whether it'd be a borrowed knife.

------

As predicted, Madison came. As opposed to simply going and stabbing her, Taylor decided to go for something more poetic, if not quite just.

Prior to the meeting, she had taken strands of Sophia's hair and soaked them in resin. The result was slightly blunt needles. Charity after all, relied on the little actions of many people.

Taylor fired needle after needle from afar, each shot struck true. Madison's death was slow, but not particularly painful at any point. She died not of a single knife, but of a hundred thousand stings.

Her blood vessels would make a nice bracelet.

 

[Bagrat]

Content warning. This one is significantly darker and less humorous. Think canon s9 levels of messed up.

Click to shrink...

This... this was definitely grim at points. You might want to double-check with the mods that it's okay.

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

I open my eyes to find myself in an unfamiliar room, lying on the floor with my everything in pain. It feels like a sprained back, except on more than just my back.

It looks like I'm in an abandoned building, and there's some light streaming in through the glassless windows. I slowly make my way there. It looks like I'm on street level and it's night. There's a gathering of people violating social distancing laws and not wearing masks a couple dozen metres away.

As I'm gathering my bearings, I hear a voice, "…the children, just shoot. Doesn't matter your aim, just shoot. You see one lying on the ground? Shoot the little bitch twice more to be sure. We give them no chances to be clever or lucky, understand?"

Word for word. The fucking 'Taylor's first night out' station of canon. God fucking damn it. I really hope this is a fanfic and not canon. A nice happy fic like 'It Gets Worse' or 'Taylor Varga' would be nice. Then again, I don't remember those following the stations of canon. Hmmm 'Silencio' has a semi-happy route if memory serves. At least in the early part. Then again it could just as easily be Flames or...

That's when I spot a conveniently newspaper with the date: April 10 2011. Because of fucking course it is. Yeap. Just my luck. Either it's a semi-decent fanfic that pays attention to the timeline or canon itself. Knowing my luck?

"Jesus fucking Christ. Fuck my life." I can't help but groan aloud.

Seeing how royally fucked canon was, there's really only one solution to my predicament that results in minimal suffering on my end.

"嘿!死肏蛋!能借我一把枪吗?我想自杀!(Translation: Hey you damn motherfucker! Mind lending me a gun? I want to kill myself!)" I yell as I climb out the window.

That certainly got the angry wannabe dragon man's attention. Unfortunately, instead of executing me, he just stares. Seeing their boss not doing anything, the gangbangers don't make any move. Which is when the screaming starts. Because of fucking course I'm right. Insects had begun swarming and biting the gang members and their boss. That narrows things down to basically 'Centopath' or the original 'Worm'. Both of which are very bad for me.

Well seeing as getting burned hurts like fuck, I decide to shout out some advice and hope the current Taylor, who hasn't been through hell and back and still dreams of being a proper hero, listens.

"Some species of cockroaches can burrow through wood! Several species of burrowing beetles can as well! You need to tunnel through his eyes or ears and into his brain if you wanna stop Lung! At the very least cram insects into his throat and suffocate him! As long as his Gemma and Pollentia are intact he'll recover anyway! Otherwise he'll ramp up, find you with his super senses, and roast you alive! AND DON'T FUCKING TIE HIM UP WITH SPIDER SILK! HE'LL JUST BURN THROUGH IT!"

Thankfully, it seems she listened to at least part of what I had to say. Namely, the asphyxiation option. Man, if I didn't actually enjoy eating stir-fried insects and watching horror movies, the sight of bugs dragging their overcooked brethren out a man's mouth would have been revolting.

Anyway, with that problem solved, I walk towards a gun one of the gangbangers dropped when he was running away.

I pick it up, turn off the safety, stick the barrel in my mouth pointed towards my brain, and before pulling the trigger, reflexively release my grip. Apparently Bugs took issue with my suicide attempt. Goddamn do fire ant stings hurt. I quickly unclench my jaw and let the handgun drop to the floor lest she decides to bite my face too.

I turn around to the sound of rapid footsteps.

"What the hell are you doing!?" The girl yells.

"What does it look like? I'm committing suicide." I calmly state.

"W-why?" She stammers out.

"Because the world's fucked, you're super-duper extra fucked, and the best way out for me is killing myself. Frankly speaking, suicide is probably your best option too. You should seriously consider it."

"L-look. I get that things are bad right now, but suicide isn't the answer. There's still hope, you shouldn't give up. Things can always get better." She gets more confident and eloquent as she speaks, but seeing the agitation of the surrounding insects, I know she's shunting her emotions into them.

"Actually, I do know the future, and things will only get worse from here. I'm talking three out of ten to negative five hundred kind of bad. I can tell you don't believe me, so let me demonstrate. In a few short moments, A group of four people riding on what appears to be lizard monsters but are actually dogs will arrive. The one in a skull mask will think you're a villain and thank you. They'll offer to get you out of here because Armsmaster is going to arrive moments after them. I'm going to go hide in that building there while you talk to them."

I point to the place I arrived at then begin jogging over.

I got into cover just in time for Rachel's dogs to arrive.

Unfortunately I'm too far away to hear the conversation. With nothing better to do, I pick up the newspaper and begin reading.

After awhile, I hear metal hitting the floor at the same frequency as footsteps. It looks like Taylor told Armsmaster about me... Hmmm... being in a padded interrogation cell would be troublesome...

As I look around the building trying to think of a solution, I spot some metal stairs leading the a catwalk approximately three storeys high. I decide that falling head first from that height should be enough to kill me and begin running up the steps.

When I'm halfway up, Collin appears at the door. I continue running as he shouts at me to stop, then dive over a railing.

Unfortunately for me, it seems like containment foam is very effective at cushioning falls. I didn't even break my neck.

Fuck.

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

1.5
----------
"So we have a precog capable of seeing at least an hour in advance in vivid detail, claims to know the far future - possibly years, and he's suicidal," said the former Villain.

"That is correct. I had to tranqualize him to prevent further suicide attempts. Apparently despite its breathability, it is possible to suffocate yourself by swallowing the foam in such a manner that it triggers the human gag reflex. The man tried to literally choke on his own vomit," responded his leader.

"...Jesus Christ. That must be one fucked up future he saw if he's willing to go that far. Did he mention any specifics?"

"No. Hence the current designation of Doomsayer. "

"Has the uhh Think Tank said anything?"

"Not yet. We're still waiting on their response"

"Anything else I should know before I get the questioning?"

"I tried to look up his face in the database. As far as I could find, he doesn't exist. It's possible that he's our first case 53 without any mutations. Good luck Assault. I have to go finish my patrol."

Armsmaster left the room. Assault turned towards the one way mirror and stared at the young man fidgeting in the other room. 'This is going to be a hell of a day' he thought to himself.
---------
2
---------
I go from cracking my finger joints one by one, to cracking my back, to cracking my jaw, to cracking my wrists, my knees, my toes, and finally my ankles. I was right. Being in a padded interrogation room is troublesome. They even have what I assume to be foam sprayers staring down at me to prevent any further attempts at my own life. Perhaps I should try getting in touch with Contessa? Finding out that Eden is alive should be enough payment for some doubletap brain surgery right? sigh. I really hate my life. I should've just let Lung set me on fire back then. This is what I get for wanting to die relatively painlessly.

In my boredom, I lean back, close my eyes and begin softly singing. It's an old habit of mine. Which makes me even more depressed, because these songs haven't been produced yet - if they'll even be produced at all. Music was one of my old joys in life. I hope Bet has decent stuff.

"When life leaves you high and dry, I'll be at your door to night. If you need help. If you need help. I'll shut down the city lights. I'll lie, cheat, I'll beg and bribe, to make you well. To make you well."

I hear the door open. I crack my eyes open slightly - just enough to see despite them appearing to be closed. It's a man in a red costume. Either Velocity or Assault. I'm honestly surprised Armsmaster didn't come in personally. I close back my eyelids and continue singing, just to see how long it takes for my banshee shrieking to get a reaction out of the man.

"When enemies are at your door, I'll carry you away from war," I switch to a different song in a different voice, "But I would walk five hundred miles and I would walk five hundred more. Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your door."

"Well that's quite a tonal switch," he speaks at last.

I fully open my eyes and look at him. Then for the hell of it, I do my best to creepily smile, which considering I rarely smile, any attempt at an artificial smile looks pretty damn disturbing.

"So uhh... you gonna talk or just stare at me?"

I keep staring.

He continues speaking, "Alright then... I guess I'll just start with questions. Do you remember your name?"

Finally I decide to talk, "Yes."

"Can I have it?"

"No."

"Alright then Mr No, let's talk a bit more about those visions of yours shall we?" Assault then.

"No."

"...Look man, I can't help you out of here unless you work with me. I'm on your side here."

That statement got my eye to twitch....

"I'm in an interrogation room under suicide watch. If you're on my side, pass me a gun or bomb to kill myself with. Otherwise, fuck off and leave me to wait for death."

"No can do, Mr. No. Helping someone commit suicide is illegal in this state. Now, if you were to tell me what the problems are, maybe we can fix them?"

I can't help it. 'Fix them?' Those words were just too hilarious. I break down in hysterical laughter with tears flowing out of my eyes.

"Hahahahaha ha. ha. ha... You actually believe that don't you? That things can be fixed? If you knew what I know, you'd kill your wife right now, then join her in the afterlife immediately afterwards. And as to your previous question, I can't say a thing. Whatever I do has the potential to fuck everything over. Because that one horrifically fucked up future I see? Is the only one humanity survives in. So that raises a question. If all you have in life is your life and nothing else, is it worth staying alive?"

"Well aren't you gloomy. Ever considered changing your name to Yes? Positivity is good for the soul you know."

"No. It's in the name. But fine. You want a deal? Sure. Let me out of here, get me a legal identity, a residence, and some cash. I'll do what I can on the sidelines to help out." By that I meant I'd be googling how to tie a proper death knot.

"Sorry Mr. No, but the answer is in your name. I don't have the authority to do that. We do have programs in place for case 53s, but based on your appearance and memory, you're not one. And even if you were, those programs require signing on with either the Wards or the Protectorate. You're on your own on that end Mr. No. I might be able to pull some strings if you start by telling me your actual name. Otherwise, you're on your own."

"No. Well then Madcap, mind introducing me to some document forgers? You should have contacts from your old villain days right? By the way, how much does drug smuggling pay? I might sign on with the Archer's Bridge Merchants." Even if I somehow managed to survive with them past Leviathan, the S9 would kill me within two months.

"Didn't take you for a drug user. I'd also highly advise against joining a gang."

"I don't. I hate needles and I hate smoke. But you're not exactly leaving me with many options. It's not like I can join up with the ABB after last night." Left unsaid was my plan to seek out the Empire. They'd happily kill me in a heartbeat. Especially if I started stabbing them out of nowhere.

"Uhhh maybe something legal?"

"Sure. Just get me an ID, a place to stay and some money." I didn't even need much. Just a place with a ceiling fan strong enough to carry an adult male, some rope to hang myself with, and enough cash to look up nooses at a net cafe.

"...I'll talk to the director. You won't bite your tongue off or something while I'm gone right?"

"No." I was actually telling the truth here. Biting off your tongue only works in fiction. As is, I'm better off waiting to be released. Failing that, I'd tear out a tooth and jam it into my windpipe. ...I am seriously regretting not letting Lung just burn me.

Anyway, it seems like Assault was content with that answer as he left the room. This leaves me time to think about my next move I guess. I wonder if I should try and get in touch with Cauldron. Should be possible to get a message to Alexandria or Legend. Or maybe I should try getting a ticket to England and temporarily taking control of Zion from Kevin Norton.

Well those are worries for future me I suppose. For now I should get some sleep. I'm fucking exhausted. Who knew failing to die was so tiring?

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

Really? Thousands? All the more reason to charge me with genocide then, right? Then again, I guess I was too indiscriminate huh? After all, genocide implies I targeted a specific culture, ethnicity, or religion. Perhaps omnicide then? Well, if that was an actual crime, I suppose S-class threats like the S9 or the Endbringers would have been charged with it.

Sorry, I go off on tangents more often nowadays. Maybe it's my power affecting me. Then again, I've also been more philosophical and introspective about the transience of life. So it could just be the mass murder.

Ah, the Empire Eighty-Eight... Well... They wouldn't leave me alone. That's it. If they just left me be, they would still be alive. I get that this sounds like victim blaming, but they were asking for it. After all, if you're willing to kill, you must be ready to be killed.

------------
Colin had been called to a small meeting with Director Piggot, Deputy Director Renick, and Legend. The Triumverate hero had been called in in-case Taylor Hebert went on a rampage inside the building.

They were currently analyzing the E88's first and only recruitment attempt. It was also Victor's last battle.

Victor was personable. Charismatic even. And most importantly, approachable in a way Kaiser wasn't. Inside intel suggested that he was well liked in the E88, and had numerous female fans. This was most likely why they sent him. Furthermore, he was a skill thief. This should have made him a counter to Taylor Hebert. Should have.

"We can clearly see him improving by leaps and bounds mid-combat, confirming that Victor was stealing her skills. This also implies her power supplied her with actual skill as opposed to simply telling her how to act. " Colin stated.

"Isn't it possible she had prior training?" Legend suggested.

"No. We dug deep into her history and found nothing that implied she had any combat experience, much less formal martial arts training," Renick clarified.

"But her combat performance didn't so much as dip? In fact it looked like she was sandbagging big time at the start. Hell, she was probably playing him even at the end. Only got serious when Hookwolf showed up," Piggot said.

And wasn't that a disturbing thought? The girl fought on even grounds with a skill thief, only to dispatch him almost instantly when an actual threat appeared.

------------
They had actual camera footage this time—from an assortment of traffic cameras.

Victor approached her alone. Or at least, that was how it would have seemed to her. He actually had a dozen subordinates watching from the sidelines. They kept civilians away, and were prepared to jump in should he require support.

Taylor's body language was reclusive. Her shoulders were hunched, her legs were together, and her head was bowed. A frontal shot showed her eyes shifting side to side, as if looking for an escape route.

Victor said something, and she calmed down slightly, but was still nervous and skittish.

They began to engage in conversation, and she progressively grew calmer. Not open, not happy, but no longer panicked.

Then Victor said something, and she went unnaturally still. The micro-movements used to keep the body steady, natural twitches caused by her heart beating, the motion of her breathing, it all stopped.

Victor noticed this change, and prepared for combat. He signaled his men to hang back, but get ready.

Then Taylor moved.

She stepped in, arm pulled back, elbow at ninety degrees, wrist locked, hand clenched into a fist, and uppercut Victor in the stomach. Victor, rather than thinking he could power through and counterattack, leapt backwards to better disperse the force of her blow and give space for his men to shoot her. As his feet left the ground, Taylor's left hand shot forwards and unholstered one of his pistols, then in the same motion, turned around put a bullet into a nearby ganger's head.

Before the remaining eleven could fire, she closed back in on Victor with an overhand punch. This time he managed to deflect the blow and counter with a straight cross at her face. Taylor dodged by twisting her body, and took advantage of the opportunity to lodge three bullets into another gangster's torso. Heart, lung, stomach. In that order. Then, making use of the recoil, she spun around and backhanded Victor.

He ducked under the blow, retreating slightly, and tried to sweep kick her. In response, Taylor took a lunge step, dropping her below the stream of bullets, and blocking his thigh with her lower leg. In that same motion she brought up her gun to put a bullet through a third grunt's eye. Then. using the recoil, gravity, and her back and arm muscles, smashed her fist into Victor's thigh, causing him to scream in pain.

Using the normal reaction force of her blow, Taylor swiftly rolled to the side, shooting the ground to ricochet a bullet into someone's nasal cavity, and stood back up, where she finished the poor man off with a bullet to the forehead.

Seventeen seconds, four dead, one temporarily incapacitated. Seven out of ten rounds used.

Nineteen seconds, seven dead. Taylor had simply shot three more in the head, sending the others diving for cover. Victor had managed to overcome the pain and was drawing his other handgun, but before he could finish the motion, Taylor had tossed the one she stole at his hand, the still hot barrel branding him, and making him drop the weapon.

------------
"Are we sure she doesn't have a Shaker power? Or a Blaster one? Luck manipulation or something like that? Even with precognition, there's a difference between knowing what to do and actually being able to achieve it." Renick asked.

"It's possible. But it's also possible she's just that skilled. Those shots were all physically possible, though actually achieving them... between changing wind conditions, trajectory calculations, Coriolis force, natural muscular twitches and other movements caused by breathing and heartbeats... it's possible. Extremely unlikely, but possible. Though I would hesitate to call it plausible much less probable. On other hand, with perfect, absolute, control over her muscular system, greatly enhanced mental processing power. and a strong enough precognition, the odds greatly improve. I see your point though. Perhaps raising her Thinker rating is in order. Maybe even a Changer or Stranger rating if she can control her musculature," Colin replied.

------------
The video had progressed to the forty-three second mark. His entourage was dead and he was unarmed, but they had bought enough time for Victor to steal enough of his opponent's skill to actually fight back.

The two fighters went back and forth in a dance as captivating as it was brutal. Every blow was aimed to permanently disable the opponent in the most efficient way possible.

It went on for minutes that felt like hours.

But the entrancing performance had to come to an end. Hookwolf had arrived with several others behind him. Taylor's loss seemed set in stone. Until it wasn't.

Victor advanced, seeking to gouge out Taylor's eyes.

Taylor hopped up slightly and bit onto Victor's fingers.

Taylor attempted to grab and crush Victor's testicles.

Victor clenched his legs together, trapping Taylor's hand, then headbutt her.

Victor tried to chop Taylor's neck with his free arm.

Taylor leaned aside slightly, and trapped Victor's arm between her's and the side of her head.

That was the tipping point. Taylor had raised her shoulder to the side of her lower jaw, thereby blocking off access to her neck. Then, she leaned forward so Victor impacted that area with his wrist and lower arm instead of his hand. Finally, she pressed her forearm against his elbow, and applied pressure.

With one arm dislocated, the other firmly lodged in Taylor's mouth, and his legs occupied protecting his unborn children, he became a sand bag for Taylor's remaining limbs. She struck him hard in the thigh, causing him to weaken his grip, then released her bite, lifted him up, and threw him at Hookwolf.

With his companion still alive and flying at him, Hookwolf had no choice but to rescind his knives so as to not butcher Victor. Taylor took advantage of the opportunity to pick up the gun Victor dropped, and shot Hookwolf in the throat. The metal covering his muscles prevented any penetration, but the impact still caused him to choke, thereby temporarily incapcitating him. She followed up with a round to the solar plexus, driving the air out of his lungs, and one more inside the mouth as he gasped for breath. Then began running away.

As she was escaping, Taylor did a parting shot into the back of Victor's head. Right in the brain stem.

------------
Hookwolf somehow managed to get to Othala on time, but Victor was dead long before arrival.

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

"I found your guy."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. It's him. Sending over the address now."

"Alright. I'll meet you there."

---

Time... Time is an interesting thing. Sometimes an eternity passes by unchanging. Other times, a single moment can change everything. It's been three years. Three long, stagnant, empty, years caused by a single moment. A single second. I know it was my fault. The letter they sent explicitly said so.

If I had just let them be. If I had just stopped digging. If I had just-

I shake myself out of my thoughts. Blaming myself, no matter how right, won't change anything. Killing them all won't either. But I can't live with myself if I just let them go.

---

"Who gave the order?"

"Come on, I told you... I don't know!"

"You don't know?" I pull out my phone and play an audio recording.

'Hit the family? Isn't that against the unwritten rules or something?'

'Those rules only apply to capes.'

'Yeah, but still... the family?'

'Is that a problem?'

'Nope. We'll scare him good. You won't hear from him again.'

I stow away my phone, pick him up by his neck, then slam him against a wall.

"So what do you think Martin? did you scare me?" I release my grip on his neck, and punch him in the gut. He sinks to the floor.

"It was a job, man. I didn't know!"

I crouch down, put my hand on his shoulder, and tighten my grip—digging my thumb into his pectoralis minor.

"Who was on the other end of the call? Give me a name."

"They never gave me a name!" I release his shoulder, and grip him at the back of his lower jaw instead.

"I'll give you a name. Annette. Annette Rose Hebert." I let go. Then clench my fist, and swing it into his face.

"But you already knew that didn't you? I suggest you think very carefully, what your next words will be."

"Look man.. even if I knew a name you couldn't get me talking! These guys... They're like nothing you've ever seen. The shit they've done... You should walk away while you can."

"Some things you can't walk away from." I stand up and draw my gun.

"Last chance. Who gave the order?"

"Please, please! I don't know! I just spoke to him on the phone, he told me what to do!" I point my pistol at his head.

"That's all I know, man! That's all I know!"

"Give me a name!"

"I don't know!" I pull the trigger. It clicks but nothing comes out.

"How's your memory now?" I say while turning around. I take a deep breath to suppress my mounting rage as I stow away my gun.

I hear him picking up a nearby pipe. So I turn around, activating the plasma blade function as I unsheathe my cane sword. In one fluid motion, I duck under his swing, and cut off his left leg at the knee. The heat instantly cauterizes his wounds. The pain knocks him out though.

I step out of the room.

---

Three years. And I'm finally one step closer.

---

As I exit, I am accosted by a survivor. He points his gun at me and I raise my hands.

"Took you long enough," I say as I spot the figure behind him.

"Huh?" is his last word before he gets stabbed repeatedly.

"I leave you alone for two minutes..."

"Give me my bullets."

"I tossed them," he says while pouring gasoline over the body.

I simply stare at him in response.

"What? You said you'd kill him otherwise.

"I told you hold onto them Jordi. Where have you been anyway?"

"I had to make a call and run an errand. You get what you need from Martin?"

I tighten my fist and suppress a growl as I remember the failed interrogation.

"Aw, you're kidding me."

"Let's clean this mess up. Stop admiring your work."

"Hey that's cute and all, but I'm disappointed Wallis. I mean, you failed to spot the nasty inter-gang drama that I'm creating here."

"Inter-gang dra- You have got to be kidding me. Who did you call?"

"Glad you asked. Alright we got a bunch of dead bodies right? Someone definitely heard gunfire, and as fucked up as the bay is, cops will be arriving before we can clean up. I called Lung."

"You what!?" I stare at him incredulously.

"Yeah, told him I spotted the Undersiders around here. But we gotta piss him off to make him burn everything right?"

"What. Was. That. Errand?"

"I planted a landmine out front."

"ARE YOU INSANE!?"

"Hey, hey. You wanted to stay on the down-low. As far as the PRT is concerned, Undersiders set a trap for Lung—who went full rage-dragon and burnt everything." He has the audacity to smirk.

"Please tell me you're joking."

"Angry dragon man burns everything, and no one knows we were ever here. Trust me. You'll appreciate my plan tomorrow." He passes me the can of gas before heading over to pick up Martin.

"Fuck." I curse as I get to work pouring it all over the place.

 

[Bagrat]

Oh damn! is that a Watch_Dogs crossover I see?

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

It was another long day at work. Months of effort and dozens of leads, only to hit another dead end. These guys were always one step ahead of me. Every time I got close to a breakthrough, they managed to shut me down. It was like they knew my every plan.

I plopped onto the couch and turned on the TV.

"Breaking news! A small conflict between the ABB and the E88 has escalated into a fullblown turf war."

That's when I noticed it. An open letter on my coffee table.
'Hello Officer Wallis, you don't know us. You want to, but you don't. And we like it that way. Just know, that everything you see next... is your fault.'

I turned my gaze back to the screen. The camera was pointed at some civilians caught in the battle. Then I saw her. Among the crowd. And then-

---

I wake up in cold sweat. It's always that same dream. Not of our childhood. Not of the good times. But always that one moment.

The phone rings. It's H4X0RZ—my DedSec contact.

"What's the news?"

"Dave Prime has agreed to your request. I've arranged for a dead drop beneath the boardwalk."

"What's the price?"

"No charge. Though if you'd be willing to lend some assistance in the future, that would be appreciated."

Translation: you owe us an indefinite number of unspecified favours that we can call in at any time.

If it was anything else, I'd reject the deal, but in this case...

"Thank you."

"You're welcome?" I could hear the incredulousness through their voice changer, "anyway, sending coordinates now".

I hang up, and prepare to leave my motel room.

---

After a quick shower, I begin equipping my gear.

For clothes: steel-toed boots; bulletproof trenchcoat; knife-resistant turtleneck and cargo pants.

Even in a city liky Brockton Bay, bulletproof vests draw attention. Hence, a trenchcoat. Enough space to conceal ceramic plates without restricting movement. Furthermore, an aerogel lining with inconcel reinforcement makes for a very good insulator. The kind that can let you survive an angry dragon man. Or at least keep you comfortable in almost all temperatures. Having more pockets doesn't hurt either. Unfortunately, it doesn't protect well against stabs or slashes.

Which is where the knife-resistant clothing comes in. Kevlar interlaced with aluminium thread; steel reinforcements around the vital areas. Heavier than normal clothing, but not enough to hinder me. Also far more subtle than a vest.

For accessories: gloves; Cat 4 sunglasses; hearing aids.

The gloves have three layers—four if you count the inbuilt inconel knuckledusters.
An outer layer of kevlar, a middle layer of aerogel, and an inner layer of rubber.

The sunglasses are secretly a visor capable of thermal, ultraviolet, and infrared imaging, as well as night vision. They also have a recording function.

The hearing aids are actual hearing aids. Even with ear protection, being constantly near gunfire and explosions has damaged my hearing. More importantly, when paired up with the visor, they offer basic ultrasound and echolocation functionality.

Often enough however, the greatest benefit is psychological. Being thought of as deafblind has led to opponents underestimating me.

So to complete the look, I have a white cane... which houses a sword with a plasma edge.

Finally, a silenced 1991.

With everything equipped, I leave for the boardwalk.

---

Upon arrival, I am greeted by a quadcopter drone with a package.

After picking up the package, my phone buzzes. It's H4X0RZ again: You can keep the drone Here's the manual.

I check my surroundings to make sure no one is spying on me, then reverentially open the package.

Project Mystletainn. DedSec codes created for the sole purpose of breaking into Zere's Smart City Initative. Everything from traffic lights, to public garage doors, to underground steam pipe regulators... Even trains and construction equipment. Almost the entirety of Brockton Bay's infrastructure... Now in the palm of my hand.

But the real prize? CTSNos. Crime Tracking Suspect Neutralization Operating System. State of the art facial recognition software that cross-references just about every government database and social media platform to find out about you.

Medical records, employment history, education, criminal records, hobbies, fetishes, finances, the list goes on. In theory it's supposed to bring the city's rampant criminal activity under control by preventing crimes and identifying criminals. In practice? Criminals use it to find easy marks.

You can gain access to it all over the grey and black markets. But what makes DedSec's codes special, is the control they offer you. The ability to, if not wipe yourself off the system, then at least prevent them from tracking you. Other major benefits not offered elsewhere include tapping into the police comms system, being alerted to crimes in progress, and real-time tracking.

With this... I might just have a chance at getting them. If nothing else, I will make them pay. Make them BLEED.

 

[Sir Flufflewuff]

Victor? He threatened my dad. Oh sure he phrased it all nice. 'This is just a warning, but you should be careful' blah blah blah 'your dad could be in danger because of you.' I didn't hear the rest because I was considering the best way to murder him.

Oh yeah. I used my power that time. I remember it better than the others because it was the first time I consciously activated it.

Hm? Of course I was worried about retaliation. That's why I finished the job. Better to be loved than feared, but if I can't be loved then I may as well be feared y'know? So I figured: what better way to strike fear into every remaining gang, than to publicly slaughter the biggest one?

---

"She's getting stronger as she fights," Colin gasped and had to suppress a shudder as the realization hit him.

Everyone in the meeting turned to him. Legend turned especially pale. The similarities to Contessa were already striking, but to get even more powerful?

Piggot broke the silence, "Armsmaster, explain."

Armsmaster took a deep breath before speaking, "Her initial fights, while brutal, were well within the realms of possibility for a normal human when you exclude the precognition. But the second match with Oni Lee? Where she was deflecting bullets by slapping them with a handgun?

And the fight with Victor, while technically possible is about as likely as getting struck by lightning three times while being by an orca. Sure it could happen, but chances are it never has and never will.

All along we thought she was holding back—playing around with her opponents, but what if she wasn't? What if she literally couldn't do those things at first?

Her combat style tends towards brutal efficiency. Not just brutality, but efficiency as well. I suspect that brutality is simply a means to an end. In which case, toying with her opponents makes no sense.

What if she wasn't sandbagging? It could be similar to Lung. Victor wasn't threatening enough for her to ramp up faster than he could steal her skill, so her power simply kept pace. But when Hookwolf showed up, her power escalated accordingly."

"Shit." Renick aptly summed up everyone's thoughts.

As one, they decided to set aside the issue for now, instead opting to watch the next recording.

---

Oni Lee's death marked the beginning of increased aggression by the E88. They saw weakness in their main competitor and seized it. Or at least attempted to. In actuality, they just made Lung mad. Very mad. Within a week, ABB territory was marked by, not gang tags, but the severed heads and partial corpses of E88 members. Crusader and Cricket among them.

In response, Kaiser chose to host a publicly broadcasted rally. To reassure the members. To show off the Empire's might. To declare war and intimidate would-be vultures. With him on stage, aside from the twins, were Hookwolf, Krieg, and Purity.

"Comrades, I know you are afraid. I do not blame you. To tell the truth, even I am afraid. I fear for my children when they leave the house. I fear for my neighbours when they head for work. I fear for every aryan I see on the street.

I am sure you all understand. After all, it is this fear that has brought us together. Fear of the savages roaming this city. Just look at Lung mounting our brethren's heads on pikes!

But fear is not all we are. It is said that courage is not fearlessness, but rather facing and overcoming fear. And you are all courageous. For it is not in fear, but in courage, that we find unity! Courage to stand up against the barbarian hordes! To protect our loved ones! To secure the existence of our people and a future for white children!

Do not be disheartened by the chi-".

And that's when it all went to hell. Someone in the crowd had lobbed a molotov at the stage.

While Kaiser reacted quickly enough to protect himself and those behind him, the people at the foot of the stage weren't so lucky.

What should've been the a moment of hope and inspiration, turned into another nail in the coffin. There, being broadcasted live, were Empire members being immolated while their capes hid.

Suddenly, gunfire sounded out alongside screaming, and the cameras panned over to the crowd.

It was absolutely chaos. Several more molotovs had been tossed out, escalating the already tense situation. This resulted in gang members splintering off into small groups wary of everyone else and prepared to shoot at the slightest provocation.

Then one of the cameramen noticed something and zoomed in on it. Near the centre of the mess, was a teenage girl slowly making her way to the outskirts, and leaving a trail of bodies in her wake.
Eventually, the crowd noticed her too. News spread quickly, and gunfire followed shortly afterwards.

But despite the hail of lead, the figure wasn't so much as scratched. She constantly put herself between groups, dodging at the last second, causing the Empire members to shoot their own allies.

In the seconds it took for Kaiser to lower the barrier, and the empire capes to retake control of the situation, dozens had died—whether to heat, suffocation, or perforation, and hundreds were wounded.

The perpetrator? Impaling one last person with a pipe-turned-spear as she fled the scene.

---

How I found out about the rally? Easy. There was a text message on a phone I looted.

Well... I wouldn't call getting in harder per se... Just more time consuming.

People don't just suddenly become gangsters you know? They have a referrer. Could be friends, could be parents, could be co-workers, could even be recruiters they'd never before. But there's always a trail—a network. So I followed it, found someone that looked similar to me, followed her for a few days, then killed her, and assumed her identity.

Well no one ever accused neo-nazis of being smart. World War II nazis sure. But neo-nazis...? Also, you'd be surprised at how little people notice when they're not paying attention. Hair dye and contact lenses can work wonders. Behaviour? People believe what they want to believe. Just say a few racial slurs, spout a couple stereotypes, and claim you've finally seen the light. Maybe tell them God talked to you in a dream. You're good as long as you conform to their confirmation bias.

Oh staying unnoticed was pathetically easy. When you're in a restricted venue, people tend to assume you're supposed to be there. Just make sure to dress properly and research your role beforehand. Helped that they didn't have Thinkers, too.



A/N: I promise more action-packed scenes later on for both Musokēn and Who Cleans the Stirring Pot? But I had to set the scene for both of those.

In this case, showing some ripple effects, escalating things in general and further establishing Taylor's personality.

In the other, establishing Colin's equipment and capabilities, throwing in a bit of world-building, and giving a bit more background into his trigger event. It's kinda like the first couple missions in Watchdogs. "Open up your world" is just the precursor to the game actually kicking off.