-=≡SƧ≡=-
The smell of burning flesh clung to Gwen's nostrils no matter how hard she pushed the bike. The last leg across the Rig's forcefield bridge was normally enough to clear the stink of a patrol; but the sea breeze and opening up the throttle barely made a dent this time.
Her ribs twinged as she slowed, and something caught in her throat.
Pulling into the garage, she stopped her bike next to the others, and unclipped her axe and rifle. The latter was tossed angrily in the weapons locker, whilst the axe came with her, its six-foot length effortless to lift. The banging of its haft on the metal floor as she leant her weight had a familiarity to it; hardly the first time she'd used it as a crutch. The axe twisted questioningly in her hand, then quietened, patient.
First stop was the cafeteria, she needed to stock up on protein for afterwards. Armsmaster met her there, interrupting as she selected two nutrient shakes from the vending machine. The smug bastard already had the box in his hands, she had planned on unwinding for a few moments before calling him. He stood silent aside from the whirr of his armor whilst she finished gathering the drinks.
Amusingly, from her perspective he was positioned in front of their shared merchandising poster that plastered the back wall of the large room. The image of Armsmaster overshadowing reality, the man himself flatter than the two dimensional picture. In it she, Shawn, and Colin stood side by side, Shawn in the middle and slightly to the front. Must have taken those marketing 'geniuses' months of liquid lunches to work out Red, White, and Blue was a good PR pitch. In her heart of hearts she'd admit it
was an impressive look, heroes standing tall together, pity about the reality.
"Challenger."
She rolled her eye in response. "Arms-master."
"We can debrief whilst we wait." It wasn't a question.
"Of course-" she stopped to cough. "-what woman wouldn't want you debriefing in their boudoir?"
He didn't rise to the opening salvo of banter. Rarely did. It was why she'd stopped bothering with their training spars years ago.
"Based on prior observations, you have six minutes."
"Yeah yeah don't mean to eat into your 'you' time. Put the Tinkertots to bed yet?"
"Both Chariot and Kid Win are repurposing the Phantasos sensor net in line with the Director's new priorities; Riot's carrier wave is proving easier to pin down. I will review their work in one hour, it should only take fifteen minutes for this debrief and power observation before I escort you to the Master Stranger class 2 interview."
"Making a woman feel special now." Gwen flicked at her costume's ruff of bristles coquettishly. They reached back hungrily for a moment, the wave of activity stroking her face before passing down to the epaulettes and subsiding.
Armsmaster simply started walking, his servo assisted stride difficult for even someone of Gwen's height to keep up with. They followed one of the exterior corridors round and up to Gwen's armory. The door was as impressively metalled as any of the tinker labs, but the room was much smaller on the inside; storage rather than a workplace after all.
On their arrival Gwen tossed her axe at its bracket, dumped her utility belt, and immediately began sloughing off her costume. Even if she thought Colin possessed the capacity for titillation, her sports bra and bicycle shorts were conservative enough coverage. The red bodysuit with its yellow chains and furs was soon stowed in its containment box, and Gwen sat on the room's sole chair and loosened her chinstrap and eyepatch. She felt weaker, heavier without the costume's communion, the pressure in her chest harder to ignore. With irritation she spun in the chair to face the standing Armsmaster.
"What presents did Santa bring then?" She quipped.
"Three broken ribs fall within the predicted range for another grappling cable." He replied, removing the small device in question from the box and passing it to her. Its bronzed shell was the size of a beer can, the chain inside tightly coiled.
"But Colin, you got this for me last Christmas!" She gasped in mock horror.
"And your birthday." Gwen's eye widened in shock at the joke.
The sensor net thingie-ma-bob must have been going very well.
"You're lucky I grade your jokes on a scale."
"Indeed. I'll now begin the debrief. Teleconferencing Second Chance and Director Piggot, audio only." the sound of a phone rang out in the room once before it was picked up.
"Hello Armsmaster, Challenger, Director" The slow deep voice of the Protectorate second in command sounded over the room's speakers.
"Let's get on with it." grunted the strained voice of the PRT leader.
Probably interrupting her midnight snack. Not that she needs one.
"Agreed." Armsmaster replied. "Recording started. Debriefing on the incident of twenty-one hundred hours, March 22nd. Console received several separate calls of twenty gang members in Lung's colors converging on the suburban home 1321 West Vine Street. Due to descriptions of Oni Lee accompanying them, Miss Militia and Challenger were diverted from their assigned patrol route to intercept."
With a practiced sigh, Gwen continued the description. At least piggybacking off Colin's dictation program would save her the tedium of writing her own reports. "Militia and I arrived five minutes after the first call. We approached from the south east. No visual sign of the Ninja, so I grappled both of us to the rooftop of the convenience store across the street so Militia could set up. Our reasoning was its lights would obscure her profile. I dropped my rifle with her and approached the perps. Ten were standing guard outside whilst an unknown number were inside the house."
Gwen paused "On closer approach I noticed one was a large man in a Dragon mask. On visual contact with Lung and without backup myself I endeavoured to retreat." She lied.
Blood pounding, sailing through the air with axe in hand. Bristles shredding the human chaff around her foe.
"However Lung noticed me and immediately began to transform and throw out his fireworks. I chose to engage him as he would need several minutes to ramp up to force that exceeds my brute rating, based on our current intelligence."
Axe clanged off the concrete, the rebound cutting into his thigh, edge thirsting for lifeblood. Finally someone who can take it.
"And whilst my chain's strength exceeded his, I would be able to quickly relocate him to a less populated area."
Loops tightened, he couldn't break her embrace. Standing on his back, hammering the flat of the axe repeatedly on his head.
"After the initial exchange he had generated his scales. It was at that point that I noticed Riot's effect manifesting on Lung."
Iridescent smoke leaking from the regenerating flesh, faces on the shimmering bubbles. Familiar faces, calling to her, screaming.
Second Chance interrupted. "To confirm, Riot's effect only began after Lung had partially transformed?" Gwen idly wondered what theory he was brewing, but thinkers always wait till the accusing parlor at the end of the episode for their big reveal. The melodramatic shit might even break out the smoking jacket and pipe.
They called out to her with their screams, men running forward, beating the Dragon with their fists even as their skin blackened and broke.
"Yes. Definitely. It was… sharper than when I'd seen it before, hit people right away. His own men turned on him, civilians running out their houses with kitchen knives. Militia began pouring sniper rounds at Lung, but retained enough control to avoid headshots."
She knew rage, all its many flavors. The look on their faces wasn't rage alone, it was leavened with icy hate. Should have named that monster Lynch.
"As Chance's simulation suggested, I was able to push the emotional effect into my items. Their hyperactivity may have injured some bystanders if not for…"
The final burst of flame from Lung, now towering over her, the rioters gone in an instant. Grease stains on the pavement. Alone again, facing the Grendel.
"...him clearing the street. He- Lung left. Fast as he could. The birds and the bugs stopped going crazy soon after. Due to injury I did not pursue and went to check on Militia."
Bouncing off a lamppost. Ribs breaking. No pain meant a new fury was kindling. Wouldn't amount to much with this performance, but it'd be creeping out-
Gwen began coughing as a thousand tiny needles of pain seared the back of her throat.
"We'll close it there." Director Piggot spoke over the noise, sounding tired. "Armsmaster, have scenarios for what this means about Riot by the check-in tomorrow. It is ridiculous that we still don't even have an estimate of range for the effect. Chance, I want to know why all of the leads from the Docks we've been following have gone dead if Riot is still active. I'll submit another request for more personnel,
anyone is going to be a help at this point. Challenger, we'll cover this in more detail once you get out of the M/S evaluation."
"Understood." Armsmaster said.
Second Chance added something, but Gwen couldn't hear over her own rough coughing. The needles were moving now, spikes shifting and digging as they moved up. The malus of pain and rage touched the back of her throat, and she clasped both hands over an open mouth in preparation. The thing inside wriggled like a porcupine, dug its spines in and lept. What hit her hand was heat, fizzing and squirming, and with a smooth motion she shoved it into the frame of the grappler and held it in place. A kettles shreek filled the room, and the other items shuddered in sympathy as her creation, her
fury, bonded with the metal. All except the axe, who watched like a silent predator.
Her mouth was too sore to speak, so she looked at Armsmaster expectantly.
"Audio and optical emissions are at the very high end of expected parameters for the size of injury. Exotic energy type 1643-CH was detected during the emergence and empowerment of the item, consistent with previous cases. A good one, as it were. Do you hypothesise the increase in strength is from the master effect or the quality of the opponent?"
Gwen shrugged, starting to drink the protein shake, the thick milky substance soothing the back of her throat. While the furies' emergence was a genuine healing effect, it took a lot out of her. The twinges would haunt her all week unless she loaded up the calories.
"Are you ready to be taken to the MS-2 interview?"
Gwen held up three fingers, they'd worked together long enough that he'd know what she meant. They stood quietly the first minute, but Armsmaster surprised her by broaching a question.
"Does it bother you? The price paid for power. Whilst a Tinker or… other trumps merely put time into their creations you have to invest…"
"...pain? Nah. Thrill is its own reward." She was confused at the intentness of the question, this was hardly the first time Armsie had seen her birth a fury.
"You're telling the truth."
"Got that lie detector working? Even when Piggot said it was a low priority… ohohoho I see." She bared her teeth in something like a grin.
"Its accuracy is still poor without prior interactions to review." Colin shifted slightly in his armor, but any actual embarrassment was beyond Gwen's ability to detect. She started putting on her 'on base' uniform; red sweats and a red hoodie with a golden axe logo on the front.
"A lie detector that only works on your colleagues is pretty messed up. So right - the effort doesn't bother me. The... ceiling is pretty fucking frustrating though. I love my axe, girl is the truth." The item in question purred in response. "But I can't exactly give my other eye for another one now can I? Not without doing a Hellhound and selling my soul to the Little Doctor. Yeah no shit Shawn breezing past me hurts. I'd have put in for transfer if it weren't for the whole Empire thing. Still might you know; stewing in someone else's shadow ain't a good look, is it
Colin?"
"No."
"Stick to your strengths." she continued. "You were never as fucking awesome in a fight as me anyway, what does it matter that Shawn's going to be better now too? Fuck man you know this or you wouldn't have spent halberd polishing time on a lie detector! You think Shawn could build that sensor net in an afternoon, could Shawn have those two whiny brats shitting out miracles?"
"Kid Win and Chariot are credits to the Wards team." he said with a slight smile. Gwen kept a poker face, remembering all the agonisingly boring staff meetings Chance and Militia had spent persuading Colin to increase his mentoring hours. "The inspirations from two other tinkers have proved useful for my own work, well worth the time invested in our group sessions."
"And yet Clock or Vista would trounce those two wimps in a fight. Stalker blasts past them in arrests. But you know what gets talked about in other cities?"
Gwen didn't actually know what people in other cities talked about, but now was as good a time as any to see if bullshit counted as a lie. It was not
not true.
"They talk about the sleds used in Canberra, that the PRT here having laser rifles to drive off Spree and Vex without hero support. That this team can hold back Lung and the Butcher."
"The Sol-pattern laser attachment was primarily Kid Win's work."
"Could he have done it without you?"
"No." he said with certainty.
"There you go!"
"Telling a Tinker to find fulfilment in tinkering is not a novel analysis. And taking pride in the creations of a protege has previously been proposed by a... friend. However, corroboration by someone with a very different personal gratification framework is interesting. Thank you Gwen."
Armsmaster gestured for them to leave.
Time to go sit in a padded room and be asked inane questions.
She locked the still vibrating grappler in the case with the others, it would calm down by the time she needed it tomorrow. She considered her words as she stood; he'd got her good with the 'vulnerability into comparing her to Dragon' play, but there were still ways to win this conversation.
Maybe get the last word in? She grinned broadly and spoke.
"No problem Colin, we've all got demons to bottle."
"Nine days since the last time you used that allusion."
Damnit.
-=≡SƧ≡=-
Faultline started giving crisp instructions as soon as the van stops. "Newter, help Swallowtail set up her perimeter at two hundred feet out. Skeeter stay here with Elle. Gregor with me, let's go look for a place to stash the back-up car."
We had over two hours till the meeting was meant to start, and over an hour till sunset, plenty of time to get things in order. This spot on a tiny side road in the woods, halfway between the Bay and Manchester, had been selected at random by the team. A pair of mouldering wooden tables sat in an untrimmed field, an abandoned shed crumbling off to the side. With gas prices climbing ever higher, no one made whimsical trips out from the city to frolic or picnic. The old trees that ringed the field reminded me of happier times, losing myself between the branches at summer camp.
"Come on 'Tails, I'll race yah." chuckles Newter as I passed him one of my bags of domain soaked pebbles. I really should have seen where he had been going with the name suggestion before agreeing to it. In a flash of orange he was out the sunroof and bounding on all fours for the treeline. Even if I'd spent months in athletics training I wouldn't be able to match his more than human speed, and I'd been a shut-in then a vagrant instead. I sighed and grabbed my hat, and went to open the van door.
"Whistle if you need him to come back." Skeeter deadpanns from the rear seats. The skinny red-skinned boy was using gentle hand gestures to try and get Elle— Labyrinth's attention, to little success. Today was one of her bad days, it seems, though the journey in the van means her power would not have 'caught' on the landscape. Similar to mine in that way. She hadn't exhibited much difference in responsiveness on any of the days I'd been staying at the club, her perception elsewhere. I paused but couldn't think of a response for Skeeter, not wanting to say something wrong. Compared to Newter's overt whimsy or Gregor's quiet stoicism, he was much more clearly helpful with me getting settled, but his avoidance of my fumbling attempts at casual conversation had an undercurrent of what felt to me like anger.
"I'm sorry?" I cautiously replied.
"He's a big puppy wagging his tail, so whistle to get his attention." he sounds increasingly amused.
"He's not a dog."
"It's not an insult. World be better if more people had a dog's outlook." He sounds wistful.
I lean on this potential connection, "We never had any dogs, but when I was little our neighbors had this lovely spaniel, I've great memories of when we looked after—" I flinch away from his frown. "Oh I'm really sorry."
"Forgiven. At least you realised." There was anger in his voice, but it seemed general, impersonal, rather than directed at me. Maybe.
In lieu of answering I gave him a little nod and I move off in the opposite direction from Newter, mentally switching my costume to 'active' mode as I went. Another failed social interaction complete. The costume had been Faultline's suggestion when she'd seen my precision of control; leave a deceptive outer layer visible whilst the inner protection is hidden. Thus one of Faultline's old armored jackets with holes hacked for the plumes, a facemask, and thick leggings were placed under a long loose white poncho, veil, and a broad white sunhat borrowed from Elle. My trusty crowbar and other gear hung from a utility belt. If I soothe away the perception of the undersuit and my body I looked like a shell of white cloth drifting unsupported under the hat; a focal point for conversation without revealing anything. Feeling
safe whilst people still knew to talk to me was a pleasant melange of sensation. The sunhat was a small nod to femininity until I could get my hair to contribute something to the ensemble, as right now my locks were still recovering from the weeks on the street.
As I walk, I could feel Newter stop his outward trajectory and start moving in a widening spiral, dropping the pebbles as he went. I match his distance and then began adding to the perimeter myself, weaving between the undergrowth of the forest. All the crew and the vehicles were lightly soaked in my domain, and it was pleasing to note my sense of the spare car was uninterrupted by distance. A flicker of the scan reveal it was still on the highway. I could even scan back to parts of the domain left in the Palanquin if I wanted. Better to not be distracted though, and following Faultline's plan I started sweeping the space Newter and I were covering for hidden devices or signs of prior tampering. Eventually we had nearly a square mile centred on the clearing covered. Aside from animal tracks and broken branches I found nothing, though the sheer amount of life squirming in the forest's loam was momentarily fascinating. I made a mental note to spend more time scanning the ground beneath me when we got back to the Bay after this road trip.
Tasks accomplished, we reconvene by the van just in time to see Spencer and another of the bouncers finally arrive in the spare car. Faultline's sweeping gesture drew us all into a huddle, and it was my first chance to get an eyeful of the Crew in full battle wear. I was struck by the divide in the team; on one side Newter in a hot pink tank top and long black shorts, Gregor in his greatcoat, fishnet shirt and sweatpants, Skeeter with a maroon linen shirt, loose pants and black running shoes. On the other side Faultline, Elle, and I wore partial armor and robes of grey, green, and white. We had costumes, masks, additions, this was just them. Their life. At least Elle and I's footwear fit the casual chic, and I quickly returned my own black running shoes to visibility when no one was looking. Wait, did Faultline give me a pair of Skeeter's shoes? Spencer is included in the huddle, but slightly apart from the capes, and the other driver didn't even rate that.
Our glorious leader looked at Skeeter, who shook his head in reply. She winces, and started talking.
"Alright, time to fill everyone in on the job." She didn't look at me, but I knew I was the only one other than Elle who didn't know what was going on. It was understandable, keep things need-to-know until the new person is trusted, but it still made me anxious.
"We're security for a meeting, then transport afterwards. Our client's associates are villains from the Bay, and they're meeting with the Protectorate." Wait what? "They're going to have a discussion with me as security, then any of them who want to will come with us to Cincinnati for delivery to our client. The client is likely to have another task for us when we get there, but that's a discussion for the road."
"We going to find out who the client is?" Skeeter asks, Gregor nodding once beside him.
"No. Second Chance is one of the Protectorate capes coming to the meet. The fewer people can leak something to a Thinker the better we'll be. I can tell you once we're on the road." murmurs of understanding followed, though not from me. She continued talking, counting off points on her fingers. "We'll move the van and car to the other end of our exit route and Swallowtail will hide them. Since it's a reactive situation we'll have Labyrinth in reserve with them. Skeeter; drop us some blood balls and stick with her until I call you in. The rest of us will wait here for these associates to make introductions, then Newter and Swallowtail will go dark and I and Gregor will meet the heroes. The villains will be here at sunset, and we'll signal the heroes in. Constant comms, and we evacuate if anything kicks off. Questions?"
I surprise myself by raising one. "Why's the Protectorate meeting way out here?"
"Heroes are worried about interception by the gangs on neutral ground in the city, and these associates are too paranoid to risk going into the PRT buildings."
"Did you inform them of the many reasonably priced conference rooms offered by the Palanquin?" Gregor solemnly asks.
"I did, but they decided the trees and the bugs sounded better."
"We should spend more effort on the brochures." I couldn't contain a snort at that, and Gregor turned his head to look at me, the hardened shell growths on his face feeling odd to my scan. Faultline broke the awkward silence.
"No other questions? Those going get going, those staying look presentable and settle in."
She turns to me as the crew started off. "I'm going to have our client's associates see you at first, to avoid friendly fire problems later. You don't have to talk. At least half of mercenary work is standing around looking intimidating."
I frown, not that she sees it through the void under my veil. I reply with uncertainty, "I… not sure if I can do that."
She grins like a knife.
"I think you'll manage."
-=≡SƧ≡=-
Tires brush the top of my scan as I flicker it around the perimeter.
Wait, what?
"Faultline, there's a, um, — we're being approached by a flying car— a car that is flying." I try to get out in my most professional tone of voice. "Four hundred feet away, at seven o'clock."
As I feel her turning to look, I hurriedly correct. "Your seven, from where you were. Sorry I forget which way I'm facing."
"This will be our delivery package." She has a note of dry amusement in her voice as she flicks on the comm in her headset. "Places, people."
Faultline sat at the mouldering bench whilst the three of us stood behind in a row. I was in the middle with Gregor and Newter were ten feet to either side. Clumping to avoid being hit in a single blast was one of the many 'tactical patterns' Melanie had described on the drive over and which I had carefully jotted down in my notebook, but it still escaped me when one should follow one pattern over another. With a start I realised another pattern was on display; me in the centre, being watched and contained, untrusted. Was one of them going to whip out a camera?
Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Rest. This is fine, Faultline explicitly said this was a trial period, obviously I'm going to be watched. I just need to prove myself, keep my cool.
I focus on the flying car instead, tracking it as it moves between my scan zones. It is silent, engine off, and below the top of the treeline. It weaves and slides between the crowns at barely more than walking pace. As the scan slices through the floor at certain angles, I pick out three pairs of feet, all in metal toed boots. Two male, one young or petite female.
Faultline raises a hand in acknowledgement as I relay this, not turning her head back to look at me, as the car finally enters the clearing. Gleaming in the light of the setting sun is a ridiculous vintage muscle car painted bright red. It is the least subtle car I had ever seen - what sort of idiot comes to a clandestine meeting in a car like that? I tense; were they expecting a high speed chase when the unspecified negotiations broke down? Were they planning a betrayal?
The eyesore orbits lazily around the clearing, the passengers checking us out from all angles, before gently positioning above the road and lowering. Whatever force was keeping it airborne cuts out when it is only a foot or so up, and the car slams down onto its wheels with a whump. We hear shouting from inside the car, the person in the driver's seat irate at something. After a minute or so, all three of them get out, the man who'd been in the backseat moving to take the driver's place. He's wearing a denim jacket with a simple bandana covering the bottom of his face. Is it bad that I can identify a minion on sight after barely three days as a mercenary? Maybe it's something in his hunched shoulders. He quickly drives the now gravity bound car away up the road, heading in the opposite direction from the Bay.
The remaining two visitors definitely aren't minions, standing with an arrogant confidence despite their almost casual attire. Capes for sure. The man was in his twenties or thirties, average height with a stocky build, dressed in heavy black motorcycle leathers and carrying a small javelin. A rally helmet with a visor and a mouth covering scarf completed the look, both in deep red. The other was a teenage girl; the opposite of me physically with a petite but athletic build and blonde hair escaping her voluminous red hoodie. Black jeans and a large black domino mask meant she matchs the man's color palette, and she held a massive metal kettlebell in each hand without obvious effort.
Remembering Faultlines warning, I try not to remember what the scan reveals of their faces under the masks. Editing the information as it streams into my brain from elsewhere was a lot harder than blocking my body's pain or tiredness, and I definitely got flashes of bushy eyebrows and a button nose. The shapes in their brains had the same doubled knot and frantic energy Faultline's did during her morning exercise routine, and which Elle's exhibited almost constantly. Active parahuman power. What that power that was became obvious when a ghostly double of the man popped out; a perfect match down to the zips on the motorcycle jacket, rendered in pearlescent light. A second and third emerge, the three falling into a line behind him in a mockery of our own positioning. I recognise the power from Faultline's files and my PHO trawls.
Crusader, and the girl must be Rune.
Our clients were Empire.
What the fuck?
"Faultline. Gregor. How y'all doing? Hell of a get up you got your newbie in." Crusader sounded distressingly normal. I don't know if I'd expected a German accent or deep echoing villainy, but definitely did not anticipate a voice that wouldn't be out of place on one of the younger guys at a dockworker's association barbeque.
I felt Newter's tail swishing back and forth at the snub and he angrily spoke. "Her hat not pointy enough for-"
"Newter." Faultline interjects, and he fell silent. Was orange skin worse than transparent? Did the case 53's mean that the racist's got together in a big synod and ranked
all the colors?
Faultline continues, her tone hard. "This is Swallowtail. They, like all of us, has been paid to ensure you reach your destination. We are not being paid to take your shit. There's no difference to us if you arrive at your new employer conscious and upright..." She stood up slowly, the bench disintegrating behind her in tiny wood chips. "...or blissed out in a crate."
"Yeah yeah, you got four on two odds, your dick's bigger than his, etcetera. Can we get a move on, some of us don't want to freeze our asses off in the woods all night." Rune, in contrast, sounded exactly like I thought she would. A high pitched teenage voice, bored and cruel; she wouldn't be out of place in Emma's crowd of sycophants. I didn't recognise it thankfully, if she'd gone to Winslow we had hopefully never interacted.
Faultline continues to stare at Crusader, who after a few moments stops meeting her gaze and grunts acquiescence. She turns to look at Newter and I, making one of her chopping hand gestures.
"Places."
Newter made for the nearest tree in a single bounding leap, while I simply stop letting myself be perceived. In a more graceful variant of the move from Faultline's office I gently sank to my haunches to reduce my profile, and after a moment I felt the gazes of the two Nazi's lose where I had been. Rune's head nervously whipping back and forth to try and work out where each of us had gone was delightful to watch. As they weren't moving I began to creep my domain up their bodies and clothes, ready to act if they try something.
Maintaining the dramatic momentum, Faultline got out a bulky phone and sent a message, while Gregor produces a set of red glowsticks from his coat and spread them in a small circle around the four of them. Did he get those from the club? They all stood in silence as the last of the sunset slowly slipped away, the Nazi's tense in comparison to the others ease. I guess getting your organisation utterly wrecked takes a lot of wind out of your supervillain sails.
I still had my proprioception of our backup in the van, and Skeeter's sudden look upwards meant I knew which direction to turn and watch the hero's arrival. It starts out minor; a tiny stone of silver light skimming across the dark pool of the night sky, the base of each arc curve marked by concentric ripples of blazing white energy, gradually growing more detailed and complicated as it approaches. It was agonisingly beautiful; the footsteps of something from a higher, purer realm. It was beautifully agonising; that mote of light
saw with a perception sharper and more penetrating than any I'd felt before, a razor blade cutting into the skin of my domain. I felt small beneath it, a moth waiting for the finality of the pin. It took all my concentration to soothe this bright sight, almost if I had less of the strange not-time to work with when operating my power.
The blazing emissary's jumps circle the clearing twice then with a single step a figure flashes down onto the grass. A muscular man of average height wrapped in white armor with gold highlights, topped off with a golden spartan style helmet with an additional mouth covering. The helmet shone with white light and made his features impossible to pick out, vanishing into the glare. The shadows cast by this light were sharp and stretch to the edge of the grass, and I sunk even lower to obscure my shadow. The helmet was the origin point of the burning bright sight, and I felt it pick out Newter in the trees quicker than I could hide him.
This had to be Dauntless of the Brockton Protectorate, taking 'rising star' literally it seems, a versatile and powerful flying artillery type. The grandeur of the entrance was somewhat marred by having his arm looping round the arm of another man.
That the passenger is considerably taller than Dauntless made the whole thing faintly ridiculous, though he is skinny enough that I doubt he was hard to lift. Actually how did that work, a light arm grip should not have held them stable in the air. Maybe Dauntless's armor has some effect that shields passengers in flight? Unhooking their arms, he was a shadow against the other hero's light, his costume thrown into deep contrast. A well tailored navy business suit was offset by combat boots and a dark blue head covering that clung tightly to his skin. Actually he was wearing a full body suit of the smooth material under the business get up as it clung to his neck and gloved his hands. The left side of his head covering had a bright white '2', the arc of it starting just above the eyebrow and curving over to the back of the head before slashing back and down over the ear before finally having the horizontal stroke coil around his neck.
Second Chance, a 'tactical precognitive', and Armsmaster's second in command. He'd joined the local Protectorate well after I'd grown out of my hero geek phase, and since unlike Dauntless he wasn't flashy enough to make headlines I knew very little about him. A Thinker was always someone to be wary of in Faultline's opinion; you had to assume they knew more than you wanted them to know.
Two heroes with sensory and information powers, the ones most likely to work out I'm here and who I am. That's just fantastic.
Oh wait, I should do my job. While the capes were still eying each other up, I quickly texted Faultline.
>>Dauntless has a sensory power. He has seen Newter in the trees.
<<k
<<seen u?
>>No, I don't think so.
Faultline slid her phone into her pocket and steps up to the heroes for her opening address. Aside from Rune she was by far the shortest visible figure in the clearing, but I was learning that sort of thing didn't matter if you had enough presence.
"Chance, Dauntless. Welcome. I assume the preconditions we discussed are still in place?"
"Of course Faultline. Thank you for being the facilitator here, I appreciate your adeptness at navigating grey areas." Second Chance's voice was deep and languid, he sounds utterly relaxed despite facing down four villains. I frown though, I thought the client had been arranging things and we were merely security. He continues, "Though I am surprised at your taking an advocate's role here, I had no idea you had legal training."
"I don't. These two—" A cocked thumb indicated Crusader and Rune. "—don't have any better option."
"Those fancy lawyers not returning their calls?"
"Didn't come here to be fucked with." Crusader mutters.
"Then let us not quote fuck around unquote. Why are
you here Crusader, when Faultline communicated the purpose of this meeting was Miss Rune becoming a Ward."
What the fuck? She'd killed people. She was a literal nazi.
"Like shit, Empire's toast I get that. I ain't a turncoat though, not going be joining up with the PRTs... filth in a month of Sundays. But, I could be out of the Bay tonight, never trouble your head again. Or my gal Rune here could get a shitty deal and I'll need to stick around to help her out. Someone in the know will be good for keeping ya'll honest."
It was clear public speaking had not been Crusader's main role in the old Empire. My scan showed a face smiling with nervous bravado under his helmet. It turned into a scowl when both heroes look to Faultline for confirmation. At her nod, they exchange a brief glance before Chance continues.
"I see, escrow and a bargaining chip. Very well, but don't try and add anything more to the conversation. Now - Rune; the Wards do indeed offer many opportunities for young parahumans, and our oversight has put young offenders back on the straight and narrow, but why come to us... now?" the drawing out of the last word sounding distinctly smug.
"Bay's fucked. I got people to protect, people whose bones I don't want decorating a damn motorcycle. Protectorate's the only gang in town I trust to try and give me that without shipping me off to Frankfurt. 'Sides I never killed anyone; I've heard you've wiped dirtier rap sheets than mine clean."
"Sergeant Jo Ramon." Dauntless spoke, his voice surprisingly smooth and high. Something you'd more expect from a friendly camp counselor than an established hero. Chance glanced at him for a few moments before seeming to start in remembrance.
"Ah yes, the 9th of December 2010. Sgt Ramon's legs were crushed when you dropped a dumpster on his patrol car during your fight with Stormtiger. He died of blood loss on his way to the hospital. Survived by his wife, no children."
"Melinda is due in four months." Dauntless' voice was icily cold. I could feel his hand gripping his lance tightly.
"—I wondered why people were being so generous with the collection. I hope her move to New York goes okay, the Bay is hardly a place for
children to be without protectors." Chance's voice seemed as calmly amiable as before. "There are two other documented fatalities we could likely prove in court, and dozens of injuries. Your rap sheet may not be as clean as you think Miss Rune, but—"
As the hero paused melodramatically, thoughts stampeded through my head. Did I want them to forgive Rune? Someone useful and important having cruelties swept under the rug sounded depressingly familiar. Could what I had done be forgiven if I joined the Wards? Did I want to join up when the 'heroes' will apparently take anyone?
"—not insurmountably so in the opinion of the Director." He continues briskly. "Given your mention of 'people' I assume staying in the Bay is a condition of your membership? Are your legal guardians resident here?"
Rune's shoulders sank a little at that, less cape and more teenager. "They're not resident anywhere now. It's other folk I gotta look after."
"I see. Given your age we will have to make someone in the PRT hierarchy your guardian for this to work. Could you agree to that?"
"You're going to be bossing me around anyway?"
"Yes, as will Miss Militia, and other individuals of color in the PRT. And how do you
feel about that?" As he spoke, Chance loosened the cuff on his right glove and pulled it off. He flexed his fingers in the dim light. I'd not known Second Chance was black and from the outburst of swearing neither had Crusader. I guess living in a city with the Empire was one reason for a hero to wear a sealed body suit. Us squishy Thinkers have to take all the protection we can get.
Crusaders muttering forms coherent words "Fucking pee-r-tee's crawling with-"
"Finish that sentence and you'll regret it." Dauntless was still filling the angry cop role. I wonder if he needs to point the lance to release the energy; his grip was flexing like he was about to pull a trigger. That seemed like the sort of trump card capes played close to their chests, like the other properties of Skeeters blood aside from healing.
Rune stood still for a good half minute before answering. "It doesn't matter how I feel. What I'll do is keep my mouth shut and follow orders."
That earns her a sonorous chuckle from Chance. "Smart girl. Let me update the Director."
He turns away and raises his hand to an earpiece to activate a communicator. Dauntless' helmet was a gleaming void to my scan, but I could read the ripples of sound under the other hero's mask without issue as he spoke, even if the replies were too small for me to catch.
"Emily...it's as they said...strings are protection details for her quote people unquote, clearing the record as we expected...she'd be an unparalleled aerial asset, we'd stop conceding the skies to New Wave...rebranding telekinesis is child's play...now now Emily my motives are pure...I don't think people realising she's switched sides would be a bad thing, the Empire's sentiments don't just go away because their capes are all dead...yes...no...no...we're at loggerheads again, do we bring her in or not?...thank you Emily...very well."
He slowly turns back to his audience. "Rune. Based on what we know of your past actions, we're willing to continue this conversation down at HQ. This is a one time offer, dependent on you coming with us now. Do you understand?"
"Yes." she answers quietly.
"A car will be here in half an hour. I suggest the rest of you leave."
Rune turns to Crusader and gave him a light punch on the arm. "No hugs. It's been a shit year, but you had your moments. Godspeed asshole."
"Good luck you icy bitch." His voice trembles just a touch. Being the last man standing of an Empire must be an interesting feeling, though good riddance to Nazi rubbish.
Dauntless spoke up as the villains turned to leave, "Director has some words for the rest of you. Faultline; remember the bottom of the list is still on the list." Faultline scoffs in response. "And Crusader?"
"Yeah?"
An actinic bolt flashs as the Arclance extends and scores a smoking line in the grass by the villain's boots. Turns out he didn't need to point it.
"Don't come back."
Crusader raised the rather less impressive weapon of his middle finger in response and stalks away. Faultline and Gregor following at a more sedate pace. I wasn't sure what to do; Dauntless' helmet hadn't seemed to detect me yet, but if I stood up and walk away what would happen? The three remaining capes stood in silence, Dauntless staring at a nervous Rune whilst Chance taps away on his bulky phone. Were the Crew going to leave without me? Luckily Faultline's text broke off the start of my worry.
<<Stay 2 H leave
<<Waiting for Cs gear anyway
<<Don't worry re:R
<<N watching 2
>>Will do so. Is there anything I should be paying attention to?
<<number of agents
<<Passwrds?
Oh right, reconnaissance. Chance seems to be texting numbers to some sort of banker or broker, and stealing a Heroes retirement fund is a line I don't want to cross. The temptation to get something useful proved too much to resist though, and I lift my self-imposed filter to peek at Rune and Chance's faces. The revelation was anticlimactic, I'd know them in the street now, but they were just… faces. They didn't have much meaning to me now, few faces did. My Dad's face, maybe Emma's, and spikes of rage and pain and abandonment came with the thoughts of either of them.
Spiralling, I remember—
I didn't need this right now, we had a job to do. The shapes in my head swirl, sharp as knives and a million strong, and I filter away the perception of any fragments my brain had just queried, a misbegotten cloud of data. The painful faces
faded from my mind's eye, and I felt calm. With my newfound tranquility I work my domain into both Rune and Chance; until it expires I'd be able to check on their surroundings as they move through the Protectorate HQ. Certainly beat playing eye-spy with Newter on the imminent day-long drive.
Chance had switched to writing some sort of coded phrases by the time the PRT van showed up and spilled out four officers in heavy gear. Their armor plates were thicker than I'd seen before, the chainmail denser, and their shoulder plates rose up in a half-collar to guard their neck. I wondered if their foam cannons and coilgun was for the Nazi's or for us—The Crew. They put an ankle tracker on Rune, but no handcuffs, and in under a hundred seconds everyone but Dauntless was in the van and departing.
Dauntless stood for another minute before turning to face Newters rough location and sketching a crisp salute. With another brilliant flash and prismatic ripple he took off; not high like before, but close in on the treetops. He must be providing close air support to the van. I wondered what they're so worried about, the last free Empire cape aside from Othala was leaving with us.
I stand and cease hiding my outer costume as Newter bounds up to my side.
"Well, that was boring." He says.
"Job's don't normally go this smoothly?"
"When you're as good as the crew everything goes smoooth. Smooth car chases, smooth explosions, smooth punchouts, you know? Hey can you text Mel we're coming — I sweated a bit on my phone."
"Sure." To be honest I had expected and maybe hoped for a bit more excitement in a clandestine meeting between heroes and villains. But Second Chance seemed to have already made up his mind, and the Protectorate wanted an… asset. All very business-like. Dad used to complain about dirty money washing clean too easily, but it extends to every sort of power I guess.
"Hey-" Newter starts before I interrupt him, an unusual impulse taking me.
"Are we going to be in the van with the Nazi? Or is anyone riding with Spencer in the backup car?" I quickly say.
"Should be, it's more capes to keep watch that way."
"Want to mess with him?" The words came easy, I almost grin.
Newter's teeth were very white as he smiles wide enough for the both of us.
-=≡SƧ≡=-
"I'm not angry, just disappointed."
Faultline sounds angry.
Operation 'cloak the flecks of Newter's sweat on Crusaders packet of jerky' had proven a resounding success, but the price of victory was yet to be paid.
"I have to admit, it was pretty funny when he poked himself with his projection." The biggest surprise is to see Skeeter coming to our defence over a prank. I wouldn't have thought the serious boy had it in him; but I guess Nazi's do have a way of bringing people together. Elle was nodding vigorously beside him.
"It's not going to be funny when he snaps out of it and we have a delirious and hostile parahuman in a moving vehicle."
"Should we stop?" Gregor asks from the driver's seat. The headlights illuminate nothing but the winding road and closely packed conifers ahead.
"No, we roll with this as an accident. Skeeter, clean his blood. When he wakes I'll put this as just a cost of being in the same space with Newter, and that we all check our food for droplets and spills. Everyone will back me up on this. One minute from now I want there to be no more laughter." She fixes each of us in turn with a hard look.
"Should I use a blood pack or do it manually?" Skeeter is already rubbing his hands together, blood vessels standing taunt even on the bright red skin. He reaches over the seat and grabs Crusader's jerky-crumb covered hand.
"You have enough surface area to do it without?"
"Definitely. It was a baby dose."
Elle starts laughing again.
"Then don't waste the fine china on scum." Faultline goes back to reading her notebook. I stare in fascination as thick cords of blood burst out of Crusaders hand, wind round Skeeter's fingers in a gory cat's cradle, before rejoining the Nazi's circulatory system at the wrist. My scan let me look under the hood so to speak, as Skeeter's tiny capillaries gently wave through the suspended bloodstream, and I gawk at a million tiny appendages plucking at impurities.
It was really neat.
"Only be a few minutes." Skeeter said.
We all felt the van lurch as Gregor slammed on the breaks.
"There appears to be someone lying in the road." He said impassively, the headlights now picking out a tall figure lying slumped to block both lanes on the backwoods road. The lights showed a farmhouse and old fashioned barn off to the right, more woods on the left. Being in a moving vehicle I'd had no chance to spread my domain, and my scan was claustrophobically centred on the van. The body was lying just out of range and I couldn't trace its form.
Faultline was quick to reply with a firm, "this is a set up, keep driv—"
We were all
perceived in a moment.
It wasn't like anything I'd felt before, it was hot like sight but was somehow looking
inside. I feel its touch violating my arteries, pushing on the nerves in Newter's tail and Gregor's skin.
Then it blinks off.
An explosion hit the right side of the van, the force lifting and flipping the vehicle onto its side. I felt the crystal bones in my forearm fracture as I was thrown against the door. The sound of the explosion somehow didn't end, the bass of the blast rising into a high screaming roar.
My scan encompasses her now.
Leg pressing against the base of the van, fibres tensing with sheer brute force. A short muscular woman, blonde hair and scarred face encased in a cage of jagged metal teeth. Dressed simply in a leather vest and athletic leggings, her arms bare to reveal hundreds of curving metal blades bursting from her flesh, growing longer and sharper towards her hands. Every shard of angry metal twitching and vibrating on microsecond timescales. Singing. Everyone who'd lived in Brockton Bay this past winter has this figure etched in their memories.
"Butcher—" I try to yell.
With contemptuous ease, she kicks the van off the road.
-=≡SƧ≡=-
Authors Notes:
- Geography wise going for the version of Brockton Bay replacing Portsmouth, NH.
- The ENE Protectorate make themselves known:
- This Second Chance fellow seems very trustworthy.
- Dauntless has enhanced his gear with different priorities in the AU, note the shield isn't mentioned, and his armor is power resistant and helps him carry people.
- Taylor really should pay more attention to her own thoughts eh?
- Bad feels though - Movers with exotic Sensory Powers are her most traumatising matchup and she's run into two of them in one evening!
- Faultline is a gym leader and the team are her Pokemon: discuss.
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