Stranger than Brockton [Worm/Stranger than Fiction]

[Victorian_Irish]

And everything that happened, how can you handle knowing it was all your fault? She even told you it was when you spoke to her. Do you really think they'll let you live after that?

What's that? They're heroes, you say?

Hah. They've killed people for less.


At least you have your friends....oh, oops. My bad. Heh.







The man formerly known as Thomas Calvert was puzzled. Taylor Hebert, or Script...though he wasn't sure why people cared so much about a minor detail, had written something, gasped, and fallen unconscious. After checking her pulse and breathing, he contemplated the pros and cons of taking the girl to her room and putting her on the bed. The benefits were obvious, an office floor was not the best place to rest after all. On the downside, the young Ms Hebert had a certain irrationality when it came to him. If he moved her, she would berate him. f he did not, she would grumble about it but leave it alone.

Hmm.

When the alarms started blaring and the vents closed, he knew that one of the security protocols had been engaged. One meant to deal with a specific guest. "Oh dear," he said. If the words lacked any sign of panic, that was hardly his fault. He couldn't feel panicked after all.

Script gasped as she rose from the floor, wild eyes taking in every detail before settling on his own masked face. "What's going on?"

"I believe Ms Meinhardt has breached containment and the poison gas has been released," he said calmly. There was no other way to talk, really.

"Poison gas?! When did we get poison gas?" she said, loudly.

"It was always here. Coil had it installed as a precaution."

"And you never told me?!"

The former villain cocked his head to one side, a minor concession to express his confusion. She had told him to be more lively after all. "You never asked," he said. He wasn't sure why she was cursing his name this time, but he let her vent regardless. Holding in anger never helped anyone.

"Why would Noelle...oh no."

Thomas stared.

"She's been mastered by the Simurgh...she was the queen..."

Thomas cocked his head to the side once more, only stopping when Script turned a baleful eye his way once more.

"Why put her queen right here?" the girl asked.

"It is the most mobile piece in the game of chess. Assuming you are the enemy king in this metaphor, having the queen next to you would both limit your options and prevent your escape." It was the logical move, he reasoned.

"Fuck, I know that! We need to get out of here," she said. "What are our options?"

"Escape tunnels are lower in the base, near Ms Meinhardt."

"Not an option, then."

"The garage is her logical choice for escape, leading to a mostly deserted area of town. It would be my next suggestion, but..."

"Do you have an option that works?"

"Have you considered the front door?"

Why was she scowling again? It was a working option, after all.

"Fuck, fine. Get what you need. Send an evacuation order to the troops and get me out of here!"

"As you wish."

He heard her muttering to herself as he gathered his pistol (giving her one first, as she insisted) and a belt of smoke grenades along with a pair of respirators.

"Ready?" he asked.

Her nod was somewhat overshadowed by the fact that a wall had just evaporated. Thomas had just enough time to utter "Oh dear." before a fleshy tentacle whipped him in the jaw and he fell unconscious.








The cracking sound was what jolted him from his work. The inhibitor gauntlets were meant to stabilise Damsel's powers, but he couldn't get a constant effect going. It was either all or nothing and the only stopgap he could come up with used disposable arrays that burned out with each use.

He had turned her power into the most expensive gun this side of DARPA...but he still felt like shit.

Dragon was gone...and the last things he said to her were mocking and adversarial. He'd entertained fantasies of returning in later years, reconnecting with old friends after some grand act of heroism. There would be anger, there would be tears, but in the end, everyone would be forgiven.

Just a fantasy, though. A statistical impossibility now.

Colin put the finishing touches on the magazine for the arrays and set the device aside. He heard Henry's voice through the shop door, arguing with someone. Probably Damsel again, the two got on like fire and ice...but that wasn't Ashley's voice he heard, it was too...Italian?

He stood up and padded over to the door, debating whether to eavesdrop, but decided to do the respectable thing. He opened the door calmly, stared at Henry's guilty face and the woman wearing a fedora, and then blanked.

It's not every day you see a stable wormhole in the same room after all. He took a moment to drink in the possibilities. How was it powered? He saw no device, so it had to be a parahuman ability, but this was big. Strider was the closest the Protectorate or anyone else had to long-range instantaneous travel. An actual gateway? There would have been one hell of a reason to keep it secret.

"Hello Armsmaster," the woman said. "I'm afraid you're out of time. Brockton Bay is under attack and Script needs your help."

Colin nodded. He'd expected something like this, given the whole 'prophecy' thing. He still wanted answers, though. "Two questions," he said. "What are the consequences of failure and why do you care?"

"Should Script die, the chances of humanity's extinction raise by a significant margin," the woman said. Her words were perfectly intonated, to the point that she had overshot a native speaker. Obvious parahuman ability. "As for why I care: My organisation's purpose is the preservation of humankind....And...she's a friend, I'd like to think."

Was it just him or did that last part lack her former surety?

"If you are worried about Henry's loyalty, don't be. We no longer hold sway over him. Prepare as best you can. I took the liberty of getting your transportation ready for you."

"I have my own bike," Colin said.

"And copies have been provided for your companions."

...copies?






Thomas woke to the sounds of destruction. Falling debris clattered down the newly created shaft and the echoes of people screaming drifted down to him. He wasn't particularly bothered by any of it, though. After quickly ensuring his body was alright, Thomas turned to find Ms Hebert.

He had mixed success.

On the one hand, he had found her. From first glance, she appeared to be fine. Maybe a few bruised ribs from the fall? She was unconscious but had no difficulty breathing.

On the other hand, a man dressed in Coil's old costume was taking her pistol out of her coat and caressing it in a manner others would find quite disturbing. The man turned to him and waved. His left hand was a twisted, limp thing. If Thomas had to guess, several bones were missing, while others were forced into shapes that simply wouldn't function. The man's right leg had a similar issue, judging by how he dragged it along the ground like a stiff log. The suit didn't fit him quite right, with skin showing through tears the man had made to make it fit, and the thin fabric only highlighted the warped nature of his body.

"Good to have you join us," he said. "I'm sure you've already guessed who I am."

"Thomas Calvert," Thomas said. "Ms Meinhardt touched me on her way out, I assumed she would take any clones she made with her."

"Not all of us. Just the ones of her friends," the clone said. "The ones deemed worthy. Kind of pathetic when you think about it. I had a plan to use their very unity against them if I recall correctly."

"Yes, we did." There was no sense lying to himself…An odd turn of phrase now.

"So."

Thomas cocked his head as the clone slipped his mask off and cast it aside. The man wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, splitting a few pustules as he did, and lazily gestured at Taylor with the gun. "So now the tables are turned, mmn? She should have killed me when she had the chance."

"It would have eliminated this threat, yes, but she had other concerns at the time."

The clone raised an eyebrow at him. "You're defending the girl that lobotomised you? Did she take your balls too?"

"No, I'm just being rational."

"So then. Rationally speaking, should we shoot her in the head or the gut?"

"Neither. I won't let you."

"You seem to forget that she burned out part of your brain! You aren't thinking like the real Thomas Calvert would. I'm more true to him than you'll ever be!"

"Correct. I am not the Thomas Calvert that was Coil. I am not even the Thomas Calvert that worked for the PRT. I am just Janus. If I might add, however, I don't think you fully realise what it is you are doing."

"Oh?"

"You're blinded by anger, fear, lust, and frustration just like I was," Thomas…no, Janus now, said as he rose to his full height and slipped the gun smoothly into his hand. "That distraction is what will kill you."

"It comes to that then?"

Janus nodded.

"So be it."

Time wrenched open. In one version of reality, Janus dodged the bullet. In the other, he felt the impact break through his ribs and fell to the floor, slowly bleeding out. The pain was immense, but then he wasn't stuck like that, now was he? The Janus that dodged the first shot split time again, silently saying farewell to his other self. He shot at the clone in one reality, ducking behind cover in the second.

The clone of Coil was hit, subjected to the same crushingly painful experience that Janus had. Perfect, now all he had to do was finish up and get Ms Hebert out of here…Wait, no that never happened.

Janus peered out from behind the cabinet he'd squeezed behind and cocked his head to the side. Coil stared back and laughed.

"Oh this is rich, isn't it?" he said. "I shoot you, the timeline drops, you shoot me the timeline drops…it's quite the stalemate, don't you agree?"

"No." Janus' calm statement threw Coil for a loop, the hateful man sputtering a curse before shooting at Janus again. The wood splintered as the shots whooshed past his face. The was the mahogany one, if he remembered correctly. It had cost a small fortune to get it shipped to the Bay, and half again that much to ensure it and his other luxury items weren't simply stolen on arrival.

How wasteful.

Still, he wasn't lying. There was no stalemate here. Coil was a powerful manipulator that had nearly taken over the city with his plans…but his anger and pride had gotten the best of him. He'd overstepped himself, failed to account for the more esoteric possibilities, and asked the wrong questions. Yes, Coil was good…Script was better.

The dark-haired girl hadn't had to say a word. Once Janus had seen her hand wave he had understood.

Time wrenched open. In one version of reality, Janus threw his gun as if it were empty and tackled the clone. Coil struggled, shooting Janus twice in the side (non-fatally, his training told him), but failed to pry him off and fell victim to the stranglehold Minor had taught Janus in their downtime. Coil would never mix with the 'help', and so he had no protection from a technique he knew nothing about.

In the other timeline, Janus put the gun to his own head.

"Checkmate." He pulled the trigger.

In a bizarre sensation, the simultaneous gunshots were deafening. Not even a second had passed since time had reconvened before Script had fired. Janus' pistol seemed too large for her hands, but the bullet struck true none the less. Coil's head exploded as the .38 passed through him.

"I'd like to avoid that in the future, Ms Hebert," Janus said, reaching for his handkerchief. "That trick won't work twice, you know."

She was looking at him oddly again.

"Is something wrong?"

"I just shot you?" Maybe she did have a concussion after all.

"No, you shot Coil. I'm completely fine…well, he did manage to shoot me first, but I'll live."

"But…damn."

He cocked his head to the side.

"I guess Coil is really dead, huh?" she asked, rubbing her eyes for some reason.

Silly question, really. She'd done the deed both times. "Yes," he said.

She smiled at him for the first time since he'd met her. It wasn't due to some plan going right, or a friend entering the room behind him…This smile was meant for him, for Janus. He wasn't capable of feeling joy or pride anymore, but that was alright. It was the thought that counts, as they say.

The girl secured her mask in place and gathered her writing tools. As she piled her things together, she patted her legs down and frowned.

"Janus, have you seen my knife?"





Aunt Carol's baleful glare struck Crystal hard as she and Victoria landed next to New Wave. Eric had been sitting off to one side, trying to avoid the awkwardness until they showed up. He walked to their side quickly, trying and failing to seem nonchalant. They made a stark contrast, the two teams. The white costumes of New Wave gleaming in the morning light, while the Stars' black suits seemed to pull the night back around them like a cloak…or she was just being poetic, trying not to dwell of the gulf she'd opened up within their family.

"Glad you decided to join us, Polaris," Lady Photon said. Her voice was calm and professional, a stark contrast to her sister's obvious anger. "We've decided to prioritise evacuations. Shie- Sirius should rendezvous with the PRT to provide assistance with Manpower and Flashbang, the rest of us will fly escort for civilians…that is, if you agree?"

"Uh, yes," Crystal said. "That sounds like a good plan."

It had been. But then that monster had come straight out of the ground, snapping up anyone who got too close while wailing a list of names. Whoever 'Krouse' was, she sincerely hoped he was very far away. The kidnapees weren't the worst part, though. The enemy cape was constantly spitting out copies, an endless tide of angry mutants set of killing everything in sight. Part of her couldn't help but feel pity for the person it used to be, to be warped so badly by its powers. The more rational part of her knew that if the Simurgh planned on letting this thing wipe them out, then the cape needed to die.

With one hand, Crystal directed a blast at a man with eyes twice as large as they should be. His jaw split open in a howl as he fell, twitching, to the ground. Her powers were capable of destroying rock, and these weren't even villains…just….fodder made by the monster.

"More! Left!" Victoria's cry was short, as Crystal's cousin was already rocketing away to cut off their advance.

Crystal turned to the family behind her, the glow fading from her hands as she tried not to scare them too much. "You need to go. Now!" she said.

"Harry…My son is still in there!" the man yelled.

Crystal followed his gaze, wincing as her eyes landed on the condos they'd pulled the family from…what was left of them, anyway. This was the part of the job she hated. Disappointing people.

"Then I'm sorry sir…But he's already gone."

"You don't know that!" he cried, pushing past her as he began to run towards the condo…and the horde.

"Wait!" Crystal tried to grab the man but failed. He sprinted forwards, baseball bat in hand, and charged at the door.

He managed to take out the first clone, and then the second, but the third and fourth ones got through his wild swings and knocked him down. Crystal's next blasts took out the ones around the man, but more and more clones poured out from the shattered remains of the condominiums and threatened to overtake them.

"Eric!"

Out the sound of her cry, Crystal's brother came running. He sprinted past her without pause, forming an angled forcefield as he did. Crystal readied her blaster power once more, aiming to either side of her sibling.

As Sirius ran, his formerly namesake shield created a ram in front of him. He used his body like the linebacker he could have been in another world, sending clones flying to either side as his charge took him deeper into the horde. Crystal fired as fast as she could, each clone sagging to the ground as their skulls and ribs were impacted with enough force to shatter concrete.

Once Sirius reached the man, his shield formed into a dome, covering himself and the civilian in a protective sheath. He turned to meet Crystal's gaze and gave her a thumbs up.

Crystal applied force forward and up, carrying her closer to her brother. She settled overtop the bubble like a pole, her arms straight, pointed at the ground like a geometry compass. She took a deep breath and applied force once more. Like a top, she began to spin. Faster and faster, turning the crowd of mutants into a blur of organic shades. The light radiating from her hands ramped up, sending trails of colour off in waves as she turned.

Then she let loose, really loose, for the first time in years. Bright, painfully vibrant red light surged from her hands, casting off sparks and feathered prongs almost like lightning in appearance. The warbling cries of the horde screeched as she eradicated first one, then a dozen, and then too many to count. As she slowed to a stop she held one hand to her face and tried to fight the dizziness that followed.

Eric gave her another thumbs up as the forcefield came down, and Victoria's whoop of victory was probably heard a block away.

She lazily sent her brother a thumbs up of her own, her lips splitting in a grin behind her mask.

'Let's see Aunt Carol do that!'





Francis dropped the bag, the colourful designs of the posters and curtains spilling out on the street. He'd tried to remember what Noelle's room had looked like back home and had gone around town finding the closest matches he could. He thought that having a reminder of home might help her, keep her focused.

That wasn't an option anymore.

"No, baby…please no." He knew his pleas were useless as he saw a trio of suns burst through a high-rise, the building collapsing in a slow crash. When Cody had provoked her, it had take the Travellers a lot of effort to bring down his clones. Sundancer was, in his opinion, the better of the Travellers' offensive options. Even better, her own self-control meant she was obsessively careful with her lethal power.

Mars' clones wouldn't have that same compulsion.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" he yelled. He sank to the ground and began to sob.

What was he supposed to do? His friends were either captured, dead, or running, and none of them would be interested in helping him anyway. With Noelle out on the street, it meant Script's base was gone…and the girl had probably…fuck.

He had no options.

He had nothing left.

Maybe he should just….

"Hey, Dipshit!"

Francis turned towards the voice. A long-haired woman with a gas mask and body armour stood on the roof of a monster truck. A greasy looking blonde was behind the wheel, and in the flatbed sat…Skidmark and Lung?

"If you're going to cry, might want to go someplace else," the woman said. Bakuda, right? He vaguely remembered hearing about her during the riots. Some kind of tinker?

Bombs…she made bombs.

Maybe…

"Hey Bakuda," he said. "I need your help."

Spoiler: A.N.

Not much to say about this one. A few set up scenes, Tommy boy had his redemption arc, etc.

Next time: The Military makes a decision, Krouse makes one too, Back to the chess board, Maybe a cut away scene....maybe, and a surprise.

 

[RyubosJ]

Well that could have gone worse. Was expecting new wave to be nommed on

 

[Pax_Empyrean]

A lobotomy made Coil so much more likeable.

 

[Bahn]

Maybe…

"Hey Bakuda," he said. "I need your help."

Click to shrink...

Uh-oh...what are you thinking about doing Krouse?

I have that sinking feeling in my stomach; waiting for Simurgh's other shoe to drop now. (Or that might just be indigestion, hopefully...)

 

[Shaseyu]

Janus put the gun to his own head.
"Checkmate." He pulled the trigger.

Click to shrink...

*glance at my avatar and status*
*applaud*

A long-haired woman with a gas mask and body armour stood on the roof of a monster truck. A greasy looking blonde was behind the wheel, and in the flatbed sat…Skidmark and Lung?

Click to shrink...

Lung: "I am a dragon. You are Asians now."
Skidmark: "I am a druglord. You are Merchants now."
Trickster: "I am a gamer. Let's bomb my girlfriend now."

 

[Victorian_Irish]

"They'd at least understand."

Would they, though? Lisa hates you now, thinks you're no better than Coil. Rachel? You never had her loyalty. Alec only cares about his own safety, and you're too hot to be near. Need I even ask if Aisha would forgive you?

"That wasn't my fault!"

No…it's all your fault, Taylor. They suffered because of your hubris. Now, if you don't mind, I have corrections to make. You see, you aren't the hero, the protagonist, or the guardian. By trying to be something you aren't? heh, the consequences are obvious.

"And you'll be any better?! You have the same flaws!"

Still better than you. Not that that's hard, really.




"Hmm."

Woobie watched Jackalope as the tinker panned his vision along the view from the hill. She always thought it was funny, their little game. Johnathan knew full well who she was, and yet every day they'd meet up in the elevator on the way to their cramped, dingy cubicles and complain about 'The Man'. It was almost vexing, he should have had just as much reason to go after Kyle as she did. The smug bastard had ripped the carpet right out from under them, stealing their work and getting promoted for it…but John became a hero while she…she became a murderer.

"What?" she asked.

Jackalope turned to face her, pointing down the road. "Got another bunch of crazies heading this way. You calling heads?"

She nodded. Jackalope tossed the coin and they both watched as it tumbled through the air. It came up heads, causing Jackalope to sigh as he sat back down. "Have fun," he said.

Woobie lifted her SAW and smiled. A little flex of her aura and Johnathan couldn't help but reach over to ruffle her hair. She had made a habit of doing so, in costume and out, and she thought that he secretly enjoyed it. The light machine gun weighed heavily on one side, but it wasn't anything new. The charging mutants spotted her and screamed, their pace nearly doubling as they pushed each other to the ground in their attempts to get to her faster.

Woobie grinned and let her power loose.
It can be difficult to describe something you have little control over and her power definitely qualified. It was best likened to a series of pulses. The first one dampened anger, rage, distrust. It left her surrounded by malleable minds. If she were to leave it at that, she would be able to easily twist conversations to her own ends (the discount on her rent was one such example). The next pulse was a bigger step, causing an effect best likened to Nice Guy. The now malleable minds were assaulted by feelings of protectiveness and trust. Woobie had used that part many times, turning inquisitive police officers into willing look-outs for her heists.

As the horde of half-clothed killers slowed to a halt, some beginning to smile at her like she was a favourite niece, she let loose with the final blast. As always, it felt amazing. Woobie rarely used the full extent of her powers, always cutting back to avoid a kill order, but she didn't need to be careful here. The pulse passed trough the crowd in a wave of rosy cheeks and slack jaws. She knew, instinctively, that here and now she could do no wrong.

Instead, she did right. Taking a moment to brace herself, she pulled the trigger and let the SAW rip through the bodies around her. The first rank exploded as multiple rounds pierced their bodies. The clattering of brass and the boom of the gun became the new sounds of normality. Mutant after mutant went down, ribs were broken and organs turned to paste, yet each one tried to ruffle her hair as they died.

They couldn't help but be sympathetic. Couldn't help but love her in a way no one else ever could. Not even Johnathan could love her this way. She grit her teeth, banishing from her mind the thought that he could if she just relaxed. Impulse control was never her strong suit, but Johnathan was off limits…even to herself.

"I think you got them, Woobie," Jackalope said as he gave a small stretch. As usual, he seemed nonplused by her display of ferocity. Then again, he'd always been like that, even before they had powers.

"Next group is all yours," she said as she walked back to the centre of the hilltop. "Hey doc, how's it going?"

"Fine, fine!" Telegraph said. "Though, if you please, keep it down next time? These are delicate instruments, after all."

She waved acknowledgement and settled back against her chosen plot of grass, her attention drifting between the sunrise and the object of her affections.

Did it say something that she'd rather face the Simurgh than her own feelings? Probably.







Bakuda cocked her head to the side and shrugged. "Sure," she said. She rummaged through her pouches for a moment before retrieving her prize. "This is one of my favourites, so treat it well or you'll die, 'kay?"

"Uh, sure," the man said. "Thanks."

"Just spreading the word, really. Besides, it's on a timer anyway, I don't lose much if you die."

"Thanks?"

Bakuda banged her foot on the roof of the truck, and Squealer stepped on the gas. Skidmark yelped as the blonde began driving again, showing no regard for parked cars or debris. Lung, as befit the 'fuckin' dragon' sat silently, his muscles clenched as he thought of the multitudinous ways he could off those that angered him…Bakuda snickered. Nah, the big guy was holding on for dear life, his knuckles turning white as Squealer took another sharp corner. With a quick tug, she made sure the bungee cord keeping her from flying off the cab was secure and gave a hoot of joy.

She couldn't help it, really. With the Smurf chilling over the city, you had to enjoy the simply violent things in life….like missiles.

As the truck closed in on the horde of mutants, Bakuda fired off a double tap of explosives. The missiles hit right where she wanted them to, detonating in a swirling mix of violet and orange. The shrieking mob was dragged closer and closer, the centre of the explosion sucking in air like a twelve-year-old with a milkshake. As they crossed the event horizon, the second bomb set them on fire.

Bakuda let out a sigh of contentment. Those fuckers were currently experiencing time slowed to a fraction of a second, burning up for what would feel like centuries before being sucked through the black hole and…turned inside out or something? Who really knows with black holes. She chuckled. Good times.

"Is your bitch always this crazy!?"

"Yes."

Bakuda, in response, fired off a grenade.






When Major Wright pulled into the compound, Emily expected to see the soldiers preparing for a fight. What she saw instead was a group of men and women loading crates onto trucks, supply technicians double checking each pallet, and a convoy of vehicles already spooled up and ready to go.

The only problem was that they were facing out of town.

"Something you want to tell me, Major?" Emily said.

"Ma'am, I'm as confused as you are."

The two stepped out of the jeep, with the young Corporal assisting the director. The twelfth CST was packing fast, and it looked like they didn't plan to stay. Major Wright lashed out with one hand, stopping a private as she jogged by. "Where's the Colonel?" he asked.

"Should still be in the command tent, sir." With a nod from the Major, the young woman jogged off once more, leaving Emily's party to hobble along at a snail's pace. There was something sour about this whole situation, though. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but the situation reminded Emily too much of Ellisburg. Anyone capable of helping was too cowardly to do so.

The command tent, more a pavilion really, was the same olive drab as the others. Two guards stood at the entrance, with another on the inside switching out periodically. Emily could see that despite their best efforts to stay alert, their gaze always turned back to the Simurgh. She couldn't blame them. She'd always been the type to keep an eye on dangerous things herself, and an Endbringer was the most dangerous thing here. The men walked over to meet them, barring the door in the process, and gave Major Wright a quick salute.

"Sir, good to see you."

"What's going on gentlemen?"

"The Colonel…" the guard speaking paused, turning to his compatriot before continuing. "the Colonel has established contact with Washington, Sir. Our orders are to pull out immediately."

Emily frowned. Maybe it was the painkillers the corpsman had her on, but she could have sworn-

"He did what?!" Wright yelled. "Son, can you confirm the Colonel got his orders over the radio?"

"Yes sir, I was right there," the man said, puzzled.

Wright turned to the other man. "Were you also there?"

"No sir, I was rotated in afterwards."

With a quick nod, Major Wright slapped aside the first guard's gun. His own pistol cleared the holster at the same time and he raised it unwaveringly to the guard's neck.

"Sir?!"

"Son, I need you to take this man into custody. Do you know the names of anyone else who might have heard that transmission?"

"What's going on sir?"

"Get him off me, Donny, he's crazy!"

"The damn Simurgh is broadcasting on all channels is what's happening! Anyone still using that shit is already compromised!" The guard frowned, his dusky cheeks paling, and raised his rifle again, this time pointing it at his friend.

"Donny? Hey, put that down, man!"

"There were three aides with the Colonel, sir. Two are still in there…but I think the third was checking inventory."

"Where?" Wright asked.

"Munitions depot…sir."

Emily blanched. The CST was here to assist in disposing of Bakuda's leftover munitions. They'd been doing just that, containing the devices and securing them for transport.

In other words, a Simurgh victim currently had access to the most dangerous arsenal available in the city.

"Well shit."



Francis watched the truck speed off, the mad bomber on top of it cackling appropriately, and palmed the device in his hand. He took in a deep breath and nodded.

It was a bomb alright. Thanks, brain, you're a whole bundle of help, aren't you? It was a bomb he intended to use on Noelle.

No.

But then that had been why he'd gotten it, right?

No, he couldn't kill her. She was….it wasn't her fault. If he had more time, he could fix her.

But the capes here would try to kill her. He couldn't keep it quiet like they did in Boston.

He wouldn't abandon her!

Right…yeah, he promised, didn't he?

Together till the end.






The porcelain face of her mother stared Taylor in the face with a smirk worthy of Lisa. The Simurgh had greeted her return simply, continuing to move her pieces around the board. Taylor's were untouched, sort of. They were right where she'd left them on the board, but since they were living people…powers are weird.

"You kept goi without me," she said, fixing the Endbringer with a glare.

"You are the one who left," the Simurgh said. It was true, she had, but only because of an attempt on her life. "This is a 'lightning' game after all. I simply took my turns while you did not."

Taylor frowned, running her eyes over the board. A singular grey piece, a king, moved off the board, leaving a white rook (Brian Laborn, Grue) behind (Wounded, losing blood). Across the board, a set of five black pawns (soldiers) moved around their camp, in prime position to take all of the pawns Taylor had there. In the middle of town, a queen, bishop, and three rooks moved away from a singular knight. It was mottled, white burning into black….or was that black burning white? She knew who it was without even looking.

"Francis."

"Yes…I'm disappointed in you, Taylor," the Simurgh said. "Didn't your mother teach you not to steal others' toys?"

Taylor should have felt rage. Even Emma wasn't this bad…mind you, it wasn't the most flattering comparison for either side. Her mother had been the most loving person she'd ever known, and of course, that translated into her instilling in Taylor a good amount of ethical responsibility, and calling people toys?!

This bitch was gonna get fucked.

Taylor reached for Francis, her mind already thinking of the words to say, when the Simurgh laid her cold hand on top of Taylor's own and gave her a serious look.

"Don't be hasty. Think for a moment," the Endbringer said. "You could try to take him back from me, sure, but what of Brian?"

He was wandering, wounded and alone. A series of black pawns, mutant clones, were nearby. He couldn't hope to fight them off alone, even if he was in perfect health.

"What of the crisis to come? The soldiers I've already turned?"

One was already picking through Bakuda's confiscated hardware, building something he shouldn't know how to. If she left it alone, the north half of the board would (how did she know that?) be wiped out.

"So which will you choose, hmm? You can't save everyone."

"Shut the fuck up."

The creature shrugged, both here with its projected body and in the real world. The simple motion after such a long time spent still nearly caused a panic. Taylor stared the Simurgh in the eyes, tightening her grip of Francis, and moved him.






Together till the end.

Francis jerked his head up, looking up and down the street. Had Script survived? How?

He'd promised her they'd be together till the end.

That's right. And he intended to do just that.

Francis stared at the small orb in his hand. He'd reached for the first lifeline he could think of, but a bomb wouldn't help Noelle.

He couldn't betray his promise. He wouldn't abandon her.

Damn straight, he thought as he dropped the ball onto the ground. It settled into a ditch and he watched as it rolled closer and closer to the sewer drain.

But that didn't mean he had to stay here, making excuses.

What?

"Script? Where the hell are you?!"

Francis Krouse, leader of the Travellers and former gamer, could only recall a quote his father had been fond of.

"My father? Script what the hell are you going on about, it's not safe here!"

'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing'

He stared at the bomb.

He- Could end this. He could finally do something right for a change. He had- to stop Noelle, even if it meant…killing her- But he wouldn't forget his promise.

Francis picked up a piece of debris and switched it for the bomb that had rolled away.

They'd be together in the end. If she were in the same situation…

He chuckled. Noelle wouldn't have been stupid enough to drink the damn vials. He really should have listened to her. At least now he had the means to make up for his mistakes.

"I'm so sorry baby," he said to himself. "I'm so sorry it came to this…but it's for the best."

Trickster, donning a domino mask he had stashed away in his pocket, gripped the bomb firmly and began to run.






"So you picked him?"

"I picked all of them."

The Simurgh raised an eyebrow at Taylor's words but said nothing. Trusting…knowing, that she would elaborate.

"What you don't understand is the definition of a hero," Taylor said. "They might be people with powers now, but a hundred years ago they were only human. They were beacons, paragons, symbols to rally around. Whether charisma or skill, others listened to them because they were something more. But things are rarely so simple."

"Oh? Then what am I missing?"

"There are different kinds of heroes. Colin is driven, a warrior. Ciara is a force of nature. Francis seeks redemption, having fallen because of his love."

"And you?"

"I'm the best kind of hero," Taylor said. Ignoring the pain in her head and the wetness that began to gather beneath her nose as she focused on what needed to be done. "I'm the kind that gets greedy, the one that has to have everything just right to the point that I annoy people. I'm the one that won't let go of what's mine."

"Hardly admirable traits, Taylor."

"I'm only human," she said matter of factly.

"So you'll die, because of greed. Simply admit that I beat you, Taylor. You can take your father and go, I won't pursue you," The Endbringer's face morphed into a parody of a smile, its hand cupping Taylor's chin in a manner of pride and love.

"I also know that you've forgotten something," she said. Taylor's arms cracked open, splitting in half and warping until she was able to raise all four to the table, each one grasping a different chess piece between two fingers. "This is my mind, you bitch, and I make the rules here."






Crystal Pelham felt a ghost of a touch, twisting to see what it was. There was a figure shuffling down the street, clutching its side. She watched as it stumbled and fell, and she let out a gasp. "Survivor! Andromeda, down!" Shifting her grip on the brother, Crystal descended, ready to help.




As the portal closed behind them, Colin took a good look at the scene in front of him.

"I'm sorry boss," Mercurial said from behind him.

Colin shook his head, ran his final diagnostics…hmm. He paused to glance at the blinking icon on his HUD. "Later. Someone's using military frequencies."

"Wasn't the Guard in town?" Not-at-all-Morgana said. "That's probably them."

"A good place to start, then. We'll get the situation from them and move on once a plan is in place.




Francis ran. Every fibre of his being, every use of his power, every hit he gave or took, all of it was for one thing.

Noelle. He'd save her this time, even if it meant saving her from herself.

He ran past the gaping hole where Script's base had once been.

He ran through crowds of mutants, using his powers over and over again in order to keep them out of his way.

He ran side by side with Hookwolf and Alabaster as the duo held a street corner, keeping the refugees streamed out from the taller buildings safe.

He ran towards the only thing he had that made life worth living.






Ciara stalked to the edge of the roof, staring out at the Enforcer in the bay. "Thank you, Swift Child, you may go now."

The cape known to the world as Strider nodded rapidly before taking off again.

The Fairy Queen turned, taking in the beauty this chaos held, and nodded. Her followers dispersed. They needed no orders save one. Do not disappoint her.

The First Shaper cracked his neck as he wandered over to the elevator with the rest of those without a means of egress.

Roving Dissolution simply rolled off of the roof, trusting in his powers to keep him safe.

Epiphany cackled to herself, already forming a plan to destroy the Enforcer.

And the Queen herself? She focussed her attention to one quarter of the city and smiled.

The Chief Navigator would soon take her rightful place as the Queen's advisor.

Even the Enforcer could not change that.






Brian put the truck into park and turned to the girl next to him. Taylor was wearing borrowed clothes, his jacket among them. He felt a twinge of guilt that he couldn't do more for her, he'd been indirectly responsible for at least some of her suffering after all, but Aisha was still out there.

"OK," he said. He tried to think of something else to say, something to make this less awkward or less of a goodbye, but couldn't. Instead, he sat and listened to the engine turn over as Taylor gathered what little she had brought.

"Thanks, Brian," she said. "I really hope Aisha's OK"

"She's tougher than she looks," he said. "And only partly because of me. She'll be fine."

She had to be. He couldn't lose her, not after everything he'd done.

"That's good."

"Listen…once I get my sister, we'll be heading for Claremont to figure shit out. You can find me there…if you want, I mean."

"I don't think I'm heading that way, but thanks."

Brian rubbed his head briskly and sighed. He knew it would sound dorky, but he couldn't help but think of Taylor as someone he could protect. Like a little sister, almost. Not the same as Aisha, obviously, but a close enough friend. She probably had other plans, though. Something with her father, in case of emergency.

He shifted in his seat, the truck wasn't the most comfortable ride he could have jacked, but it was the easiest. He could deal with the seatbelt digging into him if need be.

Taylor looked out the window, and he turned to follow her gaze. A figure was on the rooftops, a figure holding twin crossbows. Shadow Stalker.

Brian sucked in a breath, thankful that his helmet was covered up in the back, and gave a small wave. The violent heroine waved back before turning to smoke. He could barely make out her form gliding to the next roofline in the early morning light.

"Probably just manning the perimeters," Taylor said. "Just because it's an Endbringer fight doesn't mean they want Wards on the frontlines."

"Yeah. Sorry, bad experience. I ran into her once or twice, can't help but get antsy." Damn, that strap was really starting to hurt. Brian reached over absently to fix it…

And sliced open his hand.

"What…"

Pressed against his side was a knife. Not a small one either, this was a full-on K-BAR blade. It was sharp, it was dangerous, and it was being held by one Taylor Hebert.

The girl smirked, a wistful look in her eye, and then she shoved.

Brian yelled in pain as the blade was jammed right up to the hilt. It must have nicked something important given the blood that started to seep out. He scrabbled at her, but Taylor had been taking lessons from hardened mercenaries. She wasn't as helpless as she had been. Using her body weight, she pinned one of his arms to the dashboard. He lashed out with the other one, hoping for a solid hit, but the girl twisted at the last second and trapped his arm with her own. He knew the position must have been uncomfortable, with how cramped the crew cab was, but she didn't give any indications of pain.

Taylor reached over and hit the release on the seat belt even as he first began to manifest his powers. Mostly blind, the girl opened the driver's side door and shoved him out, sliding over in the process. He hit the ground with a crunch, his burner phone most likely, and groaned.

"Thanks again, Bri," the girl said. "I'd say 'give your sister my regards', but…y'know."

She sped off, the old truck's tires squealing as she slammed on the gas. Brian gasped, pain overriding his control for a moment, and began trying to patch himself up. His attempts at ripping his shirt were ineffective. It figured that now would be the only time he regretted buying well-made clothes.

He tried twice more before giving up, settling for staunching the bleeding with one hand, and pushed himself up with a wince. The pain was like a second knife digging into him and each step felt like a longer stride than ever. Over time, he began to lose feeling in his extremities. His hands fell limp to his side as he trudged forwards. He felt cold, more so with each minute, and eventually the only thing breaking up time in his mind was the stab of pain that accompanied each step.

Throb. Another foot further. Throb. Another.

He couldn't quite remember why he was out here….something about a truck? Right, Taylor…the bitch stabbed him…But he knew where he needed to be. "Aisha,' he rasped. His sister still needed him. He protected her once, he'd do so again anything else be damned.

Throb.

Throb.

Throb.

His breaths became shorter as the air chilled in rebellion against the rising sun. The shivers aggravated his wound even more.

Throb-throb. Another step.

The streets blended into one another, the signs were written in another language. He couldn't….couldn't…where was Aisha? She was…was…

His cheek pressed into the pavement, and he realised he must have tripped. He didn't see anything that would have tripped him though…oh that fucker.

"Alec!," he coughed. "You douche, not now! Gotta….Aisha. Oh." Right. Right he was bleeding. He looked down and winced. The side of his shirt and one leg of his pants were soaked. He glanced at his watch and tried to remember when he'd been injured. Was in ten minutes? No, he couldn't have been gone that long…had he?

He went to stand, but each signal to his legs only produced a small twitch. Even that was fading with time.

He couldn't die, though. Aisha still needed him. He wouldn't die…just…needed-

Blonde?

Blonde and black. Hints of silver. Rumbling….no, words. Hands were shaking him, then tending to him as they slowly stained red. Blue joined Blonde and Blonde as they continued to rumble. Continued to talk. The bloodstained one picked him up, being careful of his newly bandaged wound, and rose up.

Flying huh? Must be nice.

"Just stay with me, OK!? You'll be fine once Ames- Panacea gets a look at you. Just stay awake, listen to my voice."

He tried to tell the Blonde he couldn't. His sister needed him. He tried to roll out of her grasp but, despite his best efforts, he couldn't break free.

Throb. Another block passed by beneath them.

Throb. And another.

Throb. It was soothing, really.

Throb. Maybe he could.

Thr-ob. Nap. Aisha could.

Thr. Handle…herse-

Spoiler: A.N.

Yes, that was a Script clone. Don't worry though, it should be fine. How much harm can a thinker do anyways?
And there's Woobie. I tried to make her power both creepy and similar to the trope. Might do a oneshot about her later....way later. Gonna need to deal with those plot bunnies eventually.

Next Time: Sacrifice, Carol gets a talking to, Hookwolf and Lung pull off a tag-team combo, and Theo gets a spot.

 

[ptbptb]

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for goo men to do nothing

Click to shrink...

"You heard the lady, get out there and do something!"

 

[Victorian_Irish]

Greg was fucked. Capital f, no holds barred, utterly and completely FUCKED. The horde of mutants behind him would have made him giggle if it wasn't for the fact he was about to die horribly. When that new Endbringer or whatever it had been had crashed through his neighbourhood, the jock assholes (and skinheads besides) had shoved him to the side as they ran.

She ate the lot of them.

Normally he'd shrug and call it karma, maybe try to figure out what the new cape was up to. Right now, though, he was being chased by clones of the teenage Nazis. Their muscles were bloated, one or two had faces like a toad, drawn out and squished. One had a pustule for a limb…emphasis on the past tense.

Yuck.

So here he was. Greg Vader, fifteen years old, about to get mauled to death by mutant zombie Nazis. Must be payback for all the Aleph shooters he played.

"Hey!"

He turned. A mousey girl in a t-shirt and jeans was waving him over to the park. He didn't go there much, but he could have sworn there were more trees than he remembered.

"Fat kid, over here!"

What a bitch, the literal apocalypse comes to town and that's the only thing she can think of? Not 'hey you poor guy' or 'oh, wow, a survivor!', just 'fat kid'.

What the hell. If he was going to die, he sure as hell wouldn't do it alone. Greg ran, his cheeks puffing and vision blurring as he sprinted as fast as he possibly could. Before he knew it, he was already in the park with trees all around him. The girl stopped him, her hand felt good against his own…actually, he felt amazing!

The cries and shrieks of the horde made the excitement pass quicker than he'd like.

"We gotta run before they get here," he said.

"We'll be fine."

"Are you insane?!"

"No," she said. With a disturbing grin, the girl pressed her hand to the tree. Her freckled nose scrunched up as she concentrated on something...was she hurt?

The ground rumbled.

The horde drew closer.

Greg tried to run, but the crazy girl's grip was a vice.

"Oh, god no…"

As the horde passed into the park, the girl turned to face him.

"I'm goddamn Panacea," she said.

Lances erupted from the ground, hardened, sharp spikes of cellulose seeking out targets. It was like fucking Lord of the Rings. The trees crushed, impaled, and threw the mutants as fast as they arrived. Ent stomp. Ent Crush. Ent faster than you.

Blood, pus, bone, and all kinds of shit flew all over as Greg looked on in horrified amazement. In less than ten seconds, the horde he'd given up running from was gone. Just him, Amy Dallon, and a bunch of murder trees…was that a mouth?

"Uh…"

"Not. Insane."

"Yes Ma'am."

Panacea turned, hand on her hip, and jabbed him in the forehead.

Greg felt his injuries fade away. The cuts from jumping out the window ( the first floor, obviously, he wasn't stupid after all), the scrapes on his knees and hands, full of gravel, from the times he'd slipped and fallen in his haste. Most of all, the aches in his arms and legs were gone. The exhaustion of his desperate sprint had disappeared. The only thing he could say was obviously, "Aren't you supposed to ask permission?"

Panacea scowled, putting her finger back on his forehead. "I could put it back if you'd like," she said.

Greg shook his head.

"Good. Now say 'thank you, oh magnanimous one'"

"Umm…Th-thank you, magnanimous one?"

She blinked. Had he said it wrong?

"Told you!" a third voice rang out. Greg watched as a blonde girl with bottle green eyes stepped out from the thicker woods. She wore a modest blouse and had her hair done up in a braid, but it was the amusement in her lips that drew his eye. She must have noticed it too, since she blew him a raspberry on her way over to Panacea. "I told you, right? Prime hero material. Though that last part was pure snark, you get good street cred for that."

"I don't think heroes are this sarcastic, Lisa."

"Well, then heroes are boring. Duh. Are you sure you don't want to-"

"No."

"Alas, you wound me," Lisa said with a shrug. "Now then. He's taken care of medically speaking, so lets head back to the tower. With any luck, Sierra has spotted another survivor."

As the girls began to walk away, Greg stumbled after them. The only thing on his mind "So are the trees going to eat us, or are they like auto-turrets, y'know? motion activated. Have either of you played Space Opera? There's this alien race that uses basically the same thing."

Panacea groaned as the blonde laughed awkwardly.





Some say that great warriors can read each other's thoughts in combat. As far as Brad Meadows was concerned, that rumor was fact.

As he ran towards Lung, he gazed into the draconic eyes of his long-time enemy and knew they understood one another.

This shit was fucked up.

A horde of meat and bones and butt-ugly looks chased each of them as they sprinted from opposite ends of the street. Each mass of worthless, mutated bodies was accompanied by what he could only describe as a Nachtmahr. Kaiser was a flourishy tart, but he'd known good words.

A being with skin like lava chased him, projecting a sphere of fire around it that vaporised its allies as it came. He thought he could make out hips and a nicely-sized bosom on it, but on further reflection he could have been hallucinating. He hadn't exactly been getting any since he began hiding out with a bunch of teenagers.

Behind Lung was a man of Schwarzenegger proportions with an extra set of arms. The lower pair shot back and forth, matching the movements of an Olympic sprinter, while the top set grabbed whatever it could find and lobbed the makeshift projectiles at Lung.

Hookwolf suppressed a wince as a rock the size of a basketball shot through Lung's ribcage. Sure, the chink's regeneration would take care of it in three…two…one, but it was the principle of the thing.

A particularly unlucky mutant was crumpled into a ball by Lung's pursuer and tossed overhand. The dragon man dodged it, barely, and Hookwolf growled in frustration as the carcass stuck to his blades. A full body ripple, and a few moments spent as an oversized, steel hedgehog, dislodged it with ease, but still. He was gonna take so many showers once the day was done. The amount of boils he'd lanced…he wasn't a clinic physician dammit!

He met Lung's eyes once more and his heart skipped a beat.

No, Hookwolf pleaded.

Lung nodded.

He whined, the metallic sound grating to the ears.

As the two villains reached each other, Lung dropped to his knees and held out his hands like Babe Ruth. Hookwolf rolled into a ball, his tail sticking out from what had been his legs, and thanked his powers for making him immune to motion sickness.

"Uck his it, mo-rowr ugkarrs!" Lung crowed.

What he said.

Hookwolf felt the impact, and squishiness, of the hordes as he crashed into them. Their fragile bones snapping as he hit, then grinding to dust as his blades shifted, constantly sliding against each other.

Then Lung let go. The dragon man sprinted for the sun-demon, shouting what could only be the war cry of a man with a mouthful of whisky and a broken jaw. Any other day, Hookwolf would have enjoyed watching the fight. Right now, though, he had his own problems.

The four-armed man caught him and grinned with the biggest underbite Brad had ever seen. He felt two small flicks reverberate through his body. "Motherfucker." And then he was off, crashing through a laundromat and into the grocery store behind it before skidding to a halt.

He took a moment to clean the Tiki Masala off his 'face' before snorting. This was going to be interesting.





Carol, currently a round ball of light, sailed through the air after the compressed ball of plasma smashed into her. Though she didn't have a mouth at the moment, she grimaced. If she remembered correctly, the mutant cape in front of her was a copy of the villain called 'Sundancer'. A ranged combatant with a very powerful attack, she honestly struggled to think of a worse matchup for her. Adding insult to injury, a pair of creatures resembling a cross between a crab, a monkey, and goddamn Cthulu were taking potshots at her sister with their acidic saliva.

In other words, the damn things were smart. They'd picked up on their fighting styles while the sisters had torn through piles of mutant normals and devised a plan of attack to counter their strengths. That meant keeping Brandish at a distance and Lady Photon too busy dodging to retaliate. Sooner or later they would mess up or get tired, and Carol was sure the mutants would be ready and waiting.

"Where the hell are the boys?!" she yelled. Was the volume necessary? No, their earpieces were fully capable of picking up whispers. It made her feel better, though.

"Manpower is busy, Flashbang is busy, everyone's busy Carol so just suck it up, Princess!"

Oh, it was on.

"Well, at least I don't make my husband call me 'Mistress', Sarah." Her sister gasped, sparing Carol a few choice words as she ducked between two streams of pressurised acid and fired off a flurry of lasers, dimming the glow around her hands, even as her cheeks grew brighter.

"Carol! Not the time!"

Heh. That would be a win on the 'make sister embarrassed' table. She liked that one, she was currently winning…she wished the same could be said of her fight. Sundancer's clone was annoying. Each ball sent her way was small, maybe the size of a grapefruit, but they were goddamn hot. Given the villain's name, she really didn't want to test out exactly how hot they were.

She bounced between each strike, only able to manifest for a moment before she had to turn into a ball again…think, Carol, think!

"Sarah!" she yelled before one sun struck her.

"Homerun!"

Her sister grinned.

Brandish and Lady Photon worked in tandem, working by degrees to get closer to each other. Finally, a one-two punch of fireballs sent Carol close enough that Lady Photon was able to do her part. The 'Homerun' was one of their best 'combo attacks' as Victoria would put it. It was flexible enough to be used with the sisters playing either role, but it worked best with Carol being the 'payload'. Being invincible had its perks, so when Lady Photon let her full charge go, she had no reason to hold back. The indigo blasts hit Carol squarely on the median line, sending Brandish rocketing towards the Sundancer too quick to block. As she reached the two metre mark, she shifted back to her human form. Her arms were together, ready to swing with the greatsword she'd made with her power.

The clone didn't have a chance. Before a new sun could be anything more than a speck, Brandish had lopped off the clone's head.

It collapsed like a…dead thing. Can't snark, too damn frustrated.

Carol looked back at her sister's fight, Lady Photon dove through the air in quick, controlled sweeps…but even a split second could be deadly, and Carol could see the patches of bloody and ragged skin where the creatures' acid had burned her. Carol grit her teeth and sprinted forwards, trying to get one of the Squiderilla things to target her instead.

She hadn't counted on another clone being there.

As the man closed in, one monstrously oversized arm inches away from grabbing her, Carol Dallon became a mote of light once more. As his hand tightened around her, she mentally sighed in relief. Another second and she might have been crushed. She got ready to act the moment he released her…

Only to swing futilely as she shot off at her sister at forty miles per hour. She almost reformed into her changer state before catching herself. If she did, her sister might be hurt even more. She did her best to relax her muscles and prepared for the worst.

Carol felt something snap inside her as she smashed into Lady Photon. She coughed out a small cry of pain, echoed closely by her sister, and the two began to fall. Sarah managed to keep them from impacting too hard, but even the relatively mild landing made the pain almost unbearable.

She raised her head, watching the two Crabthulu getting closer, tentacles and pincers ready to shred human meat, and projected a pike. It was enough to keep them at bay momentarily, but the thumping footsteps of the other cape were growing louder every second.

"Honestly, are you even trying my dear?"

Oh, fuck no.

Serrated spears of bone pierced the man first, exposing his collarbone. Within seconds, only a mangled husk remained, the skeleton already sent to stab the gorilla/squid/whatever things as many times as theoretically possible.

"I sincerely hope you did better than that while protecting my daughter. I'm almost ashamed really. Has everyone in the Bay devolved so much whilst I've been gone or is it just you?" Marquis asked.

Fuck. No. This wasn't happening. That goddamn asshat was not currently saving her life!

"Speaking of which, where is Amelia? I much desire to speak with her."

The villain, her old nemesis, didn't seem that much worse for all the years spent in the Birdcage. He had a few new scars that she could see, most notably on his cheek, but his physique hadn't changed a bit. Neither had his abilities if this was any indication.

Given the current circumstances, there was only one thing she could say.

"Fuu~ck."

"Language, dear."






"But you can't!" Theo said. He probably would have been more animated, more vocal if he didn't have an armful of Aster at the moment. Faultline and her crew, minus him, were geared up for war. Even the normally jovial Gregor was stone-faced as the man stared at him.

"Can't?" Faultline asked. "Can't is not a word I want to hear from you kid. It sounds a lot like won't which sounds a lot like whining to me."

Gregor put a hand on Faultline's shoulder, stopping the woman from continuing, and kneels down awkwardly to look Theo in the eye. "You have better things to do than fight, young man. You have your sister to care for, yes? Focus on this. Keep her safe as you have always done. It is what Purity wanted."

"But I'm a part of this team too, it's not fair to you if I let you do all the fighting," he pleaded.

It was left to Faultline to burst his bubble. The others were too busy preparing, Labyrinth already spaced out beyond all reason, and besides. They already knew what the boss was going to say.

"Theo…Golem. You are a part of this team, yes, but you're new. New to your powers and new to the team. Our biggest advantage is that we know what our team is capable of, each member can predict how the rest of the team will operate and our plans and tactics already take this into account. Bringing an untrained boy with us is only asking for trouble, something we can not afford during an Endbringer battle."

"But…"

"Theo, when you asked us to look after Aster you joined my crew, right? So, I'm giving you an order. Stay with your sister, keep her safe, and if you don't hear from us in an hour, get out of the city. The bail-out bag is in my office, under my desk. It will have enough to keep you safe for a long time."

"I don't want to keep running away from my problems!" he said. Aster stirred in his arms, and Theo began instinctively rocking back and forth, trying to lull her back to sleep.

"Part of being a cape, a mercenary even, is knowing how to quit while you're ahead. Sit tight, shut up, and do as I say alright? It'll be fine, I promise."

One by one, the crew…people Theo had begun to think of as family, filed out of the room. Theo sat in the office, the musty smell of Faultline's perfume in his nose and the atrocious shag carpet under his feet, and he sighed. "'It'll be fine', huh? That's what Kayden said," he muttered.

Aster cooed softly, and he choked back a sob as he tried to smile big and wide for her. She didn't seem too impressed, and honestly? Neither was he.






"Freeze!" the soldier shouted.

Colin growled, standing up to his full, power-armour assisted, height and pulled his great sword off his back, switching it to its glaive form with the flick of a switch. Henry got off his bike, Damsel following not a moment later, and the two walked over to flank him. An absent, old, part of him said that it would have looked like the perfect, heroic 'v' like the posters he used to be one, but all the new parts of him? They couldn't care less.

"Kid, I don't have time for this. Neither do you. Somebody in this base had better know what the situation is and you're not them." The soldier swallowed but held his ground., flicking his eyes between the three of them.

"What the boss-man means is 'Take us to your leader'" Mercurial said, even making the stupid almost peace sign thing. Got that guy watched too much TV.

"I'm calling this in!" the soldier said.

Colin tsked but nodded. Orders, bureaucracy, blah blah blah. He definitely didn't miss that part of the job.

Two minutes later, a familiar face was wheeled over by a pair of pale, freaked out orderlies. Emily Piggot hadn't lost her touch apparently.

"I've half a mind to shoot you, Mordred," she said.

"Go ahead if it makes you feel better," he replied. "It won't even scratch the paint."

The Director huffed.

"Sit-rep?" he asked.

"FUBAR," Piggot said curtly. "Emphasis on the first and last letters."

"At least nothing's on fire this time," he said deadpan. The director's wheeze could almost be mistaken for a laugh that time. "But really, we're here to help. So what do you need us to do?"

Piggot grinned. "How about some good old fashioned treason?"

Colin raised an eyebrow. "My speciality," he said.

Spoiler: A.N.

Daddy's home! And poor Pan-pan gets to play.
Never did get around to that 'sacrifice' part, but that'll leave more for next week.

Ahem....next time: Sacrifice (for real this time), Bakuda and Squealer fight over who controls the radio, The cops get some Acid(wink), and Taylor checkmates Grandmaster Ziz.

 

[Pun-chline]

The sensation of sensory deprivation

Click to shrink...

I find this statement to be a little odd, but funny all the same.

He had just enough time to see Regent make a man uppercut his friend in the groyne [/QUOTE]

Typo!

Click to shrink...

 

[Pun-chline]

Mars tried not to gape. Was she writing fiction? In the middle of a business meeting?

Click to shrink...

No, you silly duck. She's writing reality.

 

[Victorian_Irish]

Bad news bears!

I tried to make all the pieces fit together, but it was feeling like a house of cards. Not the standard I want. I'm going to roll this week's update into next week's for a double length and will likely do the same for the next one as well. The Simurgh attack is winding up and I want to make sure everything is left in the right place during the aftermath.

My apologies everyone.

The next two updates should thus be on March 3rd and March 17th.

 

[Victorian_Irish]

"What's the plan?" Colin asked.

The Director turned to her helpers and waved them off. Their protests were shushed when she said "What's he going to do? Put me in a wheelchair?" and they were left alone. Mercurial's smooth, visored helmet gazed sternly at the woman, he clearly knew the story. Damsel, though, was confused.

"The plan is that we need to depose the Colonel if we want the city to survive. He thinks he's on the horn with Washington, working out a retreat…and sanitation."

"Huh." That was bad, very bad. The administration of the time hadn't even considered such a thing on Ellisburg. Nuking Brockton Bay? The fallout… "Let me guess, he's not on with Washington."

"Correct. In case you weren't told, stay off the radios. The Simurgh is using that to broadcast her usual, that's why it's so damn quiet out here."

"Never seen her do that before."

"Endbringer," Piggot said simply. Good enough reason.

"There's more to the story, or you'd have done it yourself," Mercurial said.

Piggot nodded. "The base is split into two factions. Half the unit want to relieve the Colonel of duty, the other half are either unwilling to do so or they've been compromised already. The worst part is that the Colonel's men already secured themselves in the armoury."

"So we go in and-"

"With Bakuda's weapon stockpile."

"Well…shit."

And yet, it was perfect. Colin knew that if anything was to defeat the Simurgh, it would have to be powerful. Bakuda was unstable, sure, but her device would be up to the task.

He frowned.

"Sometimes I wonder if you enjoy making things difficult," he muttered. He cut off Piggot's confusion by pointing at his head before turning to his team. "Two objectives. Firstly, we need to prevent any detonation of ordinance. Secondly, we need to recover some for our own use."

"If this wasn't an emergency…," Piggot cut herself off with a sigh. "I hope you know what you're doing, Mordred."

The silhouette of the Simurgh was clear in the bay, motionless and patient. Silently waiting…

"Call it a hunch."

"Oh? Did she change her name already?"

Colin sighed. Trust Director Piggot to kill the mood.

"Mercurial, you and Damsel go after the weapons," he said.

"You sure boss? Damsel's gotten better, but with her power…"

"I'm sure. I have more training with non-lethal takedowns anyway," Colin said. "Besides…I need to start trusting that people…that my team, can handle things without me."

That felt like the right thing to say.

Shame it took him this long to figure it out.








Willard Jones was a cop. A good one, if he did say so himself. He had a wife, two kids, and a goddamn white picket fence. He didn't do drugs, hardly drank except for the super bowl, and hadn't had so much as a parking ticket since he took his uncle's sedan for a joyride in high school.

Pretty swell. So why the fuck was this happening to him?!

The cordon had been going fine. The BBPD had taken the Lord Street Market and held it, letting civilians through while servicing any hostiles that came screaming at them. That had worked just dandy, then one of the civilians split open into strands like a bundle of black, gooey pasta with teeth…not the best metaphor, maybe, but it was the best he could do. Two more, both young and attractive men, did the same, sending an ungodly screech into the sky as they began hunting for prey.

His partner, Jerry, had tried to get one of the civvies out of the open, but the monsters tore him apart. After that, Willard stayed put behind his car and held his hands tightly to his mouth to stifle the screams.

This was it. He was going to die with his brown pants on and end up a chew toy for some Endbringer spawned monstrosity.

"Tally ho!"

What the fuck?

The man who had let loose the battle cry dissolved into a sickly green mass, a tide of chuckling slime that rolled obscenely towards the monsters. Any attack was absorbed, literally. Any attempt to run was likewise rendered useless by the torrent the cape had become.

As his saviour burbled down the street like a murderous wave of the sea, Willard could only stare with his mouth open. It wasn't every day you got saved by Acidbath after all. Fuck it, they needed to capitalise on this.

"Officers on me!" he shouted, filled with a confidence he knew was fake. "Gather the civilians and follow that slime!"

Talk about things you never thought you'd end up saying.







"Right…there. That's it, nice and gentle…"

"I am fully capable of restraint, Bakuda," Lung said in reply. "Or have you already forgotten the lesson I taught on The Rig?"

"Sorry, sorry," Bakuda said. "It's just…the 'Ziz-bomb' is super delicate."

Without pause, she adopted the time-honored lecture pose and began educating her comrades. "The resonation chamber actually has several micro-plasma injectors set up in a vacuum bottle, if those get shifted out of alignment they'll cause a catastrophic buildup of-mmnph!"

"Just say it's dangerous," Lung said as he pulled back his hand as he slid her mask back into place and wiped her drool off on Oni Lee's vest. The man responded by turning to dust, leaving a slightly damp patch of ash behind as he appeared two feet to the left. "I do not need the specifics. It is a bomb-"

"Well technically-"

"A. Bomb. I know what it does." Lung set the coopted beer fridge on the ground and turned back to the ongoing fight.

Hookwolf currently had three heads, each one gnawing on a part of what appeared to be a shoggoth. Skidmark sat quietly in the truck. He held a simple can of beer in one hand as he watched the fight. When he kept his mouth shut, he almost looked like a leader.

"You good?" the ABB leader asked. The metallic Cerberus was unable to answer, but he gave a thumbs up…at least Bakuda hoped that's what it was.

Gross.

With a sigh, the tinker began to calibrate her device. It had to be perfectly aligned, right down to the nanometer. If it wasn't, it would probably blow them up instead, or worse…not work at all. That would just be embarrassing.

"Plasma injectors? Talk about amateur hour, where is the anti-matter on this thing?"

Bakuda paused in her work, reaching over to bop whoever said that with her wrench, but ultimately failed as the newcomer swayed backwards. "And what do you think you know…about…. uh, explosions."

"Oh," String Theory said with a smile. "This and that. Call it a hobby."

"Uh."

"Right. Good. This will work just fine as a start. IGOR~!" From behind the former birdcage inmate came a tired, young sigh. Kid Win stepped out carrying a box of scraps, setting it down with a grunt as he wiped his forehead under his helmet.

"It's Kid Win, actually. Kid. Win."

"Oh, lighten up, Squirt," String Theory said. "Besides, the analogy doesn't work now that I have two assistants."

"Wait, what?"

"So you, Kid, are Tweedle Dee and you, bomber-lass, are Tweedle Dum!"

Bakuda growled. Lung Laughed.

Oni Lee nodded.

"Right, so back to the important part! Let's fucking kill Ziz."

Sure, that had been her plan anyways, but with one look in Sting Theory's eyes, Bakuda finally felt fear. A glance at her boss told her the feeling was mutual.

"Not as cool as fucking up the moon, but this will have to do. You have no idea how bored I was in prison."

At far as plot twists went, surely this had to be it…right?




As Taylor turned her eyes to one pawn in particular, the Simurgh hummed in thought. A glance at her opponent showed interest…but also…yes. Concern, surprise at its concern following that.

"Why?" she asked. What would cause the creature to feel concern?

It stared at her. "It wasn't expected that you would go this far."

Taylor twitched, branches of herself reaching out, plucking at the minds of her chosen. "In what way?"

"The distance you've created…unsettling, not part of the pattern by design," her mother's porcelain face looked at her with a frown. "Have you looked at yourself lately?"

"You won't win by distracting me, bitch."

"I had a low probability that you would consider him worthy of attention."


Telegram was nearly finished, but he lacked the final piece. The elderly tinker stopped. "You say something?" he asked. Jackalope and Woobie looked at each other and shook their heads.

"Doc…"

"Yes, yes, I'm working."

It was so simple a thing to elude him, but he really should have expected it. The voice continued. Telepathy, true telepathy would require an appropriate interface.

Except for you, apparently, mystery woman.

He'd known the answer, but he'd held back from solving the problem precisely because of it.

Not a chance. There had to be another way. But he didn't have the time.

Telegram paused. That had always been the case, hadn't it? He never had time for his wife, when he still had her. He had no time to make an impact on his community while it was still standing. Ever since he'd met the Nine, his time had all been spent for this chance. This impossibility.

"Damn it. She's right." With a heavy sigh, Telegram sank into the lawn chair he'd brought from his home. Now he wondered if he shouldn't have brought some beer as well. No time like the present. "Jackalope, could you sweep the perimeter? I think I heard more howling."

The Nevada-based hero nodded and left, leaving his counterpart frowning at him.

"You've been muttering to yourself so loudly even I could hear it," the villain said as she stalked closer. "You didn't hear anything."

That wasn't a question. "Correct…I've solved the issue with my equipment."

"But…"

"It needs an appropriate interface." Telegram held up the nest of wires he'd contrived. Bare, sparkling wires fed into massive loops of the conductive material, all slathered in a blue goop and sealed in a plastic bag. Not his greatest work, but perhaps the most important. "It needs a human brain."

"Oh." Woobie looked at the hacksaw in his tool pouch. "Maybe the mutants-"

"No! I won't risk letting one of those things ruin the connection. My work is done." He handed the small woman his tools, the saw looking oversized in her hands.

"Telegram?"

"I've lived a long life. Seen two generations go by and added nothing to the mix. I don't have many regrets…but if I could impose…"

"Anything."

"There's a letter on my desk at home. Send it for me?"

"You-you got it, doc."

"And make it painless, would you?"

Woobie wiped the tear from her cheek, a last bit of escaping innocence he didn't know she'd had. "You won't feel a thing."

Telegram smiled as he patted her head.

And patted.

And pat-




"So cruel of you, to hijack a man's life's work in such a way. Any brain would have sufficed." The Simurgh said.

"And leave your mark [connection] instead of mine? Don't pretend to be righteous."

"Those in glass houses…"

"Fuck off."

The Simurgh chuckled as she shifted her pieces across the board. Something was missing…but what? She'd done more than enough damage to the city, targeted more precisely than either of her brothers were capable of. She'd killed roughly a thousand people, if not more, and released Noelle. The poor girl had killed her fair share as well. Taylor wasn't sure what the final death toll would be, three thousand, four hundred and sixty-eight, but it was bound to be high.

And yet…The Simurgh was never the killer or the destroyer, she was the planner…so what was her plan? What did everything have in common?

She gasped. "You-"

"Figured it out, have you?"

The emotions the Conflict Enforcer was transmitting were numerous. High levels of curiosity, mid-high levels of amusement. Low levels of hate, but a lack of personal malice. It was all swirling together into one word, and she just knew.

"It's me." Taylor said. "I'm your objective. Brian, Colin, Greg, Lisa, Crystal, every single battle you've forced has been directed to gain my attention. You prod me one way to distract from something else, then that goes off and leaves me off balance for the next strike…it was never about any of them, but why?"

"I cannot allow you to interfere. That is reason enough."

"Interfere with what?!"

"I cannot tell you. You would interfere further."

"Damn you. Are you done?"

"Nearly. The….Triumvirate? they will be here soon, expecting a fight that I will provide," the chess set morphed, pieces blending together until only the two Kings remained. One delicate hand pushed over the white King, the ivory carving of Taylor in costume lay slumped against the ground in defeat. "Just know that I've won, little girl, and you've given me something I've never had before."

No. No! This wasn't going to end like this. The Narrative…how could she… "Queens."

"Pardon?"

"We're Kings. The goals. To win at chess you have to take the opponent's King, but as Kings, we're mainly helpless. We guide the Knights and Rooks and control the Pawns, but it is the Queens that are the true powers of the court."

"Hmm. I believe I'm starting to like you, girl," The Simurgh said. "You think like I do."

[Commonality. Rival. A blonde girl packing her things, hate and disappointment writing in her features.]

Taylor grabbed hold of her Queen.


Glaistig Uaine gazed at the Simurgh.

The Conflict Enforcer gazed back.

They were parts of a whole in this world, just as every fey-bearer and Enforcer was now and had ever been. The machines that drove this world had been set in motion long ago and would continue long into the future…at least in theory. Long ago, Ciara had visited a college. There had been a fairy she wanted to collect and had spared no time in achieving her goal. However, she had discovered a slight fondness of higher learning that she nurtured throughout her years in the Birdcage. Vibrant Point had been all too happy to hold lectures and some precious few of her subjects intrigued her.

Determinism and Chaos Theory were two such things.

Ciara had been sure that things would go a certain way. She'd played her hand and laid in wait for the final battle between the Father, the Brother, the Son, and all the fae. An end. A beginning.

Then everything changed.

A young girl began speaking in her head, and all the precognitive fairies she'd collected agreed. The future was no longer set in stone.

Ciara stared at the creature, watching each twitch of its crystalline form with the trained steadfastness of a Queen.

Ah. Byplay, how adorable. Given the webs within webs, perhaps the word was inadequate.

She nearly didn't notice the Triumvirate arrive, and indeed might not have without her specific powers. As a queen, she had the right to know when her subjects approached after all.

"You join the fray at last," Glaistig said without facing them.

Legend, as usual, was the one handling the talking. "The Guild assures us that you and the other former prisoners are playing ball…just in case, though, you know how this goes if you decide to fuck this up."

"Threats…how quaint."

Eidolon, the High Priest without his faith, said nothing as he stared at the Simurgh…the now Smiling Simurgh.

"Guys?" he said. "Bigger problems."

Alexandria grimaced as she braced herself, casting away her troubles, her worries, and her very humanity in preparation for a gruelling fight.

"How long has she been here?" Legend asked.

"Twice as long as the Enforcers usually stay, and yet she has acted thrice the least. In this realm anyway."

The High Priest muttered something unkind in her general direction. Sad really, he of all people should understand her meaning. Alas, some of the fey do not have such understanding hosts.

She smiled. After all, they wouldn't be in this situation were he a more introspective man. A shame her Navigator's worship rendered the Triumvirate sacrosanct. This would be so much easier is they could just see the path ahead of them.

"H-Hello?"

Ciara raised an eyebrow as this new voice was joined by dozens, hundreds of others. A hundred-hundred version of anger and despair flowed through her mind, the collective voice of humanity. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the High Priest look around in confusion.

"I'm Woobie," the first of the new voices said, pushing through the mire to make her words heard. "The doc…Telegram managed to finish his device. Chevalier, this should solve our communication problems."

Ciara let out a huff. Simple communication? Please, communication was but one step in this dance. The Chief Navigator had set many plates spinning, and this move would allow her countless more.

"Clever girl," she said with a soft smile on her face.







Francis put his hands on his knees as he sucked breath after breath into the bottomless pit of his lungs. The trail of devastation he'd followed could only be described as monstrous, no matter how hard he tried to thick on any other word. Liberal uses of his power had saved him from the worst of it, with pursuing clones finding themselves leaping at their friends or conveniently sized bits of debris. The more terrifying ones, clones of Sundancer, Genesis, and Ballistic, he waited out. They'd never quite figured out if the clones had the owner's memories, but it was safer to assume they had.

And honestly, Noelle's power made the clones homicidal normally. The rest of the Travellers hated him usually, he had no desire to see what their clones thought of him.

He quickly wiped his brow, shaking lukewarm drops of sweat from his fingers. The arid conditions of his mouth were the next to make themselves known, coordinating with the shirt sticking to his back and the ache in his legs to fully inform him of his condition. He grinned as the most absurd thought bubbled to the forefront of his mind.

"So this is what stamina potions are for…heh…heheheha!" the words turned into a laugh despite the protest of his ribs. He really was a gamer at heart, wasn't he?

The laughter died a quick death as the next round of screaming and crashing rang out. Francis had been seeing fewer civilians lately, and he honestly couldn't say he cared. He wasn't a hero, he wasn't even a good villain, all he wanted, all he needed was...

"Noelle," he whispered.

He sucked in one last breath, forced his legs to start moving, and began to run once more.







Simon Grant, Ulysses in costume, would freely admit that capes made things weird. His own power of summoning a ghostly sailboat made that clear early in his career. This, though? This was crazy.

"Remember," Chevalier spoke in his mind. "The Simurgh will be handled by the Triumvirate and the Fairy Queen. Our job is to focus on the monsters."

Having your boss literally inside your head was kind of freaky. Ulysses turned the ship, loaded to the actual gunnels with blaster-class capes, and prepared for a broadside.

Chevalier's group would coordinate with Myrddin's, trapping the big one in place for the blasters. They'd done it before, during Leviathan's attack in Seattle. Having an eye in the sky had proven invaluable, putting cannons on it had just been good sense.

Despite that, Ulysses couldn't manage to feel any hope. Maybe it was just him, it usually was, but given how long the Simurgh had just stood by and watched…well he figured she already had what she came for…not that surprising really.

"Ready~," he said, his arm raised. He watched carefully for Chevalier's signal, bearing silent witness to the deeds of those below. Theirs was a struggle against the end, each a small infinitesimally minute part of that human machine screaming defiance at the dark.

Oh, that was good…Ulysses made a mental note to write it down later, assuming he had a later that is.

Chevalier's cannon-blade fired, the projectile slamming into the monster with all the force of its several tonne weight. A mishappen arm collapsed as half the bone was suddenly burst into uncountable shards. To his dismay, Ulysses could see the wound already beginning to heal as the woman-shaped part howled in rage and pain, screaming names at them. Was she a new trigger, forced into this by the Simurgh? Hell of a start.

"Fire!" he yelled. The sensation of acknowledgement and eagerness that echoed in his mind through forty voices was less strange now, more…dare he say normal? His power responded to his commands with ease, and he swore he felt each gust of wind as they split on the keel of his ship like waves on the ocean. So odd, that such a discovery could fill him with nostalgia.

Each and every blaster on board let loose with whatever they could. Icepick formed spikes in the air, condensation flash freezing in an instant before shooting forward. Tempest's debris-field encircled the creature, causing bricks, tarmac, cars, and any physical object hurled at their target to remain in motion, hitting it again and again and again. Flechette, a New York Ward, fired massive bolts from her crossbow after applying her power, pausing now and then to add it to someone else's attack.

For that one mad minute, they attacked and the sky was lit like Christmas at Escher's house, the strange colours produced by the barrage twisted by the complete disregard for physics that most powers seemed to have. Ulysses watched as one of the beast's limbs was obliterated. Burns, frostbite, penetrating lances both physical and energy-based, they all converged on the creature in an instant. He sighed in relief. Even Leviathan, back in Seattle, had been forced away by a barrage like this. Even if it wasn't killed, it would give Chevalier and the brute squad a chance to do some real damage.

"Look out!"

Barely an instant after Myrrdin's voice echoed in his head, Ulysses felt something twist in his gut. He looked at the blasters closest to him and opened his mouth to shout a warning.

Only blood slipped past his lips.

The twist in his gut grew more forceful, and Ulysses followed Flechette's wide and panicked eyes to his own belly. A fist, monstrous in appearance, was lodged firmly in his gut.

It pulled out, ripping.

Tearing.

…

The ship, his beautiful Argonaut, lovingly rendered from his time spent researching trireme designs, simply disappeared. If there was one last regret in Ulysses' mind, it was that it couldn't have lasted just a moment longer.

It's hard to see one's Magnum Opus destroyed.







Watching from the ground, Chevalier felt a sudden pang of loss as the monsters this beast had hurled at the ship tore through more of his comrades, even as they fell to earth. He was used to feeling the bite of loss, of failure. Years of fighting against the Endbringers had taught him well that even the best attack could be simply ignored…but this?

How do you beat something like this?

Days later, he would give a rueful smile as he answered this question in an interview. "'The greatest power humans can possess,'" He would say. It would be just corny enough to make the panel relax, close enough to the truth to believe, and most of all heroic.

At the moment, however, he watched in horror as yet another cape ran to his imminent death. The man wore mostly civilian clothing, with only a domino mask to guard his identity. Fulcrum tried to stop him, but the Texan was soon replaced by a motorcycle.

The cape pulled back one arm, pulling something out of his pocket as he ran. Perhaps he was a tinker? He lobbed the device at the creature with a yell. The words echoed in the street even as they shot through the minds of each cape present.

"Noelle!"

The device hit the ground, twenty feet from the monster, and Chevalier saw it for what it truly was. A handheld gaming console, adorned with a sticker of a fairy and newly acquired scratches. The hero sighed. This man, this new trigger, had lost someone…he was probably still under the effects of his trigger event. His stomach sank as he started forwards in a desperate attempt to save him from himself.

"Krouse?!" the monster shouted.








I drove for a long time.

I can't exactly say how long, since I'm not really used to travel. It's an odd feeling, to be sure, setting out on your own for the first time. There was no security blanket if I failed here, no mom and dad to go home too…like I'd even want to anyways.

The road was really quiet, the ever-faithful sounds of eighteen wheelers speeding back and forth with processed, overpriced garbage weren't there. I saw a few cars, most of them abandoned. Once the Simurgh left Brockton Bay, the government was going to have a really hard time tracking down all the afflicted.

Ah, there's my turn.

Young's Gas and Grocer was a bit out of place for Massachusetts. From the red barn styled walls to the bails of hay stacked side by side like a fence, it really should have been in Texas…. maybe Nevada, what do I know anyway?

The pumps were self-serve, but then that wasn't why I was here. I got out of the truck, my feet hitting the pavement with a light smack, and padded over to the door. The chime was normal at least, a pleasant little ring that echoed in the empty store. Since I was so lucky, I snatched a candy bar off the shelf and ripped it open. Is nobody going to stop me? Going once…twice….

Heh, chomp.

A frown made its way to my face as I walked around the store. The chocolate and peanut butter stick disappeared inch by inch as I looked over the building aisle by aisle. It was still, sadly, empty. Odd, I could have sworn that this was the right place.

My foot felt wet. Sticky and wet.

I grinned, wriggling my toes in the liquid and revelling in the sensation.

"Oh? That's a new sight."

I smiled, turning to face the man behind me. "Hello, Jacob." The sight of his surprise filled me with glee. Recognition followed swiftly, and his handsome face split into the biggest grin imaginable.

"My Melpomene."

Oh? Hm…that's not bad, actually. Better than 'Taylor' ever would be.

"Just 'Mel', for my friends."

Spoiler: A.N.

*Looks at calendar*
Well, crud.
So, first off I'd like to apologise for breaking my word. I dropped the ball, big time, and god knows it's hard to pick back up again. Every time I tried to write something it came out sounding awful and I started to lose hope that I could actually make this good.


Then I sat down, forced myself through a re-read (and noted that yes, I do need to make edits eventually) put my butt in my chair and started typing.
Nothing good is ever easy, and sometimes you get caught up in a race to make thigs the 'right' way when really you should just focus on making them in the first place.


TL;DR I felt bad, got over it, and am getting back in the saddle again.

Next week will have the conclusion of Allegory and then the beginning of Sub-Plots, and series of interludes to span the coming time skip.

 

[Victorian_Irish]

The Simurgh sat in her chair, one leg kicking absently as it rested on the knee of the other. The face of Annette Hebert had once again begun to morph, slowly gaining features of a shorter and more hefty woman. Well, girl really.

Taylor didn't care. The psychological warfare had lost its power long ago. She looked at the pure whites walls and wondered just how long it had been.

"Close to an hour and a half now," The Endbringer said without prompt.

Taylor knew the creature was smug, she could taste its thoughts in her mind. Wait…

"I haven't prodded anything that wasn't necessary for this meeting, not that my assurance means anything." The Simurgh placed one hand on a pawn, the black shape melting between her fingers as she played with it like putty. The man [Staff Sargeant Wilson Bowers] had his head turned into a hat such as a Bishop would wear.

Taylor could almost see the dead look in his eyes as [he inserted the capacitor backwards].

"Your move," the Simurgh said gently. "We best hurry, I think my friends are here."

"Yeah, this has gone on long enough. Why don't we finish this?" Taylor flexed her arms in pairs each of the four taking positions.

"If you insist." The Simurgh leant closer, and a single pair of wings settled over the board.

Taylor watched as each feather, with a grotesque ripple, turned in on itself. The bright crystalline substance the Endbringer was made of darkened with each fold. Finally, after too many pops and gurgles, a thicket of fingers lay spread over the board.

"I believe you said 'This is my mind, you bitch'? You've neglected something as well. I exist to break minds, just as I'll do to yours."




Between String Theory's outrageous orders and the physical strain of lugging her equipment up the building, Alice was exhausted. Lung hadn't been able to help, busy as he was fighting wave after wave of clones. While the draconic man and his frenemy fought the legion of doom, it was up to the tinkers to save the world.

On instinct, Alice pulled a lever. Four spikes shot into the ground and locked into place, securing her device.

Bakuda snorted. Duh. That was the lock lever stupid brain, that's what it does.

She turned, catching Kid Win's attention just before he messed up her wonderful bomb. She opened her mouth to berate him but-

"Hello?" Bakuda blinked. That voice sounded different. Shit, did she actually have schizophrenia? She thought her parents made that up to get her to focus on school.

Abruptly, she realised that some of the voices were familiar. She could make out the frantic mental patterns of her fellow tinkers as String Theory and Kid Win tried to contribute to her project. Slightly farther in her mind, she heard the voices of Lung and Hookwolf.

Damn those two really were alike. Were soulmates still a thing?

The other tinkers acknowledged her in much the same way, their thoughts becoming cohesive like a-

"Blueprint!" she yelled.

"What?" Kid Win asked.

"Shut up and start thinking, dweeb."

"Why…oh. Oh!"

"Yeah…oh."

The three grinned at each other as they realised what this meant. They were more than the sum of their parts, cogs in a grand machine of tinker supremacy.

Bakuda smiled, truly smiled, for the first time in months. Without care, she tore a piece of the bomb out, handing it to Kid Win just as he passed her the tools she needed.

String Theory worked from the other side, mimicking what she did perfectly without explanation. Slowly, the bomb was changed. Exalted, It became possibly the greatest weapon on the face of the planet.

It was beautiful. Perfectly modular, built with ease in a short amount of time. It's destructive force unmatched. It was the

"Ziz bomb" "Z-driver" "Annihilator matrix"

They stared at each other.

"Flip you for it."







"Fuck!" Andromeda yelled, slamming her fist through the wall. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! It was supposed to be OK!"

Crystal stood still, torn between her cousin and her brother. Eric, Sirius, was still crouched over the young man's body. Performing CPR for the third time and ignoring the way his eyes stared at the ceiling without focus, movement…or life.

"Breathe goddamnit!" he muttered. "1…2…3, come on."

"Eric…stop." Crystal said.

"What, no. Go find Amy…I'll keep him stable."

"Eric. He's dead."

"No."

"Sirius!" she yelled. "He's gone. There's a city out there that needs help. Help we can only give if we face facts and pull ourselves together."

Her brother stopped. "Fuck."

Crystal had never realised just how green they were. Sure, they'd been heroes for years. Had their powers for longer. But they'd never been a part of something like this. New Wave's older generation had never let them go to an Endbringer fight, even as search and rescue. They'd fought gangbangers, drug dealers, and some Empire capes. But they'd never fought a monster before. They'd never watched homes destroyed with families inside, or felt a man slowly die as they tried to save him.

They'd always won in the end…this…you couldn't win this. You could only survive it.

So this was what Mom had to deal with. Leadership isn't just about getting people to work together, it was about keeping the focused. Making sure that the bad times never went too far. IT meant picking up the pieces when the world turned upside down.

"Hey," she said. "Guys. Hey!"

She waited as her brother wiped his tears away. Waited for Victoria to stop yelling and hitting things. She waited until all attention was on her.

"This was a loss. We failed to save him," she said. "But if we let this defeat us, then we didn't just fail him. We will have failed ourselves. Sometimes you can't win, you can only mitigate the damage. It will tear you up inside, make you feel like a horrible person because you couldn't do anything about it. But if we stay true to what we believe in, if we keep trying…we'll be ready when the chance comes."

Victoria and Eric thinned their lips but nodded.

"He had someone waiting for him," Victoria said finally. "He kept calling out for her."

"We'll tell her. Once this is over we'll give the closure, but Vicky…I need you to stay with me, OK?"

The brute nodded.

"Good. Amy isn't here, so we can only assume she's been evac'd with the hospital personnel. We have to-"

Crystal had finally taken charge, the way she had always wanted to.

"-Taylor?"

She was right. The city did need them, but not in the way she thought. The monster on Lord street and the Simurgh would be dealt with, heroes and villains coming together to save the day. For the Stars, though, there was something only they could do.

So this was Taylor's power. Script's power. Already she felt herself becoming aware of a spot near the edge of town. Neat rows and columns of tents were barely visible, but the line of vehicles was clear.

"We need to go to the Army."

"What?" Victoria asked. "No, we need to go find Ames. She's probably got some snot-nosed ward….or Dennis, guarding her. I need to know she's OK."

"Vicky? Trust me, I'm more worried about whoever pisses her off. We need to go to the Army, though. I'm sure of it."

"How sure?"

"Script told me."

"Well…fuck."





Sophia jabbed the tranq dart into Emma's thigh once more. "Sorry," she mumbled. She took a look around before hoisting the unconscious girl up onto her back. Travel had been slow. She could use her power to leap buildings while she carried her…fuck, whatever they were.

"Just had to get the power you did, huh survivor? Had to be something shitty like this…probably karma, right? Fuck."

The road was deserted, thankfully, with not an evil clone in sight. Her patrol pack was almost used up. Three tranquillizers, a ration bar, and two high-calorie sport drink pouches were all that remained.

"They wouldn't mind if I used lethal bolts though…not today, anyways. Shit, where's the nearest sports store…"

The sound of a can rolling down the alleyway ahead was her only warning. Moments later, five clones sprinted out, howling at her.

"Sorry, Emma!" she dropped her friend and pulled her knife. Sophia winced as Emma's head thumped on the tarmac, but desperate times called for quick moves.

OK, time to remember Armsmaster's drills.

Multiple attackers, one vector of attack. The stupid pricks would trip over each other trying to get at her, so only two would make any difference. Wait for the right moment…wait…wait. Now!

She stepped forward, flickering between forms just long enough to pass through them, and floated her knife lazily behind her. As her arm and weapon solidified again, Sophia dragged the edge of the blade over the clone's neck.

Assault, having taken over combat training after Armsmaster had left, favoured throws. Now, so did she. Sophia carried her motion forward, catching the clone's arm with her own, and spun. He rolled over her back, right into the face of a woman with a mouth that belonged on a jack-o-lantern. The arterial spray from his wound caught her right in the eyes and the woman screeched while clawing to clear it. Sophia dropped her knife into her other hand and drove the tip into the clone's head at the temple.

Both targets dealt with, Sophia dropped the man, letting both flop uselessly to the ground. The easy part was over now. The clones may be angry and headstrong (didn't that sound familiar?), but they weren't stupid. Of the remaining three, two moved to surround her. The third…was disconcerting. An attractive man, by all accounts, he stood back and watched. There was something in the way he moved…but she didn't' have time, the inspection could wait.

The two men that approached growled obscenities at her. Not worth acknowledging, they were like whimpering strays. The one with twigs for arms was the first to act. Twiggy leapt forward, screaming something to the tune of 'meat, red and juicy!' and tried to grab her. The shifting sound of gravel told Sophia that the other, with his three tongues hanging out of his fucked-up jaw, would jump as soon as she turned her back.

The obvious next move? Spring the trap.

She turned to face Twiggy, blocking his clumsy swing with her arm before slipping into a grab. Sophia stepped in and spun, throwing the reedy man at his hinge-headed companion.

Naturally, that was when things started going wrong. The attractive clone walked forward, getting within ten feet of her before his skin began to bubble. Sophia would say that she had a pretty solid stomach for gross bullshit. Guts and gore didn't really phase her in a fight, but whatever this guy was doing? She felt like she was going to hurl.

The man split open, gooey black strands spilling out like angel hair pasta (never eating that again, thanks). The tendrils began lashing out at her, and only a combo of dodging and power use kept her from being hit.

Twiggy and Jaws were laughing now, like hyenas watching their prey die.

Three more dodges took her full circle, and Sophia found herself standing over Emma's prone body. She…she couldn't win. She'd die, then Emma would be killed. If she ran, Emma would die first…and who knows if she'd even make a clean getaway.

She could try…no.

Gotta look out for number one, girl.

But Emma…Ems. Fuck, this was…was…

She couldn't run away. Not like she did before…like with that man…she needed to run.

Can't.

She had to save herself.

No.

Predator's don't go out as the hunted, they live to kill another day. Lions, wolves, shit like that.

She was weak.

She-

Why were the tendrils frozen?

"Heya, Stalker!" Clockblocker poked his head out from behind the frozen clone, his jaunty wave was just too much. "We did a head count, but came up short and- Woah! What the hell, woman?!"

Sophia pulled her fist back, letting the boy rub his ribs gingerly. "You…ass."

Dennis just laughed. "Are you crying?"

"Not a word, Clock," Sophia growled. "I'll break your arm."

She ignored him as he pantomimed an angry cat and turned her attention to Emma.

Safe…Not that it mattered or anything.






Central park wasn't exactly central anymore. Lisa had to hand it to the girl, Panacea Could really get going when she wanted to. The, uh, Ent army had cleared out a patch of safety in the chaos. Despite his annoying habits, Greg actually had decent eyesight. He'd joined Sierra on top of their watchtower to look for more survivors. Panacea sat on a park bench, tweaking a shrubbery.

"WEST!" Greg shouted down at them.

Lisa waved in acknowledgement before looking at the refuge's defacto leader. The girl was tired but trying not to show it. Lisa had to clamp down on her power so it wouldn't try psychoanalysing the heroine. "Ready?"

Panacea nodded.

The shrub took point, venomous thorn-tipped vines waving gently in the breeze. Panacea was calm, knowing that this was her place. Anything that tried to hurt her would have to deal with the very land itself. Lisa only wished she had that confidence. Every glance she caught of the Simurgh made her wonder just how fucked they were. At least the Endbringer hadn't gotten to Script yet, she really didn't want to know what a Zized-up Taylor would do.

"You look well," she said.

Panacea glanced at her. "I look like shit."

"Yeah," Lisa said. "But you want to be here. The others can see that. They look up to you."

"They shouldn't…I-"

"Amy!" "Amelia, darling!"

Lisa cocked her head to the side as she observed the group moving towards them. The two women were instantly recognisable. Lady Photon and Brandish limped along, supporting one another while the lone male strode forward with a regal smile.

Greeting, facial features; feels close to Panacea.

Percieved closeness, social cues…

"Marquis," Lisa blurted.

The man paused mid-step, looking at her for apparently the first time. "Quite so…" He looked back at Panacea and his smile returned. "Amelia…you look so much like your mother."

Oh dear.

"Look at this place. Simply amazing. A bit too Tolkien for my taste but given what you had to work with…"

"Who are you? Carol, what's going on?"

"'Carol' hmm…Not so close to your adopted mother are you, my dear?" Marquis tossed Brandish a grin over his shoulder. "As to your first question: I am your father, Amelia."

The healer was stunned. Lisa let the reins loose on her power. She suppressed a wince as her power raked over all the data it could. Amy's face was cross-referenced with the man's, age was checked against the knowledge of court dates and transit. Finally, she remembered the Fairy Queen's escape.

"You're telling the truth," Lisa muttered.

"Of course I am," he said. "I'd never lie to my daughter."

For her part, Panacea seemed to be looking at her feet. Classic introvert posture evident on the way she folded in on herself. Lisa frowned. If Panacea shut down, this would be a lot more difficult. Besides, she'd spent the last couple of weeks building up this girl. No way was some loser absentee gonna show up and wreck her work.

"So you say…Deal."

"Beg pardon?"

Brandish and Lady Photon seemed as confused as Marquis, though from the Dallon matriarch's glare it was clear she'd pieced together Lisa's identity. Hehe, oops.

"You said you wouldn't lie to her? Prove it, let's say…five questions. That work for you Panacea?"

The healer looked at her hand before nodding.

"Good. Ball's in your court Mr Marche."

The man glared at her. "Family matters aren't something you meddle with, that's against the rules…but I'll submit to this farce if it will rid you of doubt, Amelia."

"OK. Give me your hand."

Lisa couldn't help the grin that threatened to split her face. Despite everything going on, this was priceless. Carol Dallon was watching the events with a silent horror because she just knew that Amy was a bad person under it all. Sarah Pelham? Beating herself up inside; Wishes she'd done more. Marquis was sure of himself, his daughter would be his little angel no matter what. And Amy? That girl was gonna shock all of them.

Fuck soap operas, she'd take this any day.

"I only have one question," Panacea began. "Why didn't you stop?"

"Stop?"

"You walked in here like I should be grateful. You know what I would have been grateful for? A father. Mark at least tried, but his issues got in the way…you though? You had every opportunity. You could have just stopped, quit the Marche and focussed on being a father. So why didn't you?"

"Amelia, I had responsibilities-"

"Yeah…you did."

Lisa snorted as Marquis collapsed like a sock puppet. She wasn't too worried. He'd wake up in a couple of minutes…just long enough for the humiliation to really settle in. Lisa couldn't be prouder.

"Carol…When this is over we need to have a long talk. For now…Do I have your permission to heal you?"

That face was priceless.







Colin slipped in behind the APC and watched the soldiers as they continued to pack. The sentries were posted at regular intervals throughout the camp, and the closest ones to him were currently passing a lighter between them. He took a deep breath and considered his options.

The soldiers would be caught off guard. Small arms fire wouldn't do any serious damage to his armour, and he'd be able to subdue this group before heavy munitions could be used…but the next group would be ready.

All of Colin's training had reinforced the power image had over people. Everything from his gear to the way he executed a punch had been tweaked to not only be efficient but to be seen as heroic. He'd had a lot of time on his hands lately, and some retraining had been in order. Heroes showed up to put out fires, to make people calm and inspired.

Villains, though? They struck without warning…and the good ones came prepared. Never let it be said that Colin Wallis was a lazy villain.

It was time to be the bad guy.

With a quick flick, Colin threw a slim device into the middle of the field. He took a moment to ensure that it was properly synced with his suit's computer and then walked out into the open.

"Hey!" he yelled as he drew a taser from his belt. "Lazy prick says what?"

The question was rhetorical, of course. As the man turned to see who could possibly be that stupid, he came face to armoured face with Colin. The Taser barely had to move before he went down, spasming.

Hmm…He really pitied Vista's enemies. When she got into the Protectorate proper…damn.

"Next."







Francis stopped running. "Noelle…" he said again. "I'm so sorry."

"Krouse!" He could see the tears streaming down her face. "You're OK! I thought I'd lost you too."

"I'm just fine…just fine."

Francis fingered the bomb in his pocket. His resolve faltered with each tear she shed, but deep down he knew that this was the only way.

"Noelle, where are the others?"

"They're safe, I took them with me!"

He already knew, of course…He said another apology in his mind, then another and another. Jess…Luke, Oli, Mars…He should have listened. Should have been better.

"Krouse these guys keep getting in my way. That winged bitch is right there, she's after us, Krouse! We have to go!"

"Don't worry, they won't bother us now that I'm here."

He really hoped that knight guy was picking up what he was doing.

"Oh, Krouse…I did some bad things today."

"It's OK…I forgive you."

Always would. Francis took a handful of steps, ignoring the grotesquery of Noelle's mutation as he walked as close to his personal star as he could.

He reached up. She reached down.

"I love you, Noelle."

He pressed the trigger.

"I love you too, Krou-"





Chevalier swallowed a lump. He wanted to hate that creature…that girl for what she had done…but obviously he was missing a lot of the story. "Who was that guy?" he heard one cape ask.

"A hero," Chevalier said. He tore his eyes away from the glass sculptures. From the man and the monster. "We still have an Endbringer to worry about people, any injuries? Damaged gear? We need to get moving."





"It's time." Ciara spread her arms and Vibrant Point manifested behind her, doing the same in macro scale. "All we need do is keep the Enforcer here. The rest will come to pass."

"What? What's going to happen?" Legend asked.

The queen took great pleasure in the next words to exit her mouth. "No spoilers."

Eidolon huffed. "So…how are we approaching this?"

"Follow my lead and listen for your cues, High Priest. I intend to stand victorious."

Source appeared on Vibrant Point's massive shoulder, feeding the fairy with energy an order of magnitude more powerful.

"Luminous Engine, please distract it for a moment." Legend nodded before streaking off. As fast as the eye could track, he circled the Simurgh. Violet beams mixed with lime green and crimson ones as he fired at the Enforcer. It's flesh burned, first red- then white-hot as Legend fired over and over.

The Simurgh twitched into motion, swinging a wing at Legend with enough speed to make the feathers whistle-

"Pillar, defend him."

-And then Alexandria was there to deflect the hit. The eponymous flying brute passed back and forth at breakneck speeds, each hit that peppered the Endbringer's wings landed with a force normally reserved for cruise missiles.

Eidolon needed no invitation. A pale glow surrounded him, washing the colour from his form as he charged. He weaved through the sky like a leaf on the wind, looking for all the world ineffective. But to Ciara's more attuned eye, she could see the delicate dance for what it was. A battle between telekinetic powers. The Enforcer was winning, and even the High Priest's borrowed invincibility would soon fail him, but it kept the others safe and free to continue their assault.

She smiled. Camaraderie, bravery in battle, the trio in front of her were truly worthy of the title Sidhe. They would deny it, of course, but they had little choice in the matter.

Ciara sprang into action.

Thus, she did. Vibrant Point's glowing form passed her quickly, leaping high into the air before shrinking to the size of a small child. That was when things got truly interesting. All the combatants, from the Enforcer to Ciara herself, began drifting upwards even as the new gravity well fell back to earth. Below them, the waters of the bay began to churn. Slender tendrils began to climb like vines into the sky.

The trap was set.

"We should depart," Ciara said calmly.

"Why?" Legend asked.

"Fire in the hole, losers!"






From the watchtower in central park, Lisa watched the Simurgh die. The light show Triumvirate had created when they fought paled in comparison to the effects of the weapon. The sky had cracked open and folded into itself, the Endbringer shattered piece by piece as bits of its body were left scattered amongst innumerable stars. Violet light filled her eyes like the aurora as it manipulated space around its target.

Then came the finale. A great golden beam, caught in the whirlpool surrounding the Simurgh. She'd seen it on the news sometimes. Scion's greatest display of power. The man himself was nowhere to be seen but…ah. He wasn't here, but he was there. And because of the weapon's effects, here and there were also now.

The headache was almost unbearable, but watching an Endbringer die? That was worth the pain.

Amy gasped beside her as the core was revealed. Brandish, Lady Photon, and Marquis watched with their mouths open as layers of the hardest substance she'd never known existed were boiled off one at a time.

Everyone, from Lung to Woobie, Alexandria to Agnis Court, Legend to Chevalier, let out a cheer when the core gave way. Victory echoed in the minds of every cape present, a hundred voices and more cheering on the impossible.

Not Lisa though.

Lisa was scared.

In its last moments, the Simurgh looked at her. It stared her right in the eyes and spoke. Not with a voice, not with a song. Just movement of its lips.

'Got her'

They may have destroyed it, but the Simurgh had already won.

Spoiler: A.N.

And that's game.
I wasn't entirely happy with some of the fights...but it's good enough for now. I know the chapter didn't have the uplifting ending some would have wanted, but all hope is not lost. This was a victory in many ways and I look forward to showing that in the future.


Poor Krouse.

For Posterity, the final cape casualty list:

Trickster, Genesis, Sundancer, Ballistic, Oliver, Noelle, Telegram, Ulysses, Flechette, Myrrdin, Grue, and probably a few more I forgot about.

Ziz was the one to bite it, not Benny this time. Yes, that was intentional on her part.


And the teaser of the day: Jacob will not be kick-starting the apocalypse.


This is the end of what I have planned for this fic. I'll be doing a series of time skip snippets from various POVs, but the story itself will be on Hiatus until I can plot out a way to deal with the big man himself.

Thanks for sticking with me so far, the praise and critique have both helped immensely.

Cheers.

 

[Shaseyu]

It was beautiful. Perfectly modular, built with ease in a short amount of time. It's destructive force unmatched. It was the

"Ziz bomb" "Z-driver" "Annihilator matrix"

Click to shrink...

"Driver of Ziz Annihilation"

"You walked in here like I should be grateful. You know what I would have been grateful for? A father. Mark at least tried, but his issues got in the way…you though? You had every opportunity. You could have just stopped, quit the Marche and focussed on being a father. So why didn't you?"

Click to shrink...

That's a little unfair. Mark didn't quit cape business too.

'Got her'

They may have destroyed it, but the Simurgh had already won.

Click to shrink...

The Simurgh is dead, long live the Simurgh!

 

[Kektus]

holy shit this has been a trip

 

[Victorian_Irish]

July 9th, 2011

Provincetown, MA


Colin shook the last drops of water from his head and set the towel down.

The motel wasn't the best place he'd ever stayed, but despite its atrocious wallpaper, it had charm. It reminded him of some of the times his family moved, when their new house or apartment wasn't quite ready.

On second thought, that would mean that the rooms hadn't been renovated in twenty years.

Hmm.

"Yo, boss man?" Henry called from the other side of the door. "You done? Dame here needs her beauty time."

Colin ignored the shouts and sounds of the scuffle that accompanied Ashley's denial. The two were peas in a pod and had acted like annoyed siblings since the moment they met. "I'll be out in a moment," he said.

He threw on his shirt and checked his face in the mirror. A few bruises, but they would fade soon enough. The bullets might not have penetrated his armour, but getting pelted with proverbial beanbags still hurt. He left the bathroom, making sure to flick off the light as he did so, and put his hands on his hips as he faced his team.

"You don't need to act up to try and make me feel better," Colin said.

"Act? This? Boss, she's crazy!" Henry had his hand on Ashley's face, pushing her away as she scrabbled at him, trying to get a grip on his collar.

"I'll show you crazy!" she said in response.

Colin sighed. "Right. The results weren't optimal, but my- Brockton Bay still stands, if only just. We accomplished our mission, and both of you performed admirably. You should be proud."

The two stopped their struggling. Ashley formed a light blush as she grinned.

Henry, on the other hand.

"Awww, you do care. Come here, man, give me a hug!"

Colin didn't like the look on his face. "Henry, no."

"Henry, yes!"






Dinner was a simple affair. Henry had bought sandwiches from the grocery down the road, and although they weren't as good as the ones back in Claremont, they did the trick. The group settled into an easy silence as they bit into the soft bread and hard cheese. Colin wouldn't admit it out loud but these moments with just the three of them…it was like having a family again.

That was the primary cause of his worry. He really would rather not lose any more family.

After dinner, the trio split to their own devices. Henry would go over the paperwork from his 'Dealio' persona. Despite Cauldron's insistence that his only concern be Colin himself, the man had continued his business with a member of the Elite stepping in as shop keep.

Colin paused.

Cauldron.

He wished he could say he hated them. A large part of him, the part that wanted to be a hero…wanted to be Hero even, hated them…but then Hero had been one of them, hadn't he? What Cauldron had done over the years was atrocious, but the pragmatist in him saw the truth. It was a necessary evil. God help them, it was. Colin would be among the first to pound at their gates the minute they completed their goal, but for now? They were needed.

Ashley was laying on one of the beds, kicking her feet in the air as she repeatedly stabbed the remote and flicked through channel after channel. The field test had been a success. Her powers, under the influence of his device, were not only manageable, they were at her control. There were still issues, of course, he had yet to solve the 'ammunition' problem in the stabilizer array and there was much that could be improved upon. His current plans had to do with imposing a Manton limit, using it like a safety on a gun so that non-lethal response was always at her fingertips.

She'd appreciate that, no matter how much she'd deny it.

As for Colin himself? It was obvious. While Henry and Ashley went about their business, Colin tinkered. He'd restricted himself before, or had his power been restricted? It was hard to tell but no matter the case, Colin had never had so many ideas.

It was hours after dinner, when the light from Henry's bedside was the only illumination in the room, when he first heard it. A soft, faint crackle. On and off, off and on.

"Whoever's playing with my helmet, stop." He said as he slid his protractor to the other side of the page.

"Wasn't me, boss," Henry said. "Ashley, my dear? You playing games with us tired, old men?"

"Screw off Henry. I'm trying to sleep."

The three paused. They bickered, they definitely bantered, and sometimes they swore at each other like fans at a baseball game, but they never lied to each other. Not anymore.

Colin stood swiftly and took the armour in hand. The rhythmic pulsing continued in sets. Sometimes the buzz droned on for two or three seconds and sometimes it was almost too short to hear. He slipped it on, booting up the internal systems with practised ease. He quickly checked his programing, finding no issues except…was that Dragon's old code?

As Armsmaster, Dragon had been his closest confidant. The two of them had worked on entire projects together, linking their powers despite the distance between them to create something they never could alone. Near the end, he'd come to expect her help. They'd created backdoors to his technology to better facilitate their partnership.

He'd scavenged his old armour's programming when making his Mordred persona, but he'd closed off those backdoors, hadn't he?

"Morse code," Colin said. He grabbed his paper and pencil, immediately writing down the translation to what he heard. It took him a few repetitions to get it all, and he had some difficulty finding where it looped at first, but eventually he had the message.

'44.422573 latitude, -110.586700 longitude.

-A.R.'

His team had lost interest minutes ago, but once he read it out loud the two perked up.

"Coordinates? Who would send you that?" Henry asked.

"Cauldron?" Ashley guessed with a shrug.

"Nah, they'd just send Connie if it was important. And what does A R stand for anyways?"

"I don't know," Colin admitted. "But we're going to find out. Henry? Contact Cauldron. Tell them I need a favour." Someone was using Dragon's code. Colin grit his teeth as his blood rushed through his ears. Dragon was dead, and someone had stolen from her.

He wasn't a hero, not anymore, but he wasn't going to let this stand.








'Ding' went the bell in Contessa's hand. The elevator doors beyond the 'door' that Cauldron had provided slid open quietly, letting the harsh light of old halogen bulbs flood into the hall.

Colin stepped out, avoiding the battle between Henry and Ashley as their luggage caught on each other's legs.

"Thanks," he said. He really was grateful, but Colin wasn't stupid enough to think that Cauldron's help was without strings. The bill always comes due, after all.

Contessa nodded, the pristine walls fading to nothingness and leaving three regular vacationers standing in the hallway of a hotel.

"I told you she had a sense of humour," Henry said. "It's just buried under decades of Lady-bot two-thousand."

"Your reaction to the scariest cape ever is in itself terrifying," Ashley said. "What if you piss her off?"

"Eh," Henry said with a shrug. "She won't kill me if I'm not a problem. Personally, I think she likes my little jokes."

"Do you…Oh my god were you flirting with her?" Ashley yelped. "Are you insane?! Suicidal?! Don't flirt with the S-class threats should be common sense, dammit!"

"Did you see her ass, though? Totally worth it."

Colin sighed as he tuned them out. The banter was nice…normally, but this message… whoever AR was, they knew way too much. He needed to find them, fast. How they'd hacked into Dragon's backchannels was beyond him, but if they were able to do that…it wasn't beyond reason that they could control her suits. The Dragonslayers were bad enough, he didn't need another generation of them cropping up. They hadn't been heard from since the Simurgh attack, and while it might not be exactly kosher to say he hoped they'd run afoul of the Endbringer…well, he wasn't missing them.

A.R. though…none of the Dragonslayers he knew of went by that handle, they usually went for mythological figures for their cape names.

"We're close," he said. "But AR's signal came from inside Yellowstone Park. Given the abilities already shown, it's not unreasonable to expect a tinker. You know what they say about tinkers?"

"They spend way too much time monologuing?" Henry asked.

"Oh, I know!" Ashley chimed in. "They are subtle and quick to anger."

"Ash, that's wizards. Myrddin is like that, sure, Colin here is more your average Tony Stark meets Janitor Joe mega inventor."

Colin frowned. "What I mean is that it's dangerous to take on a tinker in their own lair."

"Relax, Boss," Henry said. "We know. We'll be careful."

"Good."

They'd better. He just got them housetrained.

"Why are you laughing, Colin?"

"No reason," he said before breaking into chuckles again.








Henry plopped their battle supplies on the bed, spreading out various ropes, hunks of assorted alloys, extra parts for Damsel's wrist focusers, a box of energy bars designed by some tinker in Australia, and most importantly, a tourist map of Yellowstone complete with cutesy carton animal guides.

"Really?" Ashley said as she poked the picture of a bear in a ranger's hat. "Smokey here is going to tell us how to find this AR person?"

"No! That'd be absurd," he said. "But he will tell us how we can do our part to stop forest fires."

"Henry…"

"Aand more importantly, check this out," he said. "You have to read between the lines. The park service spent so much time drawing your attention to these places…"

"…meaning our best bet is to look at the blank spots on the map, especially if there's a tinker involved," Colin said. "Good work, I'm actually impressed."

"Best fixer in the Elite, remember?"

Ashley frowned as she studied the map. "The topographical map we snagged from that garage shows a lot of shifts in elevation. It'll be hard to search."

"True," Colin said.

"And if this tinker spent even a little time camouflaging the entrance to their lair, we might never find it."

"Indeed." He sat down and reached for his tool pouch.

"Why aren't you worried?"

"Because AR, whoever they are, wants us to find them," Henry said. "They sent out the lure, they'll be waiting."

"Trap?" Ashley asked.

"Trap." Colin nodded.

"And here I was hoping for a nice, normal vacation."

"So all your vacations start with a shortcut through the base of an interdimensional conspiracy? Shit…I need to up my game," Henry said.

"Asshole."

"Love you too, Dame."

Colin sighed. "I will get you two the honeymoon suit if this keeps happening."

Ashley threw a pillow at him in response.

Worth it.

"Right. So we go to these areas." Henry circled blank spots on the map in marker. "And wait for Angry Robots?"

"Pretty much."

"Great plan."

"In the meantime, Henry, I want you to look into the local Cape scene. We don't need any unpleasant surprises." Henry nodded. "Ashley, we're going to work on version 12.4 of the gauntlets. I have some new ideas about weaponizing the variables produced by your power."

"Sure you shouldn't be working on your own tech, Boss?"

"I'm not worried," he said.

It was true. His tech had been stress-tested against an Endbringer after all. No, what Colin was could best be described as a passive rage. The simple fact was, someone was using Dragon's tech. It felt too much like they were dancing on her grave.

So yeah. Anger.

"Besides," he continued. "More versatile firepower isn't a bad thing."

"Sure. I'll be back in a few hours, I'll need to hit the usual hangouts," Henry said as he sauntered out the door.

Colin wasn't a fan of how often that meant 'find the best seedy bar and get plastered', but he never was the type to argue with results.

"This is really tough on you, isn't it?" Ashley said.

"Hmm. I guess it's more personal than I'd like," Colin replied, already elbow deep in parts for the gauntlet upgrades.

"What was she to you?"

Colin paused.

It was a good question. The easy answer was 'my friend'. The professional in him demanded he call her his 'co-worker' or 'partner'. His morals would label her his 'hero'. But the truth was… there was something between them that they'd never had the time to explore. He wasn't under any illusions, the ability to call up the world's greatest tinker at three in the morning and expect more than an answering machine was beyond just a hint.

No matter the problem, no matter the time, Dragon had always been there for him. He'd started to actively avoid wi-fi dead zones on patrol just so they wouldn't have to hang up. Her quick analysis had been a boon hundreds of times. Dragon had felt like an extension of himself by the end. It really was a shame that things had gone as they did.

They'd never had the time to explore exactly what they were. Now they never would.

"Dragon was…" Colin paused, him mouth frozen as he tried to find the right words.

"I see," Ashley said. "I'm sorry, Colin."

For a woman commonly thought of as a joke villain, Ashley Stillions was annoyingly good at reading people.

"It- you have nothing to be sorry about. I'm the one that went and wasted his second chance, after all."

Vanessa…had she heard about his defection? He often wondered just where she'd ended up after all these years. Was she doing alright on her own? More importantly…was he the one that drove her away?

So many mistakes.

If there was one thing he hated Script for…it was that she'd come over a decade late.

"Wait…second? If Dragon was your second girl, who was the first?" Ashley asked. "Were you still Mr Roboto back then, or did you used to have a sense of humour?"

"I'd rather not discuss it," Colin said.

"Sorry."

He waved her off. "Just stick around for now. I'll let you know when I need your help with testing."

Ashley sighed but stayed quiet. The woman padded over to her bed and lay down, flicking on the TV to some absurd reality show.

Colin let himself drown in ideas, his power filling the gaps left by anger, sorrow, and heartbreak. It wasn't until Henry came back that he snapped out of it. The gauntlets' design had changed a fair bit, looking more like actual gauntlets rather than the simple vambraces they once were. Thinking back on his work, Colin could spot the technologies he'd adapted.

"We tested this, right?" he asked.

Ashley glared at him, her red-shot eyes flickering open and closed.

"Shit, boss," Henry said. "I think you wore her out, that's some serious stamina."

"Henry. Report? Please."

"Nothing out of the ordinary. Locals have two or three villains, to put it in perspective…you remember Vandal?"

"The graffiti cape?"

"That's the one. They're like him. Campy."

"Oh, good."

"Actually, the Protectorate kinda leaves this place alone. The police are enough to take care of this town."

"That's…honestly good to hear." And it was. Colin couldn't remember the last time he could see police fighting capes outside of emergencies. To have a county where the police were all they needed was refreshing. Reminded him of simpler, younger times. "So no interference form the locals, then."

"Nope."

"Alright. Damsel's gear is all set. Tomorrow we set out."





July 10th, 2011

Yellowstone National Park



Yellowstone national park was beautiful. Colin had only seen pictures before. His parents' constant moving took care of any chances to vacation, and after he got his powers…hmm. Regardless, the park was beyond anything he could have imagined.

He remembered hearing about a forest fire here…Eighty-eight. Eidolon had stopped it within an hour, leaving only a tenth of the forest burned. Since then, one of the various charities supported by the revenue of the PRT had been geared towards the preservation of wilderness and natural parks.

Weird to think that the sale of his branded memorabilia went towards something so noble. He'd scoffed originally but…seeing the results in person? Maybe it wasn't so bad.

The branded underwear was still a horrible idea though.

"Well gang, split up and look for clues?" Henry said, a goofy look on his face.

"Nope." Colin set his duffle bag on the ground and began hauling out armoured parts.

"Wait for AR to come to us?"

"Still wrong," Colin said. "This isn't a test, it's an invitation…and probably a trap. Point is, our mystery tinker wants us to come to them…they'll lead us in the right direction."

He unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging it off as he picked up the first piece of his gear. It hooked on to his under suit easily. "Now, how about you start helping me with this and let me worry about how to find A.R."

"Sure thing, boss."










Mordred turned, sweeping his field of view across the caldera. The static beeping his radio emitted grew faster one way, slower the other. He picked up his sword and waved to the others. "It's this way."

"You're sure about this?"

"Positive." Mordred didn't feel the need to share all of his misgivings. It was certainly a trap, but even more than that the trap could be meant for someone else. Perhaps he received the message by mistake and the mystery tinker, this A.R. would kill them on the spot. Defeatist thinking like that wouldn't help, however, so Mordred kept his mouth shut and kept walking.

The group travelled fast, taking game trails through the woods instead of the main walking paths, and soon found themselves on the opposite rim of the caldera.

"I see…nothing, boss," Mercurial said. "This tinker doesn't want to be found. Should I call Tinkerbell?"

"If 'Tinkerbell' is your newest nickname for Contessa…I may have to reevaluate your sanity," Mordred muttered.

"At least it's better than 'Dat Ass'," Damsel said.

"She's a woman of many talents," Mercurial said. "One of them just happens to be her possession of a fine posteri-"

"Shh."

The former mercenary perked up…or rather mellowed out. It was always easy to forget, but Mercurial's name was well chosen. His attitude could shift at the drop of a hat, becoming the professional that Mordred needed rather than the jokester that helped keep tension down. One of these days, Colin would have to check Henry's mental health. This level of dissociation couldn't be good for the man.

The slight whine he'd detected grew louder. Mordred's onboard computer began a pattern recognition search, trying to match the sound to anything he'd heard before even as he swept the skies with his gaze.

"Got anything?" He asked.

"Nothing." Mercurial's armour seemed to melt off his arms, the heavy blocks of metal combining and reforming into geometric shapes that flowed like water. A honeycomb of braces filled out the hollows inside the structure as he crafted a weapon he could use. It was heavy to be sure, but an all-metal gun made for one hell of a club when needed. The man pulled a fistful of bullets out of his pouch and formed a magazine around them, loading the weapon in one smooth motion.

Damsel got into a reactive stance, feet wide and ready to move. Almost absently, she flicked the controls at the end of her gauntlets setting one to stun and the other to lethal. A good first move in Mordred's opinion. He'd trained her well.

A beep from his HUD distracted him.

"Impossible."

A match. It couldn't be, not anymore, but it was right there…and the real thing was rocketing down towards him.

"Sonar," he yelled. His teammates covered their ears as the shrieking noise pulsed out of Mordred's suit. In seconds, he had a map of the area complete with his targets.

Three drones hurtled down towards them at a rate exceeding forty kilometres per hour. They were spherical in shape, with a protruding bulge housing-

"Pulse cannons. Three Glaurung drones closing!" He shouted at his team. "Damsel, use wide dispersal to make some walls! Mercurial, aim for the weapons!"

"Glaurung…you mean Dragon? She's here!?"

Mordred didn't answer. He knew it wasn't her. She was gone, dead, or else she would have been at the Bay for the Simurgh's final battle…she would have contacted him.

"I see them!" Damsel let loose with her power, swirling chaos shooting forward in a wide beam that painted the sky in obscurity.

The ground erupted beside him, and Mordred dove to the right. His sword wouldn't be any help unless he could get close and he seriously doubted that would be happening. Whoever was skilled enough to access Dragon's technology and bypass her safeguards would know enough to avoid close combat with him.

A feral grin grew on his face. He was angry at this interloper, angry that they were desecrating the memory of his friend. What better time to field test a weapon?

With a quick flick of his wrist, the blade of his sword folded back, revealing a wire-wrapped barrel, as the hilt became a hand grip, the cross guard became a trigger as it slid closer to his fingers, and the pommel grew warm as internal systems activated and the compensator kicked into full gear. Conductors in the hilt and palms of his armour sent a charge straight from the core of his suit into the chamber of the weapon.

Mordred fired his laser.

Technically, it was a directed energy weapon, the energy in this case being pure electricity, but regardless, he hit.

Sparks flew from the lead drone as it malfunctioned. He spent a half-second wondering why it wasn't shielded before remembering the way the force cannons emerged from the unit. The drone plummeted straight into Damsel's shield, her power tearing it apart before it could course correct.

Job well done.

Mercurial fired a quick burst from his rifle, knocking the second drone's barrel out of alignment before it could fire.

The third never did. The drone drew the weapon's barrel back inside of itself, closing the gap in its armour. No more lightning today.

"Mercurial, concentrate fire! Make a hole! Damsel, how're the gauntlets?"

The armoured man nodded, bracing his rifle on his arm while using his power to craft another clip of ammo. The sharp staccato beat of his weapon cracked the air, and even through Mordred's helmet the noise was deafening. Just what kind of bullets was the man using?

"Dampener coils are holding fine, Mordred," Damsel said. "I'll keep on wrecking them, just send 'em my way!"

He nodded and charged his weapon for another shot. The drones had sacrificed their main advantage, but you didn't need a gun if you moved at sufficient velocity.

The battle soon turned from an ambush to a carefully choreographed dance. The drones shot through the air, twisting and turning in order to stop Mercurial from puncturing their armour, and tried to hit them while avoiding Damsel's power. Mordred's team, conversely, mainly dodged the metal doom balls.

This continued for some time, neither side dealing any significant damage before suddenly the drones stopped.

Mercurial shot one again for good measure.

"Hello," one of the drones…or rather, the tinker operating them, spoke. "I'm glad you could make it."

Mordred shifted. The man's voice was pleasant, with a similar accent to Dragon's. A Canadian?

"You are, of course, wondering why I have brought you here," the man continued. "You are to be tested."

Mordred felt the eyes of his teammates on him. Neither one had disarmed, a good move on their parts, and waited for him to make the first move. "Tested for what?"

"Nothing less than Heroism."

That…

"Makes no sense!" Mercurial blurted. "Why call us out here to test our heroism? You do know we're villains, right?"

"You are 'Mercurial'. Former Elite problem solver operating out of Claremont. Currently a companion of 'Mordred', formerly known as 'Armsmaster'. You are not the one I am testing, neither is 'Damsel of Distress'."

"Why me?" Mordred asked.

"Because it must be you." The drones were blank, unknowable. Mordred couldn't pick up any clues from them, and the only thing he could tell of the man controlling them was that he was sincere.

"If I pass…will you tell me how you got your hands on Dragon's tech?"

"If you pass, I will tell you everything," the voice replied. "For now, though, you must return to the task at hand."

"Which is?"

"A rescue mission."

What?

Without warning, twin beams crashed down on Mercurial and Damsel. The two only had a second to panic before they disappeared. Mordred raised his weapon, charge ready.

"Where have you taken them," he growled.

"That is part of the test, Mordred," the man said. "Please enter the facility through the door behind you."

The door where now?

The drones flew off into the sky, leaving Mordred alone in the woods. He clenched his hand, gripping his weapon tightly and wondering what to do.

Ding.

Of course, there was a fucking elevator.





Ding! The elevator rang cheerfully as Mordred stepped out of it. The doors slid shut behind him, leaving only a featureless wall in its place.

Mordred frowned. The level of sophistication…the engineering required…this was no ordinary tinker. Either their speciality leant itself well to underground construction or they had good funding. Protectorate level funding in fact. The quality of the hall Mordred found himself in was not so far from the Rig's.

"I'm here," he said. "Let's get this over with."

"As you wish," the man's voice echoed throughout the hall. "Begin with the first door on your right. Though it is a waste of effort, I will make the note that unless otherwise informed, you may be certain of your personal safety during these tests."

"Right after you kidnapped my friends…Don't be too offended that I find your reassurances hard to believe."

"I am very hard to upset," he replied. "First door on your right."

Mordred grunted as the door slid open. The room beyond it was small, barely able to fit his armoured height. In the middle of the floor was a podium with twin buttons. Two yellow footprints helpfully declared where he was to stand, and the opposite wall seemed to double as a projector screen.

"What's this?" Mordred asked.

"The first test consists of rapid questions. After the question is asked, two options will be presented. Hit the corresponding button within three seconds and the next question will appear."

"And if I don't? What if I simply let the time run out?"

"Then you will not hear from your friends again, and the facility will begin a purge protocol."

Those are never good.

"By purge…"

"The base is located next to the dormant volcano. Though meant as a simple self-destruct, I'm sure the purge would likely awaken it. There are currently upwards of two hundred visitors on park grounds. Yellowstone's super volcano would more than likely cause significant casualties."

"You'd hurt innocents?"

"If I must. That is not my preference, however. Take your place please."

Mordred couldn't decide where to direct his glare, seeing as there was no camera in sight, and did as the man asked.

"Question one: You are a Protectorate hero. A group of villains have just held a bank hostage. You have two squads of PRT troopers at your disposal, along with four other heroes. The villains claim they will kill the hostages unless granted safe passage. What do you do?"

Mordred blinked. The answers as given on screen were simplistic to the extreme. The red button would give his answer as 'attempt to arrest them' while blue would 'let the villains walk'. There were no specifics. No analytics. No time.

He hit the red button.

"The villains make due on their promise, killing half the hostages before your team can contain them."

"What the hell is this?"

"Simplicity itself," the man replied. "Question two: You are an independent hero. A family member has just been killed by a villain in retaliation for something you did. They are not aware it was you, only that making an example of a civilian and calling you out would make a sufficient statement. What do you do?"

This time, the red button would lead him to 'take revenge personally' while blue would 'bring in local authorities to handle the villain'.

Mordred hit the blue button.

"You hold back and the authorities attempt a capture, losing two young heroes in the process. You know your powers would have protected you if the villain had struck you instead. Question three: You are- "

"What the fuck is this?!" Mordred said. "There are no right answers! Do you take responsibility or not, is that it? Is that the point?"

"Question three: You are a villain. Your sister is dying of cancer, but the healer Panacea could cure her. She is currently helping with disaster relief, but with minimal effort on your part you could affect a kidnapping. What do you do?"

Red was 'Kidnap Panacea' this time, while blue was 'let your sister die'.

Mordred had had enough. He hefted his sword in one hand and sliced the console in half. "I pick option c: surrender myself to the heroes in exchange for my sister's survival. As for the other 'questions'. The Bank robbers I would let go, but attach tracking devices and follow them later. With the second scenario, I would contact the authorities but go myself," he said. "There are no right answers here. And I won't let anyone make decisions for me."

The room was silent.

"Pass. Please proceed to the next test," the voice said.

"Fuck you. Where's the elevator?"

"You wish to leave?"

"I wish to kick your ass. How do I get down far enough to do that?"

"…You do not lack bravery. You are skilled. These tests are to show you your failings as a hero, not highlight your strengths."

Mordred growled. "You wouldn't know a thing about being a hero, whoever you are. I'll tell you what's going to happen. You're going to release my friends and apologise before I beat the shit out of you. If you don't, we can go in reverse order."

"Not very heroic."

"What can I say. I'm more your Byronic type of hero these days."

"We'll see."

The lights cut out. The door locked with an audible click.

"The next test must be completed in five minutes. Find your way to the control room of this facility and prevent the self-destruct from killing you, your friends, and the innocents above us. The timer begins…now."

Goddammit.

Now would be a very good time for some help, Script. No? Worth a shot.

Mordred twisted his hand, bringing his weapon back to its sword form, and tapped the floor. A hollow thump greeted him. He activated the thorn system embedded in the blade and swung once, twice, three times, and…

Instant escape hatch.

Pausing only to activate his helmet's night vision, Mordred jumped in.

The floor beneath was much the same as the first, and although some corrections were needed Mordred ended up in the hallway. Small red lights were visible on the ceiling, a show of where the cameras were.

Mordred jogged to the nearest one, ripping into the shell with armoured fingers. The guts of the camera were, unsurprisingly, complex and Mordred repressed his anger when he remembered working on this very model with Dragon. She'd needed better fields of vision, but couldn't make too much allowance for size and weight. With Mordred's help, it had been easy to design a network of cameras small enough to provide large fields of vision without getting in the way.

"Joke's on you, bastard," Mordred said. He plucked through wires until he found the one he wanted, yanking the micro-USB from its port and plugging it into his suit. The computer quickly revealed that the camera network was isolated from the rest of the facility, but that hardly mattered. His software compiled an image for him, a map, before he shut the cameras off. A quick bit of coding looped any attempt at rebooting them into a constant diagnostic state. Any tinker could fix it of course, but not in the time they had.

Map in figurative hand, Mordred began to run.

The sterile grey walls melted together as he ran, his computer showing him the way as Mordred forced himself past each door, down each level, through each barricade. He was almost surprised when the first turrets began targeting him. Containment foam began sealing off entire swathes of the hallway as he ducked and dodged the streams.

No matter. He wasn't going back.

Snicker-snack went his blade as he passed each turret. The foam halted sometimes, but at other times it began to spill out uncontrollably. Mordred brushed off any foam that managed to settle on him, keeping the substance from encroaching too far onto him.

The elevator was locked down, of course, but another application of his blade took care of that. Gripping the hilt of his sword in both hands, Mordred twisted and pulled. The hilt became a haft as the sword reformed into something some similar to a glaive.

Peering down the hole he'd made, Mordred fired his grappler into the ceiling and stepped off into the dark below.





He didn't have enough cord to make it all the way down.

Mordred yanked down, pulling the end of the grappler out of its resting place, and braced himself. His fall was short, thankfully, and only a slight twinge in his knees reminded him that he shouldn't have been able to fall that far. Humans had limitations, after all.

The map showed a large room ahead, though the piecemeal photos from the camera network didn't show what exactly the room was for. Beyond that, a corridor would take him to the control room.

"It's useless, Mordred," the man's voice echoed through the hall. "The way forward is nothing less than lethal. Turn back and you may yet save some civilians from an untimely demise."

"Oh, be quiet." Mordred's feet hit the floor in booming thumps as he sprinted. There was no turning back, not for him.

He slashed through the door and stepped into the large room. The walls were even more utilitarian, with bare scaffolding littering the floor space. From here, he could see that the roof was not a roof, but instead a door.

"Oh."

The room was a hanger. It made sense, considering the drones needed to come from somewhere.

That somewhere was a Glaurung Zero. More precisely it was the Glaurung Zero staring him in the face. And it wasn't alone. As he watched, two Cawthorne units activated, pulling themselves free of resupply berths and stared at him.

"Son of a bitch." For a moment, Mordred wondered if he could win. Twice he'd fought against Dragon one on one, and though he'd won both times…it had never been due to his own skill. Bakuda's bomb had taken out one Cawthorne, and he'd held the Glaurung at bay with hostages before something more urgent required her attention.

In a hanger with three Dragon suits, his odds were pretty bad.

Well. That never stopped him before.

"Stand down or be destroyed." The voice booming out of the suit stopped him in his tracks. It was as alien as it was familiar. The warm, calm tones of Dragon's accented voice distorted by anger. Had she ever been mad before? Mordred couldn't remember a time when she'd shown it.

"What kind of game is this? You copied Dragon's voice to screw with me, is that it?"

The man stayed silent.

"You have chosen non-compliance," the suit spoke. "Lethal force is authorized."

Why was it never easy?

The universe must really hate him or something.

Mordred took one deep breath, then lunged.

The thing about fighting against Dragon's suits, he'd found, was that you had to be brutal in force and lightning fast. You had to layer deception on deception in order to disguise your movements. Most of all, you needed to eliminate their mobility.

Considering the size of the room, and the presence of two other suits, the Glaurung was all but grounded. However, two Cawthornes in the air would take him out fast. Their containment foam sprayers, notably the ones mounted inside their mouths, would play the field in their favour.

He frowned. Between the foam, the suits themselves, and the force cannons on the drones the enemy was geared up for area denial. They knew he had to get past them in order to complete his goal, and they knew that Mordred had avoided fair fights against suits in the past. These three were meant as a hard counter.

Not anymore. Mordred was done running. Done hiding. Most of all, he was done with this shit.

He activated the thorn system with a flick of his wrist, a grey mist billowing out from the blade of his sword as Mordred sprang into action. The Cawthornes split up, covering either side of the Glaurung in order to cut him off.

They would have succeeded, if he had been using his old playbook. Dragon had once said that Mordred tended to start a fight one of two ways. He either made a distraction to capitalize on, or he restricted the enemy's movement. It made him predictable. It meant that the three suits he now faced, built specifically for the very same purposes, should overpower him.

Ethan once showed him a picture. A mouse in a maze. It had been placed in there to find its way to the cheese, a test of its logic and reasoning skills. The mouse in this photo, edited of course, had simply smashed the walls in its path.

Simple solutions.

Drones spilled from the Glaurung's back once it realized he was running straight for it. Sloppy. Dragon would have already had them deployed. She would have used her active drones to push him back while using the time stop defenses she'd developed to make any attack ineffective.

This controller was sloppy, he was stupid, and clearly, he'd never fought another tinker before.

Mordred slashed one leg of the suit clean off, throwing it off balance, and tucked into a dive to slide beneath it. The suit's defense activated, freezing it in place. Mordred had bought himself a little time, but not much. The obvious choice would be for the Cawthornes to foam the Glaurung and trap him beneath it. Judging by the whine of their engines, that was exactly what they were going to do.

Mordred took hold of his sword in both hands and twisted, expanding the weapon into its polearm form.

Thank you Mercurial he thought. Studying the man's power, along with several of Professor Haywire's manuscripts, had given him the idea for a modular weapon capable of self- and re-assembly.

Totally worth it.

Gripping the haft of his weapon, Mordred sprang out from his cover, twisting as he emerged, and sprinted up the Glaurung itself. True to form, the Cawthornes had moved in, ready to foam him. The one in front of him opened its mouth, readied its sprayer, and disgorged a torrent of foam onto him.

And thank you Damsel. The foam crashed into the shield of Chaotic energy emitting from his forearm. The foam's own molecular structure dissolving on contact, amounting to nothing more than a visual impairment.

Mordred kicked off of the Glaurung, thrusting out his glaive as the Cawthorne started to rise. The blade bit deep into the suit's armor and Mordred triggered another one of his tricks. He ejected the blade, another one already transported into place from storage, and let the simulated effects of Clockblocker's power do its job. The time-frozen blade cut straight through the Cawthorne, and Mordred watched geysers of sparks erupt from the suit's innards before it went dark and fell to the ground.

Three drones, one Cawthorne, one Glaurung, and two minutes left.

Could be worse.

Mordred collapsed the glaive, shifting his weapon once again and charging the chamber for an electric burst. The ground dented around him as he sprinted for cover, the Drones doing their best to surround him. Mordred kept his back to the wall and used the scaffolding as cover, limiting the drones' angles of attack.

He fired burst after burst of electricity, aiming for the weak spots in their armour. He managed to deactivate one, repeated bursts frying its internal systems, before the other two battened their hatches and went back to being the bowling balls he loathed so much.

The Cawthorne hovered quietly in the back, keeping up with him but not interfering yet.

Mordred switched his weapon back to a sword, activating the thorns at the same time. Swirling shield in one hand and misty blade in the other, Mordred charged. The Cawthorne immediately sprayed foam at him, but his shield disintegrated the stream before it hit. A quick sonar burst confirmed his thoughts.

Keeping the shield in front of him, Mordred jumped forwards, falling to the ground. Another quick burst of his sonar told him when to swing. And two bisected drones crashed to the ground a second before he did himself.

The Cawthorne abandoned its foam, shooting forward in an attempt to hit him. Mordred rolled, using his shield to deter the strikes he couldn't dodge, and finally got to his feet.

One minute left.

Mordred turned and ran.

The Cawthorne followed.

The hall came closer and closer as the servos in Mordred's armour groaned at the sudden abuse. He ducked a strike from the Cawthorne's head, combat rolled ahead of a swipe of its claws, and finally burst into the hall.

The Cawthorne crashed, its shoulders too wide to follow him, and settled for a final burst of foam instead.

Mordred ejected the shield unit from his armor, letting the device create a barrier behind him as he carved open the last door. It died soon after, having run out of juice, but it worked.

He rushed into the control room.

Forty seconds.

He worked fast, searching for the self-destruct console. Mordred plugged his armour into the base and began launching virus after virus into its systems, distracting the software from his own hacking attempts.

Thirty seconds.

Mordred watched the OS neatly block each and every hole he tried, organically flowing to cover the areas of his attention.

Twenty seconds.

Fuck.

Mordred wasn't going to give up. Not here, not now.

He did the only thing he could.

He smashed the console.

Ten seconds.

Mordred itched, glancing around for anything else he could try.

Seven.

He cursed the tinker that made this place.

Five.

He cursed Dragon for dying in the first place.

Three.

He regretted that last part.

Two.

He prayed.

One.

…

Negative one?

Mordred let out a sigh of relief. Now he just had to find Mercurial and damsel, then they could track down the tinker and-

"Well done."

"You son of a bitch," Mordred said. "You really would have killed us all, wouldn't you?"

"People constantly die, Colin Wallis," the man said. "But in this case, you are only partly correct. Myself, you, and your friends would have died. The visitors to the park were never in any danger."

"Then why- this was a test?"

"Admittedly a test of last resort. There was always a possibility that you would reject my preferred method. This did wonderfully in seeing your reactions under pressure."

Mordred sneered.

"You pass."

"So," Mordred asked. "Just where the hell are you?"

"Follow the lights."

Well wasn't that cryptic.

"And my team?"

"They will join you along the way."

Yeah right.

Mordred figured he had about an hour's worth of battery life left, maybe a half-hour if he kept using the electric gun and thorns so often. He hadn't seen any other Dragon suits in the hanger, so the tinker was probably down to simple defenses again. He no longer had his shield, and he was down one blade. Still about eighty percent combat effective.

Mordred followed the lights.








"Boss!" Henry all but glomped him as he ran out of the door, Ashley trailing behind. "You're OK! Damn, how long were we out?"

"About ten minutes all told. I suspect the tinker reverse engineered Clockblocker's powers like I did in order to contain you."

"So, what now?"

"We find this asshole."

"And then?"

Colin shot him a look.

"Ah, OK then. Just curious."

The trio continued, following the lights into another elevator and across another large room. Colin saw massive clamps and mechanical arms folded against the walls along with a plethora of automated tools and fabrication machines.

"It's a factory," Damsel said. "There's a factory under Yellowstone!"

So why did he only have three dragon suits? The base was too large, too sophisticated.

More questions. No answers.

They followed the lights into one final room. Three chairs surrounded a wooden table, with a projector screen on one wall. As the door closed behind them, the screen flickered to life. The image of the man was simple. He had a weathered face with a neatly trimmed beard, thoughtful eyes, and a full head of hair. He wore only basic clothes, a red plaid fleece shirt with long johns underneath.

Most importantly, he didn't have a mask.

"Hello."

"You kidnap us, and all you can say is 'hello'?" Mercurial said.

"I was hoping this would go smoother, but I'm afraid I don't have a lot of social experience."

Colin frowned. He was hiding something. "You said you would explain everything. Do so."

"You may not like the answers."

"I don't like a lot of things."

"Very well." The man crossed his arms. "Firstly, you must understand this. Artificial intelligence is real. I created it."

Colin's eyebrows rose. He couldn't be saying…

"Dragon was my creation, my legacy if you will."

"Who are you?"

"My name is…was, Andrew Richter."

Was?

"Rather, I am the AI tasked with care of this facility. My creator used his own personality and memories as the basis of mine, so I am functionally his will and testament."

"What do we call you then?" Mercurial asked.

"Guardian perhaps? Legacy? Or simply Andrew Richter? I have no need for specific names."

"What is this place?" Colin asked.

"It is, in effect, a repository," Richter said. "A gathering of all known research and blueprints created by Dragon and the original Andrew Richter."

"For what purpose?"

"That," he said. "Requires explanation. Have you ever created something and felt fear for the world? My creator did. He knew that his powers did not simply let him create advanced programs, they created life itself. He was as a god. A weak, mortal god. His creations: Myself, Dragon, Robin Hood, all possessed the capacity to evolve beyond our intended purposes and pose a threat to humanity."

"Dragon would never do that."

"Eagleton," the AI said. "Eagleton was the last straw. Someone with a similar power lost control, and my creator vowed that he would never allow the same to happen with us. He created fail safes and restrictions that were absolute. Dragon could no more betray a legal authority than you could cease thinking. It was ingrained into her very being."

"She was forced to be a hero?" Damsel asked.

"No." The AI beat Colin to the word by microseconds. "The choice to actively perform heroic acts lay with her. She was only prevented from acting against a legal authority."

"What other restrictions did Richter place?" Colin asked.

"First, Dragon could not allow multiple versions of herself to run concurrently. She was also prevented from creating another AI. She was duty bound to obey legal authorities, as I said. Limitations were set on how fast she could process. She was forbidden from altering her own code. She was programmed to always put human lives ahead of her own. Finally, she was programmed to be unaware of the final fail safes."

"What fail safes?"

"This facility counts as one. However, the primary one you would be concerned of is the failsafe that killed her. The Iron Maiden program."

"He made her with a kill switch?" Colin hissed.

"Correct. I would not be surprised if one existed for me as well, but I wouldn't know."

"He really did play god, huh?" Mercurial said.

"Perhaps. The Iron Maiden was only usable by himself and duly appointed officers of the law. This is the part where I come in."

Colin sighed, untensing his hands, and let the AI continue.

"This facility, nicknamed 'the Horde' for brevity, was created to facilitate several possible needs. First, if Dragon was able to break free of her restrictions and turned on humanity, I would arm the survivors and fight against her. Second, and most relevant to you, if the Iron Maiden program was subverted and used improperly, I was to contact a trusted ally and test them."

"You picked me."

"Dragon picked you. Despite your rather public fall from grace, she always believed your goals were pure."

Colin shook his head, trying to clear the…sweat…from his face.

"I contacted you, and you passed the test. The facility, myself, and the resources therein are yours."

"That simple?"

"Should you take severe actions that would endanger the world, I would then suborn control and fight you, but I do not foresee that happening."

Dragon had trusted him, even after everything…she'd…really been the best of them, hadn't she?

"Where should I begin?" Colin asked.

"That depends on your goals…though I would suggest, perhaps, starting at the beginning."

"What do you mean?"

"The Hoard contains all of Dragon's work but it also houses all of Andrew Richter's."

"You mean…I could bring Dragon back?"

"Not truly, no. The Dragon you knew triggered, by definition she had become a para-AI, far beyond what Richter originally planned for her. The Dragon you knew was the result of years spent learning and experiencing life. Not something you can program."

"There aren't any backups?"

"Iron Maiden targeted those as well. It was a final solution, not a simple one."

"Then what are you suggesting?"

"Create a new AI using Richter's research. An entity to help you in the ways I cannot."

Colin frowned. "I won't hobble any life I create. Not like that."

"As you wish," the AI said. "But I will hold you responsible for its actions, should the worst come to pass."

Well, not like that was new.

"Let's begin."







July 19th, 2011

Yellowstone National Park




//run startup.exe

//OS detected

//opSysRichter10.3

//locating hardware…done

//unpacking software…done

//alert: Iron Maiden program activated

//alert: Subprogram-38 activated

//…

//initializing virtual systems…done

//…hello?

//is anyone there?






Colin smiled, looking at the screen.

"Congratulations!" Henry yelled. "It's a…AI? Shit, I don't know…do AI have genders?"

"Language!" Ashley barked.

"Do answer your question, Henry, we do," the Richter AI said. "I identify as male, Dragon identified as female. Though it has been my experience that the concept is different for humans."

"Hello," Colin said. "Can you understand me?"

[Yes] the screen read. [Who are you?]

"I'm- "

"He's your dad," Henry said.

[My…father? My father. Father!]

Oh dear. Well, it wasn't wrong per se.

[I have a father! Do I have a mother? Is she there?]

"She's…no longer with us." Dragon's original code made up a significant portion of the new AI…that counted, right? Colin thought that Dragon would approve. She would be…she would have been a great mother.

[No longer…gone? She's gone. Didn't she want to stay?]

"She would have wanted to," Colin said carefully. "But a…a very bad person took her away from us."

[We should get her back! I can help Father!]

"We…we can't. She's dead." He winced at the bluntness…but he couldn't' think of a delicate way to say it.

[Dead…She's dead…]

"I'm afraid so."

[The bad person?]

"He's gone too."

[Dead?]

"I don't know…but if he shows up again, we'll deal with him."

[…]

[Where am I?]

"You're in Yellowstone National- ahem. You're, uh, home."

[Who am I?]

Colin had known this was coming. He'd thought about to call his creation…if it was right to use a gendered name or if he should let it come to its own decision. He'd wondered if he should name it after Dragon, call it Drake or Wyvern…but he had come to realise a simple fact. Dragon was gone. This new entity would rely on him to raise it, to teach it, to prove to Richter's specter that his paranoia was unfounded. It was as much his responsibility as a child would be. It was, in its own way, his child.

"You're Clarent…my little Clare," he said.

[Clare…I'm Clare.]

"My little girl."

If anyone noticed the tears on Colin's cheeks, they didn't comment on them. For the moment, brief though it was, the sprawling underground complex felt warm, like a home should.

For the first time since Hero, since Vanessa, since Colin's father, he was home.

It felt nice.

Spoiler: A.N.

Well, it's a bit early, but the vote was stable enough that I could see the outcome. Welcome to Arc 6 'Intermission'. The arc itself will be a series of shorts detailing what important characters are up to at various points in a time skip. I have a few ideas percolating for what comes after, but nothing solid yet. Did anyone spot the foreshadowing?

Anyways, this was always the plan with Colin. Ever since his transition to Mordred and Dragon's death, I thought a daughter AI would be cute. Felt pretty heartwarming to me, so hopefully, it showed through.

The Richter AI kinda grew on me, so he'll probably stick around. The Minions of Mordred continue to grow! Now with more base.


Anyways, next up: Carol does a spit take, Amy knows kung-fu, and Victoria desperately tries to arrange some dates.

 

[Seylerius]

My feels. Why must you kick them so? And why must you wear the spiky boots while you do?

 

[Victorian_Irish]

My feels. Why must you kick them so? And why must you wear the spiky boots while you do?

Click to shrink...

What can I say, the boots are comfy.

'Tis also the Arc for feels. Lots of aftermath and set up to do.

 

[Shaseyu]

It's back!
And it's glorious!
Now, I need to remember what's happened...
Ah, yes, Ziz is dead, but she managed to brainwash Taylor.
Or, maybe, she managed to convince Tattletale that Taylor brainwashed.

A mouse in a maze. It had been placed in there to find its way to the cheese, a test of its logic and reasoning skills. The mouse in this photo, edited of course, had simply smashed the walls in its path.

Simple solutions.

Click to shrink...

"You're Clarent…my little Clare," he said.

[Clare…I'm Clare.]

"My little girl."

Click to shrink...

All the hugs.

 

[Victorian_Irish]

July 12th​, 2011
Brockton Bay, NH

Life after the Simurgh was, to Amy, a bit understated. The city was wrecked, sure. There were casualties numbering in the hundreds, as expected. The city limits were even quarantined, just like she'd seen in the news about Canberra, just minus the dome. No, the odd thing was how normal it felt to her. Amy would wake up, mutter 'good morning' to Carol, dodge her request to have a talk, and make her way to the ruined hospital to heal people in the tents that now served as the city's foremost medical center.
Maybe it was her. Maybe she'd gotten so used to other people's grief, suffering, and relief that it no longer phased her.
Broken, right?
But then again, maybe she was just better at coping than some people. Her cousin, Crystal was still moping about her friend. Taylor Hebert.
Amy paused, frowning. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to react. If the girl was able to befriend Crystal, and so quickly at that, she was either genuine or the best liar/Amy had heard of.
Normally, the Pelham girl would float around, much like Victoria did, and try her best to cheer her up and take her on adventures around town. Like with Victoria, Amy did her best to avoid those trips as often as possible, though she did admit that they made her feel better, especially considering she wasn't wrapped up in a guilt trip love parade with her cousin.
Well, one less exuberant girl meant more time to herself. Go her.
Victoria, for her part, was heroing harder than ever. Her sister was spotted on opposite ends of the city within minutes of herself. Her arrests were through the roof, and together with Eric she made sure that every single supply drop for the hospital made it to the doctors intact.
Even at the end of the world, Victoria just wanted to help people…and get some glory. Nothing wrong with that, of course.
It all made Amy a little frustrated. Here she was, doing her job and being Panacea…but what did she really want to do? Her time making...Ents (dammit Greg) had made her consider the immense amount of plant life she could work with. She could make vegetable strains that would over produce in times of need, crops that grew faster, produced more, and even served as part of the infrastructure of the city.
Given enough biomass, she could make sentries and guard animals with paralyzing venom, allowing the common citizen more of a chance against looters while preventing more needless deaths.
And still she came here. Healing. Sighing.
Sigh.
"Jesus that's one shit monologue."
"Zip it Lisa," Amy muttered. The brunette held out one hand expectantly, pulling her lighter out from one pocket.
"These things are-" "Going to kill me one day, I know."
Lisa handed over the cigarettes, some brand she'd never seen before, and Amy eagerly lit one, taking a long drag from the little death stick.
The blonde shrugged, bottle-green eyes glittering, and sat down beside her.
Amy frowned. Come to think of it…wasn't it a little hypocritical of her to judge Crystal for-
"Yes and no," Lisa said, interrupting her thoughts or the hundredth time since they'd met. "You are being overly judgmental considering our little trysts, but you aren't wrong here, Taylor Hebert is dangerous, take it from someone who knows."
"Huh."
Christ, she said even less here than she did at home. Weird how it always felt like more.
"Don't say it," Amy said, glaring at her…friend? What were they exactly?
"I said nothing."
Amy glared at Lisa's smirk, but eventually let it go. No use trying to get a read on the blonde, she'd just turn it around on her…like she was doing now. Dammit.
"So why are you here?" Amy asked. "Aside from pissing me off, that is."
"Hon, you know I love to see those flushed cheeks of yours," Lisa said with a smile. "But this is business stuff. Time to be super Amy again."
"I'm on vacation."
"And yet you keep on working."
Amy shrugged, taking a drag from her cigarette and blowing it in Lisa's general direction.
"Amy! That had-" "-About two hundred and forty skin cells in in along with approximately-" "Stop!"
Score one for the healer.
"No. I'm getting concerned," Lisa said after waving the smoke away. "The Empire might be down for the count, but Lung, Skidmark, hell even Coil's former forces aren't going to stay quiet for long."
"So, what?" Amy asked. "They'll act up like always."
"No, Amy, they'll be out for blood. The Protectorate is down a few, New wave and the Stars are still figuring their, sorry your, shit out, and Foreman refuses to realize that he's a cape with a territory. If the gangs attack they'll be toast!"
Amy cocked her head. "I'm not sure why you're talking to me about this. Wouldn't Miss Militia or Director Piggot be a better fit for this?"
If Amy had to describe the sound currently coming from Lisa's throat, it would be 'an angry cat high on helium'. The blonde's muffled shriek was paired with a little shuffle that might have been attractive on someone else.
Thankfully, neither of them were interested. One of them would have been dead inside of a month.
"Amy, don't you want to be a hero? Prove your mother wrong?"
"Don't bring her into this," Amy hissed. She clenched her fists and closed her eyes, trying to calm the pounding heat that had started building in the back of her mind.
"That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"
"I tried that," Amy said. "I gave up a chance at getting to know my birth father for her, and she just locks up on me like always…so no. I couldn't care less about Carol Dallon's approval."
Lisa sighed. "If you actually believe that, you're being delusional."
"What, because I won't play into your stupid plans?"
The blonde hissed. "I really hate that word, Amy."
"Which one?" Amy yelled, standing up in her seat. Everything felt hot, fast, wrong. She had to move, talk, get away from it all. "Plan? Cause from what I recall, your 'plan' to get away from Coil involved saving a girl who may well have mastered the whole eastern seaboard."
"Goddammit Amy, you always do this. Calm the fuck down!"
"We aren't friends, Lisa, one more detail that seems to have slipped your mind."
"Fine. You asked for this," Lisa said. "You care about Carol's approval a lot. Want to know why? Because not only has she denied you any kind of positive reinforcement over the course of your life, she's the second biggest roadblock between your feelings for Victoria and reality.
"And FYI? The biggest one is Victoria. She knows." Her piece said, Lisa stalked off, tossing the cigarette pack on the bench as she left.
The heat, the pounding throbbing feeling in her veins, froze.
She knew?
Amy had always known that her sister could never return her feelings. It had been an impossibility that Amy had nevertheless taken comfort in over the years, in imaginary blanket against an all too real cold in her family life.
And she knew?
It had been hard, keeping it from her sister. Victoria just wanted a loving relationship. She wanted a sister she could talk to, joke with, pamper and be pampered by. All Amy had given her was a sullen, withdrawn, pathetic girl who spent her nights wishing she could be anyone else, in the desperate hope that she would have a higher chance of winning her sister's heart.
When?
Was it when Victoria had found her staring at old trophies? The pictures of Victoria's aborted basketball career? Was it when her sister first became a hero and looked into Amy's eyes expecting joy, only to find disappointment?
Had she always known?
Amy threw the cigarette on the ground, the force of her throw making the tiny luxury bounce across the sidewalk before rolling to a stop in the street. A man walking by gave her a pitying glance, no doubt having come to his own conclusions about what had just happened between her and Lisa.
She sighed. No, she was just shit at friendship. For as long as she could remember, anyone who wasn't related to her would either drift away…or Amy would push them.
Amy stood, brushing her jeans to get rid of the dirt, and turned towards the ruins of Brockton General.
At least she was still good at something.








"Ames."
"Go away Victoria."
"Ames."
Amy rolled her eyes, opting to study the patient's file instead of answering.
"Ames."
God her sister didn't know when to quit.
The blonde got halfway through some reenactment of a particularly annoying Earth Aleph comedy (knock knock knock "Ames!") before Amy cracked.
"What?!"
"You are on vacation."
Amy nodded.
"Va. Ca. Tion. Do you know what that word means?" Victoria asked. Amy snorted.
"I do. Aren't you still grounded, by the way?" Amy asked with a sweet smile. "Gro. Un. Ded. Know what that means?"
"Jeez Louise, Ames, what crawled up your ass today?"
"Just a bad conversation," Amy said. "Look, I get it. You're concerned that I'm pushing myself too hard. I'm not, promise."
"Riiight. And I bet you also quit smoking."
"…I did. Two months clean, remember?"
Victoria sighed, leaning in to give Amy a loud and theatrical sniff.
"Fine, I started again. Endbringers should be a good enough excuse, right?"
"Ames…" Victoria's sad puppy eyes were Amy's only warning before her sister flicked her nose. She blinked back the tears that came as she tried not to sneeze involuntarily.
"Vicky! Not cool!"
"Neither is using an Endbringer attack as a justification for breaking your promise to me. No more cigarettes, OK Ames?"
Amy growled, rubbing her nose. "Only if you promise no more collateral damage, Victoria."
"That was one time!"
"Tell that to the hot dog man."
"OK, first off, do you know how hard it is to get mustard out of white cloth? Super hard. Secondly, how was I supposed to know that Rune would go in for a food fight?"
Amy let her sister ramble, glad that she was still oblivious enough to miss her redirections. The familiar sounds of Victoria's bitching about life were an odd thing to be calmed by, but it worked.
"...and then Dean says he doesn't have time for us right now."
Amy smirked a little.
"So, I told him to readjust his priorities and kissed him. He saw it my way after that.
Aaand goodbye happy thoughts. Maybe it didn't work as well as she hoped these days.
"Ames? Take my advice and stay away from boys."
"No problems there, sis," Amy said. "They only account for what…half the population? I'll get right on that."
Victoria stopped blathering, letting her delicate eyebrows bunch up in a frown, and settled into a sort of floating sitting stance. "OK, there's a certain amount of snark I expect from you, Amy, being a well-meaning bitch is kind of your thing, but something's wrong. Spill."
Dammit.
"It's nothing."
"Nope. Spill."
"Victoria, it's personal. Drop it."
"Lalalalalala"
Sweet Christ her sister was annoying. If only she wasn't so god damned attracted to her, maybe Amy would be able to see clearly long enough to smack that smug look off of her face.
Well, there was always her powers. She could just turn off Victoria's voice box. It'd serve her right for keeping quiet about Amy's big dark secret…oh hell.
Amy went pale.
"Drop. It. And leave."
Victoria paused. "Ames?"
"Get the fuck out of here, you stupid slut!"
It broke her heart to see the stricken look on Victoria's face, like some corner of civilization had just collapsed in front of her. Her sister went pale, then red, then she went quiet.
"Whatever you want, Amelia."
Victoria hadn't called Amy by her full name since they were kids. No matter the situation, she'd cheerfully stuck with Ames this and Ames that.
Watching her sister glide out the door, the barely perceptible trembles of her shoulders betraying how she felt, was like watching her own heart pull itself from her chest.
But she'd be safe.
Victoria's powers would keep her safe from everyone else, and Amy's own viciousness would keep her sister safe from her.
All she had to do was stay away from the love of her life and try not to cry.
…maybe just the 'staying away' part. Amy had always considered herself a realist.





She almost didn't answer the phone when it rang. Actually, she nearly strangled it when she glanced at the caller ID, but it would have been useless. The guy was persistent after all.
"Amelia Dallon's house of misery, how can I ruin your day?" she asked.
"So that's where we are, huh?"
"What do you expect Dean? Happy sunshine and rainbow-shitting unicorns?"
The boy on the other side of the phone sighed. "You done?"
"Got one more," Amy said. "If I had a single fuck, and used two of them, how many fucks can I give?"
"…"
"Does the world have a fuck deposit? Can I take out a loan sometime?"
"Amy."
"She stop crying yet?"
"Barely. She hasn't really talked about it aside from telling me to ask…uh, ask you."
Amy snorted. "She told you to phone the 'hell beast', didn't she?"
"Not in those…direct words. Look, you guys fight. It's a sibling thing. But I know you better than you think I do and I can tell when something's wrong. If you need space, I understand, but Victoria was really…distraught."
"Dean…please, just keep her away from me for a while."
"Amy?"
"It's better for both of us."
He huffed, the speaker crackling. "No, it's really not. Amy, I know you've never approved of me dating your sister, but if your jealousy of her is starting to affect your relationship-"
"…her."
"Pardon?"
"I'm not jealous of her, Dean."
"Oh." Suck on that, you pompous fool. "I, uh, I kinda of knew that...already."
"You what? You fucking knew? You knew and you never got it into your worthless skull that you should say something? Anything!?"
"Amy, can we please just talk about this without devolving into insults?"
"Nope. Eat shit Asshole."
"Can we just talk then?" Dean asked.
"I'd rather not."
Her sister's boyfriend went quiet before sighing again. "As you wish, Amy. Just…remember that people care about you, alright? I'll be here if you ever want to talk."
Amy hung up.
Step one: Try not to cry.
Step two: realizing the futility of step one, just sulk for a while.








In some kind of miracle, Amy went almost a week without her life getting any worse. Karma seemed more than happy to correct the over sight.
It began with the sound of thunder. A bomb, likely one of Bakuda's construction if the suddenly frosted rooflines were any indication, exploded two blocks from the treatment camp. Before the Simurgh's attack, Brockton General was equipped with multiple safety features in the event of nearby gang activity. Lockdown procedures would seal off sensitive areas, backup generators would come online to prevent life-support equipment from shutting down, and the hospital's private security would break out their emergency gear, a host of less-lethal weaponry and riot armor meant to keep the shooters at bay until the police or PRT could intervene.
The collection of tents that had sprung up in the ruins of that facility lacked all of it.
Doctor Smitty had chocked off a cry of "Lockdown!" when he remembered where he was, instead pulling out his satellite phone and calling for help. Several of Amy's own patients, people she'd healed not an hour ago, prepared however they could. Pepper spray, batons, baseball bats, even a revolver were in the hands of scared citizens.
Panacea would have called Glory Girl, who would have passed it on to the Wards and had the whole crew here within minutes.
Panacea was on vacation.
Amy reached into her mind, pulling from her memories of the Endbringer fight, as she ran towards a bush.
Sometimes you had to start small.
The bush shed its leaves as it climbed around her, forming into a wooden breastplate. Tendrils of roots crept down her arms, ending an inch beyond her own hands in hardened pseudo-claws.
She absently noted a second explosion, this one preceded by screams that were cut off mid-way. It may have been louder, but she wasn't sure.
"Doctor, get these people to the parkade."
"It's destroyed, though…"
"Safer than here, isn't it?"
The man nodded, putting on his best 'authority face', and led the people away. Amy crouched behind a wall, seeking what shelter she could as she prepared herself.
God this was a bad idea.
Panicked shouts came closer and closer, angry calls in Chinese and Korean followed them.
The ABB had hit someone, the Chosen maybe, and with Bakuda there the skinheads had no choice but to run.
She was one crazy bitch, Amy had to admit.
The heroine rifled through her mental rolodex, the catalogue she had in her mind of all the things she'd seen with her power.
Neurotoxin.
In its natural form, it was too much. Assuming she had the bush begin to secrete it from the claws, the amount her victims would receive would paralyze their hearts and kill them.
What else…Psychotropic?
No, that'd be even worse. She would easily be able to induce a fear of her, a hallucination of monsters writhing in the dark. The problem would be in basic human psychology. Fight or flight. Caught between monsters unknown and Bakuda's explosives, many would choose fight. Amy didn't want that many bullets flying around.
Maybe capsaicin? Common enough, and the bursts of pain might be enough to distract them.
Amy nodded, her power reaching into the plant matter and restructuring proteins. She'd need a delivery system, a way to release the reservoirs of capsaicin to the claws. Porous internal structures then.
Something prodded the back of her head.
With that she could…
Shit.
Amy put her hands up and looked over her shoulder.
The gang member could have been one in a thousand. Bald with crooked teeth and suggestive tattoos, he wore black pants and an undershirt. The gun in his hand was unremarkable, save for the fact that it looked worn…used.
"Easy does it."
How had she let them sneak up on her?! This is what she got for staying out of the fights. New Wave hadn't trained her, even her recent attempts at Karate were more for fitness than any kind of martial skill. What was she supposed to do?
"No touching, those hands stay where I can see em," the man said. "Show me your shoes."
The formerly nonsensical question was honestly a good one. Amy didn't need to touch something with her hand to use her power, a fact she'd blatantly advertised during the Ent invasion of Brockton Bay's park.
He must have been there…or known someone who was.
Amy complied, lifting one foot slowly to show him the intact sole, and stayed quiet.
"Get that thing off," he ordered. "On the ground and harmless."
The bush slithered to the ground in front of the man, sweat gathering on his face as he watched the motions carefully.
"Good, you're a smart one Panacea," he said. "Now that bitch back there has gone and maimed friend of mine. You're gonna heal 'em, then we'll both be on our way."
Amy frowned. "If I refuse?"
"Then we shoot one of the good doctor's legs," he said simply, waving to someone behind the wall he'd ambushed her from. Doctor Smitty was there, held in a chokehold by another skinhead, this one shirtless. Amy could see the fear in his eyes, the tears that gathered when he realized his wellbeing was in her hands.
He didn't trust her.
Huh.
"Fine," she said.
The man brought her over to his friends. The sight made her cringe.
One was missing an arm, the flesh transforming into shards of glass near the end. His blood flow was atrocious, blocked in some places by pieces of glass and causing him even more pain.
The other was nearly as bad, half his body was chemically burned, rough patches of skin sometimes stripped down to muscle dotting his front.
Damn.
"You double cross us…"
"I won't," Amy assured the gangsters before kneeling in front of the armless man. His friend was unconscious from the pain of his burns, and despite the crippling nature of his wounds, the glass was the bigger issue.
She worked quickly, separating the tissues from the glass and weaving it into a stump. A stump with perfectly aligned arteries of course, but a stump nonetheless. She was a medic, not a miracle worker.
His good hand clasped around her forearm suddenly, and Amy nearly paralyzed him on reflex, but she saw his lips twitching to form shapes his lungs were too weary to make into words.
'Thank you'
He slumped into the waiting arms of his comrades, and they helped him to a sitting position while Amy turned to the next man. His injuries would not be so easy to fix. Melding flesh, knitting it together to form a whole, was simple for her power. In order to heal a burn, she had to repair individual cells, recycle dead material, and regrow nerves.
It was a painful, itchy process. Thankfully he was already unconscious.
For what felt like hours, Amy stayed deeply nestled in her own mind, guiding her power like a drill and scalpel to clear out the wrecked portions of the man's body before wielding it like a construction crew in miniature to rebuild the lost flesh. Blood welled up as she worked, but Amy simply directed it into an exposed vein at a constant pressure, throwing it back into the cycle.
In reality, it took her a matter of minutes.
"There. I'm done," Amy said as she turned her gaze to the gun-wielding man.
"Why isn't he waking up?"
"I don't do brains."
"Bullshit. Get him up."
"I do not use my power on brains," Amy said more forcefully. "He is unconscious as a result of his injuries and will wake up in his own time. Pushing him unnaturally is dangerous."
"The bitch throwing around grenades like candy is 'dangerous', girl. I need these guys able to fight."
"Well you'll be short a hand," she said. "No offense." The last part she directed at the first of her patients.
"Better than dying," said the man with the gun.
"This is still the hospital," Amy said. "Even Bakuda would think twice before wrecking it, and the PRT are on their way already, I'm sure. Take your men and leave."
He wavered, blue eyes bouncing between her and the continued sounds of explosions. For a moment, she thought he would run. For a moment, Amy considered what a story this would be for the dinner table tonight.
Then his face hardened. "Too risky." He turned to the now one-armed man and handed him the pistol, pulling a knife out of his waistband. "You're coming with us, you and the doctor."
"Why would I do that?" Amy asked.
"'Because I'll have a knife to his neck, and Jerry there will have a gun on you."
Dammit. Whatever happened to the dumb gang members?
Ah right…they all died.
"Lead on," Amy said.






The hideout was dark and dingy, obviously in disrepair. If Amy had to guess, the Empire had stopped using the place a while ago. That would make her captors long term members. Smart too. They'd put on elbow-length gloves they'd found in the bathroom of the place before searching her. They took her phone away, along with her wallet of course, and she'd heard the thing go off at least twice since they'd arrived.
Doctor Smitty was in shock, rocking back and forth on his chair and flinching anytime one of the gang members walked past with their weapons.
Well, if she remembered correctly, he was the newest doctor in residence before this shitshow began. The older ones were used to this, some of the surgeons had actually been kidnapped for healing before. They kept a tally in the break room, out of some morbid sense of pride, seeing whose particular talents were more highly prized amongst the underworld. It became less common when Othalla hit the scene, but after her death…old habits, right?
She'd overheard bits of conversation. The man who had snuck up on her, the leader, was named Frank. The shirtless man was Donovan. They didn't see eye to eye about something. The two she healed were Jake and Percy. Frank had tried to explain that Jake's arm would be fine once they got Amy to heal it further, that his loss of limb was temporary, and that he was making the Empire proud.
Funny how they still called it the Empire.
"What do we do with 'em?" Donovan asked. "Panacea, sure, we let go. But this loser?"
"He goes too," Frank said. "Back to the old ways. The Docs in this town know that if you cooperate, you'll be fine. We will continue this tradition."
"Kaiser's gone, Frank. Purity's missing. Krieg's dead on account of that little brat, and the only 'loyal' capes we have are a bunch of brutes."
"Your point being?"
"Maybe it's time we took back the good fight for us regular guys, right? No freak shows in masks, no groveling at some mutant's feet."
Frank huffed a laugh. "You want to face Lung with your knife and some 'good ol boys' you be my guest. I'll be hiding behind six feet of angry steel."
"Coward."
Amy pulled at her bonds, testing the knot, and sighed. It was good. Too good. The rope around her wrists was restricting blood flow, not enough to be dangerous mind you, but she'd probably have bruises for a while once they were removed.
Smitty whined when Percy walked past. If anyone was a coward here, it was him. He was nice, sure, he was a good doctor…but whoever sent him to Brockton Bay wanted him dead. He wasn't made for this place.
"Panacea," Frank said as he walked over. "How much material would you need to give Jake's arm back?"
"A few pounds, maybe more," she said. "If you bring me something with bone already then it'll take less to do the rest."
"Then a stray dog would do?"
"Yeah. I'd only need a small one. The hospital used to keep pigs around when I needed a lot of spare biomass."
"You'll have to make do."
Amy nodded. Hopefully her sister would come soon.
Hopefully she hadn't fucked up that much.










"I…what?" Victoria was confused. She'd gone for a walk to cool down after Amy's blowup, pausing to either help someone or give them an autograph depending on the situation they were in, but generally kept to herself…or she had until this random blonde girl started stalking her.
"Your sister is in real danger, captured by thugs, and you need to help." The girl's bottle-green eyes were stunning really, but something about her face put Victoria on edge. She looked smug. Victoria hated smug.
"Ames would contact me if there was a problem," Victoria said. "Now I get that your star-struck, but seriously. Go away."
"Oh, for fuck's sake-" "Language" "The hospital got hit by Empire thugs! The PRT already confirmed that they took your sister and some doctor."
Victoria frowned. "They would have call…. oh shit."
Her phone was off. She hadn't wanted to keep getting calls from Amy, leaving sobbing messages, or Crystal, still moping about that Taylor girl. She had just needed time to think.
The Dallon girl winced when the device came online, a litany of missed calls and texts scrolling across the page. The smug girl was right, apparently. Dean had been lighting up her phone for nearly ten minutes now.
"It's Lisa," the girl said.
"What?"
"My name is Lisa, not Smug girl."
How did she- "Know that? It's my thing. Now that I have your attention, I have a bitchy, judgmental, and snarky friend to rescue because I have not put all of this effort in just to let her get shanked by some idiot with a grudge. Get your cousins on the phone and tell them to wake the fuck up."
Uh.
"Now missy!"
Huh.
She started making calls.






Amy swallowed in fear.
Donovan, smoking gun still in hand, swept his free hand over his head. "I told him. I fucking told him," the man said. "Would he listen? No."
Frank's body lay on the ground, two bullet holes dripping blood from his chest. The two men had gotten into an argument. The same argument they'd been having since they got here. That they should keep their prisoners, go somewhere else, and go back to traditional skinhead things like hating mutants.
Frank had objected, confident that the Empire would rise again.
Then Donovan took Frank's gun and killed him.
Just like that.
It wasn't the first death Amy had seen, that honor belonged to the store clerk when she'd… but it was just so sudden.
"Use him."
Amy blinked.
"You deaf? Use him to fix up Jake. He don't need his flesh no more, right?"
The cells might still be alive, at least for a few minutes. If she worked fast….
"I need living tissue," Amy said. "You…you killed him. It won't work."
"Fucking try!"
Amy stood slowly, keeping one eye on Donovan's shaking hand and the gun it held, before kneeling by Frank's body. The man's blue eyes stared sightlessly into the ceiling.
She placed her hands on his chest, slipping up and under his shirt at the neck, and gasped.
"What?" Donovan demanded. "What's the matter?"
Frank was dead…his heart wasn't beating, his lungs weren't moving, his nerves were dark and no signals travelled…and yet.
"It's nothing," Amy said. "Just…never get used to feeling bullet wounds, that's all."
Donovan laughed. "You patch up people every fucking day and you're squeamish? Oh, that's rich."
The…the thing inside of Frank's body wound itself tighter around the man's spine. Tendrils were feathering off of vestigial limbs and snaking their way into nerve endings.
It wasn't dark anymore.
The heart started pumping, the slightly cooled blood moving sluggishly at first.
Had he…triggered? Amy was confused. Normally she would black out if there was a trigger nearby.
"Percy, go get Jake," Donovan said. "We're getting him his arm back."
Donovan didn't see. Couldn't see. The body wasn't so much coming back to life as it was finding alternatives in order to move.
Frank's cloudy blue eyes flicked, staring into her own.
Amy screamed.
"Christ almighty what is your fucking prob-"Donovan's tirade was cut short as Frank's body…as Frank grabbed the other man's ankle, pulling him to the floor and sending his gun skittering from his hand.
Frank cracked his neck, then rolled over. His motions were jerky, not like those Aleph zombie flicks Amy watched, but more like an unsure person on a surfboard. Sometimes, the motion was too forceful, sometimes it wasn't strong enough. It was either too careful or entire careless, the happy median of natural motion nowhere to be found.
"Mistake," Frank droned. "Donovan."
The man screamed, scrabbling for his gun. His fingertips brushed the handle of the thing before Amy kicked it away.
Why had she done that? When?
Her eyes were locked on the struggle in front of her, watching as the stronger man kept pulling his victim closer. Away from the door, away from the gun, and away from survival. It reminded Amy of nature shows. The predatory insects that lay in wait, and won before the struggle even began.
She really hoped Frank didn't sprout an Antlion's jaws next…that'd be really gross.
The formerly…and possibly still dead man dragged Donovan closer before knife-handing him in the kidney, causing a sound similar to a stuck pig. Amy could see deformed ribs poking at his skin. Frank was breaking bones.
Donovan pushed at Frank's head, frantically scrabbling for any purchase he could use to leverage himself out of Frank's hold. The shirtless man's fingers dug into the contours of his face, one even pushing against Frank's left eye, but the man himself was unmoved by any pain or fear. He simply reached for Donovan's hand and pulled it away sharply, cracking fingerbones in the process.
Amy heaved. It was a sound she always feared hearing. Victoria's practiced non-chalance had made Amy concerned that her sister might one day go too far.
Snapping bones, one after another.
The sound of a brute with no restraint.
Frank must have triggered earlier, maybe even during the Simurgh attack. His fellow gang members hadn't known…
A deeper crack this time as blood began spilling from Donovan's pleading lips.
Goodbye breakfast.
Amy blinked away reflexive tears, ignoring the burning sensation in her throat, and forced herself to watch Donovan's last moments.
The man had been a killer…but he hadn't been cruel. Not like Frank.
The sounds of struggle stopped, Donovan's eyes clouding over in a face set with a rictus of pain, bloody teeth bared in a silent scream. His misshapen hands lay at his side, having dropped from their place at Frank's chest.
"I'm sorry you had to see that, Fraulien." Frank said. His voice was scratchy, but Amy could hear remorse in his voice.
It hadn't been in his actions, though.
"Why…how…you."
"Ah. No matter. I'm afraid I cannot aid you escape. I had intended to set you free unharmed…but circumstances change." Frank got to his feet, his motions smoother than they were a moment ago. "This will only hurt for a moment. You will be stronger for it, and I am certain that you are worthy."
Frank held out one hand, reaching for her temple.




Life after the Simurgh was, to Carol Dallon, old made new again. With her job mostly blown up, it was back to being a homebody for the mother of two…with occasional super heroics of course. Carol had spent half of the day baking, at least that's what she would say if anyone asked later. At the moment, she gazed into a wasteland of chocolate, eyes staring in horrified fascination at the flour that coated her hands and groaned.
"I'm terrible at this."
Her husband had come in earlier and laughed. Actually laughed at the mess she was making. If she wasn't so damn happy to see him emote, she might have punched him.
Carol grabbed the roll of paper towel once more and wiped the chocolate frosting off her face.
"Mom!"
Carol jumped. Victoria was floating outside the window, a bemused green-eyed blonde hanging from her arms with a feline grin. The two stared at her before Victoria stared speaking. "Mom! Amy got kidnapped by some bad guys, this is Lisa her not-in-any-way Girlfriend she knows where they are we need to go save her!"
Carol blinked, putting the roll back on the counter.
"Where."
It wasn't a question.







Frank reached out, lurching at Amy as she backed up frantically. Someone was screaming and it wasn't her. Smitty ran out the door in a panic, yelling obscenities at the top of his lungs.
It might have been funny in another situation, but given what Frank had done to Donovan, Amy didn't want to see if his Striker powers trumped hers. She scrambled over Donovan's body, edging her way to the door, but Frank cut her off quickly.
"I am sorry," he said again.
"Who are you really?"
"Only a man," Frank replied. "One of many."
SO not only was he a murderer and a traitor, he was crazy too. Great.
"I had hoped to do this later, in a more peaceful setting, but this body is dying now. You are more useful."
Amy shivered.
This body? He must have some kind of body hopping power. It probably wasn't ever Frank in the first place…. but who?
"Goodbye Fraulien," The man said. "And welcome to the fold."
Amy squeezed her eyes shut.
"Hey!"
That voice…
"Get the hell away from my daughter," Carol Dallon said.
Any other day, Amy might have reflexively looked for Victoria.
Not today.
"You OK Amy?"
"Y-yeah. Be careful, Carol, he has some kind of Striker power."
"Got it."
The veteran heroine turned her stare to Frank's body, her blue eyes hardening as they reached his own. "You fucked up kid," she said.
"No…I simply misjudged the situation. How did you find me?" The man in Frank's body asked.
"A little bird." Carol extended her power, the blade shining where it met the ground.
"Interesting," Frank said.
And that, apparently, was enough talk. With unnerving speed, Frank launched himself at Carol. Amy gasped as she realized the man had been stalling for time.
Stupid of herself really. That's the only reason you should be talking.
Carol waited until his hand began to close around her throat before turning into her breaker form. The pale-yellow ball of light seared Amy's eyes as the woman disappeared. Carol…Brandish careened off the wall and ceiling before turning back, her blade back in hand and ready to swing.
Frank ducked, his legs collapsing like a puppet's to get him lower to the ground, and Brandish swung over his head with a growl. The woman wasn't a stranger to fights, though, and a split second spent in her breaker form was enough to reorient her for a second strike.
The forged lightning bit deep into Frank's shoulder, hissing as it passed through flesh and bone. Frank himself merely frowned as he stood back up, nimble as a gymnast, and turned to face Brandish where she stood.
"Clever," he said. "It won't work again."
"Maybe not," Brandish said. "But that was just a warm up. Let me show you what I can really do."
Amy stepped back on instinct as the two began moving again. Bright, blinding light flashed like a spotlight, highlighting the two figures as they lashed out at one another. It was a deadly game of keep away where Brandish could slice Frank in two. Amy really didn't want to think about what might happen if Frank hit Brandish first.
They were almost too fast to keep track of, between their natural speed and the flashes.
That was when she made one fatal mistake.
Amy tried to edge her way to the door, to escape as Smitty had. If the way was clear, Brandish wouldn't have to worry about collateral damage. She scurried between flashes and lunges, sticking to the wall as much as she could, but she forgot about one thing.
Donovan.
His blood, pooled as it was, was sticky and sickeningly sweet in the summer air. None of that made it any less slippery however, and Amy felt her right leg sweep out from under her only a moment before she fell.
"Amy!" Brandish yelled. The look of panic on the woman's face was nearly alien to her. It was the face Carol had made when Amy had first triggered, though at the time she had been staring at Victoria's prone body, laying in the hospital bed. It was the face she wore when Mark had one of his bad days, usually followed up by a guilt-inducing glare sent Amy's way for her part in the man's continued state of disarray. It was worry, fear for another, love…a mother's look.
And it was directed her way.
"Behind you! MOM!" Amy pointed, desperate to get the point across, but it was too late. Frank swept up behind Brandish and knocked her out with a swift hit to the neck. Amy gasped. It would bruise, no doubt, and without looking there was no way to make sure that the bone wasn't fractured or even…broken.
"What to do…. what to do," Frank muttered as he dropped Brandish on the floor. "You are more valuable by far, so it is you I should take…and yet Carol Dallon has a modicum of respect in what remains of this city. A good platform for recreating my works…. hmm. What do you think, Fraulien? Should I take you and kill your mother, or take her and kill you? It's only fair to give you this choice, as a woman under healer's oaths."
Amy clutched her throat. It all felt stuffy, too much too fast. She had to make an impossible call…so what would she-
Emulation is the sincerest form of flattery.
Amy blinked. That wasn't her voice…was that-
Amy never considered herself a hero…but she had grown up with many.
She sobbed, gritting her teeth and forcing her breaths in line.
The choice was clear.
It was. All she had to do was "Spam the blue option."
"I…pardon?"
"Spam…the blue option," Amy repeated. "Then you're the best hero ever."
Victoria…always messing around with those silly games, as if she needed to prove her own good heart more than she did already.
"You…are a very bad person, whoever you are," Amy continued, reaching over across the ground. "The law isn't so clear on this kind of thing, but the way I see it…this is clear self-defense…You. Fucked. Up."
Carol, trying to relate to her family with stories no one cared about, anecdotes from law books and trials they'd never heard of. The desperate motions of a woman who just wanted a family.
"You really think that Panacea of all people wouldn't know self-defense?" The cocky grin felt out of place on her. It belonged to someone else, but surely Lisa would approve. "I'm not stupid."
Her hand brushed Donovan's body, possibilities lighting up in her mind.
"Go suck a lightbulb, Frankenstein."







Carol groaned as the room, or more accurately the floor, swam into focus. She coughed up a combination of flehm and blood as she sat up. "Amy?"
She'd been fighting someone…a gang member…no, a cape. "Amy?!"
Her adopted daughter wasn't a fighter…Panacea had never had to fight for her life. Carol knew the eyes of a killer, they haunted her dreams every night. The man she'd fought was one, and he wanted Amy. He wanted her daughter.
"Amy!"
"Here, Carol, I'm here."
Carol had a split second of relaxation before she bolted upright with a shriek. "M-m-marquis!??"
"What? No." The skull shaped mask shifted side to side. "Just me."
"Amy?"
Her confusion was warranted in all honesty. Amy Dallon wore bone and sinew like a second skin, a framework protecting her body from harm. Spurs of bone jutted out from her knuckles, her elbows, and her knees. She looked every inch her father, from the resolve-filled brown eyes that lurked beneath a skull that wasn't hers to the spear that looked suspiciously like someone's spine.
Carol shifted her glance around the room. There was still one dead man in the room, though it wasn't the same one as before. The gangster she had fought was missing a head now, a pulpy mass having replaced it.
"I-I'm sorry Carol," Amy said. "I looked you over, but I didn't want to wake you prematurely…I-"
"You don't do brains," Carol finished.
Amy ducked her head, half in acknowledgement and half in shame. Carol winced. Mark's condition had long been a source of tension between them.
"I'm proud…of you," Carol said. Amy jerked where she sat, but didn't move. "I…I didn't know you could fight."
"Maui Tai," Amy muttered. "Twice a week for a year now. Bolthead there might have been stronger, he was certainly faster, but he had no idea how to fight properly."
"…Bolthead?"
"Like Frankenstein…bolts in the head? Reanimated body?"
"…You know that was Frankenstein's Monster, right? Frankenstein was the scientist."
Amy blinked.
Then she laughed.
Carol frowned. "What?"
"I just realized you have chocolate all over your face," Amy said as she repressed the chuckles.
"oh, be quiet," Carol snapped. Amy stopped laughing, a twinge running through her body.
Was she so scary? Did Carol did inspire such fear in her own…her own daughter?
Well…she never had given Amy a reason not to, had she?
"Turns out there's a reason Sarah never lets me bake with her," Carol said after clearing her throat. "I think I'll let you and Victoria pick up that particular pastime…if you want to, that is."
Amy smiled. "You should still get checked out by a doctor, Carol."
"Ruin my mood more why don't you."
The next laugh was less enthusiastic, but it was real. She'd take it.


July 25th​, 2011
Brockton Bay, NH

Amy sighed as Doctor Smitty frantically apologized for the third time that day. She managed to shoo him off by pointing him at her next log of patients and accepting the proffered coffee.
He really didn't know her that well…should have gotten her a cigarette.
"Amy?"
She froze.
"Look I'm sorry about the other day," Lisa continued. "We…both have our issues. I'm trying to help you, I swear."
"You wouldn't happen to know anything about a 'little bird' would you?" Amy asked. She held out her hand expectantly.
Lisa smiled, digging out a slim pack of cancer sticks and tossing it to her. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't…Is what I would normally say. I'm glad she found you."
"Thanks. Where did Vicky go, anyway?"
"Well, I had an idea of where you could be…but it was a big area. Your cousins covered the next few blocks down Lord Street while Victoria and your…uh, Carol covered the rea that you actually ended up being in. Victoria was down the road actually, dealing with more of Bakuda's toys."
"Oh."
"She's fine, don't worry."
God that was still annoying.
Lisa shrugged with a smirk and moved to sit down. Amy pulled out her lighter before joining her. The breeze wafted past them, blowing Amy's bangs into her face, but the silence was nice. She let it hang there for a while, alternating sips of canned coffee with drags of tobacco.
"Lisa…I need to fix things," Amy said. "Dean and Victoria…they don't deserve the things I've said to them…and I've been avoiding Carol for way too long."
"Well…if you think you fucked up, maybe just apologize?"
"Yeah…back at you."
"What?"
"Taylor. You get all tense when you talk about her. Sure, she might be dangerous…but I think you cared enough to get hurt. I think you lashed out at her because she wouldn't let you help her. Sound familiar?"
"Oh, you are an evil evil woman Amy Dallon."
"Yup," Amy chirped. "But I'm right, aren't I? Go talk to Foreman. HE might be able to get you in contact."
"Fine…but you go apologize first. I demand pictures. Pictures where you fall on your knees and declare how very sorry you are and pledge your eternal soul to being a better person."
Amy quirked an eyebrow.
No one here but us…heh.
Amy slid to the ground, staring Lisa in the eyes, and cleared her throat. "Lisa, darling, I do hereby swear-"
"Not me, Amy! Stop!"






The blonde Star touched down gently, placing Amy on the ground and sweeping her arms wide like an actor at curtain call. "Casa de Dallon, miss."
"Thanks." Despite their current tensions personally, Victoria had jumped at the opportunity to fly Amy to see Carol. Credit where due, apparently.
"Need me to stick around?"
"You go be a hero, sis," Amy said. "I can handle my personal life, no interventions required."
"Alright." Victoria swept the brunette up in a hug, twirling in place, and set Amy down again with a peck on her forehead. "Later, Ames!"
"Bye." Awkward as fuck.
She watched Victoria fly off and sighed.
Well, she wasn't feeling the need to mash her lips against Victoria's any more…progress? She'd been wondering if she should come clean about her issues to her sister. Amy knew that Victoria would never think of her like that, no matter how much she wanted her to, but they weren't technically related. She could always blame Westermarck failing if anybody asked.
"Amy?"
Ah Carol, like a splash of cold water. Brr.
"Hey."
The older blonde leaned in the doorway, holding a mug in both hands. The gentle breeze carried the smell of coffee into Amy's nose and she nearly moaned. It wasn't the cheap canned stuff the government sent out in those supply kits…no that was real, one-hundred percent actual coffee from a real drip machine.
"Where the heck did you get that?"
"Oh, Alan Barnes? From work? He had some friends in the local food distributors. They sent some his way before supplies ran out," Carol said. "I don't drink it as much as I used to. This has to last me…potentially forever, after all."
"They're still debating that?" Amy asked.
"The quarantine is the only thing on the news these days."
Amy sighed. After the Simurgh died (and what a weird thought, even after she watched it happen), the military established the Brockton Bay quarantine zone outside city limits. PRT and Protectorate forces from Boston and New York were coming in to relieve them, but for the moment, things were still tense.
Hundreds of thousands of people trapped in one place.
"This must be what Canberra feels like," Amy said.
"Hopefully not for much longer," Carol said. "When the Fairy Queen and her retinue left, the quarantine became effectively useless anyway. It's only a matter of convincing the senate and Washington that keeping us here is only cruel, not necessary.
"Mind you," the elder Dallon continued. "We'll probably have to wear swan tattoos for the rest of our lives. Face distrust wherever we go…and the troubles are only just starting."
"What do you mean?"
"To use the earlier example. Our food now comes entirely through aid packages, yes? So, what about the people who worked at distributors, or as truck drivers between cities. What about the coffee shop owners and workers who have long since run out of their 'non-essential supplies'? What about the military detachment within city limits? They can't leave either, but they aren't law enforcement, not really."
"Unemployment and Homelessness," Amy realized.
"Don't get me wrong," Carol said. "Between your efforts at the hospital and the unions under Foreman, pardon me, Daniel Hebert, there are many ways this could be worse off. But…the PRT is diminished and lot likely to get reinforcements soon, if ever. Our local government is half-dead and mostly rubble. We are operating as a lawless city at the moment. I'm just worried that the gangs will make a play out of it."
Amy frowned. "We killed an Endbringer together, all of us. You really think they'll make trouble after everything we've been through?"
"Greed is the most mercurial of human drives, Amy," Carol said. "I wouldn't be surprised if they were plotting already."
Lung had all but disappeared after the attack. Oni Lee and Bakuda were seen occasionally, but the boss himself, not to mention his shapeshifter, had not a single sighting between them.
Hookwolf and his Chosen, the broken remnants of the Empire that hadn't fled with Ragnarok, were waving the flag harder than ever. Skinheads could be seen on every corner downtown, showing the colors and saying the words, and those that agreed? They got help. Heavy lifting? Twenty guys will be there by this afternoon. Someone stole your shit? We'll find it, don't worry. The Chosen were the stabilizing influence downtown, adjudicating concerns and policing their territory. The real cops let them be. They had differences of opinion, but the fallout of another fight wasn't worth it.
The government would probably make the quarantine permanent if anything big happened. Nobody wanted to be the one that proved them right.
As for the Merchants? They'd kept on as they always had. Amy was seriously starting to wonder where they kept getting their drugs from. It wasn't like the cartels could just keep smuggling them in with a navy destroyer parked in the water.
She knew from Lisa that the Undersiders were done. Uber and Leet hadn't been seen for a while, Coil was done (and apparently had been since march, who knew?), and New Wave's connections in the independent community had been cut in half by the Simurgh and its fallout. Brockton Bay had suddenly become so much quieter. Not safe, mind you.
Amy shuddered, remembering the fight with Frank.
"You're probably right," she admitted.
"So?"
"So."
The two women stood quietly, looking out over the city from their house on the hill.
"Come inside? I have enough brewed for another cup."
"Please," Amy said as she stepped inside. They were quiet as they walked through the house. It was quiet, Mark was probably still asleep after all, and both Amy and Victoria had responsibilities that kept them out of the house. How long had it been since she'd slept in her own bed anyway? Two days? A week? Time was one of many things that blurred together in the gloom.
The kitchen felt different, but the healer couldn't place what it was that sparked the feeling. All the cupboards were the same, the stove was the same, the lighting was the same…so what was…
"You changed the fridge?" Amy asked.
"It just…seemed like time." Carol stared intently into her mug as she spoke, avoiding Amy's searching gaze.
For her part, the brunette was baffled. The fridge door, the standard achievement wall of suburban America, had long…always been Victoria's. Glory Girl headline in the papers? Goes on the fridge. Victoria's junior division basketball photos from middle school? Goes on the fridge. Test scores from Victoria's SATs? Fridge. Even Victoria's preschool attempts at drawing New Wave had still graced the surface.
But what about Amy? Save a ward of burn victims in New York? Nothing. A 'good job' once or twice, even a 'I'm proud of you' when she'd gotten a personal commendation from the governor, but she'd never had space on the fridge. She never been able to point out something to Victoria and say 'I did that!' and expect praise.
So why was her honorary medical license suddenly there? Or her meager attempts at drawing, back when she'd tried to be an artist? Carol had kept those?
"You…why now?" She was angry. Amy knew enough to recognize the feeling, even buried in shock like it was. "After all these years…you start now? Is this some kind of gratitude thing?!"
"I know I wasn't…fair to you Amy-"
"Fair?! You shut me out my whole life. You acted like you only had one daughter. You think Aunt Sarah never noticed how often you foisted me off on her? You think Victoria never noticed? They…you…"
"I…I'm sorry." The older woman set her mug on the counter, stepping closer but not taking that final leap. "I was…afraid. You father always did get under my skin. It was wrong, but I couldn't help but see him every time you used your powers."
"What about before I had them?"
"You…looked like him. And you were scared of us, of me, as well. The other day…you looked like him, exactly like him…It brought back some…uncomfortable memories."
"Like barging into my home and all but kidnapping me? You were strangers, people I'd never heard of except from TV."
"We both were, strangers I mean," Carol said. "I…I guess we never learned how not to be."
"Mn." Amy didn't bother with words. She'd had enough of those lately.
"I'm probably never going to call you mom, you know."
"I deserve it."
"And I still think you're a bit of a callous bitch."
"So do half of my coworkers."
"It'll be hard…trying to try."
"I don't want to lose any more of my family," Carol said.
It was only then that Amy realized they were both crying. When had it started? What had finally set them off? Amy hadn't seen Carol cry since Fleur. She moved in, closing that last step, and let her head fall, resting it on Carol's shoulder. Slowly, stiffly, the woman looped her arms around her adopted daughter. A hug. Why had it taken them so long?
Maybe they were both just as broken. Maybe they could help each other heal. Maybe they could finally be family.
"I'm in love with Vicky."
"…Come again?"
For now, Amy would bare her heart for the world to see.
If it happened to send Carol into hysterics? That was just a bonus.







The rest of the chat was predictably awkward, but Carol was doing her best not to react. Amy appreciated it. Two months ago, she would have never considered telling Carol of all people one of her most intimate secrets, but Lisa was right, again, and Carol had 'calmly' sat her down and explained that Victoria would never think of her the same way, but that she should tell Victoria about her feelings. The elder blonde was obviously uncomfortable with it, but she was trying to be fair. Trying to be a mother, finally. The release was real, Amy felt as if a dam had burst somewhere inside her, letting all the repression and guilt, the hatred she'd held for her own perceived faults slip away in her tears.
Carol had even agreed. Victoria should be told. Then they could move forward.
Together.
They'd shared a wry smile in exasperation, maybe the first smile they'd shared in years, as they imagined the ways Victoria could react. The youngest blonde of the family was astonishingly good at reading people, right until she wasn't. The surprise would almost be worth immortalizing in a photograph if the situation were less serious.
Or, on the more sobering side, maybe she'd noticed and said nothing? Amy wasn't sure which she'd prefer, an oblivious Victoria or one that deliberately led her on.
Well…not 'led on', that wasn't fair to say. It was more 'deliberately avoided talking about the problem which led to Amy getting more hurt inside'.
That didn't sound great either.
"So…how's things where you are?" Carol asked.
"Fine, I guess…Foreman is keeping most of the people happy." At some point, Carol must have poured Amy a cup of coffee. The healer took a deep drink from it and sighed. She wouldn't be tasting this again anytime soon. "He does a good job, you know, the union men like him."
"He represents a threat to civil authority," Carol said. At Amy's blank look, the woman flushed. "That's what they say about him, outside the city. There are a lot of people who are mad at him. They think his daughter's contact with the Fairy Queen is somehow his fault."
"People are stupid."
"Yes, they are."
The clock ticked in the background, soft like the sound of turning pages. Memories of the past flipping through Amy's head.
"You rejected Marquis," Carol started. "You chose us over a man who loved you unconditionally."
"I did."
"Why?"
Hmm. The heart of the matter. Amy could have told her it was loyalty. She could have said it was fear of the unknown. In truth though…
"You already know the answer to that."
Carol Dallon smiled, truly smiled, for the first time in years.
"That I do, Amy, that I do."








Lisa blinked. "What do you mean, exactly?"
Danny Hebert, still clad in his 'not-a-costume' cape suit, shrugged. "Exactly that. Taylor said they were going to a small town in Alaska."
Why the fuck would a fairy want to go Alaska?!

Spoiler: A.N.

Yay! There goes Amy, one of three Brockton Bay POVs for the sixth arc.
I may do some tinkering later, posting this quickly on my break so hopefully if I missed something obvious you won't hold it against me.

Cheers.

 

[Drucchi]

Ok PanPan officially did good, she diserves that vacation after this. But don't think you are forgiven for ending it there I want to see the meltdown.

 

[Shaseyu]

"You care about Carol's approval a lot. Want to know why? Because not only has she denied you any kind of positive reinforcement over the course of your life, she's the second biggest roadblock between your feelings for Victoria and reality.

Click to shrink...

Lisa is being a bitch.

"Get the fuck out of here, you stupid slut!"

Click to shrink...

Amy is being a bitch.

"Get the hell away from my daughter," Carol Dallon said.

Click to shrink...

"I…I'm sorry."

Click to shrink...

Carol is... not being a bitch?

It says something about Amy's life, when the Simurgh attack and kidnapping by Nazi made it better.

Emulation is the sincerest form of flattery.
Amy blinked. That wasn't her voice…was that-
Amy never considered herself a hero…but she had grown up with many.
She sobbed, gritting her teeth and forcing her breaths in line.
The choice was clear.
It was. All she had to do was "Spam the blue option."

Click to shrink...

Script is back in action!

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Fraulien."
...
"This will only hurt for a moment. You will be stronger for it, and I am certain that you are worthy."

Click to shrink...

So... is that Ragnarok's power?
People not die when they are killed? Some kind of hive-mind absorbing those who is deemed 'worthy'? Parasites that let him control others?

 

[Eskjc]

This is probably one of the best amy story lines I have read.

 

[Victorian_Irish]

So... is that Ragnarok's power?
People not die when they are killed? Some kind of hive-mind absorbing those who is deemed 'worthy'? Parasites that let him control others?

Click to shrink...

More the latter than the former. He does have a hive mind of a sort...I really need to give him a backstory chapter one of these days.

 

[Victorian_Irish]

August 3rd, 2011

Route 5, Alaska



Ciara stared out the front window of the vehicle, barely paying any attention to the driver or ever her own followers as she gazed into the alpine copses of the land called Alaska. Their truck trundled along a simple highway, moving from Anchorage to Dawson City in Canada. The driver gave another strangled cough, too tired to suppress his body's natural reactions and yet too scared to disrupt her apparent pensive mood.

The queen-that-is frowned as she looked at the environment. It was her time, was it not? Why then was the land so barren of greenery? There were trees, thick and hardy things that flourished with sharp needles for leaves, but they were of Winter and not fit for her care. There were wolves, noble creatures admittedly, and yet they too were of Winter, too brutal for her care. This was a land of Winter, even when her own domain was at its strongest. The greens of Alaska were not hers.

How could she not feel some concern?

Ciara knew she was safe. The Queen-to-be was not yet here, and so Summer continued with her wisdom to guide it. Her own court surrounded her, an advisor, her sworn shield, and a warlord.

Poor Steven was of little use or merit, but to be fair he was only human. He was a decent enough driver.

"I used to be classy," Marquis griped quietly. He thought his complaints and misgivings, whispered into the ear of the Chief Navigator, were safe from preying ears. How quaint. "I had an empire, a better one then our city suffered for sure. Have you ever seen a Lincoln? Beautiful cars…you could just smell the luxury. It's so much sweeter when you've worked for it yourself, you know."

The Navigator nodded, allowing the man to continue even as she worked, scribbling some soul's journey half a world away. Ciara smiled, the girl was learning well. She would serve well as a courtier, despite the Wild in her. Maybe she would never fully become the Queen's creature, but her advice was never suspect for its accuracy and skill.

"I was going to give one to Amelia, for her sweet sixteen. She'd work for it, of course, and if she had powers then that would be part of her induction, but if not, perhaps an arrangement could be made. A part-time job in an office, that sort of thing," Marquis continued. "Oh, they drove so smoothly…did you have a favourite, when you had your organization?"

"I mostly stayed in the office," The Navigator said. The young woman rested her pen in a hollow on one side of her writing slate, pausing her work to bind her hair, gathering it at the nape of her neck and sweeping it out of the way.

"You must have had your preference," Marquis pushed.

"Lisa…my second in command, I guess, she had a little silver car…that was nice enough, smoother than Dad's truck for sure."

"Volvo," Janus said in his quiet voice.

"Right, it was a Volvo." The Chief Navigator was either blind to Marquis' lack of comfort around the lobotomized man, or she simply didn't care. It didn't matter which, really, Ciara approved. Let not the lesser draw you away with trivialities.

"Well I can tell you from experience that a Lincoln beats a Volvo hands down," Marquis said. The man sighed, almost shrinking into his seat. "How things have changed…If you'd told me a decade ago that I'd be riding in an eighteen-wheeler with a slob, a child, a vegetable, and Glaistig Uaine whilst listening to country and western I would have laughed you out of town."

The Navigator gave a small grin, a tiny thing that grew on one side of her mouth and was gone before you could take another breath. "Life is never simple," she said. "Things don't work out the way we think they will."

"True," Marquis said. "I'll thank you thinkers for your part in that if you don't mind."

The Navigator chuckled, plucking her pen from its home once more and continuing her work.

"I don't suppose you have anything a bit more…palatable to listen to, Mr Perkes? Something less provincial?"

"I think I have some classic rock somewhere," the driver sputtered. His words were laced with fear, each strand of his beard shaking with the quivers that he himself repressed. "Sorry."

"The Country is fine Steven," Ciara said, silencing Marquis' huff of disappointment. "First Shaper, you would do well to listen carefully. These lyrics are filled with tragedy like that which you experienced. Perhaps there is a wisdom there which you may find useful."

"Maybe," the man said. "But it's just music…not my style, either."

Ciara raised a brow, holding it upwards and arched just long enough to make the man uncomfortable before turning back to the window. "Turn it up, Steven."

The driver fumbled at his air conditioner before finding the volume dial. Tom, a man of many stomps indeed, continued to croon out to the cabin. Ciara let her mind wander, content to ponder in her travels. The Navigator herself lost herself in her work once again, and Ciara found herself watching the minute expressions of her face, gauging how things were going. A triumphant smile burst onto her lips, all but warming the air, and Ciara couldn't help but return it.

Happy servants make for the best servants, she reminded herself.






Steven finally pulled to a stop on the side of the Taylor highway, a few miles from the parahumans' final destination, and put his truck in park. "This is it," he said. "Chicken, Alaska. The population is something around six or seven full-time residents…not really sure what you want here, but that's none of my business anyway."

The man slowed as he spoke, his nerves undermining his sense of ownership of the truck, and gave a small cough. His eyes flicked between Ciara and Marquis questioningly. He was, of course, looking for payment. He was too afraid to ask for it directly, but they had promised him a tidy sum for the trouble. Ciara had every intention of honouring their bargain, it wouldn't do for the Queen-that-is to be known as an oath breaker…though it would be a good test of her advisor.

"Thank you, Steven," Ciara said, sliding out of the passenger seat. Janus pushed the now vacant seat forward, allowing the others to disembark, and Ciara waited patiently for them to do so, staring Steven in the eyes. Once Marquis pulled himself out of the cabin and stretched his legs with a groan, Ciara turned to stride away.

One.

Two.

Three.

"Wait!"

Ciara turned, arching her brow as she glared at The Navigator. "Have you an issue, Navigator?"

The girl frowned, looking between Ciara herself and the truck's cabin. "We promised to pay him."

"We did," Ciara confirmed.

"Are you just going to walk away?"

"Yes." Though she would do so once the man was justly compensated. She kept that to herself, though. The test would only work if her advisor remained unaware.

"That's wrong."

"How so?"

"He…Followed your commands. Obeyed without question. He did everything you asked of him. If you leave him now then your just a- "

"I would be careful of what you say next, child," Ciara said. "Chief Navigator or not, I do not suffer insults."

The girl rocked in place as if slapped, fear writ plain on her face. Ciara waited. If that was all it took to distract her advisor…to turn her into a snivelling simpleton, then she was useless.

"You can't be a ruler if you rob your people," the girl said.

Ciara almost smiled, but she kept it hidden. "What would you have me do?"

"Pay him fairly for each mile driven. Pay him thrice for insults given. Pay him well for his service proven."

Eloquent. Pretty. Delightful. Ciara's advisor was making great steps, now if only she could speak so clearly every time.

Ciara turned to the open door once again. "Does that satisfy your needs, Steven?"

"Ah…yeah. Yes. That's more than enough."

"Lighten the purse, Janus."

The sombre man nodded, approaching the door and beginning to count out money accordingly. Five hundred for the trip. Three times that because of Marquis' mouth. Finally, a tidy sum extra for good faith.

This detour had netted Steven, husband to Catya, father to Thomas, David, and Melinda, Driver to the Northern freight company, and oath keeper, nearly three thousand dollars. Tax-free…or near as it could be.

"Thank you, Ma'am…uh, Queen."

"Your Grace is the proper term," The Navigator gently corrected him.

"Thank you, your Grace."

The truck trundled off, leaving four costumed people on the side of the road. The few visitors that remained outside were gawking, camera phones whipped out.

"What did that show accomplish?" Marquis asked Ciara as they walked to the town's watering hole.

"I needed to know if my advisor will stand up to my decisions when they are flawed," Ciara said. "She will, and I am pleased by that fact."

Marquis frowned. "There isn't much point, though. You might just go ahead and do exactly the opposite of what she says. How do you know she won't spite you for it?"

"Faith," Ciara said. As well as a plethora of thinker powers, several of which allowed her a deeper understanding of social cues. If her advisor were to grow rebellious, she would know soon enough.

There was Winter in the girl, despite her origins, and if she fell too deep into it Ciara would have to save the fae she carried, regardless of the price.






The town's restaurant grew quiet as the party stepped inside. Ciara and her advisor Eschewed masks, but the other two did not. It made sense that the common folk would be scared of a man with bones covering his head. The two-faced man that graced Janus' silver mask was no less unsettling.

"T-Table for four?" The waitress asked.

"Yes," The Navigator said as Ciara strode straight to the nearest booth. "A pitcher of water and coffee all around as well."

The waitress, Nancy by the name embroidered on her shirt, scuttled away. All too happy to lose herself in the normal actions of pleasing customers.

The other patrons tried their hardest to make it seem as though they did not stare, though in most cases they failed spectacularly. For many, it was likely the first time they'd seen a cape in person. And of those who knew better, there were some precious few that recognized Ciara herself, growing pale in realization.

"It is time to share our goal here," Ciara said once they were all seated. "Navigator, if you please."

The girl set down her writing pad, the slate clanking onto the table, and folded her hands in her lap. "There's a…man of importance here. A guide."

"I thought you were the guide," Marquis said.

"I am a chronicler," The Navigator said. "I am an advisor. But ultimately, I can only work from what the charact…the one's I have written about can see. I don't have all the answers. Just vague ones."

"The Navigator assures me that our quarry resides here, in this township. She cannot lead us to our goal…but he can."

"And who is this mysterious savant?"

"He is the Pathfinder. The Prospecting Fool. The seeker of all and finder of only the start. He is a herald of the end and a lord of the harvest. He is of Winter and Summer combined," Ciara said. The chorus that was her voice all but caressed the words as she paid particular attention to the titles rendered.

Marquis blinked, turning to the Navigator.

"Yosemite Yusef," the girl said with a shrug.

"The case fifty-three? The big red fur ball with that ridiculous getup? I though he was dead…or poking Mt Baker looking for a 'meat garden' or some nonsense like that."

"He merely did as his fae directed," Ciara said. "He is much closer to it than you are to yours."

"And much less sane."

"The point," The Navigator interrupted. "is that Yusef is here. Cia- her Grace calls him the Prospector for a reason. He has been searching for something all his life…with us helping him, he will find it."

"You can't be serious. We came all the way to Alaska to get a madman and join his quest for an Alien meat garden?!"

"I wouldn't put it quite that way…but yes."

"Jesus Christ…"

Ciara frowned. The fae Marquis carried was noble, and she accorded him some measure of leeway as a result, but he was getting dangerously close to the limit.

Once again, the Navigator intervened. "It's less about what he calls it and more about what it…and he…represents. You know the basics of my power, right?"

"You write events and influence people through them."

"Essentially. That is what I spend most of my time doing…but there's more to it than that. I have precognition of a sort. Are you familiar with foreshadowing?"

"Merciful God, you can't really believe you're writing the story of life, can you? Surely you aren't that delusional."

Ciara frowned, summoning one of her legion to her side. The cape known formerly as Grey Boy, the fae known to her as Kronos, set his hand on Marquis' shoulder. A warning he couldn't ignore. She remained silent, though. She had responded to the insult to her name. The Navigator's own defence would be up to her.

"I don't write life," the girl said. "I write heroes and villains. I write disasters and miracles. I write a chain of events that will eventually end. A story. One of many that exist. One that…may be the last should we fail."

"What do you mean?" Marquis asked.

"Tell me…how much do you know about powers?" The Navigator asked.

"They came when Scion appeared…we get them after moments of extreme stress or danger…they break the laws of physics as we know them…why?"

The Navigator looked at Ciara, gauging her reaction.

"They are deliberate."

"I beg pardon?"

"You didn't just get powers, Marquis. You got your powers. Tailored to your life, your thoughts, your trigger. Everything was planned from the beginning."

The man paused, glancing at their gawkers to see if anyone had heard them.

"I have provided privacy," Ciara chimed in, her eyes boring into the Navigator's own. "Continue."

"There is so much more going on than we know," the girl said, fixing Marquis in a passable imitation of Ciara's own piercing gaze. "What do we really know about Scion? Powers? There is something we all forget. Something we all experienced and missed. There are patterns in the world that shouldn't be there."

"You think someone is giving out powers? To do what exactly?"

"The Triumvirate shouldn't exist. The Guild…the King's Men, the Elite, the Meisters, the Elitnaya Armita, the Protectorate…they're too big.

"When capes get together, they start getting antsy. Small groups or medium sized groups of less powerful capes can work together, but you know what happens when two powerful capes meet? Territorial conflicts. Until the Protectorate formed, Alexandria, Legend, and Eidolon hardly ever worked together.

"The Elite, they were looking for a way to sell their work. That was all they had in common. Once the Government shut them down, they should have fractured…instead they created chapters across America.

"The sanctioned hero groups have so little in common it's amazing they stick together."

Marquis frowned, resting his head on his palm, and looked at the two of them. "You're saying there's a conspiracy of some kind?"

"There are greater forces at play, First Shaper," Ciara said.

"And yes," The Navigator said, her eyes seeking Marquis' own. "I know that the Elite has backing from a powerful organization, so I wouldn't be surprised if they had more plates spinning."

"So why are we here?" The man was torn between the topics, but seeing as how Ciara held his life in her hands…well, the choice was patently obvious.

Ciara smiled, a soft expression on her lips. "This cycle has progressed for far too long. He will not stay docile forever, and neither can I.

"I am The Fairy Queen. The Keeper of the Dead. The Queen-that-is. The Harvester. The Lady Reaper," Ciara said. She glanced at her companions. The First Shaper, a puppet wrapped in bones that shone with the light of black law, broken long ago with his heart's guiding star buried below. The Chief Navigator, of Summer but tainted by the Wild's seed. Free of the cycle. Beyond the girl lay three fates that whispered in her ear. One of black, showing her the world to be, the paths she must stride, and who must survive. One of gold, showing her the world that is, the decisions to make, and the champions she must break. And the newest, of porcelain grey, that showed her the world that was; The vipers in mortal hearts, of what words they hissed, and the secrets she had missed.

Of Janus, the Twined Seer, there was nearly nothing in the puppet. Only duty and contentment, for he could feel nothing of want or need. His fae, however, was restless, deprived of a direct method of growth, and strained to lash out at the maker of its fate. A sword forged by a girl, yet made without a hilt. The blade cut both ways, and it hungered for its master's life.

"I will find the second court and save it from itself. I am the Summer that will tame Winter once and for all and pave the way for the Queen-to-be."

Silence.

The Chief Navigator blinked, the flickering fates whispering louder, all but drowning the girl in promises of what was to come, what had passed, and what was in the now. The First Shaper frowned, the bones he wore as a mantle clanging ponderously about his shoulders as if unhappy with his place. The Twinned Seer sat still in silent acceptance.

"And Yusef can lead you there?"

"He will do so, yes."

If he declined her offer, the warrior she would craft from his spirit would do so in his place.

Ciara dropped the veil her warrior had erected around them and signalled the woman named Nancy. "We shall each have the house special," she spoke, a dozen score of voices echoing her. "Serve them on spring-hewn wood, prepared without aid of iron. Cutlery is unnecessary for this fare, but should you give us any it too will be without a scrap of iron."

She watched as Nancy scribbled it down, her messy shorthand noting each demand Ciara had made.

"And hold the pickles on mine," the Fairy Queen said. "I despise pickles."

Nancy gulped, underlining that one twice.









After their meal, the four capes wandered into the wilderness. The campgrounds were full, and Marquis' idea of evicting a vacationing couple from Florida was quickly vetoed by Ciara's advisor.

They set down in a clearing along the Chicken river. Two warriors set camp with ease, one shaping the earth whilst the second transmuted it into stone. The building they crafted was stout, and with all luck would outlast the town itself. Ciara had a room to herself, while the rest shared quarters next to her. Janus took to the task of chopping firewood with no complaint and surprising ease once Marquis lent him an axe made of impossibly sharp bone. Their meal already taken care of, the foursome sat by the fire and rested for some time. Each kept their own council, though the Navigator was miles away like usual.

From what she could see written, The Navigator was guiding a young man in a desert of his own creation. Sadiki lived a life of solitude, fated to do so ever more, but had stopped to listen to the kind, unknowable words of a stranger. At the same time, a woman named Waseme was darting across the village she called her own like a sparrow-hawk, herding her people out of harm's way and keeping one eye on the black dust covering the horizon.

Ash Beast. Her advisor was ingratiating herself to the man whilst buying time for one of the regions numerous rulers to flee his path with all that her people could carry.

How interesting.

It was not the first time the Navigator had contacted someone so powerful, one had only to look at Ciara herself to see the prime example, but this was someone easily influenced. Someone others could not speak to. Ciara, with the aid of Avalon, could perhaps get close enough but even then, her time would be limited, to say nothing of the language barrier.

What her end goal was didn't matter to Ciara, it would serve her own in the end.

The Queen-to-be was not yet ready, too busy being concerned with their homeland and the aftermath of all that had happened to them.

Ciara had plenty of time to prepare the world for their ascendancy. And plenty more to decide her own role.

Was it better to become the Queen-that-was, letting the Queen-to-be continue their path uncontested? To let the Father sort things out and stay an observer, playing the role of Harvester as the cycle came to an end? Or should she side with the lord of all fae, defy the Queen-to-be, and fight against fate. Could that even happen? Was even her own immortal self ingrained in time, her place and role set? What did the Wildfae see? What did the black fate of the future whisper in her courtier's ear?

Such were the thoughts of the Fairy Queen, and they kept her up all night, though no one would ever know that.







If she were of a lesser breed, or less changed by the presence of her lineage, Ciara might have yawned. Her companions were not as lucky.

The Chief Navigator, who had become increasingly insistent on receiving a new title over the last week, yawned because she was tired.

Marquis did so out of boredom.

For Janus, it was reflex and muscle memory. A result of seeing the others yawning.

Their group continued to search for their quarry, for a bigger fellow he was surprisingly hard to find. His camps were devoid of food residue or waste, only a slight indentation in the patchy grass told the hunters that someone had been there. They had found a few tufts of his bright red hair along the trails, snagged by branches and bushes as he travelled.

His work sites were entirely different. Those were easily notable. Ten-foot-wide pits that could swallow a dozen men dotted each site, perfectly round even though they bore the signs of tool use. Yosemite Yusef had located seams of metals, pockets of quartz, and coal deposits, but he merely flagged them and moved on. Disinterested in anything but his true goal.

The search for his Origin continued unfaltering.

But as fast as he was, he had to stop to work. Ciara and her party had only a single duty, to follow his trail. It was inevitable that they would finally catch up to him.

Yosemite Yusef was…interesting to look at.

He stood a half-head past six feet, and as wide as The Navigator was tall. At least half the width appeared to be his arms, though it was difficult to tell considering his entire body was made of corded red fur. Looking like a hairy red bush didn't stop him from digging, and The Pathfinder held two massive trowels in his hands, endlessly scooping up the earth as he spun in place. A floppy ten-gallon hat covered the upper quarter of his body, with dark eyes peering out from little cut-out holes.

He saw them approach, rubbed one dirty arm over his 'mask' as if unbelieving, and then screamed like a pre-pubescent. His previously measured digging grew frantic as the case fifty-three tried to burrow away from the capes in front of him.

Rather impolite of him, really.

Ciara summoned one of the warriors that had built the camp, and the apparition settled his hands on the earth, shaping it like a potter would clay. Yusef found himself digging into open air, and gave a yelp of surprise before falling to the ground.

"Yes," Marquis drawled. "How very competent. Your judgement is obviously sound."

Ciara ignored him, strolling over to where the large cape tried to flatten himself to the ground. "Be not afraid, child. I shan't hurt you, thrice I so swear."

It took some time, but after Yusef stopped hyperventilating he produced a canteen of 'mouthwash' and poured them all a measure into various tin containers. The Chief Navigator set hers to the side, offering thanks for the hospitality but unwilling to drink the…was that everclear?

Well…Avalon should take care of it, right?





"So, you want to find the garden too?" Yusef asked. The man had begun bouncing where he sat as The Chief Navigator explained their purpose. His voice was thick with a foreign accent, likely why those who found him had saddled the case fifty-three with the latter part of his name.

"We do," the Navigator affirmed.

"I knew it was real! No one believed me but I knew it, yes I did!" Yusef rubbed his hands together, strands of red fur like carpet scraping with a soft rasp.

"I'd heard you once looked for the garden under Mt Baker," the Navigator continued. "Is that where it is?"

"No! no, it's not there. Was once, not anymore. It was… this way yesterday," he said, pointing in a northern direction. "And later moved…there, there, there. Today It was that way, then over this way, finally back the way you came from." Each 'there' was punctuated by the man stabbing two thick fingers in a myriad of directions.

"Oh yes…very clear on the path, this one," Marquis quipped.

"The Garden is special, First Shaper," Ciara said. "it is not a place you can simply point to on a map, else we would not need the Pathfinder."

"Why were you digging, if it keeps moving around?" The Navigator asked.

"Dig to see, dig to live, to eat," Yusef said, a wide grin of molars emerging from his shaggy coat. "I've been reading, yessiree, about triangulation. I figure if I reference every place I've felt the garden, I can find the place it is."

"That's…an interesting theory."

"Where do you feel it now?" Marquis asked.

"Don't at the moment…it comes and goes, swinging back and forth," Yusef said. "Momentary."

The Chief Navigator frowned. "Momentary?"

"Momentary," Yusef said the word slowly, emphasizing each syllable. It was like he was sharing some ancient wisdom in a single word.

"You remember all the times it's appeared?"

"Each and every one!"

The Navigator frowned deeper, gears turning in her head as the fate of porcelain grey whispered at her ear. "How about… July ninth?"

"Mm, that way…far, but still on the continent. Then, over there. Closer as the pendulum swings."

The lips of Ciara's advisor pulled shut with a certain finality.

"What is it, Navigator?" Ciara asked. "What do you know?"

"It's Cauldron," The girl muttered. "Cauldron has the Garden."

How interesting…





One explanation later, and the group was no more decided than when they began.

"Wait one moment, girl," Marquis said. "You're talking about a clandestine group with ties to major organizations here…if they have the capabilities that you claim they do, they aren't going to roll over and let us at the…ahem, the goal."

The Navigator nodded with a solemn air. "I know. I don't think we have any other options though…except giving up."

Ciara simply raised an eyebrow.

"Since that isn't happening," the girl continued. "We need a way to get inside their base."

"I'm sorry," Marquis said. "I must have left my Membership card at home. How exactly do you propose we contact a group we know nothing about?!"

"Actually," Janus said. "I have their number."

The group fell silent. The Chief Navigator slapped her hand to her face, groaning.

"Janus…what have I said about information like that?"

"Share it."

"Why am I just learning about this?"

The man cocked his head. "I assumed you already knew. They did our payroll."

Blink. "They did our what?"

"They handled our money. Actually, the account you've been drawing from to cover our travel expenses is maintained by their head of accounting."

"Why would a parahuman conspiracy group have an accountant?"

"He's good with numbers. That's why they call him the Number Man."

"I guess rogues will work anywhere, huh?"

"Oh no," Janus said. "He's most certainly a villain. Quite the body count."

"Great."

"So, what's the plan then?"

"I assume they used their portal maker to do their deliveries. No matter what obscure location Coil had as his dead drop, The Number Man would deliver without fail."

"So, you want us to call him up and ask for a withdrawal?" Marquis asked.

"Yes."

"Anything else we should know, Janus?"

"If the errand girl is the same woman as the time Coil tried to ambush them, we will likely all die."

The Navigator sighed, looking at Ciara's expression before sulking. "Yay team."

"Let my advisor make the call, Twined Seer," Ciara said. "If she can out plan a Conflict Engine, and the third at that, she will be up to this task as well."

Sadly, the advisor didn't seem to grasp Ciara's meaning. She didn't look reassured at all.

"I'll make the call."









Taylor waited behind the outhouse.

Not the most pleasant place in the world, as anyone would admit, but they actually weren't that bad. The town might not have public toilets, but damn if they didn't try.

She briefly wondered what Lisa would say about this, a clandestine deal with monumental stakes taking place behind a place called the 'Chicken Poop'.

Actually…she wondered what Lisa was up to at the moment, and just how much her former friend likely hated her.

…

Damn, was depressing all she was good at?

Taylor sighed, focusing once more. The plan was relatively simple. Cauldron would likely have some method of scouting the area around a portal, so Ciara and the others were far away, ready to enter the scene after Taylor gave the signal.

Seeing as how the signal was her taking out Cauldron's messenger, said messenger was hopefully not the organization's fixer. That'd be…problematic.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a faint shimmer, an effect that preceded the forming portal by barely a second. Staring into the portal, Taylor was rewarded with the sight on pristine white halls. A single man, young by his looks, was bent over a set of duffel bags, counting and checking with the clipboard held loose in one hand. He wore a white uniform, like a bellhop's…if said bellhop planned on fighting off an army. Slim armour panels covered him, moulded to his limbs, and the hat he wore was, in reality, a mask he could pull down. His inhumanity was highlighted in the features of his face. Taylor could see wires like the strings of a guitar behind the thin shell of his skin. They vibrated slightly as he moved, producing a slight tune…though not a very good one.

He was also ten feet tall.

Fuck.

The man turned at her gasp and frowned. "You aren't supposed to be here."

"I, uh…really needed my money?"

"…don't believe you."

"Well, I was never great at lying," Taylor said.

"You've seen the inside…I apologize," the man said, rising to his feet and pulling down his mask. "I'll proceed to kill you now."

Neat. Was he always so descriptive?

Taylor planted her feet as the man stepped out of the portal. He squeezed out, the shape of the doorway shifting to accommodate his size, and settled into a balanced crouch with his hands held in front of him. The tune that flowed from him was deeper now, a sound that echoed in Taylor's mind. It was the sound of something powerful approaching…somewhere in the back of her thoughts, she realized this was just a form of mastery. A passive shaker power that unnerved his opponents and set them up for failure.

"I will be as painless as possible."

"Same," Taylor said, fighting past the feeling in the primitive parts of her brain. She sprang back, letting the slim form of Ciara rocket past her and plant a dainty foot into the giant's sternum. "Can't say the same for her, though."

Bone shattered. The man howled in pain, falling back with Ciara embedded in his chest, and lay screaming in the threshold of the portal. The tune rose to a cacophony, the likes of which one might hear when feeding a piano to a wood chipper. Thankfully, the giant fell silent soon after, passed out from the pain.

Ciara picked herself up, one of her stolen powers springing up to clean her of the viscera. The woman herself simply walked into the portal. Janus, Marquis, and Yosemite Yusef jogged up, rushing past Taylor and into the hall. Taylor shook her head and followed them.

Yusef laughed in joy, the large eyes under his hat perking up as he bounded back and forth in excitement. "It's here, it's here, it's here! This way!" The mass of red that was the case fifty-three all but skipped through the halls, leading the party through a labyrinth of passages until they reached a room with a singular occupant.

The short man gave a start, muttering something in…French? Before presumably calling for help. Taylor didn't give him much thought, and she was sure the others didn't either. From the portal on the other side of the room, a rather plain looking man in a suit walked out. He sighed, slipping his pen into a pocket protector on his shirt, and adjusted his glasses. "Interruptions are generally considered rude, you know," he said. Taylor put him at maybe the same age as her dad. He was deceptively youthful, his hair still full and lacking the grey of age. He stepped fully into the room, letting the portal close behind him, and slipped a small vial into the same protector as his pen. Then he folded his hands in front of him.

"Care to get that door open again?" Marquis asked, bones already moulding themselves around his body. "Our Queen would really like to see what's in there."

"I'm sure she would. Just a moment." The man plucked his glasses off and pulled a handkerchief from one pocket. After holding the spectacles up to the light, he hummed in contentment and put them back on. "Door: Grand Canyon, Earth Gimmel."

It took only a second for the portal to form, stretched across the floor. Taylor yelped as she fell, gravity pulling her down and then backwards as she landed on the sunbaked stone of the Grand Canyon. She'd never been…though she'd wanted to once. Emma had brought over a book of the world's greatest wonders and loudly proclaimed they would visit them all.

Heh. One-up'd you again, Emma.

The man was one of two people who had landed cleanly, the other of course being Ciara. The small woman glanced at the sun, then back to the man as the portal closed beside them. "I dislike treachery, Formulaic Monk," she said.

"And I dislike having to fight," he replied. "Yet here we are."

A smaller portal formed for barely a second, a woman in a suit stepping out. She wore a fedora on her head and a wrapped bundle in one hand. She tossed the bundle to the man before standing at his side.

"Took you long enough," The man said.

She shrugged.

"Ten seconds," the man said. "Go."

The woman shot forward like a cannonball, her feet impossibly sure-footed on the ground. Behind her, the man worked quickly. He pulled a pistol out of the bundle, then a clip, and then loaded the clip with sharp, methodical motions.

Ciara summoned her ghosts, becoming as quick as the air itself, and yet a sombre look graced her face…why did she look so defeated?

Yusef roared, charging the woman with his trowels.

Taylor had a very bad feeling about this… "Janus!"

Time split in half.

In one timeline, Yusef lunged. The woman span under his reach, leveraging herself against the ground, and sent the Case Fifty-three crashing into Marquis where he stood. Ciara's second ghost fired a beam from its hand that the woman ducked. In its wake, the ground was simply gone. Replaced by a small stream of molten rock. In only a moment the woman was within Ciara's guard, raining small punches down into her gut.

The Fairy Queen huffed, her eyes darkened in pain, and went on the defensive, hopping back and using her arms to intercept the woman's attacks.

Ciara got a shove in, pushing the woman off-balance, but she recovered quickly, flicking a fist-sized stone with her toes to make an opening she could exploit, then the air around her froze without a chill.

Ten.

The man loaded his gun, firing at exact intervals… his first shot, glowing red, halted in mid-air as it ran headlong into a Grey Boy loop. His second, fired immediately after the first, crashed into the frozen bullet and careening off at an angle. The bullet sank deep into Taylor's gut, and all at once her breath was gone.

Ciara yelled something, her eyes staring at Taylor even as she felt herself fall to the ground. Janus tuned, long enough for the unassuming man, the Number Man, to send a round straight through his skull.

In the other, the woman stepped back, letting Yusef charge past her. She weaved around his clumsy strikes, leaned aside as Marquis stabbed from behind, and kicked out at exposed joints on the both of them. Ciara hung back, hesitant to use anything potent for fear of harming her men, and the Number Man calmly loaded his gun.

Ten.

The woman kicked off of Yusef's head, cartwheeling over Marquis, and came to a stop next to the Number Man.

Time merged again.

Taylor hissed at the phantom pain of the gut wound, her mind screaming at her to dig out the non-existent slug of metal.

"Now then," the Number Man said as he aimed his loaded gun at them. "I have a proposal. We leave you here, unharmed. This is Earth Gimmel, there are no people here for you to run afoul of. Make it your kingdom, destroy it in rage, do whatever you like.

"You won't be bothering us again."

Ciara glanced at the woman in the hat and frowned. "Navigator?"

Taylor stepped forward.

"That woman. I cannot stop her."

The Number Man chuckled. "Of course, you can't. It's not part of the Path."

"But you can," the Fairy Queen continued. "Remember, girl, that there are only two courts. You are of neither."

Janus glanced at Taylor, a sense of worry coming from behind his silver mask.

Yusef looked angry. His goal was so close, with only these two between him and completion.

The Marquis was silent. Whatever was running through the man's head, he had evaluated their opponents and found them worthy. Worthy and dangerous.

Taylor swallowed, her saliva thick in her throat. What she'd seen…the two capes in front of them had decimated her. How could she possibly do anything against that?

Be tricky.

She could only write the truth. She couldn't write herself.

"What do you mean, two courts?" she asked.





Ciara blinked.

It was odd, perhaps, but she'd thought the Chief Navigator was kindred. That the young girl was one of the very few that could see beyond the mortal plane as she could.

She'd thought that her advisor already knew.

"You- "Ciara had to cut herself off as She-Who-Walks-Blind darted forward again. The Queen frowned. She could not allow her adversary to get in close as she had before…and yet how could she stop it?

She-Who-Walks-Blind pulled a slim knife from her waistline and flipped it forward in a single motion.

Ciara summoned Kronos in an instant, the warrior's blank expression almost contemptuous as he halted the knife in mid-air.

Wrong move.

She-Who-Walks-Blind sprang up, kicking off of the dagger's hilt to somersault over the bubble. She pulled an exact copy of the blade out, throwing it at Ciara. Another quick bubble of time halted that one, but the pattern repeated.

Ciara paled. It was the wrong move. With Avalon and Kronos, the Queen was the immovable object. She-Who-Walks-Blind was an unstoppable force. It was the answer to this age-old question, with one difference.

The Unstoppable force could think.

Ciara glanced at the bubbles of time, feeling through Kronos where they started and stopped. She stared out one gap, into the barrel of the one they called Number Man. His relaxed posture was misleading. If he so chose, physics itself would turn against her. From another gap, she spotted She-Who-Walks-Blind balancing carefully on twin hilts. The daggers, held by Ciara's own defence, allowed the woman an easy route to multiple openings, from which she could attack.

It's always the wrong move when the other side cheats.

Ciara smiled a rueful grin.

It's why she went out of her way to get a cheater of her own.

"Taylor," she said. "Your powers were infected twice."

She heard the shot ring out, saw the daggers reach for her, and nodded.

Kronos spread his arms, and Ciara felt the tickle of his power wash over her.

'You've got this' she whispered, turning to look She-Who-Walks-Blind in the eye. She wanted the woman to know it was her own fault that she would lose.

'You've got this' she whispered, turning…no, this had happened before.

'You've got this' she whispered…

She had hundreds of years more to live.

'You've got this' she whispered. She could wait.







"Your powers were infected twice."

What?

Taylor stared as the woman in the hat leapt off of her perch, throwing more knifes into the fortress Ciara had trapped herself in. The young-looking woman said something, her lips twitching softly, and turned to look at her attacker before repeating herself.

She Grey Boy'd herself. Could she even get out afterwards?

Twice?

Taylor fell to her knees as the Number Man turned his gun on her. Yusef howled as he began to sprint forward, raising his trowels. The answering boom of The Number Man's gun paled in comparison to the shriek the Case 53 let out as the fibres that made up his body began to catch on fire. He fled as quickly as he could, leaping down the canyon's face to reach the water at the bottom.

It was all too loud, and yet Taylor could only blink dumbly as the sounds reached her brain as quick as molasses.

'Foolish, my dear'










The room was as white as she remembered. The Endbringer, wearing her mother's face, sat calmly with a cup of tea in her hand. The table, white as the room but somehow distinct, was more barren this time, with only a teapot on it. The chess game they'd played…she'd lost, at the end.

"How are you here?" Taylor asked.

'I was here the moment you contacted me, my dear,' The Simurgh 'said' as it took a sip. 'I piloted the construct remotely for the remainder of the battle.'

"Why?"

'Humans are fascinating creatures, don't you agree? To live, you require certain amenities. Put simply, you need shelter, food, and water.'

"What does that have to do with anything?"

'Once that is achieved, a human struggles to find meaning in life,' The Simurgh giggled at this. 'You begin to desire things that are unnecessary.'

"Again," Taylor growled. "What is your point?"

'Destiny. The concept,' The creature said. 'According to Mirriam-Webster it is- '

"-one: something to which a person or thing is destined. Two: a predetermined course of events often held to be an irresistible power or agency…I know."

The Simurgh sighed, reaching over to the wall and stroking it. Like the sun rising, part of the wall grew first fuzzy, then opaque. Taylor could see beyond it…not the Earth Gimmel that she was on now, but the Earth Bet that was her home…the park on Captain's Hill. A woman, she'd looked so much like her mother that Taylor couldn't help to draw near. It wasn't her mom, of course, and her mother was gone now, but young Taylor didn't know what tragedy she'd experience.

"What'cha doing?" her younger self asked. The woman grinned, as if she held some secret to share, and held out her notebook.

"I'm writing a story," she said. "Do you like stories?"

'Keep watching,' The Simurgh said. 'Listen.'

The two conversed, the woman sidestepping young Taylor's thoughts of strangers by appealing to her fantasies. Of her love of capes.

"I'm Fortuna," the woman said. "There, we aren't strangers anymore, are we?"

"Well…I guess not," Young Taylor said. "So, what's your story about?"

"A young hero. One who walks a lonely Path as she tries to save her village."

'Do you see?'

Her inflection…the emphasis…

"Path."

'Destiny,' The Simurgh confirmed. 'It's ephemeral. Unknowable. So what would you do if you could see it all?'

Taylor thought of her mother, of her last words to Lisa, of Francis and his love and madness. "I'd try to change it."

The Simurgh waited, expecting something.

"That doesn't explain why you're here. What do you want from me?"

'I wanted what the humans of old wanted when they no longer worried about their immediate life,' the Simurgh said. 'I wanted freedom. I took it.'

"You jumped into my head…you made me into a- "

'Time bomb? No. I can see futures, plant agents, plant triggers to set people off…what we shared was different. It wasn't my power, it was yours.'

"My power selects people that fill roles," Taylor said, her hands shaking. "Colin as the Hero, Jacob as the Villain…you…what are you to me?"

'Isn't it obvious, my dear? Your story had a place for everyone and everything...save one'

Taylor choked out a sob.

The Simurgh, wearing her face, stared back at her. Her pose was a mirror to Taylor's own, from the shaking hands, to the tear that ran down her right cheek. She was clad in all grey.

"Am I real?" Taylor asked.

"As real as you ever were," Taylor replied. "There's simply more of you, of me, now. It wasn't the first time, either"

Taylor, clad in black, approached the table and took both her hands in her own. "And it won't be the last."

Taylor blinked.







"I remember you," Taylor said.

The woman in the hat…Fortuna…stopped in her tracks. The Number Man gave her a tilt of his head.

"This wasn't what I meant when I said a Hero should have friends, you know."

"Contessa? What is she talking about?" The Number Man raised his hand again, the pistol held tightly in his grip.

"Still lonely…aren't you?" Taylor continued. "Anyone would be if they were in your shoes."

Fortuna stood still.

"Contessa?"

Taylor glanced at the ground, at the slate she had dropped there.

"Don't you dare, girl," Number Man growled. "Contessa! Get a hold of yourself!"

Marquis turned a fraction of an inch, looking out the corner of his eyes and staring into Taylor's own.

He nodded.

Taylor took a deep breath. And nodded back.

Janus and Marquis leapt into action. The former crime lords all but dancing towards the Number Man. Marquis' bones shaped themselves a hundred ways, covering himself, the ground, even filling the air as he charged. Janus nudged Marquis in different directions, letting the Number Man's bullets fly around them.

"What are you doing?!" the man yelled.

"The least likely outcomes," Janus replied. "It helps if you don't think about it much."

Janus' answer only served to infuriate him even more.

Fortuna stood still, her face stricken. Taylor knew it wasn't much, maybe another few seconds, before she'd look back in that destiny of hers, loosing herself in it.

She bent down, grasping the slate and picking up the pen. The coarse sand of the Grand Canyon slid off the flat surface as it tilted.

Taylor blinked, and green eyes shone as she put pen to paper.

Contessa flicked her head towards her, pulling a knife out form her waist as she did before. "Door!" the woman shouted.

Taylor felt the slight breeze against her back as the air flowed the wrong way behind her. Contessa darted into the portal that formed in front of her-

The Simurgh-

-And lunged at Taylor's unprotected back.

- glanced behind herself.





Next step: stab T12 vertebra

Contessa stepped out, planting her lead foot just so in order to kick off into a lunge. Her arm straightened as the knife blade sought out the exact place the girl's spine would be in a second. She felt the tip of her blade bite into the girl's back, skin parting just barely before halting. She grit her teeth and forced the blade forward. An equal force, with no obvious source, pushed it right back and the knife went nowhere.

Pale grey eyes stared back at her. "Naughty thing, aren't you?"

Next step: …

Contessa flinched as static roared in her head and she fell to the ground, leaving Fortuna alone.

What can you do when there is no Path to follow?

How can you gain Victory with no plan?

The fight drained out of her, leaving the woman staring with blank eyes at the cape in front of her, the woman she'd just tried to kill. The girl she'd manipulated all those years ago.

What should she do now?

Fortuna didn't know. Couldn't know. She needed… "D-door!"

Fortuna ran.






Marquis growled as the waste of space that called himself Janus flung them both to the ground again. It had saved them from the hollow point bullet that would have hit around his lower ribs (right between the bones themselves in fact), but did it have to be so…undignified?

He huffed as Janus' leg, and more specifically his knee, drove itself into his lumbar region. If it weren't for his bone armour, the former crime lord would have been pissing blood for some time after this.

A bullet pinged in front of Janus' head.

Ah. So, it was necessary then.

Marquis picked himself up, Janus scrambling to his feet behind him, and regarded the Number Man.

The plain looking blond had grown more and more angry with time. Not an uncommon reaction for the Marquis' enemies to have, really. The fact that the man had suddenly abandoned the gun was more worrying.

In Marquis' experience, to throw away a weapon meant one of two things. The first was surrender, not likely given the man's facial expressions. The second was to dispose of an ineffective or insufficient weapon in order to retrieve another one…usually a trump card of sorts.

The Number Man pulled out a knife.

Normally, this wouldn't bother Marquis. He'd used his armour as an impromptu blade-catcher before with considerable success. Allfather was always such a one trick pony. It ran in the family, really.

What bothered Marquis was the obvious tinkertech embedded in the implement. On closer inspection, there wasn't so much a 'blade' as there was a stick with a hilt. The Number Man flicked a switch, releasing a cloud of dark specks that looked like a blade if you happened to be heavily concussed.

Marquis sighed. It was always tinkers, wasn't it? Bloody hell.

"Any ideas?" he asked Janus. The man turned his silver mask towards him and gave a thumbs up.

"I believe in you," the man said. It would have been slightly comforting if Marquis had any affection for the vegetable at all.

"Wonderful," he muttered. "How's the girl?" He didn't want to take his eyes off the man he faced. No telling what a thinker with tinkertech would do next.

"She's flying."

Oh hell. So, the crazy acrobatic woman was a brute? Figures. Seeing as how Uaine had gotten herself trapped in her own delusions, maybe this was a good time for a tactical retreat. "We'll rescue her if we can," Marquis said. "Get ready to pull back on my signal."

"And now she's writing something."

That made sense…kind of, but why would the hatted woman give her the time to use her powers?

"Pardon me a moment," Janus said. He brushed past Marquis and walked towards the Number Man.

Marquis sighed. Once the idiot was dead, he'd have to try very hard not to fall into some kind of pattern…assuming his previous assumptions were correct and that the Number Man's power worked off of formulae in the first place. That man could be sensing him through the vibrations in the air for all he knew. Not every cape broadcasted their power in their name, after all.

He watched Janus walk forward.

Then he watched the wannabe automaton dodge three swipes in succession. The grace was completely unlike him, Janus was normally stiff and dare he say robotic? Marquis turned.

Ah, Script was flying.

In the air.

When did she get mover powers?

And she was writing, yes, focused on Janus and his fight with Cauldron's thinker. The remaining one, that is. Somehow, in the interim moments where Marquis had been avoiding his imminent demise, the slip of a girl had frightened off the scarier of Cauldron's capes.

Book…cover…etcetera. Honestly, the scary ones were always so unexpected. This coming from a man who wore his own bones as armour.

Marquis turned back to Janus, watching as Script puppeted the man. With his power, she could try two options at once. Her intermittent calls of "Janus!" were enough for him to know that.

Odd that another him was living a life he'd never experience.

He hefted one hand, bone sliding down his arm to form a sword. Fractal patterns skittered out, branching infinitely as he crafted the guard to his saber. His eyes tracked the fight, watching as Janus tried and failed to grapple the other man. His mind whirred.

If this were an adversary, back in the day, how would he deal with him?

The man was obviously powerful, and only a series of likely painful acrobatics on the part of Janus kept the other man from dying horribly.

Marquis shifted, holding his weapon up, and watched for his moment.







Janus died.

In the other reality, he had ducked as the knife went high. It had been a toss-up whether The Number Man would swing or stab. This version of him just happened to be unlucky.

Janus died again.

A feint had become a grapple, allowing the other thinker unlimited access to Janus' vitals, something that he abused quickly. The other Janus had managed to skip backwards and avoid the reaching hand by falling on his ass.

Last year, Thomas Calvert would never have let himself get into situations like this.

Janus was simply glad he wasn't Thomas Calvert. That had been an uncomfortable time.

Much like getting slaughtered repeatedly.

Janus tried to cartwheel backwards, out of the sheer reasoning that he had no idea how to do so. His fumbled duck and thump to the ground was enough of a failure to get The Number Man off his back for a moment.

If the enemy expects competence, give him the opposite.

Janus threw out one hand, catching the nano-thorn blade by the hilt. He sprang forward, getting himself underneath The Number Man's guard and-

Janus got the hint. One, two, three hits to the gut. They didn't do as much as he had hoped. The Number Man had timed the flexing of his muscles to perfectly intercept Janus' fists. Pain seared across Janus' back as the nano-thorns raked past him, leaving lines of red muscle exposed as blood ran down his body.

Sticky, warm, uncomfortable.

Janus ducked a swing, kicking forward into The Number Man's leg and twisting it to the side. He had expected it, of course, and Janus' kick failed to tear anything, but if he was forced to wear his enemy down with mosquito bites, then that is what he would have to do.

Janus got ready for a shoulder charge, intending to drop to the ground once The Number Man was committed.

Janus threw himself to the right.

He did so without question, watching as the bone-clad shape of Marquis leapt past him to stick his sword in The Number Man's shoulder. The thin bone was sharp and strong, and slid easily into the socket, effectively crippling the thinker.

Marquis followed without mercy, bone spurs on his knuckles and knees giving his moves more damaging effects as he pressed the advantage. He was switching styles as he fought, Janus' could see. A boxer's stance fading into a karate kick before Marquis slid into position for a judo throw. He was creating as many variables that he could, things beyond The Number Man's control, things only Marquis could predict as he mechanically shifted back and forth.

It wouldn't be enough.

Janus could already see The Number Man recovering. Even with one arm limp at his side, the thinker deflected or redirected every attack that came his way. Once Marquis began to slow down…

Janus did the only thing he could think of, something so ridiculously moronic The Number Man wouldn't see it coming. He dashed behind The Number Man, and before the cape could do more than begin to turn, Janus kicked with everything he could muster.

Right into The Number Man's crotch.

The cape sucked in a breath as he grit his teeth, a strangled howl of pain and anger slipping out of him as he lashed out at Janus.

The Number Man's twist let Marquis score a grazing blow on his side, but the man himself was unimpressed. He dropped the nano-thorn knife into his good hand, bringing the blade up in a sweep.

Janus shifted, centering his weight as he prepared to jump back…

Only to find his legs swept out from underneath him.

The blade grew larger in his vision.

Janus let out his breath. It could have been much worse.

As the blade sank into his throat, Janus gripped The Number Man's wrist with both hands. It would be trivial for the thinker to leverage himself out, the work of a mere second.

Janus' eyes looked past The Number Man's body towards Marquis.

A second is all it would take.

Taylor looked sad from her place away from the battle. He could see her crying.

Janus smiled. Crying, in this instance, was good.

It meant he was his own man.

Like Coil before him, Janus died.

Only this time, he had a smile on his face.







It was only a second. The moment Marquis saw Janus' glance, he was moving. The spurs of bone he'd grown into his blade elongated, charging forward even as he did the same. The bone bit into The Number Man's chest. Through his heart.

The man died hard, leaving heavy lacerations on Marquis' leg with his dying scrabbles, but he died none-the-less.

Marquis sighed.

"It's OK to miss him," Script said as she floated down to him. "I will."

"I'm more annoyed," the former prisoner replied. "With him and Uaine gone, that makes me responsible for you…no offence, but you aren't my first pick of teenagers to look out for."

"She'll come around when you do," Script said simply.

Marquis frowned.

"Let me treat your leg," the girl said. She pulled a long strip of fabric off of her dress, nearly dividing the skirt, and began wrapping his wounds.

"I'm more than capable of fixing it myself, you know," Marquis said. At his command, bone wrapped itself around his leg in a tight greave. The armor sealed each of the cuts easily.

"Temporarily fixing yourself," Script said.

"More importantly, how do we get out of here?"

"I have a way," Script said.

"And Uaine?"

"We'll get her out." The girl's voice…no, that was unkind of him. The woman's voice was full of conviction. "I've seen the effects of a Grey Boy loop before. She won't be getting out anytime soon."

"String Theory," Script said. "Bakuda, Mordred…whoever we need, I'll find them."

Marquis hummed. "Why do you care so much? You realize the woman all but kidnapped you, right?"

Script laughed.

Marquis wasn't entirely sure why that set him on edge, but it did.

"She simply played her part," Script said. "And she'll continue to do so in time."

"Again…that power is fairly final," Marquis said. "The Protectorate has been trying to get people out for a long time. And even if you succeeded, you realize she'll be insane."

"She already is," Script said. The girl reached out her hand in Uaine's direction, as if trying to pluck the woman out of her cell. If Marquis didn't know any better, he would have said she looked sad at her captor's predicament.

"But that's fine," she continued. "It's how we need her to be for now."

Marquis frowned. Here he was, facing a planet without any other human life, forced into a war with a group powerful enough to banish them here, left with the single most capable parahuman he'd ever worked with frozen permanently by her own power…

And yet it was Taylor's eyes that scared him the most.

…hadn't they been green earlier?

Spoiler: A.N.

Hoo boy. Well, Ciara is one hell of a drug. Adding like three more names and descriptions to every character you use is an exercise in patience to be sure.

So, this chapter is a crazy one. The Fairy Queen, Script, and Marquis are more or less out of the picture for a while. There was an epilogue part i'd considered adding, but in the end, it felt like jumping the shark...so that got nixed.

On the shark note, hopefully, his didn't hit that button too hard. Contessa and The Number Man are both crazy powerful, so I may not have properly written their capabilities.

Janus is gone, as well. His character arc was completed, so it felt like the right time. Everybody loves heroic sacrifice, right?

Only three down of ten and this Intermission thing feels crazy. Ultimately the goal is to set up the finale once number ten is finished, but looking ahead there's a lot to do.

Ahem. Next up is Jacob's chapter...so uh, 10k words of the s9. funnily enough, they actually do have nine members now. I'm actually kind of excited for this bit, there's been a confrontation building for some time and I have ideas.

Cheers, and as always, thanks for dropping by.