Stranger than Brockton [Worm/Stranger than Fiction]
- Thread starter Victorian_Irish
- Start date
- Location
- Ural, Russia, Earth
Some kind of Master or Trump?
Number of probably most dangerous and insane villains look like kids in Worm. Fairy Queen, Grey Boy, Bonesaw...
Interesting what kind of hell can Ragnarok unleash...
Yes, very much this.
It was magnificent battle with hilarious ending.
I'm just trying to imagine Narwhal's face:
- Location
- Canada
So I'm an all-powerful Villain with 50 more beside me. We want to be good now. And you know what happens to people who deny me.
*whistles* thats like America walking into Canada and saying, hey, this is ours now and you cant say no.
*whistles* thats like America walking into Canada and saying, hey, this is ours now and you cant say no.
- Location
- England
I was going to say something else here, but I suppose Tattletale can keep secrets - her secrets, anyway. She's not so good with other people's.
... Holy shit! I can't wait to see how this plays out.
Allegory 5.2
- Location
- Canada
"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.
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.
"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.
- Protect and Serve humanity.
- Obey legal authority.
- Prevent loss of life.
- Error.
- Error.
- 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.
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.
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.
- Location
- Canada
Thanks for the feedback
I kept struggling with that part. If you feel like PMING me anything that really popped out at you, I'd appreciate it. I'm in this to get better after all.
I kept struggling with that part. If you feel like PMING me anything that really popped out at you, I'd appreciate it. I'm in this to get better after all.
Someone said that this was pretty good. I'd say it's pretty epic, and for... Pretty much right reasons.
Writing advice follows.
There's a reason most stories stick to one paragraph per character. It's easier to read. Even when you don't decide to use single-quotes for thoughts*.
Also, we don't strictly need Sophia's physical reaction if we know what she's thinking, and that she's confused. Generally, it's a good idea to use one or the other, to avoid redundancy.
* It's hard to notice the difference unless you're looking out for it. I would've just had Taylor's narration in regular single-quotes and "italicized" or "bolded" (or just bolding it without the quotes), and character thoughts in italics, like usual.
There's a reason most stories stick to one paragraph per character. It's easier to read. Even when you don't decide to use single-quotes for thoughts*.
If we know the question is in her thoughts, then it's necessarily silent. As thoughts tend to be.
Also, we don't strictly need Sophia's physical reaction if we know what she's thinking, and that she's confused. Generally, it's a good idea to use one or the other, to avoid redundancy.
If the idea was to "bookend" the chapter, you wrote two different paragraphs. The 'stiff breeze' sentence should come before the 'conclusion', and is completely absent in Crystal's earlier observations. I'm assuming the second versions is supposed to be a summary of the first.
* It's hard to notice the difference unless you're looking out for it. I would've just had Taylor's narration in regular single-quotes and "italicized" or "bolded" (or just bolding it without the quotes), and character thoughts in italics, like usual.
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Allegory 5.x
- Location
- Canada
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.
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.
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.
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.
- Location
- Canada
Damne. From bad to worse.
It is a travesty that this story isn't getting more attention.
Seriously. This is the good shit.
Seriously. This is the good shit.
Allegory 5.3
- Location
- Canada
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.
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.
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.
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.
- Location
- Ural, Russia, Earth
Sadly, SV still don't have 'oh,shit' rating.
If she survive, she will be capable to give the world insight into their minds!
' rating. Well, from the point of view of future Taylor, past her was kind of stupid.
Yes, Contessa probably constantly think the exact same thing.
So, Ziz is planning to break up Triumvirate?
Aaand Taylor is capable to communicate with Endbringers! This is big.
If she survive, she will be capable to give the world insight into their minds!
I hope, Taylor understand that it's just manipulation.
My mama, what big wings you have.
The better to take you flying with my dear. Now come closer and give your old sick mama a hug.
Selwyn
Tomorrow Will Come
- Location
- Mongolia
This chapter was top notch. I really liked how Sim's arrival was a disaster on its own. Fucking body slamming the bay? No one's done that before and it really emphasized that an Endbringer isn't just trouble but a natural disaster. This arrival deserves placement in my top ten bet EB moments.
Besides that, I'm waiting with bated breath for the rest.
Besides that, I'm waiting with bated breath for the rest.
- Location
- Canada
There's a part I have planned from another point of view that will hopefully explain this in greater detail.
Thanks! I tried to think of actions I hadn't seen yet, I think it fit pretty well. Hopefully the rest follows through.
- Location
- Canada
And somehow it keeps getting worse Simurgh! better.
Taylor, you are now the second person in the world Ziz cares about enough to troll. Welcome to the family.
Taylor, you are now the second person in the world Ziz cares about enough to troll. Welcome to the family.
Allegory 5.4
- Location
- Canada
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.
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.
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.
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.
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- Location
- Ural, Russia, Earth
Is this typo or some unknown to me saying?
But do you really think they believe you?
Wow. Powers are weird.
- Location
- Canada
Ah, nope. That was definitely a typo. Thanks for spotting it. Should be fixed now.
- Location
- An infinite sea of narrative potential
This looks like it's going to be amazing. So often, the endbringers are just Kaiju that trash everything around them. Sometimes, the Hero's are written as being strong enough to fight them off with some trick of another. I don't think I've ever seen one that manages to make it feel like such a personal fight will having the hero be so outgunned.
I am really hoping for an actual puppet master chess match, filled with the messy, emotional, dramatic effects of two scheming future seers messing with the minds of the combatants. Friends and allies switching sides, being coerced, losing their cool, and maybe their minds, unfortunate accidents and badly timed drama, being misled or mistaken. Impersonation and subterfuge, working away at weaknesses and blind spots. Insane power combinations.
Okay, I'm just going to stop there, because I'm going overboard and really, I'm not sure there is any way to write all that in less than a year. What I'm thinking would require the work and word count of a book or two, all for a single arc. So, not really reasonable or possible. Still, it's a striking image in my mind I gotta say.
Either way, you're an amazing writer.
I am really hoping for an actual puppet master chess match, filled with the messy, emotional, dramatic effects of two scheming future seers messing with the minds of the combatants. Friends and allies switching sides, being coerced, losing their cool, and maybe their minds, unfortunate accidents and badly timed drama, being misled or mistaken. Impersonation and subterfuge, working away at weaknesses and blind spots. Insane power combinations.
Okay, I'm just going to stop there, because I'm going overboard and really, I'm not sure there is any way to write all that in less than a year. What I'm thinking would require the work and word count of a book or two, all for a single arc. So, not really reasonable or possible. Still, it's a striking image in my mind I gotta say.
Either way, you're an amazing writer.