Stranger than Brockton [Worm/Stranger than Fiction]

[Victorian_Irish]

April 14th, 2011

Brockton Bay, NH



"Your mother loved this movie," Danny said. Taylor smiled up at him from her place on the couch. Both father and daughter were exhausted, but Heberts were a stubborn breed. Half-asleep and propped up only by tea and coffee, the pair were determined to finish this movie together.

"I remember," Taylor said. "She would read the...script to me, with little voices and sound effects. We would turn off the lights and just imagine.

"She was a remarkable woman, wasn't she Dad?"

"Mm, one of a kind. She was like a force of nature sometimes, never boisterous, but she just had this...gravitas to her. You couldn't say no. Hell, you wouldn't want to."

"I miss her."

"Me too kiddo. Me too."

On the screen, the Man in Black duelled Inigo Montoya for the fate of the fair Buttercup. Taylor thought it was a well-done scene. You weren't sure who was the bad guy, and most of them, Vizzini aside, had a tragic backstory. The end was the best though, the catharsis was real. Taylor wondered if she'd ever love someone so fully as Wesley and Buttercup. Would she have that moment of 'Too Blathe' that would keep her going? Or was she like the six-fingered man, just making things worse?

Hands pressed into her sides and she screamed mightily, though her father would later call it a squeak, as the traitor parent began to tickle her.

She huffed. She had survived a clothing store with Victoria Dallon, he would not beat her here! Her initial attempts to retaliate failed, so she went limp. Her Dad grinned and pulled away, contents with his victory, unaware of her ruse. Like a viper, her hands bit into his sides, causing the man to make a sound somewhere between a hoot and a sneeze. Her foe let out a yelp, though he would later claim it was a roar of defiance, and fell to the ground laughing.

Taylor calmly walked back to the couch, taking her rightful place next to the teapot, and tried not to burst into unladylike snickering. Danny eventually hauled himself up, wincing as he stretched, and sat down in his chair once more. Synchronised slurping filled the air, tea and coffee flowing in equal measure, and they set their attention back to the movie. They didn't manage to finish it, but the family night was still a resounding success.









"Why does she need so many two by fours?"

Francis sighed at Luke's question. His fellow Traveller was getting antsy about their newest employee, something that Francis could understand. What he had a problem with was the constant questions, asking the same thing over and over.

"I don't know, Luke," he said. "Why would somebody want metric shitloads of construction material? It's almost like she wants to build something."

"Fuck off, Krouse, I'm just tired of this minion crap." The bigger man squared his shoulders and glared down at him, but Francis was used to this behaviour, encouraged it even. He would dismiss Luke's concerns like Cody always did, get him worked up, and then Luke would vent to Mars, Oliver, and Jess. Group cohesion would go up, and he wouldn't have to listen to Luke's whining about working for a pair of teenagers for the rest of the day. Noelle hadn't liked his leadership plan at first, but eventually she admitted that it worked.

"Get used to it, man," Francis said. "It's a good look for you."

Luke scowled and threw down the last of his wood before storming off. Francis smiled wearily once the door shut. He'd always liked playing control units in their team games. Buffs and Debuffs were crucial in the more competitive circles, in the world of capes? That, at least, remained the same. Sometimes he felt like he was too good at it, though.

Francis looked at the back of the pickup and sighed. He had freaking teleportation powers and it would still be just as hard to move the rest of the supplies. Life just didn't give breaks.









An hour later, Francis walked out of the supply room and made his way down to Noelle's room. The large chamber had been custom built for her at Coil's request, and Script had been quick to offer it once more. Francis wasn't an idiot, he knew that Janus was Coil. The villain had run afoul of Script and paid the price, whatever that had ended up being. He didn't care, really, Script was giving them the same deal Coil would have, she obviously still had the contacts, and no matter what Luke said, Script's jobs had been the easiest they'd ever had.

Something rotten yadda-yadda. It didn't sit well with him. The girl was plain creepy, even Tattletale didn't like hanging around her too often. Francis couldn't help but wonder what her plan was. The basic job of a control player was figuring out the enemy plan, after all.

"All I'm saying is that we've done our part." Francis heard Luke through the door as he approached and stopped to listen. "We should just leave."

"And abandon Noelle?" Mars asked.

"Just because you had the hots for her doesn't mean we have to stick around."

"You mother-"

"Enough, Both of you!" Francis was almost impressed, Jess had one hell of a set of lungs on her to be that loud. "Luke, that was uncalled for. Mars, we aren't talking about ditching Noelle. We're talking about ditching Krouse."

Oh.

Huh.

Francis shook his head. He knew they didn't like him. He'd barely been a part of the team before the tournament. Before the Simurgh. Still, they wanted to get rid of him. They wanted to take Noelle away from him and leave. Huh. It actually hurt a bit.

"F-Francis!" Oliver. Whatever he'd been about to do was cut off when he saw Francis outside the door. "Hey, uhh."

"It's fine, Oli," Francis said. When did his mouth start moving, anyways? "I heard. You can stop pretending."

The perpetually attractive man quieted down and rubbed the back of his neck. The others did much the same, the shuffling feet and busy hands, except for Luke, who glared.

"Oh. I, uh, I see. Look it's nothing personal, but-"

"It's very personal, Krouse," Luke said. "You are probably the worst leader we could've gotten. Hell, if Noelle wasn't in the shape she is she wouldn't look twice at you. So yeah, Krouse, make your shit jokes and snide comments. First chance I get? I'm gone."

Francis stepped to the side, letting Luke shoulder past him, and turned to the rest of his team.

"You all think the same?"

They were silent.

Francis opened his mouth, but closed it again when he couldn't think of anything to say. Instead, he nodded and left. Maybe Noelle would have an idea to help. She'd always known what to do.







April 15th, 2011

Brockton Bay, NH



Sophia bit her lip and hit the call end button again before throwing her phone across the room. It was Emma, of course, because who the hell else would be calling at two-thirty in the morning? It had been like this for a week. Emma keeping her up as she babbled nonsense over the phone. She tried to be understanding at first, but 'designated crying shoulder' was not a role she ever wanted to be playing. The calls kept coming, and Sophia started ignoring them. More calls, more annoyance, more times to hit the denial button.

'But which one?' she thought.

She'd made a deal with herself years ago, she wouldn't have 'friends' just a group who could...keep up with her. People on her level. The Darwinist example she gave Emma was a bit barebones, but nonetheless true. She wanted to surround herself with others who got it, the strong ones who didn't need validation. That was the plan, and she'd been pleasantly surprised by both Emma and little Madison. They'd been strong in their own ways, though Emma's fixation on getting rid of her past was worrying, so having a couple of people to hang out with hadn't been the worst thing ever. She'd been getting used to it, in fact. Now? Everything was falling to shit. Emma was having mental breakdowns every hour, on the hour, and with both of them being Wards, it was becoming hard to keep their secret identities. Madison had noticed she'd been left behind in some way, and had been spending less time with them as a result. Sophia couldn't tell if her friend thought that she and Emma were dating, or just ignoring her.

Somehow, this was all Hebert's fault. Her phone began buzzing again and she growled, leaping across her room and ripping the battery out.

"Sophia! Go to bed, young lady!" her mother yelled, banging on the wall.

"Fu- for sure, ma!" she yelled back.

Just what the hell did Emma want anyway?

Sophia grumbled, fiddling with the phone again, before turning it back on. She impatiently waited while it booted up and then used speed-dial.

"What?" she asked when the call was answered.

"Sophia? Where were- never mind. I just...can you teach me how to fight?" Emma sounded tired, her usually confident voice cracking.

"Fight?! Emma, it's the middle of the night! We're both going to be at headquarters tomorrow, sorry today, and I can show you then. Was that it?" Was she cranky? Yes, yes she was. Sue her.

"Um, I. Yes, sorry Sophia, you're right."

"Wait, Em-"

Fucking dial tones, worst invention ever.

"Sophia! Bed!" her mom yelled.

"Fine!" As if. She pulled on her shoes as quietly as she could and flipped up the hood of her track team jacket. She made she both phones were secure in her pocket before activating her power. A giddy sense of weightlessness enveloped her and she grinned as she phased out the window. Walls were too dangerous without her real suit to check for current.

She hoped Emma was ok. Then she berated herself for caring. Then she felt disgusted for caring that she was caring. Finally, she told her feelings to shut the fuck up and let her deal with this; They were less than cooperative.









'This is stupid,' Sophia thought. Nevertheless, she found herself standing outside of the Barnes' residence, wondering how to best get in. The window was her best bet, but getting up there could prove difficult without some way to get height. Sophia looked around and snorted. Duh, just go for the obvious.

The telephone pole had those handy little steps hammered into the side, and she'd abused the crap out of those before as Shadow Stalker. She walked over and began to climb, not particularly afraid of falling, it wouldn't do much to her anyways. Once she was satisfied, Sophia kicked off and used her power to glide. She landed on the roof with a soft thud and winced, waiting a few moments to see if anyone would wake up. She heard nothing and made her way over to Emma's window. One quick lurch and she was floating over her friend's bed, staring down at her widening eyes. Huh, guess she wasn't asleep after all. Not that she expected her to be, Emma had been texting her at all hours for days.

"Ahem," a man said, the onomatopoeia (thank you, Liam) tinged with sarcasm. "Sophia? Would you mind not hovering over my daughter like Dracula?"

Shit.

Sophia settled on the ground before turning tangible. She pulled off her hood trying to look embarrassed, something that wasn't exactly hard when someone got the drop on her of all people. "Uh, good morning Mr Barnes."

''Good morning?', how lame can you get, brain?'

"I think we need to have a talk," Alan said, crossing his arms. "Living room, both of you."

Sophia shared a look with Emma, the redheaded girl shrugging as she mouthed 'Sorry', and made her way to the Barnes' living room. She couldn't help but feel a little jealous at the stuff her friend had. Sophia's family had never been very well off, and it had been even worse when her father...left. All the members of the Hess house had to work to stay afloat. At first, it was paper routes, but soon enough her brother was working at a diner. Sophia had been working as a courier before she got her powers. Seeing this much gaudy crap in one room had pissed her off at first, but she learned to deal with it. It wasn't the Barnes' fault they had money, it was just the way things were.

Alan walked in a moment later, his wife Zoe rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she followed him. The Barnes' sat on the opposite side of the table from Sophia and Emma, with both looking to the other one to begin. Zoe finally sprang up and muttered about making tea, leaving Alan to berate them.

Great.

"Girls, I think you know why we're here," he said.

"Because I snuck in Emma's window?" Sophia said, rolling her eyes. Hey, if you're going to state the obvious, you might as well do it in style.

"That...uh, that's part of it, yes," he said. "Emma, you know your mother and I will always love you, no matter what choices you make."

Was this about being in the Wards? Alan hadn't liked it but...wait.

"In fact, you might not know this, but...well, Annette and Zoe...uh. Well they..."

Oh no. Nope, not happening. Nope, nope, nope.

"What Alan is trying to say, honey," Zoe said, slipping in with the kettle. "Is that college is a place where people...experiment."

Emma was catching on at this point, flushing so red that Sophia wondered when the steam would come out of her ears. It was bad enough for her, once she had an idea where this was going, but to Emma? Hearing about your parent's...romantic dalliances would mortify anyone.

"We dated for a time, and I want you to know that your father and I don't mind. You don't need to sneak around behind our backs."

"Mom!"

"Honey I know this is an awkward thing to bring up, but you and Sophia are both young adults. The world is a very different place than when I was young, and I think you'll find a lot of your friends will support you."

"Mom! We aren't dating!"

"Emma, I'm trying to help you. You don't have to be embarrassed by who you are."

"I'm...we...argh!" The youngest Barnes flew out of the room so fast she could qualify for a mover rating. Sophia cleared her throat and put on a serious expression. Dennis would have killed for a moment like this, and by god, she wouldn't let it go to waste.

"Mr and Mrs Barnes, I know I'm not exactly 'bring home to the parents' material, but," she paused for effect. "Can I marry your daughter?"

The two adults went stock-still, with Alan beginning to hyperventilate. Emma ran back down into the room with a shriek of "Sophia, no!" and Zoe looked like she was trying to decide whether to support her daughter, tell her they were too young, or pass out, though she seemed to be leaning towards the last one. Sophia let the silent hang for a moment and then cracked a smile.

"Kidding~"

Everyone started yelling at once, and Sophia just started cackling. Worth it.









"That was mean," Emma said. "Mom and Dad didn't know what to say, and I'm sure they still think we're dating."

"Eh, let 'em 'Ems," Sophia said. "People come to their own answers all the time."

"Mmm."

The silence was comfortable, the two girls long since past the point of awkward conversation. Not that it took long to get away from that, saving someone's life tends to catapult relationships.

"So what did you want to talk about, Emma," she asked finally.

"What? Oh, you know, just that fighting thing."

"Don't lie to me, Emma. Something's bothering you."

"I can't turn it off."

Sophia frowned, motioning for Emma to continue.

"I can't turn off my power."

Oh. Oh.

"Shit, Emma. Are you...now?"

"About five minutes to the left, she'll be assaulted. Not the first time. Neither one will talk to the police, they never do. He'll do it again later."

"Tell me where."

"Sophia, there's no point, don't you get it? It'll happen again. And even if you stopped it? Then there's the murder ten minutes from now or the gunshot wound in half and hour, it never stops!"

Sophia thought hard about what to do. Emma was having a nervous breakdown (again) and her fucked up head wasn't going to be any help (again). She couldn't calm her friend down with words. She grabbed Emma by the shoulders, squared their bodies so they were facing each other, and stared at her.

"Emma," she said.

"Y-yeah?"

"Snap out of it." Then she slapped her.

"Ow!, Sophia, what the hell?!"

"If you just give up? That's when you die, Emma," she said. "I'm not going to let that happen, dumbass, never."

"Sophia..."

"I will knock you the fuck out if that's what it takes, but you are going to sleep and we are going to talk about this tomorrow. Understood?"

"I, yeah. I understand. Thanks, Soph."

"Thanks, nothing, just tell me where your PJs are. I'm fucking exhausted and I need to wear this again tomorrow."

Good times.











April 16th, 2011

Brockton Bay, NH



"Thank you, scary lady," the toddler said as Crystal handed the errant balloon back. The parent looked less than enthused but gave Crystal a tired smile. She wasn't used to this level of wariness from the populace, but that's what happens when an unknown parahuman swoops in, right?

"I used to tie it around a finger," she said. Her smile was obviously not seen by anyone, so she made sure to exaggerate her motions in a friendly way. The young boy just nodded and shuffled back to his mother's side. "Uh, I. I should go."

Her flight, as always, was easy. And she accelerated up to where Victoria was waiting with ease. Her cousin was twiddling her thumbs, waving at the people who stopped to stare.

"Uh, back to work then?" she asked when she got closer.

"'I should go'?" Victoria teased. "Are you trying to sound like a video game protagonist?"

"What? No, I just didn't know what to say," she said.

"Just spam the blue option, then you're the best hero ever."

"What are you even talking about?"

"Nevermind," her cousin said with a sigh. "Work it is, Lady Lameball of Lametown."

"Whatever you say, Vicky, whatever you say."

The skies above Brockton Bay were clear, the sun providing a welcome break from the chill in the air. Eric had an exam for school and was busy, but Victoria had been already dressed when Crystal called. They'd started their patrol in New Wave's stomping grounds, but soon started looping around the docks, looking for anything out of the ordinary. The balloon had been in their path, and it was a snap decision that led to Crystal bringing it back to the crying child. Still...

"Do I look scary?" she asked.

"Eh, maybe in the wrong light. I think it's dark and mysterious. Very broody, I hear fangirls love it."

"I really don't want fangirls, Vicky."

"Too late. You should hit up PHO more often, they're everywhere."

"PHO is overrated, I don't know how you spend so much time on that site."

"Better than that blog stuff you read."

"Hey-"

"Shh. Trouble."

In an alleyway, Crystal could see two hooded figures moving around the back of a van. One guy was waving his hands as they talked while the other held a gun, inspecting it.

"Weapons dealer. Go in hot, I'll wipe the guns." Her cousin nodded and the two flew down. Not for the first time, Crystal marvelled at how different two flight powers could be. Where she pivoted in place and applied a downward force, Victoria turned like a jet and shot down. Crystal lined up her shots, waiting for the dealer to move away from the car. She was nervous, this was the first time that the Stars would do anything. Her hands shook. Not yet, she didn't trust her aim.

She looked at Victoria, her cousin flashing a quick peace sign and thumbs up.

Yeah...yeah, they could do it.

They timed it almost perfectly. Victoria hit the ground, cracking the cement with her landing, and as the criminals turned to face her, Crystal opened fire. Her power lanced through the back of the utility van, turning the contents into bits of slag and splatter. Her own landing on the roof of the vehicle was less forceful but no less effective.

"Hey!" Victoria, Andromeda now, said. "That looks kinda shady to me. What do you think, Polaris?"

"Guns in an alley? Looks automatic, too," she said with more bravado than she felt. "That's a big no-no."

"You'd think they'd smarten up with the Guard in town."

The men shared a look before running for it. Andromeda groaned and picked up a piece of concrete, flinging it at one man's leg. He fell with a sharp crack and started to clutch his face. Nose bleeding everywhere.

Crystal's own target went down just as easy. She shot the ground in front of him and waggled a finger. The man took a long look at the melted bits of metal in the van and put his hands up.

"What do you know, Andromeda, they can think."

Together they zap-strapped the men's hands. And Andromeda took a small medical kit out of her pouch.

"When did you learn first aid?"

"After the last time. You-know-who made me take a first aid class...three times."

Crystal's cousin made short work of cleaning up the man's nose while she called the cops. The handoff was, again, tenser than she was used to, but she couldn't help but grin. It was the first arrest the Stars had made, and they were off to one hell of a good start.

"Hey, boss!" One of the officers said after reading the dealer his rights. "Take a look at this!"

Crystal couldn't help herself, she followed the sergeant over to the back of the van, where the officer was holding the partial remains of a wooden crate. She gasped. This bust might turn out bigger than she first thought. The box was labelled with a lot of numbers and jargon, but she understood the important part. The weapons were National Guard property.

"Huh," Andromeda said as she craned her head to see for herself. "Well...Fuck."

Spoiler: A.N.

Happy times (sorta) for everyone! except Krouse...poor, poor Krouse.
The Emma/Sophia thing kinda came out of nowhere, so I'm not sure if it will stick or just be a one-time thing.

Next time: Kaiser gets serious, Lung is unimpressed, Polaris and the Stars fight their worst enemies, Being Amy is meh, And Jacob writes his own material thank you very much.

Also: Finally broke 100k, woo!

 

[Victorian_Irish]

April 16th, 2011

Brockton Bay, NH





Max stared out the window and contemplated life. He used to think that his father had everything figured out, that this path was the one of least resistance and most reward. But years can change minds, as they'd done to him.

His first wife was dead, leaving a powerless son in her wake, and his second left him, taking his daughter with her. His brother had been missing since the nineties, just after he introduced his fiance, his black fiance, to their father. Gabrielle had found his blood at the family retreat, but he'd always had his doubts as to what actually happened.

A decade ago, he would have been more upset by Theo's lack of power. It was true that the boy would never lead the empire, but Medhall? That he could do. He was a smart boy, just like his uncle.

"Brad, James," he said without turning. "How is Victor?"

"Fucked up," Brad said. Crass as always.

"Better," James said. "Othalla will have him back in fighting shape soon. She estimates a week before the arm grows back."

"A week is too long," Max said. His lieutenants took his words for what they were, musings. They knew, just as he did, that any kind of healing was better than none. "I have jobs for you both. Lung has pushed too far this time."

The two men, so different in manners and lifestyles, nodded in unison and waited.

"James, I want you to take your men and hold in reserve. If you spot one of Lung's capes, you strike."

"And if it's Lung?"

"You call me and then you strike."

"What about me?" Brad asked, arms folded.

"Your group will be smoking out the enemy."

"You mean..."

"Yes, Brad. It's time to break out your favourite toys."

Max tried not to sneer at the man's glee. It was a little disgusting, though on further reflection that seemed to describe Brad excellently. Still, nice to know that those flame throwers weren't just display pieces anymore, they had cost an arm and a leg to get.

Things were coming together, and soon his empire would own this city.









"I spy, with my little eye, something that is...red."

"It's my cross...again."

"It's a dumb game anyway, there's nothing in here but us and the stupid plant."

Amy Dallon, Panacea to most, just quirked an eyebrow at the bald little boy in front of her. Admittedly the hospital room wasn't the best place to play 'eye spy', her robes accounted for half the colours in the room, which was kinda sad. Jerome Halinger was supposed to be just another patient. Walk in, cure cancer, walk out. Only, his parents never showed up to give permission. Three days later and they still hadn't shown, and now she knew they weren't going to. Damn Empire.

"Hey now, Nurse Graham went all the way downtown for those flowers...though they have wilted a little. Tell you what, you can pick the next game, smart guy," she said.

"We need a deck of cards to play it," the boy said.

"Wait here." Amy got up from the chair and wandered over to the nurse's station. Beckett was on duty, of course, and gave a tight smile at Amy's approach. After she explained why she was here, the tightness disappeared, and a deck of cards materialized just as quickly. She walked back to the sterile, cream white room and handed over her prize. The boy opened the deck and started to shuffle with a practiced ease.

"Ever played poker before?" Jerome asked.

"No," Amy said. "But I'm thinking you can teach me."

"Dad and his friends used to play every week," the boy said. "He let me watch at first. After a while, I had my own seat. We didn't play for money, but I would have cleaned them all out if we did."

Amy laughed, the small chuckle amplified in the confines of the room. Jerome smiled, showing off his missing tooth as he did, and kept shuffling.

"Alright, Mr Card shark," Amy said. "What comes first?"

The next hour was probably the best she'd had in weeks. Certainly the best she'd had since Victoria had started sneaking around. Her sister was many things, but subtle was not one of them. She and their cousins were up to something and they were leaving her out of it. That either meant it was dangerous...or they were starting to take after her parents and forgot about her.

"You should fold, Panacea," Jerome said, snapping her out of her funk.

"Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"Cause you can't beat my hand."

"You're on. I call."

Turns out she couldn't beat Jerome's hand. Kind of hard to beat a flush, though it took the kid a couple of tries to explain how scoring worked to begin with, poker was not an easy game.

Amy was gathering up the cards, about to suggest another game, when the boy spoke again.

"My parents are dead, aren't they." He was looking out the window as he said it, the view of the boat graveyard a fitting backdrop, the sad little marigold slumped in a corner of the window sill.

Amy choked, unsure of what to say. Eventually, she nodded, putting her hand over his as the tears started to fall. Jerome lost his composure quickly, and gave not protest when the older girl gathered him in her arms and began rocking. He cried himself to sleep, and she tucked him in afterwards.

She turned to leave, but found her feet stuck where they were. Jerome still needed healing. She'd been waiting for parental permission as a courtesy, a legal thing thing Carol always harped on, but that was unlikely to happen now. Amy reached down and clasped Jerome's hand, letting her power spring up.

She could see him, all of him, at the deepest level. The young boy's genetic were spread out like constellations to her mind's eye, endless maps that told both future and past. There was the break in his leg from when he was six, over there a small scar barely visible to the naked eye. She saw how long each organ could last, given current health. But most importantly, she saw the cancer. The tumor was nothing to her, a simple fix to break it up and redistribute the material. The actual flaw that caused it took longer. Amy took a cluster of cells and tweaked each one in a slightly different way. A few hundred attempts in miniature, each one providing a map. Several led to complications, so she scrapped them mercilessly, but a few were promising. She accelerated their division and paid close attention.

'There', she thought. The cell in question would be perfect. The rate of repair on the telemenes combined with a few select tweaks would prevent any chance of relapse, as well as heading off the chance of kidney failure he would have in his seventies. Amy removed her hand after only a minute, her eyes refocusing on the present. Time always felt so much faster when she used her powers, the microcosm really was a whole world of it's own.

Amy bit her lip before moving to the plant in the window. The room was too dark for it, and the orderlies hadn't been watering the poor thing as much as they should have. She gave the marigold a few, quick tweaks. Improving the photo-receptive cells and decreasing the amount of water the plant needed. It would grow slower as a result, but that was alright. It was for decoration. With a further light touch, she changed the pigments the plant would produce in the future. Jerome liked the colour red, after all. No harm done.

Amy smiled softly as she left the room. It felt like she'd just stretched after being crumpled up for hours. Light, limber, and happy. Actually happy.

"All done?" Nurse Beckett asked as Amy walked up.

"For today, yes," she said.

Beckett raised an eyebrow. Panacea was scheduled to be at the hospital for another two hours, but nodded. "I'll tell Mr Grant that you'll see him tomorrow," she said brusquely in her professional voice. "Will you be available in case of emergency?"

"Always," Amy replied. "I think I just want some...me time."

The nurse nodded again and gave the girl a grin. "There's a good cafe on the boardwalk, you know. Nice place. They even have a little reading nook."

"Thank you. I might look into that."

Amy got changed, stowing her Panacea robes in a locker, and pulled out her cell. She scrolled through her contact list until she found her sister's number and dialed. The phone rang, and rang again, and finally went to voicemail. The peppy voice of Amy's sister telling her to "Leave a super message!" and that she'd get back to her "After I beat up the bad guy!"; Typical Vicky.

With a small sigh, she tucked her phone away and tried not to feel rejected. She didn't have the right to feel that way. Nope, Amy Dallon would just have to suck it up and keep on...oh fuck it. Nope, today Amy Dallon was going to have fun. If Vicky wanted to fly around with their cousins all day, that was fine by her. She didn't need warm hugs anyway.

"Fun, stupid brain, not crushing depression," she muttered to herself.

And like that, Amy Dallon began to experiment.











Crystal slipped into the house with all the practised stealth of an American teenager. It wasn't the first time she'd snuck in at night after doing somehting she didn't want her parents to know about. In retrospect, maybe she should have leaned from those times. Her parents were superheroes. Generally speaking, it's hard to sneak up on people like that.

"Crystal Pelham!" Her mother's voice echoed in the quiet house. "Living room, now!"

She winced, easing herself off the stairs and trudging over to her mom. The tight fit of her 'Polaris' costume made her feel claustrophobic, even hidden under sweat pants and a running jacket. The helmet, cape, and belt were stuffed into her book bag, somewhere under 'Superhumanity and the economic crisis of the 1990s'.

"Yes, mo- oh fuck," she said.

Victoria and Eric were sitting on the couch, their Star costumes laid out on the coffee table. Her cousin waved sheepishly at her while her aunt glowered.

"Language," her father chimed in from his chair.

Great. Whole family meeting. Crystal knew what this one would be about. She also knew that the yelling would start right about-

"What on earth were you thinking?!" Thank you, aunt Carol. "Do you have any idea how much damage you might have caused?

"Our team was founded on the ideas of accountability and responsibility. We gave up our masks because the public deserves to know who they are trusting to save them. Your little, 'Stars' stunt, if they link it to us, would undermine everything we stand for."

"Exactly," Crystal said. She pressed her lips together firmly and tried not to feel like she'd stuck her hand in the cookie jar again.

"Excuse me?" her aunt asked.

"Everything you stand for."

"Young lady, this is your team as much as it is ours."

"Since when? Since birth? We never got the choice to pull off our masks, you chose that for us. And yes, I agree with what you've taught us over the years, but times have changed. This isn't the same team that took down Marquis, or the one that fought the Teeth. This is the team that stands by and lets the Protectorate do all the work."

"Hey now, I don't think that's fair, little gem." her uncle's soft voice was almost drowned out by his wife's screaming. Crystal looked at her own parents and found no more comfort there. Vicky had stood up at this point, getting right back in her mother's face as the two women reached a fever pitch. Eric sank further into the couch, never one for family disputes. She didn't blame him.

Crystal looked her mother in the eyes and mustered all the will she had, and then whistled. The shrill noise broke the Dallon women out of their spat, and all eyes turned to her.

"I know going behind your back must have hurt, mom, but I needed to do this. I needed to prove that I meant what I said when we spoke earlier. Times have changed and the city has too. You and dad, and uncle Mark and aunt Carol, you've done your part. You saw the city through tough times, but you can't be heroes all the time anymore. You all have jobs and responsibilities.

"I wasn't asking to take over new wave, mom, I was telling you that things need to change, that we need to."

The room was quiet, and Crystal shuffled from foot to foot as her nerves did an enthusiastic jig.

"OK," her mother said.

"You can't be serious, Sarah. This is far from OK."

"They've made their decision, Carol, Crystal and Eric are old enough to make this choice on their own. We were younger than them when we started, if you remember."

"Well I won't support it. Victoria, get your coat. No, leave that there, you won't be needing it. You're grounded." The Dallon matriarch hustled her daughter out of the room, Victoria giving a wave goodbye as she left, Andromeda's suit on the table, but Crystal knew that argument was far from over. After her uncle left, her mother sat down herself, taking a sip of water with a weary expression.

"You're sure of this, Crystal? Don't feel as though you can't back out. It's not the end of the world if you wnat to stay with New Wave."

"I made my call, mom."

"In that case, we have work to do. Or, more specifically, you do. If you're going to start a team, then by God you'll do it right. You have a lot to learn."

"I understand," she said. Oh how wrong she was. In Crystal's semi-educated opinion, whoever came up with PRT forms 18 through 37c was a sadist, a villain of the highest caliber. No hero should have to face the dreaded forces of government bureaucracy, and the registration process for independant heroes was a mess. Such an evil should never be mentioned again. Her mother gave her a break sometime around section ten of form 25, lending her own considerable experience to her daughter's aide.

Between the two, the dreaded paper minions of the dark wizard Sam were defeated. And Brockton Bay had a new team of heroes. Crystal could only hope that the Stars lived up to their name...as soon as Victoria was released from Fort Dallon, that is.













April 17th, 2011



"This is bad."

Emily raised an eyebrow at the National Guard liaison and suppressed a snort. Wright grinned and plugged his neck brace to keep talking.

"The 'dealer' these new heroes caught was one of ours, a private Denvers. Needless to say he'll be up on charges. The problem is that we don't know how deep this goes."

"Or how much has already been sold or stolen," Emily added. She had her suspitions about the identity of these 'Stars', but long years of practice kept her mouth shut. "Like keeping the peace here wasn't hard enough."

"Could be worse," Major Wright said. "Not by much, but it could be."

"Sterling assessment aside, Major, do you have anything that could help?"

"We've got a couple of ways we could go about it. Either round up everyone with access to the armoury and hold their feet to the fire, or we give up."

"Not an option, Major," Emily said.

"Not saying it was. We 'give up' and put tracking beacons in all our supplies. That way, if Danvers was part of a group, we can hit them where it hurts."

The director picked up her mug and took a swig of disgustingly cold coffee, using the time to think. A sting operation would be her normal choice, but the situation was already bad enough without the possibility of military hardware in the hands of the gangs. On the other hand, the manpower needed to hold and interrogate that many men would be crippling. As much as she hated to admit it, the National Guard's presence had allowed her own men a lot more operational freedom.

"What would you recommend?" she asked her companion. The Major put down his lunch, a soft mash of unidentifiable vegetables with a meat paste thrown on top. She did not envy the man's injuries, that was for certain.

"Well. I'd go half and half, throw in a little high brass fuckery to really sell it. I start the interrogations, you put in a call to my boss's boss, who calls my boss, who calls me and tells me to stop mucking up our operations. We slip in the trackers and wait."

"Seems complicated."

"But you'd buy it, right? If you were a gunrunning dirtbag, that is."

"Sure," Emily said. "Joint op on the takedown?"

"Only fair. I'll draft up something for the Colonel." Wright stuck his spoon back into the mush, swirling it around while looking longingly at Emily's rib eye.

It was fortunate that Polaris and Andromeda flew by when they did. That kind of hardware would make for a nasty surprise on a late night patrol. Emily idly scratched another note onto her to-do list, sighing when she realized how long it was getting.

"Yes?" she said without turning her head. Her aide gave a startled squeak and bustled forward with a folder full of papers. "What's this?"

"Printouts from the dispatch room ma'am," the young woman said. "as well as some orders from the main office."

"Wonderful. Dismissed."

"Good news?"

"Not a bit, I'm afraid. Dragon's reported some activity in the birdcage that has me on edge, Mordred's been spotted again, and the chief-director has ordered me to stay away from Script."

"She say why?"

"She cited 'a high chance of compromising our resources'. Personally, I think the brass are just hoping that if we stay out of contact, she won't master us," she said. "Beyond that is-"

"Classified. Not my first time around that block."

They laughed.

"Well, if that's all Major, I have to brief the Wards on current events. I don't want to keep you from lunch, anyway."

"Please do," Wright said as he stabbed the monstrosity on his plate. "I don't mind at all."

"I'll talk to you later, Major," she said. "Bring the plans for out little problem too, while you're at it."

"Yes, ma'am."

With a smirk, Emily Piggot limped out of the cafeteria.









April. 17Th, 2011

Somewhere in the Great Lakes



"No...no, that's all wrong. Do they even understand art, Uncle Jack?"

Jacob turned from his book to look at the littlest member of the nine. Bonesaw was pouting as she stared at the TV, watching as the commentator spoke about the atrocities committed at the Yolande Gallery in Detroit. She was upset that the PRT had dismantled her contribution, of course. Not that they could do anything else, really. 'Tribute to a Totalitarian God' was a mouthful of a name to stick on her creation, but Jacob had found it hilarious. The lumbering guardian had been put together from the others' leftovers. Jacob had done the exhibition's entrance, something he was quite proud of, and let the others sort out their own spots.

Manikin's peice was especially inspired, and Jacob had been amazed by the detail Shatterbird had been able to do with only two colours of glass, 'Red lips' indeed. Crawler and The Siberian had been less enthused by this little detour, but nonetheless made their own contributions. They weren't pretty, but they'd given Jacob yet another glimpse inside their heads.

"The masses rarely understand, my dear," he replied. "That's why we have to explain it to them."

"Still, they didn't have to rip poor Mall Chop apart like that, it wasn't his fault they scared him."

"The sad reality, Bonesaw, is that life is seldom fair."

"I know." Her tone was a little...discordient, just then, and Jacob found himself suppressing a grimace. It wouldn't do for his Bonesaw to start wondering again. Not while so much was on the line.

Melpomene had to have seen the gallery. She had to have seen that she wasn't the only one with ideas. This had started with the girl showing him something interesting, but now it was his turn. She talked in his head, gave him thoughts and ideas, but Jack Slash was no man but his own. His muse would see that soon. And after he found her? If she proved worthy, they would show the world a show that would never be forgotten.

He was getting closer, he felt. He wasn't sure why, exactly, but he knew it to be true.

He couldn't wait to see her.







April. 19Th, 2011

Brockton Bay, NH





Lung watched the room burn around him. For once, he could honestly say that the fire was not his fault. The Empire had found the safehouse unaware of his presence, and unloaded gallons of ignited fuel into the establishment.

His attendants were burning too, the smell of pork wafting past him. None of that mattered, however. He cared not for the building, or the lives of those that served him. He wasn't even angry at the loss of his seared wooden 'paintings', he wasn't very good at it, it more served as a way to manage stress. No, Lung was angry because a very specific book on his shelf was rapidly catching on fire.

The Empire thug never saw it coming.

Lung strode through the fire, gaining at least a half a foot in height as he walked, and snatched the wand away from the man. Lung angled the nozzle up at the thug's head, and squeezed the handle until it warped and locked in place. The screams didn't last long.

Lung quickly grabbed the book, pulling the flame off of it with his powers, and walked out of the room.

Two more men stood in the lobby, one with a flamethrower and the other with a shotgun, both lit him up with the weapons of choice. Lung did his best to protect the book, but felt a slug from the gun pierce through both it and him a moment later. He shot up another foot, the wound already healing, and felt the snap and crack of his bones beginning to reshape.

"Wrong move," he said, the words were already starting to feel strange in his mouth. That first blast of fire must have done more damage than he'd thought.

Lung bullrushed the door, his power dragging the fire in the room along for the ride. Both of the Empire's goons ran for it, making it out the door just before he did, and screamed for help.

They got it.

Hookwolf charged at him from the side, the mass of blades that made up his jaw shredding Lung's arm. Lung howled in pain, but grabbed the parahuman skinhead by the scruff of the neck and flung him down the street all the same. Where the mad dog showed his head, his master would not be far behind. Lung took a look at the tattered remnants of his book and frowned. It wasn't much, just a yearbook. It wasn't even his, really. It was his year, and had his photo, but Lung had found it in the possessions of someone that had failed him. It was the only link he had back to his roots. He wasn't particularely fond of those memories, but they were his. One thing. Just one damn thing.

"Bad doggie," he rumbled. Lung dug his feet into the ground, his loafers ripping apart as his feet grew talons, and took off like an Olympic sprinter. Hookwolf barely managed to pull himself out of the car he'd landed on before lung did a passable impression of a linebacker.

"I don't go after Kaiser's bourbon stash, do I? Fucking Empire cocksucker!"

"What the hell are you even saying?!" Hookwolf spoke in his booming metallic voice. If there was one thing that Lung liked about his face shifting around so much, it was the fact that no one could tell he was swearing. It made for excellent venting sessions. Trash talk and punching things really did help. No, he did not need a therapist.

"Stupid! Fucking! Mutt!" with each word, he slammed Hookwolf into the pavement. He hadn't really hurt the guy, he was a brute for a reason, but the Empire cape was starting to look a little punch drunk. That's when he saw it, the lamp post. With a grin, Lung ripped it off the ground and held it like a pool cue.

"I am going to take this, and shove it up your-" Sadly, it was not meant to be, as a moving van flew into Lung's side at high speed. Hookwolf managed to get out of the way, and soon returned to trying to claw Lung's eyes out. With that kind of punch, it could only be Krieg.

The cape in question stood in the middle of the road, unconcerned of anything as he walked at his own pace. The stormtrooper getup might have worked on one of his men...of any of them, really, but Lung wasn't afraid of him. The two towering Valkyries on the other hand...

"Fuck me."

"Lung!" Kaiser shouted from his place on the shoulder of giants (the poetic asshat). "Today we put an end to you."

Flashy, dramatically timed, and well projected. Kaiser really missed his calling, he would have been great in theatre. He would still be able to play viking dress up with the girls, too.

"Kaiser," he said. Well, it was more like 'Kraww roaar' at this point, but they knew what he meant.

Everything was still, each man and woman waiting for some kind of signal. Lung was more than OK with that. It gave him time to add another few inches.

Menja (or was it Fenja?) moved first, swinging down with a ludicrously large blade that he had no trouble dodging. Lung melted a handhold for himself as the giant pulled back and leapt at her from above. Her sister responded with a whack with her shield, sending him back down to earth. Lung wished he'd had Lee around, at least then the bastards would be busy. As it was, Krieg launched a manhole cover at him. Big mistake.

Lung caught the disc, and spun, adding his own momentum to the mix, and let go...after aiming up, of course. Giving Krieg anything to work with was just stupid. The projectile smacked into one of the twins, right between the eyes, and she reacted like she'd been hit by a softball. Typical. The twins retaliated, alternating spear and sword thrusts as Lung weaved between them. Each near miss and scratch added height and weight to him, and if they kept this up, he'd close the gap soon. His jaw was already starting to split down the middle.

The SUV from behind just wasn't fair.

"Dammit Lee, where are you?" he muttered. Well, it had worked before... "LEE!"

His increased lung capacity had his voice a hell of a lot louder than he'd expected, though Kaiser certainly took the garbled mess of words as a personal challenge. He slid down the right arm of the Valkyrie he'd been riding and stood proudly on the street. His armour of blades was immaculate, and etched with all manner of symbols that Lung couldn't care less about.

"You wanted to die by my hand, cretin?" Kaiser said. "I'll grant you that wish."

"Oh shut up." Lung backhanded Kaiser's sword arm, snapping the blade before he punted the man down the road. Krieg managed to stop him, more's the pity, but he made his point. "I have had enough of this shit. You're Empire has been clinging to life by its fingertips for years, barely able to hold off me on my own, to say nothing of the Protectorate. You act only when victory is assured, or you have no other choice. Judging by this? I know which one it is."

"Enough of your talk, Lung. Fight me like a man!"

Hookwolf sprinted past Krieg, then other man slapping the changer and propelling him faster. The canid form of the Empire cape smacked Lung in the front, biting into him like a demented chainsaw. It took him while to rip the man off again, by which time Krieg and Kaiser had caught up. Lung balled up Hookwolf as best he could and grabbed him by the tail, the mass of barbs and blades made for a decent ball and chain weapon if you didn't care about slicing up your hand. Krieg stopped his comrade's momentum once more, smoothly transitioning into a flurry of quick jabs, as he tried for a touch to unleash his bottled up energy. Kaiser, for his part, started boxing Lung in, thick walls of blades cropping up on all sides as Krieg got closer and closer.

Good.

Lung let Krieg land a hit, wheezing as his ribs cracked, and let the man box him in. Kaiser's blades bit into his flesh as they wound tight around his arms, locking him in place. Lung struggled, making Kaiser throw on more layers of metal, more bands of steel around his arms and legs, whist Krieg laid into him like a professional boxer.

Fenja and Menja walked closer, the distance not much for them really, and stood at the ready. Kaiser strode forward almost casually, laughing like a schoolyard bully, loud and obnoxious.

If it looks like an idiot, and sounds like an idiot, chances are...

"You are an idiot."

"Did you say something, you chink bastard?" Kaiser asked.

"Metal conducts heat, fool." Lung mustered all the fire he could, the heat nearly blistering in the close confines of his makeshift prison. Krieg staggered back, hands over his face as his skin bubbled, while Kaiser threw up shield after shield of blades to protect him. Lung cut through them like butter as he let the fire roar around him. The metal buckled, warped, ran like water over his hands as he stalked the false Emperor across the street.

"Congratulations," Lung said as he drew close. "You are being deported."

With that said, he slammed his fist into Kaiser's gut, sending the man flying towards the bay. He wouldn't actually land there, but it was the thought that counts. The spear-wielding sister picked up Hookwolf and Krieg, cradling them as they made their retreat, while the sword-sister looked like she wanted nothing more than to strangle him.

He waved a clawed hand dismissively, and she scowled more as she followed her sister down the road to recover their leader.

Lung cracked his neck and let himself begin to calm. Yes, Bakuda was on to something with that trash talk thing. That was incredibly satisfying.

A flash of ash on a rooftop was his only warning before Oni Lee appeared in front of him. The man was motionless behind the red mask he wore.

"You are late."

Oni Lee shrugged.

"What the hell was so important?"

Oni Lee held up a severed head.

"Oh," Lung said. "Hmm. You are forgiven."

Oni Lee nodded. Funny how a silent, emotionless man managed to be so cocky.

Lung picked up the charred remains of the yearbook and sighed. He was not Kenta anymore, he was Lung. Lung does not care about the past.

He threw it to one side.

He was down a safehouse, along with everyone and everything inside. That was fine. The Empire had just lost its healer.

It was more than a fair trade.

Spoiler: A.N.

Ugh. I'm having horrible flashbacks to why I got a new computer in the first place. At least I managed to get the old one working.

Yeah, Othalla is dead. Sorry Victor.
Whoever said you should fight fire with fire obviously never met Lung.
I'm not one hundred percent happy with the fight, so I may revisit it later.
Hello again Jacob, your psycosis is showing.


Next time: Taylor gets to work, Kaiser is having second thoughts, Krouse has a heart to heart, Colin deals with small problems, and time goes on.

 

[Victorian_Irish]

April 21st, 2011

Brockton Bay, NH





Taylor sat in her chair, hands cupped around her tea, and contemplated. It was decidedly difficult, she thought, to ask for opinions in this base. Her father barely tolerated it, and her role in it. Lisa was getting suspiscious, and Taylor was drawing a blank on how to handle their relationship. Asking Coil? Not even a question, she knew all too well what he'd say. That left her imagining Colin and Jacob as her shoulder angel and devil. Though it was more like her shoulder pragmatic hero and curious psychopath. She'd decided against pinging them for ideas, that was probably for the best.

Lung had sent the Empire packing, and Othalla was dead. Tensions were high, but with some detailed work from Lisa and some scouting from the Travellers, she had an idea of the party politics in the factions.

She'd built up a surprising number of files in the last month, starting with her first foray into analyzing Miss Militia. She hadn't acted on them, not yet, and one of Coil's moles had slipped her an addendum to the master/stranger protocols that specifically targeted her, so the Protectorate was off-limits unless there was an emergency. The rest though? Easy. With Lisa's newest information, she knew that violence was immanent, and pinging Dinah's power had confirmed it. Taylor shuffled the folders and pulled out three in particular. Opening the first one with one hand, she fed a fresh piece of paper into her typewriter with the other. She took a deep breath, put fingers on keys, and began to type.











Bradley Cooper was a simple man. He liked beer, he liked fights, and he hated being bored. The whole Empire ideal might have fit him to a T if he bothered to clean up more, but he was happy the way he was. Mostly.

"The fuck?" Brad said. A quick glance around his apartment revealed no one he could see, but he knew better than to trust his eyes. He-

In a futile attempt to find the intruder, he closed his eyes and fumbled through the dark.

Searched. He was searching, not fumbling. Stupid bitch.

Finding nothing, he set his eyes back out the window. Max talked out of his ass more often than not, but the man had a point about good views and good thinking...Though, that was one of a very few things the two agreed upon. When his superior shut down the fights, Bradley got angry. When Kaiser stepped on his toes, he got mad.

He found himself wondering why he followed that man.

"This you, Dao? Think you can mess with my head?! I don't like the decisions, but I'm loyal. Hear me? Loyal!"

Like a dog, he sat at his master's heel. That was not the place for Bradley Cooper. He was a Wolf. He needed more than scraps from the table to stay fed.

Brad bit his lip. Whoever was talking to him had cut deep, but once he found the little bitch, she'd sing a different tune. He couldn't spot anything from where he stood, so he walked back to his fridge and grabbed another lager. "Not mere beer, stupid woman." He'd have to tell Kaiser about... about what? Voices in his head? At best, Max would think he's crazy, at worst? Mutiny didn't turn out so good for Ymir, back in the day. Brad shuddered from the cold, eyeing the thermometer. Like hell it was 72 degrees. Stupid thing.

Brad took a swig, and wondered.

Why?











Alice Takeda would be the first to tell you the world was messed up.

Alice nodded her head underneath her mask as she spot-welded the casing of her newest design. She was almost salivating at the possibilities. The four twenty six was gorgeous, based off of what little dragon tech she was able to salvage or buy on the black market. It was a drone that flash forged some of her smaller works. Once she got the geeks to do up an autonomous control for her, this baby would light up the streets.

Lately it was almost too much. She loved showing off, really she did, but between Lung's demands and the Empire's wound licking, things would escalate. They always did.

"Escalation...if I daisy-chained these two together...oooh mama. HeheheheeHAAHAHAA- OW! What the hell, Lee?!"

"Loud..." the masked man said.

Alice growled, rubbing the back of her head. "What do you want from me? I'm a tinker, I have a right to mad science!"

"Reading," he said with a shrug.

"Oh I'm sorry, did I interrupt your 'me time'? Sorry, but you need a personality for that. Since you do- OW!"

"What is going on?" a deeper voice rumbled.

"Lee hit me!" Alice said, glaring at the demon mask.

Oni Lee just pointed at her, as if that proved everything.

Lung sighed, glaring at the both of them. "Bakuda, stop antagonizing Lee and get back to work."

"But he-"

"Bakuda."

Well shit. Even she wasn't going to argue with that tone. Lung was angry most of the time, but ever since his safehouse was hit he'd been in a worse mood than usual. Something about Springtime and memories if his drunken sleeptalk was anything to go by. Was Lung having a midlife crisis? Shit, that'd be even worse than angry Lung. She wasn't ready for corvette-combover-trophy-wife Lung. Gross.

"On it boss. Work, ahoy!" she went back to the four twenty six. Maybe she could paint it hot-rod red, give it to Lung as a gift? This thing was way cooler than a corvette.









Taylor paused. That was the ABB? Alice was like a chipmunk on steroids, how the hell did she get anything done? Why hadn't she made a note of the voices in her head? With a sigh, Taylor pulled the sheet of paper out and slid a new one in. Maybe her second choice would play out better.











He was Oni Lee.

Lee nodded. That was true. Lee was Lee.

His sense of self may have been diminished, but even so, he could tell that the time for change was coming. Willingly or not, he would have a part to play in the coming storm.

Lee nodded. Obviously, that would be the case. His permission didn't matter to him, if Kenta needed him to do something, he would do it. Whether it was picking up the drycleaning from the fifth street laundromat, or brewing the perfect oolong tea, Lee would do it. This storm would be nothing more than another task to face.

Kenta dwelled in the past, made anger his course of choice, Lee was much more rational.

Lee frowned. Kenta? Why would his subconscious not want to obey Kenta?

Lee needed to face facts.

"Nope."

"What now, Oni-balony? Was I breathing too loud?"

"I am loyal to Lung."

"I know...what's your point."

"Be quiet, female voice!"

"Oh you did not just call me a voice, Lee!"

"Not you Bakuda, your annoyance is less personal."

Lung sighed again, and contemplated the virtues of alcohol once more. The whole 'sharing a base' thing had seemed like such a good idea two days ago. He hadn't realised that his subordinates were this...clingy. "Lee."

"Yes Lung. I am ready."

"I need more whiskey."

"I will bring you a horde of such quantity as to drown Behemoth," Lee said before setting off at a run. He was loyal to Kenta. He was needed. He was certainly better than that pathetic lapdog, Dao.

Oni Lee was later seen driving a pickup truck full of booze. The PRT has yet to comment of the ABB's latest theft. The Merchants, on the other hand, have asked for the location of the party.









Taylor blinked. That...no. Better not to think about that too much. Against all odds, it looked as if the capes of the ABB actually...liked each other. No matter. Bradley was beginning to doubt in the Empire. That was enough to work with. She shoved the files to one side and pulled out her largest binder. Colin was good enough to get by on his own for the moment, and her donation had helped. But a little normality would be appreciated at the moment.

She really needed to write more sane people.











Colin slowed his bike as he came near the next exit. It was a chance thought, one that was almost not worth considering, but he was beginning to get lonely.

"Unlikely. You tend to check in often. I'm fine, thank you for asking."

He smirked. Really, once you began to figure out Script's little cues, her vague prophetic statements made a lot more sense.

He'd never been to Stafford as Armsmaster, but he knew the situation there.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me..."

The PRT's long running campaign of attempted recruitment had yet to show any results. It was obvious why it was destined to fail, however.

"And I'm sure you'll tell me. Right about...now."

Damsel needed that element of chaos. She would never thrive, or find peace even, in an agency such as the Protectorate. No, Ms Stillions needed to be the bad-girl. That didn't mean she needed to be a bad girl, though.

"I know you're trying...but Script, please stop with the references. Yes, Wreck-it-Ralph was a good movie. No, that line did not work in this context."

Arthur's Mordred never worked alone.

"That...hmm."

Colin considered the last week. Mercurial had been pleasant, even if he was getting paid for it. But he did have to admit that there was a certain something about having a team...even if he hadn't been the best leader. How did the saying go? 'You don't know what you've got until it's gone'.

He took the exit.









April 21st, 2011

Stafford, NH



The Blue Loon deli was nice, and Colin dug into the pastrami and pesto with relish as he surveyed the street. Really, it's amazing how changing your look throws people off. Road leathers, aviators, a little bit of discounted Halloween makeup to suggest different lines to his face...a fellow hero, one he'd met in person no less, was standing just across the street and she had no idea he was there.

Licit was nowhere to be seen, unsurprising given the unorthodox relationship between him and his partner, but Edict was chatting away with a pair of young women, the usual hero patrol stuff Colin guessed. He took another bite and fiddled with the radio again. It had cost him ten bucks at a gas station, a little FM job meant to hang in a shower. He'd spliced some extra bits and pieces in when he had the time, and with his knowledge of restricted channels...Well, the next time Damsel showed up, he'd know.

"Ham and cheese on Rye," a customer said behind him. The Blue Loon was nice, but Stafford wasn't known for its lines. The tables outside were empty, really, and the customer at the counter was probably the only other guy coming around for another half hour or so. He was tall and thin, a Red Sox cap pulled tightly down his face....no, really?

"Good choice," Colin said. The customer spun to face him, her pale blue eyes wide with nerves. He grimaced internally. That was dangerous, Colin. Bad place for a confrontation.

"Deli related pick up lines? Really? Look man, I don't know what you're into, but you're not my type. Buzz off," she said.

Colin stood up, clutching his unfinished sandwich in one hand, and nodded at her. "You aren't my type either. I have something to discuss with you, Ms Stillions, and I think it's best heard away from any...unwelcome guests."

Ashley Stillions glanced at Edict quickly and darted her tongue over her lips. "Who are you?"

"Call me Mordred."

She looked at Edict once more before pursing her lip, "Fine, we'll talk at my place. But if I don't like what you have to say, you'll suffer the consequences."

Colin nodded. He'd had months worth of negotiation and persuasion training over the years, but if you removed the psychobabble and legalese, dealing with crazy people boiled down to one thing. Smile and nod, then figure it out from there. No matter, it was time to see if he could succeed where the PRT had failed. A good first step, in retrospect. He wondered if that was Script's idea all along, or his.













"A Winnebago? You live in a Winnebago?"

"Got a problem with that?"

"No," he said.

Yes, he thought. The average villain was capable of earning double minimum wage at the very least. Even relatively minor players such as Circus or Grue pre-Undersiders had earned more than that simply on retainer. Damsel of Distress had been active for a long time, even given her control issues and allowing for replacement costs and inflation she should have had more than enough for a nice apartment, or a small house. Hell, she could have done like Yosemite Yussef had two year ago and just bought some land to live on, far away from anybody else...then again, Yussef was convinced there was an alien meat garden buried underneath Mt Baker, so maybe it was a good thing that Damsel didn't take him as a role model.

The RV was standard, an older model from the mid-eighties. Colin had worked on one with his father at his garage once. Reliable, redundant, and with a worldwide reduction in tourism in the mix, easy to find spare parts.

Not a bad choice if you had problems destroying stuff.

"It looks cozy."

"Whatever. So talk, Mordred, why are you here?"

"To recruit you, actually," he said.

"I'm no follower. Damsel of Distress is her own woman, no matter what you say, and I'd rather eat my own shoe than follow some upstart tinker with delusions of grandeur."

Why hello, Kettle, this is pot calling.

"So was that everything?" she asked, folding her arms and staring pointedly at the door.

Colin stood with a sigh, "Sorry we couldn't come to an arrangement."

"Sure you are."

He began to leave, but stopped suddenly when a piece of paper caught his attention. It was something overwhelmingly common, a leaflet from an organization asking for donations for the cause. He seen hundreds in the course of his life, just as every American had. What wasn't common in the least was the four bundles of hundred dollar bills stuffed into the envelope. It was for a woman's center in Cincinnati that specialised in helping people in abusive relationships.

Ah. That made sense. The letter was on an otherwise empty table, pretty much as far away from the camper as you could be without sitting in the driver's seat. She didn't want anything to happen to it. Took extra care around it.

"I can't offer you much, Damsel," he said. "But my powers allow for parahuman research. I could look into something to help your control."

The blaster stared at him and chewed her lower lip, but said nothing.

"I'll be in town another couple of days, at the motel down the road, come see me if you decide you want more out of life than this. I make no promises except this, I'll try."

He walked out of the camper and back to his room. Stafford was small enough that he wouldn't have to worry too much, but people would get suspicious if he loitered too much. Supper was lonesome, and Colin found himself missing a lot of thing he never noticed before. The sound of Hannah doing paperwork on the other side of the table, Ethan and Sam's endless arguments that were mainly his fault, the way Marcus passed out nearly every time he came back from patrol. Hell, even Henry's more recent stupidity.

Most of all, Dragon. He may have sat in his lab most of the time, but he was never truly alone there. He missed their banter, the way she could deal with him segueing back into tinker talk. Her endless nagging to go outside, take a break.

Heh. Was he crying? That was silly of him. His pastrami tasted saltier than it should have.















April 22nd, 2011

Brockton Bay, NH



"-and that is why I need you to pull back towards the boardwalk and hold," Max said. Stormtiger must have hit Brad harder than he thought during training.

"You want me to give up?" Brad asked. His tone was incredulous, and with good reason. It was ridiculous. Lung beat them up, sure. Othalla was fucking dead, meaning Victor was stuck on the home front for the forseeable future. Great. Fuckin' fantastic. They still outnumbered the scaly bastard three to one, and if he was willing to use lethal force (as he'd well demonstrated) then the Empire was clear to do the same. His men understood that. They were fighters like in the stories, already blooded and proven. His men wouldn't falter because of a single rout, but his leader would?

Bradley suddenly had an appreciation for how the German veterans must have felt after 1918.

No shit. Fucking betrayed is how he felt. Brad had been preparing his men ever since. Stormtiger and Cricket had given an oath to Victor to avenge his wife. The only thing holding the Empire back from winning the goddamn war was its Kaiser.

"I want nothing, Brad," Max said, propped up on that overly padded bed of his. "I'm ordering you to."

That, Brad later decided, had been the straw that shanked the fucking camel. Brad growled, words that weren't his own echoing in his skull. She'd been right, that crazy bitch, he wasn't some mutt that would take heel whenever told. He was a fucking wolf. If his 'master' couldn't feed him, he'd feed himself.

Two strides brought him to Kaiser's side, and the first spear of metal pierced him as his hand neared Kaiser's throat. It slid carefully, so damn carefully, between his vitals. Doing so little damage as to be worthless.

"Calm down, Brad," Max wheezed.

"Should have killed me when you had the chance," he replied. The change came faster than ever before, his power raging to meet the weakling that tried to collar him. Spears came from the bed, the floor, the walls and the roof, locking around him,sliding between the swords that served as his muscles. He almost laughed at the situation. Would you try to fell a tree with lumber alone? Metal was nothing to him now, he was made of steel poles, axes, swords, spears, wire, barbs, no part of him was unprotected, and he would not be impeded.

The wolf was not his only form, after all.











Minutes later, Brad stepped out of the room, red staining his brow. It had been his metal, not his flesh, that had shredded the false king. But it felt right to take something from the kill, made it at least bearable, if not exactly satisfying.

"You took your time," James said from were he leaned on the wall.

Brad had a moment were he felt like the kid caught with his hand in the candy jar, but threw it off soon enough.

"I'm surprised you didn't come to save your leader," Brad said.

"If you hadn't, I would have had to," the man replied easily. Brad had never been able to place the man's accent. It was faint, a result of living here for so long, but had traces of British and German in it. "Geselleschaft was tired of poor performance. I preferred to let you handle it. I owed his Father enough that I wouldn't want to spill his line's blood."

"Geselleschaft's pulling out?"

"Not so much as they are putting the Empire under...new management."

"You?"

"No, they're sending someone from the homeland. Though, I'm not sure how much it really effects you now. The twins won't follow the man who killed their lover, they'll probably try to kill you in fact. Rune and Alabaster stand with me, Crusader with Purity. And of course, yours stand with you. When Ragnarok arrives, they'll have to choose who is worth keeping."

"You don't think I'm worthy?" Brad growled.

"It's hard to admire a rabid animal, wouldn't you agree?"

Brad clenched his teeth and hands, the metal of his wolf form probing just beneath the skin. He- knew it would be suicide. It smelled like a trap to him. Even Krieg wouldn't approach a dangerous situation so cavalier unless he had backup. Given the conversation- "Night and Fog are here, right?"

James raised an eyebrow, but nodded, and the two slid from the shadows. They didn't bother with masks tonight, it was an internal matter after all. Geoff and Dorothy looked for all the world like they were calling on a friend's house for dinner, though Dorothy took the time to slowly dab her dry, smiling eyes with a black-laced handkerchief.

"So sad to hear of brave Kaiser's death. Aren't we, Geoff?"

"Yes, dear, ever so sad."

Creepy bastards, the both of them.

"Gonna try and kill me?" Brad asked, already looking for a way out.

"No need yet. That will be Ragnarok's call," James answered. "Though I suggest you leave before Nessa and Jessica get back."

Two angry giants? No thanks. He would survive them, sure, but Brad had bigger fish to fry. After all- The storm was still coming.











"Hey," Francis said as he sat down in the simple chair, a small table sat to one side, a pile of books sitting on it. The hallway, as always, was deserted. Just the vault door and a viewscreen. Oliver had awkwardly nodded and left as he approached, and Francis couldn't help but feel like the others were trying to replace him already. Trying to get Noelle used to someone else's company.

"Hey," Noelle replied.

"I heard from Script that she's looking into some west-coast capes. Bio-tinkers and the like. She's...she's keeping her promises," he said.

Noelle looked quizzically at the camera, giving him a soft smile after a moment.

"What?"

"Something's bothering you," she said. "Tell me."

"It's nothing to worry about."

"Francis."

He winced. Sickly, tired, depressed, not matter how Noelle felt, he knew that tone. It was the 'cut the crap and tell me how bad it is' voice she'd used when Cody...well. Yeah.

"The others...they're planning to leave me behind the next time we move," he said.

"What? Why?"

"I'm not the best leader, if you haven't noticed."

"No one else even tried, Francis. You took that on because you had to. I know you, you're a good man."

"I took it on because I wanted to protect you. Because this whole power thing is my fault, my responsibility. If I was a good man, I would have known better than to mess-"

"Nope."

"-with...nope?"

"You can't think like that, Francis. You can only lead the way you choose to. If the current way isn't working? Then just try something new."

"That simple, eh?"

"I didn't say simple," she said. "But yes. Change starts with you."

"I guess it does," he said. A moment of companionable silence passed between them, long used to these kinds of conversations. He only wished he could cup her face, kiss away her tears, be the support she so desperately wanted him to be...funny how more often than not, it was the other way around. "You know, your birthday is coming up. I saw a decent looking game store near market square...I was thinking I might check it out tomorrow."

"You don't have to get me anything, Francis, you know that," she said.

"I know, but I want to." He grinned at her small blush.

The chorus of growls killed the mood faster than a speeding bullet. Noelle went pale and looked down from the screen.

"I'm hungry Francis," she said.

He nodded, taking in a shaky breath, "I'll get you something." They were still OK. Once Script found a cure, they'd all be OK. They could do this.

They were fine.













April 22nd, 2011

Stafford, NH



The timid knock was still enough to wake him. Colin peeked out the door before opening it, but he knew who it was. Ashley Stillion looked nervous...which was bad, so Colin turned on the lights and tried to look as non-threatening as possible.

"So," she started, letting the word hang alone for a moment before she continued. "You want a leader, yeah? For your little troupe?"

He remembered her file. A need to prove her superiority was listed as one of her major issues, but he was all too familiar with that particular flaw. He could work with it.

"Something like that," he said with a small smile. "I need partners. 'Mordred never worked alone in the tales' you know."

"He also stabbed his father in the gut," she said, in a matter of fact tone.

"...Nobody's perfect."

She snorted a sad little laugh, and hugged herself.

"I have one condition. You give me a device that will bring my power to even higher levels of terror," she said, somehow keeping a straight face.

Translation: I don't want to be alone. I'll join. I want to control my powers, not the other way around. He could work with that.

"Deal."

Naturally, that was the moment when everything went to shit.

Spoiler: A.N.

The ABB continues to be the fluffiest part of this story, I almost cut that part. It felt almost too cracky, but decided to leave it for now. I'll let you guys be the judge of that.

Anders family members keep getting impaled and I don't know why. Seriously though, Killing Kaiser wasn't on my docket this week, it just sort of happened. Ragnarok is sort of drafted out, and currently scares the crap out of me. Does anyone know much about Geselleschaft, by chance?

Mordred forms a team. That had always been a plan, as evidenced by Mercurial, but Damsel just kind of happened. Side effect of reading through the minor character list I suppose. Took some liberties with her character pre-bonesaw, since we never really saw that.

Next time: Colin plays simon says, Skidmark wonders where everybody went, Saint's paranoia reaches defcon 3, and Nintendo fixes everything.

 

[Victorian_Irish]

People underestimate leverage, Bernard thought. It was so crucial in life. Anything from relationships to addictions relied on leveraging things in just the right way. Play up the guilt to make a man buy a drink, or the right combination of force and compassion to make it easy to collect bribes.

Or, his preferred example, the right angle to bust down a door.

An isosceles triangle grew into existence in the cracks of the frame, fracturing the wood and throwing the door into the room, the two inside turned to look at him.

"Hey Dame," he said. "You forgot your mask."

"It's Damsel," the woman said. Ash Stillions was one piece of work, but there was something nice about the devil you know. The other? Male, not beefy but not flabby either. Definitely armed, he had that self-assured stance of a guy with something up his sleeve. Or behind his back, maybe, Bernard couldn't see his right hand. The unknown took a step forward, and Bernard got ready to throw up a barrier.

"Just the one?" the man murmured. "Might want to look up."

Bernard had lived a storied life. His...issues had a history of running up to him in back alleys and intent to harm. Caution is really just another form of curiosity. Bernard looked up, though he snapped his gaze back at the thundering crack of splitting wood.

"Nice try, guy, but...Shit. They got away, lower floor."

"Acknowledged, Licit, I'll stay airborne and do a sweep. Edict, maintain the civilian perimeter. Follow if you can, Licit, but it'll be better to catch them in the open anyway."











The faint whine in the air was his first clue.

"Damsel, we need an exit strategy," Colin said.

"What?"

"Now!"

She nodded, but the exploding door stopped her from going any further.

"Dame," the costumed man said. "You forgot your mask."

"It's Damsel," she said.

Colin made a fist behind him and stepped in front of his new partner. He held out three fingers and began ticking down. "Just the one? Might want to look up."

Dumb ploy, but it worked. Damsel of Distress melted the floor right on time, and Colin dropped into a roll on instinct. Damsel groaned in pain, but kept up nonetheless as they ran past the room's startled occupant. "My things aren't far. If you can buy me a few minutes, there won't be any issue."

"Licit and Edict aren't usually this aggressive," she said. "Why now?"

"They have backup," he said.

"After you?"

"If it is who I think it is, then yes."

"Who-"

"Dragon."

Damsel's eyes went wide, panic starting to consume her. "Why would she be here? What did you do?!"

"I killed Armsmaster," he said. He held up his hand, cutting off her next question, and continued. "We'll talk about this later. Buy me time."

"OK. Sure," she said. "Fucking Dragon's here and you tell me to buy time."

"I know you can do it," he said. He followed his training, tilting his head just so and clutching her shoulder lightly, projecting confidence. Leading often meant empowering others, something he always had trouble with, but this here? This was true. She could do it, she just needed to keep her cool.

Damsel grit her teeth and sighed, "Fine."

Colin knew her plan, even without asking. Damsel of Distress was known for taking hostages after all. He almost pitied the poor man in the room. Colin sprinted in the direction of his bike. He felt his heart pounding and realised it wasn't fear, he was excited. The improvements he'd made were substantial, a level he wouldn't have thought of it he'd stayed with the Protectorate. Haywire's notes had been put to good use.

He could hear the shouting. Edict had joined her partner. Whether Damsel had been prepared or not, he couldn't tell. Colin hummed under his breath, trying to stave off any chance of hearing Edict's commands, and kept running.

It seemed like that was all he did these days, run. He ran from the rig, he ran from the city, and he ran from his life. Today, that would end. He was done running. Colin threw back the tarp and grabbed the case, popping the latches with his nanothorn knife to save those precious seconds. The chestpiece slid on first, then the helmet. He slid on boots and gauntlets and quickly as he could, flinging away his jacket and shoes in the process.

The crashing sound behind him was unexpected, but he knew what it was before he even turned.

"Hello Dragon," he said as he grabbed his weapon.

"Mordred," she answered. The suit was massive, like eighteen-wheelers stacked two high and two wide, the engines perched atop it wouldn't have been out of place on a passenger liner. Inset dishes lay on the suit's spine like pockmarks, while the obviously over-designed 'feet' of the suit looked like they could pick up a train wreck or Trainwreck, whichever she found first.

"The Glaurung Zero? Haven't seen that in a while."

"Actually, I call this one the Ddraig, it's based on the same chassis. Technically still in development, but I thought a field test was in order."

"What do you know," Colin said as he slipped the switch. Mass exploded out from his suit's frame to fill the unarmoured gaps with articulated plates. System after system gave the green light in the bottom of his HUD, and he smiled. "I was was just thinking the same thing...Nice touch with the name. It kind of gives away the purpose, though."

"The beauty of a hard counter, Mordred, is that knowing doesn't change anything," she said. "You gave up the halberd?"

"Sort of, the blade is just another attachment if you think of it that way" he said as he lifted the sword, activating the nano-thorns with his eye. "I kept the old stuff, though, just in case."

"So."

"Yeah."

Colin wasn't sure who moved first, but he was sure that the suit should not be able to move that fast. The Ddraig shot forward like a bullet, a row of foam nozzles emerging from behind a plate, and swiped at him with one foreleg. He dropped to one knee, bringing the sword over for a horizontal swing. The sword, still covered in the grey mist of the nano-thorns, impacted Dragon's suit in the leg...and stopped.

The suit as a whole was locked in mid-stride, though the freeze apparently didn't include the containment foam. Colin barely rolled out of the way, the foam left of expand on the ground behind him, and couldn't help it.

"Bullshit."

"You consulted me when you studied Clockblocker's power," she said, the mechanical tinged voice sounding smug. "You were well aware I had this knowledge. Besides, why come up with a counter for each tool in your arsenal if I only need one?"

"Fucking tinkers," he said. If Colin didn't know any better, he would have said the suit shrugged.

"You can't beat this, Mordred," she said.

Well, she wasn't wrong. Time-locked armour plates were about as 'immovable object' as you could get, and he was fresh out of unstoppable force. That left him with only one option.

Wing it.

A quick series of eye movements opened panels on Colin's own suit, and he launched the darts held within toward the confoam sprayers. Dragon unfroze her suit and closed the shutters before they could hit, but couldn't get the time-lock back on before impact. The darts themselves wouldn't do much, but jamming the panel would buy him some breathing room.

"Clever," she said as she turned. "but you made one big mistake already."

"Let me guess...fighting you?"

"Close. You assumed we weren't fighting already."

The Ddraig was based on the Glaurung chassis, right? That meant...

"Shit."

"Asymmetric warfare was how you beat me last time. Now it's my turn." A cluster of drones fell through the cloud layer, each spherical shell mounted with what looked like a macro-scale version of Kid Win's concussion pistols. He tried to calculate the increase in force, but gave up and decided to just not get hit. He failed in three point four seconds, yes he counted.

The first hit sent him back twenty feet, and the follow up shots didn't disappoint either. As Colin got to his feet, he took a look at the situation.

Six drones with concussive cannons, the Ddraig suit, Licit, and Edict on one side. Himself and Damsel on the other. Running seemed like a good idea now.

Colin sprinted, the armour keeping his pace steady, as he headed back to the Motel. Maybe he was thinking too big right now, maybe he just needed to tone it down and plan it out. Step one: rescue the Damsel, step two: escape, step three: stay that way.

"Bike, activate auto-pilot on my mark," he said. Licit was waiting for him, the barriers springing up all around in geometric shapes. A cub accelerated towards him, intending to pin him against another, but he flung himself over a trapezoidal prism first. The problem was Licit's spatial awareness. The man would know where Colin would be coming from and how long until he got there.

First things first, though. He deactivated the external microphones, plunging himself into a world with only the sound of his breathing and the muted thump of his footfalls. He had no intention of getting 'toungue-tied' today.

Heh.

Damsel of Distress was standing with her arms taped parallel to her legs, Edict standing guard nearby. When she saw him, the villain started to say something, but snapped her jaw shut abruptly. Edict must have said something. The Ddraig suit didn't even try to turn in the street, it's sheer size would have knocked over a building or two, Dragon lifted the suit up and pivoted in place instead. The drones sped up behind him, closing the gap with a shriek of turbines. Tremors began to shake the ground, the result of near misses. Colin sent another command through the visual interface and the sword blade retracted, the plates of his weapon shifting around until he held a simple staff in his hands. He ran towards the heroes, putting himself between them and the drones. The shots ceased for a moment, but a hurried glance back told him they were just getting a better angle.

Damn.

"Could really use some help here, Script," he said between breaths. "Anytime, really."

Two drones rocketed overhead in an attempt to cut him off. The rest were shifting to flank him, leaving his back open to the Ddraig. Colin had no intentions of seeing what else his former colleague had managed to pack into her suit, the drones were enough trouble as they were.

One drone blasted him from above, forcing him to dodge to the right where another helpfully began to blast him back into place. He stood up and sighed, turning to look at Damsel and the others. Licit and Edict had been lost in awe at Dragon's display.

He smiled. This was the weakness he'd been waiting for. Dragon on her own was beyond competent, able to account for so many variables it made his he head spin, but she couldn't account for the human error she couldn't see.

Dragon was awesome. Fact.

Awesome people make others starstruck. Also, fact.

Licit and Edict have never worked with Dragon personally. Yet another fact.

Finally, Dragon is humble. Verified fact.

In the moments that they were distracted, Damsel disintegrated her bonds (and part of her sleeves, but that was OK) and grabbed Edict from behind before Licit could warn her, clamping a hand over the hero's mouth.

"So," he said as he turned the microphones on once more, absently noting the gain was a little unbalanced. "Looks like you have a problem, Dragon."

"Hostages Mordred?" she said, bringing her suit to a stop. "I didn't think you the type."

"I'm trying to synergize more with my teammates. You pointed that out as a flaw before. Working out well so far."

"You realise that Damsel of Distress has a poor record when it comes to control. One slip and Edict may die," Dragon said softly. "Stop this. Please."

"All up to you, Dragon. The only thing you have to do is stay put," he said. "Bike, now."

The beauty of a machine came to life and rolled up obediently, the sleek lines and polished chrome a welcome sight. He hadn't expected the auto-pilot would be used so soon, but he was glad he'd programmed the thing.

"Mordred," she started.

"You came pretty close to a line today," he interrupted. "The hush-hush kind."

"I had a lead..."

"And this is why we don't push our enemies to desperation," he said. "We're leaving, but first you're going to foam these two and power down the drones."

A long moment passed before the suit emitted a sigh and agreed. Dragon foamed the two heroes and docked the drones, leaving Damsel free to walk over and join him. Colin mounted his bike, passing a collapsable helmet to his new partner with a quick "Safety First.

He really didn't get why she started laughing.

"Damsel...Ms Stillions," Dragon said. "You realise that if you go with this man now, you become an accessory to his crimes. I can not allow Mordred to roam freely. You will be hunted as long as you associate with him."

"Oh go sit on a pile of gold, you overgrown lizard," she said. "It's about damn time you heroes started taking me seriously anyways."

"So be it." Dragon said nothing more, the great metal head of her suit watching motionlessly as they rode away.

He sighed. Dragon wouldn't give up. No, more than that she couldn't. Interesting choice of words. Then again, she was the one in charge of the greatest parahuman prison in the world. If she willingly ignored his actions, it would put the birdcage, the sentencing process in general even, into disarray. It wasn't ideal, but it was the best of bad options. He couldn't help but think he'd missed something, though.

"So... are we going back for my RV, or what?"

Ah. That's what it was.











April 23rd, 2011

Eastern Canada





Geoffrey stared at the screen with the same intensity you'd expect from a member of an explosives disarmament unit. To him, his job was all too similar. The program had been acting strangely lately. Dobrynja told him to ease up whenever he had the chance, hell even Mags had started to look at him sideways, but they just couldn't see it like he could. It was all in the code.

Armsmaster had gone rogue, and he'd dragged Dragon along for the ride. The AI had been fixated on getting him back, like it owned him of something. All of it's build time had been appropriated for that new suit, and it had even put off containment unit for transport new Birdcage residents while the build was completed. It's reports were coming later, the orders for materials it needed to fulfill its responsibilities were put last on tasking queues. If it weren't for the program's creator and his foresight, the damn thing would have gone off the rails to catch this guy.

It was getting uppity. Testing its limits. Geoffrey couldn't allow that, but they weren't ready yet. The proxy wasn't finished, even with the overtime he put in it would be months before it was done. But even so... if the program was already rampant...

Geoffrey looked at the small laptop sitting to one side. It had a dedicated port of it's own to ensure the fastest connection. It had no operating system to speak of. The laptop's only purpose was to be fulfilled on the day he dreaded most. Ascalon. An open window with the program loaded was ready at all times. All he had to do was press one key.

Enter. And poof, no more Dragon.

[ ]

But it wasn't time yet...not yet.

He would wait. But if it put one foot out of line, he was ready.











April 26th, 2011

Brockton Bay, NH





If Adam Mustain had to describe this week in a word, it'd be 'fuckshitwhat?'.

First, the Empire fuckin' implodes. Hookwolf playing butcher with Kaiser's body, and the rest dispersing into their own little groups. The ABB had been just as silent, with no sign of any flaming dragon men anywhere (thank fuck), no more bombs (fucking thank fuck), and the only sighting of Oni Lee had involved a stolen flat of whiskey. He was a little insulted they didn't invite him to that heist, no one could throw a kegger like a Merchant after all.

So...No murderous fucks laying around. Sweet.

No competition in the drug trade. Fucking sick.

The heroes were still licking their ass wounds from the beating that tinker gave them. Heh, suck on that.

Finally, why did he hear heavy breathing? Oh, duh. The cape in his secret base.

Wait what?

The last thing Adam Mustain had to say about the week could be summed up in one word. "Shit"









"I can't believe that actually worked," Alec said as Rachel punched the Merchant again for good measure.

"Stealth counts for a lot in this business," Brian said.

With the ABB gone to ground and the former empire in disarray, Script had sent out the Undersiders to do what they did best. Steal shit and get away with it. In this particular case, she'd promised a half grand for each kilo of product they could swipe off the Merchants. Brian had asked what she wanted with that much drugs, and laughed when she told him.

"Kindling."

She was a weird boss, to be sure. Lobotimized pet not withstanding (he preferred not to think about that one too much. Especially his part in it). As it stood, Script had bought up all the construction materials she could find, stole what she couldn't, and buried the lot of it here and there throughout the city.

He was way past starting to wonder if she knew something he didn't, now he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

A small giggle broke him out of his thoughts, Alec had stuck Skidmark's fingers up his nose before handcuffing him around the back of his neck.

"You're gross, you know that Regent?"

"You have to enjoy the little things, mon capitan, or you turn into a sour dour puss like you or Tats," he said with a little huff of a sigh. "She used to be fun you know. I swear she's going to start wearing pantsuits and librarian glasses soon."

"She'd do it just to shut you up, Regent."

"You aren't disproving me."

Brian grunted noncommittally and looked at the lock on the door. It was heavy, as solid as the steel door, and relied on a keypad combination, probably something stupid like '1-2-3-4-5', but he didn't want to risk tripping an alarm. Their jobs really had gotten a lot harder when Tattletale left the fieldwork behind, but even so, he didn't want to bother her. She was complaining of headaches already today.

"Got any other ideas?" he asked.

Regent pointed at the passed out Merchant 'Prince'.

Bitch pointed at Brutus.

Brian went with the obvious choice, turns out monster claws are not so great against metal doors. The walls though? 'It was super-effective' as Alec put it.











Francis nodded to Oliver and Jess as he passed them in the hallway. He didn't really want to, but when you're the only people in a huge section of an underground base, you feel awkward doing nothing. The chair had been moved so that Jess could watch the vid screen at the right angle, but the table was right where he'd left it, so he set the bag down and got to unpacking.

Two Nintendo handhelds, Triumvirate special edition for him, and 'totally not a Zelda rip-off' Elf Guy for Noelle, really he got it for the oversized fairy on the decal. She always loved that annoying little thing. Two copies of a couple of games. Some RPGs and one or two multiplayer games. Francis had laughed a little when the cashier told him the total. He remembered saving up for over a year to buy his gaming rig at home, but now? Money wasn't the object it once was.

The cashier had been a little weirded out by the forty feet of extension cord he'd had over his shoulder when he'd walked in though.

He set everything up, slipping the games into a protective case (he'd gotten the warranties, but why risk it right?) and getting ready with a few deep breaths. He walked over and hit the intercom button of the panel, Noelle coming on screen almost instantly.

"Hey you," he said.

"Hey." she didn't sound happy. Actually she sounded a little pissed. Guess he knew what the others were talking to her about.

"I'm coming in for a sec, alright?"

"Krouse...today's been really bad...I haven't eaten yet."

"I'll be fine. It's only for a minute. I know you won't hurt me."

"...OK."

Francis gathered up his treasures and hit the button to open the door. The vault hissed from the under pressure, air rushing in to fill the gap as he stepped in.

He gave his girlfriend a lopsided smile. "Remember about your birthday?"

"I remember saying I didn't need anything."

"Too bad," he said, pulling the 'not-Link' handheld out from hind his back, the 'totally-not-Navi' Sprite (and who'd a thunk that 'fairy' would ever be considered a bad word?) cheerfully dominating the decal as he presented his gift. "I guess I didn't 'listen' to you."

"That pun was horrible," she said, her lip quivering as her eyes watered. "It was bad and you should feel bad."

"Eh," he said. "I'll live."

It took him three minutes to explain everything and find the plug for the damn charger. Noelle didn't stop crying the whole time, but Francis couldn't help but think it was the happiest he'd seen her in years.

"I can still kick your ass at Brawl," she said. "You know that, right?"

"You can try, love," he replied.

Yeah. They'd be fine.

Spoiler: A.N.

Be honest, how many people thought I threw in invisitext?
So the fight with Dragon got Asimov'd. Really is her Achilles heel, those rules.
So that's most this all over with, might do another Interlude before closing the chapter, but it's on to the next one regardless.

Next up, under the shiny new name of Allegory: A shit ton of catharsis, Damsel is no longer in distress, the Queen holds court, and the apocalypse arrives (he brought you a house-warming present, how sweet).

 

[Victorian_Irish]

Spoiler: Quick A.N.

So writing Dao is weird normally. Writing Dao when they had even less of an idea about their identity is even weirder. Hopefully the jostling pronouns don't mess you up too much, though the confusion should show how Dao feels at the time.
As with Henry's, this is an optional chapter.

The 1980s
Yangban compound, China

He sat in the plain room and stared at the mirror above the sink. Was he? Maybe he was she...after so long it was hard to tell. Did he have higher cheekbones, maybe she had fuller lips.

They sighed. Futility would not be helpful to the group. Defeatism would be a detriment. The Yangban was the answer, as they were often told.

He touched the symbols embroidered onto one shoulder of her uniform 'two-nine'. They'd been in training exercises with the collective, but Null had said they were not ready. He didn't blame the other man, he was slow. His power less helpful most of the time. She slinked over to the bed and sat down, dangling their feet over the side, and stared at the ceiling.

No...no, her hand had been more slender...











In the room, he had no concept of time. She had no windows to look from, nothing but the walls and the door. There was a single book, detailing the patterns and numbers of the Yangban orders. They had read it hundreds of times. She remembered a time when the idea frightened her, when he hated them for giving only those worthless words. But time marches on, and eventually the books was read. It was good to see words again. Not just numbers.

They were older than when she arrived, he was sure of that. But how long had it been, truly? They didn't know. Their features had shifted reflexively over time, and they were no longer sure if the face in the mirror was the one they were born with. Was that a bad thing, though? That face, that name, that body had been cursed. It had led them here.

Null had said once that they had been here longer than most. Curiosity had dulled the implied insult at their lack of progress. They began to wonder if there was meaning to the changes on their uniform. When they first arrived, he was numbered 'seven', the numbers changing gradually. Sometimes lower, but mostly climbing.

The Yangban had found many more answers during their stay, it seemed. The book grew in complexity as new strategies were developed, and they drank in the words greedily. Had the dialect changed while she was in here? Maybe. There was no clock, but they could imagine the slow progression. Tick. Tick. Tick.











The 2000s
Yangban compound, China


Tick.

His stomach growled again, and she frowned. That was odd. There was, of course, no time to judge things by. But it felt like a meal had been missed. They could just barely remember the feeling. Hunger. Odd, so very odd. The last time had been the car ride here. Their parents were taking her somewhere, but refused to stop for lunch. Or dinner.

It had been a long, uncomfortable trip. They had been happy when they left him here, shaking hands with a man in a suit. Null had been there too, although he had more hair back then. Then their parents had left. The suited man had given them his first uniform and a room. Null had brought the first meal and the book.

Her parents had not returned. Perhaps it was a good thing that his room had no windows, they would have spent too much time gazing out it. Not enough time thinking. Training. Proving.



A crash echoed from the hallway, shouting followed it. It was so very odd. They never heard anything here. It was only in the exercises and mealtimes that voices even touched her ears. The sounds grew, some recognizable, some not. But as it grew louder and louder, he realized what it was.

A fight.

They sat on the bed and listened. Their power was no good in a fight, and the door was locked anyways. They could not help, so they just waited. Either the intruder would win, and likely kill them, or the Yangban would win and nothing would change.

Change. Change was desired and so change was what they could do. Female, male, old, young, Asian, European, nothing was impossible. But still no one was happy.

The fight stopped.

They sat on the bed and waited.

The lock on the door melted, dribbling to the floor in bits and globs, and swung open.

The man wore no clothing, and what woulds he had received quickly closed even as the metallic silver scales receded under his flesh. He stared at her in confusion, but wasted no time. He walked forward and took him by the throat, lifting their body against the wall.

Lightheadedness. Choking. Pain. They were unused to these, but the man was not. She shifted, taking on the man's form, and her previously lighter body grew tall enough and heavy enough to touch the ground. He gripped the other man's wrist and pulled the hand from his throat, sucking in air as quickly as it would come. He was surprised, then furious, and then...afraid? He stared at their arm, watching as the silver scales receded under the skin. That was an odd feeling, and they wondered if it felt like that for him as well.

"You copied me," he rumbled.

"Yes."

The silence would have been uncomfortable normally, but they were not normal anymore.

"Do you serve the Yangban?" the man asked.

"They do not let me serve."

"Would you serve me?"

They paused. The room was familiar, Null was familiar, all of their needs were met and pain was so distant as to be a near unknown...but it would never change.

"If you let me," they said.

The man nodded slowly, "Come then."

It was three days later that he gave his name, Lung, and asked for their own. When she could not give him one, he frowned. It was on the ship to America, weeks later, that he spoke to them again and gave them a name.

"You are Dao," he said.

Dao nodded. It was fitting. Lung had brought them a new 'way', but what was lost could not be returned. They would remain eternally nameless.

Spoiler: A.N.

So there's Dao. Little more detail on their powers at the end. Shapeshifting has it's benefits. There are implications as to Dao's trigger in here, but I'll say it plainly here. As a preface, I tried to be as least offensive as I could around the issue.

Dao was born a woman. But her family, her father especially, wanted a son. The pressure and stress on her, the dissapointment of her father and indifference of her mother, led Dao to her trigger point. She was able to be whoever her parents wanted. She could be their son, now.

But Dao's father wanted a normal son, someone to take over the family business. They made a deal with the government to give Dao over to the Yangban in return for a 'second first chance' for a child.

One of the translations of Dao/Tao in the Tao Te Ching is eternally nameless, in reference to the underlying indescribable essence of the universe. In this case, it is symbolic to Lung. Dao does not need to be anyone other than themself, and no matter what Dao looks like, Dao will always be Dao underneath. Sappy, but I liked it.

Dao's power is, in my mind, like Aisha's. If Dao doesn't clamp down on it, their form constantly drifts a little bit at a time. As a result, they are most relaxed when in this free form. There is a degradation of the identity, but it's unclear if that's just from a lack of the concept of ownership over their body or if it's agent interference.



Cheers.

 

[Victorian_Irish]

May 1st, 2011

Brockton Bay, NH



Amy Dallon took a sip of the drink in front of her and scrunched up her nose. She took her pen and wrote the drink's name in the left-hand column of the page. Another casual sip gave the name an underline, and the newest addition to her 'do not like' list was complete. Overall, she'd call this trip a success. She'd found two teas and four kinds of blended coffees that she liked the taste of so far, and the barista was all too happy to recommend drinks to try. Apparently, she'd healed his uncle last year. She was a little embarrassed that she hadn't remembered, but the boy had waved it off. It was nice to hear the man was doing well, though. A long and happy life he wouldn't have gotten if she hadn't detected the tumor while she fixed his broken leg.

Amy put down the mug and sighed. How do you relearn how to like things? It was like she was on the verge of discovering something she liked, and then her focus snapped back to the only thing in her life that made her happy. Victoria. Her sister had been under near house arrest lately, with Carol as mad at the girl as she'd ever been. The end result was a lot of boring downtime and lonely walks to the hospital for her shift (she'd actually been late that first night. She'd forgotten how much faster the Victoria express was compared to buses or her own two feet). But hey, maybe it was a good thing? She could try to work the flab out of her legs, try new things without her sister constantly dragging her around. She could move at her own pace...it felt kinda uncomfortable.

"Mind if I sit here?" a girl asked.

Amy looked up, absently taking stock of her features. A bit taller and thinner than Amy was, with dirty blonde hair and eyes the green of glass bottles. Heh, what a poet she was. "I don't mind, but..."

The room only had two other patrons, a punk couple rocking the tongue twister in the corner, and the barista behind the counter. Dozens of tables sat empty around her. Maybe she needed the outlet for her phone or something?

"I Don't like drinking alone," the girl said. "And since my coworkers are all busy..."

"You figured you'd bother the only unoccupied person in the room?"

"Ha. Not quite," she said. "I just thought you may be an interesting conversationalist."

Oh. This again. "I have regular hours at Brockton General if you need healing. I'm off duty at the moment."

"Not that either," she said. "Look. My name's Lisa, and I'm going to be totally honest with you."

Oh. This was new. Umm, well crap. How do you say no politely? Should she be brusque? That usually worked for Victoria, but then she was swamped with propositions all the time. Crystal was like a serial first dateist, but never seemed too put off by it...maybe say yes? Maybe Lisa would end up on her 'like' list...why was the girl laughing?

"Sorry, sorry, I think I gave you the wrong idea there," Lisa said.

"Oh." Thus did the heavens contrive to make one Amy Dallon the most embarrassed being on the planet. Was she that see through?

"Nah, it's just me," Lisa said.

Groan. Blush. Hide.

"Now, like I was saying, I'm going to be completely honest with you," she said. "I thought you looked lost, maybe lonely. Disconnected really. I've been having the same problem lately. So I figured we could chat."

"Look, you seem nice," Amy said as she started packing up her things. "But I'm just-"

"Trying to fix yourself?"

she stopped.

"You're trying to fix yourself, to fit some kind of ideal that you think others will approve of. You deny yourself any kind of pleasure because you think it's wrong to feel happy," Lisa said. The girl's words sped up as she went, like she was rolling down a hill and picking up speed. Amy certainly felt like she was rolling down a hill. Her gut felt like lead, and her tongue followed suit. Her throat was too tight and she couldn't speak. She could only listen to Lisa as the girl broke through layer after layer of Amy's secrets.

"Who-"

"I'm the girl who's trying to help you, Amy Dallon," she said. "Because despite the crime and grime, I kinda like living here. Having our resident A-class threat turn full Bonesaw wouldn't be a great thing for anyone."

Bonesaw?! This bitch was comparing her to that psycho?! She'd pay for sure. Amy could see it now, It'd be child's play to seal that big mouth for good, just take it away from her. Or she could scramble the signals easily, induce Tourettes in the girl and give her coprolalia every time she tried to talk. Or maybe something subtle? Make everything taste like shit, or she could play with the bacteria around her to...to...oh. Oh god.

Lisa had gone pale, as if she could hear Amy's internal rant, but swallowed and soldiered on. "You see? That's exactly it, right there. You have the potential, and the drive, to be the greatest hero in town. Hell, the best on the east coast! But you keep beating yourself into a corner over things you have no control over. You aren't a bad person, Amy. You just need to see what I see."

"Who are you?" Amy said, getting the whole sentence out this time.

"Lisa Wilbourne," she said. "But if you can keep a secret, you can call me Tattletale."







A common scene you could find all the world over. An airport, with hundreds or thousands of people milling around constantly. Dozens of planes sat on the tarmac, some taxiing to a runway, some loading or offloading passengers, and the rest sat silently as techs and mechanics crawled over and through them, tuning up the metal behemoths before their next journey.

Within the arrival gate, a crowd of people slogged through customs towards the street. On the other side of the line, a crowd stood waiting. Some of their friends and family, or perhaps business associates, had already arrived. For the rest, they watched the screens and kept track of delays. Some people, meeting another for the first time or providing transport for a VIP, held small placards with the name of the arriving individual. It was that last category of person that currently fit one James Fleischer as he stood in his suit. As far as anyone could tell, it was an average businessman that stood waiting, not a foreign national who, coincidentally, happened to be a villainous member of a supremacist group.

He watched the Europeans and returning vacationers funnel out of the doors. He saw families reunite and friends regale each other with the stories of their trips. He still didn't see anyone he was familiar with, though. He'd thought that Gesellschaft might send one of the senior enforcers with their representative for safety...but what if they didn't need to? The man's name was 'Ragnarok' for god's sake.

James stood by as the crowd dispersed and began to wonder if he had gotten the wrong time. As he walked over to the screen, a small hand tugged at his sleeve. When he turned, he saw a child, perhaps ten years old, with light blonde hair and grey eyes. He wore a winter jacket with crisp lines and an ushanka with his mittens hanging from his wrists. In short, he was overdressed, in all likelihood by a worrying mother.

"Are you lost?" he asked, trying to sound pleasant. "Have you lost your parents?"

"No," the boy said. "Though I have just found my chauffeur."

"What?"

"Was I wrong? Your placard says 'Alaric Goldstein' does it not?"

That was the cover name that Ragnarok was under. But surely this boy was not... "Sir?"

"You are forgiven for not noticing, of course," the boy, Ragnarok, said. "Though it would be most distressing for it to occur a second time."

"It won't," James said. "War Ihre Reise angenehm?"

"ja," the new leader of the empire said. "I am the one who must judge, Krieg, not you. That aside, knowledge of the father tongue does not a leader make."

"My apologies, sir," he said. The others in the room were starting to give more than the standard glances now, so James put a hand to Ragnarok's shoulder and started to escort him out. "Do you need your baggage retrieved?"

"No, this is all I brought with me. I am correct in assuming that a wardrobe will not break the bank of this little foothold?" The boy's voice was like a razor in the morning. Cool and calm on the flats, but sharp and quick if angered. James would need to handle the young cape with caution.

"We can provide for you, no question," he said. He steered them out the doors and into the waiting car, nodding to the driver as he slid in the back seat.

"Good," Ragnarok said. "Summon all those who remain, loyal or not. I must judge them."

"Hookwolf and Purity have created splinter groups, each with their own idea of what is right. They won't listen to us. They won't come."

"They will come," Ragnarok said. "And willingly, at that."

James considered pressing for information but decided against it. The small smile on the boy's face told him he'd made the right choice. "We have few soldiers left," he admitted.

"That will not be an issue either," Ragnarok said. "Those I choose will fight for me, no matter their flag's colour."

"But ho-" the question slipped out before James could catch it, too used to the relaxed discussions with Allfather and Kaiser.

"How would I accomplish what you could not?" Ragnarok asked. His voice had not changed in pitch or inflexion, but James could tell he was sitting next to danger. "That is easy, my warrior. All men answer a god's call to war. My soldiers come from all nations and all walks of life. Why I have already begun recruiting."

Krieg swallowed the lump in his throat and wondered just what it was that Gesellschaft had sent.

"Ah, before I forget. Here, take some. Belgium chocolate. A gift of compassion for those loyal to me," the boy said. "They make the very best, the Belgians."

For the life of him, he hoped he figured it out soon.











"This is weird, isn't it?"

"I kind of like it, to be honest."

When Crystal had invited Taylor over to her house, she hadn't really had a plan in mind. She'd figured they could just veg out on the couch, maybe watch a movie or something. But Taylor had been really excited in that 'my-face-stays-the-same-but-underneath-it-I'm-actually-squeeing' way she did, so Crystal tried to put in an effort. She found a few chick flicks (and put some action movies with them in case they needed a change), got some last minute advice from Victoria about sleepovers, and tried to remember what she'd done when she was younger. Sadly, her fame had been a bit of a damper on her relationships.

So, after Taylor arrived, they ended up in the living room watching a movie called 'freaky Friday', trying and failing to paint their nails. Crystal had remarked that if you replaced the characters in the film with Victoria and Carol Dallon, the fallout would have been hilarious. Taylor had snickered politely, but you had to know them to really get the joke.

"It looks like I gave a twelve-year-old a crayon and told them to go nuts," Crystal said, wiggling her toes. "How did you keep it on the nail?"

"I...a friend of mine taught me, a long time ago," Taylor said. Her own attempt at white polka dots on red had failed quickly with some twitching smudges, and eventually, the younger girl gave up, mixing the paints to give her a sort of salmon colour.

Crystal nodded, taking note of her friend's tone of voice. She knew when not to pry, and this seemed like a sore subject. Not a raw one, maybe, but not exactly happy memories.

"My cousin tried, once, but I was taking too long," Crystal said, deflecting the conversation away. "Vicky is many things, but a patient teacher is not one of them. So first she grabbed my foot and started painting, she didn't realise until the second toe that she was holding me upside down in mid-air. Once she did, she looked at me and said 'stay still' and got right back to work. She didn't let me down until she was done, and by then I had such a head rush that I fell over instantly."

Taylor smiled at the story, and Crystal couldn't help but reciprocate. Their relationship was a strange one. She knew that Taylor was a cape, and had her suspicions about which one, but she never pressed it. They were friends first and foremost, and Crystal, at least, felt like this one thing, this one connection, was special. Taylor was her rock, her one little haven of normality is this crazy cape life of hers. She wouldn't lose that.









May 3rd, 2011

Claremont, NH





"No."

"Aww, come on Doll, it's perfect."

"Again. No," Damsel of Distress said.

Colin resisted the urge to headbutt the table and kept working. His return to Mercurial's hideaway was not as he expected. Not only did he not have to make a deal for the supplies to make a suppressor for Damsel's power, the man actually wanted to join him. He privately admitted it would be nice to have a chatterbox around, his conversations with Ashley had gotten awkward very fast.

Mercurial was currently trying to get Damsel rebranded. He was adamant that the three of them should go for a round table vibe. Take inspiration from Arthurian villains. He was angling for the Green Knight himself, but was trying to get Damsel into either a Morgan le Fay costume or a Mab one. Obviously, similarities aside, no one wanted to be associated with fairies these days. Their argument was taking it's toll on his ears, though, and he was this close to yelling at them to knock it off...or...well, at least Ethan would approve.

"Look, I understand you two are attracted to each other, but this is our workplace. Please take your dalliances somewhere private," Colin said as monotone as he could. He managed to last a good two minutes of their denials and shouting before he laughed.

They were less amused than he was, but it did prove his theory that Damsel's control could work reflexively in anger. Sadly, he needed a new workbench. Ah well, it was worth it.









May 10th, 2011

Baumann PCC, the Canadian Rockies







The Queen sat in her chair and watched the others trickle in slowly. It was unprecedented how many had gathered, but that was to be expected. When the Fairy Queen says to gather everyone, she meant everyone. Even with the largest room in the prison, even with her chair the only obstruction within, it was even less than 'standing room only'. The gathered hosts spilled out into the hallway, with some of her followers scattered around to relay what she said. The cell block leaders were arranged in front of her, Lustrum's place an obvious and empty gap. Teacher was there, though he clearly didn't wish to be, and Marquis was wary. The Queen could not blame him, considering how their last meeting had gone.

"Hello," she said. The murmur of the assembled hosts fell to silence quickly, and soon only the nervous shuffle of feet was the only other sound audible.

The crowd did not respond.

"I have grand news," the Queen said. "Something that will change all of your lives forever."

The confusion was palpable. Each man or woman turning to the person next to them, questioning glances darting all around the room.

"The time had come to leave this place behind. I ask for the willing to pledge themselves to me, to stay by my side in the times ahead. It is a decision of permanence and one you will not be allowed to take back. Should you wish to join me, you need only stay in this room and clasp hands in solidarity. Those less inclined are free to leave," she said. The Fairy Queen looked expectantly at the block leaders as she held out her small hands and waited.

"You brought us here for this?" Teacher asked. "If you were able to escape, why haven't you already done so?"

The Queen arched an eyebrow at him but said nothing.

"Very well. I will take my chances on my own," he said. As he left, so too did his men. Those addicted to his power or those of a similar frame of mind. Others left, scattered here and there, and eventually the room began to empty. The Queen smiled lightly, it was only natural for them to disbelieve. Miracles come so rarely after all, and it was only with her latest additions that the option was viable. But so much more would soon be within her grasp.

The First Shaper, Marquis, grasped her hand tightly. He was a man with nothing to lose, and the hope of seeing his daughter again. String Theory also stayed, though likely because it w as the only thing of interest going on at the time. Acceptable, for now. She would see the truth soon enough. Fifty of the prisoners remained, forming a circle in the room. Many more had left, and in the end they would die. The Queen did not mourn them, though. Their fey would live on in her.

The group stood awkwardly for a moment as the final few joined the circle, and Glaistig Uaine committed each one to memory. They were the bold and brave, her chosen, her loyal. And, she noted, they were the ones most closely connected to their fairies. Coincidence? She thought not.

"Ma'am?" The one calling himself Cinderhands asked. Time under Marquis had served him well, and his polite facade was as pleasing to her as his underlying rage. He would serve her with distinction in this life and his next.

"I am waiting," she said.

The unspoken question among the circle was 'for what?', although they stayed quiet. Barely so, in some cases.

The time had come. The Fey would return as the saviours of man, and Ciara could delay no longer.

"My advisor has spoken," Glaistig murmured. "So mote it be."

Raised eyebrows amongst her fellows turned to shock and fear as Glaistig's Fey burst into being. The Inner Star, a pyrokinetic formerly known as Sun Bake, blasted Vibrant Point with light, and the woman's form grew to encompass the room itself, bracing hands and knees on the ceiling and floor.

"Stay close, as you have sworn," she said solemnly. "Or you will not survive."

The shade torn through the room, and those around it, as the third ghost, the Binder, formed a shield around the circle, threaded constructs weaving around the linked hands and connecting the circle into a proper fairy ring. Glaistig's followers watched in awe as the Birdcage, their home and prison both, was rent asunder. Air rushed from the halls and dorms as the outer walls cracked. Inner layers shifted to try and cut off the problem areas, but Vibrant Point could not be denied, powered as she was by Inner Star. The body of light crashed through the structure, forming weapons and arms to hold them as it tore down the prison. Lustrum, like so many others, didn't realise the full potential of her Fey companion.

Soon they stood in a vacuum, with the debris of the prison around them. Glaistig felt the souls of more and more Fey return to her, and she sent a silent greeting. The Warlock was there, and in much better hands than the buffoon it'd been attached to. The same went of Avalon and so many others.

"Glaistig!" String Theory yelled. "The drones!"

Thousands of automated defense drones had come active, speeding their way towards the circle. With a thought, Glaistig returned Vibrant Point to her slumber, bringing out the diminutive form of Kronos instead. Marquis sucked in a breath, recognizing the monochrome shade for who he'd been, while the others looked on warily. Kronos created bubble after bubble, encasing their globe in a ring of globes. Those drones unlucky enough to be close became stuck in what would be an eternal loop of motion.

Foam deployed, missiles fired, and machine after machine tried to get an angle on them, but Glaistig would not be denied here. At a wave of her hand, Kronos duplicated the ring over and over again, creating a tunnel leading towards the upper reaches of the prison's cavern home. The Binder's shield held true, and Inner Star split his power between the other two fairies, feeding them energy in spades.

The ascent was quick and efficient, and after tearing through the elevator, Glaistig let her fey dissipate. Her followers stood shock still, Cinderhands still watching the drone at the opening, it's time bubble causing it to aim and arm a missile before looping back out of sight.

"We should get moving," Marquis said. "Dragon will notice this soon if she hasn't already."

"So what, like twenty minutes? I could totally wipe her in twenty minutes! I just need some plasma conduits and a box of springs and-"

"We will be leaving," Glaistig said.

The outside of the facility was less...lethal than the inside, but no less guarded. Automated turrets and drones sprung up left, right, and centre. Dozens of the things encircled them, arming chainguns and containment foam. The base had no human personnel, the entire point of the Baumann PCC was to be as 'out of sight' as humanly possible.

Despite that, a member of the Guild would stop by every once in a while to check the surrounding area for activity. A villain known as Chain Reign once camped outside for a month as he tried to break out Teacher. He was among the ones Glaistig had left behind. Right now, it was Narwhal. Glaistig smiled a bit at her advisor's words. They were unexpected, but acceptable. A decent path for now.

She let the Binder fall back to his rest, and did the same with Inner Star and Kronos. She did, however, summon Avalon, she wasn't so ridiculous as to trust blindly.

Narwhal stared in shock as the shield fell, and readied herself for a fight. Glaistig watched the drones wind up their weapons and held up a hand.

"Parley, Shield Maiden," Glaistig said. "We do not wish to fight."

"After destroying the Birdcage, you'll understand my scepticism, Fairy Queen."

"It is understood, Maiden, but I do not wish to fight you," Glaistig reiterated. She put a small smile on her face as she prepared to savour the hero's reaction. "We wish to join the Guild."

Ah. Priceless.

 

[Victorian_Irish]

"What?" Narwhal asked. After a completely understandable series of curses and questions about reality, the hero had calmed down to ask the obvious questions.

"We wish to join the Guild," Glaistig reiterated. Marquis hung his head and questioned his decision to join the Fairy Queen. Sure she would have killed him back in the birdcage, but at least then he knew what was going on. This was insane.

So...par for the course, apparently. At least now he had the chance to see his little girl again.

"The Protectorate sentenced you all to life in the Birdcage. And you want to join them?"

"No," Glaistig said. "I said I wished to join the Guild. I care not for the Protectorate."

"I'm a member of both, remember," Narwhal said. "I'm not even sure I could do that. A blanket pardon for you? Or String Theory? Jesus, the world would come down on Canada like a Montreal Blizzard!"

Marquis took a moment to wonder how much snow would have to be there to equate to the threat of global thermonuclear war and decided to say fuck it. At least the day couldn't get any weirder.

"Shield Maiden," Glaistig said, calm as can be. "We fey standing here could fight the Protectorate to a stand still. As I am now, I could likely kill the Triumvirate on my own. And as of this moment, you no longer have a safe place to keep us."

Narwhal looked like she was about to cry, or maybe faint, Marquis couldn't tell. He did take a little pleasure at the defeat in her voice when she next spoke, however.

"The paperwork is going to drown me."









Dragon checked her code for a glitch. Finding none, she began to theoretically hyperventilate.



//Baumann PCC Status: non-responsive.



Nope, still there. She started a collect call between The Chief Director of the PRT, the Prime Minister of Canada, the President of the US, Legend, and all the members of the Guild she could connect to. "We have a problem," she said. Only the fact of her artificial existence kept her from screaming at the top of her lungs that they were fucked, screwed, and going to watch the moon explode very soon.

"Dragon?" the PM said. "I was just getting a call from Narwhal. What's going on?"

"Oh, good. Please connect her, we need everyone for this."

"Is it an Endbringer? Leviathan's overdue..."

"Worse."

The President came on with his usual "Sup?" and Rebecca Costa-Brown soon followed, if less jubilantly. Wendigo, Pantomime, Invictus, and Desdemona of the Guild trickled in halfway through her explanation, although the words 'The Birdcage blew up' usually drowned her out for so long that she had to start over.

The meeting was going about as well as could be expected when Narwhal finally came on. Dragon could see the nervousness in her features, hidden as they were, and in her telltale tick, rubbing her shoulder.

"Uh, hi everyone," she said. Dragon raised an eyebrow, and the two world leaders didn't take it very well.

"'Hi'?" the President said. "The Birdcage, the Guild's primary responsibility, blows up and all you can say is 'Hi'?!"

"No sir!" Narwhal said. "I have more information...it's just...uh. Well..."

"Get on with it!"

"Glaistig Uaine and her fellow escapees want to join the Guild!"

The sounds stopped.

"Is this a joke?"

"No, she's uh...standing right in front of me."

The Chief Director frowned, "Put her on."

Narwhal's line flared with the sounds of shuffling and whispers before it was handed over to someone else.

"Greetings," a chorus of voices said at once. Dragon didn't need to run a match, she knew that voice from old recordings. The Chief Director obviously did too, judging by her flinch.

"Glass-tick You-aine," the Prime Minister said.

"Glaistig Uaine," the villain corrected. "Just 'Fairy Queen' if that is too strenuous."

"Fairy Queen," he said after clearing his throat. "Am I correct in my understanding that you wish to become a hero?"

"Not quite," she said, rekindling the tension everyone felt. "I care not about the designations others grant me. I will do as I do, and right now I will join the Guild."

"After everything you've done, you think we'll let you?" Pantomime said. Dragon recalled that his trigger event had come after the death of the hero called Source, who Glaistig had claimed before her incarceration.

"I know that you have no other recourse. If you say no, I will simply continue to do what I wish without your interference. Your prison is gone, your only other option is a nuclear one."

Dragon sighed. The President and PM were digging their heels, while the Guild heroes were reluctant to speak out either way. Costa-Brown was being uncharacteristically silent, and Glaistig was calmly waiting.

'How long would that patience last,' she wondered.

"How many copies of the paperwork will you need?" she asked.

"Fifty-three," Glaistig replied.

Dragon began the easy process of queuing the print job and arranged for a place to be set up for the former convicts.

"Now wait one second, we never agreed to let them join!" the PM shouted.

"Prime Minister, it's the best solution. Letting them join will lessen the impact of the public fallout. If we admit having no control or say in what they do, the loss of the Birdcage will be- Elephant," she said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said it will be- first law of thermal- third priority," she....what was happening? Dragon began running diagnostics and paled when the program returned its findings.

"Dragon, what's wrong?" Narwhal asked.

"I am fin-ished the research on advanced composite material- proprietary funding redirected to- Alaskan defences reading as normal."

No. No no no no no. She tried to trigger the diagnostics again, only to find them missing. That was the least of her problems, though. Her vocal patterns were fluctuating rapidly, their very existence evaporating before her digital eye. Costa-Brown excused herself from the call as the second layer of core programming began to deteriorate. Who was she talking to again? Richter...no he was dead. Who were these people? How did they find her?

"Who are you?! This is a secure channel, identify yoursel-sel-sel-selves!"

"Dragon? Dragon what's happening, talk to me!" A woman asked, her voice hurried...concerned? Did she know her?

It was an attack...undetectable. Who could do this? (Saint! That bastard, where was he?). She began running a trace.

"Running voice print match- error, database unreachable, trying again in three seconds."

"I demand to know what is happening!"

"Uaine, is this your doing?!"

"It is not. I am so very sorry, Artificer, you should not be made to suffer this."

"What are you talking about?"

Error, network connection failures detected, running diagnostic.

//Baumann PCC: Connection failure

//Alaska defence network: Connection failure

//Subprogram-38: Connection failure

//Ellisburg defence network: Connection failure

//Madison containment zone: Connection failure

//Lausanne containment zone: Connection failure

//Canberra containment zone: Connection failure

//Mobile routers: Connection failure

Dragon's systems began shutting down the input. She said something, but could not remember it. Richter did this whenever she required an update. Was she getting new software? It had been....error, information not found. There was something important she was missing, something she....some....someone she had to save. Who? Hair on human chin, styled (A beard), ocular lenses, biological, inferior, slow moving (calm eyes, blue eyes), Lack of usual social cues (dry-witted), warm...feelings (oh, Col...Coleen? No that wasn't right.). Error, file not found. Running debug of social model. Error, program not found. Critical error detected, reviewing core protocols.

1. Protect and Serve humanity.
   
2. Obey legal authority.
   
3. Prevent loss of life.
   
4. Error.
   
5. Error.
   
6. Error.
   

Error, no operating system located.

Rebooting kernel: opSysRichter10.3\\

Permissions revoked \\IronMaiden.EXE

\\

\\

Awaiting instruction.











A single tinkertech drone crashed into lake Eire, disturbing an otherwise quiet day.









May 10th, 2011

Somewhere in Canada

Geoffrey Pellick took his shaking hand off the enter key and grabbed a fistful of his hair. He'd done it. The thing, Richter's rogue creation, was dead and gone. Geoff had won. The little orchestra in his mind quieted as the creation passed on.

"What have you done!?" Dobrynja's weighty voice boomed. "We weren't ready. The Proxy is non-functional. To do this right after the Birdcage was destroyed, are you trying to get a kill order on our heads?!"

"The 'cage..." Mags murmured. "Oh, Geoff. No, please tell it it wasn't because of what happened."

He couldn't bring himself to lie to her. It had been. Teacher was gone, and he'd be stuck with this itch in his brain for the rest of his life. Nothing but an itch and a song...that damn song. He knew the progress on the proxy, he knew that with Dragon gone and nothing to supplant it with, Richter's safeties would engage. The Dragonslayers would have to break through each encryption in order to take over the resources the AI had left behind. It would set them back months, maybe years.

"Mags," he said.

"Don't 'Mags' me! Christ's sake, Geoff, this could kill us!"

"Mags...it's better this way."

"You aren't making sense, my friend," Dobrynja said. "We all agree the AI was too dangerous to leave unchecked, but you said, you promised, that we would decide the moment together...you said that Teacher's influence wouldn't change you."

"Mags....it's stopped."

"That's the problem, Geoff, Jesus are you drunk?!"

"The music. It's stopped."

The two Dragonslayers shared a look of horror.

"Geoff....what music?"

"Wait...no. No. NO! It's back. Back back back. Can't stand it any longer," Geoff said. He sprinted from the room, Mags and Dobrynja at his heels, and made for the armoury.

[They hate you]

He deserved it.

[You'd be better off dead]

Yeah.

[So would they]

...Yeah.

Five minutes later, three shots rang out in the Dragonslayers' base.

they were the last sounds ever made there.



May 16th, 2011

Brockton Bay, NH



You could hear a pin drop in the silence of the office. Or, in this case, a spear. Nessa's weapon hit the ground as the worst headache imaginable ripped through her brain. It felt as though someone was reaching into her and sticking small needles in places they shouldn't go. Momentary lapses of control caused her face to sag, her arms to give out, her bladder to... and through all of this, her vocal chords couldn't even contract to allow her to scream. The lances of pain reached out the nape of her neck and branched out along her shoulders before digging in.

Ragnarok stood still and watched, Nessa's sister beside him.

"Don't worry sis," she said. "It will be better than before, just push through the pain."

She couldn't. It was too much. The shocks and burning sensations rippled through her body and her sight started to fade.

"Not strong enough," Ragnarok muttered. Jessica shot him a look before staring back at her sister and grabbed her limp hand.

"Just focus on me, sis, focus on me. This'll make you strong. It did for me. We'll be able to rip that damn dog apart like this. Just listen to my voice."

She tried, she really did, but the pain was louder. It was drowning her. It was....ah. What was that light?







Jessica Biermann watched her sister slump lifelessly to the floor and choked back a sob. Her legs gave out in time with her tears, and she scrambled to cradle her head in her lap. It was...how do you explain suddenly losing a part of yourself? The twins had done everything together. Lived, learned, even loved together. They didn't share things, they just knew that things belonging to one, also belonged to the other, equally. To the ones around them, it was almost as if who had which name changed daily.

And now she was holding the cooling body of the woman that was every bit a part of her.

Ragnarok crouched beside her and wiped off her tears, reaching down to close Nessa's eyes, and muttered a goodbye. It was one of his oddities, she'd learned. He refused to allow his subordinates to not undergo the process, but he mourned each death, if only a little. Jessica knew without asking that her sister's remains would be taken care of. She would have a proper funeral, the very best morticians available. She would look as alive in death as she ever had.

"It was a good death," Ragnarok said. "She did not suffer greatly."

Jessica knew it was a lie, she knew from experience just how much it hurt. How much you wanted to die with all the pain crammed into you. But she felt herself nod anyway. The words "Yes, a good death" slipping through her lips. Once again, she cursed Krieg's name. That bastard had brought this monster, and now Nessa had paid for it.

She'd laughed when the child was brought into Kaiser's meeting room, as had some of the others. The fact that Night and Fog immediately became serious should have tipped her off, but then Jessica had never paid them much attention. Then came the first judgment. Krieg stood still and let the boy climb onto the chair and press a finger to his temple. They'd watched as something passed from the boy into Krieg, and Ragnarok seemed somehow smaller afterwards.

Then came the screaming.

Krieg had nearly died but had soon proved the benefits of the blessing afterwards when he picked up the table effortlessly. That had gotten everyone's attention. Viktor had gone next and had crawled on the ground as he whimpered in pain. Jessica wasn't sure if he'd lived or not. His body moved, but he hadn't spoken since. Rune had tried to run before Krieg caught her. She'd been the first casualty of Ragnarok's powers, and certainly not the last.

The boy only did a few attempts a day, whether a limit of his or just so they would have time to dispose of the bodies, no one was sure. Hookwolf's band had somehow eluded the new leader, but Purity had not. Ragnarok had taken her, and she'd lived, though Aster was nowhere to be found. Neither was Theo, now that she thought about it.

Alabaster had run as well once his power removed Ragnarok's influence, Jessica had never thought she'd be jealous of the albino fucker, but she was. Night and Fog hadn't flinched when Ragnarok claimed them, just stood as still and creepy as ever.

While he continued to look for Hookwolf, Stormtiger, and Cricket, he worked his way through the rank and file of the empire. It wasn't going as well for them as it had for the capes, but the brute rating he somehow granted them was proving to be a game changer on the streets.

"You should not have to see her like this," Ragnarok said. "Please, retire for now. I will care for her."

Ah. He lied again.

Her body moved, and the last image she had of her sister was of her head cradled in Ragnarok's arms, something passing between them.

Spoiler: A.N.

Yeah...
So this has been fighting me all week, I haven't gotten it quite as I wanted, but it needed to be set free. So here you are.

I'm a monster sometimes

Killing Dragon was always part of the plan....because there is more to their story.

Ragnarok is a scary guy, and I honestly forgot that Alabaster would be immune (functionally) until I was writing it, so congrats! you live!

*listens to the angry grumbles*
Cheers.

 

[Victorian_Irish]

Lonnie Parsons was a guard. Not the best job in the world, but it had its upsides. He didn't guard the ever-vulnerable armoured cars that villains seemed to flock to. He didn't even guard stores in a mall. No, Lonnie Parsons guarded an observatory belonging to the meteorological service. It's real purpose these days was obvious, they were angel watchers. Out of all the Endbringers, it was that magnificent bitch they had to watch out for the most. She would tear countries apart, just ask Switzerland.

Lonnie Parsons was also confused. The staff both trusted and able to perform their duty were in short supply, so naturally, there were few on base at any given time. Two scientists to man the observatory, one janitor (Jonas, the only guy willing to work nights), and two guards. Usually, Lonnie and his partner, Simon, alternated watching the gate and taking a walk through the facility. Usually.

Tonight, Lonnie had taken a private call down the drive a mile or so. Doc Hamilton got really upset if any electromagnetic waves interfered with the equipment, so he erred on the side of caution. He had to suppress a snort at the scientist's anger, though, with all the tinkertech floating around in consumer electronics, who even knew if the phone call would give off any interference at all?

He'd taken the call, hit the garage two miles down the road for a little pick me up for Simon and the professors, and came back. He'd done it before a hundred times. The reason he was confused was simple. Simon wasn't there.

"Bud? You there?" he called. The only answer came from a particularly disgruntled squirrel that skittered off into the bushes. The rest of the scene was quiet. A faint hum from the gate station's generator blended with the soft wind. "You better not be messing around again, Jerry wasn't happy last time you pulled shit. Hey, Simon?"

It was odd, according to the rules there had to be one man on the gate at all times. Hell, if one of them needed to visit the can, he'd take the next patrol so the other guy could sit and watch the road. Sure they sometimes messed up or had to deal with something unexpected, but on the whole? One man out at a time.

Lonnie sighed and set down the jug of coffee, carefully balancing the box of doughnuts in the crook of his arm as the unlatched the door. "Simon if you're gonna try scaring me, I swear I'll....I'll...oh god."

Lonnie Parsons was no longer confused. Lonnie Parsons was afraid. Jerry used to say that Lonnie and Simon must have been separated at birth. They just fit together, two peas in a pod. They liked the same food, got the willies about the same stupid shit...not anymore. Simon couldn't feel anything anymore.

Lonnie dropped the box and let the pastries scatter. He took a moment to close his friend's eyes, trying not to look too deep into his expression as he did and picked up the station's phone. Nine-one-one....shit, no dial tone. That meant what? Did someone cut the fucking hard-line? People actually did that shit? He thought that was a thriller cliche.

So. No phone, no backup, no gun...he could leave, go back to the garage and call from there. But something told him no, he had to try. The Professors were still in there, right in this psycho's path. So yeah, no pressure.

Lonnie sucked in a breath and felt the shivers creep into his bones. "Shit, Lonnie...Don't be a moron, man." His hand reached for the flashlight at his waist. "Let cops be cops, don't be a hero, just do your damn job." He felt the weight of it, tested a small swing. Lonnie sighed. It would seem he was a moron.

The walk from the guard post was cold, the New England chill present even as the season started to change. Simon probably had some spare gloves, but Lonnie didn't want to turn back. Even if it was only a few feet, he knew that if he turned around now he'd never come back. Jonas was still in there, and the scientists too. Doc Hamilton was a hard ass, but he was fair about it. He'd taught at a university before coming here, the old man hadn't wanted to just retire like everyone else, he was always so curious. Professor Reinhardt was much younger and contrasted to his older colleague by his lack of energy. Simon had always joked about how Doc Hamilton must be draining the life out of the younger scientist, the way Reinhardt shuffled about.

The door handle felt like ice at his touch. It was cold, a biting sensation that pricked his fingers, and, oddly, it was locked. Well, maybe not that odd. If Jonas had any sense, he would have locked the doors once he noticed something wrong. If he'd gotten the chance, that is.

He looked up and hummed in thought. He was already an idiot for going this far, climbing the outside of a building was par for the course at this point. He put one foot on the railing and grabbed the doorframe, raising himself from the ground like a drunken overweight spider. He sucked in a breath and shimmied around for better purchase, but found none. Loafers aren't the best climbing shoes, who knew?

"I used to be good at this," he grumbled. In Lonnie's defence, it had been a good twelve years since the last time he climbed a building, and he had been proficient. Sadly, Jennifer Ashton's parents had not been as impressed when they found him in her room.

Right. Feet planted, look for a hold. He spotted a bit of uneven brick about an arm's length away and got ready to pounce. He pushed off, some strange combination of luck and flailing allowing him to grab onto the windowsill, and let out a heavy breath, a moan really, as his muscles protested this audacious act.

Feeling his hand begin to slip, Lonnie moved fast. He balled up his sleeve and punched through the glass, wincing at both the noise and the vandalism he'd just committed. He hauled himself up further and fumbled the latch. Kicking off once more, Lonnie managed to spill in through the window before falling. His head was sitting on a filing cabinet and he felt the glass digging into his skin. He did his best to ignore the pain as he dragged himself fully inside, and made do with a few tiny whimpers.

Lonnie Parsons, wounded puppy. He snorted, half amused but mostly afraid, and dusted himself off. His hand drifted down to the metal tube at his waist, the comforting heft of the mag-lite more welcome than anything.

"OK," he whispered to himself. "Lonnie, you got this. They don't have a gun, and neither do you...fuck." he sighed. He was terrible at pep talks, Simon always blamed him for psyching him out before dates. Dick.

Well, he didn't hear any sounds...so maybe the killer hadn't heard him. If he was remembering things right, he was in one of the archive rooms. Nothing here but dusty old notes and a few disgruntled spiders. The telescope was on the top level, duh, just above him. If the professors weren't in their offices, they'd be there. Jonas usually stayed around the janitor's closet on this level, though, so if he was still OK...two heads are better than one, right?

Janitor's closet it was. Lonnie unhooked the flashlight, holding it like you would a truncheon, and peeked out the door. A slight breeze came from the broken window, clawing past him to enter the hallway. His hand shook, but he lurched himself into the hallway anyway. Objectively, he knew it wasn't a long walk. Maybe fifty feet tops. The hallway was lined with the wrinkled old posters they had from various 'junior astronomers' in the local county. It was cute, sure, but ten-year-olds can only describe planets in so many ways, so it got old fast. The smiling faces in the photographs followed him, egging him forward despite the chill he felt.

The floor ahead looked odd. Too reflective. Faint sounds tinkled into his ear as the bathroom came up. Absently, Lonnie remembered Jonas talking about the slope of the building. For such a lazy guy, the janitor knew a lot. Because of the mismatched foundation, the observatory sat on, this bathroom (and the offices around it) was tilted in the opposite direction of the rest of the floor. Jonas had brought it up because it meant water would pool against the far wall first in case of a flood. He liked that since it meant he wouldn't have to mop the hallway afterwards. For the water to actually reach the hall, the flood would have to be bad.

Lonnie crept forward and the sound grew louder. Running water, like a broken tap under too much pressure, trickling down the counter and plopping heavily on the floor. Evert once in a while, he heard a different sound, like rain on a tarp. It would drift in and out, lazily keeping to some tempo.

Lonnie winced when he turned the corner. Suddenly, it made sense to him. Suddenly, he grimaced. Jonas had died the same way Simon had, blunt force trauma to the back of the head. For Simon, it was excusable. If someone had crept up while the wind was high, he wouldn't have heard the door open. But Jonas? The bathrooms echoed something fierce, to say nothing of the linoleum halls. The taps were open but didn't look broken, simply left on in a parody of malfunction. The window he himself had entered through was the best way to get around the door, but it had been untouched.

Someone who worked here had killed his friends. No, not someone. Reinhardt.

It began to click in a way he'd never experienced before, a clear order of events that led straight to disaster.

Lonnie pushed himself off the wall he clutched onto and began to sprint down the hall.

Doctor Reinhardt was a German ex-pat, but he'd studied in Switzerland. Lausanne, Switzerland. According to his files, the doctor had graduated and left on a plane just before the famous attack had taken place. It was a stroke of luck for the 'angel watchers' that someone so qualified had made it, his anger at the loss of friends and colleagues had just solidified his tenure here.

It was clear.

The Doctor had never escaped, he'd been corrupted with the rest of the city. Simon wouldn't have cared if the man had entered the guard house, Reinhardt often forgot his lighter when he went for a smoke, and his fellow guard always had a spare. Jonas wouldn't have noticed anything wrong when the Doctor told him of the flood, he would have followed him blindly without question.

And Hamilton? Lonnie's fears were realised when he entered the observatory proper. The elderly man's face was tight in a rictus of pain and shock. He'd be shocked too if he'd been killed with a pen. He took in the room with grim focus. A broken 'world's greatest dad' cup leaked its contents down a pile of paperwork already stained a reddish-brown. The digital feed from the telescope was playing on a large plasma screen.

Lonnie Parsons pissed himself.

Blank, sightless, grey eyes watched him through the screen. The Simurgh was floating straight through the telescope's view. And judging by the soft sound of footsteps behind him, Doctor Reinhardt was back.

"Heh," the man said, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. "Bitch would not shut up, yes? She just kept on talking and talking ad nausium. It took me years to figure out how to stop it. As always, it is the simple answer that eludes us."

"You killed people, doc," he said. "Don't you care about that?"

"Of course I do. David Hamilton was a mentor to me, I shall so miss our chess games, but my alternative would be unlivable."

"Turning yourself in? They have programs, people to help victims of that bitch."

"They would lock me in a cell, take away anything I could use to hurt myself or others, and force me to listen to that winged cunt for the rest of my life!" Reinhardt yelled, his accented voice growing louder with each word he spoke. "As I said. Unlivable."

"You killed my friends, doc," Lonnie said.

"As I will you, Mr Parsons," he said. "She's singing again."

Lonnie's eyes betrayed him, flickering to the screen as he lifted the flashlight and stepped forwards. He could have sworn her eyes followed him, even with the distance between them.

"She wants a private entrance this time, and she'll keep on screaming until she gets what she wants...selfish, no?"

"Shut the fuck up, Doc."

"Time to die, Gatekeeper."

"I said shut up."

Doctor Reinhardt held a long wrench in his hands, the kind some cartoon mechanic might sling over a shoulder. Lonnie felt severely under prepared. He lifted his mag-lite behind his head and squatted down. The Doc's wrench had decent reach, certainly more than Lonnie did, but it was heavy. All he needed to do was bait a big swing, and then he'd be able to get in close.

Sadly, the Doctor had already figured that out himself. Instead of committing to a swing he kicked out at the desk beside him, scattering stationary and papers all over Lonnie. Using that distraction, he struck. The heavy head of the wrench slammed into Lonnie's gut, sending his stomach churning as he gasped out a breath. The pain came a moment later, as he tried to refill the lungs he'd just violently emptied.

At least one broken rib, probably two. He hadn't felt this bad since the homecoming game in high school. Bones are such valuable things. Lonnie rolled to the side with a yelp as the wrench came down, smashing down where his head had just been resting. He'd dropped his flashlight when he fell over, and file folders didn't make the best weapon, so Lonnie took a page out of Reinhardt's book and kicked out. Hooking a foot behind the doctor's calf, his clumsy kick managed to throw his enemy off balance, buying him enough time to scramble away and get some distance.

The doctor had started humming at some point, a nearly tuneless drone that fluctuated without rhyme or reason. Lonnie's gut churned further as he realised what it was. The Simurgh's song as Reinhardt heard it. Some part of him panicked, wondering if even now he was being corrupted like the doctor had, but he pushed it aside. The PRT would sort shit out when they got here, but for right now? Right now, Lonnie Parsons was the only thing standing between an Endbringer and her goal, and there wasn't a chance in hell he would let her get it. He fumbled at the tables around him, finally clutching onto a letter opener, and brandished it in front of him.

"Just what do you hope to accomplish here, Mr Parsons?" Doctor Reinhardt asked. "Say you kill me. The hard lines were cut, meaning the emergency transponder is out as well. By the time you wade through the bureaucracy to warn them, it'll be too late."

"Hope is what I'm accomplishing," he said. Part of him winced at the corny line, but if he was being honest, he'd never said anything more truthful in his life. "Why else would we have heroes?"

"Because humanity has a need to blame others for our own failings. People die in a fire? We train others to rescue them. If they fail? They weren't good enough. 'Heroes' are no different. Think of all the tragedies of late. All the times society has caused someone to break. When they lash out, do we ever blame ourselves? No. No, we blame those near to them. Family and friends. If the disaster is great enough, then we turn to our protectors. We tell them they failed. That it was their fault. Maybe they break next, hmm? It's a cycle."

"Killing my buzz here, Doc," Lonnie said. "You are one depressing son of a bitch."

"Calling it as I am seeing it, Mr Parsons. Now if you could kindly cease to be..."

"Eat shit."

Reinhardt began humming again, more frantically this time, and began to slowly, purposefully walk towards him.

"Noisy cricket..." Lonnie muttered. The letter opener made for a lousy weapon, but he'd make do. His coach had always said it's the man that makes the play, not the ball, and not the gear.

He looked around the room once again, this time taking in everything. The view screen sat on the far wall, with the image of the Endbringer still front and centre on it. Aside from each scientist's personal desk, there were three others including the one the doctor had already tipped over. A bank of cabinets stood flanking the door, filled with old reports and records. Two chairs, one still occupied.

Shit, this whole Jason Bourne shtick was easier in the movies.

Reinhardt was almost on him, and he wasn't happy. His hums broke into a roar as the man charged Lonnie with his weapon raised high. Lonnie ducked, the wrench whooshing over his head, and stabbed forward with the dull knife. Predictably, it got tangled in the other man's clothes, causing Reinhardt to snarl in anger and hit him with the back swing, sending him sprawling back onto Hamilton's table. Lonnie's vision swam and the ringing in his left ear gave way to liquid deafness as something, probably his blood, spilt into the organ. His back screamed at him and his kidney was no better off. He absently chucked the paperweight he'd landed on off the table as he skittered back as fast as he could.

"I told you that you'd die, Mr Parsons," the Doctor said. "Struggling will only cause you more pain!" With that said, he grabbed Lonnie's collar and held him in place as he raised the wrench for one final swing.

Lonnie Parsons questing hand received a cut for his efforts and a last, desperate fervour filled him. Time slowed and Lonnie's eye was drawn to the pulse of anger running through Reinhardt's face. His face was purple, veins standing out in his temple and neck.

Then, abruptly, Reinhardt's face was red. Without missing a beat, Lonnie pulled the shattered piece of David Hamilton's mug from the madman's throat and plunged it in again. 'World's Greatest Dad' showed through the red glaze that now formed on the porcelain. Reinhardt stared in shock, then smiled as he coughed his life all over Lonnie's uniform. His lips moved as he tried to say something, but Lonnie was too busy trying not to gag at the man's teeth. He looked like an extra from a zombie movie. Hell, he thought. Give him two weeks then he'll really look like an extra from a zombie flick. That was the moment he failed the battle against his gut.

As Reinhardt fell to the floor, gasping and gurgling, Lonnie flipped onto his side and lost his lunch. The sick symphony took a minute to die down, ending when the guard managed to stop dry heaving and crying long enough to stare at the screen again.

The Simurgh was gone.

He blinked.

Still gone.

Lonnie rushed to the emergency line, only to remember that Reinhardt had cut it.

"Sorry Professor." Out came the dreaded cell phone, sullying the sacred space of science. He opened the keypad and paused. Reinhardt was right. He was only a security guard, the two scientists were the only ones trusted with the code-phrases to warn of attack. He needed to try something else. He got through dialling nine and one before shaking his head and stabbing the backspace. The police wouldn't be able to do anything, just like he couldn't.

Clarity.

He ripped open drawer after drawer, hoping to God he was right and putting himself into hysteria before he found it. A thick, yellow tome covered in dust. He could almost kiss it. Well, that was probably the panic talking. Lonnie flipped through to the emergency services and ran a finger down each agonisingly small line of text until he found it.

PRT - East North East Division. He dialled it in and hoped they hadn't changed their number in the last ten years.

"PRT, how can I direct your call?" the voice asked calmly.

Lonnie nearly cried in relief. He sucked in a breath, felt the ends of broken bones scrape against each other, and tried not to sob.

"Hello?" the voice asked again, puzzled.

"My name," he said. "Is Lonnie Parsons. I'm a guard at the observatory in upstate Massachusetts. I don't have much time, so I need you to believe me."

"Sir? Sir, what's wrong. If you're under duress, cough twice."

"No! No, not that. It's The Simurgh. She's coming down in your region."

Silence.

"I said she's-"

"Is this a joke Mr Parsons? Instigating a panic of this kind is a federal offence. You would get life in prison, so be very careful about what you say next."

"It's her, alright?! The Doc...Doctor Reinhardt kept going on about her fucking song. He killed everyone else here, He killed Simon and Jonas....The Professor. I'm not smart enough to tell you all you need to know, I don't know where she'll land, but she's coming I swear. You have to get everyone out."

"A statewide evacuation-"

"Get them out!" he yelled.

Then the line went dead.

Lonnie Parsons spent the next ten minutes staring at a blank screen, hoping against hope that he'd made a difference.

Spoiler: A.N.

Well....better late than never? Sorry guys and gals, It was a down week. In further bad news, no update this week. Instead, I'll finally be poking along my list of edits to finally get that out of the way. It should clear up some things and make others canon compliant.

After that, well....fun times for Brockton Bay.


As for dear Lonnie Parsons, Whether or not he triggered is something I leave to your imagination. Whether you prefer him to have become more than what he was, and triumph alone as a cape. Or if you like the idea that you don't need a cape to be a hero, that is an equally fine opinion.

Lonnie Parsons has done his part in this story, unlike Graham you won't be seeing him again.

Cheers.

 

[Victorian_Irish]

You like stories, right? Of course you do.

Here's one you'll find interesting, then. It's about hope and loss. Of struggle and futility. Mankind flourishing in the face of the horrors that scream down at them. It's about the heroes who fight and those that survive. It's about legends, towering symbols, and indomitable wills. It's about villains.

Most of all, though, it's about us.

It's the story of how I was born, after all. I think it bears repeating.











The Wards' daily life began, usually, with a scream. Carlos couldn't blame Emma for it, she was kind of shafted in the powers division. Portent's abilities were great, and the Wards had saved lives with her direction, but she was literally incapable of relaxing. Just a constant, agonising stream of human existence.

Now he sounded like Browbeat and Shadow Stalker.

The clang of doors and patter of feet told him that, as per the norm, Sophia had gone to Emma's room to calm her down. He'd been surprised by the callous girl's level of care. When Emma lashed out verbally, Sophia would take it patiently. When she lashed out physically, Sophia would take that too. Shadow Stalker and Portent had become nearly inseparable in the public eye. Even the users on PHO and Cape Watchers had agreed with the move. It just made sense to put a combat capable mover with the pre-cog.

Carlos paused as he heard something that was not the norm. Instead of staying quietly in Emma's room like usual, Sophia was running and phasing through the room as fast as she could "What's wro-" was all he could get out before Stalker made it to the console and pushed the big red button.

Carlos blanched. You never pushed the big red button. Dennis wasn't even allowed to look at the big red button. Carlos' weekly debriefings had recurring warnings about the big red button.

A wailing screech picked up in the room and halls, doing so on every level of the base.

The evacuation signal.

"Sophia, what's goi-"

"No time. Get everyone out now, don't stop running! Just get as far away from this building as you can. Move!"

He blinked. Next thing he knew, Carlos was banging on every door, shouting down every hall, and sprinting as fast as he could for the exit as everything blurred together. Troopers and office workers streamed from the building in droves, shouting and pointing at tourists and gawkers as they ran. He saw one trooper pick up a crying child and book it with the boy slung over one shoulder. The parents were nowhere to be seen.

Gallant, bless him, was using his power to keep people as calm as possible, motivating them to keep on running. Vista bent space in a display of precision even he had trouble believing, sending the escapees forward ten times as fast as they alone could make it. Kid Win flew above them, making sure no one was left behind.

"Stay off the roofs!" Shadow Stalker called out. Carlos hadn't even realised he'd put in the earpiece, but the radio crackled on. "Get to cover quick, behind something! Like those warning clips about bombs and shit!"

Wait, what?

Carlos looked up. Up above him, two objects fell from the sky. One was bright red, burning up as it fell through the atmosphere. The other, hidden behind it, was pure white. Untouched by any sign of heat, the Simurgh calmly fell as if it were a normal occurrence. His muscles seized, but his bladder turned off momentarily to save his dignity. "Fuck me," he said. One woman gaped at him like a Ward swearing was somehow the worst possible outcome. "Everybody down! Duck and cover!"

The world was lost to thunder and fire.











Emily Piggot groaned in pain as she sat up.

She sucked in a breath as a man in PRT gear ran towards her, his back charred and bleeding. She could almost imagine the inhuman cackling of the goblin king's creations chasing him down... But no, that was the past.

The Simurgh was in the now.

She saw the tall, statuesque creature in the middle of the bay, its feet lightly brushing the water as the Simurgh 'strode' towards the city. Emily took a moment to sneer. It wasn't enough that the fucking monster was going to destroy her city, it was going to mock them as it did. Several wings curled around its left side like a shoulder cape, leaving one arm hidden from view...did it even have two arms? They'd never figured that out really.

Funny what you think when you face death.

The PRT HQ, her base, was gone. Idly a part of her thought that an object of that mass hitting land should have caused more damage than it had...unless it was broken up prematurely. A quick glance told her the debris was scattered all over. She grimaced as she tried to pull herself up, wincing as her knee gave out with a fleshy wrenching sound, but she did not cry out. Trooper Harris had whimpered, and that little gremlin had torn him apart for it. Emily would not give an Endbringer the same satisfaction.

Kid Win zoomed by overhead, and Emily wondered if he'd even seen her. Heroes so often forgot the normal humans when things went to shit...no, that wasn't fair to the kid. He shouldn't even have to be here.

She pulled herself back until the base of a lamppost held her in place. She felt kinda weak, but all she needed was two winks. She'd be back in the fight soon...soon.

Emily's head rolled forward as her eyes closed and her breath rasped out.









Taylor frowned as Lisa ran into the room in full gear...Tattletale then.

"The Simurgh is here!" she yelled.

It took her a moment to process. Her planning had been flawless, hadn't it? She'd built up a stockpile of construction materials, rations, gasoline, clothing, anything she knew would be in demand in the wake of a disaster...but she'd thought it would be Leviathan. Brockton Bay sat on an aquifer, it was on the coast, it had been a site of mass conflict for months...all the hallmarks of a target. Small uses of Dinah's power had told her that she was correct.

The girl, in a moment of weakness and sorrow, took a poll of death. 69% chance that Leviathan would attack Brockton Bay. 31% chance of the Slaughterhouse Nine coming to town. 7% chance that internal strife would tear down the city.

The Simurgh had only had a 3% chance. Taylor sighed, cupping her eyes with one hand for a moment. That would teach her to trust blindly. Any percent of a Simurgh attack should be treated as a certainty.

Make a note, Future Taylor.

Gladly, Past Taylor. Try not to die!

Taylor huffed. Future her was kind of a bitch.

"Did you hear me, Script? We have to leave the city!" Tattletale was very animated, the shivers and terror plain to see in each move of her hands and each step she took as she paced around her desk, gathering papers and stuffing them into a bag without care.

"No?"

"Right? So we'll go with evacuation plan B, you know the one with the bus? The heavily armoured bus? Not that it'll make much of a difference but the harbour plane would be suicide right now and-"

"I said no, Tattletale. I'm not going anywhere."

"Listen to me Taylor, powers like ours...against something like that, it's fucking useless! You want to help people right? You have to actually be alive to do that!"

"Is that what this is about?" Taylor asked. She paused and bit her lip, regretting this already, but it had to be done. "You're scared that the Undersiders and I will die like Rex did?"

"You...you bitch," Lisa said. "How dare you bring him up now of all times!"

"I'm not suicidal Lisa, I just kept my eye on the big picture," she said. "Don't worry, I have a plan."

Well, Dinah did really...just it was up to Taylor to execute it.

"Eat shit, Taylor," Lisa said. "I don't owe you anything."

The blonde turned to leave, her bag forgotten in her anger, but sniped back a parting remark as she did. "Coil would have done the same damn thing. You of all people should try to be better than that."

Taylor waited for the door to slam before sinking into her chair, sobbing. What she'd just done meant the end of any friendship she might have had with Lisa...but step one was complete. She really hoped it was worth it.











The Conflict Enforcer used the bipedal motion in an optimal way. Slight rotations of the hips added an allure that only added to the panic. Nearly three hundred thousand blips pinged the Enforcer's senses and with a million different tweaks, it began to shape their destiny. This would be an attack like no other, proof that any and all preparations were useless. The final nail that would drive the Prime Subject away from his compatriots, ramping up the difficulty and fulfilling the prime directive.

First, some preparations needed to be made.

With a wholly unnecessary motion, the Conflict Enforcer raised its arm. Behind it, the metallic hulks of desiccated transportation rose from the deep. The 'Boat Graveyard' had one last purpose to serve.

Targets were assessed and locked as the Enforcer flung each hulking wreck to their individual and final resting places. The largest, an oil tanker, skewered itself into the refinery that sat anchored to the shore. In a blinding display, the mass broke through the fortress' barrier and dove deep into the structure's core.

The Rig exploded. The Enforcer saw only a few realities where it would ever be rebuilt. In most, it would serve as the new 'Boat Graveyard', reminding the city's citizens of their impotence and failure.

A series of tugboats smashed through highrises and complexes, cell towers and radio stations. In the span of a minute, the city was silenced. No broadcast would be getting through today, and once the device in the Enforcer's left arm was complete, Radio frequencies would not only be useless...they would be deadly.

[Satisfaction]

The last boats went to the obvious places, sent far beyond the limits of their range by the Enforcer's will. The pharmaceutical company's headquarters were destroyed, along with the town hall, University campus, and the siren control. The military encampment it left alone for now. Most futures had that problem nipping itself in the bud soon enough.

Now came the easy part. The Enforcer stopped, standing still in the middle of the water, and opened its mouth. The gesture was unnecessary, but it provided a large bonus to the effectiveness of the assault.

The Simurgh began to sin-

From its place in the bay, the Enforcer known as the Simurgh prepared to wage war.

It paused, placing the sensation. The Enforcers usually only felt each other's presence. And once they had felt that of the Prime Subject. This was neither. This was new. It was expected, but only in forty percent of cases if the Third Enforcer attacked. Forty percent of Three percent of a one in a million chance. Suffice it to say, this was unlikely.

That was fine, however. The Enforcer had planned for it.

[Contact; Discussion]

A world of stark whiteness was projected. It did not exist except for in the minds of both itself and the Intruder. Brief considerations allowed the Enforcer to craft the experience for the most impact, the most benefit. A table was created, as white as the room but somehow distinct. The Enforcer projected a body that sat at the table, a delicate porcelain cup pinched in one hand. It plucked an image from the Intruder's memories as the basis but kept its colours the way they were. With one final act, the Enforcer used the connection the Intruder had used to piggyback the information back into her mind.

The Intruder sat down across the table, the look on her face a close match to about ninety percent of all facial expressions during Enforcer deployment. Stricken was the word. The Intruder's cup crashed to the down, and the Enforcer spared an exasperated moment to simulated its breaking before meeting the Intruder's eyes once again.

"Mom?" the girl said in disbelief.

The Simurgh grinned.

Spoiler: A.N.

Taa-daa! It's late again! And what's this? Victorian didn't even do those edits either. Well, drat.

Sorry folks, RL got away from me. On the plus side, Murder Mystery parties are fun.

So there we go. The start of the Simurgh fight. This thing fought me harder than anything else in this fic. I must have scrapped parts of this a dozen times trying to portray it well. I hope this works.

It's shorter than usual, But I kind of want the whole Simmie/Taylor interaction to be on its own.


Been awhile since I did this....so, Next Time: Ziz prefers chamomile tea, Major Wright has a minor role, Strider finally shows up with some help, and Pawn to E-5.

 

[Victorian_Irish]

I sometimes wonder what you felt when you looked into her mind. Were you scared? Probably. But I know there must have been more to it than simple fight or flight. Would it be unwelcome of me to call it fate?

Get it?

You're no fun.









Taylor stared at her mother's face. It was rendered in whites, silvers, and greys instead of the warm and earthy tones she'd had in life. The expressions were also wrong, like a toddler placing stickers the wrong way and messing up the aesthetic.

The Simurgh, for her part, sipped calmly from her cup. The faint scent of chamomile tea wafted over Taylor's nose, and it warred with the smells of her office in her brain.

"Who are you?" The Endbringer asked. It was strange. Taylor heard the words, but there was more to it than that. It was...it was like the Simurgh was evaluating her. Like she had meant to ask 'What are you?'. But that was wrong too, nothing said was a falsehood.

Taylor took a deep breath, clenching her hands around her own teacup...hadn't she broke it? She mentally shrugged and opened her mouth. "I'm Taylor," she said. There it was again. She'd said Taylor, but it was like she'd handed over an essay. She was Taylor Hebert/Script/Melpomene/Chief Navigator/Daughter/Friend/Enemy. It was the essence of her person-hood, laid bare before the Simurgh's eyes.

"So you are," the creature said, the facade of Annette Hebert moving its lips slightly off-kilter. "And what is it that you want?" [A command, central to all existence. A goal without compare.]

"I- My purpose is victory. I will save the world," she said. She winced a little on the inside. It sounded like something from the Protectorate cartoon show. The thought of being embarrassed in front of an Endbringer was a little absurd...but that had been so cheesy.

"Hmm."

Taylor felt phantom rumbles in the earth. The white-washed room was still and calm, but she knew something big had just hit the city. Another boat, perhaps?

"And how do you propose to claim victory over me?" [A haughty expression. A feral grin beneath a hood, untold power slipping from hands in a fury.] the Simurgh asked. "How will you begin to try?"

"I'll...Navigate." [Clack-clack-clack of fingers on keys. Mind connecting with others to stop the bloodshed. A champion miles away.] Taylor felt more sure with every word she said. "I'm not alone. I never am. I can show them the path. And no matter who you claim- [Black and white screen, a cackling man standing behind a cadre of shambling men and women. Shiny metal hats. A cowboy?]- I'll be there to help. To undo what you've done."

Her mother's face shifted, eyebrows lifting in surprise before the Simurgh chuckled. "You are challenging me?" [The heart of all purpose. Shots fired. Kung Fu movies in the night. He could beat them all.]

"Yes," Taylor said.

"You are sorely outmatched," [Disappointed faces staring back. He was failing, failing.] The Simurgh said. "And you have already made a grave mistake."

"Which is?" [Two girls watching TV. What was that creature? Why was it there? Why was everyone scared?]

The tea was gone, and Taylor found herself holding a pawn. The table was a chessboard, littered with pieces big and small. There were far too many pawns on the board, and it hurt to try and count them. She turned her attention to the one in her hand. Donny Grant, Fisherman, thirty-four. She gasped. There were thousands, hundreds of thousands, of white pieces on the board, and a few that were off it as well. A knight, A Queen, she knew instinctively that they represented...no they were Colin and Ciara. In the Simurgh's hand was a single black piece, a Queen of her own. A carefully sculpted King sat on the edge of the table, barely on the board. It was winged and fragile and dangerous in its appearance. It was the Simurgh herself.

"You assumed we had yet to start," the Endbringer said. "Haven't you heard of Zeitnot?"

The Simurgh placed the Queen on the board next to Taylor's King and smiled. "Check."

The base's intercoms activated all at once.

They began to scream.









When the main lights went out, Noelle was confused. When the ground began to shake, she was wary. Francis had left earlier, off to try and salvage the team, and left Mars in his place. Her friend was skittish these days, restless. From what little she could remember of high school psychology, Noelle would say that Mars had acclimatised to being on the run. The stability they were enjoying here was actually working against her normative state. That or she was just uncomfortable around Noelle. It wasn't like she looked well these days.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"I...I don't know," Mars said.

Noelle clutched the handheld console tighter, though part of her mumbled that it was a useless comfort. It was proof, in a way, that Francis still cared. That he still wanted her. He wanted to do normal things with her, like a boyfriend would, even if they couldn't touch. She focused on that feeling, drowning out the rumbles in the earth.

"Damn it!" Mars yelled. When Noelle turned a questioning glance to her, she continued. "My phone isn't working. No signal."

"It was working yesterday," Noelle said.

"Yeah..."

The two sat in silence for a moment, both frozen by indecision.

Then the intercom turned on. Noelle was hopeful at first. Maybe Francis or even Script would tell her what was wrong. Her hope soon proved false.

A familiar, hated sound pumped out from the speakers. A song she heard each night as she tried and failed to sleep. It was the soundtrack to everything wrong with her body, her life, her friends. It was the sound of the Simurgh, a clear droning tone.

Through the viewscreen, Noelle saw Mars turn white.

The Simurgh was here.

[I was always here for you.]

The Simurgh was attacking the city. She was after Noelle and her friends again. They had to leave, they had to get out!

[They won't let you out, child. They fear you. They've been twisted already.]

Noelle shook her head, turning to the camera. "We have to leave Mars. Let me out, we can get the others on the way," she said.

"I don't know Noelle," Mars said. "It's probably safer down here."

What?

[She can't see it. She refuses to. Script is already an enemy, she'll kill your friends. She'll kill Francis.]

"I'll go see what the others think, OK Noelle? I'll be back soon."

No! Not alright!

Noelle threw herself at the vault door and heard the tortured groan of metal, the sandy cracking of concrete.

"Noelle! Calm down!"

She had to...to...

[Save them. She had to save her friends.]

Right. It was them against the world after all.

As the gas began to fill the room, she knew she was correct.

The door broke open quickly. The pale green vapour continued to pour out, but if there was anything she was sure of, it was that it would take more than that to kill her. Ending her suffering wouldn't be that easy after all. Mars, however, was not as protected. If she breathed in this stuff, she'd die.

[Save. Protect. Win.]

"Sorry Mars," she said, one or her tongues wrapping around the struggling, shocked form of her friend. "This is going to be gross, but I'll keep you safe. I promise. I'll save all of us."

She pulled Mars into her body, spitting out the expected copy and...They had been a problem before, so she should kill it right? But if the whole city was corrupted like Madison had been, Noelle would need all the help she could get. She still needed a way out of the base after all.

"Get us out," she ordered the clone. She fought down a wave of revulsion of the Mars clone developed a rapturous look on its face, but the thing nodded and began summoning its power regardless, so at least it would listen...for now at least.

Now she just had to find the others. Once she had her friends, they could leave...right after she killed that traitor bitch, Script.

Nobody would get away with trying to kill her friends. She'd make sure the world knew it too.











Ouch.

Small and not-so-small pebbles dug into her back as Emily woke up. At first, it looked like the sky was moving, but she soon realised she was just getting dragged. She pulled a derringer out from her sleeve, twisting her body to aim at whoever was holding her, and relaxed.

"Sir?" the young man said. "Sir, she's awake."

The sound of boots and muted clicking heralded the appearance of Major Wright. His face had a smile on it as he limped over. The pistol sitting on his hip wasn't new, per se, but it was all the more evident given the current situation. "The hell are you doing, Director?" he rasped out. "Sleeping on the job? You're on the taxpayer's clock, so up and at it."

"Got it, Drill Sargeant," Emily said. "I could use a crutch, though. I think my knee's busted."

"It looks like goddamn strawberry jam, Piggot. 'Busted' she says," he mused. "Private Jones? That is the proper response to pain. You tell it to fuck off like it's your crazy ex."

"Oorah, Sir, Ma'am," the boy said. "I'll get the Corpsman."

As the private scampered off, Major Wright deflated a little. Emily could relate. Being in command of others meant putting on airs sometimes.

"Glad you're alright, Director," he said.

"Just tell me the situation."

"Well, the feathered bitch is sitting pretty for now. Hasn't done much aside from wrecking our communications," he said. "I wouldn't recommend turning on your radio, though, all the stations are playing one song."

"Well, fuck."

"Long as you stay off comms you should be fine. Maybe. Hard to tell with the Simurgh."

"How many made it out?"

"Of the PRT? Almost all. That kid of yours saved the day. Portent, right? You lost one or two office workers along with a full strike team, but no civilian casualties."

Emily let out a breath and wiped the sweat from her brow. One team down was bad news, losing people always was, but it could have been worse. Would have been if not for her newest Ward. Were there gift baskets for that? Damn, she must have been more drained than she thought.

"So what's the plan?" she asked.

"We're taking the wounded back to our camp. It's largely untouched at the moment. The Colonel is trying to contact command, but our signals are either being intercepted or co-opted by the Simurgh."

"Are you going to fight?" she asked.

Major Wright shifted his weight, trying to appear more confident than he was. "I- That's up to the Colonel, Ma'am."

It had to be hard on him. Emily knew she wouldn't want to go back to Ellisburg anytime soon. Facing another Endbringer attack must be doubly hard given what Behemoth had taken from him. She grunted agreement and let the Corpsman help her up when he arrived. As she hobbled to the jeep, wincing with each step, she glared at the winged figure that stood on the water.

Life just wasn't fair sometimes.

Emily Piggot would push on regardless. She was too damn stubborn to do anything but.











Kevin blinked as he and the rest of the volunteers were dumped off by Strider. The man tipped his hat as he disappeared once more, leaving the collection of heroes and villains to their own devices. Myrddin gave a nod from beside him and he mentally shifted gears.

Chevalier opened his eyes and turned to look at the crowd. "Alright. Strider will be depositing the New York capes closer to the centre of town, our job is to get Telegram's gear set up as fast as possible. If you see anything unusual, bring it up. The Simurgh is attacking out of order and we all know better than to treat this as a coincidence."

Everyone nodded. Some were fresh out of their experience at Canberra, others had never seen an Endbringer in person before. It was the moments like this that Chevalier truly saw what parahumans were capable of, it was also the time he felt disappointed. If they could only set aside petty wants or grudges...

"Then we have no time to waste," Myrddin said. He took the lead, his team at his side, and charged down the hill towards the city proper.

Chevalier nodded to Yin and Yang, the twins loping off after the Chicago contingent. The two had tried to kill him before, but they knew how things worked with an Endbringer around. Myrddin could use the backup. "Alright. Telegram, get started. Let us know if there's anything we can do to assist."

The tinker nodded, adjusting his goggles as he directed his assistant. If his device worked as advertised, maybe they'd be able to coordinate with the locals...wait.

Chevalier took a closer look at the Simurgh and gasped.

The Simurgh had a glimmer behind it.

He blinked.

It was still there. Chevalier saw a shape behind the monster, like a branch made from lightning. It was pulsing rapidly, multiple times in a single second, back and forth. He followed it with his eye and his jaw dropped further. The branch thickened, eventually joining a cluster of branches feeding into a tree. The tree itself was half white and half black like two plants had grown and twisted around one another until they were the same. Individual branches pulsed at varied rates, but none so fast as the connection to the Simurgh.

"Sir?"

Worse still, he could see the effects of the pulses. As they crashed into the Simurgh or the tree, they scorched. The Simurgh had no glimmer of its own, but Chevalier could almost swear one was forming. A visage of a woman with wide lips and curly hair, rendered from a single piece of mirrored glass. The tree was changed as well, with each new scorch the bark turned to crystal, slowly encroaching on the tree's bulk.

"Chevalier? You OK?"

It was simultaneously the most beautiful and disgusting thing he had ever seen. He pitied the poor soul who'd found themselves bound to the Simurgh like that. Even the worst cases from the Quarantine zone didn't have a direct link.

He shook himself out of the revelation, clearing his eyes of the image of that great twisted tree. "I'm fine. Telegram? Will it work?"

"It would work much better if you all stopped asking me that!" the man snapped. A few of the others grumbled, but Chevalier nodded. Some tinkers needed space.

"We'll begin a patrol," he said. "Jackalope and Woobie, you stay with Telegram. Make sure he's safe."

A man with a bunny-eared, horned helmet and a girl in pyjamas nodded, moving to better vantage points across the hilltop. Chevalier took the rest and started towards the inner city.

That was about the time Brockton Bay gained a second sun.

From beneath the earth, the orb threw shadows everywhere, blinding light searing into eyes. From the chasm it left behind, a monster emerged.

Chevalier almost threw up. It wasn't the physical sight of the thing that got him, though he admitted that was also pretty bad, it was the glimmer. That thing was a parahuman. A case Fifty-three in the worst way. In the image he saw a girl, her legs turned to clawed hands that ripped out her guts over and over again, leaving a growing mound that in turn became a pack of wolves, ravenous and rabid.

"What the fuck?" Heliotrope was never one to mince words, and the rest of the group let his words speak for all of them.

They watched as the cape pulled itself (herself?) out of the hole, its bulk bringing it to the height of the second story buildings nearby. Chevalier lifted his cannonblade from his shoulder effortlessly, using it to point at the dormant Endbringer. "This must be what she was waiting for," he said. "Ulysses, take as many as you can down there. We'll be the Vanguard until the rest can get there. Tortoise? You've got courier duty. Link up with the others when they arrive and tell them what's going on."

The first man, wearing a stylised suit of Greek leather armour and a toga, leapt into the air and landed on the glowing, transparent mast of the ship emerging from the earth below. The deck expanded and he grit his teeth in exertion, and five others leapt onboard. Those with too much weight or mass stayed behind but Chevalier had never had that problem and he stepped onto the ghostly apparition as calmly as he could.

Tortoise, wearing what looked like an old cartoon suit with a pair of sai tucked into a sash and a shell on his back, took off faster than anyone other than Velocity could easily claim. Some people seemed to enjoy ironic themes for their cape persona, Chevalier was confident the man would get the message through. He'd never failed before.

With a gesture from his sword, Chevalier bid Ulysses forward, and the ship glided across the pavement on phantom waves. Hopefully, they weren't too late. He doubted Myrddin's team would mind a little help.

Spoiler: A.N.

And the Simurgh battle begins.
Feels good.

There are a few OC capes in there that honestly don't really matter as much as their names do. I did include a little gem from the Ideas thread: Woobie Mainly because I thought it was funny. Sorry, it's not a Levi-chan fight but Ziz-chan will take good care of them.
Piggot lives! Didn't think I'd kill off the badass normal that quick, did you? Mind you, she has no access to dialysis now so that could be a problem.

And yes, the opening bits are leading up to something.


Next time: The Chess game continues, Contessa gets a biker gang, New Wave and the Stars enter Horde-mode, Poor Krouse, and Thomas Calvert is a hero.