Reality Intrudes [Worm/Matrix AU]

[Luminatira]

God dammit Armsy, stop challenging every cape you meet!
armsy: so i challenged this new cape i met to a fight, and they won. so that means they are a villain!
everyone else: what the absolute fuck armsmaster, no, that makes YOU the villain!

 

[SwiftRosenthal]

I think this is the only Matrix/Worm crossover I've ever seen. Pretty good too.

Click to shrink...

I remember a good one-shot, but that was it.

 

[Anti-No]

That opinion gets revised real quick, when he opens his mouth. "You gonna fight me?"

Click to shrink...

I work my neck, popping it one way and then the other. "Already kicked the asses of two masked idiots tonight. Might as well make it three for three."

Click to shrink...

God dammit Armsy, stop challenging every cape you meet!
armsy: so i challenged this new cape i met to a fight, and they won. so that means they are a villain!
everyone else: what the absolute fuck armsmaster, no, that makes YOU the villain!

Click to shrink...

Just out of curiosity: Is this an AU with or without such absolute basics as "helmet cams"? Or did Costa-Brown veto those because they could result in too many improvements to the Protectorate and the PRT procedures and training programs, building up from actually accurate after-action reports that highlighted what actually went wrong, what actually went right... and why?

Because if accurately reported, this very much was a case of "Successfully managed to challenge the new initially-non-hostile-to-the-protectorate cape to a fight."

Accurate reporting, of course, may not happen. If so, let's hope for Armsmasters sake that nobody publishes interesting footage on the net afterwards.

 

[Necrovore]

Just out of curiosity: Is this an AU with or without such absolute basics as "helmet cams"? Or did Costa-Brown veto those because they could result in too many improvements to the Protectorate and the PRT procedures and training programs, building up from actually accurate after-action reports that highlighted what actually went wrong, what actually went right... and why?

Click to shrink...

I think the following:

Going up onto my knees on top of him, I haul off and deliver a strike straight down into the front of his helmet. Not hard enough to shatter his skull and kill him—he hasn't done anything to deserve that—but definitely enough to utterly fuck up any computer-driven analysis software and recording system he might have in there. As an added bonus, it'll kill any HUD he's got running, so if he was cheating with low-light vision, tough. It's back to Mark One Eyeball for Mama Armsmaster's little boy.

Click to shrink...

Means even if there is a helmet cam, nothing useful is being pulled from it in this particular instance.

 

[Anti-No]

Means even if there is a helmet cam, nothing useful is being pulled from it in this particular instance.

Click to shrink...

Probably nothing from after that moment, true. But the important meeting and greeting was actually before. And if every solid state memory chip in that helmet is destroyed, Armsmasters head most probably would be, too. ...well... unless this version of Armsmaster also has a brute rating. Improbable, but possible.

That the data most probably exists, doesn't mean Armsmaster would actually turn in said movie clip, of course.

 

[Necrovore]

Probably nothing from after that moment, true. But the important meeting and greeting was actually before. And if every solid state memory chip in that helmet is destroyed, Armsmasters head most probably would be, too. ...well... unless this version of Armsmaster also has a brute rating. Improbable, but possible.

That the data most probably exists, doesn't mean Armsmaster would actually turn in said movie clip, of course.

Click to shrink...

Well, putting aside the whole physics breaking opponent using a "Tech Breaker Punch" type attack...

This could be an interesting example of over engineering being a bad thing. If he had a basic camera just taking in data from the camera and direct storing it, then a sudden interruption in power would likely be fine and the data recoverable as it would be in a format at low risk of corruption. However, if Armsmaster is using the footage and running various programs to enhance the footage or interpret content in it, basically any post processing before the storage, then for the sake of efficiency the storage format of the data is likely optimized for thing like timestamp indexing and contextual information being integrated into it. The downsides of such formats is the trend towards unrecoverable data loss if the data files are not closed properly, such as with sudden power loss.


From Armsmaster's own comments in the chapter, I expect an extensive redesign of his helmet after this encounter to remove the vulnerabilities this attack has revealed.

 

[Impartial Panic]

Emily Piggot glared at the armored man in front of her.
"So she just took your bike?"

This was the exact conversation Armsmaster wanted to avoid.
"The situation is a bit more complicated than that."

His current trouble was not helped by Assaults laughter.
"Please go back to the part where a 98 pound girl kicked your ass because that's never getting old."

The Directors glare focused on Assault quickly silencing the cape.
"So a little girl went to your bike, removed all the trackers and security systems and just took it?"

"It seemed prudent to focus on securing Lung and Oni Lee."

"Which is about the only reason this isn't a complete fiasco."

 

[Sonifri]

-

Click to shrink...

It's electronic data. This isn't a one or the other kind of situation like a stack of boxes being processed. It's just as easy to stream it directly to a piece of storage media while simultaneously using a second stream of that same data for his UI. Same way you can have a million people watching the same camera stream online.

 

[Ack]

Just out of curiosity: Is this an AU with or without such absolute basics as "helmet cams"? Or did Costa-Brown veto those because they could result in too many improvements to the Protectorate and the PRT procedures and training programs, building up from actually accurate after-action reports that highlighted what actually went wrong, what actually went right... and why?

Because if accurately reported, this very much was a case of "Successfully managed to challenge the new initially-non-hostile-to-the-protectorate cape to a fight."

Accurate reporting, of course, may not happen. If so, let's hope for Armsmasters sake that nobody publishes interesting footage on the net afterwards.

Click to shrink...

Oh, he had a helmet cam.

Past tense very appropriate, there.

I think the following:



Means even if there is a helmet cam, nothing useful is being pulled from it in this particular instance.

Click to shrink...

Exactly correct.

Probably nothing from after that moment, true. But the important meeting and greeting was actually before. And if every solid state memory chip in that helmet is destroyed, Armsmasters head most probably would be, too. ...well... unless this version of Armsmaster also has a brute rating. Improbable, but possible.

That the data most probably exists, doesn't mean Armsmaster would actually turn in said movie clip, of course.

Click to shrink...

Nope. Morrigan leaned into the Matrix and said, "Helmet breaks, head doesn't."

Well, putting aside the whole physics breaking opponent using a "Tech Breaker Punch" type attack...

This could be an interesting example of over engineering being a bad thing. If he had a basic camera just taking in data from the camera and direct storing it, then a sudden interruption in power would likely be fine and the data recoverable as it would be in a format at low risk of corruption. However, if Armsmaster is using the footage and running various programs to enhance the footage or interpret content in it, basically any post processing before the storage, then for the sake of efficiency the storage format of the data is likely optimized for thing like timestamp indexing and contextual information being integrated into it. The downsides of such formats is the trend towards unrecoverable data loss if the data files are not closed properly, such as with sudden power loss.


From Armsmaster's own comments in the chapter, I expect an extensive redesign of his helmet after this encounter to remove the vulnerabilities this attack has revealed.

Click to shrink...

"I've decided to remove the vulnerabilities this has revealed to me."

"Yeah? How?"

"Don't get punched by Morrigan."

Emily Piggot glared at the armored man in front of her.
"So she just took your bike?"

This was the exact conversation Armsmaster wanted to avoid.
"The situation is a bit more complicated than that."

His current trouble was not helped by Assaults laughter.
"Please go back to the part where a 98 pound girl kicked your ass because that's never getting old."

The Directors glare focused on Assault quickly silencing the cape.
"So a little girl went to your bike, removed all the trackers and security systems and just took it?"

"It seemed prudent to focus on securing Lung and Oni Lee."

"Which is about the only reason this isn't a complete fiasco."

Click to shrink...

Assault: "Didn't Oni Lee mention that he and Lung were already disabled by the time of the fight?"

Armsy: <glaring at Assault>

Piggot: <glaring at Armsy>

Assault: <pulling out popcorn>

 

[Blade4]

Just keeps getting better and better. Soon the whole town will be flipping the fuck out.

 

[Ack]

Reality Intrudes

Part Fifteen: Over and Under

[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

Grue

"Fuck!" yelled Regent over the sound of enormous dog paws hitting asphalt. "It's Armsmaster!"

"I don't think it is!" Brian took another glance over his shoulder. The most distinctive motorcycle in Brockton Bay had made the knee-scraping turn and was now accelerating into the straightaway behind them. "That's his bike, but it's not him!"

Tattletale looked back as well, hanging tightly onto Brutus as he galloped along. "No, it's a girl, a cape!"

"Tinker? Someone made their own ArmsCycle knockoff?" Regent peered back over his shoulder. "They got the engine note right and everything!"

"Not a Tinker, not a knockoff," Tattletale corrected him. "That's Armsmaster's bike, the real one! She just stole it, and now she's joyriding!"

"Not joyriding!" Bitch put her two cents in. "Chasing us! I know what a chase looks like!"

"Wait, what the fuck?" Brian stared at Tattletale, then back over his shoulder at the oncoming motorbike. "She stole Armsmaster's ride? How the hell did she pull that off?"

"Did you want to stop and ask her?" Tattletale snarked. "Whoever that is back there is Trouble with a capital T! Whatever she's involved in is something we need to avoid! Bitch, we need to lose her!"

"Hey, what if some of us wanted her autograph?" protested Regent. Brian was sure he was doing it just to be a dick.

"Then you can get off my dog and fucking walk!" Bitch turned Angelica and aimed her at a nearby alleyway. "Otherwise, shut the fuck up!"

Travelling in single file, they barrelled into the alleyway. Brian guided Judas to fall in behind the others so he could see what happened to motorcycle girl. If she lost interest, all well and good. But capes often did the unexpected; it was what made the hero/villain scene so interesting (and occasionally terrifying).

Knocking over trash cans, scaring the fuck out of the occasional homeless person, leaping over dumpsters and other obstacles, they thundered through the alley. Brian kept his seat through long practice, holding tight to a couple of convenient bone spurs. The motorbike pursued relentlessly; its howling engine amplified by the brick walls on either side.

Fuck it. He began producing his darkness, filling the alley from side to side. Ride through that, smartass. On he rode, keeping Judas up close behind Brutus as they powered on through the narrow trash-filled darkness.

After jumping a fence—ten feet high, chain link, securely padlocked—he looked back, secure in his own mind that the pursuit had been foiled. Instead, he was treated to the sight of the bike going airborne as it somehow used one of the dumpsters as a launch ramp, engine roaring, headlight blazing as it cleared the fence. Twisting in midair, it pulled a near-perfect barrel roll, left tyre-marks on the wall, then bounced off a dumpster before hitting the ground again, having lost no speed along the way.

Inside his helmet, his jaw dropped. How the hell? Nobody can see through my darkness, much less pull off stunts like that blind.

"She's still behind us!" he shouted, trying to get Bitch's attention. "We have to hit the rooftops!"

Vaguely he heard Tattletale repeating what he'd said, but most of his attention was directed behind them, at the crazy girl on the motorcycle. Even with all the obstacles in the way, she was still gaining on them.

Who the hell is this, and how is she doing what she's doing?

<><>​

Morrigan

First things first, this bike is amazing. For all of Armsmaster's flaws (and he's got more than a few) he's got it tuned to a point that it responds to my every command like an extension of my body. The few things it's not actually set up to do, I can make it do anyway, by leaning into the Matrix just a little. It doesn't even take that much effort.

I haven't done a deep-dive into the Undersiders as yet (why would I? They're small fry), which means that the sight-blocking smoke cloud comes as a rude surprise. But it's not as bad as it could be, because hello? Matrix operative here? It's not air that we're breathing, and it's not light that we're seeing by.

Where anyone else would be floundering blindly—I can tell that it blocks everything in the local simulated version of the electromagnetic spectrum, and muffles sound to a fair degree—I've got resources that bluepills just can't access. Being an operative lets me bend the laws of physics pretty damn hard as it is—here, I can just about tie them in knots—but I can also look past the façade of reality if I squint just right, and see the edges of the code. This doesn't give me my own waterfall display, but it does let me figure out what's in front of me before I hit it, and map out my route through the obstacle course they're trying to lose me in.

I pull the three-sixty roll when I come over the fence because I know Skeletor's watching, and it's funny as fuck to troll him like that. The move is also designed to send a message: You can't get away that easily. I figure once the Undersiders realise they can't lose me like this, they'll either change up their escape/evasion tactics, turn and fight, try to parley, or surrender.

Whichever one they choose will give me insight into them. All data is good data, as they say.

A moment later, I'm proven right as they pour out of the alley into a side-street, then the lizard-dog critter in front, with the muscular girl on it, leaps at the building opposite and starts climbing it. I'm actually kind of impressed by this; they don't look like natural climbers, but they're doing it anyway. The others follow along behind, in a move evidently designed to leave me twiddling my thumbs at street level.

Well, their intentions and reality are going to be two different things, if I've got anything to say about it. This whole wall-climbing schtick of theirs might work against Armsmaster and his merry band of spandex-clad do-gooders, but they're up against me now, and I don't play to lose. So, even as they scramble up to the roof of the three-storey building, I assess my options.

By the time they reach the top, I've figured it out. I turn the bike down the street and gun it for about half a block, then do a bootlegger turn that leaves a perfect half-circle of burned rubber on the asphalt. Kicking the throttle open a couple of times, I put a neat square of rubber under the rear tyre, then I open her out.

As the engine noise echoes between the buildings, I swing wide, then pop a wheelie as I angle in toward the building they climbed up. This is going to take all the Matrix bullshittery I can muster, but the looks on their faces are going to be fuckin' epic.

Why yes, I do live for this sort of thing. Why do you ask?

There's a parked car outside the building before the one I need to be on top of; I hit it at just the right angle (converting it from junker to junked) to launch me and the bike into the air. That gets me up just high enough to hit an awning (ripping it out of its mountings in the process, but it's not my awning) and boost the bike even higher. That wouldn't normally be enough, but there's a fire escape that I kind of ricochet the bike off so the wheels hit the vertical wall with six feet to go.

Turns out Armsmaster rebuilt the bike for all-wheel drive, and I'm pushing that to breaking point. Matrix chicanery gives both wheels far more traction than reality wants to allow, but I tell reality to stand over there and stop bothering me. Assisted by the remaining upward momentum, I've got the throttle wide open, engine screaming, the bike clawing its way up the wall.

At the top, just before I would've lost traction, the front wheel tips over the edge, giving it one last burst of oomph. The back wheel digs in and shoves me up the rest of the way, then, as it comes over the edge of the parapet, the bike pulls a complete backflip. I ease off on the throttle and guide the bike down to a two-point landing. The suspension takes it like a champion; Armsmaster actually does good work in that regard, apparently.

On the other side of the roof, still astride their lizard-dog-dinosaur hybrids, the Undersiders gawk at me in disbelief. Or at least, the girl in the form-fitting purple catsuit (do her parents even know she owns that thing, let alone wears it in public?) is staring at me, squinting and shaking her head like I'm screwing with her own personal reality. I can't tell what Skeletor's expression is, the twink in the Renfaire costume has a similarly face-obscuring mask, and the stocky girl with the dollar-store dog mask hanging around her neck is the poster child for 'resting bitch face'.

"Hi," I announce. "Name's Morrigan. New in town, on a fact-finding mission. First thing I want to know is, why did you guys even get into crime? Anything you want to vent about, I'm willing to listen."

Renfaire Twink recovers first and points at me. "That's bullshit!" he accuses me. "How the fuck did you just ride Armsmaster's bike up the side of a damn building?"

Well, he's got a point. It is bullshit, but a very special kind of bullshit. The kind I'm a past master at, to be specific.

"I might as well ask you how you just rode those lizard-dog-rhino things up the side of a building," I counter. "The answer is simple: because I could. So, as we were saying." I point at the big guy with the skull face helmet. "You. Skeletor. What do you get out of being a supervillain? Is it just the filthy lucre, or is there more to it for you?"

There's a frozen pause, then Renfaire Twink and Purple Catsuit snort in either amusement or disbelief. Resting Bitch Face doesn't even crack a smile; in fact, she continues to glower at me. I'm not put off by it, but I have to give her kudos for staying on track like that.

"My name's Grue, not Skeletor," says the guy reluctantly. I can tell he doesn't want to talk to me, but his buddy's already opened a line of communication, and talking's generally better than fighting, especially when you're facing someone who could just possibly kick your ass up between your shoulder-blades. "I'm in it for the money. Why do you want to know?"

"Just information gathering, to be honest." I go to gesture toward Purple Catsuit, but she nearly has an epileptic fit when I do, so I change my mind and call on the smaller guy. "Okay, you. Renfaire Twink. What's your deal in all this?"

Grue (that's a terrible name; if I was him, I'd complain to HR) audibly chuckles at that, and Purple Catsuit nearly falls off her mount with laughter. Even Resting Bitch Face cracks half a smile, but no more than that.

"The fuck?" complains Renfaire Twink. "Why does Grue get Skeletor, but I get … that? I'm Regent, and don't you forget it!" He gestures in my direction with the stupid gold-painted sceptre thingy he's carrying around. My right hand and left leg twitch involuntarily for some reason, but I suppress it.

With the coronet and the medieval clothing, I can see where he's coming from. It's not a great name, but it's a name. I'm just about to make a comment about it when my phone rings. "Hold that thought," I say, and pull it out. "Yeah?"

"What just happened?" asks Loki, sounding honestly concerned for once. "You just started twitching up a storm. The restraints stopped you from falling out of the chair or pulling the jack loose, but this was way more than the usual."

"Huh." I'm remembering the gesture with the sceptre. It seems Renfaire Twink, aka Regent, has a few tricks up his floofy sleeve. "Thanks. I'm on top of it."

"The last time you said that, we had to call in three operatives to clean up the aftermath."

That had not been my finest hour, but I rally gamely anyway. "I dealt with the immediate problem, didn't I? Anyway, busy. Smell you later." Hanging up the phone, I give Regent the stink-eye. "Okay, smart guy. Word of warning? The next time you try to pull that shit, I'm going to take that sceptre thingy away from you and turn you into a twink on a stick."

From the movements of his head, Regent stares at me, at his sceptre, then back to me. "What the hell? How did you do that?"

"Same way I got this bike up here," I remind him. "I'm just that fuckin' good. See these?" I open my coat to show the Undersiders the pistols I'd inherited from Whitey McWhiteface. "I took these off the asshole formerly known as Alabaster, currently residing in the PRT morgue, after I blew his head off last night. I'm willing to bet it'd be a whole lot easier to make you stay down, so let's keep this nice and polite, shall we?"

"Alabaster?" scoffs Regent. "Yeah, like—"

"Shut up, Regent," Purple Catsuit says tensely. She's staring at me while squinting hard, like she's not enjoying the view. "She did it. He's dead. I don't know how she killed him, but she did."

"Like a fuckin' boss is how." I focus my attention on her. "While Renfaire Twink is thinking about his answer, how about you? What's your reason for putting on something that any reasonable father would ground his daughter just for owning, and going out to commit egregious acts of criminality?"

"You are way too young to be having that attitude," she says, but it's only a medium level of snark so I let it go. Besides, I'm impressed. I'm a decade and change older than the Matrix body I'm currently inhabiting, but how does she know that? "As for why I'm doing this … well, there are several reasons, of which money is only one. Mainly, bad choices. Lots and lots of bad choices." She tilts her head, still squinting. "How about you? Why are you going around killing supervillains and mugging heroes for their rides?"

"Because I need to kick over anthills if I'm gonna see what the ants do." Ignoring her reflexive twitch, I look at Regent. "Figured your answer out yet, or did you want to phone a friend?"

Somehow, I can tell he really, really wants to flip me off, but at the same time he doesn't want to go the same way as Alabaster (and Victor, if he but knew). "Money, gaming and security," he says eventually. I suspect he's being even more honest than he intends. "Being a supervillain means I can afford the best gaming consoles out there, and not going to school or working a nine-to-five means quality gaming time is all the time."

"And security?" I prod him. "You mentioned that, too."

He makes a motion with his head that I suspect involves an eye-roll. "My dad's a villain too, the type that other villains don't associate with. If I'm with a gang, it means he's less likely to be able to swoop in and drag me back to the rest of the family."

From the way Grue glances at him, I get the impression he wasn't this forthcoming with the rest of his team when he joined. Purple Catsuit and Resting Bitch Face don't react; I suspect the former already knew, and the latter doesn't give a fuck. I can respect that attitude, given that it forms a major part of my worldview.

"And what about you?" I ask Resting Bitch Face. "You got a tragic story, or are you just in it for the big bucks?"

She gives me a challenging stare. "Why the fuck do you care?"

"Listen," says Purple Catsuit tensely. "Her mom abandoned her, she had a shitty time in the foster system, and she triggered when her last foster mom tried to kill her dog. Okay?"

While I'd really rather get that info from the horse's mouth, it's clear Purple Catsuit is trying to avoid a lethal confrontation, and I get the strong impression that Resting Bitch Face isn't the type to back down easily, or at all. Besides, I can fill in the blanks from what I've already been told: kid gets powers, shit goes sideways, and now she's permanently on the run. Joining a gang would've given her much the same kind of security as Regent was looking for.

This gives me interesting insights into the gangs, if the Undersiders are anything like a viable sample. None of them are in it just for the cash; even Grue, if I'm reading his momentary hesitation correctly, has other motives that I haven't figured out yet. 'Curiouser and curiouser', as someone said, once upon a time.

(I'm personally convinced that Alice fell into an earlier version of the Matrix, and only made it out by the skin of her teeth.)

Resting Bitch Face glares at Purple Catsuit. "Did I ask you to say anything?" Yeah, she's definitely pricklier than fifty yards of saguaro cactus.

I speak up again, mainly to defuse the incipient squabble; while I really don't care if they beat the shit out of each other at any other time, I'd rather not have to wait until they're finished before I get the answers to the rest of my questions. "Hey, fight on your own time. So, what's the skinny on Kaiser and his merry band of goose-steppers? Doesn't he know Hitler died decades ago?"

"Knows, doesn't care." Grue sounds appropriately disgusted by them, for which I award him mental kudos. Unless he's black under there—and he might well be, because I can't see as much as a square inch of skin to check—he's to be commended for his attitudes. If he is, then it just means he isn't a fuckin' moron. "We're pretty sure Allfather was his dad. He's just carrying on the family business, and he doesn't give a damn about who dies or gets beaten up in the process, just for having the wrong name or skin tone in the wrong part of town."

"Their biggest recruiter is Lung," Regent chips in without even being prompted. Good boy. You can learn, after all. "You know about the ABB, right?"

I nod. "I was going to ask about them next, yeah. Asian supremacist gang, if I recall correctly?"

"That's them." He gestures with the sceptre, but not toward me, and I don't feel any twitches. "Every time they do anything at all, Kaiser shouts it from the rooftops, and few more rednecks get insecure enough to join up. Same thing happens when the Empire Eighty-Eight beat up on some minority out on the street late at night: Lung whips the ABB into a frenzy, and they talk a few more locals into joining 'for their own protection'." For someone with a flattened emotional response, he could certainly pack a lot of sarcasm into those four words.

A few more things become clear to me. "So, neither one's really dedicated to wiping out the opposition, because they're each essential to the other's ongoing recruitment prospects. Yeah, that totally tracks." I pause and grin. "Want to know something else about Lung you didn't know before?"

They exchange glances, but only Purple Catsuit speaks up. "You did something to them, didn't you? Just before you stole Armsmaster's bike."

"That's right." I let the silence stretch on for a few more seconds. "I shoved the motorbike I was using then up Lung's nose, then I shot Oni Lee a couple of times and beat the fuck out of him. If Armsy's still got all his faculties, and I didn't hit him that hard, then they'll both be in PRT custody in the next five to ten minutes."

Purple Catsuit stares at me. "Holy shit, you really enjoy living on the edge, don't you? Alabaster's not a big member of the Empire, but killing him definitely sends a very loud message, and putting down Lung and Oni Lee for the PRT sends another one."

"Don't forget, she stole Armsmaster's bike," Regent chimes in. "I'm pretty sure the message is along the lines of 'batshit insane, do not engage'."

Grue and Purple Catsuit both tense and look at me when he says that, but I'm not the least bit offended. Besides, Loki's said worse to me with the Captain right there.

"I like that." I throw him a grin. "I might just use it."

"Knock yourself out."

"Sure thing. Oh, I might've forgotten to tell you. After I killed Alabaster, I topped Victor as well, then stole a ton of money and guns from the safehouse they were in. Then I burned down the safehouse with a bunch of drugs inside. And at the same time I beat up Lung and Oni Lee, I chased off Storm-whatsit and the Viking chick twins. Shot 'em all a few times."

Purple Catsuit slaps both hands over her mouth to contain her reaction. Grue just nods slowly, Regent mutters, "fuck me" and shakes his head, and Resting Bitch Face seems to look pleased. Briefly, anyway. I'm getting the impression that a smile from her is basically the equivalent of a standing ovation from anyone else.

"So anyway," I say, "what can you tell me about Coil? His PHO page is pretty scarce on information."

Purple Catsuit raises her head and lowers her hands from her mouth. "Before I tell you that, what're you planning for him?"

I shrug. "Get his measure, maybe smack him around for light exercise. What've you got for me?"

She shakes her head. "Not worth it. He's got some sort of reality bending ability that means he always makes the right choice. Also, fifty or so mercenaries with cutting lasers on their guns. If I tell you what I know and you get through them, then just hand him over to the PRT or even leave him to go free, he'll learn I ratted him out, and then he'll come after me. Hard pass on that."

"Reality bending, huh?" And here I'd been thinking he was almost too boring to mess with. This sounds like a real challenge. "Okay, so what can you tell me about him?"

"Hey." It's Resting Bitch Face. "Are you gonna be fucking with the Empire Eighty-Eight again? Like maybe Hookwolf?"

I look over at her. These are the first words she's actually volunteered, so I'm inclined to be nice. "That's always a possibility, sure. I've read he's an asshole."

"He runs dogfighting rings." If talking about someone could kill them, Hooksy would already be pushing up daisies. "Fucker needs to die."

I shrug. "I've heard of worse reasons. See what I can do." Then I look back over at Purple Catsuit. "You were saying?"

She takes her time with her response. "He's got an underground base near a skyscraper under construction. Find that, you've found him."

Well, I've had thinner leads. "Sounds good to me. Night, all. Good talk."

Engaging reverse gear on the bike—Armsmaster installed that, too—I gun it, bringing the bike up onto its front wheel. Then I dance it around in a circle, flick the throttle so the back wheel drops and the bike pops a wheelie. When I let it fall forward, the front wheel goes over the edge of the building, and the rest of the bike follows.

I draw on my Matrix capabilities pretty hard from that point onward. I've got the bike pointing downward at an angle, leaning in as close to the wall as I can. From the bike's point of view, gravity is actually partway into the wall, so as far as it can tell, we're going sideways down a really steep slope, allowing the tyres to keep some level of traction (and leave streaks of rubber on the brickwork). When I'm most of the way down, I give it some more gas; the bike leaps off the wall, finishes the demolition job on the car, and I ride off down the street.

Time to go find Coil and find out what 'reality bending' looks like from my point of view.

I can't wait.



End of Part Fifteen

 

[Impossibird]

Holy shit. I forgot about this fic, but that chapter fucking rocked. Thanks for continuing,!

 

[meloa789]

Matrix abilities are truly their own brand of bullshit.

 

[Blade4]

And I want to see what happens when Coil and his power try to modal or fuck with a operative. Should be hilarious. Perhaps a stroke?

 

[Necrovore]

And I want to see what happens when Coil and his power try to modal or fuck with a operative. Should be hilarious. Perhaps a stroke?

Click to shrink...

Seeing as it actually is a simulation, I would expect his power to actually create two separate instances here. Maybe have it noticed that people connected and affected show strain on there minds basically running twice the data.

Could have an amusing case where the operative and ship can only see one of the simulations at a time, and have things actually stutter if they were in the collapsed one as they are brought into the line that was kept. Maybe let them switch which instance they were connected to and have Coil panic on seeing someone disappear from one timeline and appear in the other knowing what happened in the first.

Having them deal with Coil not because of what he does, but simply from the fact that his abilities are giving them headaches, would be amusing.

 

[Ack]

Reality Intrudes

Part Sixteen: Speedrunning, Matrix Style

[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

Tattletale

It took a few moments for the feeling of disorientation to go away altogether, but as far as Lisa could tell, the others had their own problems. When she figured she could finally open her power up and allow it to sample the world properly again, Grue was shaking his head and Regent seemed to be getting over a minor panic attack. Only Bitch was more or less unaffected, though her knuckles were a little whiter than normal.

"What the fuck just happened?" asked Grue shakily. "Who was that?"

"Didn't you hear?" Regent tended to double down with snark when he should be feeling fear, and this time was no exception. "She called herself Morrigan. What I want to know is how she rode a motorbike straight up the side of the building. Did she have gravity powers or something?"

"When she was chasing us down the alley, she pulled a barrel roll with the bike, inside my darkness," Grue added. "Whatever powers she's got, it's more than just gravity."

"Wasn't gravity." Whatever else Lisa was uncertain about, she was sure of that. "I could almost see it. Reality was warping around her, to do what she wanted. She was able to ride the bike up the wall because she'd decided she was damn well going to ride the bike up the wall." Her power had kept trying to categorise what Morrigan was doing, and had ended up headbutting a brick wall. It had not been a pleasant experience.

"So, when my power didn't work on her, it was because she'd decided it wasn't going to?" Regent sounded miffed. "That's not how powers work."

"No." Lisa shook her head. "She didn't even realise you'd tried anything until she got the phone call. Someone told her you'd done it. Which means she's got some kind of backing, who can pick up on stuff like that."

"What I want to know is, how did she see through my darkness if she doesn't have powers?" Grue didn't sound pleased. "Reality warping, or something else?"

"You said Coil bends reality," Bitch broke in unexpectedly. "And you say she was warping reality. What's the difference, or is it just fancy words for the same thing?"

"It's not the same …" Lisa spoke carefully, thinking her words through. Coil had a way of finding out shit that she'd never told him, so she had to make sure she didn't screw him over too blatantly. "I'm almost sure of how he does it. And I know for a fact that's not how she does it." She looked at Grue. "At a rough guess, she needed to know where the obstacles were, and so she knew about them. The fact that she couldn't see them was just a detail." A wave of pain swept through her head. "Now please don't ask anything else about her; I'd rather not have a migraine tonight, thanks."

"Fine," said Grue. "So how did you know that about Coil, anyway? We've never associated with him in any real way."

"Fuck that." Bitch pointed at Regent. "Which supervillain's your dad? Because if he comes looking for you and hurts my dogs, I will fucking take it out of your hide."

"Actually, yeah, I want to know about that, too," Grue agreed. "Regent?"

Regent hesitated, then turned to look at Lisa. "You already know, don't you?" His voice was more resigned than accusing.

"There's not all that many Masters out there." She had indeed already connected the dots, and was pretty sure he was talking about Heartbreaker. He had the looks and the accent, and neural control wasn't a million miles away from emotion control, which would make Regent Hijack if she was right. And she was rarely wrong.

"Yeah, true. Fuck." He sighed. "He's Heartbreaker. I got away from him and I'm not going back. He's one of the reasons I accepted the offer to sign up with the Undersiders. Safety in numbers, and all that crap."

Grue wasn't pleased. Not totally surprising, considering that he had family in the city. Lisa would've personally thrown her father to the wolves, given the chance, but Grue felt differently about his sister. "And you were going to tell us about this when, exactly?"

"Never, had been my game plan." Regent stared at Grue with defiance written into his very posture. "But you saw her. You heard her. If she didn't like the answers we gave her, she would've started asking questions without giving us the choice not to answer. So, I told her what I needed to."

Lisa wasn't thrilled at the omission either, but it was water under the bridge now. "Plus, I'm pretty sure she heard what you didn't say, Grue. I'll keep my ear to the ground, and if I hear even a hint that one of Heartbreaker's kids is in town, we turtle up. Go radio silent."

"And what if he comes to town?" Regent had lost nearly all his blasé tone. "Because he won't stop looking until he finds me. It's just the way he is."

"And if Morrigan's still in town, you know she'll go looking for him." Lisa tilted her head to one side, because she couldn't raise her eyebrow behind her mask. "Who do you think'll come out on top then?"

A thoughtful silence fell over the group. Lisa knew they were thinking about how Morrigan would fare against Heartbreaker, but she had something else on her mind.

If she can find that base from what I told him, Coil is fucked.

I hope.

<><>​

Morrigan

Once I'm away from the Undersiders, I pull out my phone again. Armsmaster's bike is a real beauty; even if I wasn't an operative, I'd be able to ride it one-handed. Being one just makes it easy.

"Operator." Loki's voice seems to be edging between fascinated disbelief and gleeful anticipation. "Just so you know, when you pulled that shit with the motorbike, the Captain swore and punched the wall, then went out to get herself something to drink. In case you missed that part of the briefing, we were supposed to be keeping things on the down-low. Not advertising to all and sundry that there's a Matrix operative running around in their server."

From his tone, Hornblower had meant something alcoholic, which means the guys running the still in Hold 3 are about to get a surprise visit. I'd wondered if she was aware of that thing. Well, now I know.

"Hey, in my defence, even when I'm going loud, it's still not as flashy as some of the idiots in this server seem to be." I'm quite pleased by the way that encounter turned out, actually. Shock and awe absolutely has its uses. "So, did you get everything they said?"

"In living colour. But seriously, did you really just ask a bunch of costumed comic-book supervillains why they're supervillains?"

"Not comic-book supervillains. Just costumed ones." I pause thoughtfully. "If this was a comic book, it would be the sort being published as a dark, arty trade paperback. Not one of them is a supervillain for the giggles. I have no doubt there are some like that out there—like that Jack Slash clown—but for the majority, it's just a life choice."

"Still, you took way too many risks for the Captain's liking." He doesn't sound displeased by this. "When you inevitably crash and burn on this assignment, I'll be right there to testify that you ignored orders—"

"Oh, put a sock in it. Preferably the crusty one you keep under your mattress." I don't give him time to respond. "I need you to do a survey of the city for skyscrapers under construction. Think you can do that, or will your fragile male ego get in the way?"

"You know what? You can take—sure, I'll get right on it." The sound of typing is audible to me over the phone. "Hey, Captain. Morrigan's just chasing down that lead on Coil."

I grin as I end the call. It seems that Captain Hornblower came back from her hunt for booze at just the right time to forestall Loki's attempt to stonewall me. At my best guess (from the last time I was out and about) the only place that it's likely they'll be building a skyscraper will be in the Downtown area, so I head in that direction.

However, it also seems that the so-called superheroes of Brockton Bay haven't finished getting up in my grille yet, as I'm about to find out.

Le sigh.

<><>​

Velocity

Coming to a halt on the Boardwalk (he'd been whipping past the late-night strollers almost too fast to be seen when the message came in), Robin Swoyer pressed his earpiece more firmly into his ear. "Velocity to Control. Say again your last, over?"

The specialised radio could take his words, compare his current rate of time dilation to the steady pulse of clock pings from the Protectorate base, and stretch everything out as it transmitted to give the guy in the switch room an audible answer, but it was so tedious to wait for a reply. Besides, what he'd just heard definitely needed confirmation now.

"I say again, unknown parahuman temporarily codenamed 'Bandit' has engaged Armsmaster approximately ten minutes ago, damaged his helmet and stolen his motorcycle. Be aware that 'Bandit' previously intervened in a fight between Lung, Oni Lee, Menja, Fenja and Stormtiger; Lung and Oni Lee were incapacitated and subsequently taken into custody, while the others were driven off. This may also be connected to the attack last night on an Empire Eighty-Eight stash house, with multiple confirmed fatalities, as well as the reported but unconfirmed deaths of Victor and Alabaster."

"I copy all that." With some effort, Robin managed to keep his voice level. "Physical description of Bandit? Any notable Tinkertech? Observed powers? Over."

"Bandit appears to be a slender woman or a tall teenage girl, wearing a fedora, sunglasses and a long coat over civilian clothing. She is reported to be armed with at least one pump action shotgun, and perhaps a pair of pistols in shoulder holsters. No visible Tinkertech. Brute level strength, highly acrobatic, trained in martial arts, very possibly a combat Thinker. Was able to disable the safeguards on Armsmaster's cycle and ride off on it before he could stop her. Fragmentary report by someone reporting that she was riding the bike straight up a vertical wall, but last spotted by someone on the Armsmaster tracking page, heading toward Downtown."

"Roger that. Will patrol in that direction, and report in if I see her. Velocity, out." He started off toward Downtown, accelerating as his time dilation rate increased. Weaving around traffic on autopilot, he zoned out as he crossed the city. The main thing on his mind was how exactly had this 'Bandit' gotten the better of Armsmaster.

Robin had sparred with Armsmaster before, and the man was good. More to the point, he had enough tech at his disposal, especially built into his halberd, that he could take out most street-level threats without obvious effort. Brutes were a special case, but his skills and equipment were usually good enough deal with them, too.

For someone to take on five parahumans at once—moderate to heavy hitters all—and disable two and chase off three, before Armsmaster even got there, was the mark of a superior combatant. Especially since the two taken down were the heretofore undefeated Lung and the nigh-untouchable Oni Lee. That bespoke impressive levels of combat Thinker capability, provided it was how she'd beaten them. If not, Robin really wanted to know what it was, because trying to match Lung in the (lower-case b) brute force stakes had always been a losing proposition.

He hoped Armsmaster had a recording of the fight between him and Bandit. It would undoubtedly be highly educational, if only to show people why she wasn't to be taken on one-on-one. But that was for a later moment in time; right now, he was looking for the big man's ride.

Motorbikes were not an uncommon mode of transportation inside Brockton Bay, especially for gang members, but this one had been so thoroughly modified that it was unique. Keeping an eye out for it, he did a sweep through the side-streets and back-alleys of the Downtown area without any luck. God damn it, she's already taken it under cover somewhere. But he didn't want to admit defeat so quickly, so he made one last check along the main roads coming through the area.

And there she was. Not even trying to hide, just hammering down the middle of the road like she had every right to be there. Also treating the road rules like a vague suggestion, but that last bit didn't surprise him in the slightest.

Not bothering to slow down because he wanted to keep sight of her, he activated his radio microphone. "Velocity to Control, I have a visual on the perpetrator. Description as given, riding southeast on Columbus Drive. Requesting advice on how to proceed, over."

It was no problem at all to keep up with her. As fast as she was riding, weaving between the cars like they were standing still, he could more than match her speed with no effort. However, he intended to learn from Armsmaster's example and not engage her until he either had solid orders from above or some kind of backup.

As far as he was concerned, any member of the Protectorate would be welcome right now. On his own, keeping up was about all he could do, unless they ordered him to get in close and tase her. He was reluctant to do that, mainly because coming off a motorbike at that speed would almost certainly leave her severely injured, if not dead. But he could absolutely work with someone else to a) stop the damn bike without destroying it, and b) get her off it and into custody relatively unharmed.

And of course, after all that, they could ask her what the fuck did she think she was doing? But that bit wasn't in his purview. He was just there to stop idiots from killing themselves and each other doing stupid shit.

"Control to Velocity. Vectoring PRT and Protectorate assets to your location, ETA ten minutes. You are authorised to do a close pass on the perpetrator. If possible, disarm her. Do not initiate physical combat, or do anything else that might endanger bystanders."

He took a deep breath. "I copy, close pass, attempt to disarm, no combat. Velocity, out."

As he started to move in on the slim woman riding the motorbike like it was an extension of her body—seriously, her balance and timing for it were even better than Armsmaster's, who'd designed it—he considered the phrasing. It had definitely come from the higher-ups, and not from Armsmaster. The whole 'do not do anything that might endanger bystanders' was basically them covering their asses.

If this blows up, they want to be able to put their hands on their hearts and swear they told me not to do anything dangerous. Right after telling me to do something that might be dangerous.

God, he hated being a Protectorate cape sometimes.

Cranking his relative time dilation up to about two hundred to one, he angled in on the bike, just about where he judged the right-hand blind spot to be. The bike was pulling a hundred miles per hour easily, switching lanes and zooming around cars with careless abandon, but that was fine. He could keep up, no problem. And while his punches at that level of dilation were slightly less authoritative than being slapped across the face with a powder-puff, he could manipulate items, so long as he was careful about it.

To him, the bike was crawling along at a casual walking pace as he jogged up alongside the rider. The best bit about this was that he had all the time in the world. Nobody could react as fast as he could when he was—

She whipped her head around and looked directly at him. Caught reaching for the nearest holstered pistol, he stared at her. She took her hand off the handlebar and slapped his hand away. Then, while he was still gaping, she backfisted him in the chest. The impact was hard enough to send him stumbling back several yards, where he tripped and fell on his ass.

"What the fuck?" he demanded, climbing to his feet. He was in the middle of a traffic lane, but the car coming up behind him wasn't doing more than fifty, so he was able to get up, get his head back in the game, and dust himself off before he even had to think about moving out of the way. "Are you a Mover, too? Is that how you did all that?"

She either couldn't hear him or was ignoring him, because she didn't answer. She had, however, returned her hand to the throttle and was actually accelerating. Not that she could get away from him, but it was going to take a little more effort to catch up with her.

"Velocity to Control, we have an issue." He started jogging again, to make sure he could keep track of her. "She's got Mover capabilities. She can focus on me just fine, and she just tagged me. I'm not injured but I think I'm going to have a bruise, over." Two bruises, but he wasn't going to tell them how he landed on his ass.

While he waited for the reply, he pondered a question that had just occurred to him. If she's a Mover, why steal the bike? Why is she even bothering with a bike?

She still seemed to be ignoring him, though he didn't trust that for an instant. The way she'd turned to look at him had surprised the crap out of him, and he didn't surprise easily. There was no doubt in his mind that she was keeping track of him via her rearview mirrors, with which Armsmaster's bike was amply equipped.

About three minutes later, or a little under one second if he wanted to count it in real time, she actually took her hand off the handlebars and reached into her pocket. He watched, both incredulous and horrified, as she lifted the phone to her ear. Oddly enough, her hand wasn't moving nearly as fast as it had been when she deflected his attempt at grabbing her pistol.

Still weaving through traffic at a ridiculously high speed, she seemed to have a conversation over the phone, at one point glancing back to check on him with the same high-speed head-flick that she'd used before. He was still waiting on the response from Control when she finished the call and put the phone away.

She downshifted and took a corner at what he normally would've called suicidal speeds. He rounded it with a lot less hassle because unlike her, he wasn't actually travelling that speed, so he didn't have all that inertia to worry about. Though he had to wonder about Armsmaster's bike; it was good, but Robin hadn't thought it was that good.

Finally, he got a response back from Control. "Velocity, if she's got Mover capabilities then she should be able to handle coming off the motorcycle. Disable the bike without destroying it, please. Only engage if absolutely necessary."

He wanted to roll his eyes, but refrained. More covering of asses, right there. Armsmaster totally wanted his bike back in good shape, but they also wanted to stop Bandit before she attacked any other capes. Meanwhile, he was the poor schmuck on scene trying to carry out conflicting directives, and he was totally the guy who'd get blamed when the whole thing went to shit.

But he'd been given orders, so he was damn well going to do his best to carry them out. That was one thing that hadn't changed from his first days in uniform. "Velocity to Control, I copy disable the bike without destroying it. Will only engage if I consider it necessary. Velocity, out."

Which left two huge questions looming over him. First, how was he supposed to disable a bike like Armsmaster's, travelling at that speed, in a way that wouldn't end up destroying it? Second, how was he supposed to even get close enough to disable it, considering that she had Mover capabilities and she was able to react to what he did in (his) real time?

The quickest way to stop any two-wheeled vehicle, he knew, was by sticking something into the spokes of one of the wheels. Front wheel would inevitably make it go end over end, while back wheel would probably cause the back end to slide out. Armsmaster wouldn't be thrilled either way, but the back wheel was probably preferable.

The next question was, what should he use? He suspected that an ordinary wooden stick would fail to suffice; Armsmaster's tech was more durable than that. I need a metal bar of some sort.

Still following the bike down a back street, impressed despite himself at the way she weaved between the worst of the potholes and took the ones she hit in her stride, he looked around for something to jam in the wheel. Up ahead was a car parked at the side of the road, the driver just getting out. Perfect.

Speeding up a little to pass her (and making sure to give her a wide berth) he arrowed in on the car. The driver was almost frozen in place, his head only just beginning to turn as the bike roared toward him. Robin could see he was in no danger, but hopefully he had something useful in his car.

Reaching in past the driver, he triggered the trunk release, then ducked around and opened it with a surge of effort. Right there, ready to hand, was exactly what he needed: a tyre iron. Nice and durable, just what he needed to stop a bike that Armsmaster had designed.

Grabbing it, he set off after the bike, which had passed the car in the meantime. It was only a few yards ahead, but now travelling at a rather respectable walking pace. She had to know he was up to something, but unless she wanted to actually stop controlling the bike altogether, there wasn't much she could do—

She triggered the oil sprayers.

Normally this would not have been a problem for him. At his current rate of time dilation, the oil—actually, a special formulation of synthetic low-friction high-surface-tension liquid lubricant—would take so much time to reach the ground that he could literally walk around the perimeter of the spray and still have time to buff his nails before inserting the tyre iron where it would do the most good. But this didn't happen.

One second, he was casually jogging up behind the bike, and the next he was covered from the waist down with the 'oil'. Somehow, she'd made the bike's systems act within the same time frame he was used to using. He couldn't stop his foot from coming down, and it was like the asphalt had been covered with the slickest of black ice. Only by the greatest effort of waving his arms did he avoid going ass over teakettle a second time.

By the time he got his feet under himself in a stable stance, she was well away. He couldn't move or chase her, not without falling over. His boots were now coated with the stuff, so he wouldn't be able to walk, let alone run, until they'd been cleaned off.

The worst part was, she'd stymied him in a way he didn't understand. Actually, that was the second worst part. The worst part was the way how (as she rode off sedately down the back street) she gave him the finger without looking.

He sighed and activated his radio. "Velocity to Control. We have an issue …"



End of Part Sixteen

 

[Luminatira]

well, maybe Armsmaster shouldn't have taunted an unknown cape to a fight? this is all on him xD

 

[John-Smith]

well, maybe Armsmaster shouldn't have taunted an unknown cape to a fight? this is all on him xD

Click to shrink...

He didn't report the truth about lung's or his attempted murder during leviathan, you think he's going to report that he taunted an unknown cape to fight on first contact? I wouldn't be surprised if his camera had 'unexpected technical difficulties' which cut the recording from before the fight started.

 

[Blade4]

She is going to get a trump rating at this rate. Who ever she fights she seems to warp reality to be able to counter them and she keeps trolling and acting like a nut. Everyone trying to analyze her is going to be pulling hair out and reaching for the good stuff.

 

[Ack]

He didn't report the truth about lung's or his attempted murder during leviathan, you think he's going to report that he taunted an unknown cape to fight on first contact? I wouldn't be surprised if his camera had 'unexpected technical difficulties' which cut the recording from before the fight started.

Click to shrink...

She actually arranged it so the only bit of usable audio (with the video fuzzed beyond restoration) is of him asking, "You gonna fight me?"

She is going to get a trump rating at this rate. Who ever she fights she seems to warp reality to be able to counter them and she keeps trolling and acting like a nut.

Click to shrink...

Trolling is the point.

Everyone trying to analyze her is going to be pulling hair out and reaching for the good stuff.

Click to shrink...

Including Captain Hornblower.

 

[Atlas1965]

So, my best guess at her strategy at this point is essentially to run around and see what it takes to get an Agent-equivalent dropped on her - or, at the very least, keep poking the hornet's nest and see what comes out.

 

[Ack]

So, my best guess at her strategy at this point is essentially to run around and see what it takes to get an Agent-equivalent dropped on her - or, at the very least, keep poking the hornet's nest and see what comes out.

Click to shrink...

She's only going to be poking it a little longer, until the hornets stop buzzing around in a frenzy and start thinking about getting organised.
Then she'll think about her next move.

 

[Ack]

Reality Intrudes

Part Seventeen: Uncoiling Coil

[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



Morrigan

The oil sprayer does the trick, somewhat to my relief; I'd hoped it might, once I've leaned into the Matrix and convinced it to work my way. The bits of code that Velocity has grafted onto him make him almost as fast as an Agent (though I've never seen one walking at that kind of speed), which could've been a problem to fight. Fortunately, he's nowhere near as strong as one.

After I leave him behind, I keep heading Downtown in search of Coil's lair. I don't have a ton of hours left in the night, and I'd like to have some time left over to deal with him. Fortunately, Loki is on the job (and has Captain Hornblower leaning over his shoulder, so he can't blow me off until the last moment).

Three blocks after I leave Velocity in my dust, my phone beeps at me. I pull it out and flick it open. "So, what've you got for me?"

"Proof positive that I'm a bona fide genius, unlike present company. Upload incoming."

"Wow, I hope the Captain doesn't mind that you just disparaged her intelligence." I end the call before he can sputter his denial in my ear. As the information upload settles into place, I have to appreciate that as abrasive as Loki is, he is indeed damn good at his job.

Not only do I have a map location, but I've also got a rough cut for underground layout. Seems that some contractor started building a shelter for hiding from those Endbringer monster things, then had to cancel and demolish it when they hit a fracture line in the rock. Except that they didn't; there was no such fracture line, and the facility was completed on the down-low.

What Loki has dug up (pun intended) is the original plans for the shelter, which hopefully don't differ a whole lot from the end result. There is indeed a half-completed skyscraper above it, owned by the same construction company that built the shelter, which is owned (via various cutouts) by a man called Thomas Calvert.

This is where it gets interesting: Calvert, a tall skinny (some might venture to use the word 'emaciated', but there are no fat people outside the Matrix, so I don't) guy, used to be a lieutenant with the PRT, but got booted after a debacle involving something or someone called Nilbog with some really funky extra code grafted on. He's since weaselled his way back into being a strike squad commander, but after a quick perusal of the dossier Loki put together on him, I wouldn't trust him as far as I could spit him. His connection with the 'supervillain' (that term still makes me shake my head) called Coil is officially indeterminate, but comparing the very few photos of both of them gives me about an eighty percent chance that they're the same person.

So, to sum up, there's a very good chance that Coil is also his own main inside guy in the PRT (there's more, if his financials are any indication, as well as plants inside the other gangs), and the cherry on top is that he's got his very own Bond villain base under the city. Plus a bunch of mercenaries (that's no surprise, at least) and at least one supervillain group as his catspaws—well, fuck me. It's the Undersiders.

So this is why Tattletale was reluctant to tell me everything she knows about him. Not from any misplaced sense of loyalty, but because he knows exactly where to find her. The fact that she works for him, fears him, and still hates him enough to tell me as much as she did says a lot about his personal brand of employer-employee relations.

So apparently he's not only a grade-A asshole who's just begging to be smacked around like a red-headed stepchild (I never really understood that one), but one with a bunch of paid mercs packing laser rifles.

I grin as I accelerate through the turn, heading for the location of his base.

Then something occurs to me and I pull my phone out to ask Loki one last question.

<><>​

Coil (Timeline A)

Thomas Calvert's phone pinged with an alert. He frowned slightly as he turned down the TV and picked the phone up from the coffee table. I'm off duty. What's going on?

When he opened the alert, the information scrolling up the screen got his attention. Sitting up, he started reading intently. Lung and Oni Lee captured … Armsmaster's cycle stolen … possible link to killings of Alabaster and Victor … 'Bandit' last seen heading Downtown after losing Velocity …

"Well," he said out loud. "That's different." It was not unusual for new capes in town to want to cause a splash and get their names in the paper. However, it was out of the ordinary for them to tangle with such high priority capes and come out on top.

(Timeline B)

Sitting at his computer terminal in his base, Calvert started searching for all incidences and reports of this new cape, spreading his electronic fingers far and wide. If this 'Bandit' was so effective and money-hungry (the report about the raid on the stash house suggested that she'd taken cash as well as weapons) then there was a good chance he'd be able to offer her enough pay to utilise her talents on his behalf. And once he had her on his payroll, he'd be able to start hitting the other gangs where it really hurt.

He'd barely gotten started when a ping popped up on his terminal, indicating that someone had just entered the base through the parking garage entrance. This would've been a perfectly routine alert, except that he hadn't given orders for his people to go anywhere. More worrying, the cameras that should have captured the images of his unexpected visitor weren't showing a signal.

He slapped the button on his desk that set off a stage-one alarm throughout the base, and changed up the pass-codes for all the doors. Buzzers would be sounding and yellow lights flashing in every space, especially in the guard barracks. Next, he pressed the button for the base-wide intercom. "Attention. Attention. Intruders have breached the base via the parking garage entrance. Two personnel to each of the other entrances, all currently armoured personnel to the parking garage entrance." No sense in not taking precautions in case this was a diversion, after all. He only had two available timelines, and he didn't want to lose the other one in case this went badly pear-shaped.

Actually, this could be a problem. He had matters handled in this timeline, but his men in the other one knew nothing about the problem, yet.

(Timeline A)

Putting his phone down, he took up the one that he used for communications with his mercenaries. Setting up a group text for the squad commanders, he sent a message to all of them at once. Alert. Intruders in base. Mobilize all troops. Capture or kill, as needed. Advise when secure.

A series of acknowledgements came back to him, all variations on Roger that. Satisfied that he'd done all he could, he settled back to wait for results. Either his mercenaries would capture or kill the intruders, or they wouldn't. In the latter case, someone would almost certainly try to get into his computer system, which meant he'd get an alert when the self-destruct went off and killed them.

Either way, I win.

<><>​

Morrigan

"Okay, I'm guessing someone woke up in there, given the buzzers and the flashing lights. Also, the code you gave me for this door doesn't work." I eye the lights as I hold the phone to my ear. Loki is an ass, but he's too professional to let me go down like this.

"Yeah, looks like Coil himself hit the panic button when you killed the cameras. You really love diving into the piranha pool headfirst, don't you?" His sarcasm barely shows through at all; I can hear his staccato typing over the audio link. "Okay, so the new code is a twelve-digit combo, changing every sixty seconds. Next combo coming up in ten seconds is on your phone. You know you can still walk away."

"Nah, I really can't." I glance at the combination and memorise it, then put the phone away. There will totally be guards on the other side of this door, which means as soon as I finish entering the code, life is gonna get interesting as fuck.

Good. I like it that way.

I enter the first eleven digits in rapid-fire mode, and the twelfth with a bit more difficulty. The door hisses open, and a hail of bullets fills the corridor, along with at least three laser bursts, from the ozone I'm smelling. Nothing hits me, of course.

I can faintly hear the sounds of radios squawking and asking for updates as the first guards step through the open door, looking around for where I might be. Whoever's on the cameras can't tell them, for the very good reason that I disabled the camera beside this door before I typed in the combo to open it. The guy who's in charge taps two more on the shoulder and points down the corridor; just as they start heading off, I make my move.

It's an old trick but a good one, hanging onto the ceiling with a foot on each opposite wall. The guards never see it coming, mainly because their helmets give them shit peripheral vision. I drop down into the middle of them, and make sure the one giving the orders goes down first, with a fist through his faceplate.

As he goes over backward, I elbow the nearest guy in the ribs, hard enough to break them even though he's wearing ballistic armour. I kick another one in the chest, shattering his breastbone, then do a whipping kick that uses my shin to smash the right shoulder and clavicle of a fourth.

The rest of the guards are just now starting to react, but that's fine. The first two I hit were carrying assault rifles with interesting under-barrel accessories, and now I'm carrying them. While their armour might be bullet-resistant (there's no such thing as bullet-proof; I once nailed Loki through the lungs with a .950 JDJ in a training sim when he wanted to argue that particular point) it also can't cover every single square centimetre. And one square centimetre is all I need.

When the hail of fire resumes, I'm not firing all the bullets, but I am firing most of them. A few rounds whip past me, but I'm using their own buddies as cover for the most part (arguments about bullet-resistance aside, two layers of Kevlar sandwiching a human body are pretty damn good at stopping most bullets). My return shots find those crevices and niches that allow my bullets to punch through into vital areas; in a very few (rather busy) seconds, I'm the only one standing.

I pause only to snag a couple of magazines from their rifles before I move along. More guards will definitely be on the way, and I've long since learned that it's a lot easier to dodge bullets when there's fewer of them intruding on my personal airspace. Loki has given me the most likely location of Coil's sanctum sanctorum, and it's high time I applied some high-velocity pest control to this subterranean snake's nest.

Dual wielding is all well and good, but the laser attachment is a little awkward to activate one-handed, so I sling one of the rifles and keep on going with the other ready to use. This is good, because I almost run face to face with the next bunch of guards when rounding a corner. My left thumb is marginally quicker off the mark than my right index finger, so I end up waving the laser across them rather than mag-dumping into the group.

It turns out that wearing dark coloured armour is not the best idea when someone's using a laser that can cut steel. There's a bunch of screams; some are cut off really quickly, while others last a little longer. This is definitely a first for me: I've had lasers shot at me before now, but I've never been on the shooter side of the equation. Now I can see why the Sentinels swear by them. I step over the pile of twitching body parts and keep going.

Bacon, I decide as the smell hits my nostrils, is off the menu for now.

<><>​

Coil

(Timeline A)

It seemed to last forever, but the silence was finally broken by the ping of a message from one of his squad leaders. Base secure. No intruders. One by one, the other squads sounded off, each one with the same message.

Calvert leaned back in his chair and frowned. That can't be right. In the other timeline, he watched with growing anger as the intruder—just one person—mowed her way through his troops like a combine harvester through a field of wheat. From what he could see on the cameras before they were destroyed, she fitted the description of the new cape

A thought chilled him: what if she's hacked their comms? This could be a ploy to make me think everything is fine and draw me into a trap.

He didn't like calling them direct, but unless Bandit was capable of mimicking the voice of a man she'd never spoken to, he was going to find out exactly what was going on there. Selecting Senegal's number—the man had a fifty-packs-a-day rasp that he doubted any woman could emulate on short notice—he put the call through.

A few seconds later, Senegal answered. "Yes, sir?" He didn't sound angry or stressed or afraid. No matter how much a man tried to sound normal when there was a gun to the back of his head, there was always a difference. Calvert knew this from personal experience. Besides, Senegal was no actor.

"I've been told to request confirmation that the base is secure." It was one of the oldest tricks in the book, pretending to be a fellow underling, but it usually worked. "All entrances secure, no disturbances at all?"

Senegal sounded entirely unconcerned. "That's correct, sir. Every entrance has been eyeballed and double-checked."

Calvert wasn't necessarily convinced by this. "Maintain a watch on the entrances, constant radio contact. Sweep the base, room by room. Nobody goes anywhere alone. Treat any unusual incidences as hostile until proven otherwise."

"Copy that, sir. I'll report back once we've guaranteed that the base is secure." The subtext was clear: again. He ignored it.

"You do that." Calvert ended the call and sat there staring at the phone in his hand. I split timelines five hours ago. I've barely had any interaction with anyone since then. Why is she hitting my base in one timeline but not in the other?

It was a mystery. He hated mysteries.

<><>​

Morrigan

The laser module on the second rifle is beeping mournfully at me to indicate a low battery charge. I've already discarded the other rifle, because both the magazine and the laser module are sitting on empty. Those lasers are useful as fuck, though the battery life is a little on the low side.

I straightarm the rifle at the last two visible guards and pop them with a bullet through each faceplate. My long-coat's a bit more frayed and tattered than it had been at the beginning of the fight, but that's okay. Nothing's actually touched me, though a few bullets and laser shots came kinda close.

I take a moment to appraise Coil's office door, then make a call. Loki comes on the line, sounding more than a little bemused (and pissed, but that's par for the course for him). "Christ on a cracker, Mopey. Is it just me, or are you actively trying to sabotage this mission? That was even more egregious than your norm."

"Only counts if there's living witnesses. Fortunately, all these witnesses were assholes who had no problem with taking pay to kill innocents. Combo, please." I discard the rifle, because I have a suspicion I'm about to need both hands free, and it's almost out of ammo anyway.

"Combo coming through now. Just so you know, there's something hinky going on inside that room. Doesn't fit any normal analysis profiles. Like he's there but not there at the same time." By now he actually sounds human; it seems that mysteries quell the jerkass in him.

"Yeah, well, I'm damn sure we haven't come close to finding all the weird code this place has added to its citizens." I end the call and pocket the phone, then tap in the code.

When the door slides open, I dive in for a classic shoulder roll, as bullets spark off the door frame and ricochet from the concrete wall. I keep moving, rolling to my feet and launching myself up to bounce off the wall because he hasn't stopped to appraise the results of his shooting yet. A couple of shots whiff kinda close, but as they say, close only counts with horseshoes and tactical nukes.

He's not a bad shot and his reflexes are above average, but I'm leaning into the Matrix more than a little, so my reflexes and speed far outstrip his. When I get close enough to him, I smack the gun out of his hand then get a good grip, because Loki wasn't just whistling Dixie about the hinky shit that's going on. Because he's not in the room, while at the same time he is. What I'm facing is a simulation of a person, a wireframe holding a pistol that's shooting very real bullets.

And then, just as happens in the normal Matrix when someone's dialling out, he starts coming apart from the feet up. Okay, what the fuck? How is this asshole pulling on me what we pull on everyone else? Time to put a stop to this shit, post-haste.

Still holding onto him, I lean hard into the Matrix and pull. I can feel resistance, but as I've already discovered, what passes for reality in this server is even more malleable than usual for the Matrix. I'm about as real as it gets around here, and I redirect some of that into Coil.

For a long moment nothing happens—well, nothing apart from Coil struggling like a mad thing on crack cocaine, but I'm stronger and I've got more moves, so that comes to nothing—and then he starts reforming. At the same time, as his feet come back into the world, his head turns from wireframe to flesh and blood (so to speak), revealing a skinny guy wearing a morph suit.

That's not to say this is in the slightest bit easy. Not even remotely. I've got my hands full preventing him from doing anything with his hands (and feet). I'm stronger, faster and significantly more skilled than him in hand to hand, but he's taller, has more reach, and fights dirty as fuck.

Inch by tortuous inch, I drag him out of whatever personal wormhole he's trying to pour himself down, determined to force every morph-suit-clad inch of him (and would it kill him to wear something under it? Ew!) back into what the inhabitants of Earth Bet blithely call reality. He never stops fighting, though, especially once he starts reverting from the wireframe state. The closer the process gets to completion, the more effort I have to put into keeping it going. Fortunately, I'm the type of person for whom that sort of thing counts as a challenge to be overcome.

Then, suddenly, there's an almost soundless pop, and he's all the way back into reality. He sags bonelessly as the fight goes out of him. At first, I'm suspicious, but he's legitimately solid and his feet aren't dissolving into silver static anymore. I'm not sure what just happened, but it didn't turn out in his favour.

<><>​

Coil

(Timeline B)

When the office door started opening, Calvert was so startled he almost didn't grab for the pistol lying on the desk. Muscle memory took over, and he started firing at the intruder. But no matter how he tried to anticipate his adversary, she seemed to almost dodge his bullets in the confined space.

Then the gun went flying from his hand and she laid ahold of him. No matter how hard he tried to escape, she was stronger and better at it, so he stopped trying. Screw it. She didn't attack in the other timeline. This one's a dead loss. He dropped the timeline …

(Timeline A)

… or at least, he tried to. But her grip on him tightened, and the timeline refused to drop. Instead, he felt himself being drawn out of the timeline where he was safe at home, and forcibly dragged to the one where he was in peril. Fighting as hard as he could, he concentrated on dropping the 'bunker' timeline, but it stubbornly persisted. Inch by implacable inch, she forced him out of the 'home' timeline, something that nobody else had ever managed to do.

And then, his efforts finally bore fruit. Her progress slowed to a halt, unable to pull him any farther into her timeline. Heartened, he redoubled his struggles. All he had to do was get in just one lucky hit and make her lose concentration—

A glaring headlight filled his living room window just before Armsmaster's motorbike, with Bandit on board, crashed in through the window sideways, glass shattering everywhere. He had no time even to try to dodge as the massive cycle landed on top of him, breaking most of the bones in his body. Consciousness fled almost immediately; with his resistance gone, that timeline ended.

<><>​

Morrigan

By the time Coil comes to—I've got him secured at wrists and ankles, because I'm not stupid—I'm going through his computer system in depth, getting all the data on his operations. Loki got the overview; I'm looking at the real deal here. Very little of it is clean; Mrs Calvert's little boy is into some very dirty money indeed. (And yes, I did slice away a little of the morph suit to confirm that our boy is indeed Calvert.)

"Well, hi," I say, spinning the chair so I can look at him without getting a kink in my neck. "Back with us, I see."

He looks at his computer, then at the open door leading out of the office. "We have to go now." His voice holds an edge of terror. "This place is going to self-destruct. There's no telling how long it's got to go."

"Oh, the self-destruct? That was the first thing I dealt with." I'd actually been mildly impressed by how closely he was following the tropes, but only mildly. If the place had blown sky-high, I would've been caught in the blast radius, after all. Crossing one leg over the other, I cup my hands around my knee and lean back. "My question to you is, how useful can you be to me?"

I can tell he's staring at me from behind his morph mask, stalling while trying to figure out how to get leverage from the situation. "… useful?"

"Yeah. Useful. A grimy little backstabber like you would know a lot about the local underworld. Start talking. I want chapter and verse. Also, what the fuck is your power?"

"What do I get in return?" I'd known that was coming.

I refrain from rolling my eyes. "I refrain from using exactly the same kind of torture you'd be inflicting on me, if our positions were reversed." My knife comes out and I spin it around through my fingers for a few seconds before it goes away again. "So, do we have a deal?"

It doesn't take him long to decide that yes, we do have a deal.

He starts talking, and I start listening.



End of Part Seventeen

 

[Blade4]

Well thats a new way to break Coil. Never seen one where someone was able to force him into a timeline. Wonder when he will realize she is going to shoot him when done or otherwise enslave him such he is a puppet she can kill at will because he cant be trusted not to backstab?

 

[Ack]

Reality Intrudes

Part Eighteen: Circus Interrupt

[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



Morrigan

Coil is a great font of information, though he's got an unfortunate tendency to become an unreliable narrator if he thinks he can get away with it. His problem is that I already know a lot of details, and I can tell when he's trying to split off a simulation; a sharp smack upside the head discourages both kinds of behaviour. Not for long, however. He's nothing if not persistent.

However, after filtering out all the bullshit and obfuscation, I am left with a lot of very useful data. Coil's got a longer reach, and more people in places of influence, than anyone else in the city credits him with. To put it in the vernacular, he's got a great many fingers in a great many pies, and all of those fingers are sticky as fuck.

"So, what made you do it?" I ask in a lull while I'm thinking up more questions and he's thinking up more ways to lie to me. "Why did you go into crime? What's your win condition?"

It could be, after all, that he's just a misunderstood victim deep down, someone who's seeking to right a long-ago wrong. The Undersiders certainly turned out to be more than two-dimensional cutouts; I want to give their boss the chance to prove the same about himself. Instead, I get the best approximation of a blank stare that he can give me while wearing a morph suit.

"Power and influence," he says, as though these are cornerstones of the universe, and that I'm stupid for not understanding this from the get-go. "By the time I'm done, I'm going to be running the whole damn city. And if you're smart, you won't get in my way."

I've met people like this before, who are so enmeshed in their own personal view of how the world should work that they never stop to consider how other people might have a problem with that. And if someone does try to stop them, they're so used to having provisions in place to forestall any such interference that they will sometimes run headfirst off the cliff in the implicit belief that their machinations will somehow protect them from splatting on the rocks at the bottom. Even if any and all machinations have been long since removed.

Also, they're so enthralled by their own cleverness and ruthlessness, as if they're the only ones who ever figured out how to break the social contract and get ahead by stabbing other people in the back, that they can never conceive of someone else successfully doing the same to them.

Sucks to be him; nobody ever got ahead in the Matrix by being a pushover. We're always having to watch our backs, every second of the day. And while some Operatives are tougher than others, I like to think that I've successfully weaponised being an asshole.

Case in point: the number of complaints against me for any specific mission (and I've never failed one yet) can be taken as a reasonable gauge of just how hard that mission was to complete. When the going gets tough, I stop caring what people are going to think. Not that my care factor was ever that high in the first place.

"Okay, if you say so." I love that phrase; people like Coil think it means 'I surrender to your viewpoint' while what I'm actually saying is 'fuck you and the horse you rode in on'. "So, tell me about the Mayor's office. How many people there are being paid off by organised crime?"

He relaxes a little at that, and begins rattling off names. I'm pretty sure there's a few he's missing out that belong on his payroll, but that's not really something I'm concerned about. The picture he's painting, that Loki is recording for posterity, is complete enough for me.

That said, it's not a good picture overall. Brockton Bay, like Earth Bet, is in decline. It's not going to be a quick end, either. Slow and grinding, disguising the inevitable downward spiral with bursts of false hope here and there. There are just too many forces, too many agendas, aligned against anything that might give it a chance of eventual recovery.

It's not that anyone wants the city to go down the gurgler. But if my cynicism has taught me anything, it's that people are really good at letting greed blind them to the eventual downsides of what makes them money. And even if the danger signs are spotted before the point of no return is reached, they'll do everything they can to walk back whatever promises they're forced to make, just to drag out the profits for a little longer, all the while proclaiming that they're one hundred percent committed to fixing the situation.

The Earth Bet server as a whole has bigger problems. It's got its issues with politics and pollution, sure, but those things pale next to the whole 'Endbringers destroying a city every few months' aspect. Of course, you can rebuild eventually, and maybe you can even rehouse the surviving population in the meantime, but it gets harder and harder to return matters to status quo if it keeps on happening. Worse, while I have zero direct information about the intentions or agenda of the Mainframe sub-program that set up the server, the situation to date isn't making me overly optimistic.

In a nutshell: it could be doing a hell of a lot more to keep the problems in line, and it's not.

But I'm not focusing on the big picture right now. My mission is to get an in-depth analysis of how Brockton Bay ticks. We need a beachhead; like it or not, this gang-ridden shithole of a city is what we've been given to build it out of.

When I get up out of Coil's amazingly comfortable computer chair, he does his best not to look like a problem. Unfortunately for him, I know damn well he's had a good look at Taylor's face. If he's anywhere near as vindictive as I suspect he is, he's been memorising her appearance, down to the placement of individual hair follicles. He will totally try to find her, so as to inflict all sorts of retribution; that, I will not allow for several reasons.

"Well, thanks for the help." I turn to head for the door, then pause. "Quick question: what happened to the guys who built this place, after it was completed and you didn't need them anymore?" I flash him a smile. "Don't bother lying to me. I'm pretty sure I know. Well, this is for them." Leaning over, I press a single key on his computer keyboard. As the computer lets out the ominous 'self-destruct countdown beginning' beep, I unplug the keyboard and head out the door with it.

It takes a moderately determined adult less than a minute to escape from zip-ties, if they know how. I actually used two for his wrists and another two for his ankles, but I'm going to assume that he's really fucking desperate, and gets it done in thirty seconds or less. Having tossed the keyboard over the side of the catwalk—the idea wasn't to have a keyboard, it was to make sure Coil didn't have a keyboard—I'm sprinting for the exit.

Taylor's not all that fit (at least, she didn't used to be, before the emergency upload), but that doesn't matter in the slightest. Right now, with me in full Matrix cheat mode, an Olympic runner would be trailing in my dust. I make it to the exit in twenty seconds, and I've got my leg over Armsmaster's bike in twenty-five.

The self-destruct goes off just as I'm peeling out of the parking garage. I have to say, Coil didn't stint on the boom-stuff when it came to lacing his Bond villain base with it. Between the bike's gyro-stabilising and my Matrix-aided reflexes, I stay upright, but anyone else would've been kissing asphalt. The parking garage collapses behind me in a huge cloud of concrete dust, before the entire partially constructed skyscraper gradually topples over to crash down on top of the whole mess.

I don't quite ride out of the exploding fireball like an avenging angel on two wheels, but the street does buckle slightly so I accelerate up the ramp thus formed and get some air time; that'll have to do for the moment. There's a momentary temptation to pop a wheelie when I land, which I totally indulge. Because why the fuck not.

As my front wheel hits the ground again and I cruise away into the cool night air, I take the time to appreciate the golden moment. For me, it's the interval between when I've just fucked up something that really deserved it, and the inevitable arrival of the forces of law and order (usually including Agents, which I'm still not counting out yet). It's also just preceding the point when I usually jack out, to be yelled at for whatever mayhem I've caused this time around.

Fortunately, I've still got stuff to do, so hopefully the Captain will have a little time to cool down before I'm face to face with her again. Specifically, I've got to dump Armsy's bike someplace the PRT will find it, then get Taylor home safely again.

On the downside, at some point I'm going to have to check in about the information I got from Coil, and if I hold off anymore, they'll know I'm stalling. With a sigh—Captain Hornblower's almost certainly going to get some pre-yelling in on me—I pull my phone out and make the call.

"Holy shit, Monobrow." Loki's voice is bubbling with mirth. "You've outdone yourself for sure now. How many millions of dollars' worth of property damage is that, anyway?"

"Meh, call it civic improvement. Besides, why would he go to all the effort of having a self-destruct installed if he didn't want to see it used? This way, he totally got his money's worth out of it." Well, that's one way to look at it, anyway.

"Morrigan." Now it's the Captain; my finely tuned pissiness sense picks up that she may be a tad upset with me. "Is there any other possible way you could have done that without attracting quite so much attention?"

I'm also fully aware that she's just posed a rhetorical question, but one of my joys in life involves answering such questions as if they'd been asked in total seriousness. Among other reasons, this reduces the number of rhetorical questions asked of me by a significant amount. It also irritates the fuck out of people, but that aspect has never truly bothered me.

"Sure thing, ma'am." I shrug, fully aware she can see me on the screen. "I could've shot him in the head or some other vital area, or stabbed him or garrotted him, but leaving his base intact raised the possibility that someone else coming in could've set off the self-destruct with a lot more casualties. The most effective way of rendering a bomb harmless is to set it off, and this way no innocents were harmed. Also, I felt this was a 'live by the sword' teaching moment. Not that he had long to appreciate the lesson, but it's not a perfect world."

From the Captain's snort, she's not buying it for a second. "We both know that you wanted to set that thing off from the moment you learned about it. I do take your point about excess casualties, though. It could've been a lot worse, and there weren't many ways you could alert their PRT to the danger without exposing yourself to more official scrutiny than you're already going to be under." She leaves unsaid the fact that after boosting Armsmaster's ride, they're not going to be welcoming me with open arms any time soon. Or rather, handcuffs are likely to be involved in any 'welcome' they want to inflict on me.

"Also," I point out as though I haven't just thought of this, "there's no way I could've scrubbed his system of every instance of Taylor's face. Better to turn it into individual bits and pieces, buried under a million tons of rubble."

"Yes, yes, we get it." Captain Hornblower sounds like she's already getting over her irritation. "There were many good reasons to blow that base sky-high. I'll make sure the paperwork reflects that you only had the best intentions in mind. What's your next move?"

"Captain," objects Loki. "With all due respect, this is a huge potential mistake. Morrigan is a dangerous loose cannon. Her record is full of—"

I hide a grin as the Captain cuts Loki off at the pass. She's switched off her own mic, but I can hear her through Loki's headset loud and clear. "I'm fully aware of Morrigan's record. I know exactly what she's capable of. Her out-of-the-box mindset is why she's on this mission. Your level of adaptability and capability as an operator is why you're on this mission. But if you truly believe you can't work with her in a professional capacity, I can and will remove you from that duty, even if I have to put on the headset myself. Do I make myself clear?"

The pause before Loki's answer tells me that he's having to metaphorically carve out the pound of flesh nearest his heart before he answers in the affirmative. I could tell him that there are people in this city who'd be happy to do it to him for real (or whatever passes for 'real' in the Matrix), but that might make him decide to do the stupid thing out of spite, and I figure the Captain's got enough on her plate as it is. "Sure thing, Captain. Crystal clear. If Morrigan can handle it, I can handle it."

I give it a beat so I can pretend I wasn't listening. "Okay, then, Captain. I'm thinking I'll hit the Merchants tomorrow. I know they're not really a gang like the others, but nobody else has much influence in that area, and I want to get a read on them too. Also, they're jerks. But right now, I've got to get Taylor home so we can both get our beauty sleep."

"That's understandable," she says. "You're the operative on the ground. But if you could keep the body count to a minimum, it'll make my paperwork much easier when I make my report to the powers that be."

"You're the captain, Captain." I'm not quite being flippant, but it's pretty damn close. "But just saying, the bad guys might not want to cooperate. So if they come at me, I will put them down."

'Minimum', we both know, doesn't mean 'zero'. Sometimes, it just means 'oh well, I tried'. If I ever have a gravestone, I don't want it to read 'at least she fought fair'. In combat, nice guys end up six feet under, and that's not going to be me.

"Copy that. I'll see you when you jack out." She cuts the call off then, and I put the phone away.

I can almost relax now, cruising on Armsmaster's bike through the back streets of Brockton Bay. The first sirens are just barely audible, all zeroing in on the massive pile of rubble that used to be Coil's base. They're gonna be hustling to get there ASAP, so they'll be using the main roads and depending on their sirens to make everyone else get out of the way.

All of which means I've got a clear run to get relatively close to Taylor's house before I dump the bike and send the PRT an anonymous message telling Armsy where to pick it up. It's a little bit of a pity to have to let it go, but I'm almost sure that Danny won't let Taylor keep it in the basement. Maybe Hookwolf's got one; after I finish kicking the shit out of him for Resting Bitch Face, I'll relieve him of his ride. And I won't even give it back, so there.

Hey, I like dogs too. The fact that the Machines wiped them all out might not be the number one reason why we kicked their asses, but it's definitely up there. So I'll kick Hookworm's ass just on general principles. Being a Nazi is bad enough, but being a Nazi who hurts dogs is just totally unforgiveable on every level.

Just as I'm considering that point, something small and dark but with a bright spark attached flies down out of the shadows right in front of me. I've got just enough time to pop a wheelie before it explodes with impressive force, right where my front wheel would've been. The bike shields me from most of the explosion, but it's thrown up and backward all the same.

Even as it goes irrevocably out of control, I'm bailing out. Ironically, the explosion cancels out nearly all of its forward momentum, so I'm not gonna be risking meat crayon status when I touch down. I go high and wide, pulling Whitey McWhiteface's pistols as I somersault through the air, using the motion to get myself a full three-sixty scan of my surroundings, including who threw that damn bomb. Also, who the fuck uses bombs with fuses anymore?

Tracking the minuscule smoke-trail back to its origin would be basically impossible for anyone else, but my eyes follow it upward anyway. It leads me right to where the clown-costumed form is parkouring down from the nearest rooftop. I would've spotted them anyway in another moment, but this saves me a little time.

To my eyes, all the stupid costumes the capes in this town make them look like clowns, but this one's really trying for the look. My recollection of the costume makes this one Circus, which is totally fitting. The only other thing I remember in the heat of the moment is that nobody's quite sure if it's a girl or a guy inside that costume.

Not that I care, one way or the other. Even if Taylor weren't underage, I'm not exactly chasing a romance inside the Matrix, and not just because Loki would be looking over my shoulder the whole time. I'm more interested in stopping them from placing me at ground zero for another one of those damned bombs.

I've already picked out my landing spot, so I level the left-hand pistol toward Circus, but just as I squeeze the trigger, they twist out of the way of the bullet. I'm actually impressed: that's a trick I've pulled myself more than once. My right-hand pistol angles in their direction, but just as I fire, they bounce off a fire escape, changing direction altogether.

I touch down then, landing on my feet and taking two running steps before bringing myself to a halt. My left-hand pistol is just coming into line when Circus throws two knives at me: one at where I am, and one at where I'm most likely to dodge to. I'm not entirely sure where they got the knives from, unless they've got sheaths up inside those poofy sleeves.

But I lean into the Matrix and shift my weight in the other direction, so the first knife skims past and the second misses by a wide margin. On the downside, my aim's been thrown off, which was probably the whole intention. On the upside, Circus now has two fewer knives on their person.

Regaining my footing, I bring both pistols around to target them, just as they do something funky with spacetime and suddenly they're holding two more of those bombs with the fizzing fuses. That's not sleight of hand; I know sleight of hand. What I just saw was Matrix bullshit.

Acting on instinct, I shoot both bombs before Circus can throw them at me. They're almost fast enough to get rid of them before I get the shots off; the bombs come apart into fragments about two feet from their hands. The lit fuses contact the cloud of powder, and there's a BOOOM that ragdolls them across the street. By the time the shockwave hits me, it's strong enough to make my coat flare out, but that's about it. No shrapnel worth talking about, which I'm perfectly okay with.

I come in fast, which is fortunate, because Circus is already shaking it off when I get there. One leg scythes around to try to take me off my feet, but I see it coming and evade. The move almost distracts me from their hands, but this time I see it happening.

When Circus reaches out in a certain way, the numbers change. In one hand, a Zippo lighter reforms from digital storage, while in the other it's a comically oversized hammer with streamers hanging off it. I'm not sure what they intend to do with those things, but the phrase 'nothing good' is bouncing around in my head.

Of the two items, I decide the hammer is more dangerous, so I kick out at their hand to disarm them of it. I'm disabused of that notion when they flick the lighter, then purse their lips and blow a huge plume of flame at me.

As I limbo under it, I decide that Circus is really, really irritating.

In other words, just like me.

They'd definitely make a good Matrix operative.

But that isn't winning this fight. I shoot the handle of the hammer, just above and below their hand. Then I kick the lighter out of their other hand. While they're still reacting to the hammer being reduced to a stick, I lay my backfist alongside their jaw. With the weight of the pistol behind it, that smack puts Circus on the ground, unconscious.

I've already investigated the storage panniers on the Armscycle, and I grab a couple of flex-cuffs to secure Circus with. There's even a metal cage I can erect on the back to put them in, which I do. Then I jump back on and head off once more. It's running a bit rougher than before, but it's still going, which I consider to be a testament to his bullshit mad-scientist tinker bullshit. (And yes, I said 'bullshit' twice. That was deliberate.)

Despite my best efforts to help it along, the bike dies just off Lord Street, about six blocks from Taylor's home. I park it, write a note for Armsmaster, reconnect the one homing beacon I left on the bike, and set out on foot. By the time I hear the incoming sirens, I'm well away from the area.

The house is quiet and still as I let myself in through the back door, Danny's soft snoring uninterrupted. I ease down into the basement and stash my gear, then come back up and take a quick shower. "Well," I say softly as I prepare for bed. "Time for me to go. I hope you had fun. See you again soon."

Climbing into bed, I pull the covers over myself and open my phone.

"Operator." For once, Loki has no commentary to give.

Nor do I. "Pull me out."

And I'm yanked back up out of the rabbit-hole.

<><>​

Miss Militia

By the time Hannah got to the site, Armsmaster was already there, glaring at the bike and its involuntary prisoner. His anger wasn't overly surprising; he was wearing a backup helmet with less functionality, and the bike was impressively dented and scratched. But at least it was (mostly) intact.

"Hi," she said quietly. "How are you doing?"

"She handled me like a rag doll, then stole my bike," he gritted. "How do you think I feel? And then there's this." He handed her a note.

Her eyes widened as she read it.

Hi, Armsy.

Thanks for the loaner. Vroom-vroom goes fast. Sorry about the dings. I'm sure they'll buff right out. Anyway, here's a peace offering. They did most of the damage.

In case you're wondering about the big boom and rubble and stuff, Coil's under all that. His Bond villain base had a self-destruct. Sorry, not sorry.

Morrigan (but you can call me Bandit, I don't mind)

PS: Coil was Thomas Calvert. Don't say I never did anything for you.

Click to shrink...

"Well," she said. "Um." Her eyes fell on Circus, who was glowering just as intensely as Armsmaster was. She wasn't even sure what to say about that.

This was going to be one hell of an interesting write-up.



End of Part Eighteen

 

[Blade4]

And Coil was a fool to the last... And wonder why Circus picked that fight? Last second orders from Coil perhaps? And yes more chaos as the PRT freaks out dealing with aftermath and fact they were and are full of moles.

 

[Ack]

And Coil was a fool to the last... And wonder why Circus picked that fight? Last second orders from Coil perhaps? And yes more chaos as the PRT freaks out dealing with aftermath and fact they were and are full of moles.

Click to shrink...

When Morrigan first hit Coil's base, he sent Circus word, and said 'come help'. She was on the way when Coil's base exploded and she saw Morrigan riding away, and said 'fuck it' and went in for the attack.

 

[Blade4]

When Morrigan first hit Coil's base, he sent Circus word, and said 'come help'. She was on the way when Coil's base exploded and she saw Morrigan riding away, and said 'fuck it' and went in for the attack.

Click to shrink...

Ah... Brave of them to try to solo a cape that just soloed her boss and his base full of mercs hard enough to get the self destruct set off but then capes are not known for their logic.

 

[Ack]

Ah... Brave of them to try to solo a cape that just soloed her boss and his base full of mercs hard enough to get the self destruct set off but then capes are not known for their logic.

Click to shrink...

All she knows is, base went boom. For all she knew, Coil was still fine.