Stranger than Brockton [Worm/Stranger than Fiction]
- Thread starter Victorian_Irish
- Start date
Setting 7.1
- Location
- Canada
August 25th, 2011
Helena, MT
Jacob wiped the sweat from his brow, smoothing his hair before replacing the worn, Red Sox ballcap, and put his hands in his pockets as he walked calmly into the grocery store. Blending in was, as always, surprisingly easy. He held the door for a grandmotherly woman, receiving a warm smile and a 'bless you' in return. He greeted the pimply teen at the counter with a pleasant grin and a fake I.D. , sliding over a twenty dollar bill in return for a few cigarette packs.
No one commented on the odd pattern of his beard. No one looked him in the eye long enough to see anything fake about his demeanour. No one paid him any attention.
That's probably why he ended up killing them.
It was a bit of a pet peeve after all.
Melpomene was the one that came looking for him. Not only was she a fellow actress, her face wasn't known to the authorities. It made sense, really.
She walked in as calmly as he had not twenty minutes ago. Her head swiveled left and right, taking in the carnage with no hint of disgust or surprise…Well, she had made a habit of getting in his head until just recently. He didn't expect this to shake her.
The girl sighed softly, pursing her thin lips just a tiny bit as she turned her eyes to face him. "Really? You couldn't wait until later for this?"
"I had a…mighty need," Jacob said, flicking the butterfly knife closed. "So to speak."
Mel cocked her head at the curly, grey-haired head resting at Jacob's feet. "No kidding."
The girl shrugged, walking through the blood without a care in the world, her cheap foam flip-flops squeaking across the floor, before coming to a stop by a small cooler. She hummed to herself as she made a choice of beverage, finally pulling out an iced tea and popping the glass bottle open with a twist. "This is going to make things more difficult…but you already knew that."
"I detest boredom," Jacob replied. He carefully slid one cigarette out of a pack, plucking a plastic lighter from its plastic tray to light it.
"Don't let Riley catch you," Mel said.
"She'll smell it on me, anyways," Jacob said after a long drag. "It's been too long since I kept any for myself."
Mel grinned. "You're not talking about the cigarettes."
Another long drag. "No, I don't suppose I am."
They stood between the bodies, Jacob leaning on the counter where he'd bought his cancer sticks and Mel pressing her back to the cool glass of the branded drink fridge. It occurred to him that this was one of their newest recruit's peculiarities. He never bothered wearing a mask around her. He didn't have to get in her head, he didn't have to figure her out or learn what it was she wanted.
She'd been in his mind. She'd given him ideas.
She knew him.
As for Mel herself…he felt like he was looking in the mirror, sometimes. Her confident exterior. Her scheming. Her devilish grin.
Were he a narcissist, he might have found it attractive. As things were, it was disquieting. He could guess what to expect from the girl, but never know with any certainty. It wasn't something he enjoyed.
"So how do we change that?" the object of his musings interrupted.
"Hmm?"
"You detest boredom. You're bored. How do we change that?"
"Well…"
"Mordred?"
Jacob kept his features calm as he looked at her, but one glance at the smug smile on her lips showed him it was futile. She had his interest and she knew it.
"A foil to your deeds? Someone to treasure? A Rival."
"You make it sound romantic. You do realise I plan on ruining his life, right?"
"Love is the greatest destroyer, Jacob." The light in the girl's eyes was intense, like Mimi's on a bad day. "It can be the thing that holds you up, or it can drag you into the proverbial depths and crush you. How did he put it…'Love is the death of honor?'"
Jacob grinned. "'Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty. What is honor compared to a woman's love?' it's a real shame that Aleph got all the good writers."
"Mordred," Mel caressed the man's name. "Is a passionate man. He once killed love for glory. Then he killed his career out of compassion. It would be only fitting to make things run full circle."
"To kill compassion for love, eh?" Jacob let go of the cigarette, letting the bloodstained floor do the job of extinguishing the flame. "Ready to tell me why we're here, then?"
Mel grinned. "For there to be love, we need to find a lover."
Jacob found himself grinning along with the girl as she linked arms with him and walked out from the store.
"And I know just where to find her."
"Swish!"
"Swoop!"
"Boink!"
Vanessa Kimball, better known to the world as the Big Cheese, the Grand Ham, and Our Lady of Puns, Mouse Protector, landed gracefully on the street. The whiffle ball bat she twirled in one hand was a garish pink, with glaringly obvious mould lines and a dull, plastic finish.
She beamed a smile at her opponent, the fiendish Demotron "It's Haliax, you crazy bitch!" and raised the not-so-secret-secret tinkertech weapon and sucked in a breath.
"You've been beaten, Demotron," she yelled. "Surrender while you can, or things won't go so gouda for you!"
"Christ, Lady," the villain whined. "Cheese puns? Really?"
"What can I say?" Vanessa grinned. With a thought, she teleported behind Haliax, to the spot she'd marked moments ago while the villain was too busy dodging her dashing Mouse-saber. "I'm just that fondue of them. Why? You havarti had enough? Unbrielievable! You munster!"
Haliax looked torn between swearing and facepalming. Sadly, for him at least, he had time for neither as Vanessa's wiffleball bat smacked the man in the face.
"Pow! Right in the kisser!" She crowed. The egghead tinker she'd paid to make her favourite toy called it 'gravitational amplification and displacement'. Vanessa called it her 'Super Boop'.
Haliax went flying through the air, his brick-red skin skidding with an audible scraping sound. The man rolled with the hit, however, and stood up only slightly worse for wear. "Jesus fuck. No. I am goddamn Haliax. I do not get beaten by the Disneyland reject!"
"Oh honeybuns," Vanessa crooned. "Sorry to tell ya, but you already have."
"The fuck are you on abo-" The rest of the villain's sentence was cut off as the body of a grand piano slammed into him from above. The instrument had been kindly donated by it's makers for just such an occasion.
Life's great when you have Sponsors.
She kinda wished she was allowed to tape a big, red, glorious 'ACME' sign to it, but sadly the company itself wasn't interested.
Farewell, dreams.
Vanessa bounced on the balls of her feet for a moment, keeping herself ready in case the piano hadn't done the trick. Thankfully, for her, Haliax wasn't a fan of classical music. Remembering the cartoons of her youth, Vanessa whistled a chirping song and imagined a ring of rubber ducks encircling the K.O.'d man.
"Thank you, Yamaha-san," she said with affected formality. "I am humbled by your skill and valour. You may rest easy, knowing that your sacrifice was not in vain."
Vanessa smiled one last time as the purple and green PRT van came into view down the road, lights flashing and sirens blaring. She gave a jaunty wave to the crowd of onlookers before raising her bat with a mighty "Mouse Protector, away!" and vanished from sight.
On a nearby rooftop, the mouse-eared heroine popped back into view and sighed.
"Cheese puns…heh," she muttered. "Like you can do any better, mister."
Confident in her surroundings, Vanessa plucked the decorative helmet off her head and fumbled in her pockets for her smokes and lighter. "Remember, kids," she said in a sing-song voice. "Smoking isn't cool, its wrong!"
She took a drag. "Wrong, wrong, wrong."
"What a bad girl you are, Nessy," she said in a deep voice.
"Oh noes, mister! You know my secret!"
"Oh yes," the deep voice continued. "And soon the world will know you for the fraud you are!"
"Sounds great!" Vanessa mumbled around the filter of her vice. "You know how hard it is to get the smell out of this costume? It's a heroic achievement on its own."
"You're a fake, a phoney!" The deep voice said.
"Yup. My secret is plenty of caffeine, a heaping spoonful of nicotine, and something a little harder to come by."
"Cocaine?" the deep voice asked.
"No silly," Vanessa said, trying (and failing) to blow a smoke ring. "Hope."
"Hope?"
"Yup," Vanessa said. "After all…it's not impossible that things might get better, right?"
"Well," a deep, masculine voice said. "Now I feel embarrassed."
Vanessa dropped her cigarette in shock. "Jack-"
"Slash, yes," the villain said. "A bit cliché, don't you think?"
"I dunno," the girl at his side said. "I think we got the point across."
"In that case," Jack Slash said, turning his attention back to Vanessa. "Welcome to your 'happy ending'."
Vanessa clutched the hilt of her bat…for all the good it would do her.
August 26th, 2011
Yellowstone National Park
"Hey, Boss!"
Colin slid the soldering iron deeper into the construct.
"Boss!"
If he got his calculations right, the device currently sitting in the place of an engine could theoretically provide infinite power to the bike he installed it in. Kid Win's work hadn't been the best, but after time and distance, he'd finally figured it out. Modularity.
"Bossman?"
With that and Professor Haywire's notes, he'd been able to come to a certain conclusion. Because the multiverse is real, there should be multiple instances of a Colin Wallis who built this reactor. Given that is true, some of those instances will have the device simply waiting, not in use. With the help of Richter and Clare, he'd been able to program a rudimentary intelligence capable of scanning the multiversal copies of the reactor, selecting one with a full charge based on the needs of the many versions of himself that existed, and switching them. Even with his own reality being a part of this shared resource, it meant that he should theoretically never run out of juice.
Well, that or his theory was complete bunk.
"Colin!"
"Hmm. Henry?"
"Fucking tinkers, man, I swear. I've been calling you for like five minutes."
"And now you have my attention," Colin deadpanned. "Might I suggest a bullhorn next time? Much more distracting than you…actually, on second thought-"
"Colin Wallis."
Colin paused. He wasn't talking to Henry right now…this was Mercurial. "What's the problem?" he asked.
"It's…better if you see for yourself."
The view on the screen was distressingly familiar.
"Hello again, America," Jack Slash said. "No it's not your favourite uncle. Just me. Well, me and my eight friends!"
[Applause] read the subtitles. Flashing intermittently with the sounds of a sitcom playing on cue.
"Now, Now, please…I do have more to say. Firstly, to the broadcasters…cutting us off was very rude. If you do so again, this lovely…captive audience of ours will meet their end. Just so we understand each other…I'd like to introduce my good friend Bonesaw!"
[Applause]
The camera panned slowly, revealing the terrified, gagged faces of the news crew. The girl in question paused in her work to smile and wave, seemingly forgetful of the blood dripping off her arms and the scalpel she held gently in her hand. The body she was working was grotesque, the skin peeled back and metal implements jutting out at sickening angles. Colin could see the man's own terrified eyes, crying from the pain and violation. Colin's jaw cracked as he bit down.
[Laughter], read the subtitles. This time, a familiar soundbite forced its way through the horror of the scene. A laugh track, an honest to god laugh track.
"It's she just a hoot?" Jack Slash said as the camera refocused on his face. "Now that our little 'ground rule' has been established, I think it's time for the main event.
"You see," Jack Slash began, sinking into a chair the Siberian pushed lazily on stage. "I'm bored of our games. It's routine by now. Even this right here! You're all sitting, comfortable in your homes, and thinking 'Yup, that's the Slaughterhouse Nine for you'."
The Villain's face changed as the camera angle did. A morose sense of loss and pain emanating from his features. "It hurts that you see us this way. It hurts when our passion isn't felt by one and all. It's a deep connection, you see. We've been feeling…excommunicated of late. Don't worry yourselves, though. You are safe in your homes. You have nothing to fear. You can turn off your television, your laptop, your phone and pretend we don't exist."
He chuckled at some inner joke. "You can hope that life will get better, despite everything."
Jack Slash laughed at this, as if 'hope' was the punchline to a joke he didn't bother to tell, and he wasn't the only one. From beyond the borders to the camera's lens, Shatterbird laughed with him, Bonesaw squealed in childish glee, and a deep rumble that was likely Crawler's own amusement rattled.
"Now then. On to business. On to better, greater things," Jack Slash spread his arms wide. "I'd like to introduce our newest member. Our little Tragedy. She's got something special planned for one very lucky audience member…an offer I don't think you can resist.
"Without further adieu, please welcome Melpomene to the stage!"
[Applause]
Colin's throat seized as the girl stepped into view. Black, wavy hair framed green eyes. A wide mouth smirked in a way he hadn't seen before. Taylor Hebert stood beside the leader of the Slaughterhouse nine.
"Hello everyone," she began. "If you recognise my face, 'look upon ye works, and despair' to paraphrase a great poet. If you recognise my voice…then I hope you enjoy my little surprise at the end of the show."
Taylor began pacing back and forth, a calm smile replacing the almost hungry look she'd previously had.
"This," the girl said. "is a story about love. A story about sacrifice. A story where the heroes aren't what they seem, and the villains may as well be giants. It's a visceral tale, only one of millions that are taking place at this very moment.
"To all of you, at home…at work. To the slackers, watching videos instead of studying. To the homebodies, letting dinner burn as you watch in rapture. To the authorities, trying desperately to find the solution to, well, us. To all of you, I have but one. Simple. Request."
Taylor looked into the camera, looked through it, and stared into his eyes.
"Look around you. Look at your family, your friends, your job, your very life. Look at that which is most precious to you…and ask yourself this: 'How far would I go to protect it?'
"For this week only, give or take a few days, we the 'Nine humbly ask that you keep that question in your mind as you follow this tale of trials and heartbreak."
She smiled.
Colin shivered.
Henry clenched his fists.
Ashley glanced at Colin with worry in her eyes.
"For now, I can give you but a taste," Taylor said. "To Mordred…Dear, sweet Colin. How far will you go? One of our guests is simply dying to know."
Colin felt his stomach lurch as the bruised face of a woman was shown on camera.
"Oh yes, Colin. Dear Vanessa simply must know your answer."
"And, of course," Jack Slash broke in. "So will everyone else."
It was that picture, the smiling face of a psychopath, that the video ended on. Colin jabbed the off button with enough force to rock the monitor.
"What now, Boss?" Henry asked.
Colin frowned. "Clare?"
"Yes, Dad?" the synthesised voice asked.
"Get the Mark Ones ready for a test flight," he said. "We're going to Montana."
August 26th, 2011
Brockton Bay, NH
Ethan held the cool glass of water in one hand and let the chill flow into his veins. He glanced over at the bed, where his wife had been sleeping when he'd gotten up, thirsty in the night.
"Ethan?" she asked. "W-what do we do?"
"M/S protocol," he replied. "It's the only thing we can do."
On the wall in front of them, two identical pictures were etched into the drywall. A Greek mask of tragedy, it's partner dashed in pieces on the ground beneath it. The words 'I drew this for you, do you like it?' rested on top of the masks, also in duplicate. Ethan knew the handwriting wasn't his. He knew it wasn't Sam's either. He had a sinking suspicion that if he went looking at Taylor Hebert's school assignments, though, he'd find a match.
When the phone rang, he finally let go of the glass. It was warm now, anyway. When he saw the caller I.D., he answered without a second thought. "You too, eh Hannah?"
He listened for a moment.
"I know. That was our plan as well….see you soon."
Crystal Pelham stopped pacing. "It's not her."
Amy and Victoria, from their respective places on and above her bed, stared at her in disbelief. Crystal's laptop sat on her desk, letting out a low whir as the fan cooled its insides. The video had finished playing ten minutes ago, and the room had been silent until now. A picture of classical theatre masks, and the chilling message above them, sat innocently on the open pages of Crystal's notebook. The wary glances each of the three girls gave the notebook had nothing to do with her math homework.
"It's not her," Crystal repeated.
Victoria sighed, unwilling to get into yet another argument no doubt, but the younger Dallon had no such issue.
"For fucks sake, Crystal," Amy growled. "You can seriously be defending her after this. It was bad enough that she skipped out on the quarantine. Her hanging out with the Nine? If she didn't already have a kill order, she damn well has one now."
"It's. Not. Her."
"Look," Amy said. "You think you know her, I get that. She was your rock, a goofy, normal friendship that kept you sane. Better get this through your head, Cous. The Taylor you knew was a fraud. I heard a lot about Script from a friend…not much of it was good."
Crystal frowned, her lips pulling into an angry shape that felt unnatural on her face. "Right, and you heard this from a villain that you're all but dating."
The snarl was on both their faces now, with a concerned Victoria looking at them warily, the way you might gaze at two bears in the woods. It took a concerted amount of effort for Crystal not to snap at them, call them names, or rant about how not everything can fit into their perfect little black and white box.
She remembered the times she'd been with the younger girl. The awkward, happy person she'd been before her abduction. The early morning crying session when she'd been rescued. Her words, her smiles, her frustrations.
No. Taylor may have been scarred by her misadventures, but she hadn't been broken. Not really. Not like…that.
"That wasn't her," Crystal said finally, after working her jaw. "I believe that. I have to believe that."
"And if you're wrong?" Victoria asked, her voice small in the wake of their conversation.
Crystal turned, looking out the window at the city, watching as the last rays of light washed over the glass and metal towers of Brockton's city centre like moisture down a shower's curtain. "If I'm wrong," Crystal muttered. "I'll bring her in myself."
Amy could have pointed out why that was unfeasible. She could have mentioned the quarantine that was still in effect, or the responsibilities that Crystal had as leader of the Stars. She did neither. The mousey girl simply nodded, the weight in Crystal's voice apparently enough to mollify her.
No one spoke up after that, and the Dallon sisters left after a moment's silence, a solemn goodbye drifting behind them.
Crystal didn't sleep much that night. Instead, she lay awake with too many questions on her mind, and one thought repeating itself over and over. I hope I'm right.
August 26th, 2011
Mid-air over Montana
Put artistically, the Mark One rent open the air around it. Colin could have explained how the physics involved allowed the aircraft to cut through turbulence like a shark gliding through water, but his mind wasn't in the place for work. It was odd, he thought, that he could be so focused and yet distracted to the point of frustration. The usual clarity he felt when preparing for a mission wasn't there.
What had they done to her?
Was she still alive?
Was he powerful enough to save her? Save all of them?
…and why, oh why had he turned her down all those years ago?
Colin sighed. Hindsight wouldn't help anyone here, not Vanessa and certainly not himself. He'd acknowledged his failures as a person before. Moping about them now…
"Dad?"
Clare's voice broke him out of his introspective spiral. "Yes?"
"I was just thinking…it's the Nine, right. I'm…not sure we should be engaging them like this."
"If we don't-" Colin began.
"The Protectorate has a large roster, dad," Clare said. When had her voice gotten so mature? "Putting this off for a few hours could mean substantial backup."
Colin frowned.
That was the kind of reasoning that Armsmaster would have agreed with. The kind of thinking that Dragon would have advocated.
Clare was her mother's daughter alright.
"When Brockton Bay fell into a gang war, I could have waited. Off the top of my head, I can think of four Protectorate teams with powers better suited for situations like that. If we'd maintained our lines and held the downtown core, we could have lasted long enough for one of them to back us up.
"But," Colin finished. "That's not what a hero does."
"What do you mean?"
"Actions like that are what the police are for," Colin said. "Heroes were meant to be better. We were supposed to save people, not tow the party line and sacrifice the less fortunate for the status quo."
"That's not realistic, dad, no matter how much we want to be those people," Clare said. "Remember Vikare?"
"Everyone does."
"The heroes you're talking about belong in old comic books. The real world isn't like that…everyone is mortal."
Ah.
"Your mother tried, though. She was the closest to being a hero out of all of us."
"And it killed her."
Colin pursed his lips. "That…That doesn't mean that it was wrong of her to try."
Clare made a non-committal noise, devoting more of herself to flying the craft that served as her 'body'…of rather, one of them. An identical, blade-shaped craft followed in their wake with two passengers, Henry and Ashley.
"Richter told me about your promise," she said finally.
Colin raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Would you really do it?" She asked.
"Clare…Richter's an alarmist. Neither him nor his cyber-ghost took the time to get to know Dragon."
"But she didn't have free will like I do."
Colin sighed. "Are you going to crash the stock market?"
"No."
"How about taking over air traffic control and sending planes onto collision courses?"
"No! I've never even considered it!"
"Well," Colin said with a gentle smile. "there you have it."
Clare huffed. "So you wouldn't kill me?"
"You're family," Colin said, as if that answered everything. In a way, it kind of did.
It was another ten minutes before the Skyline of Helena came up ahead of them. There wasn't much to say after that, and Colin pursed his lips as the buildings grew larger. He'd never fought the Nine before. He hadn't been there for the last visit they'd paid to Brockton Bay, and he'd never volunteered when they'd gone after other cities. He'd been more concerned with his job…his legacy.
Funny how things work out.
He couldn't help but wonder. What had brought Taylor here? The Simurgh? Her kidnapping? Or was she one of those few individuals who were always destined for acts of evil? It didn't seem in character for her. Script was…aloof, as far as cape personas go. She was a puzzle, but also consistent. She helped him see what his eyes couldn't, gave him strength and certainty when his muscles tired and his mind clouded over. He just couldn't see her doing something like this, despite evidence to the contrary.
August 26th, 2011
Helena, MT
Jacob smiled. "He took the bait?"
"That you call it 'bait' saddens me," Mel chimed in. the dark-haired girl held a cup of tea in one hand, slurping occasionally out of the mug's travel lid. "It's more of an 'inciting incident', really."
"Semantics, dear Melpomene," Jacob said. "We set up a situation to which we already knew the outcome in an attempt to trap him. Thus, bait."
Mel huffed, purposely making her next sip as loud as possible. "It was necessary."
"True."
The rooftop was as good a resting place as any. No cameras to worry about, and the others were busy with their own thoughts and plans.
"So, how are we going about this?" Mel asked. "Like your recruitment sessions?"
"I may take some kernel of inspiration from it...but I meant what I said on the broadcast. We've gotten too complacent, too predictable," Jacob said. "We need something new."
Mel hummed, swirling her tea around her mug with a finger. "And you will ruin him in the process?"
Jacob smirked. "'Ruin' implies that there will be something left of him."
Mel frowned in thought. "Well, it's nearly time to begin."
"He's here?"
"Soon."
Jacob smoothed his hair with one hand. "Well, I should go lay down the rules of our little theater," he said.
"Hello, Colin," Jack Slash said, his voice distorted and tinny from the small speakers it came from. "I suppose I need no introduction."
Colin seized the microphone and connected it. "Where's Vanessa?"
"Safe, for now at least. She'll remain so as long as you abide by our…rules of the house, so to speak.
"No doubt by now you've deduced that the Nine have been using the Helena broadcasting station as our little homebase. You are not to come within a full city block of this building. If you do, Vanessa, along with all the rest of our hostages, dies.
"Should any out of town heroes show up and try to storm our venue, the hostages die."
"Simply," Jack Slash said. "You obey what I say, when I say it, or…"
"I get it."
"You're no fun at all," the killer groused. "Naturally, these rules are also true for your companions."
Colin suppressed the rage that had been bubbling quietly since he'd first seen the video, he worked his jaw once…twice, and then adjusted the microphone. "So what do you demand I do?"
"So obedient!" Jack Slash said, his voice saccharine sweet. "I don't need you to do anything just yet. Settle in for the night, prepare yourself if you can. We begin our little production tomorrow."
Colin felt his blood roar in his ears as he turned off the radio, yanking the microphone out as quickly as he'd put it in.
"Dad…"
"Bring us down outside city limits, Clare."
"OK."
August 27th, 2011
Helena, MT
Jacob bit down on his breakfast, letting the juice from the grapefruit slice run down his chin as he thought. Mordred…Colin Wallis. According to dear, wicked Mel, He was a man driven to great lengths by his pains. In his mind, only he could solve the problem, only he could be the hero. He'd wisened up somewhat, a side effect of the events leading to his defection, but at his deepest levels he was a man that thought he had to do everything by himself.
Personal failures….hmmm.
"What'cha thinking about, Jack?" Bonesaw asked. The young girl was cleaned up now, a small, light blue 'Hello Hero' backpack perched beside her on the table. A diminutive cartoon Eidolon held hands with a non-descript child of a vague nationality, with similarly styled Alexandria and Legend figures laid out in a pattern around the cloth.
"Just planning things out," he said.
The girl smiled gently, testing the edge of her scalpel before sliding it into the bag and setting it beside her forceps, electronics, titular bone saw, and all the other tools of her bloody trade.
"And you," he continued. "How was school?"
"It was fun," she replied.
Jacob raised an eyebrow.
"It was Mel's idea," Bonesaw elaborated. "I may have left a few presents behind."
"Oh?" he asked. "What kind?"
"Two words, Jack. Disease vectors."
Sneaky. He honestly would have approved if Mel wasn't involved. That girl was meddling a tad much for his liking. He would have to rein her in soon.
"Sounds fun," he said. "You think they'll like their presents?"
"Of course, silly!" the girl chimed before plucking her backpack off the table and skipping out the door. "everyone loves chocolate!"
Jacob settled back into his chair and plucked the red-smeared toast off his plate, savoring the tangy raspberry flavour.
Back to the matter at hand. If Colin Wallis….no, that wasn't right. Mordred suited him better. If Mordred was so worried about his own failures, then naturally Jack would have to make him fail…or maybe set him up for one? What could be worse than a defeat snatched from victory than if it was his fault.
Jacob smiled.
The oven dinged.
The rest of his thoughts would have to wait. Bacon came first.
August 27th, 2011
Washington, DC
To the people outside the room, Rebecca Costa-Brown was the Chief Director of the PRT. For hundreds of thousands of Americans, she was the head office, the boss's boss's boss, the one at whom the buck stopped, both figuratively and on some occasions literally.
To the two men currently in the modest office, she was a co-conspirator, a comrade, and a fellow hero. Legend and Eidolon sat across from her, their eyes glued to the screen on her wall.
"How accurate is this?" Legend asked.
Rebecca simply raised an eyebrow in response.
"Right," the man continued. "It's you. OK, what can you tell us?"
"Jack Slash has been off script for some time now. Think over the last few months, have they attempted any recruitments? Done anything major? The biggest incident I can recall involved the deaths of some hundred or so campers…hardly their largest hit." Rebecca turned her chair slightly, angling herself to take in the screen, but keep her body language open. Eidolon shifted in his own seat as she did so. "His erratic behaviour, and the subsequent redirection of the Slaughterhouse Nine has a potentially disastrous timing."
"Are you going to continue to spout facts, Director?" Eidolon asked. "Or get to the point."
Rebecca internally sighed, knowing as she did so that David would know. The man played his part well, but sadly only a portion of his arrogance and posturing was for show.
"You're aware of the situation with Mordred, correct?"
"Tinker goes crazy, defects, and becomes a villain?" Eidolon said. "Rings a bell."
"Colin was mastered, if you remember the reports," Legend said, frowning beneath his mask.
"By that new cape, what was her name…Cast?"
"Script," Rebecca said. "Her name was Script. A week or two after Colin began hearing voices, the Slaughterhouse Nine abruptly changed course. I don't pretend to know how the girl ended up with a clone, but given that this 'Melpomene' joined the Nine with ease, I can only say it wasn't a coincidence."
"And where is Script now?" Eidolon asked.
"Earth Gimmel, Nevada to be precise."
"And Contessa? The Number Man?"
"Still no word."
The trio shared a moment of silence. Not out of respect, but of pondering. Two of the most dangerous capes they'd ever known, wiped out by a mastered Thomas Calvert, Marquis, and the Fairy Queen in a situation that could only have been set up by Script.
"What's the girl's rating now?"
"Master 9, with Thinker subsets," Rebecca rattled off.
"Bit high, don't you think?"
"Underestimation is what got us into this mess," she continued. "I don't have to remind you that even fresh, young, innocent seeming parahumans can cause disaster. Bonesaw? Zeitgeist?"
The two men cringed.
"In any case, that should tell you how seriously we're taking this. Her ratings added to the combined threat of the Nine…it isn't pleasant."
"Why now?" Legend asked.
"It served our purpose," Rebecca said. She took no pleasure in that fact, and found the necessary evils to be a crushing weight on her, but the situation was what it was. Scion was still out there. "But we no longer have the checks and balances that we require to keep them on a leash. Without Contessa or The Number Man, I think we all know the outcome of that fight."
"Are you trying to piss us off, Rebecca?" Eidolon drawled. "It's working."
"Apologies," the woman said. "What I mean to say is that we need a new approach, we three could not beat the Siberian alone. All of them together?"
"We'd be slaug…they'd kill us," Legend said, pulling his mouth into a tight line.
"What about Armsmaster, Mordred…whatever," Eidolon chimed in. "Jack Slash called him out…do you really think he'll fall for the trap?"
"Well-"
August 27th, 2011
Brockton Bay, NH
"He'll go," Hannah said.
The bland, barred walls of the jail cell were as good as the ENE could manage for master/stranger screening at the moment. Hannah herself was in the cell across from Ethan and Sam's.
"What makes you say that?" Sam asked.
Hannah remembered comforting a distraught, mouse-eared girl as she cried out her lost love. She remembered the weeks of awkward conversations and silent meetings before Vanessa finally left the city.
She also remembered a young boy weeping alone on the roof.
"He'll go," She repeated. Her fellow heroes gave her a look. Sam's was tinged with concern, and maybe even a little pity, but Ethan's gaze was strong. He understood, just like she did, that their former comrade wasn't one to sit on the sidelines.
She wondered, though, if Ethan knew the man as well as he thought. Colin wasn't easy to get along with, even when he was young. If it wasn't for Vanessa and Hero dragging him out of his lab, Hannah was sure he would have ended up living in there. His shell was born of neglect, that much she knew, and only a concerted effort could break him out of it. It took months for the friendliest, most energetic, and extroverted Ward of the inaugural team to get him to open up.
He only confided in her because of that shared time, that shared duty, and the pain of losing a mentor. Assault would remind him too much of Vanessa, Battery was always going to be the rookie in his eyes…He was jealous of Dauntless, Velocity never really tried to connect.
In the end it really was just the two of them, wasn't it?
The door chimed its familiar warning, and Hannah pulled her bandanna over her face as Sam and Ethan slipped on their own masks.
The woman silhouetted in the door was imposing, despite her size. She spared only a moment's glance at each of them before nodding to someone outside. With a faint buzz, the bars of Hannah's cell, along with all the rest, opened.
Hannah frowned. "Ma'am…why are you doing this?"
Emily Piggot, her face pale with exertion, simply scowled. "The Chief Director wants you for a mission."
The heroine opened her mouth to protest but shut it without a word. The Director of the PRT's ENE division was many things, but nepotism wasn't one of her faults. Anything Hannah would have said, any concerns she had…They'd already been heard.
And ignored.
Hannah stood, feeling the small kinks in her back ease with the motion, and followed the Director out the door. Ethan and Sam filed in behind her, walking in silence through the halls of the police precinct.
The conference room they entered was simple and plain. A plastic, collapsible table dominated the space, with folding chairs surrounding it. Deputy Director Renick sat in the one next to a laptop, hooking the computer up to a projector. Dauntless and Velocity nodded politely at them as they entered…but she'd expected to see them. Panacea was a surprise, and Hannah probably would have said something about her presence if not for the last person in the room.
"What is he doing here?" Hannah asked, her voice tight.
"Being a fucking hero-type, that's what." Hookwolf hadn't changed much after the Simurgh's attack. He didn't dress any differently, didn't censure his words, and didn't pretend he was anything but a ruthless fighter. He did, however, serve as a necessary evil. His men were credited with keeping the looting and other crimes down.
It was still telling that only the coloured criminals were left for the police to pick up.
"Ma'am?"
"Hookwolf has volunteered to help coordinate things here while our division is on loan to the Chief Director," Piggot said. If the lines of the older woman's face were anything to go by, the prospect was as pleasant for her as it was for Hannah. "Along with Lung and Foreman."
"Basically, everyone that actually has worth," Hookwolf said. "The Merchants…actually I don't think I have a better insult than that."
"You're involving Foreman?"
"He holds the docks. And his tradesmen are rebuilding the city," Piggot said. "The Mayor has been very clear that he is not to be touched."
"But his daughter-" Ethan began.
"Is our concern, he is not."
"Done." Renick's calm voice cut through the room like a bullet. Hannah paused, realising she still hadn't taken a seat, and took a deep breath.
"The Chief Director will be on shortly," Renick continued.
"Who else is on the line?" Piggot asked.
"Chicago, Houston, Los Angelas, and New York," Renick said.
Hookwolf let out a whistle. "Big players. You finally ending those fucks?"
"That's the Chief Director's decision," Piggot said.
"What's this about?" Ethan asked.
"The Slaughterhouse Nine. The Chief Director is putting together a response team."
"And she wants us?" Dauntless asked. Hannah couldn't blame Marcus, it was unreasonable to expect them to go from one disaster to another.
"I'll let her explain it," Piggot said.
Hannah folded her hands in her lap, focusing on keeping her power calm.
"Now," Renick said.
Chief Director Costa-Brown was another example of an imposing woman. Her eyes were cold and focused, piercing into them even though the Director herself was miles away. The woman's lips were turned down in the same frown that had dominated her expressions in every press release and photo shoot of her tenure.
"Is everyone ready?" the woman asked.
Alexandria nodded.
"Everyone in Brockton is accounted for," Director Piggot replied.
"We're ready here," Legend said.
"Are we starting now?" Eidolon asked, sliding into his seat on the other side of the webcam.
"We're ready here too," Chevalier said.
"You all know the reason for this meeting," The Chief Director said. "You're all here because you are needed. For some of you, this seems too much, too fast. You might not be the kind of hero that would volunteer for this sort of operation.
"That line of thinking is what caused this problem in the first place. The Slaughterhouse Nine has been around longer than the PRT, longer than many of your careers. It has laid waste across the US, killed indiscriminately, and drained our hope as a nation. That ends today.
"Before, we asked for volunteers. Now, I am telling you that we need to act." The woman folded her hands, a posture that belied her fervour. "We can't allow this to happen. Helena may not be your city, it may have no more connection to you than Iran or Bangladesh, but if we allow the Nine to not only take a city hostage, but commit their atrocities on such a scale…then we aren't worthy of our positions."
"You're conscripting us?" Chevalier asked.
"If you want to look at it that way, yes." Director Costa-Brown said. "But then you chose to be a hero, to give of yourself for the sake of others. You all made oaths. Time to make due."
Hannah frowned. It felt too familiar, too close to home…but was there really another option?
"What about us?" Ethan asked. "After what's happened, is it really safe for us to be a part of this?"
"The Brockton Bay compliment won't be engaging the Nine," Director Costa-Brown clarified. "You'll be going after Mordred."
Helena, MT
Jacob wiped the sweat from his brow, smoothing his hair before replacing the worn, Red Sox ballcap, and put his hands in his pockets as he walked calmly into the grocery store. Blending in was, as always, surprisingly easy. He held the door for a grandmotherly woman, receiving a warm smile and a 'bless you' in return. He greeted the pimply teen at the counter with a pleasant grin and a fake I.D. , sliding over a twenty dollar bill in return for a few cigarette packs.
No one commented on the odd pattern of his beard. No one looked him in the eye long enough to see anything fake about his demeanour. No one paid him any attention.
That's probably why he ended up killing them.
It was a bit of a pet peeve after all.
Melpomene was the one that came looking for him. Not only was she a fellow actress, her face wasn't known to the authorities. It made sense, really.
She walked in as calmly as he had not twenty minutes ago. Her head swiveled left and right, taking in the carnage with no hint of disgust or surprise…Well, she had made a habit of getting in his head until just recently. He didn't expect this to shake her.
The girl sighed softly, pursing her thin lips just a tiny bit as she turned her eyes to face him. "Really? You couldn't wait until later for this?"
"I had a…mighty need," Jacob said, flicking the butterfly knife closed. "So to speak."
Mel cocked her head at the curly, grey-haired head resting at Jacob's feet. "No kidding."
The girl shrugged, walking through the blood without a care in the world, her cheap foam flip-flops squeaking across the floor, before coming to a stop by a small cooler. She hummed to herself as she made a choice of beverage, finally pulling out an iced tea and popping the glass bottle open with a twist. "This is going to make things more difficult…but you already knew that."
"I detest boredom," Jacob replied. He carefully slid one cigarette out of a pack, plucking a plastic lighter from its plastic tray to light it.
"Don't let Riley catch you," Mel said.
"She'll smell it on me, anyways," Jacob said after a long drag. "It's been too long since I kept any for myself."
Mel grinned. "You're not talking about the cigarettes."
Another long drag. "No, I don't suppose I am."
They stood between the bodies, Jacob leaning on the counter where he'd bought his cancer sticks and Mel pressing her back to the cool glass of the branded drink fridge. It occurred to him that this was one of their newest recruit's peculiarities. He never bothered wearing a mask around her. He didn't have to get in her head, he didn't have to figure her out or learn what it was she wanted.
She'd been in his mind. She'd given him ideas.
She knew him.
As for Mel herself…he felt like he was looking in the mirror, sometimes. Her confident exterior. Her scheming. Her devilish grin.
Were he a narcissist, he might have found it attractive. As things were, it was disquieting. He could guess what to expect from the girl, but never know with any certainty. It wasn't something he enjoyed.
"So how do we change that?" the object of his musings interrupted.
"Hmm?"
"You detest boredom. You're bored. How do we change that?"
"Well…"
"Mordred?"
Jacob kept his features calm as he looked at her, but one glance at the smug smile on her lips showed him it was futile. She had his interest and she knew it.
"A foil to your deeds? Someone to treasure? A Rival."
"You make it sound romantic. You do realise I plan on ruining his life, right?"
"Love is the greatest destroyer, Jacob." The light in the girl's eyes was intense, like Mimi's on a bad day. "It can be the thing that holds you up, or it can drag you into the proverbial depths and crush you. How did he put it…'Love is the death of honor?'"
Jacob grinned. "'Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty. What is honor compared to a woman's love?' it's a real shame that Aleph got all the good writers."
"Mordred," Mel caressed the man's name. "Is a passionate man. He once killed love for glory. Then he killed his career out of compassion. It would be only fitting to make things run full circle."
"To kill compassion for love, eh?" Jacob let go of the cigarette, letting the bloodstained floor do the job of extinguishing the flame. "Ready to tell me why we're here, then?"
Mel grinned. "For there to be love, we need to find a lover."
Jacob found himself grinning along with the girl as she linked arms with him and walked out from the store.
"And I know just where to find her."
"Swish!"
"Swoop!"
"Boink!"
Vanessa Kimball, better known to the world as the Big Cheese, the Grand Ham, and Our Lady of Puns, Mouse Protector, landed gracefully on the street. The whiffle ball bat she twirled in one hand was a garish pink, with glaringly obvious mould lines and a dull, plastic finish.
She beamed a smile at her opponent, the fiendish Demotron "It's Haliax, you crazy bitch!" and raised the not-so-secret-secret tinkertech weapon and sucked in a breath.
"You've been beaten, Demotron," she yelled. "Surrender while you can, or things won't go so gouda for you!"
"Christ, Lady," the villain whined. "Cheese puns? Really?"
"What can I say?" Vanessa grinned. With a thought, she teleported behind Haliax, to the spot she'd marked moments ago while the villain was too busy dodging her dashing Mouse-saber. "I'm just that fondue of them. Why? You havarti had enough? Unbrielievable! You munster!"
Haliax looked torn between swearing and facepalming. Sadly, for him at least, he had time for neither as Vanessa's wiffleball bat smacked the man in the face.
"Pow! Right in the kisser!" She crowed. The egghead tinker she'd paid to make her favourite toy called it 'gravitational amplification and displacement'. Vanessa called it her 'Super Boop'.
Haliax went flying through the air, his brick-red skin skidding with an audible scraping sound. The man rolled with the hit, however, and stood up only slightly worse for wear. "Jesus fuck. No. I am goddamn Haliax. I do not get beaten by the Disneyland reject!"
"Oh honeybuns," Vanessa crooned. "Sorry to tell ya, but you already have."
"The fuck are you on abo-" The rest of the villain's sentence was cut off as the body of a grand piano slammed into him from above. The instrument had been kindly donated by it's makers for just such an occasion.
Life's great when you have Sponsors.
She kinda wished she was allowed to tape a big, red, glorious 'ACME' sign to it, but sadly the company itself wasn't interested.
Farewell, dreams.
Vanessa bounced on the balls of her feet for a moment, keeping herself ready in case the piano hadn't done the trick. Thankfully, for her, Haliax wasn't a fan of classical music. Remembering the cartoons of her youth, Vanessa whistled a chirping song and imagined a ring of rubber ducks encircling the K.O.'d man.
"Thank you, Yamaha-san," she said with affected formality. "I am humbled by your skill and valour. You may rest easy, knowing that your sacrifice was not in vain."
Vanessa smiled one last time as the purple and green PRT van came into view down the road, lights flashing and sirens blaring. She gave a jaunty wave to the crowd of onlookers before raising her bat with a mighty "Mouse Protector, away!" and vanished from sight.
On a nearby rooftop, the mouse-eared heroine popped back into view and sighed.
"Cheese puns…heh," she muttered. "Like you can do any better, mister."
Confident in her surroundings, Vanessa plucked the decorative helmet off her head and fumbled in her pockets for her smokes and lighter. "Remember, kids," she said in a sing-song voice. "Smoking isn't cool, its wrong!"
She took a drag. "Wrong, wrong, wrong."
"What a bad girl you are, Nessy," she said in a deep voice.
"Oh noes, mister! You know my secret!"
"Oh yes," the deep voice continued. "And soon the world will know you for the fraud you are!"
"Sounds great!" Vanessa mumbled around the filter of her vice. "You know how hard it is to get the smell out of this costume? It's a heroic achievement on its own."
"You're a fake, a phoney!" The deep voice said.
"Yup. My secret is plenty of caffeine, a heaping spoonful of nicotine, and something a little harder to come by."
"Cocaine?" the deep voice asked.
"No silly," Vanessa said, trying (and failing) to blow a smoke ring. "Hope."
"Hope?"
"Yup," Vanessa said. "After all…it's not impossible that things might get better, right?"
"Well," a deep, masculine voice said. "Now I feel embarrassed."
Vanessa dropped her cigarette in shock. "Jack-"
"Slash, yes," the villain said. "A bit cliché, don't you think?"
"I dunno," the girl at his side said. "I think we got the point across."
"In that case," Jack Slash said, turning his attention back to Vanessa. "Welcome to your 'happy ending'."
Vanessa clutched the hilt of her bat…for all the good it would do her.
August 26th, 2011
Yellowstone National Park
"Hey, Boss!"
Colin slid the soldering iron deeper into the construct.
"Boss!"
If he got his calculations right, the device currently sitting in the place of an engine could theoretically provide infinite power to the bike he installed it in. Kid Win's work hadn't been the best, but after time and distance, he'd finally figured it out. Modularity.
"Bossman?"
With that and Professor Haywire's notes, he'd been able to come to a certain conclusion. Because the multiverse is real, there should be multiple instances of a Colin Wallis who built this reactor. Given that is true, some of those instances will have the device simply waiting, not in use. With the help of Richter and Clare, he'd been able to program a rudimentary intelligence capable of scanning the multiversal copies of the reactor, selecting one with a full charge based on the needs of the many versions of himself that existed, and switching them. Even with his own reality being a part of this shared resource, it meant that he should theoretically never run out of juice.
Well, that or his theory was complete bunk.
"Colin!"
"Hmm. Henry?"
"Fucking tinkers, man, I swear. I've been calling you for like five minutes."
"And now you have my attention," Colin deadpanned. "Might I suggest a bullhorn next time? Much more distracting than you…actually, on second thought-"
"Colin Wallis."
Colin paused. He wasn't talking to Henry right now…this was Mercurial. "What's the problem?" he asked.
"It's…better if you see for yourself."
The view on the screen was distressingly familiar.
"Hello again, America," Jack Slash said. "No it's not your favourite uncle. Just me. Well, me and my eight friends!"
[Applause] read the subtitles. Flashing intermittently with the sounds of a sitcom playing on cue.
"Now, Now, please…I do have more to say. Firstly, to the broadcasters…cutting us off was very rude. If you do so again, this lovely…captive audience of ours will meet their end. Just so we understand each other…I'd like to introduce my good friend Bonesaw!"
[Applause]
The camera panned slowly, revealing the terrified, gagged faces of the news crew. The girl in question paused in her work to smile and wave, seemingly forgetful of the blood dripping off her arms and the scalpel she held gently in her hand. The body she was working was grotesque, the skin peeled back and metal implements jutting out at sickening angles. Colin could see the man's own terrified eyes, crying from the pain and violation. Colin's jaw cracked as he bit down.
[Laughter], read the subtitles. This time, a familiar soundbite forced its way through the horror of the scene. A laugh track, an honest to god laugh track.
"It's she just a hoot?" Jack Slash said as the camera refocused on his face. "Now that our little 'ground rule' has been established, I think it's time for the main event.
"You see," Jack Slash began, sinking into a chair the Siberian pushed lazily on stage. "I'm bored of our games. It's routine by now. Even this right here! You're all sitting, comfortable in your homes, and thinking 'Yup, that's the Slaughterhouse Nine for you'."
The Villain's face changed as the camera angle did. A morose sense of loss and pain emanating from his features. "It hurts that you see us this way. It hurts when our passion isn't felt by one and all. It's a deep connection, you see. We've been feeling…excommunicated of late. Don't worry yourselves, though. You are safe in your homes. You have nothing to fear. You can turn off your television, your laptop, your phone and pretend we don't exist."
He chuckled at some inner joke. "You can hope that life will get better, despite everything."
Jack Slash laughed at this, as if 'hope' was the punchline to a joke he didn't bother to tell, and he wasn't the only one. From beyond the borders to the camera's lens, Shatterbird laughed with him, Bonesaw squealed in childish glee, and a deep rumble that was likely Crawler's own amusement rattled.
"Now then. On to business. On to better, greater things," Jack Slash spread his arms wide. "I'd like to introduce our newest member. Our little Tragedy. She's got something special planned for one very lucky audience member…an offer I don't think you can resist.
"Without further adieu, please welcome Melpomene to the stage!"
[Applause]
Colin's throat seized as the girl stepped into view. Black, wavy hair framed green eyes. A wide mouth smirked in a way he hadn't seen before. Taylor Hebert stood beside the leader of the Slaughterhouse nine.
"Hello everyone," she began. "If you recognise my face, 'look upon ye works, and despair' to paraphrase a great poet. If you recognise my voice…then I hope you enjoy my little surprise at the end of the show."
Taylor began pacing back and forth, a calm smile replacing the almost hungry look she'd previously had.
"This," the girl said. "is a story about love. A story about sacrifice. A story where the heroes aren't what they seem, and the villains may as well be giants. It's a visceral tale, only one of millions that are taking place at this very moment.
"To all of you, at home…at work. To the slackers, watching videos instead of studying. To the homebodies, letting dinner burn as you watch in rapture. To the authorities, trying desperately to find the solution to, well, us. To all of you, I have but one. Simple. Request."
Taylor looked into the camera, looked through it, and stared into his eyes.
"Look around you. Look at your family, your friends, your job, your very life. Look at that which is most precious to you…and ask yourself this: 'How far would I go to protect it?'
"For this week only, give or take a few days, we the 'Nine humbly ask that you keep that question in your mind as you follow this tale of trials and heartbreak."
She smiled.
Colin shivered.
Henry clenched his fists.
Ashley glanced at Colin with worry in her eyes.
"For now, I can give you but a taste," Taylor said. "To Mordred…Dear, sweet Colin. How far will you go? One of our guests is simply dying to know."
Colin felt his stomach lurch as the bruised face of a woman was shown on camera.
"Oh yes, Colin. Dear Vanessa simply must know your answer."
"And, of course," Jack Slash broke in. "So will everyone else."
It was that picture, the smiling face of a psychopath, that the video ended on. Colin jabbed the off button with enough force to rock the monitor.
"What now, Boss?" Henry asked.
Colin frowned. "Clare?"
"Yes, Dad?" the synthesised voice asked.
"Get the Mark Ones ready for a test flight," he said. "We're going to Montana."
August 26th, 2011
Brockton Bay, NH
Ethan held the cool glass of water in one hand and let the chill flow into his veins. He glanced over at the bed, where his wife had been sleeping when he'd gotten up, thirsty in the night.
"Ethan?" she asked. "W-what do we do?"
"M/S protocol," he replied. "It's the only thing we can do."
On the wall in front of them, two identical pictures were etched into the drywall. A Greek mask of tragedy, it's partner dashed in pieces on the ground beneath it. The words 'I drew this for you, do you like it?' rested on top of the masks, also in duplicate. Ethan knew the handwriting wasn't his. He knew it wasn't Sam's either. He had a sinking suspicion that if he went looking at Taylor Hebert's school assignments, though, he'd find a match.
When the phone rang, he finally let go of the glass. It was warm now, anyway. When he saw the caller I.D., he answered without a second thought. "You too, eh Hannah?"
He listened for a moment.
"I know. That was our plan as well….see you soon."
Crystal Pelham stopped pacing. "It's not her."
Amy and Victoria, from their respective places on and above her bed, stared at her in disbelief. Crystal's laptop sat on her desk, letting out a low whir as the fan cooled its insides. The video had finished playing ten minutes ago, and the room had been silent until now. A picture of classical theatre masks, and the chilling message above them, sat innocently on the open pages of Crystal's notebook. The wary glances each of the three girls gave the notebook had nothing to do with her math homework.
"It's not her," Crystal repeated.
Victoria sighed, unwilling to get into yet another argument no doubt, but the younger Dallon had no such issue.
"For fucks sake, Crystal," Amy growled. "You can seriously be defending her after this. It was bad enough that she skipped out on the quarantine. Her hanging out with the Nine? If she didn't already have a kill order, she damn well has one now."
"It's. Not. Her."
"Look," Amy said. "You think you know her, I get that. She was your rock, a goofy, normal friendship that kept you sane. Better get this through your head, Cous. The Taylor you knew was a fraud. I heard a lot about Script from a friend…not much of it was good."
Crystal frowned, her lips pulling into an angry shape that felt unnatural on her face. "Right, and you heard this from a villain that you're all but dating."
The snarl was on both their faces now, with a concerned Victoria looking at them warily, the way you might gaze at two bears in the woods. It took a concerted amount of effort for Crystal not to snap at them, call them names, or rant about how not everything can fit into their perfect little black and white box.
She remembered the times she'd been with the younger girl. The awkward, happy person she'd been before her abduction. The early morning crying session when she'd been rescued. Her words, her smiles, her frustrations.
No. Taylor may have been scarred by her misadventures, but she hadn't been broken. Not really. Not like…that.
"That wasn't her," Crystal said finally, after working her jaw. "I believe that. I have to believe that."
"And if you're wrong?" Victoria asked, her voice small in the wake of their conversation.
Crystal turned, looking out the window at the city, watching as the last rays of light washed over the glass and metal towers of Brockton's city centre like moisture down a shower's curtain. "If I'm wrong," Crystal muttered. "I'll bring her in myself."
Amy could have pointed out why that was unfeasible. She could have mentioned the quarantine that was still in effect, or the responsibilities that Crystal had as leader of the Stars. She did neither. The mousey girl simply nodded, the weight in Crystal's voice apparently enough to mollify her.
No one spoke up after that, and the Dallon sisters left after a moment's silence, a solemn goodbye drifting behind them.
Crystal didn't sleep much that night. Instead, she lay awake with too many questions on her mind, and one thought repeating itself over and over. I hope I'm right.
August 26th, 2011
Mid-air over Montana
Put artistically, the Mark One rent open the air around it. Colin could have explained how the physics involved allowed the aircraft to cut through turbulence like a shark gliding through water, but his mind wasn't in the place for work. It was odd, he thought, that he could be so focused and yet distracted to the point of frustration. The usual clarity he felt when preparing for a mission wasn't there.
What had they done to her?
Was she still alive?
Was he powerful enough to save her? Save all of them?
…and why, oh why had he turned her down all those years ago?
Colin sighed. Hindsight wouldn't help anyone here, not Vanessa and certainly not himself. He'd acknowledged his failures as a person before. Moping about them now…
"Dad?"
Clare's voice broke him out of his introspective spiral. "Yes?"
"I was just thinking…it's the Nine, right. I'm…not sure we should be engaging them like this."
"If we don't-" Colin began.
"The Protectorate has a large roster, dad," Clare said. When had her voice gotten so mature? "Putting this off for a few hours could mean substantial backup."
Colin frowned.
That was the kind of reasoning that Armsmaster would have agreed with. The kind of thinking that Dragon would have advocated.
Clare was her mother's daughter alright.
"When Brockton Bay fell into a gang war, I could have waited. Off the top of my head, I can think of four Protectorate teams with powers better suited for situations like that. If we'd maintained our lines and held the downtown core, we could have lasted long enough for one of them to back us up.
"But," Colin finished. "That's not what a hero does."
"What do you mean?"
"Actions like that are what the police are for," Colin said. "Heroes were meant to be better. We were supposed to save people, not tow the party line and sacrifice the less fortunate for the status quo."
"That's not realistic, dad, no matter how much we want to be those people," Clare said. "Remember Vikare?"
"Everyone does."
"The heroes you're talking about belong in old comic books. The real world isn't like that…everyone is mortal."
Ah.
"Your mother tried, though. She was the closest to being a hero out of all of us."
"And it killed her."
Colin pursed his lips. "That…That doesn't mean that it was wrong of her to try."
Clare made a non-committal noise, devoting more of herself to flying the craft that served as her 'body'…of rather, one of them. An identical, blade-shaped craft followed in their wake with two passengers, Henry and Ashley.
"Richter told me about your promise," she said finally.
Colin raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Would you really do it?" She asked.
"Clare…Richter's an alarmist. Neither him nor his cyber-ghost took the time to get to know Dragon."
"But she didn't have free will like I do."
Colin sighed. "Are you going to crash the stock market?"
"No."
"How about taking over air traffic control and sending planes onto collision courses?"
"No! I've never even considered it!"
"Well," Colin said with a gentle smile. "there you have it."
Clare huffed. "So you wouldn't kill me?"
"You're family," Colin said, as if that answered everything. In a way, it kind of did.
It was another ten minutes before the Skyline of Helena came up ahead of them. There wasn't much to say after that, and Colin pursed his lips as the buildings grew larger. He'd never fought the Nine before. He hadn't been there for the last visit they'd paid to Brockton Bay, and he'd never volunteered when they'd gone after other cities. He'd been more concerned with his job…his legacy.
Funny how things work out.
He couldn't help but wonder. What had brought Taylor here? The Simurgh? Her kidnapping? Or was she one of those few individuals who were always destined for acts of evil? It didn't seem in character for her. Script was…aloof, as far as cape personas go. She was a puzzle, but also consistent. She helped him see what his eyes couldn't, gave him strength and certainty when his muscles tired and his mind clouded over. He just couldn't see her doing something like this, despite evidence to the contrary.
August 26th, 2011
Helena, MT
Jacob smiled. "He took the bait?"
"That you call it 'bait' saddens me," Mel chimed in. the dark-haired girl held a cup of tea in one hand, slurping occasionally out of the mug's travel lid. "It's more of an 'inciting incident', really."
"Semantics, dear Melpomene," Jacob said. "We set up a situation to which we already knew the outcome in an attempt to trap him. Thus, bait."
Mel huffed, purposely making her next sip as loud as possible. "It was necessary."
"True."
The rooftop was as good a resting place as any. No cameras to worry about, and the others were busy with their own thoughts and plans.
"So, how are we going about this?" Mel asked. "Like your recruitment sessions?"
"I may take some kernel of inspiration from it...but I meant what I said on the broadcast. We've gotten too complacent, too predictable," Jacob said. "We need something new."
Mel hummed, swirling her tea around her mug with a finger. "And you will ruin him in the process?"
Jacob smirked. "'Ruin' implies that there will be something left of him."
Mel frowned in thought. "Well, it's nearly time to begin."
"He's here?"
"Soon."
Jacob smoothed his hair with one hand. "Well, I should go lay down the rules of our little theater," he said.
"Hello, Colin," Jack Slash said, his voice distorted and tinny from the small speakers it came from. "I suppose I need no introduction."
Colin seized the microphone and connected it. "Where's Vanessa?"
"Safe, for now at least. She'll remain so as long as you abide by our…rules of the house, so to speak.
"No doubt by now you've deduced that the Nine have been using the Helena broadcasting station as our little homebase. You are not to come within a full city block of this building. If you do, Vanessa, along with all the rest of our hostages, dies.
"Should any out of town heroes show up and try to storm our venue, the hostages die."
"Simply," Jack Slash said. "You obey what I say, when I say it, or…"
"I get it."
"You're no fun at all," the killer groused. "Naturally, these rules are also true for your companions."
Colin suppressed the rage that had been bubbling quietly since he'd first seen the video, he worked his jaw once…twice, and then adjusted the microphone. "So what do you demand I do?"
"So obedient!" Jack Slash said, his voice saccharine sweet. "I don't need you to do anything just yet. Settle in for the night, prepare yourself if you can. We begin our little production tomorrow."
Colin felt his blood roar in his ears as he turned off the radio, yanking the microphone out as quickly as he'd put it in.
"Dad…"
"Bring us down outside city limits, Clare."
"OK."
August 27th, 2011
Helena, MT
Jacob bit down on his breakfast, letting the juice from the grapefruit slice run down his chin as he thought. Mordred…Colin Wallis. According to dear, wicked Mel, He was a man driven to great lengths by his pains. In his mind, only he could solve the problem, only he could be the hero. He'd wisened up somewhat, a side effect of the events leading to his defection, but at his deepest levels he was a man that thought he had to do everything by himself.
Personal failures….hmmm.
"What'cha thinking about, Jack?" Bonesaw asked. The young girl was cleaned up now, a small, light blue 'Hello Hero' backpack perched beside her on the table. A diminutive cartoon Eidolon held hands with a non-descript child of a vague nationality, with similarly styled Alexandria and Legend figures laid out in a pattern around the cloth.
"Just planning things out," he said.
The girl smiled gently, testing the edge of her scalpel before sliding it into the bag and setting it beside her forceps, electronics, titular bone saw, and all the other tools of her bloody trade.
"And you," he continued. "How was school?"
"It was fun," she replied.
Jacob raised an eyebrow.
"It was Mel's idea," Bonesaw elaborated. "I may have left a few presents behind."
"Oh?" he asked. "What kind?"
"Two words, Jack. Disease vectors."
Sneaky. He honestly would have approved if Mel wasn't involved. That girl was meddling a tad much for his liking. He would have to rein her in soon.
"Sounds fun," he said. "You think they'll like their presents?"
"Of course, silly!" the girl chimed before plucking her backpack off the table and skipping out the door. "everyone loves chocolate!"
Jacob settled back into his chair and plucked the red-smeared toast off his plate, savoring the tangy raspberry flavour.
Back to the matter at hand. If Colin Wallis….no, that wasn't right. Mordred suited him better. If Mordred was so worried about his own failures, then naturally Jack would have to make him fail…or maybe set him up for one? What could be worse than a defeat snatched from victory than if it was his fault.
Jacob smiled.
The oven dinged.
The rest of his thoughts would have to wait. Bacon came first.
August 27th, 2011
Washington, DC
To the people outside the room, Rebecca Costa-Brown was the Chief Director of the PRT. For hundreds of thousands of Americans, she was the head office, the boss's boss's boss, the one at whom the buck stopped, both figuratively and on some occasions literally.
To the two men currently in the modest office, she was a co-conspirator, a comrade, and a fellow hero. Legend and Eidolon sat across from her, their eyes glued to the screen on her wall.
"How accurate is this?" Legend asked.
Rebecca simply raised an eyebrow in response.
"Right," the man continued. "It's you. OK, what can you tell us?"
"Jack Slash has been off script for some time now. Think over the last few months, have they attempted any recruitments? Done anything major? The biggest incident I can recall involved the deaths of some hundred or so campers…hardly their largest hit." Rebecca turned her chair slightly, angling herself to take in the screen, but keep her body language open. Eidolon shifted in his own seat as she did so. "His erratic behaviour, and the subsequent redirection of the Slaughterhouse Nine has a potentially disastrous timing."
"Are you going to continue to spout facts, Director?" Eidolon asked. "Or get to the point."
Rebecca internally sighed, knowing as she did so that David would know. The man played his part well, but sadly only a portion of his arrogance and posturing was for show.
"You're aware of the situation with Mordred, correct?"
"Tinker goes crazy, defects, and becomes a villain?" Eidolon said. "Rings a bell."
"Colin was mastered, if you remember the reports," Legend said, frowning beneath his mask.
"By that new cape, what was her name…Cast?"
"Script," Rebecca said. "Her name was Script. A week or two after Colin began hearing voices, the Slaughterhouse Nine abruptly changed course. I don't pretend to know how the girl ended up with a clone, but given that this 'Melpomene' joined the Nine with ease, I can only say it wasn't a coincidence."
"And where is Script now?" Eidolon asked.
"Earth Gimmel, Nevada to be precise."
"And Contessa? The Number Man?"
"Still no word."
The trio shared a moment of silence. Not out of respect, but of pondering. Two of the most dangerous capes they'd ever known, wiped out by a mastered Thomas Calvert, Marquis, and the Fairy Queen in a situation that could only have been set up by Script.
"What's the girl's rating now?"
"Master 9, with Thinker subsets," Rebecca rattled off.
"Bit high, don't you think?"
"Underestimation is what got us into this mess," she continued. "I don't have to remind you that even fresh, young, innocent seeming parahumans can cause disaster. Bonesaw? Zeitgeist?"
The two men cringed.
"In any case, that should tell you how seriously we're taking this. Her ratings added to the combined threat of the Nine…it isn't pleasant."
"Why now?" Legend asked.
"It served our purpose," Rebecca said. She took no pleasure in that fact, and found the necessary evils to be a crushing weight on her, but the situation was what it was. Scion was still out there. "But we no longer have the checks and balances that we require to keep them on a leash. Without Contessa or The Number Man, I think we all know the outcome of that fight."
"Are you trying to piss us off, Rebecca?" Eidolon drawled. "It's working."
"Apologies," the woman said. "What I mean to say is that we need a new approach, we three could not beat the Siberian alone. All of them together?"
"We'd be slaug…they'd kill us," Legend said, pulling his mouth into a tight line.
"What about Armsmaster, Mordred…whatever," Eidolon chimed in. "Jack Slash called him out…do you really think he'll fall for the trap?"
"Well-"
August 27th, 2011
Brockton Bay, NH
"He'll go," Hannah said.
The bland, barred walls of the jail cell were as good as the ENE could manage for master/stranger screening at the moment. Hannah herself was in the cell across from Ethan and Sam's.
"What makes you say that?" Sam asked.
Hannah remembered comforting a distraught, mouse-eared girl as she cried out her lost love. She remembered the weeks of awkward conversations and silent meetings before Vanessa finally left the city.
She also remembered a young boy weeping alone on the roof.
"He'll go," She repeated. Her fellow heroes gave her a look. Sam's was tinged with concern, and maybe even a little pity, but Ethan's gaze was strong. He understood, just like she did, that their former comrade wasn't one to sit on the sidelines.
She wondered, though, if Ethan knew the man as well as he thought. Colin wasn't easy to get along with, even when he was young. If it wasn't for Vanessa and Hero dragging him out of his lab, Hannah was sure he would have ended up living in there. His shell was born of neglect, that much she knew, and only a concerted effort could break him out of it. It took months for the friendliest, most energetic, and extroverted Ward of the inaugural team to get him to open up.
He only confided in her because of that shared time, that shared duty, and the pain of losing a mentor. Assault would remind him too much of Vanessa, Battery was always going to be the rookie in his eyes…He was jealous of Dauntless, Velocity never really tried to connect.
In the end it really was just the two of them, wasn't it?
The door chimed its familiar warning, and Hannah pulled her bandanna over her face as Sam and Ethan slipped on their own masks.
The woman silhouetted in the door was imposing, despite her size. She spared only a moment's glance at each of them before nodding to someone outside. With a faint buzz, the bars of Hannah's cell, along with all the rest, opened.
Hannah frowned. "Ma'am…why are you doing this?"
Emily Piggot, her face pale with exertion, simply scowled. "The Chief Director wants you for a mission."
The heroine opened her mouth to protest but shut it without a word. The Director of the PRT's ENE division was many things, but nepotism wasn't one of her faults. Anything Hannah would have said, any concerns she had…They'd already been heard.
And ignored.
Hannah stood, feeling the small kinks in her back ease with the motion, and followed the Director out the door. Ethan and Sam filed in behind her, walking in silence through the halls of the police precinct.
The conference room they entered was simple and plain. A plastic, collapsible table dominated the space, with folding chairs surrounding it. Deputy Director Renick sat in the one next to a laptop, hooking the computer up to a projector. Dauntless and Velocity nodded politely at them as they entered…but she'd expected to see them. Panacea was a surprise, and Hannah probably would have said something about her presence if not for the last person in the room.
"What is he doing here?" Hannah asked, her voice tight.
"Being a fucking hero-type, that's what." Hookwolf hadn't changed much after the Simurgh's attack. He didn't dress any differently, didn't censure his words, and didn't pretend he was anything but a ruthless fighter. He did, however, serve as a necessary evil. His men were credited with keeping the looting and other crimes down.
It was still telling that only the coloured criminals were left for the police to pick up.
"Ma'am?"
"Hookwolf has volunteered to help coordinate things here while our division is on loan to the Chief Director," Piggot said. If the lines of the older woman's face were anything to go by, the prospect was as pleasant for her as it was for Hannah. "Along with Lung and Foreman."
"Basically, everyone that actually has worth," Hookwolf said. "The Merchants…actually I don't think I have a better insult than that."
"You're involving Foreman?"
"He holds the docks. And his tradesmen are rebuilding the city," Piggot said. "The Mayor has been very clear that he is not to be touched."
"But his daughter-" Ethan began.
"Is our concern, he is not."
"Done." Renick's calm voice cut through the room like a bullet. Hannah paused, realising she still hadn't taken a seat, and took a deep breath.
"The Chief Director will be on shortly," Renick continued.
"Who else is on the line?" Piggot asked.
"Chicago, Houston, Los Angelas, and New York," Renick said.
Hookwolf let out a whistle. "Big players. You finally ending those fucks?"
"That's the Chief Director's decision," Piggot said.
"What's this about?" Ethan asked.
"The Slaughterhouse Nine. The Chief Director is putting together a response team."
"And she wants us?" Dauntless asked. Hannah couldn't blame Marcus, it was unreasonable to expect them to go from one disaster to another.
"I'll let her explain it," Piggot said.
Hannah folded her hands in her lap, focusing on keeping her power calm.
"Now," Renick said.
Chief Director Costa-Brown was another example of an imposing woman. Her eyes were cold and focused, piercing into them even though the Director herself was miles away. The woman's lips were turned down in the same frown that had dominated her expressions in every press release and photo shoot of her tenure.
"Is everyone ready?" the woman asked.
Alexandria nodded.
"Everyone in Brockton is accounted for," Director Piggot replied.
"We're ready here," Legend said.
"Are we starting now?" Eidolon asked, sliding into his seat on the other side of the webcam.
"We're ready here too," Chevalier said.
"You all know the reason for this meeting," The Chief Director said. "You're all here because you are needed. For some of you, this seems too much, too fast. You might not be the kind of hero that would volunteer for this sort of operation.
"That line of thinking is what caused this problem in the first place. The Slaughterhouse Nine has been around longer than the PRT, longer than many of your careers. It has laid waste across the US, killed indiscriminately, and drained our hope as a nation. That ends today.
"Before, we asked for volunteers. Now, I am telling you that we need to act." The woman folded her hands, a posture that belied her fervour. "We can't allow this to happen. Helena may not be your city, it may have no more connection to you than Iran or Bangladesh, but if we allow the Nine to not only take a city hostage, but commit their atrocities on such a scale…then we aren't worthy of our positions."
"You're conscripting us?" Chevalier asked.
"If you want to look at it that way, yes." Director Costa-Brown said. "But then you chose to be a hero, to give of yourself for the sake of others. You all made oaths. Time to make due."
Hannah frowned. It felt too familiar, too close to home…but was there really another option?
"What about us?" Ethan asked. "After what's happened, is it really safe for us to be a part of this?"
"The Brockton Bay compliment won't be engaging the Nine," Director Costa-Brown clarified. "You'll be going after Mordred."
Ok. So firstly, I'm sorry it took this long.
I got caught up in a whole lot of stuff irl. New job, new apartment, new commitments, and naturally new video games.
As well, you probably noticed that I ended the 'Intermission' arc. Originally it was supposed to be a series of 10 10,000 word vignettes from the perspectives of characters like Amy, Ciara, Jacob, or even Aisha. I soon found out that as fun as large chapters is, it has a tendency to stall me out rather than help my writing in any way.
So enough of that. 'Setting' will be going back to what I'd been previously doing. 3k a week.
Some of the other ideas I'd planned for Intermission might crop up in smaller side-stories later, but for now I want to focus on the main parts and work towards finishing the story.
Cheers, and thanks for stopping by,
VI
I got caught up in a whole lot of stuff irl. New job, new apartment, new commitments, and naturally new video games.
As well, you probably noticed that I ended the 'Intermission' arc. Originally it was supposed to be a series of 10 10,000 word vignettes from the perspectives of characters like Amy, Ciara, Jacob, or even Aisha. I soon found out that as fun as large chapters is, it has a tendency to stall me out rather than help my writing in any way.
So enough of that. 'Setting' will be going back to what I'd been previously doing. 3k a week.
Some of the other ideas I'd planned for Intermission might crop up in smaller side-stories later, but for now I want to focus on the main parts and work towards finishing the story.
Cheers, and thanks for stopping by,
VI
The death of Ziz shook me. I never got over that. I had to quit reading it because Endbringers were some of my favorite characters in Worm. Still sad about that even after this long...
Setting 7.2
- Location
- Canada
August 27th, 2011
Helena, MT
The Mark Ones landed outside of the city, to moderate fanfare. State troopers had cordoned off the entrance to the city, with tents and supplies for anyone who managed to leave. Truckers and travellers bunched up around the police tape, filling the air with a murmur of confusion and fear. Mordred and his companions walked through the police lines without much trouble, the officers and bystanders too worried about the city itself to question the presence of the three capes.
The two, large aircraft resting nearby probably contributed too.
"So, what's the plan?" Mercurial asked.
"Rescue," Mordred said.
"Ok, sure…but what about specifics, man," the Elite fixer prodded. "You ever make any plans for dealing with the Siberian? Crawler? What about Bonesaw?"
Mordred grit his teeth, sucking in a breath. "Minimize casualties. Use your best judgement."
"That's it?" Damsel said. "That's…"
"You want to be part of my team?" Mordred asked. Mercurial was silent, probably frowning under his helmet, but Damsel quickly nodded. "Common fucking sense. Use it."
"Hey now…"
The rest of what Mercurial was going to say was cut off by the sound of wanton destruction. From their vantage point outside the city, they watched with horrific clarity as one of the city's skyscrapers buckled with a sharp metallic sound. The structure swayed slightly, as if it were a giant wondering where to place his foot. Eventually, it began falling to the east.
Directly into the path of another building.
Shattering glass and shrieking metal filled the air, echoing beyond the city itself into the deafening silence of the police blockade. For a split second, it almost seemed as though the two buildings were melding into each other peacefully, but the large chunks of debris that fell from their union quickly dispelled that thought. Mordred swallowed, quickening his pace and hoping with all his will that Vanessa wasn't…
His companions had vastly different reactions. Damsel gasped, pulling her gauntleted hands in front of her mouth in horror as she watched the chaos unfold. It was hard to believe, given what they'd been through, but Mordred found himself constantly overestimating her jadedness. This was probably the most destruction she'd personally witnessed. She'd seen the aftermath of the Simurgh attack from a distance, but none of them had been present for the Endbringer's explosive entrance.
Mercurial clenched his fists. Mordred knew that Henry Anders was a good man, one prone to outbursts of emotion, but he was one of the few capes who had mastered the art of the secret identity. Mercurial was, by any standard, a separate person. Henry would be raving about the injustice, maybe even yelling at Mordred to go save who they could…Mercurial was probably irritated as a professional at the overt display of power.
The walk into Helena was quiet after that. All three of them were ready for anything…as much as that would help against monsters like the 'Nine. Mordred's sword was held with a firm grip, his thumb already wrapped around the activation switches that would trigger one of a dozen gadgets. Mercurial held a seamless rifle in one hand, the other fiddling with bands of liquid metal. Damsel of Distress was living up to her name, her eyes wide behind her domino mask as she worried at the gauntlets surrounding her hands.
That's when Mordred heard it. A voice.
Jacob smirked as the last remnants of dust settled on the ground. In the end, all it took was a few minutes of the Siberian's time and the deck was stacked in his favour. The skyscraper had knocked into its neighbour, collapsing both and sending emergency services scrambling. Crawler had been the proverbial scythe to their terrified wheat.
"He's here," Melpomene said. The girl had sat herself down in a luxurious office chair a while ago, her bare feet tucked under herself as she sipped at a glass of iced tea. Her…assistant, for lack of a better term, stood silently behind her with his eyes red and puffy. Oh yes, the girl had once again proven she was worthy of the nine. Who would have thought that Stanley Simpson, unassuming gopher at a radio station in Montana, would really be the hero 'Jovian'? Well, Jacob did…but he was a good guesser.
"Excellent!" Jacob said, smiling. "Now where did I leave that…Ah, thank you, my dear."
He took the radio handset from Mimi and licked his lips. The stage was set. The actors cast. The audience was waiting…and Jacob couldn't be happier.
Lights…camera…action.
"Colin! May I call you Colin?" he said, sitting down on the corner of a desk. "I'm so…so glad to finally speak with you."
"What do you want, Jack?" The anti-hero's voice came, ringing from the radio like an angry bell.
"The same thing everyone does, in the end…a Legacy!" He waited for a moment, savouring the pause. "Or rather, I want to be remembered. I want to go out strong."
"You want a blaze of glory?"
"The likes of which you'll never see again," Jacob said. The smile on his face was antithetical to his words, of that he was well aware. Normal people didn't announce their plan to die in a fantastical manner.
Good thing he wasn't normal. And he wasn't going to make it easy, oh no. Jacob planned to stick around for another few years, just to watch the world burn.
"Like I'd let you immortalize yourself," Mordred said. "You're trash, Jack. Always have been. Once your dead, you'll be out of our thoughts faster than Scion rescuing cats."
Jacob chuckled. "An odd metaphor, Mordred, but appropriate I suppose. You are correct, though. If I were to die this very instant-"
"Please do."
"This very instant, no one would remember Jack Slash. They'd remember the Nine, certainly dear Sibby, but not me. I don't have that certain oomph, the moxie needed to become legend.
"But I will soon enough, and you're going to help me."
"Like hell. I'm going to kill you, Jack, I'm going to kill you and your 'friends' and put an end to your madness."
Jacob smiled. "It's cute that you think you have a choice. Fate chooses who it will, and who are we to stop it?"
The line was silent for a moment before Mordred's voice rattled a single word, low and soft. "Heroes."
He cut the connection immediately after.
Jacob frowned for a second, he usually liked to have the last word in this kind of argument, but he could make an exception. He was willing to let the poor man feel empowered, at least for a while longer.
"Well," he said to the room. "It's showtime."
The room smiled back, and the killers went to work.
Hannah blinked, clearing her eyes as Strider brought the heroes to the city limits. The group had gone from city to city, outpost to outpost, gathering the best they could.
The Triumvirate stood to one side, talking quietly to one another.
Chevalier gave Hannah a lingering look before returning his gaze to his teammates, responding to a question.
As for the Brockton Bay heroes...
Dauntless, Assault, and Battery stood behind her, and all three looked nervous. She didn't blame them, she couldn't blame Robin either, no matter how easy it would have been. He'd stayed behind, despite the consequences. He'd never been brave, though she would miss him.
Crystal Pelham, Polaris now, stood flanked by her brother and cousin. The trio looked professional with their matching outfits, and even though they were still young...Hannah couldn't call them green. No one was, not after their first Endbringer fight.
Panacea had come too, in an 'unofficial capacity' as she put it. Her break from organised healing was still ongoing, it seemed. The mousy brunette stood a lot differently than before, her back straight and her eyes staring right ahead.
"You almost can't tell, really," Assault said. "how bad do you think it's going to get?"
"Idiot," Battery said. "Don't talk like that, not now."
"It's just...have we ever seen the Nine go all out?"
"Hero," Dauntless said, a little too loudly. Marcus seemed to catch his mistake, though, continuing his sentence with a sheepish tilt of his armoured head at a more reasonable level. "With Hero, maybe...or maybe before that, when King was in charge...but with Jack? No, he never takes these seriously."
"He will today," Assault said. "One way or another."
"That's not our priority," Hannah said, her voice snapping into an authoritative tone without a thought. "We're here for Mordred, to make sure he doesn't make things worse."
"Yeah..." Assault said.
"You think Colin will-"
"Mordred has fought the army, and for we know he killed Dragon. Mastered or not, remember that we aren't fighting our friend," Hannah interrupted. "Battery was correct, we can't afford distractions now."
Dauntless raised a hand, ready to say something, but a clap of thunder cut him off before he could go on.
"Thank you," Legend said, facing Eidolon as the hooded man's hand lost a crackling aura of electricity. "Your attention please."
The crowd settled, they weren't the normal crowd that attended the Endbringer fights, this was a group of carefully selected veterans. They knew the stakes. They knew how to act.
"The Slaughterhouse Nine," the blaster began. "We all know what they're capable of. We know what they do to the innocents that happen to cross their path, not because they're inhuman, not because their powers led them to some kind of depravity, but because it makes them happy. Make no mistake, Mannequin aside, these people would have become killers even without powers. With them, they are ruthless, cruel, and powerful. Never forget what it is we are fighting here. Don't see Bonesaw as a child or Burnscar for a teenager, don't look at Jack Slash and see a spry, middle-aged man. They are monsters that would kill you without a second thought.
"Strike first, strike hard, and stay alert. This is the day we end the Nine forever, and I for one will settle for nothing less than a complete victory." the Triumvirate took off as one, floating up from the crowd as Legend's speech came to a close. "See you on the other side."
Hannah tightened her 'grip' on her power, and the lean pistol that rested on her hip faded into green, crackling energy before it settled into a heavy automatic rifle.
One foot in front of the other, praying that you didn't take a wrong step.
She grimaced.
To Amy, the city seemed dead.
It wasn't anything in particular. There were people around, certainly. Those too stubborn or unable to evacuate. The Looters. The Evangelists. All the familiar faces she'd come to expect from disaster zones like this. A crowd of young men had almost tried to jump her as she walked down the alley, but they stopped when they got a good look at her face.
Well, almost face. She'd kept some of her 'spoils' from the fight against Ragnarok's thrall. The skull, upgraded as it was, served well enough as a helmet, and the corded, altered musculature she'd created had survived long enough to enter a sort of 'testing' phase for her. It wasn't the very same cells she'd had back then, but the idea was the same.
She'd left her cousins and sister behind almost immediately. Victoria especially hadn't been happy, but when Amy replied with 'try and stop me' it had been over pretty quick.
She had something she needed to do. Amy smacked her hand against the skull, near her temple, and blink a few times to try and clear her head.
...Maybe then the stupid bitch would shut up.
Mordred paused at the intersection. Something wasn't right. He felt eyes on him, or rather Clarent triggered a pop up in his helmet's HUD.
An Infrared guiding laser.
He barked out a warning to his companions before dropping to one knee. A loud crack shook the air, as the bullet careened off the nearby ground.
Mordred raised his arm, powering up his shield generator in time to cause the next three rounds to atomize. Behind him, Damsel had already brought her powers to bear, creating a cone for Mercurial and herself to hide behind.
He was missing something. Looters? No, not brave enough. Helena didn't have a big gang presence, cape wise, so either they were unlucky enough to run into a villain who was both willing to kill and willfully ignoring the situation around them or…
"Militia," he said.
Like a ghost, the heroine stepped out from her cover. Her costume, uniform really, was just as he remembered. Just above her star-spangled scarf, he saw her eyes tighten. Resolve? Regret? He couldn't tell.
"Mor…Colin." She didn't lower her rifle, keeping a near perfect posture with a wide stance.
"Codenames…Hannah," Mordred chided. She only shrugged her shoulders in response. "What exactly do you think you're doing here? You should be focussing on the 'Nine, not the capes fighting on your side."
The woman shifted to one side, sidestepping a fire hydrant as she walked closer. "We aren't on the same side here, Mordred. Not anymore."
"The Rules…" Damsel muttered.
"Don't matter anymore. Jack Slash and the Hebert girl have mucked up everything. It's not just you anymore, Colin, anyone of us could be compromised. We all heard her when the Simurgh died…or appeared to, anyway."
"You think we're under the Endbringer's control?"
"I don't know…that's why it scares me," Miss Militia said. "It's too plausible, and Script's escape from quarantine? Too convenient."
"Look," Mercurial said, stepping around Colin to stand in front of their group. "This kind of situation, the last thing you want is more enemies."
"The Protectorate is cleaning house today, Mercurial. This isn't just another crisis."
Mercurial sighed in a very Henry kind of way, then rolled his neck. "Guess we don't have much else to say, then."
The villain turned to Mordred, keeping an eye on Miss Militia as he did so. "Best get moving, Boss. I'll handle her."
Mordred frowned, but nodded. It was probably the best resolution he was going to get. As he turned to walk away, he fixed Mercurial with a glance. "She's good at rapid reloads and weapon changes," he said.
"S'alright, Boss," the fixer said. "So am I."
Hannah watched her former friend, her mission, jog off with Damsel of Distress at his heel. She wasn't too worried, though.
"You really should have backed off," Mercurial said. The villain raised one arm, and the bands of metal that encircled his arm flowed over his hand, coalescing into the shape of a submachine gun, its all-metal casing gleaming softly in the sunlight.
"So that's what you do…" Hannah mumbled. It certainly solved some of the cape's past mysteries…but was a little irrelevant now.
"I don't mean to steal your whole 'walking armoury' gig, but hey, that's life."
Hannah began raising her rifle as Mercurial took aim.
"Such a small thing, and yet…"
She could relate. Bullets, guns, even mines. Hannah had gotten an opportunity, years ago, to look at a deactivated landmine. She remembered being in awe, not of the grandeur or the implied power the device gave off in its design, but rather the fact that such a thing…such a small thing, could have caused the deaths of the other children.
One of many images she couldn't forget.
"Why?" She asked. "Why team up with Colin? We threatened you, once."
The villain shrugged. "Let's just say it's a favour for a friend…and Colin is a decent guy, once you get to know him. A little soft, sometimes."
Hannah frowned.
"You want to tell me what it is you're stalling for?" Mercurial asked. Hannah blinked in shock, though there wasn't any surprise in it. He was bound to figure it out eventually. She'd hoped for a few more moments of ignorance, though.
"Do you really think that my superiors would send only me?"
"Damn," Mercurial said.
"We don't want to hurt him, or you if you cooperate. We-"
"No, lady," Mercurial said. "You misunderstood me. I meant it like 'Damn, your teammates? They're fucked."
The armoured figure waved one finger. "Context, you know. Never got that lesson?"
Hannah tensed. With a green flash, the rifle was gone, leaving Hannah with a small, round device that she lobbed at the villain.
An impact grenade.
Such small things…but deadly.
I wiggled my butt in the chair, kicking a lazy circle behind the desk. Behind me, Jovian held a pot of tea in one hand, a stack of paper in the other. He was a good boy, he learned quickly.
Well…quicker than Harry, anyway.
I completed one last spin before the vaguest sense of impending doom flashed in my mind. Showtime.
The wall burst open in a display of power that very few could ever claim to witness. Multicoloured lights showered the bland, grey walls of the radio station even as they burned away at the contents of the room.
They knew, naturally.
Legend, Alexandria, and Eidolon flew into the room in a manoeuvre so delicate and coordinated that it must have been rehearsed.
Or, you know…the fact that they had decades of working together on a constant basis…it was probably the latter, come to think of it.
"Surrender," Alexandria said. Simple and to the point.
I smiled. "I loved you as a kid, you know that?"
"We won't ask again kid," Eidolon added. The red, crackling glow the emanated from his hands was a tad disconcerting…but, eh fuck it. I'd gotten this far, hadn't I?
"No really," I said, ignoring the most powerful man on the planet in favour of his counterpart. "I used to tie towels on like a cape and bounce on my bed pretending to be you."
"A sad end to childhood dreams," the heroine…no, The Heroine said.
"All things must end in time," I said. "But hey…met my hero. I can die happy."
Legend, suspiciously silent, finally spoke. "Why? Why join the 'Nine after everything?"
I scoffed. "You being recorded or something? Come on, we all know that the real Taylor Hebert is on some other planet…right where you left her."
Legend glanced at the others, a quick and sharp movement. How interesting.
"Yup, little miss Messiah complex is out of the picture, for now, so you're stuck with me."
"You're not a threat," Eidolon said. "You're barely even a concern."
"Oooh," I said. "Scary."
"Enough," Alexandria said. "Either surrender or fight us. Either way, it's over."
"Oh, me?" I said. "Who said anything about me fighting you?"
With a casual tap of my hand, my power reached out. I never could get used to the sensation, the pins and needles of a mind experiencing something other than myself.
My hands folded in my lap as My hand snapped out, releasing a crackling, red blast that shot Alexandria back through the wall the Triumvirate had just crashed through.
"You'll be fighting Me," I said.
Legend stared at my body in horror. I grinned, the mouths of both my bodies miming the same action.
"Really now," I said. "You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?"
Helena, MT
The Mark Ones landed outside of the city, to moderate fanfare. State troopers had cordoned off the entrance to the city, with tents and supplies for anyone who managed to leave. Truckers and travellers bunched up around the police tape, filling the air with a murmur of confusion and fear. Mordred and his companions walked through the police lines without much trouble, the officers and bystanders too worried about the city itself to question the presence of the three capes.
The two, large aircraft resting nearby probably contributed too.
"So, what's the plan?" Mercurial asked.
"Rescue," Mordred said.
"Ok, sure…but what about specifics, man," the Elite fixer prodded. "You ever make any plans for dealing with the Siberian? Crawler? What about Bonesaw?"
Mordred grit his teeth, sucking in a breath. "Minimize casualties. Use your best judgement."
"That's it?" Damsel said. "That's…"
"You want to be part of my team?" Mordred asked. Mercurial was silent, probably frowning under his helmet, but Damsel quickly nodded. "Common fucking sense. Use it."
"Hey now…"
The rest of what Mercurial was going to say was cut off by the sound of wanton destruction. From their vantage point outside the city, they watched with horrific clarity as one of the city's skyscrapers buckled with a sharp metallic sound. The structure swayed slightly, as if it were a giant wondering where to place his foot. Eventually, it began falling to the east.
Directly into the path of another building.
Shattering glass and shrieking metal filled the air, echoing beyond the city itself into the deafening silence of the police blockade. For a split second, it almost seemed as though the two buildings were melding into each other peacefully, but the large chunks of debris that fell from their union quickly dispelled that thought. Mordred swallowed, quickening his pace and hoping with all his will that Vanessa wasn't…
His companions had vastly different reactions. Damsel gasped, pulling her gauntleted hands in front of her mouth in horror as she watched the chaos unfold. It was hard to believe, given what they'd been through, but Mordred found himself constantly overestimating her jadedness. This was probably the most destruction she'd personally witnessed. She'd seen the aftermath of the Simurgh attack from a distance, but none of them had been present for the Endbringer's explosive entrance.
Mercurial clenched his fists. Mordred knew that Henry Anders was a good man, one prone to outbursts of emotion, but he was one of the few capes who had mastered the art of the secret identity. Mercurial was, by any standard, a separate person. Henry would be raving about the injustice, maybe even yelling at Mordred to go save who they could…Mercurial was probably irritated as a professional at the overt display of power.
The walk into Helena was quiet after that. All three of them were ready for anything…as much as that would help against monsters like the 'Nine. Mordred's sword was held with a firm grip, his thumb already wrapped around the activation switches that would trigger one of a dozen gadgets. Mercurial held a seamless rifle in one hand, the other fiddling with bands of liquid metal. Damsel of Distress was living up to her name, her eyes wide behind her domino mask as she worried at the gauntlets surrounding her hands.
That's when Mordred heard it. A voice.
Jacob smirked as the last remnants of dust settled on the ground. In the end, all it took was a few minutes of the Siberian's time and the deck was stacked in his favour. The skyscraper had knocked into its neighbour, collapsing both and sending emergency services scrambling. Crawler had been the proverbial scythe to their terrified wheat.
"He's here," Melpomene said. The girl had sat herself down in a luxurious office chair a while ago, her bare feet tucked under herself as she sipped at a glass of iced tea. Her…assistant, for lack of a better term, stood silently behind her with his eyes red and puffy. Oh yes, the girl had once again proven she was worthy of the nine. Who would have thought that Stanley Simpson, unassuming gopher at a radio station in Montana, would really be the hero 'Jovian'? Well, Jacob did…but he was a good guesser.
"Excellent!" Jacob said, smiling. "Now where did I leave that…Ah, thank you, my dear."
He took the radio handset from Mimi and licked his lips. The stage was set. The actors cast. The audience was waiting…and Jacob couldn't be happier.
Lights…camera…action.
"Colin! May I call you Colin?" he said, sitting down on the corner of a desk. "I'm so…so glad to finally speak with you."
"What do you want, Jack?" The anti-hero's voice came, ringing from the radio like an angry bell.
"The same thing everyone does, in the end…a Legacy!" He waited for a moment, savouring the pause. "Or rather, I want to be remembered. I want to go out strong."
"You want a blaze of glory?"
"The likes of which you'll never see again," Jacob said. The smile on his face was antithetical to his words, of that he was well aware. Normal people didn't announce their plan to die in a fantastical manner.
Good thing he wasn't normal. And he wasn't going to make it easy, oh no. Jacob planned to stick around for another few years, just to watch the world burn.
"Like I'd let you immortalize yourself," Mordred said. "You're trash, Jack. Always have been. Once your dead, you'll be out of our thoughts faster than Scion rescuing cats."
Jacob chuckled. "An odd metaphor, Mordred, but appropriate I suppose. You are correct, though. If I were to die this very instant-"
"Please do."
"This very instant, no one would remember Jack Slash. They'd remember the Nine, certainly dear Sibby, but not me. I don't have that certain oomph, the moxie needed to become legend.
"But I will soon enough, and you're going to help me."
"Like hell. I'm going to kill you, Jack, I'm going to kill you and your 'friends' and put an end to your madness."
Jacob smiled. "It's cute that you think you have a choice. Fate chooses who it will, and who are we to stop it?"
The line was silent for a moment before Mordred's voice rattled a single word, low and soft. "Heroes."
He cut the connection immediately after.
Jacob frowned for a second, he usually liked to have the last word in this kind of argument, but he could make an exception. He was willing to let the poor man feel empowered, at least for a while longer.
"Well," he said to the room. "It's showtime."
The room smiled back, and the killers went to work.
Hannah blinked, clearing her eyes as Strider brought the heroes to the city limits. The group had gone from city to city, outpost to outpost, gathering the best they could.
The Triumvirate stood to one side, talking quietly to one another.
Chevalier gave Hannah a lingering look before returning his gaze to his teammates, responding to a question.
As for the Brockton Bay heroes...
Dauntless, Assault, and Battery stood behind her, and all three looked nervous. She didn't blame them, she couldn't blame Robin either, no matter how easy it would have been. He'd stayed behind, despite the consequences. He'd never been brave, though she would miss him.
Crystal Pelham, Polaris now, stood flanked by her brother and cousin. The trio looked professional with their matching outfits, and even though they were still young...Hannah couldn't call them green. No one was, not after their first Endbringer fight.
Panacea had come too, in an 'unofficial capacity' as she put it. Her break from organised healing was still ongoing, it seemed. The mousy brunette stood a lot differently than before, her back straight and her eyes staring right ahead.
"You almost can't tell, really," Assault said. "how bad do you think it's going to get?"
"Idiot," Battery said. "Don't talk like that, not now."
"It's just...have we ever seen the Nine go all out?"
"Hero," Dauntless said, a little too loudly. Marcus seemed to catch his mistake, though, continuing his sentence with a sheepish tilt of his armoured head at a more reasonable level. "With Hero, maybe...or maybe before that, when King was in charge...but with Jack? No, he never takes these seriously."
"He will today," Assault said. "One way or another."
"That's not our priority," Hannah said, her voice snapping into an authoritative tone without a thought. "We're here for Mordred, to make sure he doesn't make things worse."
"Yeah..." Assault said.
"You think Colin will-"
"Mordred has fought the army, and for we know he killed Dragon. Mastered or not, remember that we aren't fighting our friend," Hannah interrupted. "Battery was correct, we can't afford distractions now."
Dauntless raised a hand, ready to say something, but a clap of thunder cut him off before he could go on.
"Thank you," Legend said, facing Eidolon as the hooded man's hand lost a crackling aura of electricity. "Your attention please."
The crowd settled, they weren't the normal crowd that attended the Endbringer fights, this was a group of carefully selected veterans. They knew the stakes. They knew how to act.
"The Slaughterhouse Nine," the blaster began. "We all know what they're capable of. We know what they do to the innocents that happen to cross their path, not because they're inhuman, not because their powers led them to some kind of depravity, but because it makes them happy. Make no mistake, Mannequin aside, these people would have become killers even without powers. With them, they are ruthless, cruel, and powerful. Never forget what it is we are fighting here. Don't see Bonesaw as a child or Burnscar for a teenager, don't look at Jack Slash and see a spry, middle-aged man. They are monsters that would kill you without a second thought.
"Strike first, strike hard, and stay alert. This is the day we end the Nine forever, and I for one will settle for nothing less than a complete victory." the Triumvirate took off as one, floating up from the crowd as Legend's speech came to a close. "See you on the other side."
Hannah tightened her 'grip' on her power, and the lean pistol that rested on her hip faded into green, crackling energy before it settled into a heavy automatic rifle.
One foot in front of the other, praying that you didn't take a wrong step.
She grimaced.
To Amy, the city seemed dead.
It wasn't anything in particular. There were people around, certainly. Those too stubborn or unable to evacuate. The Looters. The Evangelists. All the familiar faces she'd come to expect from disaster zones like this. A crowd of young men had almost tried to jump her as she walked down the alley, but they stopped when they got a good look at her face.
Well, almost face. She'd kept some of her 'spoils' from the fight against Ragnarok's thrall. The skull, upgraded as it was, served well enough as a helmet, and the corded, altered musculature she'd created had survived long enough to enter a sort of 'testing' phase for her. It wasn't the very same cells she'd had back then, but the idea was the same.
She'd left her cousins and sister behind almost immediately. Victoria especially hadn't been happy, but when Amy replied with 'try and stop me' it had been over pretty quick.
She had something she needed to do. Amy smacked her hand against the skull, near her temple, and blink a few times to try and clear her head.
...Maybe then the stupid bitch would shut up.
Mordred paused at the intersection. Something wasn't right. He felt eyes on him, or rather Clarent triggered a pop up in his helmet's HUD.
An Infrared guiding laser.
He barked out a warning to his companions before dropping to one knee. A loud crack shook the air, as the bullet careened off the nearby ground.
Mordred raised his arm, powering up his shield generator in time to cause the next three rounds to atomize. Behind him, Damsel had already brought her powers to bear, creating a cone for Mercurial and herself to hide behind.
He was missing something. Looters? No, not brave enough. Helena didn't have a big gang presence, cape wise, so either they were unlucky enough to run into a villain who was both willing to kill and willfully ignoring the situation around them or…
"Militia," he said.
Like a ghost, the heroine stepped out from her cover. Her costume, uniform really, was just as he remembered. Just above her star-spangled scarf, he saw her eyes tighten. Resolve? Regret? He couldn't tell.
"Mor…Colin." She didn't lower her rifle, keeping a near perfect posture with a wide stance.
"Codenames…Hannah," Mordred chided. She only shrugged her shoulders in response. "What exactly do you think you're doing here? You should be focussing on the 'Nine, not the capes fighting on your side."
The woman shifted to one side, sidestepping a fire hydrant as she walked closer. "We aren't on the same side here, Mordred. Not anymore."
"The Rules…" Damsel muttered.
"Don't matter anymore. Jack Slash and the Hebert girl have mucked up everything. It's not just you anymore, Colin, anyone of us could be compromised. We all heard her when the Simurgh died…or appeared to, anyway."
"You think we're under the Endbringer's control?"
"I don't know…that's why it scares me," Miss Militia said. "It's too plausible, and Script's escape from quarantine? Too convenient."
"Look," Mercurial said, stepping around Colin to stand in front of their group. "This kind of situation, the last thing you want is more enemies."
"The Protectorate is cleaning house today, Mercurial. This isn't just another crisis."
Mercurial sighed in a very Henry kind of way, then rolled his neck. "Guess we don't have much else to say, then."
The villain turned to Mordred, keeping an eye on Miss Militia as he did so. "Best get moving, Boss. I'll handle her."
Mordred frowned, but nodded. It was probably the best resolution he was going to get. As he turned to walk away, he fixed Mercurial with a glance. "She's good at rapid reloads and weapon changes," he said.
"S'alright, Boss," the fixer said. "So am I."
Hannah watched her former friend, her mission, jog off with Damsel of Distress at his heel. She wasn't too worried, though.
"You really should have backed off," Mercurial said. The villain raised one arm, and the bands of metal that encircled his arm flowed over his hand, coalescing into the shape of a submachine gun, its all-metal casing gleaming softly in the sunlight.
"So that's what you do…" Hannah mumbled. It certainly solved some of the cape's past mysteries…but was a little irrelevant now.
"I don't mean to steal your whole 'walking armoury' gig, but hey, that's life."
Hannah began raising her rifle as Mercurial took aim.
"Such a small thing, and yet…"
She could relate. Bullets, guns, even mines. Hannah had gotten an opportunity, years ago, to look at a deactivated landmine. She remembered being in awe, not of the grandeur or the implied power the device gave off in its design, but rather the fact that such a thing…such a small thing, could have caused the deaths of the other children.
One of many images she couldn't forget.
"Why?" She asked. "Why team up with Colin? We threatened you, once."
The villain shrugged. "Let's just say it's a favour for a friend…and Colin is a decent guy, once you get to know him. A little soft, sometimes."
Hannah frowned.
"You want to tell me what it is you're stalling for?" Mercurial asked. Hannah blinked in shock, though there wasn't any surprise in it. He was bound to figure it out eventually. She'd hoped for a few more moments of ignorance, though.
"Do you really think that my superiors would send only me?"
"Damn," Mercurial said.
"We don't want to hurt him, or you if you cooperate. We-"
"No, lady," Mercurial said. "You misunderstood me. I meant it like 'Damn, your teammates? They're fucked."
The armoured figure waved one finger. "Context, you know. Never got that lesson?"
Hannah tensed. With a green flash, the rifle was gone, leaving Hannah with a small, round device that she lobbed at the villain.
An impact grenade.
Such small things…but deadly.
I wiggled my butt in the chair, kicking a lazy circle behind the desk. Behind me, Jovian held a pot of tea in one hand, a stack of paper in the other. He was a good boy, he learned quickly.
Well…quicker than Harry, anyway.
I completed one last spin before the vaguest sense of impending doom flashed in my mind. Showtime.
The wall burst open in a display of power that very few could ever claim to witness. Multicoloured lights showered the bland, grey walls of the radio station even as they burned away at the contents of the room.
They knew, naturally.
Legend, Alexandria, and Eidolon flew into the room in a manoeuvre so delicate and coordinated that it must have been rehearsed.
Or, you know…the fact that they had decades of working together on a constant basis…it was probably the latter, come to think of it.
"Surrender," Alexandria said. Simple and to the point.
I smiled. "I loved you as a kid, you know that?"
"We won't ask again kid," Eidolon added. The red, crackling glow the emanated from his hands was a tad disconcerting…but, eh fuck it. I'd gotten this far, hadn't I?
"No really," I said, ignoring the most powerful man on the planet in favour of his counterpart. "I used to tie towels on like a cape and bounce on my bed pretending to be you."
"A sad end to childhood dreams," the heroine…no, The Heroine said.
"All things must end in time," I said. "But hey…met my hero. I can die happy."
Legend, suspiciously silent, finally spoke. "Why? Why join the 'Nine after everything?"
I scoffed. "You being recorded or something? Come on, we all know that the real Taylor Hebert is on some other planet…right where you left her."
Legend glanced at the others, a quick and sharp movement. How interesting.
"Yup, little miss Messiah complex is out of the picture, for now, so you're stuck with me."
"You're not a threat," Eidolon said. "You're barely even a concern."
"Oooh," I said. "Scary."
"Enough," Alexandria said. "Either surrender or fight us. Either way, it's over."
"Oh, me?" I said. "Who said anything about me fighting you?"
With a casual tap of my hand, my power reached out. I never could get used to the sensation, the pins and needles of a mind experiencing something other than myself.
My hands folded in my lap as My hand snapped out, releasing a crackling, red blast that shot Alexandria back through the wall the Triumvirate had just crashed through.
"You'll be fighting Me," I said.
Legend stared at my body in horror. I grinned, the mouths of both my bodies miming the same action.
"Really now," I said. "You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?"
Yup, Mel's power is being a self-insert....it was too good to pass up.
Feels good to get back into the swing of things. This fight has been stewing in my mind for a long time, and though it has changed a lot from my original ideas, I'm glad to finally be writing it.
Cheers,
VI
Feels good to get back into the swing of things. This fight has been stewing in my mind for a long time, and though it has changed a lot from my original ideas, I'm glad to finally be writing it.
Cheers,
VI
Spectres of a Past Life: Capgras in Repose
- Location
- Canada
July 23rd, 1984
Munich, Germany
The rain was too loud for him to think.
Klaus let out a groan, massaging his temples as he stared at the paper on his desk. Months of work, nay years, with no appreciable results. Klaus pushed a stack of the offending documents to the side and stood.
The office Klaus worked in was nice, in an understated sort of way. It had to be, really.
"Klaus!"
Standing in the doorway was Klaus' friend, Eggert Mahler. Dr Mahler was the other half of their little duo, the medical counterpart of Klaus' behavioural science degree. They'd been friends for years now…it made things easier here, to have a confidant.
"Egg," Klaus said, acknowledging the man. "You're here early."
"Klaus…It's five in the afternoon."
Klaus looked at his clock and blinked. "Ah."
"Maybe this will cheer you up," Eggert said, lifting a small carton. "Bratwurst from Steiner's…and some of that disgusting swill you drink."
"It's tea, Egg."
"It's flavoured water at best. Now come on, eat something. You look like your going to pass out on your feet."
"I skipped lunch."
"How many times am I going to have to call out your idiocy?"
Klaus smiled. "At least once more."
The two scientists sat down and Eggert pulled the small paper plates out of the carton, setting one in front of each of them. The small mountain of napkins took the place of utensils as they ate, joking about everything from the recent weather "It wasn't like your car could get any uglier, Egg" to the concert Bob Dylan had put on the previous month "Yes, Klaus, I know you want his children…can we move on?". Eventually, the food ran out and the conversation soon after.
"So." Klaus led.
Eggert followed his gaze to the clock. "About that time."
Klaus sighed, then shuffled the papers on his desk around until they looked slightly more professional. "Let's go then. We still have to get ready anyway."
Klaus shrugged on his coat and plucked his hat from the hook near the door, handing one of his spare umbrellas to Eggert.
Outside, a light blue sedan waited for them. The driver was new, a freshly shaven young man with cropped brown hair and a cheeky glint in his eye.
The details in sequence were troubling.
"There you are sirs," the boy said. "I was wondering if you weren't going to show."
"We wouldn't dare," Eggert half-joked.
"Too right," the boy said. "Well, hop in. Time's a wasting."
Klaus and Eggert slipped into the back seat of the car.
"I have the reports ready for you," the man in the passenger seat spoke. "As requested."
"Thank you, Albin." Klaus took the sheaf of papers the dour man presented and feigned looking them over.
"So, this compound must be front-liner stuff, right?" the driver asked.
"It's just a research project," Eggert said. "Nothing fancy, just some new hardware to give the boys like you an edge."
"Right on!" The boy said as he thumped the wheel. "Hey, can you do me a favour doc? When you're done making cool gadgets, send some my way, yeah? Name's Johann. Johann Oppelt."
"I'll try to remember it," Eggert said with a grin. "After all, we have had so many drivers recently."
The boy's face fell.
"Careful, Dr Mahlen," Albin said, glancing back. "Johann, remember that the doctors' work is very important. You were hand selected by the higher-ups personally to assist them."
The smirk found its way back on Johann's face as he nodded, splitting his attention between the road and the higher ranked man in his passenger seat.
"But," Albin continued. "They are sworn to secrecy. Please don't ask them to divulge any details."
"Right, sir," Johann said. "Got it, lips sealed."
"Smart boy," Albin said. "I'll make a note of it."
Klaus almost had to respect the older man's skill with words. He'd talked for less than a minute and turned a potential problem into a man who would beg for scraps and be happy with it.
At least Albin had one admirable trait.
The rest of him was garbage.
The remainder of the ride was spent in relative silence, with Eggert and Klaus going over Albin's status reports. The results were going about as Klaus expected, a fact that terrified him in equal proportion to his relief. The project didwork…just not as much as Reinhardt or Nibelungen wanted.
Eggert and Klaus would have to refine the procedure if they wanted to keep their research, not to mention their lives.
Gesellschaft had funded their project, given them a facility and subjects to work with…but it had been five years. Five years and only one successful candidate.
The organization's goodwill only went so far, and Klaus had spent most of it already.
The two scientists exited the car, following Albin into an old brick warehouse. The interior belonged to a shell company of a shell company, Vierte Wellenentwürfe, that produced new age novelties. That company was owned by a fabrication conglomerate run out of the Netherlands, which was, in turn, owned by one of Gesellschaft's founders.
Klaus picked his way past boxes of crystal balls and lava lamps, skirted around a forklift, and followed Albin into the warehouse's office.
At the back of the manager's room, there was a simple looking door. The joke amongst the warehouse staff was that it was a door to nowhere, seeing as it was missing its knob and the only thing behind it was a brick wall. The official blueprints of the building would, on inspection, show that the manager's office had once been the receiving bay and that a renovation had bricked up the old bay when the new one was put in. A subcontractor's mistake, complete with appropriate apology letters and correspondence, installed the wrong pre-fabricated wall section, and the door was added to mask the offending error rather than pay for further work to fix it.
All lies, of course.
Albin opened a fire suppression system's control box and inserted a copper key the likes of which you could find being made in a mall kiosk. He turned the key, and Klaus heard the familiar grating sound of clay on cement. Albin flicked the deadlock out of position and the door opened, revealing a skeletal steel stairway leading into the sub-levels that didn't officially exist. The wire-frame steps led the group down, further and further into the ground. The flick of a heavy industrial switch located at the base of the stairs closed the door behind them, leaving no trace of its existence or their destination.
After a short walk down a damp tunnel, they arrived at a large metal door. IT was the sort of thing you would expect to cover an aircraft hangar, heavy sections that slid down into place. A state of the art console sat on the left side, with a place to swipe one's keycard. Klaus fed his through the machine, then Eggert followed, and the door began to wrestle its own weight upward.
The corridor beyond was a sterile, light grey. Ten doors were spaced out evenly along the length, and a small generator sat at the far end, humming a low sound. There was no 'office space' here. Any paperwork Klaus or Eggert had to do was done in the relative safety of their day jobs (yet another thing provided to them by the organization), and the only concession to the simplicity of the facility they now stood in was that the tenth room pulled double duty as both the cleaner's closet and Eggert's laboratory.
Of the remaining nine rooms, only six currently housed subjects.
"Same as usual?" Klaus asked. Eggert gave him a look before nodding with a sigh. It was another of their little rituals. Klaus really did appreciate his friend's concern…but he was the one who'd gotten involved in the first place. It was on his shoulders.
Eggert wandered off to check on his supplies, then he'd be giving the first round of injections to the new subject six. The man was meticulous, it was part of the reason he was so good at his job. Eggert would double check dosages against pre-existing conditions, the age of the subject, their sex, height and weight, and likely a dozen other criteria that Klaus would be lost on. The side effect of that fact was time spent. On a good day, Klaus and Eggert would each interview every candidate, but with subject six settling in, that wasn't likely.
The check-ups would mostly be done by Klaus tonight.
He opened the first door and stepped in.
Three hours later, Klaus stepped into the forth door. The 'cells' (though he hated the term) were identical. A short hall branching off from the main one, with hermetic seals on either side. The subjects lived in a small area beyond the hall, a room the size of four walk-in closets. They were provided with a foldable table and chair, a mattress, an exercise bike, and a small library containing a mix of propaganda and approved material.
Subject four's hall had one simple addition. A biohazard suit lay neatly on a small bench, ready for Klaus to put on. Each hall was set up for decontamination if needed, but the hallway of subject four was the only one with the system currently active.
He was also the program's only success.
Klaus strapped himself into the white suit, going through the familiar motions of hooking up his oxygen tank and duct taping each seam closed for added security. The suit used to make him feel foolish, at least until subject four asked specific questions about Klaus' neighbourhood the next time he came in for a visit.
He started appreciating the suit a lot more after that.
He'd moved to a new house a week later.
Once the suit was fully secured, Klaus took a deep breath and entered the room. It was as spartan as all the others, no favouritism was given to the parahuman within. Eggert was sure they had a lot to learn from subject four's experiences, and so Gesellschaft had permitted them to keep testing the subject, rather than sending him off to a retraining facility.
Klaus was more than happy with that state of affairs.
"Hello, vier," Klaus said as he shut the door behind him. "How are you today?"
"I am well," Subject Four said calmly.
It always astounded Klaus, just how…alien the subject seemed. To all outward appearances, he was a little boy. A boy of five, to be exact. He had bone white hair, the lone physical sign of his…otherness. Subject four was small, young, and innocent to the naked eye, but his eyes didn't track you, his head did not turn, and Klaus had watched hours upon hours of footage where the boy would reach for something he couldn't possibly see with an unwavering confidence.
They'd run tests of course. Eggert had run him through everything from pattern recognition to scent testing. A self-centred proprioception, that's what they'd taken to calling the boy's powers. He was acutely aware of every cell of his body and able to mimic every one of his five senses from any single cell at any given time.
Klaus was mostly certain that this was the cause of subject four's lack of personality. The sheer information available to his young mind was overwhelming and likely damaged his self-identity.
"Good to hear," Klaus said. "How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Three…four…now six." The boy answered flawlessly, as Klaus knew he would, but didn't call the scientist out on his cheating.
Klaus went through the standard questions, asking for the perceived effects of Eggert's latest batch of formulas. As expected, the serums that produced a low but constant effect were having better results than the ones that attempted to force a reaction out of sheer agony or dysphoric side-effects. It made for slower going, but until they had reliable access to better equipment, they were mostly performing guesswork.
Still, even Nibelungen had to be happy, they'd had one success already. Once they learned how to replicate the process, subject four would be sent for re-training at another Gesellschaft facility, and the organization would have one more loyal cape in its ranks.
Klaus finished up, gave his goodbyes and left the room.
The hallway went through its decontamination cycle, dousing the scientist with a flood of chemicals that killed all traces of subject four's cells.
Klaus did his best not to think about the agony that must cause. Four's power let him 'feel' out of every cell he possessed, even the ones that left his body. To feel them as they died...
The doctor shivered and shuffled his feet as he waited for the hallway to wash away the chemicals and cycle the air enough to save him from the toxins.
It was an uncomfortable ten minutes.
Klaus stood outside of subject six's door, tapping his foot. It was...taking a long time. He'd finished with subject four hours ago, and the rest of his duties hadn't taken him nearly as long. For Eggert to be taking so much time...
He started, face flinching upwards as Eggert stormed out of the room and threw two red, dripping projectiles at the wall.
"Ignoble bastard son of a cock!" the bigger man roared, ripping off a formerly sterile smock before throwing that too into his 'laundry'.
"What happened?" Klaus asked.
"What happened? What didn't happen is more like it. Scheisse, the man was mad. Mad I tell you!"
Klaus waited patiently, letting his friend vent.
"Failure, big fat failure, Klaus!" Eggert yelled. "Bastard offed himself while I took his blood sample, grabbed and stabbed, one, two, three!"
Klaus grimaced. He...was not the kind of doctor that became jaded to the human body. If anything, he was a bit of a hemophobe. His stomach was already churning as Eggert dove into a detailed rant about the extreme unluckiness he'd had as the subject punctured his own arteries by apparent accident.
"And it was only a bit of pain! A stimulant in the blood, to up his receptiveness, and a few needles. He shouldn't have gone so ballistic!"
"Maybe he was allergic?" Klaus asked.
"Ach du Lieber Himmel! I'm not stupid, Klaus. I tested the serum on him before use."
Klaus didn't really know what to say, so he settled for patting his distraught friend on the shoulder.
"I have to try something else. If this can make such an effect...how did Four take it?"
"Like anything else," Klaus said. "He doesn't react much."
Eggert sighed, his eyes softening. "Klaus..."
"Does he remember?" Klaus asked.
"Nien," Eggert said, cutting one hand through the air. "Nibelungen was very thorough. Do you not remember? He had to teach him everything all over again. Language, arithmetic, how to shit and clean himself, Mein Gott! So no...no he doesn't remember you, Klaus."
The scientist nodded. "Ja, I know that...but it still feels..."
Eggert frowned. "Are you...getting cold feet?"
"No!" Klaus said. "No, I'd never."
Subject four didn't remember...but Klaus did. The words tasted like ashes in his mouth as he lied to his friend and colleague once more. "I'm still committed, my friend."
"Good," Eggert said, releasing a shaky breath. "We're too deep now, you know. There are only two ways out of this. Either we are a great success, set for life...or we are food for worms in a ditch."
Klaus Weber nodded, a shiver running down his back.
"Worms in a ditch," he muttered.
His heart rebelled, but his mind was too full of pragmatic fear. It always had been.
For the hundredth time, he tried to forget a boy named Heinrich Weber...and failed.
August 8th, 1984
Munich, Germany
The rain was too loud for him to think.
Klaus let out a groan, massaging his temples as he stared at the paper on his desk. Months of work, nay years, with no appreciable results. Klaus pushed a stack of the offending documents to the side and stood.
The office Klaus worked in was nice, in an understated sort of way. It had to be, really.
"Herr Weber!"
Standing in the doorway was a young, blonde man. His cheeks were slightly sullen, with the bones pressing out like hard lines against his skin. His eyes had lost some lustre, and the hue of the first two fingers of his right hand had yellowed over time.
"Johann?" Klaus asked. The driver rubbed the back of his head and nodded.
"Ja, Herr Weber. Herr Bauer is waiting in the car for you," the young man said.
Klaus blinked the apathy from his eyes and quirked an eyebrow at the driver. "Where is Eggert?"
"Herr Mahlen is already at work, or so I am told," Johann said. The man's eyes darted down as if drawn to the floor, and the ones under it, before clearing his throat. "I wouldn't want to keep Herr Bauer waiting, sir."
Klaus absently nodded. Albin was a bit of a handful when he got prissy. "I'll be along shortly."
It took him less than five minutes to clean his desk, gather his belongings, and get out to the car, but the first words Albin Bauer said to him were "You're late." To Johann, he simply said "Drive." and the car began to move.
"This is a bad day to appear uncommitted, Weber," Albin said. "Nibelungen is paying us a visit."
Klaus cleared his throat reflexively. "How long do we have?"
"Until tomorrow," Albin said. "Let me be clear, Klaus. If this goes to shit, we're all in the same grave, so for all our sake's, you better have something before the sun comes up."
Right. No pressure then.
"I'll do my best," he said.
Albin nodded, running one hand through his hair. "Yes, you do that."
Johann locked eyes with Klaus as he dropped them off, silently encouraging the scientist before driving away, leaving Klaus to face the realities of the situation.
He needed a success. Tonight. Now. As soon as possible.
He couldn't bear for failure. He couldn't have done all of this for nothing. The long hours, the lack of sleep, the injustices...and sins.
He'd die if the cape wasn't happy. Nibelungen was hard to please, and had a flair for cruelty. His death wouldn't be swift in the least.
Klaus straightened his collar and picked up his pace.
He never was great at letting go.
Klaus charged down the stairs, barely sparing the guard a glance as he jogged down the corridor to the tenth and final room.
"Eg-" He started, but nearly bit his tongue at the sight that greeted him.
Eggert Mahlen stood, hands gripping a stainless steel case as he looked into an open doorway. It...it was like the science fiction Klaus had read as a boy, the stories that had gotten him into the sciences in the first place.
A gateway. A portal. He'd known it was possible, hell anything was with parahumans involved, but he hadn't expected it to look so...wondrous.
"You're sure this one will work?" Eggert asked.
"If your calculations are correct, then yes, we're moving into preliminary testing on our end as well," a feminine voice said. Klaus couldn't quite see the speaker, mostly hidden as she was, but she seemed young, and the hand that shook Eggert's was clad in rich fabric.
"Yes, what did you call it again? Myrmidon? Right. I'll get to work."
Klaus got one glance at a head of black hair as the woman walked away, deeper into the portal, and then it was gone. And his awe with it.
"Gott in Himmel, Egg, are you insane?!" He bellowed. Klaus felt his throat constrict, his voice cracking from overuse. He rarely raised his voice, and the sudden strain was a wet, hot pain inside his neck. "We're this close to being killed off for incompetence and you bring people here?!"
"Calm down, Klaus," Eggert said. "It's not that bad. Cauldron is sworn to secrecy in their dealings. Besides, I'm working with them. Always have been."
Klaus rubbed his hand against one pant leg. "Does Nibelungen know?"
"No," Eggert said. "Cauldron didn't want their part to be known. To Nibelungen, to you, Albin, anyone."
"But..."
"You thought all our progress came from us? Don't be absurd, Klaus, we barely know a thing about powers. The man helping me, Doctor Manton, is a visionary. In a few decades, with minds like his, we could have the whole thing worked out!"
"Nibelungen is going to be here," Klaus said. "Soon! If we don't have any viable candidates, he'll-"
"Shush, man, quiet!" Eggert said, placing the case gingerly on a table before placing his meaty hands on Klaus' shoulders. "We'll be fine. Just fine. This batch will work, I know it."
God he hoped Eggert was right.
He prayed for it.
August 9th, 1984
Munich, Germany
Scheisse, Scheisse, Fucking shit damn cunt!" Eggert yelled. Subject two, what was left of her anyway, pooled in the bed like red mercury. Klaus couldn't help it, he threw up. It wasn't just the body, disfigured and ruined. It was everything else. Eggert, his friend, wasn't horrified, he was frustrated and angry. Nibelungen...didn't look happy.
"I need to clean myself," Klaus said, excusing himself before he could show any more weakness, before he could embarrass himself further.
He stood in the tenth room, using thick, paper sheets to get the foul-smelling gunk off his lab coat. He rinsed his mouth with water, then the bourbon that Eggert hid with the beakers, taking deep breaths.
That's when he heard the gunshot.
There was no struggle, no shout of alarm or flurry of gunfire. A single, deafeningly loud shot rang out, and then silence.
Klaus choked out a sob. This was it.
He glared at the steel case, open and down to the last few vials. It was supposed to work. It was supposed to save them from Gesellschaft's wrath. It hadn't.
"Scheisse," he muttered. "Egg..."
"-the other one?"
"Deal with him, I'll get the handler."
Nibelungen and his cronies.
Klaus couldn't think, could barely keep himself breathing. He glanced at the case. At the bizarre symbol embossed on the outside, the oddly tilted omega staring back at him. If he was going to die anyway...
He snatched a vial with one hand, slipping it into his coat, and peeked out the door.
Nibelungen was nowhere to be seen, and the gunman.
Oh god.
The gunman was dragging Eggert's body out the door of Two's room.
Klaus didn't stop to think, he just ran. Down the hall, past three sets of doors, and flinging himself into the hallway as the thug shouted in surprise. Klaus sprinted to the door at the end and threw it open. Subject Four...Heinrich, actually jumped in a moment of surprise as Klaus broke routine for the first time in years.
"Sir?" The boy asked in confusion as Klaus shoved the bookshelf up against the door.
"Get off the bed!" Klaus shouted. Heinrich complied without question, and Klaus quickly dismantled the frame, jamming metal rods into the spokes of the thick metal door.
He cried.
After long minutes of sobbing, his head in his hands, Klaus felt a soft tap on his shoulder. He looked up to see the expressionless face of Heinrich looking down at him.
"I need to eat, sir," the boy said.
"Ah, we...we can't go outside right now, alright? It's very dangerous."
"I understand."
Time passed, and Klaus couldn't tell if the growls echoing the room were his or Heinrich's. Twice now, the gunman had come, pounding and shouting from beyond the door, but the impromptu barricade had been enough...at least for now.
"Sir?" Heinrich asked, his small voice timid and soft. "Is it safe to leave now?"
"Not yet," Klaus said. "I'm sorry."
The boy's "I understand, sir." was enough to send Klaus into another spiral of tears and shaking. This one lasted a long time, until his throat was raw and his eyes were swollen, constantly blinking as they tried to make tears that he no longer could. A mixture of wet and dry tracks stained his face, and his attempt to move only made his muscles feel weak.
"Are you alright, sir?" Heinrich asked.
"I'm...no, no I'm not, I'm afraid," Klaus said. He couldn't keep the charade up any longer. "My employers want me dead...and you as well, I fear."
Heinrich went still. "Would...it serve the cause? For me to die?"
Klaus sneered. "No."
"I see," the boy said. "Then the others will come."
Klaus quirked an eyebrow.
"If our death doesn't serve the cause, then the one who wants it is an enemy to us," the child said, eyes sharp and serious. Klaus would have laughed at such an expression were the situation different...if Marie had lived, perhaps, and the boy had been attempting to explain to two sleepy parents why he should be allowed cookies before bed.
Fantasies.
"No one is coming," Klaus said. "They don't know about us."
"Oh."
The boy waited for a moment, before hesitantly sitting down, keeping precious inches away from Klaus.
"The others will kill him when they find out, though."
Klaus bit his lip. "I suppose they will."
He shrugged out of his coat, loosening his collar with one hand. As he went to fold the white cloth, a small vial tumbled out, clattering to the floor. the vial. It hadn't killed Eggert, not really, but Klaus couldn't help but feel a bit of hate towards whatever cape made it. Powers in a bottle, ha. Torment was the only way, and even then you had to have something...extra.
Gesellschaft had it wrong. Subhumans...no, Homo Sapiens, were done for. Whatever the cause of this new mutation, gift of God, alien infection, whatever you wanted to call it, it meant that something new was on the horizon.
Parahuman.
The term was catchy, but fundamentally flawed. Para as in parallel, or alternative to human. Wrong. Parahumans were superior. A human couldn't fight one, and Heinrich was a poor match up to something like Nibelungen.
"Subject Four...Heinrich," he said slowly.
"Yes?" the boy said. His small lips traced the word 'Heinrich' with unfamiliarity.
"I'm going to get us out of here. Whatever happens, do not be afraid, you hear me?"
"Ja, Herr Weber," the child snapped.
Klaus rolled the vial in his hand, then uncorked it.
"Zum Wohl," he said.
He tipped back the fluid, swallowed.
Then he screamed.
August 27th, 2011
New York, NY
It was hard to discern what happened next, no matter how long he spent dwelling on it. He knew that Gesellschaft got in, Nibelungen lunging for Heinrich as the gunman turned his H&K on Klaus. He knew the pain of six bullets punching through his body, the first of many times he felt such pain. He remembered reaching out, touching the boy...or was it that he took the older man's hand?
No matter, contact was made. Something...happened.
Nibelungen wasn't prepared to fight a child, or a man possessed. to say nothing of fighting both at the same time.
He wasn't ready for Ragnarok.
"Sir?"
The voice snapped him out of his reverie, and Ragnarok addressed the cape without turning. It didn't matter. The host body...his body? let him see all he needed to. "Yes?"
"What do you want us to do with the prisoners?"
Yes...prisoners. The Teeth had proven difficult, but with his enhanced soldiers, they were simply rabid animals.
"Kill them," he said. "Leave the capes to me."
"Won't that be...that is to say, we don't want to bring in too much heat."
Ragnarok smiled, his small and ageless face cherubic in the dawn's light. "The world is busy, ja? The Slaughterhouse is making such a spectacle, we can move less cautiously. By the time anyone catches on, well...it'll be too late."
The young man nodded shakily, but turned on his heel nonetheless to fulfil his master's orders.
"Now then," he said, turning to the figure in the corner, bound and hobbled. "I think you will prove worthy, don't you?"
The Butcher had no response, unconscious as she was.
Munich, Germany
The rain was too loud for him to think.
Klaus let out a groan, massaging his temples as he stared at the paper on his desk. Months of work, nay years, with no appreciable results. Klaus pushed a stack of the offending documents to the side and stood.
The office Klaus worked in was nice, in an understated sort of way. It had to be, really.
"Klaus!"
Standing in the doorway was Klaus' friend, Eggert Mahler. Dr Mahler was the other half of their little duo, the medical counterpart of Klaus' behavioural science degree. They'd been friends for years now…it made things easier here, to have a confidant.
"Egg," Klaus said, acknowledging the man. "You're here early."
"Klaus…It's five in the afternoon."
Klaus looked at his clock and blinked. "Ah."
"Maybe this will cheer you up," Eggert said, lifting a small carton. "Bratwurst from Steiner's…and some of that disgusting swill you drink."
"It's tea, Egg."
"It's flavoured water at best. Now come on, eat something. You look like your going to pass out on your feet."
"I skipped lunch."
"How many times am I going to have to call out your idiocy?"
Klaus smiled. "At least once more."
The two scientists sat down and Eggert pulled the small paper plates out of the carton, setting one in front of each of them. The small mountain of napkins took the place of utensils as they ate, joking about everything from the recent weather "It wasn't like your car could get any uglier, Egg" to the concert Bob Dylan had put on the previous month "Yes, Klaus, I know you want his children…can we move on?". Eventually, the food ran out and the conversation soon after.
"So." Klaus led.
Eggert followed his gaze to the clock. "About that time."
Klaus sighed, then shuffled the papers on his desk around until they looked slightly more professional. "Let's go then. We still have to get ready anyway."
Klaus shrugged on his coat and plucked his hat from the hook near the door, handing one of his spare umbrellas to Eggert.
Outside, a light blue sedan waited for them. The driver was new, a freshly shaven young man with cropped brown hair and a cheeky glint in his eye.
The details in sequence were troubling.
"There you are sirs," the boy said. "I was wondering if you weren't going to show."
"We wouldn't dare," Eggert half-joked.
"Too right," the boy said. "Well, hop in. Time's a wasting."
Klaus and Eggert slipped into the back seat of the car.
"I have the reports ready for you," the man in the passenger seat spoke. "As requested."
"Thank you, Albin." Klaus took the sheaf of papers the dour man presented and feigned looking them over.
"So, this compound must be front-liner stuff, right?" the driver asked.
"It's just a research project," Eggert said. "Nothing fancy, just some new hardware to give the boys like you an edge."
"Right on!" The boy said as he thumped the wheel. "Hey, can you do me a favour doc? When you're done making cool gadgets, send some my way, yeah? Name's Johann. Johann Oppelt."
"I'll try to remember it," Eggert said with a grin. "After all, we have had so many drivers recently."
The boy's face fell.
"Careful, Dr Mahlen," Albin said, glancing back. "Johann, remember that the doctors' work is very important. You were hand selected by the higher-ups personally to assist them."
The smirk found its way back on Johann's face as he nodded, splitting his attention between the road and the higher ranked man in his passenger seat.
"But," Albin continued. "They are sworn to secrecy. Please don't ask them to divulge any details."
"Right, sir," Johann said. "Got it, lips sealed."
"Smart boy," Albin said. "I'll make a note of it."
Klaus almost had to respect the older man's skill with words. He'd talked for less than a minute and turned a potential problem into a man who would beg for scraps and be happy with it.
At least Albin had one admirable trait.
The rest of him was garbage.
The remainder of the ride was spent in relative silence, with Eggert and Klaus going over Albin's status reports. The results were going about as Klaus expected, a fact that terrified him in equal proportion to his relief. The project didwork…just not as much as Reinhardt or Nibelungen wanted.
Eggert and Klaus would have to refine the procedure if they wanted to keep their research, not to mention their lives.
Gesellschaft had funded their project, given them a facility and subjects to work with…but it had been five years. Five years and only one successful candidate.
The organization's goodwill only went so far, and Klaus had spent most of it already.
The two scientists exited the car, following Albin into an old brick warehouse. The interior belonged to a shell company of a shell company, Vierte Wellenentwürfe, that produced new age novelties. That company was owned by a fabrication conglomerate run out of the Netherlands, which was, in turn, owned by one of Gesellschaft's founders.
Klaus picked his way past boxes of crystal balls and lava lamps, skirted around a forklift, and followed Albin into the warehouse's office.
At the back of the manager's room, there was a simple looking door. The joke amongst the warehouse staff was that it was a door to nowhere, seeing as it was missing its knob and the only thing behind it was a brick wall. The official blueprints of the building would, on inspection, show that the manager's office had once been the receiving bay and that a renovation had bricked up the old bay when the new one was put in. A subcontractor's mistake, complete with appropriate apology letters and correspondence, installed the wrong pre-fabricated wall section, and the door was added to mask the offending error rather than pay for further work to fix it.
All lies, of course.
Albin opened a fire suppression system's control box and inserted a copper key the likes of which you could find being made in a mall kiosk. He turned the key, and Klaus heard the familiar grating sound of clay on cement. Albin flicked the deadlock out of position and the door opened, revealing a skeletal steel stairway leading into the sub-levels that didn't officially exist. The wire-frame steps led the group down, further and further into the ground. The flick of a heavy industrial switch located at the base of the stairs closed the door behind them, leaving no trace of its existence or their destination.
After a short walk down a damp tunnel, they arrived at a large metal door. IT was the sort of thing you would expect to cover an aircraft hangar, heavy sections that slid down into place. A state of the art console sat on the left side, with a place to swipe one's keycard. Klaus fed his through the machine, then Eggert followed, and the door began to wrestle its own weight upward.
The corridor beyond was a sterile, light grey. Ten doors were spaced out evenly along the length, and a small generator sat at the far end, humming a low sound. There was no 'office space' here. Any paperwork Klaus or Eggert had to do was done in the relative safety of their day jobs (yet another thing provided to them by the organization), and the only concession to the simplicity of the facility they now stood in was that the tenth room pulled double duty as both the cleaner's closet and Eggert's laboratory.
Of the remaining nine rooms, only six currently housed subjects.
"Same as usual?" Klaus asked. Eggert gave him a look before nodding with a sigh. It was another of their little rituals. Klaus really did appreciate his friend's concern…but he was the one who'd gotten involved in the first place. It was on his shoulders.
Eggert wandered off to check on his supplies, then he'd be giving the first round of injections to the new subject six. The man was meticulous, it was part of the reason he was so good at his job. Eggert would double check dosages against pre-existing conditions, the age of the subject, their sex, height and weight, and likely a dozen other criteria that Klaus would be lost on. The side effect of that fact was time spent. On a good day, Klaus and Eggert would each interview every candidate, but with subject six settling in, that wasn't likely.
The check-ups would mostly be done by Klaus tonight.
He opened the first door and stepped in.
Three hours later, Klaus stepped into the forth door. The 'cells' (though he hated the term) were identical. A short hall branching off from the main one, with hermetic seals on either side. The subjects lived in a small area beyond the hall, a room the size of four walk-in closets. They were provided with a foldable table and chair, a mattress, an exercise bike, and a small library containing a mix of propaganda and approved material.
Subject four's hall had one simple addition. A biohazard suit lay neatly on a small bench, ready for Klaus to put on. Each hall was set up for decontamination if needed, but the hallway of subject four was the only one with the system currently active.
He was also the program's only success.
Klaus strapped himself into the white suit, going through the familiar motions of hooking up his oxygen tank and duct taping each seam closed for added security. The suit used to make him feel foolish, at least until subject four asked specific questions about Klaus' neighbourhood the next time he came in for a visit.
He started appreciating the suit a lot more after that.
He'd moved to a new house a week later.
Once the suit was fully secured, Klaus took a deep breath and entered the room. It was as spartan as all the others, no favouritism was given to the parahuman within. Eggert was sure they had a lot to learn from subject four's experiences, and so Gesellschaft had permitted them to keep testing the subject, rather than sending him off to a retraining facility.
Klaus was more than happy with that state of affairs.
"Hello, vier," Klaus said as he shut the door behind him. "How are you today?"
"I am well," Subject Four said calmly.
It always astounded Klaus, just how…alien the subject seemed. To all outward appearances, he was a little boy. A boy of five, to be exact. He had bone white hair, the lone physical sign of his…otherness. Subject four was small, young, and innocent to the naked eye, but his eyes didn't track you, his head did not turn, and Klaus had watched hours upon hours of footage where the boy would reach for something he couldn't possibly see with an unwavering confidence.
They'd run tests of course. Eggert had run him through everything from pattern recognition to scent testing. A self-centred proprioception, that's what they'd taken to calling the boy's powers. He was acutely aware of every cell of his body and able to mimic every one of his five senses from any single cell at any given time.
Klaus was mostly certain that this was the cause of subject four's lack of personality. The sheer information available to his young mind was overwhelming and likely damaged his self-identity.
"Good to hear," Klaus said. "How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Three…four…now six." The boy answered flawlessly, as Klaus knew he would, but didn't call the scientist out on his cheating.
Klaus went through the standard questions, asking for the perceived effects of Eggert's latest batch of formulas. As expected, the serums that produced a low but constant effect were having better results than the ones that attempted to force a reaction out of sheer agony or dysphoric side-effects. It made for slower going, but until they had reliable access to better equipment, they were mostly performing guesswork.
Still, even Nibelungen had to be happy, they'd had one success already. Once they learned how to replicate the process, subject four would be sent for re-training at another Gesellschaft facility, and the organization would have one more loyal cape in its ranks.
Klaus finished up, gave his goodbyes and left the room.
The hallway went through its decontamination cycle, dousing the scientist with a flood of chemicals that killed all traces of subject four's cells.
Klaus did his best not to think about the agony that must cause. Four's power let him 'feel' out of every cell he possessed, even the ones that left his body. To feel them as they died...
The doctor shivered and shuffled his feet as he waited for the hallway to wash away the chemicals and cycle the air enough to save him from the toxins.
It was an uncomfortable ten minutes.
Klaus stood outside of subject six's door, tapping his foot. It was...taking a long time. He'd finished with subject four hours ago, and the rest of his duties hadn't taken him nearly as long. For Eggert to be taking so much time...
He started, face flinching upwards as Eggert stormed out of the room and threw two red, dripping projectiles at the wall.
"Ignoble bastard son of a cock!" the bigger man roared, ripping off a formerly sterile smock before throwing that too into his 'laundry'.
"What happened?" Klaus asked.
"What happened? What didn't happen is more like it. Scheisse, the man was mad. Mad I tell you!"
Klaus waited patiently, letting his friend vent.
"Failure, big fat failure, Klaus!" Eggert yelled. "Bastard offed himself while I took his blood sample, grabbed and stabbed, one, two, three!"
Klaus grimaced. He...was not the kind of doctor that became jaded to the human body. If anything, he was a bit of a hemophobe. His stomach was already churning as Eggert dove into a detailed rant about the extreme unluckiness he'd had as the subject punctured his own arteries by apparent accident.
"And it was only a bit of pain! A stimulant in the blood, to up his receptiveness, and a few needles. He shouldn't have gone so ballistic!"
"Maybe he was allergic?" Klaus asked.
"Ach du Lieber Himmel! I'm not stupid, Klaus. I tested the serum on him before use."
Klaus didn't really know what to say, so he settled for patting his distraught friend on the shoulder.
"I have to try something else. If this can make such an effect...how did Four take it?"
"Like anything else," Klaus said. "He doesn't react much."
Eggert sighed, his eyes softening. "Klaus..."
"Does he remember?" Klaus asked.
"Nien," Eggert said, cutting one hand through the air. "Nibelungen was very thorough. Do you not remember? He had to teach him everything all over again. Language, arithmetic, how to shit and clean himself, Mein Gott! So no...no he doesn't remember you, Klaus."
The scientist nodded. "Ja, I know that...but it still feels..."
Eggert frowned. "Are you...getting cold feet?"
"No!" Klaus said. "No, I'd never."
Subject four didn't remember...but Klaus did. The words tasted like ashes in his mouth as he lied to his friend and colleague once more. "I'm still committed, my friend."
"Good," Eggert said, releasing a shaky breath. "We're too deep now, you know. There are only two ways out of this. Either we are a great success, set for life...or we are food for worms in a ditch."
Klaus Weber nodded, a shiver running down his back.
"Worms in a ditch," he muttered.
His heart rebelled, but his mind was too full of pragmatic fear. It always had been.
For the hundredth time, he tried to forget a boy named Heinrich Weber...and failed.
August 8th, 1984
Munich, Germany
The rain was too loud for him to think.
Klaus let out a groan, massaging his temples as he stared at the paper on his desk. Months of work, nay years, with no appreciable results. Klaus pushed a stack of the offending documents to the side and stood.
The office Klaus worked in was nice, in an understated sort of way. It had to be, really.
"Herr Weber!"
Standing in the doorway was a young, blonde man. His cheeks were slightly sullen, with the bones pressing out like hard lines against his skin. His eyes had lost some lustre, and the hue of the first two fingers of his right hand had yellowed over time.
"Johann?" Klaus asked. The driver rubbed the back of his head and nodded.
"Ja, Herr Weber. Herr Bauer is waiting in the car for you," the young man said.
Klaus blinked the apathy from his eyes and quirked an eyebrow at the driver. "Where is Eggert?"
"Herr Mahlen is already at work, or so I am told," Johann said. The man's eyes darted down as if drawn to the floor, and the ones under it, before clearing his throat. "I wouldn't want to keep Herr Bauer waiting, sir."
Klaus absently nodded. Albin was a bit of a handful when he got prissy. "I'll be along shortly."
It took him less than five minutes to clean his desk, gather his belongings, and get out to the car, but the first words Albin Bauer said to him were "You're late." To Johann, he simply said "Drive." and the car began to move.
"This is a bad day to appear uncommitted, Weber," Albin said. "Nibelungen is paying us a visit."
Klaus cleared his throat reflexively. "How long do we have?"
"Until tomorrow," Albin said. "Let me be clear, Klaus. If this goes to shit, we're all in the same grave, so for all our sake's, you better have something before the sun comes up."
Right. No pressure then.
"I'll do my best," he said.
Albin nodded, running one hand through his hair. "Yes, you do that."
Johann locked eyes with Klaus as he dropped them off, silently encouraging the scientist before driving away, leaving Klaus to face the realities of the situation.
He needed a success. Tonight. Now. As soon as possible.
He couldn't bear for failure. He couldn't have done all of this for nothing. The long hours, the lack of sleep, the injustices...and sins.
He'd die if the cape wasn't happy. Nibelungen was hard to please, and had a flair for cruelty. His death wouldn't be swift in the least.
Klaus straightened his collar and picked up his pace.
He never was great at letting go.
Klaus charged down the stairs, barely sparing the guard a glance as he jogged down the corridor to the tenth and final room.
"Eg-" He started, but nearly bit his tongue at the sight that greeted him.
Eggert Mahlen stood, hands gripping a stainless steel case as he looked into an open doorway. It...it was like the science fiction Klaus had read as a boy, the stories that had gotten him into the sciences in the first place.
A gateway. A portal. He'd known it was possible, hell anything was with parahumans involved, but he hadn't expected it to look so...wondrous.
"You're sure this one will work?" Eggert asked.
"If your calculations are correct, then yes, we're moving into preliminary testing on our end as well," a feminine voice said. Klaus couldn't quite see the speaker, mostly hidden as she was, but she seemed young, and the hand that shook Eggert's was clad in rich fabric.
"Yes, what did you call it again? Myrmidon? Right. I'll get to work."
Klaus got one glance at a head of black hair as the woman walked away, deeper into the portal, and then it was gone. And his awe with it.
"Gott in Himmel, Egg, are you insane?!" He bellowed. Klaus felt his throat constrict, his voice cracking from overuse. He rarely raised his voice, and the sudden strain was a wet, hot pain inside his neck. "We're this close to being killed off for incompetence and you bring people here?!"
"Calm down, Klaus," Eggert said. "It's not that bad. Cauldron is sworn to secrecy in their dealings. Besides, I'm working with them. Always have been."
Klaus rubbed his hand against one pant leg. "Does Nibelungen know?"
"No," Eggert said. "Cauldron didn't want their part to be known. To Nibelungen, to you, Albin, anyone."
"But..."
"You thought all our progress came from us? Don't be absurd, Klaus, we barely know a thing about powers. The man helping me, Doctor Manton, is a visionary. In a few decades, with minds like his, we could have the whole thing worked out!"
"Nibelungen is going to be here," Klaus said. "Soon! If we don't have any viable candidates, he'll-"
"Shush, man, quiet!" Eggert said, placing the case gingerly on a table before placing his meaty hands on Klaus' shoulders. "We'll be fine. Just fine. This batch will work, I know it."
God he hoped Eggert was right.
He prayed for it.
August 9th, 1984
Munich, Germany
Scheisse, Scheisse, Fucking shit damn cunt!" Eggert yelled. Subject two, what was left of her anyway, pooled in the bed like red mercury. Klaus couldn't help it, he threw up. It wasn't just the body, disfigured and ruined. It was everything else. Eggert, his friend, wasn't horrified, he was frustrated and angry. Nibelungen...didn't look happy.
"I need to clean myself," Klaus said, excusing himself before he could show any more weakness, before he could embarrass himself further.
He stood in the tenth room, using thick, paper sheets to get the foul-smelling gunk off his lab coat. He rinsed his mouth with water, then the bourbon that Eggert hid with the beakers, taking deep breaths.
That's when he heard the gunshot.
There was no struggle, no shout of alarm or flurry of gunfire. A single, deafeningly loud shot rang out, and then silence.
Klaus choked out a sob. This was it.
He glared at the steel case, open and down to the last few vials. It was supposed to work. It was supposed to save them from Gesellschaft's wrath. It hadn't.
"Scheisse," he muttered. "Egg..."
"-the other one?"
"Deal with him, I'll get the handler."
Nibelungen and his cronies.
Klaus couldn't think, could barely keep himself breathing. He glanced at the case. At the bizarre symbol embossed on the outside, the oddly tilted omega staring back at him. If he was going to die anyway...
He snatched a vial with one hand, slipping it into his coat, and peeked out the door.
Nibelungen was nowhere to be seen, and the gunman.
Oh god.
The gunman was dragging Eggert's body out the door of Two's room.
Klaus didn't stop to think, he just ran. Down the hall, past three sets of doors, and flinging himself into the hallway as the thug shouted in surprise. Klaus sprinted to the door at the end and threw it open. Subject Four...Heinrich, actually jumped in a moment of surprise as Klaus broke routine for the first time in years.
"Sir?" The boy asked in confusion as Klaus shoved the bookshelf up against the door.
"Get off the bed!" Klaus shouted. Heinrich complied without question, and Klaus quickly dismantled the frame, jamming metal rods into the spokes of the thick metal door.
He cried.
After long minutes of sobbing, his head in his hands, Klaus felt a soft tap on his shoulder. He looked up to see the expressionless face of Heinrich looking down at him.
"I need to eat, sir," the boy said.
"Ah, we...we can't go outside right now, alright? It's very dangerous."
"I understand."
Time passed, and Klaus couldn't tell if the growls echoing the room were his or Heinrich's. Twice now, the gunman had come, pounding and shouting from beyond the door, but the impromptu barricade had been enough...at least for now.
"Sir?" Heinrich asked, his small voice timid and soft. "Is it safe to leave now?"
"Not yet," Klaus said. "I'm sorry."
The boy's "I understand, sir." was enough to send Klaus into another spiral of tears and shaking. This one lasted a long time, until his throat was raw and his eyes were swollen, constantly blinking as they tried to make tears that he no longer could. A mixture of wet and dry tracks stained his face, and his attempt to move only made his muscles feel weak.
"Are you alright, sir?" Heinrich asked.
"I'm...no, no I'm not, I'm afraid," Klaus said. He couldn't keep the charade up any longer. "My employers want me dead...and you as well, I fear."
Heinrich went still. "Would...it serve the cause? For me to die?"
Klaus sneered. "No."
"I see," the boy said. "Then the others will come."
Klaus quirked an eyebrow.
"If our death doesn't serve the cause, then the one who wants it is an enemy to us," the child said, eyes sharp and serious. Klaus would have laughed at such an expression were the situation different...if Marie had lived, perhaps, and the boy had been attempting to explain to two sleepy parents why he should be allowed cookies before bed.
Fantasies.
"No one is coming," Klaus said. "They don't know about us."
"Oh."
The boy waited for a moment, before hesitantly sitting down, keeping precious inches away from Klaus.
"The others will kill him when they find out, though."
Klaus bit his lip. "I suppose they will."
He shrugged out of his coat, loosening his collar with one hand. As he went to fold the white cloth, a small vial tumbled out, clattering to the floor. the vial. It hadn't killed Eggert, not really, but Klaus couldn't help but feel a bit of hate towards whatever cape made it. Powers in a bottle, ha. Torment was the only way, and even then you had to have something...extra.
Gesellschaft had it wrong. Subhumans...no, Homo Sapiens, were done for. Whatever the cause of this new mutation, gift of God, alien infection, whatever you wanted to call it, it meant that something new was on the horizon.
Parahuman.
The term was catchy, but fundamentally flawed. Para as in parallel, or alternative to human. Wrong. Parahumans were superior. A human couldn't fight one, and Heinrich was a poor match up to something like Nibelungen.
"Subject Four...Heinrich," he said slowly.
"Yes?" the boy said. His small lips traced the word 'Heinrich' with unfamiliarity.
"I'm going to get us out of here. Whatever happens, do not be afraid, you hear me?"
"Ja, Herr Weber," the child snapped.
Klaus rolled the vial in his hand, then uncorked it.
"Zum Wohl," he said.
He tipped back the fluid, swallowed.
Then he screamed.
August 27th, 2011
New York, NY
It was hard to discern what happened next, no matter how long he spent dwelling on it. He knew that Gesellschaft got in, Nibelungen lunging for Heinrich as the gunman turned his H&K on Klaus. He knew the pain of six bullets punching through his body, the first of many times he felt such pain. He remembered reaching out, touching the boy...or was it that he took the older man's hand?
No matter, contact was made. Something...happened.
Nibelungen wasn't prepared to fight a child, or a man possessed. to say nothing of fighting both at the same time.
He wasn't ready for Ragnarok.
"Sir?"
The voice snapped him out of his reverie, and Ragnarok addressed the cape without turning. It didn't matter. The host body...his body? let him see all he needed to. "Yes?"
"What do you want us to do with the prisoners?"
Yes...prisoners. The Teeth had proven difficult, but with his enhanced soldiers, they were simply rabid animals.
"Kill them," he said. "Leave the capes to me."
"Won't that be...that is to say, we don't want to bring in too much heat."
Ragnarok smiled, his small and ageless face cherubic in the dawn's light. "The world is busy, ja? The Slaughterhouse is making such a spectacle, we can move less cautiously. By the time anyone catches on, well...it'll be too late."
The young man nodded shakily, but turned on his heel nonetheless to fulfil his master's orders.
"Now then," he said, turning to the figure in the corner, bound and hobbled. "I think you will prove worthy, don't you?"
The Butcher had no response, unconscious as she was.
Hoo boy, that was a slog and a half.
That's Ragnarok's backstory, such as it is. And no, his part isn't done yet. He's a tool with some value left to the story
Have to say, though, Writing about Gesellschaft is not pleasant. Who knew. `
That's Ragnarok's backstory, such as it is. And no, his part isn't done yet. He's a tool with some value left to the story
Have to say, though, Writing about Gesellschaft is not pleasant. Who knew. `
- Location
- Canada
Any of the chapters labelled 'Spectres of a Past Life' are sort of canon paralogues. Not really necessary for the main story, but something I feel like doing to explain the character of some of the supporting cast.
The previous ones belonged to Dao and Mercurial.
- Location
- Lake superior, Minoc
That helps a bit, but not what i ment. The tone and feeling of your story have drastically changed.
It started a bit weird, little spooky. Working on some odd scares in heading to interested supernatural/tech/hero's clash.
With some fun bit's of big uncle lung.
Now its degraded into typical worm grim derp and going lulzs powers! at each other.. That not as good as it was, ya know?
It started a bit weird, little spooky. Working on some odd scares in heading to interested supernatural/tech/hero's clash.
With some fun bit's of big uncle lung.
Now its degraded into typical worm grim derp and going lulzs powers! at each other.. That not as good as it was, ya know?
- Location
- Canada
@Pai
I understand what you mean. Here's my take on it:
As much as I enjoy what I've written, I do acknowledge that from Inciting Incident onwards, the story tone shifted. The criticism I received at the time was as valid then as it is now. At the beginning, the story was more or less a clone of the premise of 'Stranger than Fiction' the movie, using Armsmaster in place of Harold Crick. By that logic, I should have ended the story after the Draconian Measures arc. Everything would have more or less been resolved at that point, with Colin making a resolution and facing his problems head on. Essentially, finishing his character arc which, really, it was all about.
Here's where things change, and admittedly it's a product of my own inexperience. After the chapter 'Bathos', I just kept going. Now, I don't regret having written what I did, I think it's at least decent, if in need of polish. However, you are correct in that it doesn't fit the premise of the story. Realistically, I should have ended 'Stranger than Brockton' after Colin's story was done, or failing that I should have selected a new character to narrate and follow them to the same degree. I didn't. That, honestly, is my biggest regret with this story, and something I want to work on in the future with whatever comes next, knowing when to stop, and abiding by the 'contract with the reader'
I read somewhere that the first chapter or two of a story essentially should prepare your reader for the kind of story it will be, and that the rest of the work should more or less fall into that area. this 'contract with the reader' is what makes a dark fantasy a dark fantasy, or a slice of life a slice of life.
That's what I failed most at. I made the contract and then broke it.
TLDR, I want to finish this story because I enjoy what is happening and I don't want to leave anything unfinished, although I do acknowledge the fact that the direction of the story has taken a drastically different tone from where it was in the beginning.
Hope that explains where I'm coming from.
Cheers,
VI
I understand what you mean. Here's my take on it:
As much as I enjoy what I've written, I do acknowledge that from Inciting Incident onwards, the story tone shifted. The criticism I received at the time was as valid then as it is now. At the beginning, the story was more or less a clone of the premise of 'Stranger than Fiction' the movie, using Armsmaster in place of Harold Crick. By that logic, I should have ended the story after the Draconian Measures arc. Everything would have more or less been resolved at that point, with Colin making a resolution and facing his problems head on. Essentially, finishing his character arc which, really, it was all about.
Here's where things change, and admittedly it's a product of my own inexperience. After the chapter 'Bathos', I just kept going. Now, I don't regret having written what I did, I think it's at least decent, if in need of polish. However, you are correct in that it doesn't fit the premise of the story. Realistically, I should have ended 'Stranger than Brockton' after Colin's story was done, or failing that I should have selected a new character to narrate and follow them to the same degree. I didn't. That, honestly, is my biggest regret with this story, and something I want to work on in the future with whatever comes next, knowing when to stop, and abiding by the 'contract with the reader'
I read somewhere that the first chapter or two of a story essentially should prepare your reader for the kind of story it will be, and that the rest of the work should more or less fall into that area. this 'contract with the reader' is what makes a dark fantasy a dark fantasy, or a slice of life a slice of life.
That's what I failed most at. I made the contract and then broke it.
TLDR, I want to finish this story because I enjoy what is happening and I don't want to leave anything unfinished, although I do acknowledge the fact that the direction of the story has taken a drastically different tone from where it was in the beginning.
Hope that explains where I'm coming from.
Cheers,
VI