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A Darker Path [Worm Fanfic]

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Canonised Omake: Pretty Please, Or Else
  • View content
    • Side Story: Pretty Please, Or Else

    This story takes place in Shardspace, but for ease of understanding, it will be translated into events happening in another place altogether (so to speak): the Shard Bar.



    Lounging against the bar is a tall, handsome man. Bronzed, even. Or perhaps a beautiful woman. He is every woman's dream, and she is every man's daydream. (Gender is a little foggy in this place, or it would be if the Shard Bar were actually a place, and the people within it anything more than allegorical representations).

    "Nice ambush," Emotion says to the looming, glowering cowled shard next to them. There's nothing ambiguous about Path to Ending; what you see is what you get, and if you mess with it, you deserve what you get. "But your host doesn't really understand the powers I gave my host, does she? He can't just take back what he's done to those people. It's done. They'll love him forever, even after death. She can't just End that by telling him to."

    NO, says Path to Ending. THAT'S TRUE. BUT YOU CAN.

    (At one time, Path to Ending's host read a series of books that she quite enjoyed. One of the characters speaks like this.)

    "Sure, I could," admits Emotion. "But why would I? She's your host, not mine."

    YES. SHE IS. AND SHE IS VERY GOOD AT WHAT SHE DOES. WHICH IS WHY YOU ARE GOING TO HELP HER BY ALLOWING YOUR HOST TO DO WHAT SHE WANTS HIM TO.

    "I'm afraid I don't—ow!" Emotion staggers back, holding their nose. The shard equivalent of blood trickles down their face and drips off their chin. "What did you do that for?"

    YOU KNOW WHY. I ASKED YOU NICELY. NOW I AM TELLING YOU. Path to Ending hefts the ornate scythe it is holding. Light gleams off the impossibly sharp blade in ways that entirely ignore the laws of whatever brand of physics holds sway in this place. WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO SHOUT?

    "But … but you never asked nicely! You just told me from the start!"

    Path to Ending looms over Emotion, the scythe held steadily in its bony hand. PLEASE.

    The word is less of a plea than a thinly veiled threat, but Emotion doesn't want to push their luck. They decide to take the word at face value. "Okay, fine. Just this once." Reaching out along the link they share with their primary host, they grant him the power to reverse the changes he's made to all his victims.

    THANK YOU. Path to Ending turns and makes as though to leave.

    "Wait, is that it? Don't I get a 'sorry'? You hit me!"

    Turning back just for a moment, Path to Ending tilts its skull. Light glimmers far back within the eyesockets. YOUR POINT?

    All of a sudden, Emotion decides that it's better to cut their losses. Their primary host is deceased, and they've only acquired one important piece of data: don't mess with Path to Ending.

    "… never mind."

    THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT.



    In Shardspace, a menacing black shard drifts away from a slightly damaged-looking one, sliding back into its own fold of dimensional space.

    Forcing other shards to break their own restrictions could technically be construed as cheating, but Path to Ending had never been one to follow the rules in the first place …
     
    Last edited:
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    • Part Thirty: Connections
  • View content
    • A Darker Path

    Part Thirty: Connections

    [A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

    [A/N 2: This one and the next one were originally going to be one post, but it got too big, so I cut it in half. Next one should be up soon.]

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    ♦ Topic: Fucking Around and Finding Out: Heartbreaker Edition
    In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
    Atropos     (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
    Posted On Jan 12th 2011:

    Good morning to you wonderful people of Brockton Bay!
    (Well, *technically* morning).
    I decided to make this post just after midnight because, as the saying goes, why the hell not. Also, my loyal fans who have been waiting up for me to do just this deserve a little bit of a reward, do you not? Yeah, you totally do.
    So ...
    Not to draw this out, but I'm absolutely going to draw this out ...
    Heartbreaker ...
    is dead.

    Now, I swear to you all, cross my heart and hope to die in a thoroughly ironic manner; I am not a Master. Nikos Vasil came to America and to Brockton Bay entirely of his own accord. (No, no, Accord, not you). I told him not to come here. I even warned him he'd die if he did.
    Okay, yeah, I taunted the hell out of him too, but *wow*, didn't the man have any pattern recognition skills at all?
    (Sources say no).

    So there I was, just chilling in a parking lot off Lord Street with a friend of mine who shall remain nameless, when he came right to me. I mean, what are the odds?
    (Apparently one hundred percent).

    And then he tried to pull his Heartbreaker patented whammy on me, but you've already been filled in on how I do with Master effects. Still, he was being just a little bit tiresome, so I broke his jaw with this big fuck-off hard candy heart I just happened, accidentally-on-purpose, to be carrying around with me.
    Quick query: If I kill someone with a candy heart, could that be defined as death via heart attack?
    Anyway, I broke the heart (yeah, you can see how this is going) then made him let go his influence on everyone he's ever afflicted with his power.
    Once he did what he was told, I did what I'd already said I was going to. I stabbed him through the heart *with* the broken candy heart.
    Or to put it another way, I 'broke' his heart with a broken heart.
    Either way, he died because of a broken heart. Footage is [here].
    And if anyone's wondering whether I would've carried out the threat I made if he'd been difficult about it ...
    ... yeah, I totally would have. (Just a reminder: Skidmark).

    On a completely different topic, expect an explosion off the coast sometime tonight. The Gesellschaft has decided to try to sneak some drugs and guns in by sea.
    Emphasis on 'try'. Mwahahaha.
    Don't do it, guys. Or to put it another way, go ahead. Dooo eeet. I need the target practice. (Well, I don't, but shooting Nazis is always fun).

    Anyways, that's it for the moment.

    Toodles!

    (Showing page 1 of 17)

    ►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    ... well, crap.
    She did it.
    Or rather, *he* did it.
    Heartbreaker actually did what nobody *really* expected him to, but everyone (for a given definition of 'everyone') hoped he would.
    The colossal moron actually came to Brockton Bay.
    And as Atropos' post explains, what happened next was utterly predictable. A five-year-old could've seen it coming.
    And yes, Heartbreaker did indeed die from a broken heart.
    (At least most of the gore was kept on the inside this time, which I totally appreciate.)
    The PRT got an 'anonymous' call a few minutes after it happened. (Anonymous as in, "Hi, this is totally not Atropos, but you might want to go check out this particular parking lot for someone who might or might not be Heartbreaker.")
    And just incidentally, the PRT in Canada got one around the same time. They investigated the location given to find a bunch of people sitting around in tears, alternating between apologizing to each other and offering prayers of thanks for their release. Some of these have been identified as people who have been missing for quite some time.
    Initial psychiatric assessment indicates that they are suffering from varying levels of PTSD, but that they're all ready and willing to go forward with therapy. (Which they will get for free. Because Canadian healthcare system.)
    Oh, and they all tell the same story of having an almost religious experience at the exact same instant, when all the oppressive darkness and horror and voices inside their head were stripped away at once ... at the precise time Atropos dealt with Heartbreaker.
    Which explains the prayers of thanks, I guess.
    I hope nobody actually tells them that Atropos did it. Not sure I could handle a religious pilgrimage, right now.

    ►DoggySteak
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    Well, that's one kind of broken heart, I guess.

    ►Director_is_me (Verified not PRT Director)
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    I salute you, Atropos, with a can of beer.

    ►Underwater_Flower
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    Goddamn, I did NOT need the mental image of shears castrating someone *through your asshole*.

    ►UnconcernedFox
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    *settles back with the conveyor belt delivering regular packets of popcorn when needed*

    ►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    @Atropos - I would like to begin by apologizing for the sharp tone in my last post. You were entirely correct that I was running on insufficient caffeine for my current level of sleep deprivation (not even going to ask how you knew that).
    Secondly, once I looked over the events of last night (the warehouse et al) with fresh eyes, I saw how you were able to control events to minimize property damage and hazard to innocents.
    And thirdly ... well, you told Heartbreaker if he came to Brockton Bay you'd kill him, and that was what you did. It wasn't like he didn't know.
    Still, we both know it's my job to ask you to come in, sit down and have a conversation about your methods and how we can achieve mutually acceptable aims without all the death. You haven't yet, but I live in hope.
    Also, about the Gesellschaft smuggling operation ... could you maybe give us some pointers, so we could coordinate our efforts? They're probably not all Nazis, and they don't really have to die.

    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    @Reave - hey, no need for an apology (but accepted anyway). It's all good. Job stress gets to anyone. (Except to me. I love my job).
    I figure I'll keep doing the way I'm doing for the moment. It seems to be working.
    Regarding the upcoming fireworks display: if I let you guys in on it, some of you would get hurt and maybe killed. I'd rather *they* got killed. As for some of them not being Nazis, do you know what you call a group with one Nazi and nine guys who choose to hang out with a Nazi? Ten Nazis.
    I'll drop you a line when it's nearly go-time, so you can head out and start dragging bodies out of the water.

    ►Sakin
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    Dang, she pulled a Riddick (you know, from that Aleph movie?)
    I was half expecting her to pull out a lollipop next, and murder some asshole with that.

    ►EightySixEnhance
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    At this point how long until Brockton Bay is known as cape Afghanistan, where empires go to die?
    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 15, 16, 17
    ​
    (Showing page 2 of 17)

    ►DoggySteak
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    It's already that for criminal empires, any that attempts to set up a crime syndicate here just ends. Do not go to jail, do not pass go, remove your piece, houses, and hotels from the board. All property will be auctioned.

    ►Tangle
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    As with several villains before him, Atropos has just ended Heartbreaker's influence quite thoroughly and with a side of irony.

    ►AbbessGer
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    Heartbreaker made you crush on him.
    Atropos candy crushed him.
    Also, that kill was sweet.
    That's all I have for now.
    Sorry.

    ►Radalab
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    I for one did not expect a giant broken candy Valentine's Day heart. I kind of thought maybe some sort of psychological attack, like she for that dome head in the slaughterhouse nine, or maybe some weird weapon that's named "something" heart in a different language. But nope. Giant candy heart. It's surprisingly poetic, apt, hilarious, and is chef's kiss all at once.
    Anyone think their personal overton window of "acceptable" behavior has kind of shifted in the last week or two? Sure these are deaths of really bad people, but it's a little odd to be saying "this murder is the chef's kiss!" I don't think I'm a baddie or anything, but it's a bit odd.

    ►Tangle
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    Maybe, but so far each and every one of Atropos' victims (that we know about) has absolutely deserved their various ignominious fates. And, from what I understand, other than maybe Oni Lee, she's even given each one a chance to not get killed.
    So far, it seems only Damsel In Distress has taken the offered opportunity to Get-Out-of-Brutally-Ironic-Death-Free, even if she did cut it down to the wire before choosing the wiser path.

    ►truefactslol
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    Yes, all her targets may have done terrible things, but what about the rule of law? What about innocent until proven guilty?
    Atropos kills people who are not proven guilty, thus he/she kills those who are, in the eyes of the law, still innocent!
    We have his/her word for it that they are all horrible people, but I, for one am not going to accept the word of a self-admitted serial killer that all his/her victims "had it coming."

    ►flyhomeET
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    This all seems kind of weird. I see little but praise for a serial killer taking over the city and strong-arming local law enforcement to look the other way.
    Did I Rip Van Winkle into an alternate universe or something?

    ►Nomdiisp
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    Didn't she say one of Heartbreaker's kids was in custody (not to mention whichever one was filming/acting as a distraction & under her wing)? So we actually have two people smart enough to take the second option!
    Fanclub chief you gotta tell us if HB's kid working with Atropos is cool or not when you visit her lair next!

    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    @truefactslol - You have seen the city, yeah? Face facts, nobody did anything about anyone I killed for literally *years*, and nobody was *going* to do anything about them. With the sole exception of Oni Lee, everyone I've killed was given the option to walk away or turn themselves in to the cops. Guess what. Nobody did. If they were so innocent, that's all they had to do.
    And if I stood back until someone else stopped them, they would've just kept making the city worse and worse.
    @flyhomeET - Really? Taking over the city? Strongarming law enforcement to look the other way?
    Nice try. I know exactly who you are, *Rob*. I know that you used to be Empire Eighty-Eight. And I know that you're pissed that I'm cleaning up crime in areas where you and your racist asshole buddies used to reign supreme, so you're talking shit on PHO to try to turn people against me. You just keep your head down and don't do anything stupidly illegal, and I won't be the last thing you see one dark night.
    Just like I was with Kaiser.

    ►GreatAndTerribleAisha (Verified Atropos Fan)
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    Wow, I have no idea where you guys come up with this stuff.
    Heartbreaker's kid, working with Atropos? Atropos, taking over the city? Get real.
    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4 ... 15, 16, 17

    (Showing page 3 of 17)

    ►FoxtrotMikeSierra
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    @flyhomeET - We were *already* living in that world. I guess having it happen more-or-less in our backyard instead of in, like, another country, makes it different somehow?
    (I know, I know, it doesn't really. But taking the post above as stated...)
    At least when Atropos is doing it, I *don't* feel as depressed?
    Huh. Atropos'd. Empire, huh? Why am I not surprised?

    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    Aww thanks Foxtrot. I will endeavor to make sure I continue to not depress you.

    ►Tangle
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    @Nomdiisp - To be fair, all we know from Atropos is that four of Heartbreaker's kids were in Brockton Bay, one dying by her hand, one currently in custody, and all four forever beyond Heartbreaker's reach. Which is even more literally true now than it had been when she made that post.

    ►WingsOnHigh (Verified Not the Simurgh)
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    @truefactslol - I literally have an old cell phone video of Lung punching a man's head off [Here]
    Did a little extra digging of my own, and barring the Kill Orders on the S9, most of the Capes that Atropos has killed have been tried in absentia and are guilty of their crimes. If we go back before Cape Politics changed the world, the majority of said crimes would've earned a death penalty. Nowadays anyone with powers gets a little extra slack because of our regularly scheduled natural disasters that are the Endbringers. It's actually a pretty scary trend to see when you look back over the last 60 years of history.
    As for the drug armies, ehh, depends on the legal state of those warehouses and what the connection is to the people there.
    A law student friend of mine was actually making a case both in prosecution and defense as a combination of thought experiment and class project and purely from her publicly made exploits and the public evidence available, she actually gets hit worse from the various exploded vehicles and buildings than she does the drug armies and gang bosses.

    ►BattleLoaf
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    @truefactslol - What do you mean "we have her word for it"? No, we have actual evidence.
    Half the people she killed have a list of crimes on public record. A bunch of them *have been tried and convicted of various crimes*, but got busted out. We don't have a full list of the people dead in the latest Exploding Drug Warehouse Incident, but initial reports on the police ID of the dead shows a list of career criminals. Y'know, the kind of people who would sign up for a job that involved the phrase "Sniper nests to guard the drug warehouse."
    If - *IF* - the cops release a statement about "innocent person, with no convictions and no suspicions, killed by Atropos." Then we'll talk. Until then, you have nothing to say on the matter worth listening to.

    ►TwoFacedCat
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    At the risk of being skewered, I'd like to ask: Atropos, what do you and do you not consider villainous behavior? I mean, I'm assuming somebody has to perform heinous crimes, but... let's say, hypothetically, you have a gang of capes who go around aggressively liberating children from abusive households. The property damage would make them villains, but they kinda fall into the Robin Hood grey area...
    Actually, are you trying to be like Robin Hood? (Yes, before anybody asks, Robin Hood did kill people in the original mythos. He's got a BACKSTORY.)
    Also, hypothetically, how would you treat Joe Schmoe CEO who's a problem for the local economy any different from Cape Carrie CEO who's a problem for the local economy? Assuming you could tell the difference which, uh, given Kaiser, I kinda think you can.

    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    Ooh, I love this. Actual, legitimate feedback.
    See, I'd hate it if everyone was too terrified to offer an honest opinion on how I'm doing. I guarantee, I will not come after you for questioning my methods. I'm totes aware that most people aren't one hundred percent on board with the idea of shooting bad guys in the face.
    Of course, I'm not doing it for you, per se. I'm doing it for the city.
    But on to the question from @TwoFacedCat:
    It's a popular misconception that I'm strictly here to murder villains or warn them off from the city. Admittedly, this is a misconception I've kinda fostered, because it's very close to the truth and it works well enough for my purposes.
    Villains as villains, I don't give an airborne orangutan's turd about. Technically speaking, I'm a villain myself. What I don't want in my city is people whose actions will make it less prosperous and/or less safe for ordinary people to walk the streets. Ninety-nine percent of villains are there to steal stuff, sell drugs, and in general hurt people and gum up the smooth running of society. So, when you do a Venn diagram of "people I don't want in my city" and "the average supervillain", you end up with almost a perfect circle.
    Capes who aggressively liberate kids from abusive households ... well, that depends. Where are they taking these kids to, and are innocents harmed in the process? Also, there are (incoming irony) actual *legal* routes to take in that case, which I intend to ensure get all the funding they need with the revitalization of the city.
    I guess what I'm trying to say is this: if they were a detriment to the city, I'd be rather cross with them. On the other hand, if they were doing actual good and helping the kids (in ways they couldn't otherwise be helped) without doing significant damage that also has to be sorted out, then I'd probably give them a pass. It would certainly be a case-by-case basis, just saying.
    Am I trying to be like Robin Hood? Hah, nope. I'm not in this for Joe and Jane Public, robbing from the rich to give back to the poor. I'm here to fix the goddamn city so it's safe to live in, with a prosperous economy. While yes, this means that Joe and Jane Public get better lives (and stimulus checks, and so forth) that's because this is the way to fix the city. If Joe Public has a steady income and stable lifestyle to the point that he never has to try to (say) hold up a gas station for cash, then it's a win-win for everyone.
    In short, my aim is to make it possible for the so-called authorities to actually *do their damn jobs* to both the letter and spirit of the law, then make it untenable for them *not* to.
    Third question, regarding the CEOs. I'd make it known that they're pissing me off and they'd best end that behavior before I end them. What happens then is up to them. I wouldn't give Schmoe a pass for being unpowered, any more than I'd give Carrie a pass for being a cape. (Unless of course, Carrie was also being a problematic supervillain outside her role as a CEO, in which case I might well have shot her in the face already, after a warning).
    And yeah, I can absolutely tell the difference. Mwahahaha.

    ►BigTopper
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    As for the threatened castration via asshole (and yes, the mere thought still makes me clench up) I have it on good authority from two close friends (a forensic expert and a doctor) that this is, if taken with care, entirely possible.
    It's also possible *without* care, but only if you're not worried about the prospect of being awarded zero points for technique.

    ►Underwater_Flower
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    Goddamn it, I'd almost managed to forget that mental image. Thanks a bunch.

    ►BigTopper
    Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
    Hahahahahahahahaha
    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 ... 15, 16, 17

    ■

    <><>​

    Taylor

    Cherie was in a good mood at the breakfast table the next morning, which wasn't surprising. Even Dad seemed to notice that she was standing taller, laughing more easily and was just overall in a better place. While there was still pain visible deep in her eyes, it was a lot less obvious to me than it had been, even yesterday.

    "It really affected you that much, did it?" Danny raised an eyebrow as he handed a plate of eggs and bacon over to her.

    We had, of course, filled him in on the details of Heartbreaker's not-so-unfortunate demise, then let him watch the footage before I edited it for public consumption. He'd blanched a little at the castration threat I'd made to Heartbreaker, but not as much as I'd thought he might. While he still wasn't totally okay with me casually murdering bad guys to get my results, he could definitely see the point in what I was doing. The (still declining) crime rate didn't hurt there, as far as I could tell.

    "Yeah. Thank you." She accepted the plate, then set about cutting up the bacon. "While I was growing up, every day I was near him, he loaded shit into my head with his powers. Whether this was him trying to trigger my powers or make me think like him, or some ungodly combination, I have no idea."

    I nodded and put a hand on her arm. Since getting my powers, I'd become more of a hardass, but I could still feel sympathy, and Cherie had been through more shit than anyone really deserved. "From the sounds of it, I'm gonna say 'all of the above'. He was enough of a narcissistic douche to want all his kids to be malignant little clones of him."

    "You are so totally not wrong there." She shook her head, looking down at her plate. "I thought I'd beaten him. When I ran, when I got away, I thought I was free of his influence. But I'd just been living with it for so long that it was part of me." Lifting her head, she looked at me and then Dad. "People were things to me, to be used and discarded. I was going to join the goddamn Nine if I could, just so he'd never be able to drag me back." The anguish in her voice was matched by the tears running down her cheeks.

    Dad blinked, looking a little shocked. "You had to have known that they wouldn't just let you stay with them for protection. They would've made you earn your keep."

    "Yeah. I knew that." Her hands clenched around the knife and fork, until her knuckles turned white. If anything, the self-disgust in her tone intensified. "And I was totally okay with that. Eighteen years of his attitudes being poured into my head? I would've made toddlers fight to the death with switchblades and not even cared, just so long as I didn't have to go back."

    "And you don't feel that way anymore?" His tone was gentle.

    This time, when she shook her head, it was with long, slow sweeps from side to side. "Nope. I'm still not totally sure how Taylor did it, but it's like I had a bandage on a wound that wouldn't heal because the infection was in the bandage, and it was loaded up with all this crud and spite, and she just … ripped the bandage off. I'm still not healed, but now I can try to be better. And I can actually see the good in the world without wanting to tear it all down for shits and giggles."

    "Well, that's a good start." Giving her a smile, I squeezed her shoulder, then applied myself to my own breakfast. "Still okay with helping me murder villains to make Brockton Bay a better place?"

    "I guess so." Her tone was introspective. "Before, I was doing it because you terrified me, and murder didn't bother me. Now, I can see past the murder and appreciate the good you're trying to achieve. You're doing the same with Brockton Bay like you made my asshole father do with me; ripping all the corruption away, so the rest of it gets to heal and grow."

    "Well, that's definitely one way to put it." Dad sprinkled a little pepper on his eggs. "We're having the first proper meeting of the committee this afternoon, so we can look over the revitalisation plan and start preliminary allocation of funds." He grinned at me. "It might not be as satisfying as shooting a bad guy in the head, but it also gets things done."

    I smirked right back. "Who do you think put the idea into Mayor Christner's head of bringing you onto the committee in the first place? I wanted someone in that room who I trust implicitly, to reduce the number of midnight visits I might have to make."

    "Well, damn." He blinked a couple of times. "Okay, now it all makes sense. Son of a bitch." Shaking his head, he stared at me. "Are we all pawns on your chessboard?"

    "Not pawns, no." I raised my eyebrows. "You're my dad. If anyone becomes a threat to you for this or any other reason, I will shoot them in the face. Yes, you're helping me carry out my plans. But be honest: if you'd been offered this without my interference, would you have accepted anyway?"

    He shrugged. "Well, given that I didn't know you'd put a word in Christner's ear, yeah. I would have." Pausing, he looked at me suspiciously. "What would you have done if I didn't?"

    I pretended to think about that. "Threatened Christner a bit more to keep him in line, I guess." My power had told me that Dad was the best man for the job, and how to get him on board to help End the downward spiral the city was in. I'd gone with it, but he didn't really need to know how much I'd been manipulating him. So long as he thought it was his idea to accept, and was happy in his role, it was all good.

    He nodded. "Yeah, that tracks. Well, I'll do the best I can."

    "Thanks, Dad." I refused to feel guilty about it. He was my dad, and I loved him dearly, but I also needed to get Brockton Bay back on track.

    <><>​

    Cherie

    "So," Taylor said as they got off the bus in front of Winslow. "How do you feel about your first day of actual, official school?"

    "Still not convinced it won't be a total waste of time and effort." Cherie rolled her eyes. "I was doing okay up until now."

    "Nah." Taylor shook her head with a grin. "You were getting by. Making do. Leaning on your powers. When you're not in a position to do that anymore, that's when you need an actual education to fall back on. Why do you think I'm still going, when I've got my powers?"

    "I had actually wondered," Cherie admitted. "Couldn't you just End your need to show up at school?"

    "I could." Taylor shaded her eyes and looked up at the frontage of Winslow with a less-than-thrilled expression. "I've got far more bad memories in there than good. And I might be able to skate by ninety percent of the time, with my power filling in the gaps. It's the other ten percent where I'll come unstuck, where I won't know what I don't know. I'd rather not try to depend on something that's designed to kill stuff for giving me advice on how to live my life. Actual knowledge is probably the smarter bet." She shrugged. "And anyway, like I said, it's a lot nicer there than it used to be."

    "Right." Cherie followed along, mulling over Taylor's words. They made more sense than they would have even yesterday. Absent the insidious, invidious influence of her father, she was now actually able to contemplate living among non-capes without using her power to manipulate every aspect of their lives in her favour.

    Not Taylor or her dad, of course. That had never been on the table. She'd known damn well that even the intent to do so would get her horribly murdered.

    But if Taylor had cut her loose to leave Brockton Bay and travel on instead of taunting Heartbreaker into coming to the city, it would've been a different matter. The moment she was out of Atropos' sphere of influence, she would've gone straight back to using her powers to get what she wanted, when she wanted. Her goal, as it was when she left Montreal in the beginning, would have been to find a powerful villain gang and become one of them, doing whatever it took to secure her membership.

    While she'd been trying to learn how to be better—from sheer self-preservation, if nothing else—she'd still been the same horrible person her father had warped her into, deep down. Without the threat of Atropos to keep those impulses at bay, they would've come to the surface again, empowered by the deep dark whispers in her soul. But now the whispers were gone, as were the impulses. And she was still horribly shocked, whenever she thought about it, at just how much her father's influence had been driving her behaviour.

    Who she was now, she wasn't entirely certain. Too much of her personality had been overlaid by the toxic sludge of Heartbreaker's power influence, and was now doing the equivalent of blinking in the light and looking around in confusion. But she was willing to try and find out. Without, as Taylor was strongly hinting, leaning on her powers to make things easier.

    They climbed the front steps and pushed through the doors into the school proper. It was warmer in here, their breath no longer visible, so they shrugged out of their coats. Taylor pointed farther into the school. "The email about your remedial classes said to come to the office first off."

    "I can still come to your classes and pick it up as I go along." It wasn't really a serious effort, but she figured she had to try.

    Taylor chuckled, apparently taking it in the vein it had been intended. "The last time you opened my math textbook, you went cross-eyed. That's not something you can just pick up on the way."

    "Well, it's not my fault they made it impossible to understand," Cherie argued, but she headed toward the office with Taylor anyway. "Are you sure that whole chapter wasn't some kind of practical joke?"

    "Cherie, that was trigonometry. Trig is easy compared to other stuff you're going to have to learn, like quadratics."

    "You just made that word up."

    "You know I didn't."

    Cherie blew a raspberry. "Worst boss ever."

    "No, I'm not."

    She couldn't actually argue with that.

    <><>​

    Taylor

    "Hi," said the young woman brightly, standing up as we entered the front office. I vaguely recognised her as one of the teachers' aides. "I'm Miss Parrish. Which of you is Cherie Reynaud?"

    "That's, uh, that's me," Cherie said. "Taylor here was just making sure I got to the office okay."

    What I heard, and Miss Parrish didn't, was what Cherie didn't say. And didn't go hide out for the rest of the day. It was kind of true, though I didn't really think she would go against my wishes so blatantly. I suspected she wanted me along so she could tell herself that she was being forced into this against her will, and thus satisfy her pride.

    Even without Heartbreaker's influence informing her every move, she was still a surprisingly complex individual.

    "Hi," I offered, with a brief wave. "I've got to get to home room now. See you at lunch, Cherie."

    "Uh, see you then." She gave me a brief dirty look, along the lines of 'how dare you abandon me like this', then turned her attention back to Miss Parrish. "So, what happens now?"

    "Well, now," said Miss Parrish as I opened the door to leave, "I'll be putting you through testing to see where you place academically in the various subjects …"

    Grinning, I went to class.

    <><>​

    That Afternoon

    Cherie

    Taylor was waiting on the front steps of the school as Cherie straggled out. "Hi," she said cheerfully, standing up. "Testing all finished?"

    "I think so." Cherie fell in step with her as they descended to ground level. She tried not to grumble, but it was very difficult. "I don't think I passed a single one. How do you even learn all that stuff?"

    "Attend school on a weekly basis over the course of ten years or so," Taylor said blandly. "You're coming at it from way behind the eight-ball, so yeah, it's gonna be a struggle to catch up. But don't worry. You're smarter than a five-year-old, and you already know how to read and do basic math, so you'll be able to understand a lot more. It just won't be enjoyable."

    Cherie had absolutely no doubt about that. "And I've got to do this, no matter what?"

    "Hey." Taylor spread her hands. "I'm working to make Brockton Bay into a better city. We need to provide a good example to all the impressionable young minds out there. If they attend school, they'll have much better prospects than if they don't. More options."

    "And here, I thought you were the cool supervillain."

    Taylor chuckled. "Depends on the definition of 'cool'. Like where we're going next. Some people might call it cool, and others might call it lame."

    "Where's that?"

    "Well, you might get to play some video games. What do you say?"

    Cherie brightened right up. It had been a long time since she'd had the chance to play video games. "Well, why didn't you say so at first?"

    Taylor just grinned.

    <><>​

    The Lair of Uber and Leet

    Uber

    Brendan was on the gaming couch, working on wrecking the day of a snot-nosed little brat from Seattle or wherever, when Leet dropped onto the cushions beside him. "Ugh. Wow. That really took it out of me."

    "It's done?" Brendan didn't look around.

    "Yeah." Leet fished out his phone. "Weirdest fuckin' thing, though. I got it done about an hour ago, then I figured I'd put my head down for a nap. Woke up five minutes ago, and I just found out that while I was asleep, I typed up a complete user manual for it, and printed it out."

    That was definitely weird enough for Brendan to give his buddy a brief stare. "What the hell? The closest you've ever come to a user manual is a scrawled note to not press the blue button at over five thousand RPM."

    "I know, right?" Leet woke up his phone. "Anyway, it passed all the self-tests, so Imma contact Atropos and let her know she can come pick it up."

    There was a beep from the console; when Brendan looked back at the screen, it had gone from single to two-player. As he watched, the new player sniped the opposition player from right across the play area. Slowly, he turned, following the trailing cord up and over the back of the couch. Atropos stood there, controller in hand, with a masked teenage girl beside her.

    "Dude?" Without taking his eyes off Atropos, he nudged Leet's shoulder.

    "What?" With his eyes on his phone, Leet hadn't noticed the new player on the screen. "Gimme a sec. Just gotta finish this text."

    Brendan sighed. "Don't bother. She's already here."

    "What? What do you ..." Leet raised his eyes from his phone, then followed Brendan's line of sight up and around to where Atropos gave him a little finger-wave. "Gah! How did—how long have—don't do that!"

    "And hello to you too." Atropos didn't quite snicker, but she was definitely amused. "Guys, this is Cherish. Cherish, meet Uber and Leet. I'll leave it up to you to decide whether they're cool or not."

    "Hi." Cherish was wearing a basic red domino mask that matched the red streak in her hair. "I thought Leet was supposed to be a Tinker. Where's all the gadgets?"

    "We moved them all out," Leet said defensively. "Soon as we're done here, we're packing up the last of the gear and disappearing over the horizon. Leaving Brockton Bay."

    "I did say it's not totally necessary." Atropos only sounded mildly censorious, as though she didn't care either way.

    Brendan nodded. "We talked about staying on as purely show-villains, but Leet's tech has been known to fail in unexpected ways, and the last thing we want is for something to explode and hurt an innocent when we're pulling off a joke heist. So we figure it's best we just go somewhere else."

    "Understood." Atropos handed over the controller to Cherish. "You two want to play a couple of rounds while Leet shows me what he's got for me?"

    From the way Cherish grinned, she'd been jonesing for some console time. "Sure ... uh, if it's okay with you?" Almost as an afterthought, she looked over at Brendan.

    "Hey, why the hell not. Sit yourself down." As Leet got up, Brendan moved over to give Cherish some room. "Want to restart, or keep playing?"

    She sat down, eyes on the screen. "I'm good to keep playing if you are."

    He grinned. "Cool."

    Whatever else Atropos had going on, at least she brought over interesting people.

    <><>​

    Leet

    "Okay, this is it. It should slide onto your left forearm and lock into place." Rodney stepped aside so Atropos could lift the sleek black device he'd built off the stand and slip her arm inside. It fitted like it was made for her—which it had been—and locked into place as advertised.

    "Nice," she said, hefting it experimentally. "Not too heavy. You got it done pretty quickly too, including the user manual. I'm impressed." Taking up the manual, she leafed through it. "Okay, now I'm even more impressed. No complicated maintenance required at all?"

    "Yeah, it's all solid state. Minimal moving parts." Rodney shook his head. "It was really weird building it, though. Stuff that I normally breeze through when I'm building my tech, I had to really go all-in on. But not in a 'this is difficult' way so much as a 'you better not fuck this up' way. And other stuff that I usually have trouble with, like the power supply, I sailed through. Like it really, really wanted to get built."

    "Well, just so long as it works, I'm happy." Atropos went back to paging through the manual, apparently impressed by its completeness.

    If she was impressed, Rodney was downright astonished. As Uber had noted, this was the first user manual he'd ever come up with, and he'd done it while he was asleep, to boot.

    "Any questions?" he finally ventured.

    "A couple." She tapped the upper panel in just the right spot and it swung open to give access to the tiny screen and keyboard. "I either type in latitude and longitude or specific distance and direction from me, or I use the laser?"

    "Yeah." He stepped in beside her and pointed. "If you're in a hurry, you activate the laser and aim. When the dot is where you want it to be, you hit the go-there button. That only works with instant translation."

    "Nice." She closed the panel and nodded. "And what's the difference between instant and step-through?"

    He cleared his throat carefully. "Instant just puts you on the spot, with anything that's eight inches or less from your skin, and assumes where you're going is motionless, but you can do one about every ten seconds. Step-through lines up your movement with wherever you're going and lets you bring more stuff, or a person, but the cooldown period is one minute minimum, counting upward depending on how complex the last jump was."

    "Understood." Shifting the manual to her left hand, she offered her right to shake. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

    "Ahh, it was fun." Rodney grinned as he shook her hand. "And besides, how many people can say they built your tech?"

    "Very true. I wish you luck wherever you go." Turning, she opened the workshop door. Across the room, in the gaming area, sounds of electronic combat indicated that Uber and Cherish seemed to be getting along well.

    "Thanks." Rodney crossed the room with her, to see the pair laying waste to the opposition. Uber was the better player, but Cherish was gamely hanging on in there, seeming to instinctively know when he needed support.

    Beside him, Atropos cleared her throat. "Wrap it up. Time to go."

    "Aww." But Cherish didn't press the matter. She fired a few more shots, dispatching the last of the current crop of enemy forces, then put the controller down. "Okay, done. Thanks, that was fun."

    Uber turned and bumped fists with her. "Likewise. You're pretty good at this."

    Grinning all over her face, she bounced up from the couch. "I've made up my mind. This was definitely cool."

    "Good to hear." Atropos popped up the panel on the device and tapped in a series of numbers so fast her fingers appeared to blur over the keys. When she hit the final button, the device hummed and a smoky grey portal, about seven feet tall and shaped like an arch-topped doorway, formed in front of her.

    Cherish stared at it. "What the hell is that?"

    "Our way home." Taking her by the arm, Atropos stepped forward into the portal. They both vanished, as did the portal, a second or so later.

    Uber turned to Rodney. "That's what you were building for her? A teleporter that lets her step out of nowhere?"

    "Well ... yes." Rodney shrugged. "That's what she asked for."

    "You realise you just gave her the option to be ten times as terrifying, right?" Uber gave him a level stare.

    Rodney held up his finger. "To everyone else, bro. You and me, we're out of here. Remember?"

    Slowly, Uber nodded. "Good point. Very good point. Let's finish this game, then get everything packed up. The sooner we're out of here, the better."

    Rodney grinned. "Leaving town before everyone finds out just who gave her that teleporter, you mean?"

    "Damn straight."



    End of Part Thirty
     
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    • Part Thirty-One: Making a Point
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Thirty-One: Making a Point

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



    Taylor

    Without even a stumble, we stepped through into the living room of our house. I let go of Cherie and looked around to see the portal dissipating behind us. On my forearm, the teleport device beeped and showed a timer: 3:32. As I watched, it began counting down.

    "Wait, what the fuck?" Cherie turned in a circle, as though unable to take in the fact of where we were. "How did we get back here?"

    I flipped the panel closed, then took off my hat and mask so I could grin at her. "We walked, duh."

    "But how ...?" She took a deep breath and seemed to be trying to steady herself. "Teleport, right? Something Leet made?"

    "Yeah. It doesn't even get in the way of my left hand. Pretty cool, huh?" Tossing the hat, mask and manual onto the couch, I wiggled my gloved fingers to demonstrate, then unlocked it from around my arm and put it on the couch as well. The coat came off next, leaving me looking—in the vest and tie, along with the gunbelt and knife bandolier—like the world's youngest and most well-armed maître d'.

    "Isn't Leet's tech supposed to be horribly dangerous?" She threw up her hands. "Uber even said as much!"

    "Usually, yes," I conceded. "But I'm pretty sure my power had a word with his power, so this specific device isn't nearly as likely to have problems."

    She shook her head. "Wait, what? Powers don't talk to each other. That's impossible!" There was a momentary pause as she stared at me. "… isn't it?"

    I shrugged. "I communicate with my power all the time, so is it all that unbelievable for powers to talk to each other?"

    I could see her wanting to say yes, but then doubt crept into her eyes. She'd been a cape for years while I was still only in my second week, but I'd already done a crapload of stuff that she would've called out as blatantly impossible. "When you confronted Guillaume and Nicholas," she ventured. "Nicholas tried to make you feel fear, but you said that stuff about being fear, being death, and being Ending in that really creepy voice. Was … was that you, or your power?"

    I thought for a moment. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure that was my power. The fear was affecting me, but my power wasn't letting it stop me from doing what I'd already decided I wanted to do. It doesn't actually talk out loud all that much, but it's a total ham when it does."

    She let out a startled giggle at that, as though she hadn't expected me to refer to my power in that way. "Does it tell you to … well, do things you don't want to?"

    "Nah." I grinned at her. "Like I said, we communicate. I get ideas for cleaning up the city, it suggests ways that might happen, I throw in ideas, and we kick it back and forth until we've hashed out all the details. But while it can't make me do anything I don't want to, it can let me be a kickass action movie hero. Honestly, it's a ton of fun. And if bad guys die in the process … well, my power is about Ending things, so that's where its strengths lie. To be honest, once I've given them fair warning, it's really out of my hands. They know who I am, and how this is going to turn out. If they're deliberately choosing a path that will harm my city, and they ignore my warnings, they've chosen to die. It's as simple as that."

    "What about Damsel of Distress? You let her go home again." She spread her hands. "In fact, you had me pushing her hard to choose to go home, and she really, really wanted to lash out at you."

    "Three reasons." I ticked them off on my fingers. "First, she'd only gotten one warning. Sometimes the second warning turns them around. Second, calling in Edict and Licit and letting her go home gave me a boost with the PRT, and gave them an excuse to keep treating me with kid gloves. Third, it encouraged your father to come here when he saw she'd survived the experience. He was going to show up eventually, so I decided last night was good enough."

    "What about the boat tonight?" I must have frowned or shown some emotional cue, because she continued. "I mean, I know you're going to blow it up. But you've only given them one warning … right?"

    "That specific boat, yeah," I agreed, then held up a finger. "But I already put a blanket prohibition on smuggling drugs or guns into the city. They've got both. Also, I smacked Gesellschaft on the nose the other night, and told them to stop it with that shit. I even said that if they try to bring capes in to start trouble with me, those capes will get murdered to hell and gone. So … guess what?"

    It wasn't like she had to think very hard about it. "They're sending capes?"

    I grinned tightly. "Bingo."

    <><>​

    Several Hours Later

    Two Miles Offshore, on the Fancy Sue

    It was so quiet on the repurposed fishing boat that Rob Kendall could hear the gentle waves slapping against the hull as they slid through the water. The engine had been rebuilt for silence, with a muffler that let out the exhaust fumes underwater, so even at high speed (such as it was) the engine would still be quieter than the hissing of water in the bow wave. Everyone was equipped with earpieces and radios so there would be no shouting to carry across the still water.

    He was armed with a suppressed MP-5, as were the other members of the guard contingent. No seaman, he had just one job: if anyone (especially, but not limited to, Atropos) attempted to interfere with getting their cargo ashore, he was to ensure that as many bullets as possible found their way to the opposition.

    Up until now, Brockton Bay had been both a lucrative destination and an active hub for the distribution of both drugs and high-end weaponry. Despite the official dissolution of the Empire Eighty-Eight and the violent destruction of their stocks already in the city, the Gesellschaft was determined to reopen that rich seam of profit. And so, the Fancy Sue had set out to sea on an innocent-seeming cruise, only to rendezvous well out of sight of land with a freighter that 'just happened' to be passing by. Parcels of drugs and crates of weaponry had been lowered to the Fancy Sue's deck and stowed below in short order, then the two vessels had parted ways as though they'd never been near one another.

    He'd been nervous at the beginning of the journey, but now it seemed they were on the home stretch. No Coast Guard boats hove into view with flashing lights and wailing sirens, no curious capes swooped down from above to investigate the blacked-out craft. Still, he knew damn well that it was never over until it was actually over, so he refused to relax. He didn't like spending any time in the wheelhouse with the two creepy capes looking over the helmsman's shoulder every second of the trip, so he opted to head down to the stern, just in case something (or someone) tried to sneak up on them from behind.

    While he was there, he briefly debated having a smoke, but it was a bad idea all around. On deck, the cherry of a cigarette would be visible for literally miles, and given what was belowdecks, nobody was allowed to smoke there. In fact, no open flames at all were permitted.

    As they were steaming in toward the coast and the half-moon was low in the western sky, he found himself in a near pitch-black shadow cast back over the stern by the superstructure. Leaning on the aft rail, he stared pensively out at the trail of their churned wake, the occasional bubble of acrid exhaust making its way to his nostrils. Without any lights to act as a guide, he couldn't even see the horizon, much less anything trying to stealth up behind them.

    Finally, as sure as he could be that they were safe from that direction, he straightened up from the rail and turned … only to come face to face with a silhouette out of nightmare. As dark as the shadows were, she was darker, his night-adapted eyes easily picking out the hat and the long-coat from the surrounding gloom. The white shirt and the grey vest may well have been glaring flashlights to his vision.

    "I told you to keep your head down, Rob," Atropos murmured, and starlight glinted on a wickedly sharp blade: her fabled shears. One slash opened his throat, stilling his shout before it properly began, and the other severed the tendons in his wrist so that his finger couldn't close on the trigger of his MP-5. Almost tenderly, she lowered him to the ground so that he wouldn't make a clatter and raise the alarm.

    He died in a pool of his own blood, dimming eyes looking up at the stars.

    <><>​

    Taylor

    I had four minutes before the teleporter would allow another jump. That was fine; I had things to do between now and then. Easing from one shadow to another, moving in a silent ballet to avoid the notice of the guards, I cracked the hatchway and made my entrance into the boat proper.

    There were two guards at the bottom of the stairway, of course, but they'd been lulled by the utter lack of anything happening to the point that they were half a second slow in bringing up their guns. I shot them both before they had time to so much as register my presence, and they slumped to the ground. Fortunately, the noise thus made wasn't quite loud enough to raise the alarm.

    This wasn't to say that it went unheard. The Dockworkers' two-way radio I'd repurposed for this outing buzzed in my ear. "What was that? The noise below."

    "My bad," I replied in what I knew to be mimicry of the heavier-set man to the left. "I got a leg cramp and tripped. Can I come up and get some fresh air?" To ensure a negative reply, I introduced a little bit of a whine to my mimicry of his voice.

    "No." The response was curt and to the point. "Remain on post. Be more careful."

    "Okay," I said, adding a tinge of resentfulness, but not enough to invite retribution for insubordination. "I'll stay where I am."

    I stepped past him and his luckless comrade, and opened the door into the hold. Toward the front, or the bow (I figured) was the drugs in big plastic-wrapped packages. On either side of the door were crates of weapons; not the ones that anyone could buy legally in the United States, but fully-auto rifles and machine pistols, as well as grenades and other goodies.

    If I'd been inclined to wonder where that AT-4 and its friends had come from, I would've been wondering no longer. But I had no time to waste on 'eureka' moments; levering open a crate of grenades, I started lifting them out of their packing to lie loose on the deck. With their pins still in, they were technically harmless, as was the ammunition that I also took out of its storage to roam free with the grenades. One last grenade I sequestered for my own purposes, tucking it into one of the many pockets boasted by the long-coat.

    On the way out of the hold, I moved one of the dead men so his boot propped the door open, then I stealthed back up the stairs. The quiet part of the mission was almost over; in a very short time, I would go loud.

    All this was according to the plan. While I could murder everyone on board and sink the boat without a single person knowing about it, that wasn't what I wanted. If nobody knew about it, then nobody could learn not to do it.

    Leaving the hatch partway open, I leaped upward, grabbed a handhold, and scrambled on top of the cabin roof. There was a guard up here, but he ceased to be an issue when I shot him under the jaw, spraying the extremely recent contents of his skull into the night sky. Suppressed or not, the shot and the subsequent thud of his body was loud enough to get attention … which was exactly what I wanted.

    "Stranger at the stern!" I hissed over the radio network, in the voice of the man I'd just shot. It took a few seconds for them to react, then Night started working her way down the left-hand side of the boat, while Fog went down the right.

    Going to the right, I shot the men behind Fog, then swung down and kicked him solidly in the side of the head as he began to turn. He collapsed to the deck, still alive, but out for the moment. I didn't want him dead right at that second, but I did want the phone in his pocket.

    As I clambered back on top of the cabin with my prize, I heard scrabbling at the stern as the now-monstrous Night discovered my first victim. I went straight back over the top and dropped down next to the hatch that led into the hold. Another crewmember showed his face behind me and I shot him without looking around. "Hey!" I shouted. "Bitch-features! Come and get it!"

    A smoke grenade, already spewing grey-black fumes, clattered along the deck toward me. I would be engulfed in seconds, allowing Night to wreak her own personal specialty of havoc on me. Or rather, I would've been, if I hadn't shot the casing just right so it flew over the side and into the ocean. The second one, I shot out of the air and it vanished into the wake.

    Her next ploy was to rush me, holding her hooded cloak up in front like a shield. It was festooned with hooks on the side facing me, so that she could wrap it around me with her spiky forearms and then stab me repeatedly through it. The tactic was rough on cloaks, but she could probably afford them. And of course, the idea was that I couldn't see her through the cloak so even if I shot her through it, she would still be an extremely durable monster.

    I pulled out the shotgun and blew a chunk out of the cloak, right where she was holding it. It fell away, and then I could see her. She stopped, suddenly aware that she had made a grave error in tactics. I didn't allow her to regroup, closing the distance and spinning her around to smack her face-first into the wall of the cabin beside us.

    Her hand had survived the shotgun blast, mainly because she'd changed form after I shot the claw away, so I grabbed it and slapped it against the weather-stained wood. Then I jammed my shears through it and into the cabin wall, pinning it there like a bug on a corkboard. That was when she screamed.

    Another one of my pockets held a black bag, which I pulled out and flipped over her head. No matter how she struggled, she couldn't pull free, and her pinned hand ensured that I could always see her. "Sucks, doesn't it?" I asked rhetorically. "Can't see your opponent. About to die. But I warned you."

    Pulling one of the blades from the bandolier, I stabbed her in every vital spot I could easily reach, and there were a few of those. Kidneys, heart, carotid arteries and jugular vein. I finished by jamming the blade into her eyesocket through the bag, hard enough to reach her brain.

    As she sagged in my arms, dying, I looked up and smiled. Fog was up again, and he'd heard Night's screaming, then her death-gurgles. Whatever he felt for her, whether the affection he showed her was genuine or a byproduct of the artificial personalities that had been installed in them by Gesellschaft's torture chambers, it didn't matter. He was coming for revenge, and everything in his way was going to die.

    Or such was probably his intent.

    I had other ideas.

    As his acidic fog form loomed up over the top of the cabin, homing in on the noise I was deliberately making, I pulled the shears out, allowing Night to flop to the deck. She was already dead, beyond the reach of her power to revive her with a Change; I'd made sure of that. With the shears hanging off my pinky finger, I flipped up the panel and hit 'go' on the next set of stored coordinates. The portal formed behind me, and I pulled out the grenade I'd saved.

    As Fog poured down onto the deck, I leaped backward over the rail; at the same time, I tossed the grenade into the open hatch, minus its pin. Passing through the portal, I landed on a little-used dock, a few miles north of Brockton Bay. Shouts of alarm sounded around me as I rolled to my feet with my pistol in one hand and bloodstained shears in the other.

    <><>​

    Fog

    Geoff was too busy focusing on the fact that Dorothy was down and Atropos had somehow vanished into nothingness to think about how the killer had thrown something through the hatch. He had no way of knowing that the unknown object, in bouncing down the stairs, had cleared the legs of the dead men at the bottom and was now rolling around on the floor of the hold. It wouldn't really have mattered either way, in three …

    … two …

    He crouched over Dorothy, searching for signs of life. There were none.

    … one …

    The close-range detonation caught him by surprise, blasting him into pink mist.

    <><>​

    Taylor

    "You know who I am. You know who I've killed. Don't be idiots." They were almost convinced. I just needed one more piece of showmanship.

    As I strode forward, inevitability and lethality implicit in every step, my long-coat flared sideways in the freshening breeze. I timed my steps to a nicety; on the third such step, as my heel hit the wood, the boat went up behind me in a towering explosion of flame. Smoothly and implacably, I brought the pistol up to point at the guy I knew was in charge of this bunch of assholes.

    I didn't speak again; I didn't have to.

    As the sound of the explosion rolled in over us, he slowly lowered his gun and put it on the ground, then knelt down and laced his fingers behind his head. One by one, his cohorts did the same, glancing fearfully from me to the burning, sinking hulk in the distance. Every time I looked in their direction, they cringed away.

    I'd been as good as my word, earlier, and passed on word to the Coasties and the PRT about where to find the bad guys. Of course, I'd only sent the text about ten seconds before I teleported on board the smuggling vessel, but that wasn't really my problem.

    As I stood there silently menacing them, I could hear the sirens just beginning to echo over the water as the boats sliced in toward the extremely obvious location of the now-defunct Fancy Sue. It wouldn't be too much longer before the capes and PRT found their way to where I was, and I'd be able to "softly and silently vanish away" (thanks, Mom) in my turn.

    All of this would of course go toward building my personal legend among the denizens of the Brockton Bay underworld, but that was the general idea. The more they saw me as someone they wouldn't see coming and couldn't beat, the more likely they'd seek lawful employment, and the less need there would be for me to kill any of them for doing something stupid and avoidable. Thus giving me more time to kill the ones who needed killing.

    I holstered the pistol; none of the men so much as twitched. Then I pulled out a cloth and carefully polished Night's blood off the blades of the shears, before sheathing them. Still not a movement.

    Finally, I took out the phone I'd stolen from Fog, and woke it up. It required an eight-digit PIN which (not altogether surprisingly) did not hold any reference to Nazism within it. There were several numbers in the directory, none labelled; I tapped the third one down, then hit the Call icon.

    It rang several times, then a groggy voice answered in fluent and colloquial German, asking Fog why the fuck he was calling at this ungodly hour. "Hi," I responded brightly, in the same language. "This is Atropos. You've probably heard my name before. Night and Fog are dead, as are the entire crew of the boat that was transporting your poison to Brockton Bay. Now, listen very carefully. If you send one more cape, transport one more ounce of illegal drugs, or smuggle one more bullet into my city, I will kill you in your sleep. You have been warned."

    I didn't bother asking him if he understood; men like that never responded favourably to such questions. He would argue and deflect and never acknowledge the ultimatum. It didn't matter. I'd told him, and if he pulled that shit again, the top tier of Gesellschaft would be down one asshole. Rinse and repeat. Sooner or later, I'd either train them to keep their bullshit out of my city, or there wouldn't be a Gesellschaft anymore. Either outcome was fine to me.

    I tapped the button to access the last set of stored coordinates and flipped the panel down, just before Velocity blurred into sight. His head flicked around to all the kneeling bad guys, then he saw me and raced in my direction. He probably didn't want to fight me, but I didn't care. Tossing the phone in the air so he could catch it, I stepped backward through the portal. The last thing I saw of him was holding his hand out, his mouth forming the word, "Wait—"

    The portal dissipated and I was standing in the living room, with Dad and Cherie watching me with interest from the sofa. "Well?" asked Cherie.

    I shrugged as I took off the hat and mask. "It was right where my power said it would be. With that information, they'll be able to board the freighter and find enough evidence to take it out of commission for its part in the smuggling. Night and Fog were on board, like I thought they would be. They're dead now."

    "Damn." From the way he shook his head, Dad knew how big that was. "You're really yanking Gesellschaft's tail on this one, aren't you?"

    I chuckled as I headed for the kitchen. "Oh, you haven't heard the half of it. Is there any dessert left? I feel like having seconds. Shooting Nazis is hungry work."

    "Only if you wash up the dish after," Dad called after me.

    I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn't see me from there. "Slave driver."

    "That's slave driver dad to you."

    I grinned as I hunted up a bowl and a spoon, while Cherie giggled at our banter. Fixing Brockton Bay was all well and good, but it was always nice to come home again.



    End of Part Thirty-One
     
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    • Part Thirty-Two: Obligations
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Thirty-Two: Obligations

    [A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

    [A/N 2: Relevant side story.]

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    ♦ Topic: Nacht und Nebel No More
    In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
    Atropos     (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
    Posted On Jan 13th 2011:
    Goooood morning Brockton Bay!

    It's great to talk to you all again. Time for the latest update on my activities. Posting again just after midnight because traditions are fun!

    So, you know how I told Gesellschaft to not send any more drugs or weapons into Brockton Bay?

    Guess what happened last night.

    If your guess is anything like 'they tried to send drugs and weapons into Brockton Bay', then congratulations: you possess pattern recognition!

    Operative word: "tried". The boat didn't make it to within half a mile of shore, at least in one piece. They thought they were playing hardball, too; two capes were on board. You may have even heard of them: Night and Fog.

    Remember how I said 'no more villains in my city'? They tried to come back to my city. As the saying goes, "That's a paddlin'." For an extremely broad definition of the word.

    Anyway, I blinded Night so she couldn't see a thing, then I stabbed her with a pointy blade lots and lots of times. This was after some totally inconsiderate person (spoilers: me) arranged for a bunch of grenades to be lying loose in the hold instead of safe in their crates, along with other bits of high explosive. So when I tossed a grenade down there while executing my exit strategy, Fog was caught in the blast and turned into pink mist. Most of him, anyway. Top half, definitely. They're going to have to ID him by his toenail clippings or something.

    In other words, I stabbified the person who could turn into a stabby monster, and I turned Fog into mist. Only, the type he can't turn back from.

    I'm pretty sure a lot of you would've heard the explosion.

    And as those who know me well enough will have figured out by now, I've informed the individual responsible for sending those idiots to their deaths (including Rob. Yes, *that* Rob, Mr flyhomeET himself) that if he tries this one more time ... well, let's just say he won't be capable of trying it a third time.

    Because, you know, I'll kill him.

    What's that you say? Being a key member of Gesellschaft means that he probably thinks he's safe from my retribution, in Germany? Specifically, in his estate in Stuttgart Sud?

    Mwahahaha.

    In other news, the Committee for the Betterment of Brockton Bay (nice alliteration there, guys) met for the first time yesterday afternoon, being in possession for the plan to fix the city and the funds to do so. There was a little jockeying for position and a few attempts to slow things down "to really examine the issues", but Committee head Danny Hebert kept everything on track and moved forward with the agenda. The first drug rehab clinics will be opening across the city as early as this afternoon, and more will be getting placed as the need arises. Also, the stimulus payments will be starting on Monday, giving everyone in Brockton Bay who's living below, on and just above the poverty line a much-needed boost.

    Impressively enough, nobody tried to blatantly redirect any funds to their own personal agendas, though two people did think strongly about it. Shame on you, Ms T and Mr K. I *am* watching.

    I look forward to more good work from the Committee. In the meantime, have a lovely villain-free day. (You're welcome).

    Oh, and later today? I'm going to start fulfilling my end of a deal I made with a particular hero. Who, you may ask? What hero would possibly have made a deal with me? And for what?

    You'll find out soon ... and with any luck, the wait will have been worth it.

    Toodles!


    (Showing page 1 of 17)

    ►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
    Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
    Okay, just going to say, wow.
    Also, holy shit.
    There was definitely a boat out there last night. The PRT is withholding the name of the boat and its owner at the moment, but it looks like some remnants of the Empire Eighty-Eight took it out under the guise of doing some night fishing. While they were out there, they met up with a ship (which has since been tracked down) and transferred a crap-ton of drugs and weapons on board. (Enough traces of both were found after the fact to verify that beyond a doubt.)
    *Somehow*, Atropos knew exactly where the boat was, despite the fact that it was running dark, and got on board. And yes, she blew it up. Several bodies have been recovered, including one woman, who has been tentatively ID'd as Dorothy Schmidt, AKA Night. And yes, cause of death appears to be 'got stabbed a whole lot'. Also, she has a stab wound through one hand, that would appear to match a certain pair of horribly sharp shears. (Just going to say: being stabbed to death then blown over the side did her no favours whatsoever. Atropos is in fine form.)
    The bottom half of a recovered body has been (via Atropos' description) tentatively ID'd as Geoff Schmidt, AKA Fog. An international request has been made for Mr Schmidt's birth details, in the hope that the hospital took a footprint at birth. Short of DNA testing, that's about the only way anyone's going to know for certain. (Okay, we all know it's him, but we don't 'know'. Thus, the whole 'jumping through hoops' thing.)
    Note that she *also* appeared on the dock where the goods were about to be received, seconds *before* the boat exploded, and held the men there in attitudes of surrender until the Protectorate showed up. So yeah, apparently Atropos' ability to be *right behind you* now has a whole new level of scariness.
    I know I'm shouting into the wind here, but for God's sake, anyone else who's planning to smuggle drugs or weapons into Brockton Bay, please don't! I say this for your sake, not mine. You can't spend money if you're dead, and Atropos is REALLY damn efficient at making people dead.
    (Also, for my sake. Every time I see the result of another attempt, my faith in human intelligence drops by a few points.)
    (I'm not even going to address the Stuttgart Sud thing. I'm really not.)
    I don't know anything about the CB3 or its inner workings, so I'm just going to take Atropos' word on how it went. (Also, don't be idiots. You *know* she's invested in making it work.)
    Just so everyone is aware: I have no idea what this deal is about, but by now we've all learned that when Atropos teases something, she delivers.
    *Steals some of UnconcernedFox's popcorn and settles down to await the reveal*

    ►WingsOnHigh (Verified Not the Simurgh)
    Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
    Wait ... Atropos said she blew up the boat by tossing a grenade into the hold, but she *also* showed up on the dock just before the explosion? More than half a mile away? Is it just me or does that say 'teleport' to anyone else?
    Does Atropos now have an official Mover rating?
    That would kind of explain a lot, actually.

    ►AntAuthor
    Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
    hah hah. Nazis go "boom". Good riddance to bad rubbish.

    ►MostlyInsaneWriter
    Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
    In the local PRT Office sits a man, a man that has just been reviewing a certain series of threat ratings for a certain Atropos. He has now broken down crying and will need something strong and alcoholic to recover.

    ►SootStainedEyeball
    Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
    So wait ... when she killed Butcher, did she keep the teleportation?
    Because that's gotta be more than coincidence.

    ►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
    Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
    @Atropos - Hello again. I'd like to say that we could've intercepted the boat and taken Night and Fog into custody without incident, but we both know it could've gotten very bloody. Would've, rather.
    So, I'm not even going to pretend to critique you this time, save to say that we still could have coordinated our efforts, to minimize the loss of life.
    Everyone deserves due process, after all.
    Once again, I'd like to renew my invitation to come on in, sit down and talk about our mutual goals and how to best achieve them.
    How about it?

    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
    Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
    @Reave - thanks for that. I'll have to pass on the chat, though. I still can't help feeling that it would devolve into you asking me not to kill people, and outside idiots taking that as an invitation to wander into my city with drugs.
    If they know they'll die when they try, then there's fewer headaches all around.
    Also, I save on ammo.
    See you around.

    ►UnconcernedFox
    Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
    *rolls eyes and passes Bagrat a spare packet of popcorn*

    ►BigBoomNineThousand
    Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
    @SootStainedEyeball - But there's no explosion mentioned when she teleports. If she teleports.
    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 15, 16, 17
    ​
    (Showing page 2 of 17)

    ►SootStainedEyeball
    Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
    @BigBoomNineThousand - What if, now bear with me here, what if Butcher never *needed* to do the explosion? What if she always had the choice *not* to do it, but always chose to anyway? And now Atropos is just ... choosing not to?

    ►EightySixEnhance
    Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
    I'd like to call for a moment of silence for Rob (aka flyhomeET), would-be Empire internet tough guy.
    Whoops.

    ►A_Dragon (Verified not *the* Dragon)
    Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
    @EightySixEnhance - just going to point out a well-known quote:
    "First of all, and most importantly, never forget that people are stupid."
    Personally, I think the Darwin Award people need to bring out a new category: "people who pissed off Atropos".

    ►BigBoomNineThousand
    Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
    @SootStainedEyeball - huh. Never thought of that.
    That would make a scary kind of sense.

    ►AmateurScribe
    Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
    @A_Dragon - I think there are other quotes that can be referred to that, off the top of my head:
    - The mother of all idiots is always pregnant
    - Fools rush where angels fear to tread
    - Make something idiot proof, and someone's going to invent a better idiot
    - Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the universe - Albert Einstein
    Anybody else got more?

    ►Darth_Psycho
    Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
    I wonder ... if and when Gesellschaft tries to stick their nose into our affairs again, and Atropos takes offense ... how's Interpol going to take her visiting Stuttgart Sud and murdering the idiot who tried?

    ►AmateurScribe
    Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
    @Darth_Psycho - Imma go with 'a round of applause, followed by a sternly worded memo not to do it again'.

    ►Atrim
    Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
    I can see about six different agencies taking an interest:
    CIA, Interpol, the embassy in Germany, the FBI when she gets back, the entire German government ...
    Atropos be saying, "come at me, bro".

    ►Darth_Psycho
    Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
    @Atrim - that's five, not six.

    ►Atrim
    Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
    @Darth_Psycho - and Gesellschaft themselves, of course.
    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4 ... 15, 16, 17

    ■

    <><>​

    PRT Building, Director Piggot's Office

    Thursday Morning

    It never failed. Whenever Atropos went on one of her 'enthusiastic walks' (she had no idea where Assault got that phrase from, but it had caught on with everyone else) Emily would wake up to yet another cleanup of debris and corpses, somewhere in or around her city.

    There were only three bright spots to this. First, the casualties were never her people, or even innocent civilians (so far). Second, there was never any doubt about who was responsible or even the timeline of events, because Atropos always posted on PHO what she'd done, and who she'd done it to. Sometimes, she even posted it ahead of time, just to rub it in that she was that damn good. Third, it was always a hit on a righteous target, and there was never any significant resistance by the time the PRT showed up. Literally all they had to do was sort out the debris and identify the bodies.

    Oh, and the drop in crime rate (especially parahuman crime) was also a breath of fresh air, after ten years of having to deal with the same gang crap, day in and day out. The numbers coming across her desk indicated cautious optimism about the tentative rebound already showing in the city's economy, at all levels. Medhall, for instance, was still actually a going concern, even after a good number of their high-ranking people had 'inexplicably' left town. On the lower end of the spectrum, a lot of the mom-and-pop businesses which had been paying protection up until now were suddenly seeing a new lease of life.

    All of which was great, except for one thing she couldn't ignore. It was all the result of blatant, unapologetic murder. Once upon a time, Emily had thought that as a member of the PRT, she could be a part of making life better for everyone around her by helping enforce the law. She'd never considered it might involve standing back and watching as an edgy-as-fuck vigilante did her job for her by killing people.

    Not that she intended to try and do something about it. She wasn't stupid. But last she checked, she was still allowed her own damn opinions.

    Clicking the mouse, she set the video running again, of the recorded debriefing between Renick and Velocity, at about midnight the previous night. As she watched, the speedster took another drink from the coffee-cup in front of him.

    "When you saw Atropos, did she point a weapon at you, or show any other signs of hostility?" That was Renick, going through the checklist as normal.

    Velocity shook his head. "She wasn't even holding a weapon. The men there were all kneeling with their hands behind their heads, but all she had in her hand was a phone."

    "This is the phone that you handed in to our techs, once you were relieved at the scene?"

    "Yes. She saw me and tossed it in my direction. It was a deliberate action. She wanted me to have it."

    Emily paused the footage again, and looked over at Armsmaster. "Did we get anything out of the phone? Such as who it even belonged to?"

    "That, and much more," he said with some satisfaction. "As far as we can tell, it belonged to Fog. There were several numbers saved into the contacts list. Someone—we're presuming Atropos—made a call to one of the numbers between the time of the boat's explosion and Velocity showing up. That call connected to a phone in Germany; it went out of service before we were able to ping its GPS, but we got a general location." He paused for effect. "Stuttgart Sud. Just as Atropos noted."

    "To absolutely nobody's surprise," Emily observed dryly. "I presume all this has been handed over to Interpol." She knew damn well she'd be kicking asses if it hadn't. In any case, Renick wasn't that sloppy. Cautious, yes. Sloppy, definitely not.

    "All the data we were able to mine out of it, yes. And we're mailing the phone itself to them."

    "Good, good." She was perfectly willing to acknowledge that the threat of Gesellschaft was getting more and more distant from Brockton Bay, entirely due to Atropos' actions. It was just the nature of those actions that she disapproved of. Dropping her eyes to the screen, she clicked the mouse again.

    "Your initial report said she 'vanished'," Renick went on. "Can you expand on that? As I understand things, she's been given a rating of Mover zero, but she's not a speedster, correct?"

    Velocity grimaced. "We might have to upgrade that. She was standing on a part of the dock that was out over the water, facing me. A kind of doorway formed behind her, but it was hard to see against the darkness. She just stepped backward into it, at the same time as she threw the phone. I tried to tell her to wait, but she went all smoky and vanished, and the doorway did too."

    Emily stopped the clip again. "So, Atropos has a way to generate teleport portals." She wasn't a Tinker or a Mover, but she knew the terminology. "The question is, how long has she been able to do that?"

    "She's shown none of the signs of being a Tinker … hmm." Armsmaster paused for a moment. "What are the points against her always having been able to teleport?"

    "Kaiser's death," Emily said promptly. "She was seen on camera, sneaking out of the building. Also, she literally rappelled down the side of the building, from one floor to another. If she'd had it then, she could've made it a hell of a lot creepier. And Atropos has always been about putting on a show."

    "Okay, granted." He smoothed his beard with thumb and forefinger. "Let's assume she wasn't just holding back to keep everyone off guard. I figure she picked up the ability somewhere between then and when she threatened Wilkins on Sunday evening."

    "Wait." Emily shook her head. "What if someone on PHO was right for once? What if she used that Thinker rating to be in New York in time to screw over Wilkins, but she couldn't teleport yet?"

    "You're talking about the Butcher." Armsmaster was right on the ball. "You think she got the ability to teleport when she killed the Butcher, Tuesday morning."

    "Well, where the hell else do you think she would spontaneously acquire the ability to disappear in front of a speedster?" demanded Emily, mostly rhetorically. "People who kill the Butcher get the Butcher's powers. It's the simplest explanation."

    "But she's shown no other hint of being under the Butcher's influence, and she hasn't exhibited any of the other powers, even when it would've been useful," Armsmaster argued. "Semantic analysis of her PHO output indicates no particular alteration in her mindset before and after the death of the Butcher. Word choice is similar, and outlook remains the same. Unless she's got the sheer force of will to keep fourteen other minds in solid check all the time … they're not in there. Also, the signature's not the same."

    "So where did she get the ability to teleport?" Emily spread her hands. "I can't see someone as competent and confident as her getting so rattled as to undergo a second trigger event."

    "No, true," he conceded. "The only other thing I can think of is if she had access to Tinkertech. Just not her own."

    She glanced sideways at him. "I seem to recall you mentioning that your halberd will teleport back to you at need. Have you, by chance, built any personal teleport devices that have since gone missing?"

    "No," he said at once, then paused. "… I checked."

    "Okay, granted. Do you think Kid Win is even capable of building a teleporter?"

    He snorted. "Building it, sure. Keeping it together for more than a day before he scavenges part of it for something else, no."

    "Ah, of course. And he's no closer to figuring out his specialty yet?"

    "No." He smoothed his beard again. "Wait. There was one more Tinker in Brockton Bay. One I didn't even think about until now."

    Emily was confused. She was pretty sure they'd covered all their bases, unless he meant … "What, Leet? Do you honestly think someone as aware as Atropos would go to him?"

    "No, no, think about it." He was almost visibly excited, now. "Do you remember what Atropos said on PHO about them? She told them to stick around, because she wanted to talk to them."

    "Wasn't that about borrowing Leet's stupid Snitch thing, to get footage of her taking down the Nine?" Emily had watched that footage several times over. More than a few still frames were still making the rounds as memes, usually in the vein of 'It was then he knew he dun fucked up'. The image that Dragon had taken with the missile camera now hung in the lobby down on the first floor; it was possible to buy smaller copies (signed by Dragon) in the gift shop.

    "Yes, but what if it was more than that?" Armsmaster held up his finger. "The takedown of the Nine gave them the greatest ratings they ever had. If she then asked them for a favour, such as building her a teleport device …"

    "Yes, yes, I can see that," she said impatiently. "But you're forgetting one important detail. Leet's tech fails, dramatically, more often than not. And he can never repair it. Why would Atropos go to him?"

    Armsmaster looked pensive, or perhaps that was just what she could see under his helmet. "She's a highly aware Thinker. Maybe she's capable of figuring out how to use his tech without breaking it."

    "So … you're saying she's better at using his tech than he is?" She didn't bother hiding her scepticism.

    He chuckled. "Well, she could hardly be worse."

    "True." She shook her head. "Is it just me or is that cheating?"

    "No. That's Atropos."

    <><>​

    Winslow High School

    Taylor

    I caught up with Cherie outside the school. She was less hangdog than she had been on her first day doing the remedial classes, walking along confidently with her head up. As I came up to her, she turned her head until she saw me, then dropped back to match pace with me.

    "Hi." I gently bumped her shoulder with mine. "Did it go better today?"

    "It went a lot better today," she confirmed. "Now that Miss Parrish knows what I don't know, she's giving me lessons that I can actually understand. I'm not saying it's fun, because it's school and school is supposed to suck, but knowing what I'm doing makes it a lot easier to work my way through it."

    "Well, that's great." I beamed at her with pride. Such a short time out from under her father's influence, and she was already showing more self-confidence than in the whole time I'd known her. "I'm really pleased to hear it."

    "Thanks." She gave me a grin in return. "So, what've you got planned for this afternoon?"

    This was probably going to be the sticking point. "You'll be riding the bus home alone, because I've got something to do in New York."

    "Alone?" She stared at me, and I saw the worry in her eyes. "Was it something I did? Can't I come to New York with you?"

    And there was the downside of what I was doing. We'd formed a bond, and separation anxiety linked to a fear of having failed me somehow was starting to kick in. "It's okay. I need you right here in Brockton Bay. There's a job I want you to do for me while I'm gone."

    She calmed down at that, as I'd known she would. She hadn't let me down and I wasn't abandoning her, so much as delegating a task. More to the point, I was trusting her to do something important in my absence, which I was pretty sure her father had never done in his whole misbegotten life.

    "Okay, whatever it is, I can do it." She eyed me expectantly. "Did you want me to go someplace and scare the shit out of someone?"

    I chuckled. "I appreciate the offer, and I'm certain you could, but I've got that aspect sewn up. No, see, the drug rehab clinics are opening this afternoon. Since I took out all the distributors in town, and put a stop to incoming shipments for the moment, people will be starting to feel the pinch. What I want you to do is take the temperature of the whole city. And if anyone starts getting particularly aggressive, especially in groups, just … tone them down. Keep them from stirring each other up to the point that they do something really stupid. Can you do that for me?"

    From the look on her face, she'd been expecting me to challenge her with something totally impossible. "Well … yeah. I can do that. That's easy."

    "Good." I patted her arm, knowing that with her power she'd be able to tell how proud I was of her. "Just remember, you're going to need to keep them calm—or calm-ish—until the clinics shut their doors, and a little bit after. Okay?"

    That was going to be a little more difficult for her, but still well within her capabilities. It was also my sneaky way of introducing her to the idea of being responsible for people outside of herself.

    She nodded seriously. "I can definitely do that. I know how much this means to you."

    "Thanks. I mean it. See you at home." Turning, I headed back into the school. People were still coming out, which meant nobody paid much attention to me; those that did, hastily looked elsewhere. It seemed that being suspected to be Atropos had its uses after all.

    I ducked into the first empty classroom and locked the door behind me. Then I opened the backpack I had slung over my shoulder (which wasn't the one I'd been carrying my books around in all day, though the two were deliberately identical) and took out my costume. It didn't take me long to change; I stashed my ordinary clothing in the backpack and slid it on over my long-coat. Then I locked the teleporter onto my arm, typed in the numbers my power told me to enter, and hit the go button. The portal opened in front of me, and I stepped through.

    <><>​

    Diamond Dreams Jewelry Shop

    Midtown Manhattan

    Lenore Jefferson considered herself to be a conscientious employee. A twenty-two-year-old college student, she valued her employment with Diamond Dreams very highly indeed. As such, she'd paid close attention to the security training courses. It had been drummed into her that the shop inventory was insured, so if anyone came in to rob the place, she was not to risk her life or health trying to stop them.

    She'd also been taught about presentation and showing a pleasant face to the public, so when she spotted a greasy fingerprint-smear on the corner of a display case, she limited her reaction to an annoyed sniff. With nobody in the shop right at that moment—the door buzzer would alert her to a new customer—she took the polishing cloth from her pocket and spritzed the case with a spray of Windex before setting to work on the defacing smear.

    Which was when someone cleared their throat from right behind her. Where nobody had been ten seconds ago.

    With a startled eep, she shot bolt upright and spun around, to find herself staring at the newest big-name cape. Everyone who wasn't literally living under a rock (and probably some who did) knew who Atropos was; the combination of the black morph mask, the hat, the long-coat and the suit and tie under it was a look that nobody could mistake for anyone else. The trouble was, Atropos was a mass murderer. And instead of being merely a memorable image on Lenore's computer screen, she was standing right there in the shop.

    Lenore's smile went from warmly welcoming to something more approximating the desiccated grimace of something found dead in the desert. Her brain, knowing 'fight' would be stupid and 'flight' likely futile, flailed around inside her skull while she tried to figure out what part of the security training covered dealing with the Brockton Bay Angel of Death. "Uh, hello?" she ventured, thinking very loudly, please don't kill me, please don't kill me.

    "Jeez, relax," Atropos said. "I'm not here to kill you. I'm not here to kill anyone. But I do need your help."

    Looking at Atropos, one would imagine her voice to be low and hissing and full of menace, but it was nothing like that. Lenore had watched the footage of the Slaughterhouse Nine takedown (who hadn't?) and had been taken aback by the down-home sound of her voice. Now, face to face with the remorseless killer who had singlehandedly driven the villains from Brockton Bay, she was struck by the contrast all over again. In fact, just going by the voice, Lenore could almost swear that Atropos was younger than her.

    "H-help?" Again, this was not what Lenore had expected. "How can I help you?" Normals didn't help capes. They stood back and let capes get on with it. Oh god, I hope she doesn't expect me to kill someone.

    "Nothing too strenuous. Have you heard of Ravager?" Atropos leaned casually against the counter, managing to look both relaxed and lethal at the same time. Lenore had a sudden mental image of the Discovery Channel, with a black panther lying on a tree branch, its tail hanging down, the tip twitching back and forth.

    "Well, yeah." Ravager wasn't hugely well known, but she was up there. "Doesn't she have a thing against Mouse Protector?"

    "She does." Atropos tilted her head very slightly; Lenore got the impression she'd just rolled her eyes. "A few days ago, she tried to hire me to kill Mouse Protector for a million bucks."

    "Uh, tried …?" Lenore didn't know many people for whom the offer of a million dollars wouldn't cause them to drastically re-evaluate their friendships. That was kind of sad, now she came to think of it. Or maybe that was just life in the Big Apple. "You didn't take her up on it?"

    "Please." The word was full of scorn. "I'm not for hire. I kill people who are bad for society, and Mouse Protector is the very opposite of that. But she also asked me not to kill Ravager, so I'm not going to. However, I am going to utterly murder her credibility as a villain. By the time I'm finished with her, she won't be able to hire out as a henchman."

    The hits were just coming too fast for Lenore now. A murderer who had casually turned down a million dollars on principle? Setting out to kill someone's credibility? "Um …" she ventured, not sure what to say. "How … how can I help you do that?"

    "Easy." Atropos pointed at the shop exit. "In approximately ninety seconds, Ravager's going to come through that door with every intent of robbing you. She's in a horrible mood, so no matter how much you cooperate, she's likely to hit you with her power on the way out and give you some nasty facial scars. I'm not going to let that happen. Instead, I'm going to make her regret coming anywhere near this shop. You down with that?"

    Lenore blinked. "Um … yeah." There was no other answer she could think of to give. "What do you need me to do? Let you in back?"

    "Nah, I got that covered." Atropos straightened from her relaxed pose against the counter. Reaching back without looking, she tapped a code into the locked door leading behind the counter … and the lock clicked with a cheerful beep. "What I need you to do is film the action."

    Lenore stared at the now-open door in total disbelief. "Wha … how did you …"

    Taking out a smartphone, Atropos woke it up and passed it over to Lenore, who took it dazedly. "I'm just good at what I do. When the action begins, start filming. Okay?"

    "Um … okay?" Right then, Lenore wanted to be anywhere but there. I did not sign up to be a serial killer's sidekick!

    Atropos took a step closer and squeezed her shoulder. "I will not let them hurt you. Got it?"

    Although she couldn't see the black-clad cape's eyes, the tone of Atropos' voice was enough to turn Lenore's uncertainties around. It held power and assurance, and put steel into her spine. "G-got it. And thank you."

    "Hey, you're welcome." Atropos stepped back through the door. "Thirty seconds. Take a deep breath." The door clicked shut behind her, and she moved out of sight.

    Lenore did as she'd been told and took a deep breath. It served to steady her, and she worked at putting the professional smile back on her face.

    This was not how I expected my day to go.



    End of Part Thirty-Two
     
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    • Part Thirty-Three: Lights ... Camera ...
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Thirty-Three: Lights … Camera …

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



    Diamond Dreams Jewelry Shop, 3:55 PM EDT

    Atropos

    With fifteen seconds to go, I took my secondary phone out of my pocket, feeling the weight of everything else I had stored in my long-coat—big pockets were an absolute godsend in my newfound line of work—and tapped in two quick text messages. I knew the first would cause Mouse Protector to raise an eyebrow, but she'd do it. The second was for later.

    The messages sent, I put the phone away and made sure the things I'd need first were ready to hand. They were, of course, but there was no harm in checking. This was going to be my first time making a deliberate point of not killing a hostile cape, and I wanted to utterly destroy her credibility while simultaneously producing a highly entertaining interlude for everyone else.

    Of course, lacking any more convenient time to do it, I'd had to go 'shopping' just after midnight, once I'd put up the PHO post.

    <><>​

    Wacky Dom's Novelties & Knick-Knacks, Hillside Mall

    Dominic Little

    "Hey, boss? I think we've been burgled."

    The simple statement by Gina, Dominic's most reliable shop assistant, got his attention and hung onto it. Ceasing his perusal of the monthly sales, he stood up from the comfortable stool behind the counter and peered down toward the back of the shop. Gina stood there, leaning out through the usually-locked door that led to their stock room.

    "Are you sure?" he asked, because nobody in their right mind wanted a statement like that to be true. "Because when I unlocked this morning, the locks were intact and the alarm was still active."

    "Sure I'm sure." She jerked a thumb back into the stock room. "I was checking stock just yesterday, and unless you sold off some Krazy Glue, that oversized novelty eight-ball that you were keeping back here, some body paint, an oversized clown nose, a bag of those cape-themed marbles, one of the novelty pacifiers, and a bunch of googly eyes when I wasn't looking … yeah, we've been robbed."

    "Jesus damn motherfucking shit." Dominic was originally from Eastern Europe and while he'd learned English at a relatively young age, his swearing game still had some gaps in it. "Watch the front of the shop. I need to check the security tapes."

    "Sure thing, boss." Gina left the door to swing shut and took his place behind the counter. "Think it was a cape?"

    "Which cape?" he asked over his shoulder. "Atropos chased them all out of town, remember?"

    The door had clicked shut by the time he got to it, but he simply tapped in the code to enter. Stepping through, he bypassed the stock room door—he believed Gina's word on what was missing—and instead took the door to the left, into the tiny office.

    Insurance premiums for his shop were reduced somewhat for being a part of the mall, and he'd reduced them further by installing cameras around the shop, covering the entrance, the till and the rear shop door. Moreover, there was a motion sensor alarm within the shop, which could only be shut down by entering the correct code into a keypad hidden behind the counter.

    Setting the camera feed to step forward at intervals of one minute—it would take a crafty thief indeed to be in and out within that time—he settled down to watch the screen. Each image flickered up for half a second before moving on; plenty of time to click the mouse and stop it if he saw something interesting.

    With Gina's help, he'd locked up the shop and gone home at five the previous evening. From five until six, nothing happened. From six until seven, the same. Seven to eight, eight to nine, then nine to ten, likewise. Although he could name every item on every shelf in view, he was getting tired of nothing changing. But he kept watching.

    The stretch from ten until midnight passed by in one minute, still with nothing to see. But then, just after midnight, there was a flicker on the screen, of something that should not have been there. Hastily, he clicked the mouse. There was a blurred figure caught by the camera in the act of opening the rear shop door. He ran the action back one minute, then started it rolling in real time.

    With only three cameras in the shop, dead spots were inevitable but he'd made sure they were far from any entrances. From one such dead spot, unseen until now by any camera, emerged a dark-clad figure. Pausing, it looked directly toward the camera and waved.

    Dominic felt a chill rolling down his back. He knew that costume. He'd essentially asked the question: if Atropos had chased all the villains out of Brockton Bay, which cape could have robbed his shop?

    And now he knew the answer: Atropos herself.

    As he watched, she moved toward the counter and vaulted over it with an acrobatic fluidity that only the most athletic capes could match. Leaning down to where the keypad was, she typed in a code … and the blinking light visible on the siren fixed to the ceiling went out. Where she had learned the code, he had no idea; it was written down nowhere and existed in just his and Gina's heads.

    Letting herself back out of the space behind the counter, Atropos went straight to the door at the rear of the store and tapped in the code there flawlessly as well. Despite his having paid top money for the cameras, the motion detector and the code-locked door, she'd waltzed through his security as though it didn't exist. And that didn't even take into account the way she'd walked out of a dead spot, as though entering via a doorway.

    Although he knew the facts of the situation now, he kept watching, just to see how bad it got. A few moments later, she emerged again, carefully closing the door behind her. In her hand, she held one of the store's own bags, stuffed full of items. From Gina's description, he was gloomily certain that he knew exactly what was in there.

    As he watched, she let herself back in behind the counter, no doubt to re-enable the alarm system. She hadn't had to, but its status of being off when he arrived would've clued him in that there'd been a late-night visitor much earlier than now. But first … she tipped over the stool he'd been sitting on for most of the day? Sporting a wide round base and a foot-rest, it was quite comfortable. But what did she want with it?

    A moment later, he saw. Taking what were undoubtedly banknotes from her pocket, she held them up for a moment, placed them on the floor, then put the stool back on top. Then she leaned down and re-enabled the alarm. Ducking out from behind the counter, she strode rapidly toward the dead spot, vanishing off the cameras. Nothing else happened, although he watched the footage at four times speed for the next minute.

    Shutting down the screen, he got up from the chair and left the office, his mind whirling with the possibilities. Did she just … pay for my merchandise? What thief does that?

    Admittedly, the loss of stock wouldn't have eaten at him so much as the violation of his workplace. A villain demonstrating that they could walk in at any time and just take what they wanted would have left him agitated and restless. But instead, he was simply puzzled.

    Stepping out into the shop, he closed the door behind him and went not toward the counter, but to the dead spot Atropos had vanished into. As he expected, there was nothing of note to see; no disturbed ceiling tiles overhead, no echo when he stamped on the firm concrete flooring beneath the carpet. It looked just like any other spot in the store … except that the cameras did not see it.

    Gina was watching him as he came back to the counter. "So, did the cameras catch who did it?"

    "Yes," he said absently. "They did. Could you please get off the stool for a moment?"

    "Sure." She stood up and moved away a couple of steps, clearly expecting him to claim the seat. "Are we going to be calling the cops, or mall management? Was it a cape? Which one?"

    "We are not." He tilted the stool over, then leaned down and felt under it with his free hand. His fingers brushed across crinkling paper and he grasped it, then placed the stool upright once more. "Because it is Atropos who took it … and paid for it."

    Before her wondering eyes—and his expression wasn't far behind—he spread out four twenties on the counter; enough to pay for the missing merchandise, with change left over.

    "I was reading on PHO today that she can maybe teleport now," Gina ventured, after a good thirty seconds' worth of staring at the cash. "So that's probably how she got in and out." Her voice sounded strange, as though she didn't quite believe what she was saying.

    "She could have teleported into the stock room and simply taken all the things, and we would not have been the wiser." Dominic looked at the money again. "But she did it this way, so she could pay."

    "We wouldn't have known, sure, but people would've suspected." Gina sounded sure of herself. "Word would've gotten out. Atropos is very conscious of her brand, of her image. So, she paid."

    Dominic scratched the back of his head, then picked up the money and placed it firmly in the till. Swiftly, he entered the values of the missing items and registered it as a sale, paid for with cash. Almost ceremoniously, he took out the correct amount of change and dropped it into the charity jar. "There. A sale, all above board and correct."

    Gina chuckled, though she sounded a little shaken still. "Best customer we never had."

    "I agree." He placed both hands on the countertop and took a deep breath. "You know, I think we will shut early today. I will still pay you the full wage, but we will both go home and relax. Spend time with our families. I think we have earned it."

    "Yeah." Gina nodded. "I think you're right." She raised her eyebrows. "Are we going to tell anyone about this?"

    He shrugged. "Who would believe us?"

    <><>​

    Manhattan

    Mouse Protector

    Diane frowned as her phone pinged with a text message. When she pulled the handset out to check the number, it wasn't one she recognised. However, the message itself grabbed her attention.

    Hi there. In town, about to mess up Ravager's day. Want to swing by Diamond Dreams, in midtown? Flechette and Jouster are patrolling 3 blocks west of you; if you could grab them on the way, that'd be great – Atropos

    "Oh, hell yes," she muttered. She'd only ever seen dead people as a result of Atropos' work; how the infamous killer went about murdering someone's credibility was something she really wanted to see.

    Pulling a small collapsible Frisbee out of a pouch—this one had Legend's likeness dyed into the cloth—she tagged it then sent it flying off toward the afternoon sun. How Atropos knew where the two patrolling Wards were, she wasn't even going to speculate.

    Teleporting to where the tagged Frisbee had landed, she picked it up then jogged to the edge of the roof and surveyed the street below. With a good throw and asphalt-warmed air under it, one of her little discs could go forever along one of these concrete canyons; Diane considered herself better than average at the art. Pulling back her arm, she flicked hard. The Frisbee zipped out over the street, flying straight and true.

    She smiled. People thought that only being able to teleport to a tagged item was a limitation to her power, but she knew differently. It was all about playing to her strengths.

    <><>​

    Brockton Bay City Council Chambers

    Committee for the Betterment of Brockton Bay (CB3)

    Danny sat forward in his chair. "With the minutes read, the meeting will now commence. Before we take reports on the implementation of the drug rehabilitation clinics around the city, I would like to make an announcement."

    He paused for a moment, meeting the eyes of each of the other members of the Committee. They were drawn from all walks of life; some from the Mayor's office, others from the business world, and yet others (like him) from more blue-collar pursuits. He knew all of them, if not personally then by reputation. They were universally noted as being successful in their chosen endeavours, for a varying degree of 'successful'. Two of them, Janice Templeton and Paul King, flinched ever so slightly when he looked at them, and he ticked a couple of boxes in his head. Thought so.

    "This is a serious endeavour we are embarking on here," he said. "The lives of more than a few of our citizens—and I mean that literally, not figuratively—depend on us turning this city around and steering it away from the rocks. There are people out there whose lives are spiralling downhill due to drug addiction, depression, or simply having fallen through the cracks of society. With poor nutrition and no access to adequate healthcare, they will get sick. Some will die in entirely preventable ways, unless we here in this room do our jobs right. Fortunately, we have a plan to do just that." One forefinger tapped the thick book that lay in front of him. He'd read it through, absorbing the concepts within, and the elegance astounded him.

    King raised a finger and cleared his throat. "It's too grandiose, too optimistic. We need to dial it back to what we're capable of doing, here." There were a few murmurs of agreement from around the room, most audible from Janice Templeton.

    Danny's eyes narrowed a little. "It's only impossible if we all decide it's impossible, and stop trying. I read PHO, as do some of you. Janice, Paul, don't think I didn't notice you trying to introduce ways to skirt around the acquisition guidelines during yesterday's meeting, ostensibly in the name of making things easier. I couldn't prove you were thinking about ways to divert funds, and I still can't. However, Atropos seems to think you were, and she is now paying attention."

    As he'd expected, dropping the name directly into the discussion had the effect of a large rock falling into a small pool. Now, everyone was listening, very carefully, to his words.

    "A-Atropos?" croaked Farley Rogers, the Mayor's representative. "Is-is she coming here?" He stared around at the door, then at every corner of the room.

    "Not that I know of." Danny spoke calmly and smoothly. "However, she did speak to me this morning, on this very topic." She'd merely wished him good luck with the Committee, but they didn't need to know that particular detail. Reaching into his pocket, he took out his cell-phone, and laid it on the table. "If anyone wishes to continue being obstructive, I can call her, and you can explain why. Any takers?"

    Nobody said a word. In fact, everyone (especially King and Templeton) appeared to be trying to give the impression that they didn't even know what obstruction was. All eyes were on the phone, like a bunch of chickens hypnotised by a snake.

    "Well, then," Danny said, taking up the phone and dropping it back into his pocket. "Let's move along, then. The drug rehab clinics? Rogers, you were in charge of that, right?"

    "Oh, ah, yes." Jolted into action, Farley nodded almost convulsively. "We have a dozen in place right now, with another fourteen to open tomorrow. The initial ones should have opened their doors in the last fifteen minutes."

    Paul King cleared his throat again. "I hope you won't accuse me of being obstructionist for pointing out that this is not a wise move. Drug addicts are not known for their self-control. They're likely to mob the clinics and steal the drugs on the premises for their own use." He sat back, looking smug.

    "That's a possibility," Danny allowed. "Farley, find out if that's happening." There was a branch in the plan that covered this specific scenario; all he needed was correct information about the situation.

    "Okay, I'm on it." Farley fumbled out his phone, checked a sheet of paper, and started dialling.

    Danny looked around at the rest of the table. "While he's getting that update for us, how are we doing on the leadup to the stimulus rollout?"

    "I still don't see why we can't just hand out checks," grumbled Janice Templeton, having apparently grown a backbone since the phone went away. "It's a tried-and-true system."

    "And altogether too vulnerable to abuse." Danny shook his head. "We're doing it this way."

    "But giving everyone a debit card is just an unnecessary expense," she argued. "Do you know how much money we could save?"

    And there's your angle. "The cost of setting up the cards is negligible, and has already been factored into the ongoing plan." Danny tapped the book. "It's a done deal. We're not changing it at this stage." Turning away from her and firmly shutting down the confrontation, he addressed another member of the Committee. "Cynthia, where are we with locating all the recipients?"

    Cynthia Horton gave Janice Templeton a scathing look, then addressed Danny. "Ninety-five percent done, closing on ninety-six. I figure we'll have them all nailed down by Friday afternoon."

    "Good." Danny looked over at Farley. "How are the clinics faring?"

    "Quite well, actually." Farley offered a tentative smile. "All the medical techs manning them report that the patients are well-behaved and polite … well, as polite as addicts can get when they're looking for their next fix. Nobody's even tried to cause trouble."

    "Oh, come on!" scoffed Paul King. "Nobody? That's bullshit! Check again!"

    "He already checked once." Danny's voice was mild, but there was steel underneath. "I'm not going to let you waste this Committee's time on your little power plays. Now, moving along. The next part of the plan calls for infrastructure renewal …"

    <><>​

    Cherish

    Well, now. Someone's trying to play it sneaky.

    Leaning back in her bus seat, Cherie grinned as she looked out the window. For all anyone knew, the grin was just because she was going home after a strenuous day of having facts crammed into her head, but this was not precisely the case. She was in fact listening in on the music generated by every single person in Brockton Bay.

    More to the point, she was focusing on three groups of men, which had each congregated near one of the clinics in the less-affluent areas of Brockton Bay. Interestingly enough, these men did not radiate the desperation and need of a drug addict. Instead, their emotional songs made it plain that they were entirely clear-headed, and were intending to do violence in the name of greed; or to put it another way, they'd been paid to cause trouble.

    Just for a moment, Cherie wondered if these were the people Taylor had meant her to be looking out for, then she nodded to herself. Of course they are. She doesn't miss a damn trick. I should know.

    Reaching out, she delved into the emotional makeups of each of the potential troublemakers and found what she was looking for: the very real and thoroughly rational fear of Atropos. What with Taylor's extremely public debut, followed by the ever gorier executions of the cape gang leaders on each successive night, there wasn't a man on any of the teams who hadn't heard of her, or didn't fear her. Cherie took that fear and blew it out for them, forcibly reminding them that they were doing something she would almost certainly disapprove of.

    And when Atropos disapproved of someone, their lifespan was generally measurable in hours at best.

    As it turned out, she didn't even have to maintain the push; once reminded, they stoked the fires themselves. Everybody had either seen one of Atropos' victims, or knew someone who had. This was no shadowy legend, lurking in the dark and spreading rumours. Atropos was absolutely, unequivocally real … and she would come for them.

    It was like she'd dropped an ink bomb in a pail of milk, as the darkness spread and consumed the light. Their collective sense of purpose dulled, began to question itself, then died altogether. The flame of their intent guttered then went out in one and then another. She could not discern words via her power, but her best bet at the emotion they were feeling would have expressed itself as, "Fuck it, I'm not being paid enough for this shit."

    By contrast, the drug addicts themselves were on the whole well-behaved. Only a few started acting up, but they weren't being paid to do it, so a little emotional adjustment calmed them right down again.

    As the bus trundled onward, Cherie wondered what Taylor was up to in New York.

    Oh, well. She'll tell me when she gets home.

    In the meantime, being the good guy felt surprisingly … good.

    <><>​

    Boardwalk

    Aisha

    "Thith ith tho good!"

    Aisha had to laugh at the image Riley presented. As Brian was off duty, he'd declared a family outing to the Boardwalk, where he'd bought cotton candy for both Aisha and Riley. Aisha was used to the stuff, though she still enjoyed it. Riley, on the other hand, had her face more or less buried in the colourful, wispy confectionary.

    "Wow," she said, sneaking her phone out for a picture of her 'cousin', because blackmail was always fun. "You've, like, never had any, ever?"

    "Family situation, remember?" That was Brian, pointing out what Aisha had temporarily forgotten. Those three innocuous words highlighted the fact that Riley's childhood from six to twelve had been ripped away from her, and she was only now being given the opportunity to catch up on being a kid.

    Which she was, in spades. With Aisha's enthusiastic encouragement, she was indulging in pillow-fights, back-talking Brian (but politely, because there were some habits Aisha didn't feel like breaking) and apparently geeking out over cotton candy.

    "I've seen it but never had the chance to eat any," Riley clarified once she came up for air. "Good girls don't eat sweets before supper, you see."

    "Wow, damn." Brian ruffled her hair. "Well, you go ahead and enjoy. This afternoon's about having fun, not sticking to rules."

    "If you're not too careful with that, you'll be sticking to everything else," Aisha jibed with a giggle. Just then, her phone beeped to indicate an incoming text message. "Whoop, gotta check this."

    With the phone already in her hand, she checked the screen. Her eyebrows hitched up and she barely managed to hold back a squee as she saw the caller ID: Her Dark Ladyship of Booyah. Then she looked at the message itself.

    Hi to my biggest fan. Imma drop by for a visit this afternoon. No need to rush home; I'll get there ten minutes after you walk in the front door. You go ahead and let Riley enjoy the Boardwalk. Also, got a souvenir for you.

    - A

    PS: No, really, enjoy the Boardwalk.

    Her initial impulse was to tell Brian to drop everything, they had to get home. But looking at the postscript, she took a breath. She knew enough about Atropos to be aware that whenever they got home, she would show up ten minutes after. And they were here to let Riley enjoy herself as a kid for maybe the first time in forever.

    K, she texted back, then pocketed her phone.

    "What was that about?" Brian was looking at her with the big-brother you're up to something vibe.

    "Nothing," she said, then saw from his expression that line would never fly. "Okay, fine. My favourite cape ever will be dropping in once we get home. She said not to worry about hurrying."

    He raised an eyebrow. "Favourite cape ever? You know …" He gestured at himself. I'm a cape, too.

    "I know what I said." Crossing her eyes at her brother, she stuck her tongue out at him, then went to Riley's rescue. "C'mon, Ri. Let's go get this stuff out of your hair. And ears. Wow, when you eat this stuff, you don't do it by halves."

    "But it's so good," protested Riley, but she didn't resist as Aisha grabbed her hand.

    Towing Riley toward the nearest public restrooms, Aisha grinned. "Not arguing."



    [A/N: too much content crept in, so I'm splitting this chapter into two, and posting the next one soon. Enjoy.]

    End of Part Thirty-Three
     
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    • Part Thirty-Four: Action!
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Thirty-Four: Action!

    [A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

    [A/N 2: This was a split chapter, so you may wish to check one back and make sure you've seen Part 33.]



    San Francisco, 12:55 PDT

    A Closed Session of the Elite

    The room was darkened. Every participant in the meeting who was truly there wore a cloth mask that obscured their features, though they'd also donned their formal clothing for the occasion; there was no need to be barbaric about this, after all. Screens across the other side of the table, allowing those who were absent to sit in, showed similarly darkened silhouettes.

    Voices spoke back and forth, with electronic alteration disguising familiar tones. Still, everyone there knew everyone else. Names were eschewed as a matter of course.

    "What is the latest on the Brockton Bay situation?"

    "The Gesellschaft attempted to smuggle drugs and weapons in by boat. Atropos predicted it the night before, then got on board while it was running silent and killed everyone on board. Including two capes, Night and Fog. She also blew up the boat and got off unscathed."

    All present considered that. Night and Fog had been formidable, if unimaginative. On the other hand, Atropos' reputation as a stone-cold scary Thinker was growing by the day. She had intercepted their latest attempt to smuggle drugs into the city, accurately identified the Elite as the originators, and had the sheer gall to call them out on it.

    The trouble was, nobody knew for a fact whether it was a bluff or if she could actually follow through on the threat. Few there were willing to gamble their lives against the cape who had single-handedly scoured every criminal cape out of what had once been a near-Mecca for crime on the east coast. Plans that had been drawn up for entry into the city in the next twelve to eighteen months were having to be put on hold.

    "How, exactly, did she get onto the boat, does anybody know?" This was a new voice.

    "The current theory is that she has somehow gained the ability to teleport, possibly via Tinkertech. She had at least one interaction with the Tinker known as Leet before his departure from the city, and there may have been others."

    Silence fell again, this time more fraught than before. A Combat Thinker was bad enough; one who could also teleport? 'Bad' was nowhere near an adequate descriptor.

    "This is troublesome. Is there any way Atropos can be co-opted? Bought off?"

    "Bribed? Unlikely. She arranged for the Slaughterhouse money to go straight into a fund to revitalise the city. If nearly a hundred million dollars won't tempt her, nothing we can offer her will."

    Several voices spoke at once, then paused. One carried on. "And if we offer to pay for the revitalisation, ourselves? Bring her into the fold that way?"

    "While we could potentially gain entry in this way, it wouldn't be worth the effort."

    "What?"

    "Why not?"

    There was a sigh, rendered into electronic hash. "In order to stay in Brockton Bay, we would have to work toward the improvement of the city at all times, while refraining from any actions that would gain us an unfair advantage. Our businesses would return a profit—the economy there is already showing signs of a rebound, even ahead of the rejuvenation effort—but it would be modest in comparison to those locations where we have total control. Also, she would almost certainly disallow any significant criminal activity, cape-related or otherwise."

    "And if we … chose not to accept that limitation?"

    "Her Thinker capability would likely warn her of treachery before we ever started acting against her. We've all seen how she acts against those she sees as enemies. As I've already made clear, it would not be worth the effort."

    "So, what you are saying is that because of Atropos, Brockton Bay is off limits?" The voice, already made neutral by the electronic mask, managed to render the question into a masterpiece of ambiguity.

    "That is what I am saying, yes."

    "Unfortunate. There were many opportunities to be had there."

    "Indeed."

    One of the screens, heretofore dark and silent, flared to full life. As the glare backscatter illuminated the room by a few degrees, those closest to it leaned away from the light. Pictured on the screen was a mask featuring a sneering visage, framed by wildly styled hair and a single earring. Incongruously, the newcomer wore a business suit of the highest quality, albeit without a tie.

    "That's not what you're saying." His voice, unaltered by electronic modulation, was distinctive and grating. "You're saying you want someone to go there and deal with your little cape-killing problem so you can waltz in and take over, heh." He shook his head in what seemed to be amused contempt.

    "Atropos is a combat Thinker, Bastard Son." The warning tone was evident even through the modulation.

    "Who uses guns and knives." The sneering tone was a match for the mask. "Anything she can do, my boys and girls can match, heh."

    "You are not being ordered to do this. You will receive no support if you do go."

    Behind the eyeholes of his mask, Bastard Son rolled his eyes. "Christ, she's really got you buffaloed, doesn't she? Well, I'm going to Brockton Bay, and I'll bring you back Atropos' head. And then you can walk on in nice and peaceful and set up business the way you want to, heh." His voice was savagely sarcastic. "You're welcome."

    His screen went dark again; silence fell once more as the echoes from his presence faded from the room.

    Eventually, someone spoke. "Do you think he can do it?"

    "I place no bets."

    <><>​

    Diamond Dreams Jewelry Store

    Lenore

    Right on thirty seconds by the clock on the wall, the door was roughly pushed open and a tall woman entered the store. Wearing a biker jacket and fingerless gloves over a t-shirt bearing the anarchy symbol in red, Ravager sported a cloth mask tied all the way around her head, covering the top half of her face, and carried a sawn-off double-barrelled shotgun. Even without Atropos' warning, Lenore would have recognised her; for a B-list villain, she had a distinctive look about her. The public perception of her could be summed up as do not approach, do not engage, do not antagonise.

    Mouse Protector, of course, did all three, but that was probably because Ravager sought her out repeatedly. The independent hero was good enough to take her on and beat her, repeatedly. Lenore had no idea why Ravager kept coming back for more punishment. Some people couldn't bear to lose, apparently.

    "This is a robbery!" announced the villain, somewhat superfluously, levelling the shotgun at Lenore's head. As she moved into the room, three men wearing balaclavas crowded in behind her. They carried pry-bars and cloth sacks, evidently ready to clear out the store's floor stock. "Do anything stupid and I will blow your fucking head off, you wimpy little bitch. Do you understand me?"

    "Y-yes," quavered Lenore, suddenly a lot less sure about this whole thing. Where was Atropos? Wasn't she supposed to be stepping in and saving the day?

    "Good." There was more than a little bit of a growl to Ravager's tone. She was definitely in a bad mood. Moving up to where the security door led into the back of the shop, she prodded it with the shotgun barrel. "What's the code?"

    Before Lenore could answer, the door opened from the inside and Atropos plucked the shotgun from Ravager's hand as though it had been offered and accepted. Then the butt-end of the shotgun smacked Ravager right between the eyes; stumbling backward, the villain sat down hard on the floor, apparently stunned.

    "The code is, 'say please', dumbass." Atropos stepped out through the doorway and let it swing closed behind her. She gave Lenore a quick sideways nod—start recording—then turned her attention to the three henchmen. Interrupted in their perusal of which cases they were going to break into first, they stared back at her. "I've only got beef with your boss. You can stay and die, or you can fuck off right now." She gestured with the shotgun. "Your choice."

    They may have been armed with more than pry-bars, but whatever firearms they had on them were not in their hands, leaving them at a fatal disadvantage when it came to someone with Atropos' known capabilities. Lenore supposed that if Ravager had been a well-respected employer, they may have made a stand. As it was, they looked at Atropos then at each other.

    "Nope."

    "Nope."

    "Fuck, nope."

    Seconds later, the door closed behind the last of them.

    "What the fuck are you doing here?" squawked Ravager, pulling herself up by a display case. "You never leave Brockton Bay!"

    "On the contrary, Ravisher, I've already made it clear that I'll travel if I consider it necessary." Atropos made the shotgun vanish into her long-coat with an ease that would've made a professional magician start taking notes. "Or was it Rabbithole? I've forgotten."

    Filming the action, Lenore couldn't help but admire the red flush that spread along Ravager's jawline; not from embarrassment, but from anger. "It's Ravager, you fucktard!"

    "Hmm, I dunno. Radisher, you fucktard seems like a complicated name to me," mused Atropos, fiddling with something in her hands; Lenore couldn't quite see what it was. "Maybe you should consider shortening it, Wrangler?"

    "It's Ravager!" Screaming her name at the top of her lungs, Ravager pulled a wicked-looking knife from under her jacket and lunged at Atropos, apparently throwing all caution to the winds.

    What happened next was almost too fast to catch, even though Lenore was watching; Ravager's knife was less than a foot from Atropos before she caught the villain's wrist with one hand and stepped aside. As Ravager went past, Atropos slapped her in the face with the other hand. Once more, Ravager ended up on the floor, this time face-first. Atropos stepped to the side and carefully placed the knife on a display case, out of the way.

    "What the fuck? What did you do to me? What did you do to my eyes?" Ravager clawed her way to her feet, staring around blindly, and no wonder; over the eye-holes in her mask were now two palm-sized novelty-store googly-eyes, the 'pupils' rolling around crazily as Ravager stared wildly from side to side. Despite the still-apparent danger, Lenore had to work hard to hold back from bursting into laughter; it was just too funny.

    Holding up a drawstring bag for the camera, Atropos leaned over briefly; Lenore heard marbles bouncing over the tiled floor. Ravager apparently didn't, because one stumbling step too far (googly eyes still bouncing around wildly) sent her feet flying into the air as she landed hard on her back. The pratfall was magnificent, and Lenore nearly dropped the phone as she choked with laughter.

    "Ooh, you'll want to watch your footing there, Ravioli," Atropos advised, far too late. "Though I do think that's a good look for you." Almost casually, she took a can of actual ravioli from her pocket and pulled the top off.

    "Fuck you! The name's Ravager! Ravager!" Clambering to her feet once more, Ravager wrenched at the googly-eyes that Atropos had somehow glued to her mask. In the end, she just ripped the mask off and flung it aside, revealing her uncovered face in all its fury … half a second before Atropos threw the contents of the can in her face.

    "Nah, I think I prefer Ravioli. Suits you." Atropos stepped neatly aside from an enraged charge that ended in Ravager tripping and head-butting the wall; Lenore wasn't sure whether this was due to Atropos or the marbles that were still rolling around.

    "I'm going to kill you!" the villain raged, dragging herself to her feet once again. Lenore had to admit, she herself would've just surrendered by now to get the humiliation over with. "I'm going to murder you so hard, you and the shop bitch there."

    "Now see, that's just rude," Atropos complained, wandering closer. Again, she seemed to be fiddling with something that Lenore just couldn't see. "Swearing and threatening innocents? That's just terrible PR, Ravioli. You should know that by—"

    "Shut the fuck up!" screamed Ravager. "It's RAVAGER!" Clearly consumed by her fury, she flung herself at her tormentor, fingers crooked to try to tear at Atropos like a wild animal. Atropos melted aside like a canny matador up against a particularly clumsy bull, and smacked Ravager in the face once more. Yet again, the marbles were the villain's undoing and she face-planted into the floor as if she'd planned it.

    "No, I'm pretty sure it's Ravioli. I mean, you can clear it up right now if you want." Atropos leaned against a display case with her arms folded, the very image of patience.

    This time when Ravager got up, Lenore lost it altogether. Firmly planted in the villain's mouth was a large bright pink novelty-store pacifier with a half-circle cut out of the top. Between that and the pasta still adhering here and there to the supervillain's face, she looked utterly and totally ridiculous. "MMMPH!" she enunciated loudly, though with zero chance of being understood. "Mmmph. Mmmmmmmmmph! MMMMMPH!"

    "Okay, Ravioli it is, then," Atropos said, as though agreeing to whatever Ravager was saying. "You don't have to repeat yourself. I heard you the first time."

    Despite being weak with laughter, Lenore worked to keep the phone pointed at the pair. Atropos had definitely saved her, so it was the least she could do to record the aftermath. Though she was honestly starting to wonder if Ravager wouldn't prefer death to this.

    <><>​

    Boston, Massachusetts

    Judge Peter Regan's Chambers

    The phone on Peter's desk rang. Frowning at the name that showed up on the caller ID, he picked up the handset. "Hello, Dragon," he said. "How may I help you?"

    "Good afternoon, Judge Regan." The Canadian hero's greeting was polite, which didn't reassure him in the slightest. Nobody who called out of the blue actually wanted to just pass the time. Dragon needed something from him, and he had an idea what it was. "I'm calling about the Mcabee case. It's on your docket, yes?"

    "The Canary case? Yes, it is," he replied cautiously. "If you have access to evidence regarding the case, you should be speaking to the District Attorney or the defense lawyer, not me."

    "Not evidence, exactly." Her tone was firm. "I've heard allegations that she's being treated unfairly. That precautions which have already been approved will prejudice the jury against her, and have no basis in fact. I've even heard you won't be giving her the right to speak for herself, which is worrying if true. Is it true?"

    He sighed. This objection had been bound to come up, along with others, so he'd made sure he had the rebuttals ready to hand. "She's a known Master. We don't know that she doesn't have a Brute rating that could allow her to tear off her gag in court—"

    "It occurs to me that you could put her in a soundproof room with a teletype link, and bypass the vocal aspects of her power altogether," Dragon interrupted. "In fact, I happen to know that you already have such facilities. Why aren't you allowing her to use them?"

    It was time to put his foot down. "Dragon, this conversation is veering perilously close to a charge of attempted obstruction of justice. I do things my way in my courtroom, and unless you wanted to show up with a license to practise law—"

    "Oh, this isn't coming from me. I got this all from someone else."

    He paused. "What? Who?"

    "You've heard of Atropos, have you not? Well, the other day we were in communication regarding another matter, and this particular case came up. She seems to be aware of aspects of the situation that are not public knowledge, such as the things I just brought up. Also, she mentioned secret meetings between you and the PRT where the outcome of the case had already been decided, and that Canary was due to be sent to the Birdcage so as to make an example of her. Being somewhat concerned about the matter, I asked her what she intended to do if the trial and sentencing went ahead as planned."

    Peter Regan had indeed heard of Atropos. Sweat springing out on his brow despite the cool temperature in his chambers, he sat upright, grasping the phone tightly. "And what did she say?" It was all he could do to make the question sound normal.

    "She said she could solve the matter either quietly or loudly. I asked her what 'loudly' meant. This is a direct quote: I go in there and bust her out. Bring her back to Brockton Bay, unfreeze her assets, and let it be known that she's under my protection. While they're jumping up and down over that, I locate the inevitable records that were made of these secret discussions and put them on the public record. Lawyers will be falling over themselves to represent her. The PRT takes a huge hit in reputation, people get demoted, the judge gets disbarred, and Chief Director Costa-Brown resigns quietly."

    That was bad. That was really, really bad. Peter had his own records of the discussions in question, and although he could easily dispose of them, that didn't mean there weren't others elsewhere. Still, he had to know. "What … what is the quiet way?"

    "Not as stringent, thank goodness. This is also a direct quote: I have a nice private chat with the judge one dark night. As a totally unrelated incidence, he recuses himself, with the result that a lot of this shit they're piling on her will just go away. Once she has access to her own funds and her own lawyer, she can fight her own battles."

    Instinctively, he shook his head. The very last thing he wanted was to be woken up in the middle of the night with Atropos looming over him and asking questions that she might not like the answers to. 'She … she can't do this!" he protested weakly. "This is … this is absolutely obstruction of justice! I'll ask for protection, from the Triumvirate if I have to!"

    "Oh, hadn't you heard?" The tone of Dragon's voice warned him ahead of time. This was going to be bad news. "Atropos has announced her intention to kill the Endbringers. Given her proven talent for murder, the Triumvirate has decided to go hands-off on her for the time being, to see if she can actually pull it off."

    His eyes widened as he felt the lifeline slipping away. "They can't do that!" But even as he protested, he knew that they could. And considering the bloodbath she'd perpetrated on the Nine, there was no way merely human security could hold her back from her purpose.

    "I guess that's between you and them. Anyway, I just thought I'd give you the heads-up. Good afternoon, Judge. Have a nice day." The call ended.

    Peter sat for a long time staring at the phone before he put it down.

    <><>​

    Flechette

    Lily aimed her arbalest and shot the arrow across the street, nailing it into the stone façade of the building opposite. Exerting her power on the chain that trailed back from the arrow, she fused it into the parapet where she was, then stepped up onto the chain and fitted the purpose-built grooves in her boot-soles onto it. Her power made her boots almost frictionless, allowing her to slide the length of the chain in just seconds. Then she loaded another arrow and shot back at where she'd attached the chain in the first place. It severed the links; she grabbed the now-loose chain as she dropped, allowing it to slide through her gloves until she reached ground level.

    Seconds later, a collapsible Frisbee hit the wall beside her and rebounded to land on the sidewalk. Mouse Protector appeared beside it, then leaned down to retrieve it and stow it in a pouch. Turning, she gave Flechette a nod. "Where's Jouster?"

    "Still coming," Lily said. "His Mover power only works in short bursts. I told him I wouldn't go in until you arrived. Why does Atropos want us here, anyway?" She'd heard of the Brockton Bay villain, but had never expected to meet her, at least on the same side of a set of bars.

    "Search me. She just said to invite you along." Mouse Protector looked up as a bright figure flashed overhead, then came down for a fast landing. "Oh, hey, Legend. Decided to get in on the fun, huh?"

    Legend nodded, his normally cheerful expression currently absent. "I've heard a lot about Atropos, and I thought it was time we had a face-to-face. Also, Flechette and Jouster are my responsibility while they're in the field."

    "Fair." Mouse Protector pointed down the street, toward the frontage of Diamond Dreams. "Looks like someone's … holy crap. Oh, God. I've got to get a photo of this."

    The door had just opened and someone Lily vaguely recognised as Ravager stumbled out, her hands zip-tied behind her back. There were what looked like squares of ravioli stuck to her face and jacket, a large pink pacifier in her mouth, an equally large plastic clown nose covering her own nose (with oversized nostril-holes), and she had two huge googly eyes covering her real eyes. To add salt to the wound, someone had painted the word "RAVIOLI" across the back of her jacket, and put big streaks of green and pink in her hair.

    "Oh. Oh, my goodness." Legend ventured closer, staring in fascinated disbelief. Lily followed on, making sure she didn't get in the way of Mouse Protector taking photos. "That is Ravager … right?"

    "Not anymore." Atropos strolled out through the still-open door, then leaned back through for a moment. "Sorry about the mess!" she called out, then let the door close. "Ladies and gentleman, may I introduce: Ravioli, scourge of the New York restaurant scene." She tapped the villain on the shoulder. "Sit. Stay."

    Obediently, Ravager sat down, right where she was. She appeared to be at a point where she just didn't care anymore, as far as Lily could tell.

    "Atropos …" Legend seemed to be lost for words. "What …?"

    "Ask MP," Atropos said briskly, shutting her phone off. "Once this goes online, along with the full video of the beatdown I just gave Ravioli here, do you think she'll have a shred of credibility left?"

    "Holy shit." Mouse Protector held her hands over her mouth, but kept talking anyway. "Holy shit. You did all this to her … just to mess with her credibility?"

    Atropos shrugged. "That's what I said I'd do, right? You didn't want her dead. She might want to be dead right now, but that's totally not my problem."

    "But … but … why?" Legend frowned. "What did she ever do to you?"

    "Tried to hire me to off MP here, actually." Atropos rested her elbow comfortably on Mouse Protector's shoulder. Mouse Protector didn't seem to notice, staring enthralled at her sworn enemy's discomfiture. "Here; this chat log should cover it." Pulling up an image on her phone, she showed it to Legend.

    He read it through, his eyebrows rising higher with every line. When he got to the end, he stared at Ravager, then at Mouse Protector, then at Atropos. "A fundraising event?"

    "Yup." Atropos stashed the phone away in one of her pockets. "Brockton Bay General Hospital, children's oncology ward. Look it up for yourself."

    "Thank you. I will." He shook his head as he looked down at the thoroughly defeated Ravager … or, as Atropos had renamed her, Ravioli. "Remind me to never get on your bad side."

    Mouse Protector snorted. "As if anyone needs a reminder for that."

    "Okay, wait just one second." Lily held up her hands in a 'time-out' gesture. "Okay, I get that you did this to Rav … uh, Ravioli as a favour to Mouse Protector." She looked down the block toward where Jouster was jogging toward them. "But why me and Jouster? Why did you want us here too?"

    Legend's attention sharpened. "What? You weren't on site already?"

    "Nah, I asked for them. Mainly Flechette, actually." Atropos turned toward Lily. "No big deal. I know someone who's a big fan, is all. I was just wondering if I could get a selfie with you before I went back to Brockton Bay."

    Legend cleared his throat. "Ah … about that …"

    Atropos turned her head toward him, and Lily got the impression of a raised eyebrow. "Let me guess. Director Wilkins is still butt-hurt about how I shut down her attempt to figure out my secret identity, and she's issued an arrest warrant specifically for little old me, for the state of New York."

    "Ah … yes." He seemed somewhat embarrassed at the notion. "Chief Director Costa-Brown filled me in on what actually happened that night, though she never explained how you got into the Director's office to begin with."

    "A girl's gotta have her secrets." Lily could hear the grin in her voice. "Do you intend to try to arrest me?"

    "I believe I will be dealing with Ravager for the next … say, five minutes." He gave her a firm stare. "After that, I'll be forced to notice your presence."

    "Fair enough." She tilted her head toward the defeated villain. "Oh, and just in case you're wondering? Krazy Glue."

    He followed her gaze. "Krazy Glue? Oh, the nose?"

    "And the pacifier. And the googly eyes." The suggestion of a grin was back. "The body paint should wash straight off, though. And she might lose her eyebrows."

    "I believe that will be the least of her problems." He shook his head again. "I suspect I should be glad you're not an official hero. The villains would be complaining non-stop."

    "Meh, heroism's overrated. Anyway, can I get back to asking Flechette for a selfie?"

    "Be my guest." He leaned over Ravager, possibly checking her bonds, as Atropos turned back to Lily.

    "So, hey," she said. "Like I said, my friend is a big fan, and I think your powers are pretty cool too. Can I get you to sign a selfie with me?"

    Jouster panted up alongside Flechette and came to a halt. "What's going on here?" he asked. "What did I miss? Wait, is that Atropos?"

    "You missed nearly everything, hon," Mouse Protector said not unkindly, taking him aside. "And yes it is, but we've got it all under control. How about you go in there and get a statement from the shop assistant, and see if we can get access to the security footage? Because I absolutely want to see how she ended up like that."

    "Um." Lily found herself put very much on the spot. Having a notorious mass murderer claim to be a fan of her work wasn't quite what she wanted out of life. On the other hand, Atropos was surprisingly chirpy and outgoing in person. Despite knowing that Atropos was an unrepentant killer, she found herself warming to the black-clad girl. "Wait, how am I going to sign a selfie?"

    "I am so glad you asked." Atropos delved into one of the pockets of the long-coat she was wearing, and came up with an odd-looking camera.

    "A Polaroid." Lily shook her head in wonder. "I didn't even know they made those anymore."

    "We've had this one for years." Atropos held it up. "Is it okay, or no?"

    Looking around for inspiration, Lily glanced at Mouse Protector, who gave her a nod. "Go on, why not? In fact, heck, can I get one with you too, 'Trops?"

    Atropos sighed. "Only you would come up with a nickname like that. And you're the only one I'm going to allow to use it. But sure, let's get that selfie."

    As she lined up with Mouse Protector and Atropos, who was angling the camera to catch Ravager in the shot as well, Lily shook her head.

    This was not how I expected my day to go.



    End of Part Thirty-Four
     
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    • Part Thirty-Five: Stepping Things Up
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Thirty-Five: Stepping Things Up

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



    Taylor

    "Well, this has been fun," I said, pretending to peer over Flechette's shoulder as she signed the photo. In actual fact, I had my hands behind my back, sliding my sleeve back to get access to the teleporter. Going by touch, I flipped the cover up and hit the button to recall the next coordinates programmed into the teleporter. Two more button presses set the timer, then I pressed the 'go' button. With that sorted out, I closed the cover and slid my sleeve back down. "But I really need to be getting back to Brockton Bay before someone like Bastard Son decides that the place is ripe for the picking."

    Legend looked alarmed. "I know you've been destroying drug shipments belonging to the Elite as well as Gesellschaft, but do you have reliable intel that they're sending Bastard Son to take you out?" We both knew the Elite were making tentative moves toward the east coast, but they didn't have a definitive foothold yet. Brockton Bay, as it had been, would've offered a tempting target for them.

    I grinned; he couldn't see my expression, but he could certainly infer it from the tone of my voice. "Not sending as such. Just failing to protest too hard when he goes of his own accord. A few of them were kind of subtly encouraging him, so I'm going to have to explain matters to them in good time. If they're lucky, I won't have to shout."

    "I've heard of that asshole," Mouse Protector interjected. "If you want, I can come back to Brockton Bay for a while if you need backup. They say his group can be almost as bad as the Nine were."

    "Only in intent, not capability." I knew there was little I could say to assuage their worries. In this particular circumstance, I figured doing was better than telling. "I appreciate the offer, but I'll have everything handled on that front by the time the fundraiser rolls around. See you then?"

    "Totally," she agreed, grinning broadly, and offered her hand to shake.

    I could tell she intended to mark my glove as a beacon for her teleport power, but only for if I ever needed help. It was sneaky and underhanded, but I couldn't really complain. I did sneaky and underhanded all the time, then disguised it with flashy and blatant. It was amazing what I could get away with when people thought they could see my every move.

    I shook her hand, then leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "I know you mean well, so I won't store it at the bottom of my closet." Then I stepped back from her and turned my attention to Flechette. "Hey, thanks for the autograph. My friend will really appreciate it. She's kind of had a bad family situation, so this will cheer her right up." I tilted my head slightly. "And you know, if you ever want to talk to someone about anything, totally non-judging, I can be a real good listener. Just saying."

    "Uh, thanks." She handed the photo to me, along with the marker I'd supplied for the occasion. "I might actually take you up on that sometime."

    "Flechette …" Legend didn't say any more than that, but his tone was warning enough.

    "Oh, relax." I tucked the photo away and spread my hands. "I promise, she'll be safe with me. Hell, if you let her come visit Brockton Bay, I'll even give her a tour of the city, including the places non-locals don't know about. And I totally won't try to recruit her for the dark side. Even though we have cookies."

    "Director Wilkins would not approve of any such thing." He didn't sound as though he agreed with such a stance; rather, he was just saying it as a fact.

    "Well, as I said earlier, Director Wilkins is butt-hurt over the fact that I caught her with her hand in the cookie jar and the Chief Director backed me up." I shrugged. "Anyway, what she doesn't know won't hurt her, right?"

    Legend sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm pretty sure that's not the way it works."

    "Does with me. Anyway, I'll see you guys around. Some sooner than others." I decided not to do finger-guns, because that might not go down well. Instead, I drew my shears and mimed snipping a doorway out of the air.

    Right on time, the portal formed and I stepped into it with a little finger-wave. The last thing I saw of the heroes were their expressions: Legend resigned, Mouse Protector intrigued, Jouster discombobulated and Flechette thoughtful.

    <><>​

    West Coast

    The man known as Bastard Son sat and pondered his options. He knew full-well that even those who tacitly approved of his expedition to Brockton Bay didn't hold high hopes for his success, and in all honesty he didn't blame them. Among the other Elite he was known as a mad dog, using vicious and unfair means to achieve his aims, which was true to a point. However, none of this meant he was stupid.

    A reputation for ferocity could carry a cape quite some distance, making potential opponents unwilling to engage them in battle. Simply showing up could win the fight without a punch being thrown. On top of that, actual capability helped as well; a cape known for potent abilities would naturally have fewer challengers. But the third leg of the tripod was the dual thrust of strategy and tactics, winning the fight before the opponent ever showed up.

    Atropos was a formidable cape by any metric. Her record was flawless, killing the (almost) unkillable Oni Lee, then four other cape crime bosses over the course of five nights. She was clearly a combat Thinker of some note, as shown by her by-the-numbers takedowns of both the Nine and the Teeth (even Butcher, which had impressed him considerably). Her tactical acumen was damn near flawless, her capabilities impressive and her reputation fearsome.

    It was no wonder that most of the villain capes who would otherwise be diving in for their slice of the Brockton Bay pie were sheering off. Equally unsurprising was the fact that even his colleagues in the Elite were a lot less sanguine about setting up shop there than in any other city they'd made moves on. Hero capes were one thing; they could be worked around. A villain cape who made it a point to violently (and publicly) murder intruding villains, so feared that even the PRT walked softly around her? Quite another story.

    From everything he'd seen of her actions, she would not care about his reputation, so he wouldn't be able to scare her off that way. Her combat capabilities were formidable, but she was limited to human-level speed and strength, and thus far had only used non-Tinkertech weapons; the people he trained were at least as good as her, and they'd have the added advantage of numbers. She'd have to beat every one of them flawlessly, while all they had to do was get one lucky hit in on her. (Her newfound teleport capability would be an issue there, but they should be able to work around it.) And finally, while her tactics were a thing of beauty, he had yet to see her employ long-range strategy. Attacking the enemy's weaknesses before the battle even began.

    One such obvious weakness was of course Atropos' family and friends. Menacing the loved ones of a troublesome cape was such a hackneyed plot that even the villains of the corniest superhero dramas didn't stoop so low, at most threatening to reveal their secret identity. That didn't make it invalid, so much as it ensured that anyone using this technique would be reviled in the cape community and beyond. He was fine with that; as far as he was concerned, having a name like 'Bastard Son' gave adequate warning of how far he was willing to go.

    Of course, locating a family member or friend to place adequate pressure on was another matter altogether. Atropos' costume covered her up so thoroughly that even her skin colour was a matter of conjecture. From her voice and body type, she was a tall teenage girl or slender woman with curly black hair. Even that could be a ruse, but he didn't think so; the mention of the girl she had murdered in school for being a bully gave him the strong impression that she was school-age too, or knew someone who was.

    Then there was the head (and only known member) of her fan club, PHO username GreatAndTerribleAisha. There couldn't be too many Aishas in Brockton Bay, especially of school age. He envisaged a Goth teen wearing black lipstick, at least one skull tattoo, and more piercings than were healthy. If not fitting that exact description, he was certain she would stand out in some way from the common crowd. Someone with such a pretentious username and actively being a fan of Atropos couldn't be normal. It just wouldn't happen.

    The trouble was, in order to follow up any of these leads, he would have to either have someone on the ground in Brockton Bay, or get a Thinker or computer expert to go online. He didn't have any one of these at the moment, but that was just a matter of time. And while he was working on that, he did have one other leverage point he could make use of.

    Atropos had consistently, ever since her debut, avoided targeting innocent bystanders. Her Combat Thinker ability, he figured, must have a hand in that, seeing how she'd spared the driver of the truck Accord had sent into Brockton Bay. This was probably why the PRT ENE had adopted their current attitude (even actively stated by Bagrat) of standing back and awarding points for style.

    If she started killing innocents, the PRT would have no choice but to resume putting pressure on her, thus making it harder for her to come after any members of the Elite who happened to be in town. Alternatively, if letting these innocents live meant that drugs got into Brockton Bay, she would be stressed by her failure in that regard, especially after all the song and dance she'd made about her successes. A stressed enemy was an enemy who made mistakes, and he was entirely willing to capitalise on any and all mistakes made by his enemies.

    A cruel smile twisted his lips. Time to see where your priorities really lie.

    That was the beauty of the situation. Whichever way she jumped, he won.

    <><>​

    Tenebrae

    Brian parked the hire car and killed the engine. "Home sweet home. So to speak."

    He was actually more appreciative of his current situation than his comment let on. As it was, he and Aisha (and Riley) had comfortable accommodations and access to a hire car, while his sister and 'cousin' were getting the educational assistance they needed; Riley was bright enough on her own merits, but her formal learning opportunities had been few and far between over the previous six years.

    As the girls scrambled from the car and raced each other for the front door, Brian climbed out more sedately, grabbed the bag containing the trinkets they'd bought for each other (using his paycheck, he mused with a tolerant grumble) and locked the car. All in all, he knew, things could be a lot worse for him.

    Given his specific circumstances, the PRT had gone with a 'carrot' rather than 'stick' approach. He had to wear an ankle monitor while out and about unsupervised (that is, not on duty) but Armsmaster had explained that this was more to satisfy the bureaucrats and ensure he wasn't using his powers out of costume than from any concern of him being a flight risk. His showing with Atropos had garnered him a quiet 'attaboy' from the higher-ups, so that was good too.

    Ironically enough, the ankle monitor was actually Shadow Stalker's fault: posthumously, even. When it came out that Atropos had murdered her for being an unrepentant bully (a move that had left Brian with decidedly mixed feelings about Atropos once he was finally filled in), a quiet investigation into the school records had uncovered many reports of her being called to the principal's office for violence against her classmates. From the equally quiet explosion that had emanated from Director Piggot's office once the full extent of Stalker's perfidy had come to light, the PRT had been kept in the loop about exactly none of this.

    The upshot of this, after some high-level talks among the PRT and other organisations, was that all such probationary Wards (including Brian, despite the fact that he had nothing to do with her actions) would be wearing the ankle-cuff for six months, which was the absolute minimum period before his situation could be reviewed. After that point, he'd been privately assured by the Deputy Director, they would expedite the removal of the cuff. He was personally philosophical about the whole thing; this way, he still got to take care of Aisha and Riley.

    Carrying the bag, he strolled up to the now-open front door and stepped inside. Both girls already had their shoes off (he'd instituted that rule on the first day) and Riley was in the kitchen, rummaging in the fridge. Meanwhile, Aisha had flopped onto the sofa with her feet up on the coffee table, doing a damned good impression of a beached invertebrate. As he closed the door, the TV blared to life with some game show or other. Aisha liked to heckle the contestants, while Riley knew the oddest facts about medicine and biology.

    Brian didn't like to think too hard about where she'd acquired them.

    "Feet off the furniture," he said automatically, levering his own shoes off with his toes, then pulling his socks off and dropping them on top. "And turn that down a bit, please."

    Aisha wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue at him, but the volume dropped away at the same time as her feet hit the floor. "I wasn't wearing shoes," she retorted half-heartedly.

    "Which is good, but." He kept his tone mild; this was a time for informing, not yelling. "Our living situation here will never not be under intense scrutiny. There are absolutely people out there who would love to take you and Riley away from me if they could prove I wasn't a fit caregiver for you two. I've even heard that Youth Guard has been making noises about my 'criminal background'. The Deputy Director is on our side, and Ms Brown isn't about to make up any dirt about us, but she does have to hand in a report of her observations after each visit, and if you do it while she's here, that'll be one more piece of ammunition to use against us."

    She blew a raspberry, but just a small one. "Okay, fiiine," she drawled, then her eyes lit on the bag he was carrying. "Oh, cool, you brought the stuff in. Gimme."

    "Nope." Brian lowered himself into an armchair and let himself relax. "Not until you learn to say please. Ms Brown will be reporting on stuff like that, too."

    Riley came back into the room, carrying three glasses of fruit punch. "He's got a point, Aish," she said earnestly. "Adults take notice when kids forget to be polite. And I don't know about you, but I like it here. It's nice."

    "Whatever happened to sister solidarity?" Aisha's voice rose in faux indignation. "You're supposed to take my side, not his." All the same, she accepted the glass that Riley offered. "Ooh, thanks."

    "I notice you use manners with Riley." Brian raised his eyebrows and gave her a dry look.

    "Because she's my way cool cuz, an' you're … you."

    "Manners are still manners." Atropos stepped out of the kitchen.

    "Jesus Christ!" yelped Brian, barely managing to avoid spilling the glass he'd just accepted on himself. "How did you get in here?" Belatedly, he recalled the message Aisha had gotten while they were on the Boardwalk. For some reason, he'd thought she would be normal and knock on the door.

    Riley was equally startled, but she only slopped a little on her hands. "It's you," she breathed. "Atropos." She seemed to shrink back away from the newcomer.

    "That she is, cuz." Aisha put her drink on the coffee table and jumped up, showing far more energy than she'd exhibited since walking in the front door. "So, where you been? What you been up to? Kill anyone interesting?"

    Atropos chuckled. "Nobody's dead. But Ravager wishes she was."

    Brian knew that name. "She's the one who's always tangling with Mouse Protector, right?" He glanced at Riley and Aisha; both were nodding.

    "Yeah, we all know who she is." Aisha frowned, then looked back at Atropos. "If you didn't gank her, what did you do to her?"

    "One second." Atropos turned to Riley, her whole stance somehow becoming softer and gentler. "Relax. It's all fine. I'm not here to kill you."

    "Oh." Riley seemed to let out a long-held breath, slumping slightly as she did so. "I just … I just thought that if you showed up, it was because Bonesaw was coming out again and I had to die."

    Atropos shook her head. "No. You're good. I'm here to see my number one fan." Moving over to the sofa, she gave Aisha a hug. "Been at least pretending to behave for your brother?"

    "Meh." Aisha returned the hug. "He's annoying and nit-picky and a doofus, but I've had worse people looking after me, so I guess I can live with it. Why do you smell like Italian food?"

    Atropos chuckled. "Well, that's a story. So, a little while ago, Ravager offered to pay me a million dollars to murder Mouse Protector for her."

    Brian blinked. "And … you didn't?" It seemed to be the way the story was going, but he'd seen how very good she was at killing. Still, taking money for assassinating someone didn't really seem to be her style.

    "Of course she didn't," Aisha insisted. "My girl Atropos wouldn't do something like that! She'll murder the shit out of a bad guy, but not the good guys."

    "Thank you, Aisha." Atropos gave her an appreciative nod. "I wasn't about to deprive the world of a positive benefit to society like Mouse Protector, so I decided to show Ravager the error of her ways. Without killing her, because Mouse Protector asked me not to." Producing her phone from her pocket with a flourish, she pulled up a video clip and held it so they could see.

    Curious, Brian got up and crowded in with Riley and Aisha so he could see the screen. As the footage started, he could see Atropos confronting Ravager and three mooks; Atropos was holding a shotgun and Ravager was empty-handed, but he strongly suspected that hadn't always been the case.

    "I've only got beef with your boss. You can stay and die, or you can fuck off right now," announced Atropos on the screen.

    "Ooh, yeah," enthused Aisha. "You tell 'em!"

    Brian ignored her, watching the screen. He seriously wanted to see this.

    <><>​

    Taylor

    "Atropos … what?" Legend sounded thoroughly confused, which still amused me. I ended the clip before it could loop back around to the beginning, and put my phone away.

    Aisha and Riley were helpless with laughter on the sofa; Brian was holding it together, but just barely. "Holy shit!" cackled Aisha. "The googly eyes! I'll never not see her with 'em now!"

    Riley gasped for breath. "The … nose …" she managed, tears streaming from her eyes. "And … the ravioli … oh God … can't breathe …"

    I watched as Brian took a deep breath, trying to regain some level of control. But his mouth betrayed him, curling into a grin as he let out another bark of laughter. "I will never see ravioli the same way again," he declared once he had a grip on himself. "But the pacifier was the best bit by far."

    "'Sit. Stay.' She'll never get respect again, as long as she lives," Aisha said, still giggling. "Hope Mouse Protector was happy." She looked at me hopefully. "Can we watch that again?"

    "It'll be online by tonight," I assured her. "I'll link it to my PHO post. In the meantime, I did say I'd bring back souvenirs."

    "Ooh." Aisha sat up, showing considerable interest. "What'd you get?"

    From the appropriate pocket, I took out the two photos I'd gotten at the time. Both had been signed by Flechette and Mouse Protector. On the back of one, Flechette had written, 'Always stand up for what you know is right.' while on the other, Mouse Protector had put, 'Protect the ones who need protecting and you'll do okay.'

    I handed Riley the one with Flechette's inscription and Aisha the one with Mouse Protector's. "Sorry," I said to Brian. "I would've gotten you one from Legend but he wouldn't stand still long enough."

    "Eh," he said with a shrug. "That's okay. The Ravager takedown—"

    "Ravioli," Aisha corrected him without looking up from her avid study of the photo. "Her name's Ravioli now."

    "Okay, fair point." He chuckled. "The Ravioli takedown was definitely worth watching. How many people have seen it so far?"

    "Not including you three?" I asked. "Nobody. Well, Ravioli herself and the person who filmed it, but that's it. You got the advance screening."

    "Dang." Aisha looked up from the photo. "This is pretty cool. I love how you got Ravioli in the background."

    "And Legend was there, and he just … let you leave?" Riley sounded confused. "I know you've stopped a lot of villains—"

    "Killed," Aisha corrected her kindly. "Killed a lot of villains."

    "Yes, thank you." Riley gave Aisha a mild jab in the ribs with her elbow, then looked back up at me. "But how did you persuade him to let you go?"

    "Didn't have to." I grinned. "Since I told everyone I was going to be Ending the Endbringers, the Triumvirate have been going, 'Uh … what if she can?' and cutting me a lot of slack. Showing restraint from time to time, and not targeting innocents, also helps there."

    "Can you?" Brian looked uncertain. "Kill an Endbringer, I mean?"

    "Well, I said I'd End the illegal hard drug trade in the city, too," I noted. "Drug rehab clinics are in operation right now, with more opening tomorrow. You literally can't get drugs in this city right now for love nor money because what people haven't used, I've destroyed. And after the Gesellschaft bombed out with their night-time smuggling operation, there's very few with the will and the wherewithal to try."

    "Yeah, Bri," jeered Aisha. "When my girl Atropos says she's gonna murder the shit out of something, it dies." She tilted her head slightly. "So, how you gonna do it?"

    Brian face-palmed. "I just got it. 'Bombed out'. You blew up the damn boat. You're terrible."

    I snickered at him. "Never said I wasn't. And as for how I'm gonna End the Endbringers … it'll be with the Power of Friendship!" I might've struck a dramatic pose then, with my shears held high, just for effect. I wasn't quite sure how my power allowed me to slot the capitals in there, but it did.

    This time, Aisha and Riley both face-palmed, in unison. "That's gotta be the cheesiest thing I've ever heard in my life," groaned Aisha, "and I once binged the Lil' Mousey show." She glanced over at Riley. "And the worst thing is, you know she'll do it, just to make the joke work."

    "Oh, I know she can do it if she says she can." Riley looked up at me, her tone showing deep respect. "Before Dragon handed me over to the PRT to bring me here, she let me watch the footage of you taking the Nine down. I watched it through more than once, just so I could see them all die. I wouldn't have thought it possible, but you made it possible."

    "Well, I'll let you in on a secret." I perched on the arm of the sofa. "It wasn't just me. I did it with the help of some friends. Or frenemies. And if you're willing, you could maybe help me take down some more threats and menaces."

    "Wait, wait." Brian made the 'time out' gesture. "Riley hasn't even debuted yet. Image is still working on her costume. You can't be expecting her to come out and do … I dunno, combat surgery on the bad guys?"

    "Oh, no, no." I shook my head. "She doesn't have to come out. I was thinking she could make something for me right here. It won't even be lethal." I reached out and lightly booped Riley's nose with my fingertip. "And I promise to only use it on bad guys."

    "Um … okay?" She seemed receptive, at least. "With everything you've done for me, it's the least I can do. What do you need?"

    I smiled, and began to explain.



    End of Part Thirty-Five
     
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    • Part Thirty-Six: The Heat is On
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Thirty-Six: The Heat Is On

    [A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

    [A/N 2: Last chapter for the next couple of weeks. You know how it goes.]

    [A/N 3: I loved the PHO suggestions but it's been pointed out that five pages is a bit much, so the next time I do a PHO segment, I will incorporate as many as I can, but I might have to be a little selective.]



    Theo Anders

    I miss Kayden.

    He didn't even know if she was alive, but he hadn't seen her since before that fateful night when he'd been awoken by the sound of shouting and running boots, and PRT troopers bursting into his bedroom. Not knowing what was going on, he'd followed their instructions implicitly. It was easier not to resist, anyway. His father had taught him that.

    Flex-cuffed and flanked by men armed with guns and containment foam sprayers, he'd sat through a tense interview with a PRT officer where they'd asked him a dozen times in a dozen different ways if he had powers. He'd answered in the negative, of course; to his father's then-disgust, he hadn't yet triggered with his own set of powers to add to the service of the Empire by the time it came to an end.

    Then they asked him if he'd known that his father was Kaiser.

    The use of past tense had been his first hint that his father was dead. He'd nodded numbly, still trying to make sense of all this. Of course he'd known. He still remembered the night he'd been taken up Captain's Hill so he could look out over the whole city while Max gave him the 'one day, all this will be yours' speech.

    But I don't want it, he'd replied.

    Max had ignored him, because that was how Kaiser dealt with opinions he didn't have time for. To him, they didn't exist.

    He'd been pulled out of his reminiscences by the officer asking another question. Why hadn't he told anyone, if he knew his father was a dangerous supervillain?

    Theo had looked at the officer as though he were stupid. If you knew Max Anders, he'd said, you would know the answer to that. Nobody crossed him. Nobody.

    Not even if you were his son?

    Not even then.

    The interview had wrapped up with the officer saying something about 'Stockholm syndrome' and indicating that Theo would get therapy, and be placed in foster care. He'd been left alone then, to wander through the echoing rooms of the Anders mansion while the forensic accountants decided what were the proceeds of crime and could be confiscated, and what was legitimately earned and could be inherited. His bedroom had been thoroughly tossed, requiring him to spend more than an hour putting his personal possessions roughly back where they'd been before. That, the TV room and the kitchen were about all he had access to; there was enough food there to last him and his caretakers (appointed by the PRT) for a month at least.

    The comfort notwithstanding, he would have much preferred to be with Kayden in her apartment, taking care of Aster. Where he was now reminded him far too much of his father; every room, every corridor, echoed with the now-silenced criticisms.

    He supposed he was the last of the Anders male line; his father had had no brothers, and he knew of no uncles or great-uncles. If he failed to marry and produce an heir, it would end with him. Good. The two generations of evil that had gone before him deserved to vanish without trace.

    Passing the TV room with its insanely huge plasma TV, he ended up in his bedroom. He'd done a lap to the kitchen for something to do, but the reason for making the effort was beginning to slip from his grasp. It wasn't like he was hungry. He hadn't eaten in a while. He sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the wall. Maybe he should nap before one of the PRT did one of their regular welfare check-ups on him? That would kill some time, right?

    Not really feeling like a nap, he meandered out onto the balcony that adjoined his bedroom. The view wasn't quite as expansive as from the top of Captain's Hill, but it was still impressive. Or it would've been, if he hadn't seen it a thousand times before. He might sit on one of the chairs for a while—

    "Hey."

    His heart jolted in his chest for a second as he turned and saw the black-clad figure. She was leaning casually in the niche between the doorway and the balcony rail, just where she wouldn't be visible from inside the room. Her legs were crossed at the ankle and she had one hand resting on the rail, but he had no illusions about her preparedness for action.

    He knew who she was, of course. Ever since his father's death, his nightmares had been populated by grotesque shadowy figures that stalked him relentlessly, gleaming shears seeking his life's blood. If anything, he was surprised it had taken her so long to get to him.

    "Atropos." His voice was empty. There was no real point in begging for his life, and he didn't care anyway. Everyone in Brockton Bay knew the truth; if Atropos came for someone, they died. "You've come to finish the job."

    "Seriously, wow, no." She shook her head. "Why do people I've got no reason to hurt keep thinking I'm there to kill them, with no warning? I warn people, and then I kill them. Maybe I should hand out business cards, or something. 'You get two warnings first'."

    "Oh." He was almost disappointed. "Then what are you here for?"

    She tilted her head. "Actually, I need a favour."

    He blinked as his brain finally engaged with the world again. "Wait, what?"

    "Favour." She flared her fingers as though promising that there was nothing up her sleeve. He was wondering if he should care. "I just need to borrow something. You'll get it back."

    It wasn't his intention to antagonise her, but there was something he wanted to know. "May I ask you a question first?"

    She didn't hesitate. "Yes."

    That was easy. He'd honestly expected her to stall until she had what she wanted. "Uh ... Kayden ... Purity ... is she still alive?"

    "What part of 'yes' didn't you understand?" She gestured out over the balcony. "I gave her the heads-up to get out of my city less than an hour before the PRT kicked her door in. She had no choice but to run for it, but she got away safely, and she and Aster are well out of state by now. She's still apparently trying to be a hero, so kudos to her. I hope she figures it out."

    "Oh." She got away, but she left me behind. He felt himself sinking back into the funk. "So, uh, what did you want to borrow?"

    "One of your swords, actually. The Louis the Fourteenth hand-and-a-half from seventeen-oh-five. You okay with that?"

    Theo blinked. "Keep it. I don't care."

    Atropos tilted her head. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

    "Uh, you're welcome." The only real satisfaction he could glean out of this was that if his father were still alive, it would piss him off. And even that didn't help much.

    She stepped up in front of him; when she spoke next, he found her voice oddly comforting. "The best thing we can do with asshole parents is try not to turn out like them." Her fingertips pressed against his sternum, and he involuntarily looked down at them. "You're down but you're not out, Theo. You're the one still standing, not him. Don't let him take that from you too."

    He continued to stare at the spot where her hand had made contact, almost lost in the moment.

    "I hope you get the help you need, man."

    His head came up at that, but she was already gone.

    With a quiet sigh, he went and sat on the end of one of the chairs and stared out at the horizon.

    <><>​

    Danny

    The back door opened to his key and he stepped inside, then locked it again. "I'm home!" he called out, just in case one of the girls had heard the door but didn't know who it was.

    "In here!" Cherie replied from the living room.

    "Just a second." He unlaced his boots and left them beside the door; no sense in tracking dirt through the house. "Is Taylor here too, or just you?"

    She looked up from the sofa as he entered the living room. "No, just me. She said she had to go to New York. I'm making sure nobody does anything stupid at any of the clinics."

    "Oh. Well, that's a good thing, then." He frowned. "One of the guys on the Committee seemed rather certain that there would be a problem, and was annoyed when there wasn't."

    She snorted. "Yeah, I'd kick that guy off the team if I was you. Someone paid a bunch of assholes to cause trouble, until I reminded them that they were more scared of Taylor than they liked money."

    "Son of a bitch," he said softly. "I can't just boot him from the Committee because someone owes someone else in the Mayor's office a bunch of favours. But if we can prove that he was in on it, I can have him arrested instead."

    "Don't bother." She shook her head. "Taylor already knows who he is and what he's done. I'd bet money on it."

    "But I don't want him dead …" he said uncertainly.

    She shrugged. "If she decides to end him, she will, and then he'll be out of your hair. But if she does do it that way, everyone will know exactly why he's dead. We both know this."

    "True." He lowered himself into the armchair. "So, what's in New York?"

    "She didn't say, but we'll definitely find out." A sudden grin crossed her face. "I find the reveal is always worth the wait. Also, she got back to town a little while ago. She's talking to people, but before you ask, I have no idea who they are."

    Danny sighed and rolled his eyes. "My daughter, the international woman of mystery."

    "You think you're joking." Halfway through smirking at him, Cherie sat up. "She's on her way back now."

    The last word was barely out of her mouth when a shadowy doorway formed in the middle of the living room, and Taylor stepped out of it. She was wearing her Atropos costume, which was to be expected. Less so was the sheathed sword she was carrying; it had to be at least three and a half feet long.

    "Oh, hey," she said as the portal dissipated behind her. "No hassles with the Committee today, Dad?" Taking off her hat, she tossed it onto the sofa, followed by her mask.

    "Just the same two troublemakers." He huffed out his breath in remembered irritation. "Cherie says Paul King paid a bunch of guys to cause problems with the clinics. Probably so he can siphon some of the money off once it gets returned to the budget."

    "Correct. And Janice Templeton keeps trying to push the idea of issuing physical checks instead of handing out debit cards so she can arrange for a certain number to be 'lost'." Taylor nodded. "I'll deal with it." Danny went to speak, and she raised a finger. "Non-lethally. I get it."

    "Thank you." He indicated the weapon she was carrying; although it looked to be in excellent condition, it was unmistakeably old. "Where did you get a sword from?"

    "Oh, it's just a loaner." She grinned. "I'm going to be needing to make a point sometime soon."

    Both Danny and Cherie groaned at the pun, but he still had a question to ask. "And you need a sword for that?" He spread his hands in an unspoken query. "Don't you already have a large number of pointy metal things?" God knew, she could use them better than he ever could.

    "Oh, plenty. But they're not this sword." She drew it from the sheath and held it up, apparently admiring the way the light reflected from the blade as she turned it from side to side. Then she slid it back into place with one long sssshhhhhnk. "Nice. Oh, and I'm gonna be making a little bit of noise downstairs for a minute or so. Won't be long."

    <><>​

    Taylor

    Cherie jumped up off the sofa. "I'll come down with you, if that's okay?"

    I shrugged. "Sure. Come on, then." She was still keeping an eye on the drug clinics, I knew, but nothing untoward was going to happen since she'd discouraged the paid troublemakers.

    People around the city still had small stashes of drugs; I knew that for a fact. I also knew that they weren't getting any more. The supply lines from out of town had been well and truly cut. Some would burn through their stashes in a day or two, while others were stringing themselves out. They would all show up at the rehab clinics sooner or later, but they wouldn't all run out on the same day, so the clinics would not be overwhelmed.

    All according to plan.

    "You know," I said idly as Cherie followed me down into the basement, "if there's one thing about being Atropos that's totally different from my life before, it's the way I keep running into people who've been seriously fucked over by being in close proximity with villain capes during their formative years. I mean, look at you and Heartbreaker."

    It wasn't just Cherie; Theo had been messed up in the head by Kaiser, and Riley had been severely brainwashed by her replacement parental figure, in the form of Jack Slash. Even Amy Dallon had the same problem from the other direction, due to her mother's fixation on who her father was (puh-leeze. His peccadillos as a murdering gangster aside, Marquis had been ten times the parent Carol Dallon was).

    The Laborns were the odd pair out; it was Celia's perfectly normal drug addiction that had messed up Aisha's head. And Brian's powers and the constraints of his circumstances had more or less forced him into villainy, though to his credit he was trying to be a good male role model.

    "The people you visited before you came home?" Cherie guessed. "So, it's not just me you're trying to help, then." It was a statement, not a question.

    "Well, no." At the bottom of the stairs, I headed over to the entrance to the old coal-chute. Taking the cover off, I stashed the sword inside and put the cover back on. Then I went to the work-bench, where the angle-grinder lay next to the vise. "You're just the one who gets to sleep on my lumpy sofa bed."

    While their individual circumstances were improving, largely due to my actions, there were many more out there with similar (or worse) problems. I couldn't fix all their situations individually, but I could do what I was currently doing, which was improve matters as a whole throughout Brockton Bay. And with Dad helming the Committee that was making use of the Slaughterhouse payout, I didn't even have to spend time figuring out how to do that, or spend effort toward making it happen.

    Delegation. It was more than just a corporate buzz-word.

    "Pfft, it's not that lumpy," she said with a grin. "And I'm pretty sure I've already said my living conditions could be a lot worse."

    "True, true." Taking Ravager's (Ravioli's) double-barrel sawn-off from inside my coat, I broke it open and unloaded it, then put it in the vise and tightened the jaws until I was sure it wouldn't come loose.

    "Wait, what?" Cherie stared at the firearm. "Why did you have to go all the way to New York just to get a shotgun? I'm pretty sure that gun shop owner would've picked out any of his stock and cut it down especially for you, for free and all."

    "You'll see, once I show you and Dad the footage." With that, I handed her goggles and ear protectors, and put a set of each on myself. Angle-grinders were loud, and high-speed metal fragments in the eye were no joke. As I spun the disc up and ran it down along the barrel of the shotgun, skipping and turning it exactly where I needed to, I considered my next move.

    Even with all the help I was getting, there was some stuff I had to do on my own, mainly because nobody else could connect all the dots like I could. Bastard Son was still in the planning stage, but I was going to let him plan all he liked. I was going to let him send people into the city to gather information, though he wouldn't get what he wanted out of that.

    When he actually came at me and mine, I would stop him, but only then. It was the same reasoning I'd used in the extremely public executions of Lung, Kaiser and Skidmark: people only feared a consequence if they saw it happen to someone else. If I stepped into Bastard Son's presence and put a bullet in the back of his head while he was plotting in his hideout, nobody would notice. It would be a waste of a perfectly good cautionary tale.

    Better to let him activate his plans, allow him to be seen, and then stop him. And of course, I was taking note of his various side-plans. The intent to kill me was par for the course; I wasn't even going to hold that against him, apart from the fact that he was going to die. But going after my father, after Aisha, after Cherie?

    He was getting special attention for that.

    <><>

    ■​

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    ■​

    ♦ Topic: RIP Ravager
    In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
    Atropos     (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
    Posted On Jan 14th 2011:

    Hello to my faithful fans!
    Midnight has struck once more. Yesterday was a somewhat different day than my norm. No blood has been spilled, no corpse of my making will decorate a morgue, yet murder has been done.
    The sad and sorry tale (your mileage may vary) began not so long ago, when a certain B-list supervillain reached out to me, in the hopes that I would rid her of her nemesis.
    The screenshot of the chat log can be found [here].
    So today I took myself off to the Big Apple, where I found the person in question, in the process of robbing a jewelry store.
    Okay, so I was waiting for her to come in, but that's more or less my thing. She really should have been expecting me.
    (To paraphrase the old Chuck Norris meme: I don't chase. I *wait*).
    The ensuing confrontation can be seen [here], and the downloaded security footage [here] (involuntarily supplied by PRT New York - thanks, guys!). The latter shows a few more angles, but without sound.
    The Funniest Home Video version, with the swears edited out and humorous sound effects edited in, can be found [here]. She's never been so famous.
    So, as you can see, Ravager is *dead* (or wishes she was). In her place, now and forevermore, is Ravioli. In fact, I might have heard a whisper that Ravioli is one of the aliases that she's going to be tried under.
    What do you say, guys? Has her credibility been Ended for all time?
    (And Ravioli? If you're harboring secret plans to go back to that shop, or attack that shop assistant, for some kind of revenge ... don't. I'll know, and I'll be waiting with my good friend Mr Pump Action Shotgun to have a conversation with you about how Kneecaps Are A Privilege).
    Oh, and just by the way, Bastard Son of the Elite has decided that he can take me. Even now, he is laying his dastardly plans. (This is an official warning not to).
    As for the rest of you wonderful people, have a safe and fulfilling day.

    Toodles!


    (Showing page 1 of 19)

    ►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    Holy Mary, mother of God.
    I would ask exactly what Ravager (sorry, sorry—Ravioli) did to offend Atropos, but it seems the answer is clear. What's also abundantly clear is that death is *not* the worst punishment she can mete out.
    Any reputation, any credibility, any *anything* Ravioli ever had is dead and gone.
    She can't even claim bragging rights for surviving the fight, because Mouse Protector very clearly requested that Atropos not kill her.
    So, I'm going to say this yet again for the hard of thinking:
    Don't challenge Atropos. Killing you is not the worst she can do. Not even close.
    I leave you all with that oh so pleasant thought.
    Gotta say though, this is the first time one of her videos made me laugh out loud.
    PS: Bastard Son, you idiot. Don't. Just ... don't.

    ►BigMouthFish
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    That reputation didn't just die, it was murdered, buried, exhumed, cremated, mixed with glitter, and then tossed out of a plane to be literal Dust in the Wind all on camera with Yakety Saxx playing.
    And just as we finished off one challenger, another has decided to step up to the plate! Bastard Son, it appears we have an award waiting for you in Brockton from some guy named Darwin.

    ►Darwin_Award_Committee (Verified Darwin Award Committee)
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    It has been decided by our committee that any deaths resulting from blatantly ignoring a direct warning by Atropos will officially be classed as deliberate suicide and thus be ineligible for an Award. Anyone punished in a non-lethal fashion (such as this one) will, however, be given Honorable Mention status.

    ►BrickFrog
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    Hahahaha WHAT?

    ►Sikan
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    For those slow on the uptake, normal FAFO is linear. You Find Out in direct proportion to how much you Fuck Around. With Atropos FAFO is *exponential*. The rate of Find Out increases so once you pass the critical threshold of Fuck Around very little more brings very much more Finding Out.

    ►GreatAndTerribleAisha (Verified Head of Atropos Fan Club)
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    Okay, so my girl Atropos is OFFICIALLY so scary that even the Darwin award guys rate going up against her as suicide.
    DA-yum.

    ►TwoFacedCat
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    Seeing as I am apparently the only one brave and/or stupid enough to be asking Atropos questions beyond 'Hopy Ship How Did You Do THAT?!', I shall now take it upon myself to represent today's youths and their inevitable interests in the practices of social and interpersonal dynamics. Allow me a moment to get into the mindset of the abstract stereotypical teenager lounging at their phone far away from threat and consequences.
    Ahem-hem hemmm...
    OMG Atriops u r sooooooooooooooooo cool! r u teh gayz or teh straits or boof? o do u hav a harem? wut do u looq 4 n a pardnar? uhav any turnofs? Ima rite a fic wer u and [INSERT CELEBRITY CAPE HERE] hav sloppy makouts!
    (In all seriousness, please do not react poorly to the inevitable shipping, Atropos. Humans are social and imaginative creatures, and you yourself know full well some people don't know when to stop. You would not believe some of the death porn out there...)

    ►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    @Atropos - thank you for holding off until midnight, so I could see the security footage for myself.
    We at the PRT have taken note of the restraint you exercised, but I'm reasonably certain R doesn't appreciate it.
    So instead I'll thank you in her place, for doing as Mouse Protector asked.
    As always, my door is open (by now, I'm certain you know where it is) if you ever want to come in for a sit-down.

    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    @GreatAndTerribleAisha - School night. Don't make me call your brother. (Though yeah, it is pretty cool).
    @TwoFacedCat - I appreciate the concern. I shall ignore them as needed.
    @Reave - you're welcome. Not today, but I appreciate the offer (by the way, I watered your plants for you).

    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 17, 18, 19
    ​
    (Showing page 2 of 19)

    ►GreatAndTerribleAisha (Verified Head of Atropos Fan Club)
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    This is an automated message. This user is asleep and has been for hours.
    You saw nothing.

    ►EdBaccarat
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    If we hadn't seen what happened to Ravioli, this would be a Noodle Incident.
    But I think Atropos went far pasta that line.

    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    Well let's face it - I'd penne'd it down back when Rava- sorry, Ravioli tried to hire me. So Ravioli tortellini deserved it.

    ►Mouse_Protector (Verified Cape) (Veteran Member) (Independent Hero) (Verified Atropos Fan)
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    @Atropos - Can I steal that? It was really gouda. Also, thanks once more for the hit on Ravioli's credibility. That footage was *(pasta) chef's kiss*.

    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    @Mouse_Protector - Farfalle-ing instructions, sure! And you're welcome.

    ►EdBaccarat
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    Glad you got permission from Atropos, MP. We wouldn't want her cheesed off with you. :D

    ►FauxDemon
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    @EdBaccarat - I mean, MP got plenty of things from that failed heist to take as a trofie :) If nothing else she can share the pic to any Ravioli fans, drive emmental :p

    ►hjcallipygian
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    @Sikan - Rather, I propose that Atropos provides a binary amount of Find Out: either None or Complete. You have either attracted Atropos's attention, in which case you shall Fully Find The Fuck Out, or you have not. This is the only value which she provides.

    ►Tangle
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    I must say that I usually don't like pratfall and slapstick humor (I used to - I'm old enough to remember the Three Stooges, let alone Steve Martin and Chevy Chase), but I about busted my gut watching Ravioli's lifestyle change.
    Still, I think we learned something new about Atropos here. Beyond the fact that messing with Brockton Bay gets you a paddlin' (or more likely a gankin'), doing something nice for Brockton Bay (or at least agreeing to do so ahead of time) gets you OUT of a paddlin'.
    Ravioli tried to pay Atropos to kill someone who Atropos stated was a net gain for society. Atropos not only said no, but turned around and offered her services to Ravioli's target, Mouse Protector. And so, for the low price of a charity visit to a children's cancer ward in Brockton Bay, Ravioli earned herself a lifestyle change. I have no doubt in my mind that, had Mouse Protector Not requested that Atropos not kill Ravioli, Ravioli would have ended up most sincerely and very completely dead at the end of what we just watched. So good on you, MP.
    And just how dumb can Ravioli be? I mean, there's clear evidence that Atropos does NOT care about money, and she tries to hire the deadliest killer around to take out Mouse Protector? That'd be just about as dumb as trying to hire the Slaughterhouse Nine (hope their relocation to Hell is everything they deserve) to do... well, anything! Maybe even dumber because Atropos nixed the ninnies!

    ►BattleLoaf
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    No one ever accused her of being smart. This is the same Stooge who regularly picks fights with MP, despite the Mouse-themed defender of justice constantly, and repeatedly, clowning on her.
    I mean, Our Lady of Murder took it to another level with her slapstick routine, but it's just an increase of scale. Ravioli has been bumbling her idiot self into the role of unintentional joke-villain for a while now.

    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4 ... 17, 18, 19
    ​

    (Showing page 3 of 19)

    ►TwoFacedCat
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    So now I'm wondering about a hypothetical world where Atropos decided to put on a magician's suit instead of a pinstripe one. A comedian whose act is killer.

    ►Underwater_Flower
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    I can't believe nobody is talking about Bastard Son.
    If he's still planning to take on Atropos, he must be one stupid bastard.

    ►FroggyMojo
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    Arrogance combined with power both para and otherwise can cause any motherfucker to become pants on head stupid.

    ►AntAuthor
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    @TwoFacedCat - And for my next trick, I'll make this villain disappear, with this magic woodchipper!
    @FroggyMojo - It's even worse, because the pants are also soaked/filled with diarrhea and piss, yet they insist on putting them on their heads anyways. And then they act surprised when the liquid poop and piss gets into their eyes and mouth.

    ►WingsOnHigh (Verified Not the Simurgh)
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    *Vague angry disgust noises at having to read that*

    ►AntAuthor
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    It's true though! There's so much proof about how effective Atropos is at Ending Things that anyone who, at this moment, still thinks "meh, I can take her", is soo blind/stupid/arrogant that it is beyond "pants on head stupid". We are now at the level of the pants now being soaked in toilet contents, and them putting those horribly soiled pants on their heads anyway stupid.
    To put it another way, this isn't normal stupid. This is....
    *ADVANCED STUPID*.

    ►TwoFacedCat
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    It is theoretically possible to kill Atropos.
    It is also theoretically possible to extinguish the sun.

    ►WingsOnHigh (Verified Not the Simurgh)
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    If it weren't for, ya know, the era of superpowers I'd say just wait 80 years or so. As it stands, even without whatever new cape power pops up Atropos would probably kill "Bad lifestyle habits" for herself and outlive everyone the normal way. Be that tough as hell, scary 118 y/o lady who drinks whiskey at every meal and beats people with her cane if they do stupid shit. And the cane is just to give you a chance.

    ►AntAuthor
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    Dollars to doughnuts that the cane has a sword hidden in it too, for when someone is behaving soo poorly that they need a gouda skewering.

    ►DoctorHooTheOwl
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    What was it that Einstein said once? Ah, yes! "Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe."
    Really, at this point there's going to be a new category specifically for "Death by Atropos" in the Darwin Awards.
    I, for one, am eagerly pondering who wins first place.

    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 ... 17, 18, 19

    ​
    (Showing page 4 of 19)

    ►IWarnedYou
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    @DoctorHooTheOwl - Maybe you missed it earlier, but the Darwin Award folks weighed in on it and said that death by Atropos was being counted as suicide, but non-lethal punishments would be Honorable Mentions.
    @TwoFacedCat - I see what you did there. Though hopefully she doesn't pull a rabbit out of her hat... because it won't be a harmless bunny.

    ►AeturnumSPQR (Unverified Immortal)
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    @WingsOnHigh - Eh give it time. Afterall she only has a human lifespan and what is threescore and ten years? Hardly an eyeblink in geological terms.

    ►UnconcernedFox
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    *lugs another barrel of popcorn in, and starts the footage running again*

    ►Atrim
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    You do realize there's at least two capes that are theoretically immortal right? Alabaster eternally resets, and there was that one S9 member (before Atropos got to them).
    Not to mention the average Case 53. No one knows if they die of old age.
    Plus if those rumors about Panacea are true that's a whole nother ball game.

    ►AeturnumSPQR (Unverified Immortal)
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    Immortality is a CURSE. It is unnatural. Man was not meant to live centuries. To quote one show the secret to Immortality is this. "If you win, you lose. If you lose, you win."

    ►NinetyNineShadows
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    Hey, if immortality does end up being a curse, they have all the time in the world to change their mind and find somewhere to die.

    ►Horsefish
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    Hey, anybody else feel like pasta? I suddenly have a hankering. And some grana padano in the fridge...

    ►MostlyInsaneWriter
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    I see Ravioli is now Past it ... Yes, I'm terrible. But Honestly? Ravioli is probably going to have to choose a new career. Would the laws governing how capes use their powers stop her from being recruited to taking part in a slapstick comedy act? Because that's all she's going to be able to do from now on.

    ►KeijiAsuka
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    @IWarnedYou - It may LOOK harmless, but if anyone but her got too close, it would probably tear their heads clean off. I mean, she'd probably pull out the Killer Beast of Caerbannog.

    ►TwoFacedCat
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    Dude, real rabbits can bite you through the hand. Never underestimate something just because it's cute.

    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 ... 17, 18, 19

    ​
    (Showing page 5 of 19)

    ►AeturnumSPQR (Unverified Immortal)
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    Cats as well. A cat is an assassin by trade. It attacks from ambush. It will go for the throat. Where if the prey is much smaller than itself it will find the vertebrae in the neck and separate them or is will go for the front and crush the animals windpipe. Then there are the four sets of claws a cat has.
    Anyway, I do wonder what they will charge Ravioli with this time. Public Nuisance? Repeat Offender as in she keeps offending people? Being a crime against nature?

    ►BigTopper
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    Attempted Robbery there on the day, getting foiled counts if it's after you've started the crime. Plus whatever outstanding warrants there are on file. And after that humiliation she'll probably admit to anything they put to her in questioning so's to have a good long time out of the public eye in a nice quiet jail somewhere. Which will help along the NY PRT's clear-up rate, so everyone's a winner.
    Except Ravioli, who lost. Hard.

    ►TotallyMads
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    @TwoFacedCat - Please stop with the butchering of the language.
    Atropos will legitimately defend grammar. With lethal force.

    ►TwoFacedCat
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    Are you sure? I mean she's friends with GTA, and I've seen some of her posts...

    ►BigTopper
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    After her non-lethal performance against Ravioli, we now know that lethal force is her being *merciful*.

    ►EdBaccarat
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    And now, we know Ravioli's first name is Dee. [long pause] Short for Boy-Ar... ;)

    ►OtakuAnonymous
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    That's unfair. Besmirching the name of the late, great Ettore (Hector) Boiardi (Boyardee). His legacy of the Gold Star of the Order of Excellence, spreading the love of Italian cuisine and making life easier for struggling parents to feed their kids should not be tainted by the reputation - or lack thereof - of Ravioli the failed Villain Cape.
    Also, I am now wondering about how many pasta puns Mouse Protector will work into her future. That and if Atropos' latest victim will now make noodles part of her daily rotini...

    ►EdBaccarat
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    At this point we're just milking the joke. But that's just the whey we roll here on PHO. We're the pro-tein where puns are concerned.

    ►OtakuAnonymous
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    Ramen to that! Think of all the pastabilities. They mac (and cheese) me smile! Can't wait for all the PHO-natics to really go for it. The pesto's yet to come for SURE.

    ►EdBaccarat
    Replied On Jan 14th 2011:
    I wonder what else they'll get get her on?
    Impersonation of a can of pasta?

    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 ... 17, 18, 19

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE

    To: Atropos

    From: TheRealPanacea

    Subject: Can we talk?

    I've been thinking a lot about what you said to me, and I tried it out, and it kind of worked, but now I need to know … how much am I allowed to do before you start looking in my direction?

    Amy

    ■​



    End of Part Thirty-Six
     
    Last edited:
  • View discussion
    • Part Thirty-Seven: Plotting and Planning
  • View content
    • A Darker Path

    Part Thirty-Seven: Plotting and Planning

    [A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

    [A/N 2: This was originally part of a much larger post, so I split it in two. Expect the other half very soon.]

    Relevant Sidestory (Spacebattles)


    On a Private Jet, Flying East

    Bastard Son

    "What part of 'abduct someone' was not perfectly clear?"

    This was the problem with talking to his people over the phone. Face to face, his Master ability served to cut the whole 'second thoughts' bullshit off at the pass. But when he was at a remove, he had to work with whatever hold it still had on his minions, without the option of reinforcing it as needed.

    Fortunately, he'd already thought this problem through. The car they were driving had been rigged up by people he knew were damn well loyal to him. All these idiots had to do was carry out his damn instructions, and everything would be okay. For him, not for them.

    "But women? Kids? That sort of thing gets you in real deep shit with the Feds, and Atropos is like to shoot us straight in the head if she catches us …"

    The guy was wavering, though he was holding firm on that sticking point. Mooks had the weirdest hangups.

    "Listen, it'll be a one-and-done." He breathed deeply, trying to sell the lie. "Nobody gets hurt. Think of them as insurance. Nobody's gonna start a firefight if there's kids in the car. The only thing you have to do, if Atropos stops you, is let me know that it's happened. That's it. After that, you can go ahead and surrender." And they would, too. Because for all their bravado, they believed Atropos' hype.

    He knew better. Nobody was that good, except maybe his people. And of course, me.

    The trick with any cape was to hit them where it hurt. Lacking current information on Atropos' friends and family (though he would find that out sooner or later) he'd decided to attack her reputation. She had reacted extremely violently to every attempt to bring drugs into Brockton Bay, but she'd spared innocents. So he would set up a catch-twenty-two for her.

    The men who were driving into Brockton Bay only thought they were transporting drugs. They would follow his orders to abduct women and kids, on the understanding that the hostages would be released at the end of the journey. But the car had been rigged with explosives, and he held the remote trigger.

    If Atropos interfered with his shipment in any way, the whole damn thing would blow. And once innocents were dead, it wouldn't matter how blameless she was in the matter, her rep would be forever tarnished. He had people online who would make sure of that.

    It was how he always worked, striking at people from unexpected angles, then fading away as they tried to strike back. He'd never once failed to bring his enemy down in this way.

    And if she was a Thinker, aware of the explosives and hostages ahead of time? It honestly didn't matter. If she held back in the understanding that there was no winning scenario for her, he'd have the only pipeline of drugs into a city starved of them. The news that she'd failed to keep drugs out of Brockton Bay would spread like wildfire, and her rep would take a hit of a totally different nature.

    Either way, she'd lose and he'd win.

    Checkmate, bitch.

    ■

    ​
    PRIVATE MESSAGE

    To: TheRealPanacea
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Can we talk?

    Let's skip all the back and forth, and potential miscommunications. Pick a place where you're comfortable talking to me, be there at (say) ten tonight, and we'll chat.

    Oh, and bring your friend. I definitely want to meet him.

    Atropos

    ■


    <><>​

    Outside a Shopping Mall on I-95

    Kayleen Hoskins, Housewife

    Kayleen hummed to herself as she packed the groceries in the trunk of the car. She preferred to do the weekly shopping on a Friday afternoon; that way, the weekend was free and she didn't have the rush and bother on a Monday. Sean, at ten, liked to help her with the groceries and put the cart away after, while Bella and Marie fussed at each other in the back seat. Twin seven-year-olds could be a hassle at times, but at least they hadn't gotten in the habit of swapping their clothing around to fool her.

    The roar of an engine alerted her, and she drew back alongside the car with Sean before she even looked around. The groceries didn't matter; if someone was driving recklessly, they needed to be out of the way.

    It wasn't a young idiot driving stupidly, though. When the sedan screeched to a halt behind her car, the men who got out were middle-aged and carrying guns. Guns that were immediately pointed at her and Sean. What …?

    "You two!" barked one of the men. "Get over here! Now!"

    Kayleen's mind went blank. She'd never even considered that she might ever be kidnapped, but now it was happening. If it had just been her, she might've made a break for it, but Sean seemed to be even more frozen than she was, and one of the men had a gun pointed right at his head.

    "Mommy …?" That was Bella, from inside the car. Both girls—she dared a quick sideways glance—were kneeling up on the back seat, staring out through the window.

    No. They can't take them too. Terror for her daughters galvanised her lungs.

    For the last few years, she'd instilled in them one thing they should always do. If a stranger approached them and tried to make them go somewhere, they should 'run to cop'. Find a security guard or a police officer or a superhero and run to him.

    "Bella, Marie!" she screamed. "Run-to-cop! Run-to-cop!"

    They could be as irritating as any other kid of that age, but this time they did as they were told. Bailing out of the car faster than she could've managed it, they bolted back toward the shopping mall, where the security guard stood outside the front doors. An overweight older man, he probably couldn't do much against the two gunmen, but he could protect her daughters and call 911.

    "Yeah, nicely done," growled the one who had the pistol pointed at her. "Now you and the boy, get here now." He held up a bunch of heavy-duty zip-ties. "Nobody does anythin' stupid, nobody gets hurt. We're goin' for a car ride."

    Stumbling forward with Sean at her side, all Kayleen could think of was, at least the girls are safe.

    <><>​

    Hebert Household Basement

    Taylor

    In the back of my brain, I mulled over Bastard Son's plans, working out the best way to bring them to a screeching halt. Killing him was the quickest and easiest way, as my power cheerfully pointed out, but of course it was also good to make an example. Ironic deaths were so very useful for that. They caught everyone's attention.

    I had the electrical bits and pieces that I'd used to make the remote releases for Kaiser's katzbalger out on the bench again, and I'd warmed the soldering iron up. With the goggles snuggled down over my eyes, I whistled absently as I attached an alligator clip to the end of a three-foot piece of wire. It was already screwed into place, but I wanted the connection to be solid.

    "So, what's this for?" asked Cherie. She was wearing an identical pair of goggles, watching my handiwork with interest.

    "To be honest, I have no idea," I confessed. "But my power says I'm gonna need 'em, so I'm making 'em."

    Cherie eyed the piece of wire, then the three near-identical ones I'd already put together, with a clip on each end. Beside them lay the two-way radio I'd used for the truck intercept on the highway, once upon a time. I'd done some work on it, too. "Well, far be it from me to question your power on anything. Even my power seems to consider it a bad idea to mess with you."

    I grinned at her. "That's the general idea."

    The basement door opened, and Dad came down a few steps. "Hey, kids. How's it going down here?"

    Lifting the soldering iron away from my work, I turned toward him and flipped the dark lenses up. "Hi, Dad. We're doing fine. What's up?"

    He gestured up toward the door and the kitchen beyond. "Whenever you're finished down here, dinner's nearly ready."

    "Cool. We'll be done here in a minute." I flipped the lenses back down as he retreated up the stairs.

    Cherie shook her head. "It's still totally weird to me that your dad cooks. And that he's good at it."

    "Well, I take my turn too," I reminded her. "And you can too, if you want to. Just let us know what ingredients you need."

    "I just might do that." Her tone was speculative. I knew this was because when she'd cooked for her father, he'd punished her for getting the slightest thing wrong.

    Things were different here, I mused as I bent over the alligator clip again. She was learning that, but I still didn't want to rush her.

    One thing at a time.

    <><>​

    9:55 PM

    Panacea

    I must be insane to be even considering this.

    Dressed in her darkest hoodie and jeans, Amy skulked down the side-street, keeping a careful eye all around. She wasn't worried about being attacked; if even one tenth of the rumours about Atropos were true, she was the safest person in the city right now. Her concern lay with being spotted by someone who might recognise her and ask what Panacea was doing out and about at this time of night.

    They might also be curious about the carefully wrapped bundle she was carrying, but that would only become a real problem when she was handed back to Carol and Mark. Carol would definitely want to know what it was, second only to where Amy thought she was going. And when she found out either one … Amy didn't really know how she was going to react, but 'well' did not appear on the list of possible options. Somewhere between 'angry' and 'apocalyptic' was her best guess.

    Normally she wouldn't even have considered coming to this area of town without at least Vicky in attendance, but she hadn't seen a fresh Merchants tag in days, and she'd heard that the drug rehab clinics were going well.

    A police cruiser rolled through the intersection in front of her, and she froze until it was past. This was actually another good sign; prior to Atropos' debut, the police would never have come into this area without serious backup. The word about the stimulus payments had also gone out, and she suspected everyone was staying put and not doing anything that might get them arrested, for fear of missing out.

    Crossing the intersection, she walked another half-block until she came to a small neighbourhood park. It was here that she'd done her first healing 'in the wild', as it were, of a gangbanger who'd been shot in the leg during a dustup with the ABB. She'd been so nervous that she totally forgot to ask his permission to heal him, or use any of the other bedside-manner phrases that she'd been trained in. Once he was healed, the young man had been taken away to be presumably charged and arraigned.

    She'd never even asked his name.

    Sticking to the clear areas of the path—she probably wouldn't get infected if she trod on a used needle, but getting a sharp bit of metal in her foot would hurt like hell anyway—she reached the circular bench in the middle and sat down. The bundle in her arms, she set down on the bench beside her.

    "Okay, then," she muttered, and pulled out her phone to send the message to Atropos saying where she was. "Time to do something that's probably really stupid." It wasn't that she thought so, not really, but Carol's views on the matter were clear to everyone in the household, and constant repetition had a way of colouring her opinions.

    "Oh, I don't know." The warmly amused voice came from just behind her. "We've all done things that are way stupider than this."

    Amy froze, then turned slowly. Atropos was seated a little way around the circle from her, just far enough to be out of her peripheral vision. Between the morph mask and the hat shading her face from the weak street-lighting, there was no way of even guessing her expression, but Amy would've bet her college fund that the remorseless killer was grinning broadly.

    "You did that on purpose!" she accused Atropos. "Christ, are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

    "Yes, I did, and no, I'm not." The amusement had not left Atropos' tone. "If I was going to do something like that, I would've done it to Heartbreaker. Anyway, as I was saying, what you're doing right now proves you're smarter than literally every cape who's gone up against me so far."

    "Yeah, like that's a high bar." Amy didn't care that Atropos knew she was still feeling somewhat aggrieved. "Pulling a jump-scare like that every time makes you feel like you've got power over everyone else, does it?"

    Atropos appeared to consider that for a moment. "You have a point," she admitted. "I do it mainly because I can, and to remind even the most vigilant capes that I can in fact sneak up on them. But let's be serious here—"

    She vanished from the bench between one word and the next. Amy looked around in surprise—New Wave had been briefed on the 'smoky doorway' Atropos had used to get away from Velocity and to leave New York, but she'd seen no such thing this time—as the dark figure strolled toward her along the path, still talking. The long-coat flared briefly in the breeze.

    "—you'd still consider an entrance like this to be needlessly dramatic, so I can't really win. In other words, yes, I'm doing this for fun, not to try to impress you or scare you." She reached the bench again and sat down beside Amy. "So, let's take it from the top. You want to talk to me and make sure that the things you're doing with your power aren't going to piss me off, and I just want to have a chat and see how you're doing. Does that sound about right?"

    Amy blinked. "… yes?" Instead of denying her motives, Atropos had more or less admitted that Amy was correct. But then something she'd said caught Amy's attention. "Wait, you want to see how I'm doing? Aren't you supposed to be all gung-ho about Brockton Bay as a city, not any one person in particular? I mean, sure, I'm a healer, but even I can't put all that big a dent in the sick and injured population of Brockton Bay."

    "Yes and no." Atropos leaned forward slightly. "I care about some people in Brockton Bay, but not many. The city is indeed my greater concern. However, you're capable of helping me effect change for the better, out of all proportion to your healing capability. Also, if your issues were allowed to continue to fester, you could absolutely cause problems I'd rather not have to deal with. Thus, this conversation."

    The allusion to problems sent a chill down Amy's spine. She had a very good idea how Atropos dealt with 'problems', and those who caused them. "Um," she began.

    "That wasn't a warning, by the way." Atropos's tone was light. "Just an observation, and an answer to your question. So, can I see what you've brought along?"

    "Um. Okay." Amy was almost certain that Atropos already knew what it was, but this was the first time she'd shared it with anyone. Her throat was dry and her pulse almost audible in her ears as she picked up the bundle and carefully began to unwrap it. "Please just … benefit of the doubt, okay?"

    "Totally." Atropos watched intently as the cloth came off.

    The plant pot full of dirt hadn't been light, but she'd managed. Covering the top of it was an inverted bowl, which she took off last of all. There, revealed in the dim light afforded by the street lighting, was the tennis-ball sized fungus she'd created.

    Then it started to wake up. Slowly, it uncurled from its somnolent position, revealing the oversized 'head' and the two arms; the bottom end of the 'torso' was firmly planted in the dirt. The large eyes blinked as it looked around, then it stretched mightily, its mouth gaping wide in a parody of a yawn. It couldn't talk (yet, as she was still working on the equivalent of lungs and vocal chords) but she'd decided that a non-working mouth was far less creepy than no mouth at all. It had a tiny button nose for the same reason.

    "Okay, that's cuter than I expected," Atropos observed. "How—"

    The mushroom baby (as Amy privately called it) reacted to Atropos' voice, turning and staring up at her, then immediately curling up into its sleep posture, arms wrapped around its head. A moment later, one arm shifted and it peeked out at her.

    "Shh," Amy crooned, stroking its back with her fingertip. "Sh-sh-shhh. She's a friend. She's not going to hurt you … are you?" Raising her eyes to Atropos' face, she gave the other girl a challenging look that she would never have dared use on her own account.

    "Nope. Not here to hurt anyone. In fact, I'm mightily impressed. He can see, hear and think." Atropos tilted her head to one side. "Or did you program all that in as autonomic responses?"

    "… some of it, yes," Amy admitted. "He knows not to come out if he hears strangers around. But he can learn, too. And he understands nearly everything I say."

    Slowly, the mushroom baby emerged again, and gave Atropos a tentative wave. Atropos returned it and the fungus creature smiled, staring up at her.

    "So how did you fit all that in?" Atropos peered more closely at it. "That head can't be bigger than a ping-pong ball."

    "I cheated," admitted Amy. "His brain isn't in his head. He's got an incredibly dense mycelium network underground, and I repurposed that as a neural network."

    "Huh. And this guy's the only one you've got?"

    "No, actually. I've got a terrarium in my room with a couple more. Also, a lizard I got from the pet store, for protective camouflage."

    Atropos nodded. "So everyone looks at the lizard, and not at the fungus guys. Neat."

    "That's the idea, yeah." Amy glanced down at the mushroom baby and saw that it was playing one of its little games, sorting bits of shell and gravel into patterns in the dirt in front of it. Raising her gaze to Atropos, she asked the question she knew she had to. "So, am I going to be in trouble if I keep doing this?"

    "Not in the slightest." Atropos shook her head to emphasise the point. "Whose idea was it to make these? Yours or your power's?"

    "My power's, I think." Amy thought back, trying to recall the exact sequence of events. "I already made the grass in the back yard go fluorescent for a few seconds, so then I found a mushroom and asked my power what it wanted to do with that. I think it's been having fun, and so have I. In between moments of abject terror about being caught out, of course."

    "Don't be scared of me, without due cause." Atropos spoke firmly. "If you're doing something I don't like, I'll totally warn you. In the meantime, I want you to exercise your power. Do fun things. Do silly things. Stretch that muscle. And if you need to talk about anything, I'm willing to listen." Her tone became light-hearted. "Just be aware that if you're ever tempted to take over Brockton Bay as your own personal biokinetic fiefdom, I will be forced to take notice."

    "Ha ha ha, nope." Amy shook her head. "Hard pass."

    "Oh, good." Atropos' head came up. "Hm. It appears Bastard Son has moved up the timetable a little. I'm going to have to go."

    "Oh, um, I'll be fine." Amy shrugged. "I got here okay, didn't I? Or is there something I can do to help?"

    Atropos looked at her. "No, I can handle it, thanks. But Vicky's also going to knock on your door in about one minute to talk to you about moving on and rebranding once Brockton Bay gets too safe for all the heroes we've got."

    "Shit!" Amy's eyes went wide, and the sense of impending doom that had been hovering over her all evening (to be fair, she usually had a sense of impending doom) slammed down around her. "I need to call her, so she doesn't tell Carol and Mark—!"

    "Chill. I've got this." Atropos stood up and did something with her arm. Amy could've almost sworn, in the silence that hung around, that she heard tiny electronic beeps. Then a cover clicked shut, and Atropos gestured toward an empty spot next to Amy. Between one second and the next, a smoky doorway formed in mid-air. "Forty seconds. Go."

    Hastily, Amy grabbed up the plant-pot, the bowl and the wrapping cloth. "What do I have to do?"

    "Just step through. Thirty seconds."

    "Thanks." The next words were ones she hadn't wanted to say, but they were true all the same. "I owe you one." Atropos could so easily have just let her face the music.

    "I know. Twenty-five seconds."

    Taking a deep breath—she knew damn well that if Atropos wanted to kill her, there were many other ways to do it, but it was still a huge leap of faith—Amy stepped through the portal. The dimly lit park vanished, to be replaced by the familiar surroundings of her room. Holy shit, it worked.

    Hastily, she placed the pot next to the aquarium. "Go to sleep," she whispered. The mushroom baby obediently curled up, becoming an unremarkable fungus once more.

    Next, she dragged off the hoodie over her head and hurled it at the laundry hamper in the corner of the room. Then the knock came on the door, just as she was toeing her sneakers off. "Ames? You awake?"

    She hastily rolled into bed, trying not to make the mattress springs creak too much, ignoring the fact that she was still wearing her jeans. The t-shirt, at least, would pass as sleepwear. "Yeah," she replied as she pulled the covers into place. "What's up?"

    Vicky opened the door and sidled in, then carefully closed it behind her so the latch didn't click. "Couldn't sleep. Wanted to talk. You know how I've been thinking about rebranding and moving on?"

    "Kinda, yeah." Amy moved over and patted the edge of the bed. "What's Carol think about it?"

    "She's not a fan right now, but I'm still working on that." With a sigh, Vicky sat down, the mattress creaking and settling under her. "It's going to have to happen. Once the supervillains left town, cape crime fell off a cliff, and non-cape crime was due to follow soon after. There's zero drug trade in town and Atropos will kill anyone who messes with the economic recovery, which means the cops will be free to deal with normal crime and the PRT will be keeping an eye on the rogues. It won't be long before we heroes will be going after jaywalkers, because there'll be literally nothing else for us to do. But I didn't come in here to talk about that."

    Amy yawned. "Sorry. So, what did you want to talk about?"

    "Names." Vicky gestured toward herself. "I can't be Glory Girl forever, and Glory Woman just sounds … no."

    "No," Amy agreed. "Not Glory Woman." She thought for a moment. "How about just Glory?"

    "Thought about it, but … not as bad as Glory Woman, but still too derivative." Vicky sounded pensive.

    Amy snickered. "You still don't have it as bad as Kid Win. What's he going to be? Adult Win? Man Win? Go nudist and call himself Winning Streak?"

    Vicky's back shook as she snorted with laughter. "No idea. But Dad said something the other day about me being a beacon of hope. Maybe Beacon?"

    "'I lift my lamp beside the golden door'," quoted Amy. "Yeah, I like that name. It's a good one."

    Vicky nodded. They were both familiar with the poem, considering how Vicky's tiara had been inspired by the Statue of Liberty. "Thanks. I like it too. I just didn't want to jump in and have everyone think it was too much on the nose."

    "No, it's totally a good name," Amy assured her. "I like it."

    "Good." Vicky stood up, the mattress rising back into place as her weight lifted off it. "Imma go to bed now. Thanks for listening."

    "No problem. Night … Beacon."

    "Night, awesome sister of mine."

    Her door opened, then clicked shut again. Amy was alone in her room, but she waited a good minute before pulling the covers off and scooting out of bed to finish changing. There was no way she could risk a shower this late, so she instead repurposed her skin bacteria to process the sweat products on her skin.

    Rolling back into bed, she sighed as she pulled the covers up. The talk with Atropos had been both less nerve-wracking and more productive than the one with Vicky. How did that work, anyway?

    She said I'm fine. Smiling, she rolled over and wriggled down into a comfortable position.

    With the weight lifted off her shoulders, sleep came easily for once.



    End of Part Thirty-Seven
     
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    • Part Thirty-Eight: Traffic Stop
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Thirty-Eight: Traffic Stop

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



    Kayleen Hoskins, Hostage

    "Mom, I'm scared."

    "Shut it, kid."

    Kayleen looked around at Sean, sitting in the middle of the back seat with the man she'd mentally dubbed 'Kidnapper B' beside him. "It'll be okay," she said, desperately hoping she was telling the truth.

    "Listen to your mom, kid," advised Kidnapper A, in the driver's seat. "We get to Brockton Bay and make the delivery, you're free and clear. We ain't gonna touch a hair on your fuckin' head."

    Yeah, and what happens when the first cop gets suspicious? A gun to our heads, that's what. Kayleen wasn't stupid. She knew how this sort of thing played out in movies and TV shows.

    But she knew the only chance she and Sean had of surviving was to do what they were told until she saw a chance for him to make a run for it. Right now, they had no chance at all; the kidnappers had zip-tied their hands in front of them after fastening their seatbelts, so they were literally attached to the car. But once they got out, their hands would be free and maybe there would be a chance then.

    It was more than a little worrying that the kidnappers weren't bothering to cover their faces in any way. That sort of thing usually meant they weren't concerned about witnesses identifying them later. Which made it all the more imperative that she give Sean a chance to get away. He was a smart kid; he knew how to run, how to hide and how to find a cop. Her only worry was that he'd try to help her get away as well.

    She would never forgive herself if she got away and he got killed.

    "Shit!" Kidnapper A snapped, cutting into her reverie. "Cops! Coming up fast!"

    "Just stay cool, man." Kidnapper B tried to sound smooth and confident, but Kayleen could hear the worry in his voice. "They're probably after someone else. We switched the plates, yeah?"

    "Yeah, but that does jack and shit if they're just looking for a make and colour, dumbass."

    In the next moment, the interior of the car was flooded with light. Kidnapper A swore and adjusted the rearview mirror so it wasn't throwing a concentrated beam of light into his eyes; Kayleen felt the car surge forward as he put his foot down.

    In response, there was a chirp of siren from behind them, then a bullhorn-amplified voice bellowed, "DARK GREY FORD SEDAN, PULL OVER. NOW!"

    "Keep driving!" There was strain in Kidnapper B's voice.

    "Like I was going to do anything else!" Kidnapper A's knuckles were white on the wheel.

    They were now hurtling down the road at speeds that put Kayleen's heart in her throat. Seatbelts or no seatbelts, if they crashed now, she and Sean were going to be seriously hurt or worse.

    The light that filled the car cut off, but that was because the state trooper's car was now coming up alongside them. Blue and red bubblegum lights flashed and the siren blared at full strength, as much for intimidation value as for letting the public know it was there. And then a side-spot cut in, glaring in through the driver's side window, leaving Kayleen unable to see anything at all.

    "Hold up your hands!" yelled Kidnapper A over the wail of the siren. "Let 'em see the cuffs! You too, junior!"

    Squinting against the sun-bright spotlight, Kayleen did as she was told; hopefully, Sean was doing the same. At the same time, she felt the cold touch of metal as Kidnapper A put his pistol to her head. She desperately hoped that nothing would get in his way right then, because it was not a good time to have one hand off the wheel.

    The state trooper must have seen the heavy zip-ties and the pistol, because the spotlight cut out and the car abruptly fell back. Kayleen tried to blink away the dancing blobs of colour that had invaded her vision, but it wasn't easy. The gun wasn't at her head anymore and they were still alive, so that was a good thing.

    "Okay, so what now?" That was Kidnapper A, from the voice.

    "We keep driving. That's what the boss said. They know we've got hostages, so they won't try anything cute."

    "And what about Atropos? What if she shows up?"

    "If Atropos shows up, we fucking pull over and surrender. Dipshit."

    "Don't call me dipshit. Asshole."

    "Shut up and drive. Is that cop still back there?"

    Kayleen's vision was starting to return, and she saw Kidnapper A look up at the rearview mirror. "Yeah, he's still there. Hanging back about a hundred yards or so."

    "Good. As soon as we hit the suburbs, we'll lose him."

    "Uh …"

    "What?"

    Kidnapper A pointed ahead through the windshield. Kayleen blinked the last of the dazzle from her eyes and stared ahead as well. Kidnapper B swore luridly.

    Far ahead, though clearly illuminated by a lone street-light, a dark figure awaited them, standing in the middle of the road. A black long-coat flared dramatically in the breeze. Kayleen couldn't see a gun, but that didn't matter. She knew who it was.

    Atropos.

    "Hands off guns," Kidnapper A said, applying the brakes and changing gears to slow down. "We don't threaten the lady, we don't threaten the kid, we don't even try to threaten the scary fuckin' cape, and we might live through this."

    "I'm letting the boss know." Kidnapper B had his phone out and dialling as he spoke. "Once we've done that, we can surrender."

    "Yeah, you do that."

    <><>​

    On a Private Jet, Still Flying East

    Bastard Son

    His phone chimed, and he smiled as he picked it up. "Yes?"

    "Uh, sir, we nearly got to Brockton Bay, but Atropos is here. Just letting you know we're going to surrender."

    "Understood." He cut the call, then dropped the burner phone into the foil bag at his side. He'd have that crushed as soon as he landed.

    Taking up the remote detonator, he flipped the switch to arm it. Each and every one of the car's booby traps was now live; if they so much as opened the doors or even removed their seatbelts, it would send a signal to the two pounds of Semtex packed under the seat-cushions (and armed with pressure sensors). The car would become a fireball, spreading destruction far and wide, and innocents would absolutely die.

    And even if Atropos figured out the trap and devised a way to disarm the explosives so that they could get out alive? He had a direct detonation signal, ready to send. Pressing the red button on his remote would send a signal to the other four pounds of high explosive, packed in and around the frame of the vehicle, entirely separate from the other bombs and impossible to get to without disassembling half the car. And even that wasn't all; if all else failed, there was now a timer ticking down. One way or another, Atropos was done.

    The tiny screen built into the remote fuzzed then cleared, showing the view from the tiny fisheye lens built into the frame of the rear-view mirror. Settling back with his thumb resting lightly on the detonation button, he prepared to watch the show.

    <><>​

    Kayleen Hoskins

    The car slowed to a halt, about ten yards away from Atropos. She stepped forward, raising a bullhorn. In her other hand was a pistol, pointed at the vehicle. "EVERYONE STAY IN THE CAR," she warned them. "DO NOT UNFASTEN YOUR SEAT BELTS. DO NOT OPEN YOUR DOORS. KEEP YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM."

    "But we want to surrender!" shouted Kidnapper A, keeping his hands clearly in sight. "Just hand us over to the cops!"

    "Not that easy, I'm afraid." Atropos let the bullhorn fall to hang by its sling from her shoulder as she walked up alongside the car. "Your boss left you a very final severance package. If you open your door or undo your seatbelt, you will die. If you try to do it, I will shoot you in the head." She broke off, turning to address the approaching state trooper with the bullhorn. "BACK OFF. THE CAR IS RIGGED TO BLOW. I'VE GOT THIS."

    "Rigged to blow?" blurted Kayleen as the trooper backed off again. "You mean explosives?"

    "That's the idea. But like I said, I've got this." Leaning down, Atropos surveyed the interior of the car, then shook her head slowly. "I have to say, he was damn thorough about it. There's enough explosives in this car to turn it into confetti."

    "What the fuck?" demanded Kidnapper B. "Why would he do that?"

    "Because he knew I'd intercept you," Atropos said patiently. "And the last four times people have just tried to bull-rush past me, I've killed them. But I've spared innocents. So, he's setting it up so I have to let you go or risk this lady and her son being killed. Or so he thinks."

    "We weren't going to hurt them," Kidnapper A interjected nervously. "Just so you know that, right?"

    Atropos nodded. "Oh, I know. That's why I'm not going to kill you, just hand you over to the cops." She turned to Kayleen. "Your girls are safe. Your husband showed up and took them and the car home. Now, if you do exactly as I say, you'll see them again in just a few hours."

    A knot of tension eased in Kayleen's chest. "Okay. What do you want me to do?"

    "Reach across and roll your window all the way down. Can you do that for me?"

    "I think so." Kayleen did as she was told, and carefully rolled the window down. As she did so, she became aware of flashing lights approaching from ahead. "Uh, what's that?"

    Atropos didn't even bother looking around. "That would be the PRT, right on time. They'll keep idiots from interfering."

    "But … you're a villain!" protested Kidnapper B. "Won't they try to arrest you?"

    "Nah. I've trained 'em well." Atropos walked around the front of the car and produced a large and very sharp-looking pair of shears. Kayleen wasn't sure, but she thought she recognised them from the online footage that had been released about Atropos. "Wrists, please."

    Obediently, Kayleen held up her bound wrists. The shears slid in between the plastic and her skin, the sharp metal cold on her skin, and snipped once; the zip-tie fell away.

    "Thank you." Kayleen massaged her wrists for a moment. "What do I do now?"

    <><>​

    Taylor

    "One sec." I turned as one of the PRT troopers approached me. The rest were keeping their distance, setting up a perimeter. "Reave. How many favours did you have to burn to get lead on this case?"

    He wasn't even surprised that I'd identified him by his PHO handle. "Not as many as you'd think. What've we got?"

    I gestured at the car. "It's like I told you in the text. Bastard Son is trying to smuggle drugs into the city, so he got two of his expendable mooks here to grab hostages. But he's also had the car rigged to blow nine ways from Sunday as a massive fuck-you to yours truly. Six pounds of Semtex. With booby-traps, a remote detonator, and a timer on top of that, which is counting down right now."

    "Shit." He didn't sound happy. "Is there enough time for the bomb squad to get here?"

    "Not nearly. Besides, some of the explosives are built into the chassis. I'm just going to disarm enough of it to get them out, then let it blow in place." It was going to make a hole in the highway, I knew, but it wasn't my highway.

    "Wait," he protested. "You said remote detonation. What if he sets it off while you're disarming it?"

    I grinned under the mask. "Yeah, he's been trying to do that for the last minute or so."

    <><>​

    Bastard Son

    1 Minute Ago

    The view at the outer edge of the fisheye lens was distorted, but it was possible to see that the woman had rolled down her window and was holding up her wrists. A moment later, a metal blade came into view—no, not a blade! A pair of shears! He sat up straight as the gleaming metal snipped through the heavy plastic tie. Atropos is right there! At the car!

    All his intricate planning had come to this moment. Why bother destroying her reputation when he could kill her? Even as the triumphant thought crossed his mind, he jabbed his thumb down on the red button and kept it there.

    Nothing happened immediately, but he knew that signal lag was a thing. The killswitch signal had to get from him to the car, then the visual signal had to get back. Leaning forward, he studied the tiny screen with mounting anticipation. Any second now, he'd see the camera image dissolve into snow.

    Any ...

    Second ...

    Now ...

    "Oh, for fuck's sake!" he exclaimed, staring at the screen and jabbing the button again. "Work, you sonovabitch! Work!"

    But on the screen ... nothing happened.

    <><>​

    Taylor

    "Jesus!" Reave took an involuntary step away from the car. "Then how come ..."

    "We aren't dying in a fireball?" I reached into the pocket of my long-coat and showed him what had once been a radio. A red LED glowed balefully on top. "Signal jammer."

    "Oh. So what can I do to help?" He didn't even seem to notice that he was deferring to me.

    "Shut down this side of the highway, pull everyone back to a hundred-foot minimum perimeter." I gestured at the car. "And take these two idiots into custody once I make it safe for them to get out."

    "Yeah, I can do that." He tilted his head. "You're not going to kill them?"

    I shrugged. "They surrendered, so they get to live. Anyway, back to business." I leaned in and looked at the lady. "Mrs Hoskins, I want you to listen very carefully. I'm going to wedge my shears in between the door and the frame. Once I've done that, only when I say so, I want you to carefully open the door. Can you do that for me?"

    She nodded cautiously. As intended, the repeated references to explosives ensured I had her close and personal attention. "When you tell me to open the door, I'll open it."

    "Carefully," I reiterated.

    "Carefully," she repeated.

    "That's right." I knew that each door had contact points added to it that were now live since Bastard Son had activated them. In order to open the doors, I was going to have to bridge those points.

    Sliding my shears in past the door seal, I wriggled them in until I felt them touching the contact points. "Okay, open the door. Carefully."

    "Carefully," she echoed again. At any other time or place, either one of us might have been annoyed at the repetition, but right then it was the mantra keeping us alive. Carefully.

    I felt the latch disengage, then the door began to edge open. I moved the shears to maintain the contact, then turned them as the gap gradually widened, then opened them. At all times, there was solid metal-on-metal contact between the shears, the door and the frame, maintaining the safety circuit.

    "Stop," I ordered, bracing the door with my knee to back up the command. By now, the door was open about six inches; the shears didn't have much more play in them, but that didn't matter.

    Kayleen did as she was told, her wide eyes staring up at me. "What? What's wrong?"

    "Nothing. Everything's going as planned." Holding the shears in place with one hand, I dipped into my pocket with the other. Back in the basement, I'd wondered why I was attaching alligator clips to wires, but now I wondered no more. It was the work of a moment to attach the clips to the contacts, bridging the gap much more securely. Taking the shears away, I opened the door wide enough to give me access to the side of the seat.

    "Oh," she said, staring up at the connecting wire. "Do you always carry something like that with you?"

    "Only when I need it." I knelt down inside the open door.

    "Can I ... can I get out now?" She sounded almost childishly hopeful.

    I shook my head. "Not yet. You're sitting on a pressure sensor, and the seat belt has a wire running through it. Cut either of those connections, and ... boom." I took the shears and sliced open the side of the seat, right where the almost-invisible repair line ran. "Now, let's see ..."

    Diving my hand into the split in the cushion, I felt around until I found what I was looking for; the last part of the explosive device they'd installed. Specifically, the detonator. Pulling it free of the Semtex and the connecting wire, I eased it out from under the cushion.

    "So it's disarmed?" asked Reave. Such was his faith in my ability to not fuck up that he was standing about two metres away. Or maybe he'd just been ordered to stick close to me.

    "I wish." I walked away from the car and set the detonator down. "That's one of four. Three more to go."

    I did the driver's side front seat next, fully aware of the timer still ticking down. It felt like it took me less time, though I knew it didn't. The guy in the front looked relieved when I removed the detonator, though less so when I reminded him that there were two more to go.

    The kid in the back seat looked worried, so I made small talk to keep him calm while we were opening his door. He paid attention and followed instructions, which was all I could've asked of him.

    Once I had the fourth and last detonator out, I made sure they were all in a row, far enough away from anyone that they wouldn't be a problem. "Mrs Hoskins!" I called out, stepping smartly back from them. "Kindly undo your seat belt!"

    After a long moment of hesitation, no doubt recalling my repeated admonitions not to do just that, she pressed down on the release. The click of the latch coming free was drowned out by the spiteful crackcrackcrackcrack as the detonators went off all at once.

    "Jesus!" blurted Reave. "What the hell?"

    "Radio dets," I explained, largely unnecessarily. "The seatbelt buckles send out signals that set off all the detonators at once. Which was why the elaborate precautions. Okay, everyone. You can get out now. Reave, I'll leave you to deal with the nitty-gritty of arresting the ones who need arresting and so forth."

    "Right." He gestured troopers forward to take care of that. "So it's safe now?"

    "Hardly. There's still that timer I told you about. It's wired to set off a det built into the chassis, and it hasn't got long to go. Everyone needs to get back to the safety perimeter right now." I started toward the car.

    "Wait, where are you going?" He followed me toward the car, even as he waved the others back.

    "Something I've got to do. You get back."

    He paused for a long moment, then muttered something about 'goddamn glory hounds' as he headed back toward the safety perimeter.

    I knew I was about to piss him off some more, but I didn't care. He had innocents to take care of and criminals to hand over to the regular cops, so he should be happy with that. But he wasn't even the one I was truly interested in messing with.

    <><>​

    Bastard Son

    He was still staring with gritted teeth at the screen of the remote, vowing that he was going to find the moron who set the explosives and shove a radio detonator up his ass, when Atropos slid into the driver's seat of the car. Reflexively, he hit the red button again, but it didn't work any more than it had the other fifty times he'd pressed it. Lifting her chin, Atropos seemed to be staring directly into the hidden camera ... then she proved it by making the I'm watching you gesture, aimed directly at it.

    Not that he was really paying attention to that. The only other readout on the remote was a digital timer, counting down. Now it was in the single-digit seconds. Go on, he silently urged her. Grandstand. Be a showoff. Try to prove you're smarter than me.

    To his mounting glee, she made no move to get out of the car. When the timer hit five seconds, he knew she was doomed; even if she ran for it now, she'd be caught in the blast radius. 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1 ...

    And then the image on the screen was replaced by hash, and he fist-pumped. "Fuckin' yes!"

    Atropos was gone.

    He'd won.

    Nobody beats me.

    Brockton Bay is mine.

    <><>​

    Taylor

    I aimed the teleport to drop me in the shadow of the PRT van. Nobody saw me arrive; everyone was staring at the roiling fireball, as though expecting me to stride out of it. Which I supposed I could've prepped for, but that would've been too much hassle.

    Besides, this way was funnier.

    Strolling forward, I ended up behind Reave. One of his subordinates was apparently asking him something over the radio, because he was shaking his head and taking under his breath. "No, she's not dead," he insisted. "I'd bet a year's pay that she'll—"

    "—show up again out of nowhere?" I suggested.

    He spun around, as did everyone else there. Where they were staring dumbfounded, I got the impression he was glaring. "Did you have to do that?"

    "Well, yes." I shrugged. "Bastard Son had a camera in that car. What do you think he's going to assume, with that footage?"

    He paused for a long moment. "That you're dead."

    I nodded. "So what won't he be prepared for, when he shows up?"

    Reave let out the most evil chuckle I'd ever heard from someone who wasn't me. "You."

    I tapped my nose and pointed at him. "Bingo."

    He shook his head. "Was that always part of the plan, or did you make it up on the fly?"

    "Wow, I thought you knew me by now." I spread my hands. "It's all part of the plan."

    More headlights were approaching from the direction of Brockton Bay. I knew who they were, and thus I knew it was time to go. "Media incoming. Toodles."

    "Wait, where—" But I was already ducking around behind him and activating the teleporter. The shadowy portal formed in front of me, and I stepped through into my living room.

    "Oh, hey." Cherie had been sitting up, watching the TV turned down low. "How'd it go?"

    I pulled my hat and mask off and grinned. "When Bastard Son gets here, he's gonna have one hell of a surprise waiting for him."

    Cherie grinned right back. "Good."



    End of Part Thirty-Eight
     
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    • Part Thirty-Nine: Decision Points
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Thirty-Nine: Decision Points

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



    Bastard Son

    The closest airfield run by Elite interests on the east coast, where he could land and deplane without anyone taking more notice than they should, was in New York State. He'd already ordered a limo, which was waiting for him when the jet touched down. It wasn't just for the luxuriously comfortable seating in the limousine that he was in a hurry to get out of the plane and into the car; the jet's accommodations were just as enjoyable. But he wanted to get started on the way to Brockton Bay and set up operations there. More to the point, he wanted to brag without being interrupted.

    So he held his impatience in check until he and his baggage were in the limo, and the driver had it on the road out of the airport. Then, and only then, did he fire up the admittedly impressive communications array that was built into the luxury vehicle. The large screen that motored up out of the console subdivided itself into a dozen sections, then each of these sub-screens lit up with a different picture.

    "Bastard Son," one of them said in an electronically modified voice, while a white frame appeared around the speaker's image. "I hope you did not contact us all merely to let us know that you've arrived in New York?"

    "Hah, no." His sneer was just as vicious as the masks he usually wore. "I contacted you all to let you know the job's already done. Brockton Bay's wide open for the taking, thanks to yours truly, heh."

    The ripple of shock that spread across those talking to him was subtle yet unmistakeable. "I find that … hard to believe."

    "I find you hard to believe, heh." He took a bottle from the wet bar and poured himself a generous shot of bourbon. "The bitch was just too smart for her own damn good. I rigged a car with booby traps, a remote trigger and a timer, then I made the assholes driving it grab some hostages on the way. So she couldn't stop it and she couldn't not stop it, heh." Leaning back, he took a drink, luxuriating in the mellow taste of the liquor.

    There was a long moment of silence in the car before another one of his interlocutors spoke up, albeit reluctantly. "So, what happened then? What makes you so sure she's dead?"

    The feeling of triumph was amazing. "Well, she got around the booby traps some damn how, and she must've blocked the signal for the remote detonator, or just got lucky, but then she went and sat in the car so she could flex about how smart she was. And she was still there when the car exploded, heh."

    Another few seconds of silence passed, before the first person spoke up. "You are aware, are you not, that she is strongly suspected to possess a teleportation device? And that she may well have simply teleported out before the timer ran out?"

    "No," he said, shaking his head. "No. Absolutely not. I watched her on the screen. I recorded that shit, heh. And she was right there, all the way until the camera cut out. The bitch is dead, heh."

    "She has been observed to make impossibly accurate shots. If she can do that, then she may well have been able to time the teleport to coincide with the destruction of the camera."

    He put the glass down before he would've succumbed to the temptation to hurl it through the screen. Those things were expensive, and the booze was too good to waste. "Are you fucking listening to me? Nobody has timing that good, except my people. Is she one of my people? No. She's just another dead wannabe, heh."

    "A 'dead wannabe' who took down the Nine in forty-three minutes, and mopped up Butcher and the Teeth in less than two." The air quotes were audible, for all that they were only implied. "I feel it would be a grave mistake to underestimate her."

    He rolled his eyes. "You're just salty because I fuckin' got her when all of you were pissing your pants about having to deal with one cape killer, heh."

    There was a sigh from the speakers. "Very well. If you are so adamant that she is deceased, the PRT undoubtedly has her corpse in their morgue. Do what you said you'd do, and bring back her head, however charred it may be. Only then will we move on this situation."

    "Fine, I'll do that! And when I drop it on your desk, I'm going to expect a full apology for doubting me, heh." He'd had enough of the call, so he hit the button to end it.

    But he was still seething from the lack of accolades that had come his way, so he tapped in another number. Back-channel contacts were a universal constant, and his Gesellschaft opposite number had done him a solid or two over the last few years. It was time to repay those with interest.

    "Hello?" The voice was grumpy, as befitted someone who was used to rising no earlier than ten in the morning, but had been woken up at five instead. "This had better be important."

    "Gunther, old buddy!" There was no image on the screen, but he picked up the glass and toasted the distant man with it anyway. "I've got good news for you. Both of us, really, but something you'll be happy to hear, heh."

    "I'm listening, but only because it's you."

    His sneer had been replaced by a grin. "Atropos is dead. I got rid of her an hour ago, more or less. We've got a clear run at Brockton Bay again, heh."

    "Was, wirklich?" Gunther paused for a moment. "Please tell me that this is not one of your jokes. I know how much you enjoy those. Now is not the time for one of them."

    This was much, much better. "Swear to God, hand on heart. I got her with a car bomb. There is literally footage of her sitting in the front seat, until the timer hits zero. She is dead, man. You can't get much deader than she is right now, heh."

    "Oh." He could literally hear the smile on Gunther's face. "Oh, this is very good news to hear. I owe you big-time for this. You have done us all a great service. She has cost us millions."

    "I know, I know." He basked in the praise, as was only his due. "I know you want to get off the line so you can make some arrangements, so I'll talk to you later, heh."

    "Yes. We will talk. I will want to hear all the details." The call ended, this time from the other end.

    He relaxed in the comfortable seating and finished off the glass. Finally, someone appreciated just how damn good he was at this.

    His plans had been put together with Atropos in mind and he couldn't have changed them now, even if he'd wanted to. Infiltrating Brockton Bay with his people required that they be trained up first, so he'd arranged to rendezvous with them in Boston and get them up to speed before moving on.

    They weren't about to pull any jobs while they were there, so there was no real need to inform the locals of their presence. Besides, he'd heard a rumour that Accord was actually working with Atropos, even after she'd totalled one of his drug shipments. Fuckin' pussy.

    Maybe half a day in Boston getting all his ducks in a row, then he'd make his move on Brockton Bay. In the absence of their local overhyped boogeyman, the local rogues wouldn't stand a chance. Then he'd kick in the door of the morgue, claim Atropos' head, and solidify his position as king of the Brockton Bay underworld.

    Basking in the glow of his own genius, he poured himself another drink.

    <><>​

    PRT Building ENE

    Reave

    "So she's definitely alive? Because I've seen no hint of it." Deputy Director Renick glanced at his laptop screen, which was currently showing a PHO feed. "Normally, she would've posted about this whole episode by now." This was true; the girl did like her midnight tell-alls.

    "Absolutely, sir." He nodded, trying not to smile at the recollection. "The little smartass pulled a Bugs Bunny on us. Literally came out of nowhere and finished my sentence for me." Although he'd been certain she was still alive, the relief he'd felt at that moment had been unmistakeable.

    Which raised a question in his mind: when had her status shifted from 'adversary' to 'ally'? Am I compromised? Instead of me recruiting her, has she recruited me?

    Renick lifted his chin. "So, what's her plan? Do you know what her endgame is?"

    "I believe I do, sir. She needs Bastard Son to think she's dead, so he'll let his guard down when he comes into the city. That's why I instructed everyone there to clam up about her. Not to say she's dead, but not to say she's not dead, either. Zero news. Hopefully, Bastard Son will think we're trying to keep her death quiet."

    "So she can get the drop on him," Renick finished. "And kill him."

    "That's the way I read it, sir."

    This time, the Deputy Director raised an eyebrow. "You do recall that our job requires us to arrest villains, not turn them over to another villain to be murdered, yes?"

    "Yes, sir, I do." He lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. "I've also read up on Bastard Son. He doesn't play by any ruleset except his own. Every time he's gone into a city, people have died. PRT and heroes can't get a handle on him, and rogues and villains are either co-opted into the Elite or they die. Also, as we saw tonight, he's got zero respect for innocent bystanders. Excuse my French, sir, but he's one hell of an elusive son of a bitch, and a mad dog into the bargain. I trust Atropos to be able to nail him down and do what should've been done years ago."

    Renick shook his head dubiously. "This is a very slippery slope you're stepping on to. I'm not at all sure the Director will sign off on it, when she comes on in the morning. Going hands-off on Atropos is one thing, but actively assisting her in murdering someone is entirely another."

    "With all due respect, sir, I don't see it that way." He took a deep breath. Arguing with one's boss was always a tricky prospect. "We're not forcing Bastard Son to come into the city, and I certainly won't be pulling the trigger myself. At most, we're doing nothing. If we did something now to queer her pitch, she'll probably still get the job done, but the best outcome aside from that is losing all chance of her ever actively cooperating with us. And the worst outcome …"

    "… is that she decides we've betrayed her, and we go on her enemy list." Renick nodded. "Your point is well made. I don't want to be on that list any more than you do." He held up a finger. "However, if Bastard Son decides to hand himself over to us at any time, we're duty-bound to accept that surrender."

    "Understood, sir." He knew damn well, as did Renick, that Bastard Son would be unlikely to even attempt any such surrender. The man was far too arrogant for that.

    Fortunately, if he did, this was one of Atropos' self-appointed options for those who broke her rules.

    "Good." Renick laced his fingers together. "Dismissed. Write up your report, then get some rest." A faint smile crossed his face. "And damn good work out there tonight."

    "Thank you, sir."

    <><>​

    Boston, Massachusetts; Later That Morning

    Judge Peter Regan's Chambers

    Leaning back in his comfortable leather-upholstered chair, Peter Regan gazed out the window at the freshly risen sun. Steepled before him, his fingers twitched as the only outward sign of the tension that had him in its inexorable grasp. Two paths lay before him, neither one at all to his taste.

    On one side, there was the agreement—nothing official, nothing signed. It was merely understood that Masters needed a message sent to them. Paige Mcabee had stumbled at the wrong moment, and so she was to be both the subject and the body of the message. The prosecutor was aware, without ever having been directly told, that he was to go as hard as he could on her. Her funds had been frozen, and the court-appointed defence attorney knew his role in the matter. As such, he had yet to speak to her in lockup. Arrangements had been made to gag her and ensure that she looked as dangerous as possible to the jury.

    The fix was in. Paige Mcabee would be Birdcaged, no matter what the public wanted. It was that simple.

    On the other side, was the message Dragon had passed on to him. There was no subtlety, no delicately phrased observations that could easily be mistaken for innocent comments taken out of context. It was very simple: Atropos knows about the Mcabee case.

    Very few capes had amassed a reputation as fearful as Atropos', and certainly not in such a short period of time. In fact, she'd killed several of the others who were as well-known as her, and many more besides. Worse, most of these kills had been performed on camera, and she'd made it look positively effortless. Skidmark had been literally smeared all over the road; Peter had exactly zero interest in finding out what sort of imaginative demise she would come up with for someone who sent an undeserving person to the Birdcage.

    Mere human security, by definition, could not protect him. Being literally surrounded by capes had manifestly failed to save Kaiser from a sword through the eye. And if Dragon's observation about the Triumvirate was correct, even they might choose to look the other way if Atropos came calling.

    He'd actually called Dragon back, to appeal to her for protection. The hero had told him quite bluntly that she wasn't getting in the middle of that, but if he ensured Ms Mcabee had a fair trial, he should be just fine.

    Her advice hadn't been the slightest bit helpful, for all that it was glaringly self-evident.

    He didn't know what penalties, if any, would fall his way if he threw the case. His career, he suspected, would be over. Not immediately, of course. That would be too blatant. But tiny whispers would eventually add up to suggestions that he retire. For his 'health', of course.

    If he stayed the course and convicted Mcabee, he didn't know that Atropos would kill him, but he had absolutely no reason to believe that she wouldn't, either. Her every public action bespoke an exceedingly black and white morality; those who heeded her warnings lived, while those who didn't … died. The message Dragon had passed along had been just such a warning, no less dire for being second-hand in nature.

    He'd heard of being stuck between a rock and a hard place, or the Devil and the deep blue sea, and many other hackneyed phrases about not having any good place to turn. Up until forty hours ago, he had never suspected that he himself might end up in such a position. It was, he'd found, a most unpleasant situation to be in.

    On the one hand, he risked his career; on the other, his life.

    He liked his career. Over the course of it, many accused had gone before his bench. As far as he was concerned, he had administered justice without fear or favour.

    Paige Mcabee had been accused of a horrific crime: forcing a man to first mutilate and then violate himself. While he didn't necessarily think this was precisely Birdcage-worthy, especially on a first offence, it had been made clear to him on the quiet that unless this sort of thing was dealt with harshly from the outset, other Masters would see it as carte blanche to run rampant among the population. He saw their reasoning, and was fully on board with the need to send a message. It was a pity about the Mcabee girl, but eggs and omelettes. The greater good took precedence.

    The thing was, he belatedly realised, while he liked his career, it wasn't his life. His life was his life.

    And with that epiphany, his course of action became clear.

    Screw the greater good, I want to live.

    Turning back to the desk, he picked up his voice recorder and clicked it on. "To the editor, Boston Globe. Usual header. From the desk of Judge Peter Regan, et cetera. Letter begins. After much soul-searching, I have decided to recuse myself from the case of Massachusetts vs Paige Mcabee. Moreover, I am ordering a comprehensive review of the projected security precautions around Ms Mcabee, in light of the understanding that she is perfectly capable of typing her testimony from a soundproof booth and has no known Brute rating. Furthermore, I will be issuing an order to release her funds for use in her courtroom defence." He paused and stopped the recording while he went over in his mind what else he needed to say. Finally, he clicked it back on. "These are trying times for all of us, but we must not let fear make monsters of us. End letter, usual salutations. Have it on my desk for signing by the end of the day."

    Getting up from his desk, he walked the recorder through to his personal assistant's office and dropped it in her in-tray. "Take your time with this one," he said. "I'm taking half a day. I'll be back this afternoon."

    "Yes, Judge Regan." Her tone was professional, but he could feel her eyes following him out the door. He didn't care.

    He'd just ended his own career, he could feel it. Word would get out that he didn't stick to agreements. And as much of an old boy's club as the judicial community was, someone like that just wasn't welcome.

    Maybe he'd even retire before the doors all shut in his face. It didn't matter, not anymore.

    He'd made his choice, and he'd stick with it.

    Because despite the high-sounding tone of his letter, it did actually come down to fear.

    <><>​

    Brockton Bay PRT Building, around the same time

    Director Piggot's Office

    Emily finished reading the after-action report and the scribbled addendum that Renick had added, then sat back in her chair, brow creased in thought. And irritation; mainly irritation.

    For ten long years, she'd fought the good fight, keeping her city afloat against a seemingly endless tide of villain capes who seemed to think that Brockton Bay was the perfect place to kick-start (or restart) their careers. Along the way, she'd struggled against institutional apathy within both the PRT and the BBPD, and not a little corruption in both organisations. Even outside that, she had prodnose do-gooder institutions such as Youth Guard attempting to insert their grubby little fingers into the lives of the local Wards (and the non-Ward younger heroes as well), all in an attempt to justify their own existence.

    And, of course, she had the Wards themselves, and the heroes of the Protectorate: capes, one and all. She didn't actually like capes, not since Ellisburg. They'd fled the battlefield then, leaving her people to die. Deep down, she didn't trust them not to do it again (especially given that Shadow Stalker had been edgier than a wood-chipper on steroids, and Assault was literally an ex-villain).

    But still, she'd taken what she was given, and she'd made it work (for a given definition of 'work'). From day to day, the disparate organisation had staggered from crisis to crisis, held together through sheer stubborn refusal to quit. It had been a balancing act of epic proportions, and she liked to think she'd been fairly good at it.

    And then Atropos came along.

    In less than two weeks (and counting, because she surely was not done yet), that one irritating girl had achieved everything Emily had been striving to do for ten fucking years. Villains? Dead or gone. Hard drugs? Gone. Gangs? Keeping their heads way down. Even the corruption and apathy within the PRT had been mostly rooted out (and the BBPD was well on the way to compliance as well), but only because Atropos had said it had to be so.

    During those two weeks, the craziness that was a normal part of life in Brockton Bay had just … died. Citizens were starting to feel safe to walk the streets of their own city once more. The PRT had gone from just barely holding their own to literally having excess time on their hands. With the heroes freed from having to focus on villain capes and gang violence, they were assisting the BBPD in going after normal criminals; in short, the change right across the board had been both fundamental and massive.

    So why am I not happier about this?

    She knew damn well why. Atropos represented three things Emily utterly despised. First, she was a cape. Second, she was a villain. Third, she didn't follow the rules; or rather, she made her own rules. She murdered people and boasted about it, and still got away with it.

    Worst of all, people applauded her for it. She was a self-confessed serial killer, yet among the ordinary citizenry of Brockton Bay, she had an actual fan club, and more people on top of that who simply approved of what she was doing. (Well, in fairness, she had taken out the Nine … and Butcher and the Teeth … and several other capes who had been perennial thorns in Emily's side … but that shouldn't matter. Murder was still murder.)

    Still, Emily wasn't stupid. She'd given orders for the Wards to stay well clear (because not one of them would stand a chance against her) and for the heroes to exercise caution (same reason). The PRT also had a hands-off policy, not least because she didn't feel like sending her men into a meat-grinder.

    It didn't mean she had to like it.

    This latest report was one more droplet of the water-torture that was life in the same city as Atropos. Bastard Son of the Elite was due to arrive in Brockton Bay shortly, if he wasn't already in the city. Atropos had made use of his car bomb to fake her death temporarily, at least in his eyes, so that when he showed up, he wouldn't be prepared for her particular brand of homicidal 'justice'.

    If the PRT stood back and did nothing to hamper her, Atropos would end him, bringing yet another incursion into the city to an abrupt halt. A man would die; one who didn't have a kill order on his head, but who had signed his own death warrant merely by deciding to come to Brockton Bay.

    The worst bit was, Emily knew damn well who she'd choose to have in her city if there was a gun to her head and she had to pick one or the other. Atropos was an unapologetic murderer, with a death toll that was now into the dozens, not even counting the unpowered mooks she'd executed along the way, but she was still preferable to Bastard Son.

    If Mouse Protector was to be believed, the entire Ravager incident in New York had taken place because Atropos had turned down a million-dollar bounty on the hero's head, and instead contracted with her to destroy Ravager's credibility. Emily didn't know many ordinary people, much less capes, who would walk away from a million-dollar payday like that. From all indications, Bastard Son was not one of them.

    And now, Atropos had saved two hostages and handed the mooks over to the PRT. The report held nothing but praise for her. Even Renick's note on the report strongly recommended that the PRT just stand back and let events take their course.

    Emily Piggot despised capes, but she hated Bastard Son more than Atropos. Taking a deep breath, she opened a text file on her computer and started typing.

    General Order: to be disseminated to all PRT personnel in ENE Department

    For the next 24 hours, until 0900 hours on Sunday the 16th of January, no mention will be made of Atropos by any PRT personnel, on any media. Her existence will not be acknowledged to anyone outside the PRT until the 24 hour period is up or she is seen in public, at which point this order will be automatically rescinded.

    Signed, E. Piggot, Director, PRT ENE

    Sitting back in her chair, she read the words through and nodded to herself. That was absolutely as far as she was willing to go.

    Beyond that, Atropos was on her own.



    End of Part Thirty-Nine
     
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    • Part Forty: Farewell, Bastard Son
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Forty: Farewell, Bastard Son

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

    Relevant Side Story



    8 AM Saturday Morning

    Laborn Residence

    Aisha's phone pinged as she and Riley sat side by side on the sofa, eating cereal (carefully, so boring big bro wouldn't yell at them) and trading barbs about the cartoons they were watching. Putting her bowl down on the coffee table, on top of one of the coasters he had pointedly placed there for them (again, so he wouldn't yell at her) she dug the phone out of her pocket. Her day brightened right up when she saw the text that had just come through.

    Hi,

    Just popping over for a quick visit with my loyal fans. Didn't want either of you dropping your cereal.
    See you in a sec.

    A

    "Cool!" she exclaimed. "Atropos is coming over!"

    "Wow, really?" Riley looked impressed. "Does she visit you that often?"

    "Not really," Atropos observed from the kitchen doorway. "But I was thinking we could go down to the Boardwalk next Saturday. The Brockton Bay Rogues' Guild will be putting on a show there from about one onward, every weekend from now on."

    Aisha was proud that she didn't jump. She tilted her head, trying to place the name. "I don't think I know that one."

    "They only formed in the last few days." Atropos strolled over and sat down in Brian's armchair. "A couple of new local capes asked Parian if they could work for her. A Tinker called Salvage and a kinetic manipulator called Bastet."

    "Okay, yeah, that's kinda cool," Aisha acknowledged. "Wanna help me badger Brian into going down there after he gets off-shift, Ri?"

    Riley's grin was getting better all the time; in a week or two, Aisha judged, she'd be full-on smartass, firing on all cylinders. It was a lot better than the timid little smile she'd had when she first arrived. "I think I'd like that. Isn't Parian the one with the dolls?"

    Atropos nodded. "That's the one. I'm really proud of her for stepping up and helping out the other two."

    "So what's Salvage do with their Tinkering?" asked Aisha. "Do they take old stuff and make it look like new, or something?"

    "Not quite." Atropos tilted her head. "More like, he takes stuff that would be worn out and no good to anyone else, and he builds something worthwhile out of it. It's actually pretty cool."

    Riley nodded. "Yeah, I guess it would be."

    Aisha could tell that the phrasing had hit her cousin right in the feels, so she put her arm around Riley's shoulders and squeezed. Riley leaned her head against Aisha's shoulder in a way that made Aisha want to fight the world just to keep her safe.

    "So anyway, how are you two doing? Settling in okay?" From the tone of her voice, Atropos hadn't noticed a thing. Aisha didn't trust that for a second. Her girl Atropos noticed everything. Which meant she was deliberately not calling attention to it, so Riley wouldn't be embarrassed.

    Damn, she's cool.

    "Um, well, yeah," Riley ventured, sitting up slightly but not pulling away from the protective circle of Aisha's arm. "It's really nice here, and Aisha's amazing, and Brian's doing his best for us too. I mean, he's a bit strict but only when we don't pick up after ourselves or stuff like that. And they've nearly got my costume done. I'm debuting on Monday as Miss Medic."

    Aww, you're amazing too. "Yeah, the costume's pretty rad," Aisha agreed. "They're gonna love her." She lowered her voice in her best attempt at a menacing growl. "They better love her."

    Riley leaned into her, giving her a shoulder-nudge. "You're just saying that because sister support." But the tone of her voice was playful.

    Mentally, Aisha fist-pumped in triumph. Yess! She's finally making jokes, not dumping on herself! "Well, yeah," she agreed. "I'd say it anyway. But this time, I mean it."

    Atropos nodded encouragingly. "I look forward to seeing it. You're gonna do a lot of good out there, I can tell."

    "Thanks—wait a second!" Riley sat all the way up, shrugging off Aisha's arm. "That stuff you wanted me to make. Did you need it right now? I've got it curing in the bedroom. It's going to need another hour before it's good to use, though."

    "Oh, I don't need to use it for another few hours. Would it cure just as well if I took it with me?" Aisha was sure Atropos knew the answer, but chose to ask the question anyway.

    "Sure." Riley popped to her feet. "It just needs to mature a little. There's no more prep needed. I'll go get it now."

    Aisha watched her vanish into the bedroom. "She's pretty brainy with that stuff. Smelled a bit funny when she brewed it up in the bathroom sink, though."

    "And Brian didn't mind?"

    Aisha shook her head airily. "He might have most people bluffed with that growly tough-guy act, but he's a big marshmallow underneath. Never yells at Riley, and he always tries to say stuff that's encouraging." She gave Atropos a sideways warning glance. "I'll totes deny it if you repeat this, but him getting grabbed by the PRT and doing the hero thing is the best thing that coulda happened to all three of us."

    She was pretty sure Atropos grinned just then. "My lips are sealed."

    "Yeah, just make su—"

    "Here it is!" Riley burst out of the bedroom, bearing a small plastic container with a screw-on top. "Just smear it on whatever you want to apply it with. Guaranteed non-toxic and non-allergenic."

    "Thanks." Atropos stood up as well, and accepted the container. "I really appreciate this."

    Riley shook her head in negation. "No, I owe you so, so much. You saw me inside Bonesaw and got Panacea to pull me back out again." Impulsively, she moved forward and hugged Atropos. The city's most dreaded cape hugged her right back, holding her tightly.

    "All you have to do to repay me is be you, the best way you know how." Was that a hint of roughness in Atropos' voice? Aisha couldn't be sure. Then Atropos turned her head toward Aisha, and this time there was absolutely a grin under the mask. "And keep being a good influence on Aisha. She needs it."

    "Hey!" But Aisha couldn't keep the grin off her face. It wasn't like Atropos was wrong or anything.

    "I'll see you guys later, then." Atropos let Riley go, then leaned over and ruffled Aisha's hair. "Toodles." And just like that, she flipped up a little panel on the device wrapped around her arm, pressed a couple of buttons, and ... vanished.

    Riley shook her head wonderingly. "That will never not be awesome."

    "I know, right?" Aisha patted the sofa cushion beside her. "C'mon, there's more cartoons we haven't eviscerated yet."

    Riley sat down again and picked up her cereal. "Is it just me, or are the big bad evil guy's plots always too stupid for words?"

    Aisha tilted her head. "Are you talking from experience?"

    "… maybe."

    <><>​

    Just a Little Later

    Panacea

    Amy had music playing in the background as she checked over the inhabitants of her terrarium. The mushroom baby in the pot was gently swaying as it danced a little jig—from the waist up—in time with the melody. It actually had pretty good rhythm, and she was starting to consider how she could help make it mobile. True, a tap-dancing mushroom kid would probably send Carol into hysterics, but Carol didn't have to know.

    The ones in the glass box were also doing fine, and the lizard—a rather handsome male bearded dragon that Vicky had dubbed Smaug—was dozing under the sun lamp. Smaug opened his eyes a little as she gave him a gentle scratch alongside the neck, just where he liked it. Amy wondered if her power wanted to enhance Smaug as well, though she suspected that turning him into an actual fire-breathing dragon might be a little beyond her. She was also dubious about giving him wings, not least because this would no doubt confuse him horribly.

    Just then, her computer pinged to let her know she had a private message in PHO. Frowning, she gave Smaug one last skritch then slid the top of the terrarium back into place. Winged or otherwise, she didn't want her dragon escaping.

    Seating herself at the computer, she clicked on the notification.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: TheRealPanacea
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Need a favor

    Hi,
    Is it okay if I drop in for a chat about a potential favor? Nothing illegal, nothing harmful. You might even get a kick out of it.

    Atropos

    ■​

    Amy frowned. What the fuck? What kind of a favour does she want from me? She took in a calming breath and let it out as she thought about her dealings with Atropos. As she did so, she got up and closed her bedroom door.

    At the start, things had been fairly rocky (and, to be fair, she'd been stressed out by basically everything, but now she had her mushroom babies, and her stress levels were way down). However, she'd done an objectively good thing by reverting Bonesaw back into her younger self. Atropos' advice had led to the mushroom babies, which had to be a good thing, especially since Atropos herself had been quite taken by them.

    Amy read the message again. If there was one thing she could count on Atropos to do, it was to be brutally honest. If she said, 'nothing illegal, nothing harmful', she meant it. Though Amy had no idea what the whole 'might get a kick out of it' could be about.

    And if I don't want to do it, all I have to do is say no. She figured she had a good enough read on Atropos by now to be confident about that. Moving the mouse, she clicked on the 'answer' icon.

    Okay, come on over, she typed. No promises until I hear what it is. Then she clicked the Send icon.

    Behind her, she heard her mattress creak. For a long moment, she froze, then she deliberately took a breath. "You're sitting on my bed, aren't you?"

    "Mm-hmm." It was Atropos' voice. Swivelling the chair around, she saw what she expected: the black-clad villain, casually seated on her bed, with her head tilted in an expectant pose. "In fairness, I did my best not to give you a jump scare this time."

    "True, and I appreciate that." Amy leaned back in her chair, trying to look more relaxed than she felt. "So, what can I do you for today?"

    "I want to create a particular effect, and I thought of you. A powder or dust or something similar that changes hue on a specific command, then dies or drifts off or whatever. The command being …" Atropos lifted her hand and snapped her fingers.

    "Um." Amy blinked as her imagination was suddenly off and running with ideas for how it could be achieved. This is my power, isn't it? I think it is. "I have … ideas. Any other specifications?"

    Atropos nodded. "It needs to be able to cling to cloth and leather and be harmless to the human body, even if inhaled or swallowed. Also, unable to reproduce. That's about it."

    Amy tilted her head as concepts unfolded in her mind. She narrowed ideas down to about half a dozen, then picked the one her power seemed to favour. "Yeah, I can do that. Just one question. Why? What's this for? Are you going to graffiti something halfway across the city?"

    "Now that's a use I hadn't thought of, but no." Atropos chuckled. "So, a little background. Bastard Son of the Elite is coming to town, and his name really doesn't do him justice. He currently thinks I'm dead, so what I want to do is …"

    As she spoke, Amy grinned wider and wider, then broke down into laughter.

    Atropos had been right. She did get a kick out of it.

    <><>​

    10 AM, Eastern Standard Time

    Somers Rock

    "Okay, so what do you think?" Sabah turned her open laptop to show the other two the website she'd designed.

    "Daaamn, girl, you're some kinda computer whiz." Bastet looked and sounded seriously impressed. "You put all that together in a couple days?"

    "What she said," grunted Salvage. "That looks pretty slick to me."

    Sabah blushed behind her mask. She was no expert, but it wasn't hard to throw together a fairly basic website from online tools, especially with the help of a few of her friends in college. They hadn't known what it was for, of course, but their advice had been useful all the same. "Thanks. So, uh, I put those ideas into a costume for you, Bastet, and some, um, accessories for you, Salvage."

    They watched as she dug into her bag and came up with a wrapped bundle for Bastet, and a smaller one for Salvage. She handed them out, and the two capes before her opened them with rather more enthusiasm than she'd expected. With an expression like a kid on Christmas morning, Bastet stood and held the costume up in front of her. "Hot damn," she said, looking down at herself. "I gotta go try this on!"

    Without even needing to be prompted, the guy behind the counter pointed toward the restrooms, and Bastet hustled in that direction. Salvage, on the other hand, looked over the cans of metallic-flake paint and the sharp conductor's cap that Sabah had been able to find for him. Also in the bag was the best-quality toolkit she'd been able to find him on her limited budget.

    "Jeez," he said, his mechanical gauntlets handling them as though they were the crown jewels or a Fabergé egg. "You buy all this for me?"

    Sabah shrugged awkwardly. "If we're going to be working together, we should all be at our best, right?"

    "Right." He nodded. "Yeah." Carefully, he fitted the cap into place. It had a flexible leather mask sewn into the brim that could drop down over his face; leaving it up, he pulled his goggles into place under the bill of the cap. "How do I look?"

    "Like a goddamn million bucks," Bastet said as she sashayed out of the restroom. "How cool does this look?"

    Sabah nodded approvingly. Bastet had made good use of the basic hygiene kit Sabah had included in each bundle, and she did look a lot more like a serious cape rather than someone who'd snuck in by the side door. "Very cool indeed. So, let's talk about what we're actually going to be doing as the Rogues' Guild."

    She was taken aback, and somewhat daunted, by the sudden attention this garnered her. What am I doing? I have no idea how to lead a group of capes.

    "Keep talking, boss-lady," Bastet urged. "You know what you're doing. We don't."

    "Okay, then. Okay." Sabah took a deep breath, then let it out again. It seemed she was indeed the leader, however little she was prepared for it. "I usually go down to the Boardwalk and do shows, like you saw. Until we can line up paying work for both of you, I'm thinking you could be a part of the show. Bastet, your costume's good for this. Salvage … maybe you could bring some scrap along and build toys for the kids while they watch? Toys that are safe for them to play with?"

    "With these tools, hell yeah," he said immediately. "I can make 'em safe as you like."

    Bastet lifted her chin. "And you think I should do that fire dancing thing you were talking about?"

    "As a finale, yes." Sabah found herself reaching for ideas. "Do you have any other suggestions?"

    "Yeah, actually." Bastet twirled her finger in a circle. "How about little cloth birds? You make 'em, I make 'em fly around me?"

    "I can do that." Sabah nodded. "So … what do you think? We meet up at the Boardwalk, where I did my last show, at about one? The inaugural show of the Brockton Bay Rogues' Guild."

    Bastet and Salvage looked at each other, then Salvage shrugged massively. "Well, my calendar's free."

    "Mine, too." Bastet held out her hand to Sabah. "Let's knock the goddamn socks off this town."

    Sabah shook it, then shook Salvage's gauntlet much more carefully. "Okay, just give me a second and I'll actually put that in here as an event. The site should automatically crosspost it to PHO and other local social media sites. With any luck, we'll get people showing up out of pure curiosity. Come for the hype, stay for the show."

    Bastet grinned. "Works for me."

    <><>​

    1:15 PM, Eastern Standard Time
    Outskirts of Brockton Bay

    Bastard Son

    The limousine was as comfortable as ever, and he was feeling damn good after the night's sleep in Boston. The van holding his latest crew had caught up with him there, and he'd spent the next few hours instilling in them their new attitudes, values and skills. They'd come to him as loyal employees of the Elite and he'd turned them into lean, mean fighting machines, fanatically dedicated to him and him alone.

    Just the way he liked it.

    Over the hour's drive north to Brockton Bay, he'd casually flicked through the news and the PHO boards, hoping to find out if Atropos' body had been taken anywhere special. But there was no mention of her death at all. The explosion of the car had made the news, and the hostages were apparently already back with their family, but of Atropos there was nothing. It was like she'd suddenly ceased to exist between one day and the next.

    It was the PRT, he realised. It had to be. Their pet boogeyman had gotten herself killed, and they were desperately hiding that fact while frantically scrambling to figure out what to do next.

    Too bad, so sad. I'm already here, and I'm going to be running this dump by the time I'm finished.

    Heh.

    With the van following behind, the limousine threaded its way through the streets of Brockton Bay. He'd decided that he would swell his ranks with the newly formed so-called Brockton Bay Rogues' Guild before assaulting the PRT building, because having capes on call made so many things much easier. According to a notification that had popped up a few hours ago in the 'local events' section of PHO, they would be down at the Boardwalk for most of the afternoon, performing a show for passers-by. While the Boardwalk was by all accounts quite lengthy, the notification included a handy map location for reference.

    It didn't take long to get to the location. There were no parking spaces available on the street, but that didn't matter. The driver knew to find the closest available parking spot, then return when needed.

    Pulling his latest mask on, a masterpiece of sneering contempt, he opened the door as the limo slowed to a halt and stepped out onto the road. Behind the limo, the van swerved sideways and stopped, blocking the whole damn road. The driver cut the engine, set the handbrake and got out, ignoring the honking from the car he'd just cut off.

    This was deliberate. He wanted outrage. He wanted attention. People needed to see him in action.

    Seven more men climbed from the van; as one, the eight crossed the now-blocked road to where he waited. He'd trained them all, instilling them with unbreakable loyalty and the willingness to do anything he told them. Unlike the weaklings who had declined to attack Atropos, these men would've done just that if she'd survived the night's action.

    That was fine; it meant they were perfectly willing to go after lesser targets.

    Each of the eight had been given a nickname, based around the weapon he'd picked out for them. Shaver held a straight razor, Handicap a golf club, Strike a pair of bowling pins, Chairman a folding chair, Sweeper a broom, Shark a pool cue, Bookworm a heavy encyclopedia and Snips—chosen before Atropos' untimely end—two pairs of sewing shears. The latter weren't as long as Atropos' bodice shears, but in his experience, two pairs of blades beat one any day of the week.

    Parian and the other two rogues—Bastet and Salvage, going by the website—were now staring at them as the surrounding crowd backed away. Phones, previously recording the show, were now aimed at him and his men.

    "Good afternoon," he said, grinning under the mask. "I'm Bastard Son, and you three just volunteered to join the Elite, heh."

    "Uh, no." Parian gestured, and three large stuffed animals, previously dancing for the audience, moved forward to block the way. At the same time, she waved at the crowd. "Away!" she shouted. "Get away!"

    He didn't even have to give orders; that was how much in tune his men were with him. Shaver and Snips darted forward, moving in perfect unison. Each dodged a clumsy blow from their respective targets—a six-legged horse and a purple gorilla—then retaliated with precisely timed slashes that left the stuffed animals in shreds on the ground. The third one, a rabbit with boxing gloves and an eyepatch, got off a single punch, expertly avoided, before it joined its compatriots.

    Bastet began powering up some kind of telekinetic whirlwind, while Salvage just stomped forward, clenching his metallic fists. "Come on!" he yelled. "Come on! I can take you!"

    It wasn't even a contest; Handicap vaulted up and over his unprotected head, knocking him to his knees with a single well-timed tap from the golf club. Bastet lasted a little longer as she fed gravel and ground trash into the high-speed vortex around her, but Sweeper hooked his broom around her ankles and pulled her off her feet. Winded by the fall, she stopped struggling when Sweeper put his broom across her throat.

    "Well, that was the Rogues' Guild, heh." Striding forward like a conquering hero—or villain, rather—he latched his hand onto Parian's shoulder and surveyed the shocked crowd. "Good thing they aren't trying to be heroes. Well, that's—"

    "Aren't you forgetting something, Bastard Son?" The words cracked like a whip across the silent crowd, cutting his incipient speech off at the knees.

    He looked around, recognising the voice but not believing what his ears were telling him. There, just on the other side of his men, stood Atropos, but transformed. Instead of midnight black and grey, her costume was pure white from head to toe, and she wore a sword slung across her back. Standing there in the sunlight, she was dazzling.

    <><>​

    Taylor

    He stared at me, his jaw working a few times. "N-no," he protested weakly, then his voice gained strength. "No! You died! You're dead! I killed you!"

    I shook my head slowly, gently, almost mockingly. When I spoke, my voice held an ethereal quality. "I am Atropos the White, now. I have passed through fire and death, and now I …"

    I paused and shook my head again, then snorted.

    "Sorry," I said in my normal voice, barely holding back a chuckle. "I thought I'd pull the 'back with more power than ever' schtick, but that's too pretentious even for me." Holding up my hand, I snapped my fingers, and the bio-dust Amy had prepped for me turned from pure white to dead black, then fell away in a cloud, drifting downwind with the breeze. "As the saying goes, the reports of my death were greatly exaggerated. Now, just so you know, you're already on two warnings. Does anyone here not know what that means?"

    Dead silence answered the question. If anyone hadn't known, they'd either figured it out from context or they were saving the question for later.

    "Yeah, I know what it means." It seemed Bastard Son had gotten his head back in the game. "It means you're standing right there in front of me, and right now the odds are eight to one, heh."

    "Eight to two," grunted Salvage as he climbed to his feet.

    "Three," Bastet corrected, also getting up.

    "No," I said. "This isn't about you three anymore. Thanks for the offer, but I got this."

    "I'll be sure and put those words on your headstone." Bastard Son gestured at his minions. "These are my people you're facing now, heh. You don't—"

    The one with the pool cue came at me first, twirling it like a quarterstaff. I feinted a kick to his knee; while he was reacting to that, I gave him the novelty-sized eight-ball that I'd gotten from the joke shop to the middle of the face (big pockets are so handy). He went over backward, and I caught the pool cue out of mid-air.

    As part of the same movement, I snapped it over my knee, deflected the golf club with the skinny end and whacked its user on the funny-bone with the heavy end. Fanatically loyal or not, neural responses override mere intentions; his hand sprang open and dropped the club. I caught it before it had fallen two inches, reversed it, and tapped him precisely on the temple with the business end. He dropped like a hole in one.

    Bastard Son was still monologuing, turning in a slow circle to take in the crowd's reactions as he did so. "—stand a hope in hell against—"

    Now I had two on me; the broom guy to my left and the one with the straight-razor to the right. I pulled my shears, deflected a simultaneous attempt to brain me with the broom and slice open important parts of my anatomy, then whacked both implements at just the right angle to snap them off short.

    The minion on the left had clearly been trained in full-length broom use, not short-broom-plus-broken-piece-of-handle (a glaring hole in his education, in my opinion) and I used the opening to disarm him of the larger piece, then tripped him with it. He fell headlong and got the wind knocked out of him. At the same time, I let the shears hang off my pinky finger while I twitched the handle of the razor out of right-hand guy's grip, wrapped my fist around it, and slugged him solidly across the jaw. His eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed.

    "—just one of them, let alone—"

    Three of them came at me all at once, with the fourth one coming around toward the back, trying to hit me from the rear quarter. Front guy had a folding chair (really? Wow), the new left-hand guy had a pair of bowling pins, the new right-hand guy had a book. It looked like volume E of the Encyclopedia Americana, but I could've been wrong.

    A sheet of paper, torn from the book, came spinning at me with enough speed and power to slice my jugular. I deflected it with the end of the broom (losing a few bristles on the way), then used the same movement to hit the chair just right as it came at me. If he'd been using a regular chair, he might've been okay, but the folding mechanism was a fatal weakness. It came apart in his hands, and once again he hadn't been trained in using the pieces of his weapon.

    Bowling pin guy hadn't been idle in this time, spinning his weapons in a deadly ballet of grace and skill. I swayed aside from a strike that would've caved my ribs in, and deflected the other with the butt-end of the straight-razor handle. Discarding the latter, I grabbed the back leg section of the now-defunct folding chair and hooked it between bowling pin guy's hands. One of the pins ended up in my hand—I didn't need the broom anymore—and I used it to brush aside another deadly paper missile then hit the open book solidly, crushing all his would-be paper missiles to uselessness.

    Almost as an afterthought, I rapped him over the knuckles, causing him to drop the book. I threw the pin at chair-guy, who was still trying to figure out how to hit me with something that wasn't a folding chair anymore, and he folded up himself. With my hand now free, I caught the book and smacked its previous owner with it, then spun and used it to shield me against a solid drive with two pair of shears. I mean, the nerve of the guy. Shears, against me?

    "—all eight, so you might as well—"

    Bowling pin guy was still up, though he had some holes in his defence due to being reduced to just one pin. He came at me again and I brushed his attack aside with the book, then smacked him in the middle of the forehead with it. Going cross-eyed, he sat down suddenly.

    Flipping the shears back up into my hand and dropping the book, I gave my full attention to shears-guy, who was coming in again. Gliding in myself, I let one attack hiss past my ear while I deflected the one aimed at my gut. This gave me the chance to kick him in the groin, which I did, then disarmed him of both his weapons while he was distracted. Collecting both pairs of shears in the same hand, I smacked him upside the temple with them, then stepped past him as he collapsed.

    "—give up now." Bastard Son jolted in surprise as I stopped in front of him and dropped the two pairs of shears at his feet. My own shears, I spun once and returned to their sheath. "The fuck? How did you—?" He scrabbled for the pistol in his shoulder holster.

    He stopped talking again, mainly because I'd drawn the sword that was still slung across my back, and flicked the weapon from his hand. The point came to rest, hovering just in front of his adam's apple. He swallowed convulsively.

    "My turn now," I said conversationally. Even the few birds around had stopped chirping. Everyone was listening. "Do you know what this is?"

    He jerked his chin, carefully. "It … it's a sword, heh."

    "Not just a sword." I smiled behind my mask and pitched my voice to reach the crowd. "It's a hand-and-a-half sword, commissioned by Louis the Fourteenth for the infant child of one of his mistresses, before the kid was legitimised. I was gifted it by Kaiser's boy. Or, to put it another way, it's a bastard sword from the Sun King, made for a bastard son, given to me by the son of another bastard." I chuckled and tilted my head slightly. "Technically, Kaiser was a legitimate birth, but everyone who knew him would agree that he was a total bastard in every other sense." Sliding the blade back past his ear, I flicked his mask off. "A fitting weapon to End the career of someone called Bastard Son, don't you think?"

    "I—" he began.

    "I wasn't asking you," I snapped, flicking the sword at his eye, so close that he blinked and stepped back and tripped, landing on his back. "I warned you not to come here."

    Taking the sword in both hands, I slashed at him, carving the shape of a kite shield on his torso. The front of his business suit fell away, as did most of his tie. "Fuuck!" he screamed as blood began to flow down his chest. It wasn't bad; I'd only cut about an eighth of an inch deep.

    "In antiquity, the bastard children of nobility had a particular device added to their coats of arms," I said conversationally. "This was called a bend sinister. Basically, a stripe that went from upper right to lower left. Like … so." One more slash, leaving a bleeding diagonal line across his torso, and I put the sword up. "Any last words before I finish this?"

    "Yeah." He grinned through the pain as he scrambled to his feet. "My men are getting up, heh."

    I glanced back over my shoulder. "So they are. But do you know what I just killed?" Taking a cloth from my pocket, I cleaned the length of the blade before I re-sheathed it.

    He shook his head in confusion. "… what?"

    I grinned inside my mask. "Your powers." The substance Riley had cooked up for me had done the job it was meant to. Applied to the very tip of the blade, it was now in his bloodstream. Some had already reached his brain, where it was meticulously severing all links to his corona pollentia. No neural signals would reach it, no blood vessels would feed it. It would die, and his connection to his powers with it. "And your men are now aware that you just ordered them to attack me. Whoops."

    Bastard Son stared at his ex-minions. Some still appeared a little dazed from my rough handling of them, but I'd made sure not to do any permanent damage. None of them were looking at me. All of them were glaring at him. Courteously, I stepped aside.

    "You … bastard," one of them growled. I didn't think it was a reference to his cape name.

    Abruptly, he turned and ran. Shouting in rising anger, they bolted after him.

    <><>​

    Parian

    "Uh … thank you," Sabah said, cautiously approaching Atropos. "You … you saved us."

    "Not a problem. I actually like your puppet show, and the Rogues' Guild is a good idea." She tilted her head. "Hey, next month there's going to be a charity show for the oncology wing of Brockton General. If you wanted some great publicity, there's your chance. Oh, and you might want to get Salvage to move that van out of the way."

    "Oh. Um … sure." Wow, she thinks it's a good idea? Tentatively, Sabah gestured toward where Bastard Son and his pursuers had disappeared down the street. "Should … should you be doing something about that?"

    "Mmm, true." Atropos sighed, her voice taking on an overly melodramatic tone. "Otherwise, he'll get away, and come back with ever more elaborate schemes, and I'll look bad for having not killed him in the first place, and there'll be so much drama." She leaned in close and dropped her voice to a whisper. "You can't see it right now, but I'm totally rolling my eyes. Anyway, nice meeting you. Toodles."

    And then, between one instant and the next, she vanished.

    <><>​

    Bastard Son

    His breath was ragged as he staggered up to the limo. It had taken him far too long to shake his pursuers and then to locate the damn car using the tracker on his phone. For some reason, the driver wasn't answering his.

    Wrenching the back door open, he fell into the cool interior, then pulled it shut and engaged the lock. "Thank fuck. Get us out of here, heh." When he came back to Brockton Bay, it would be with serious forces next time. Actual capes under his power. Atropos would … why wasn't the car moving? "I said, drive!"

    <><>​

    In the Front Seat of the Car

    Taylor

    I wouldn't get a better prompt than that. "As you wish, sir." I dropped the screen between us, slid the sword up and through, and drove the point into the middle of the bend sinister I'd carved into his torso. It went straight through him, and a foot into the seat cushion beyond. He gasped, dying, scrabbling at the blade.

    "Wh—f—you—how—?"

    I shook my head. "I told you I'd kill you. People just don't listen these days."

    Leaving the scabbard lying on top of the unconscious driver, now sprawled across the front passenger seat, I opened the limo door and got out. I pulled out my phone and typed out a text to the PRT, with the address appended. Cleanup in aisle six. Finally, I leaned back in and activated the comms system, sending a live (so to speak) feed to every member of the Elite with a screen.

    I was pretty sure they'd get the message.



    End of Part Forty
     
    Last edited:
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    • Part Forty-One: Taking Care of Business
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Forty-One: Taking Care of Business

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

    Relevant Side Story: Severance, Longing

    Relevant Side Story: Caught Red-Handed 1

    Relevant Side Story: Caught Red-Handed 2

    Relevant Side Story: Caught Red-Handed 3

    Relevant Side Story: Caught Red-Handed 4



    Protectorate Headquarters, Armsmaster's Lab

    Assault

    "Hey, did you hear? They found Bastard Son's body, right where Atropos said it would be."

    Armsmaster barely grunted in response, which Ethan had kind of expected. Leaning over his keyboard, he seemed to be glaring at lines of code on the screen. As Ethan watched, he inserted a blank line then typed a bunch of code that probably made sense to Armsmaster, but not to anyone else.

    "They also got something else …" Ethan added, leaving the tag-end of the sentence hanging.

    Armsmaster didn't bite.

    "… footage of Atropos in hand to hand with eight opponents at once."

    That got a reaction.

    Ethan knew Armsmaster wasn't a Mover of any kind, but somehow he got up out of the chair and across to the door of the lab before Ethan had a chance to react. "Where?" he demanded.

    "We're, uh, just setting it up to run on the big screen in the rec room." Ethan hooked his thumb over his shoulder. "I hear it's pretty impressive."

    But he was already talking to Armsmaster's back.

    <><>​

    Ten Minutes Later

    Velocity

    "How?" demanded Armsmaster.

    "What do you mean, how?" Assault spread his hands and grinned. "She kicked their asses with power and precision, that's how."

    "No, how did she react to each one in time to beat them without leaving herself open to the others? She was guarding against attacks that hadn't happened yet, and setting up attacks on openings that weren't there yet." Armsmaster was wearing a headset with a flip-down eyepiece, and he was pointing at the screen like it had personally offended him. "She's not a speedster … is she?"

    Robin shook his head. "No. All her movement is within human norms. I checked. It's just that it's all on the upper edge of human norm. She doesn't slow down for a second. The kind of focus that requires is … insane."

    "Send that file to my lab." Armsmaster stood up. "I want to see how she does it."

    "Already done," Assault said. "We're just going to watch the show out here on the big screen again. Atropos got some moves."

    Robin went to grab another pack of party pies. This looked like it could go on for quite some time.

    <><>​

    PRT Building

    Director's Office

    Emily blinked as the scuffle with Bastard Son's minions came to an end. It had barely even been a fight. Atropos had looked like she was following choreographed moves, the whole way through. Still, for that many opponents, it was kind of impressive.

    She watched as the sword came into play, rolled her eyes at the recounted provenance of the weapon, then waited for Atropos to kill him with it. But she didn't.

    If any of Emily's troopers had been guilty of showboating like this, Emily would've busted them down to traffic duty before they tried it with the wrong cape and it got them killed. But somehow, Atropos just kept getting away with it.

    And then Atropos explained what she'd actually done, and Emily spat out her drink.

    Grabbing up her phone without bothering to wipe off her computer screen, she stabbed numbers with her finger. "Get me the Chief Director."

    <><>​

    11:17 PM, Saturday Night, January 15, 2011

    Janice Templeton

    All was not yet lost.

    Returning to her computer with a glass of wine, Janice sat down and surveyed her computer. She didn't consider herself a bad person, but she had bills to pay and expenses to meet, and the poor and homeless in Brockton Bay had been getting along just fine without stimulus checks so far. And they'd probably just waste the money on booze or something.

    Besides, she wasn't taking all the money, just making sure some of it slipped through the cracks. It wouldn't even be stealing, really, just making sure that the money ended up in good hands. Specifically, hers.

    As a member in good standing of the B3C (as they were beginning to call themselves), she had admin-level access to the financial network that had been established to handle the frankly ridiculous amount of cash that had been funnelled their way. She wasn't going to try anything so blatant as to grab too much at once; that would be stupid and counterproductive. But the stimulus money had already been accounted for and transferred into the accounts, so nobody would miss it.

    Leaning close over the screen, she scrolled down the master list, clicking the mouse occasionally. With each click, a name went dark, indicating that it had been deselected from the stimulus program. She made sure to select people with foreign names; if they were illegals, they might not even know they were supposed to get a stimulus, and they certainly wouldn't raise a fuss if they did. Even then, she wouldn't take too much. About ten thousand would be about right. Chump change, really.

    Her preparations were almost complete; she'd already made sure that the unclaimed cards would be funnelled to a drop-box that she had access to. All she had to do was click the save icon, and the new configuration would replace the old. Nobody would ever know the difference, and she would be on the way to being ten thousand dollars richer.

    She clicked it.

    Her computer screen froze, then blanked. When the picture emerged again, she was looking at … herself? Why is the webcam on? As if in a nightmare, she saw Atropos on the screen, stepping into view from behind her.

    She spun around, to confront—

    Nobody. Nobody was there. Her study was empty.

    She looked back at the screen. Atropos was looming closer and closer, reaching out …

    There's nobody there. Somebody's just trying to scare me.

    And then the gloved hand clamped onto her shoulder. "Hi."

    Shrieking and flailing, Janice knocked her wineglass over and nearly fell out of her chair.

    Atropos dug her thumb and forefinger into the nerve points of Janice's shoulder, sending jagged pain lancing throughout her upper chest and rendering her arm useless. "Sit. Stay."

    Heart rate accelerating from resting rate to hypersonic, Janice did her best to comply. "Why—how are you here? You only go after supervillains! Capes!"

    "Really? Who told you that?" Atropos' featureless mask was right alongside Janice, now. "I gave you warnings about trying to skim money. You chose to ignore them."

    "I-I can fix it! I can put it all back!" She knew she was babbling now, but she didn't care. A warm wetness was spreading across the seat cushion under her, and she didn't care about that either.

    "No, see, here's your problem." Atropos' voice was softly chiding. "I give people a chance sometimes. And that's only if they had no idea what they were doing. You knew what you were doing. So now it's time for your next role in this little story."

    "Wh—what's that?"

    Atropos gestured at the webcam. "Cautionary tale."

    The last thing Janice saw was the flash of light on the blade of the shears.

    <><>​

    11:34 PM

    Paul King

    One good thing about driving around late at night was that parking was easy to find. Paul brought his SUV to a halt, set the handbrake, and killed the engine. Leaning across and reaching into the glove compartment, he took out his holstered nine millimetre, then climbed out of the car.

    A click of the fob locked the vehicle, then he lifted his shirt and clipped the holster onto the back of his pants, in the small of his back. He wasn't anticipating trouble, but the best way to avoid it was to be prepared. While the Brockton Bay crime rate had dropped significantly in the absence of the gangs, this didn't mean it was zero. Case in point: the people he was going to talk to.

    The number of people in Brockton Bay who were willing to commit violence for money was somewhat less than it had been two weeks ago. Some had hung up the knuckledusters and taken up more law-abiding pursuits, while others had just plain left town in the wake of the capes who had previously employed them. He'd gotten the contact number for these guys from a friend of a friend of a very shady friend, and they'd promised results.

    And so they should have, for the amount of money he'd paid them. But they also should've delivered, and that was something they'd conspicuously failed to do. If the money was going to be pulled out of the drug rehab program, with a few rounding errors ending up in his pocket, then the rehab program needed to be seen to fail. There needed to be disruptions, and there hadn't been any.

    Over the phone, when he demanded an explanation, the spokesman of the group had said that they'd just had a bad feeling and backed off. He was there to provide good feelings again.

    Which was why he was coming to talk to them in person, and why he was bringing a weapon. He had some money, in case all they needed was a little extra incentive, and he had the gun to disincentivise them from just robbing him.

    Descending a short flight of stairs to just below street level, he thumped the heel of his hand on the metal door at the bottom, then looked up at the security camera covering the door niche.

    This had once been the hangout for a bunch of guys strongly affiliated with shaven heads and Aryan tattoos; when the Empire Eighty-Eight pulled up stakes in the aftermath of Kaiser's death, most had left as well. Those that remained were the ones who hadn't really cared about the Nazi ideology, but liked drinking beer and beating up people who didn't look like them. Taking money to trash a few drug rehab clinics had been right up their alley … until they hadn't actually done it.

    A moment later, the door latch clicked, and he was able to push it open. Stepping through, he pushed the door closed behind him then shoved his way past the blackout curtains that were supposed to prevent light from spilling out even when the door was open.

    The place had been messy enough the last time he'd visited (which was also the first time) but there'd been a certain amount of organisation. Now, it looked like a bomb had hit it. Tables were tipped over, the pool table was lying on its side, a few broken chairs were scattered here and there, and the actual members were draped over the wreckage. Some were groaning, while others were ominously still.

    "What … the fuck …?" He stared at the scene of devastation. Fifteen minutes ago, he'd called them and said he was on the way over.

    Had there been some sort of argument while he was in transit? Because right now, they didn't look capable of interrupting a game of bingo at an old folks' home.

    The guy he'd spoken to was called Nicky, and he took no shit from anyone. Paul headed farther into the room, looking for Nicky. If anyone had answers about what had happened here, it would be him.

    "Hey." It was a girl's voice, behind him. He half-turned, opening his mouth to ask a question, then froze.

    Atropos stood there, leaning negligently against the wall, her arms folded. There was a pair of shears dangling from her left hand. Even as relaxed as she appeared, Paul could feel the menace rolling off her.

    "Uhh …" he croaked, his throat suddenly dry. "This is not what it seems. I didn't—"

    "I know you didn't." Her tone was derisory. "I kicked their asses. You were already coming here, so two birds, one stone, you know how it goes."

    "M-me?" He hated how his voice hit a much higher register than normal. The gun clipped to the back of his belt was like a lead weight. It was a poisoned chalice; offering salvation, it would surely spell his doom if he gave in to temptation. "What do you want with me?"

    She unfolded her arms and began to walk toward him, one measured step at a time. Light gleamed off the long, sharp blades of the shears. "You were warned, more than once, not to try skimming off funds. You tried to skim off funds. You know what comes next."

    Terror-fuelled adrenaline surged through his system, and he clawed for the pistol holstered at his back. By the time he got it up and pointed, Atropos had her own pistol aimed at him, the silencer making it look altogether more ominous. There was a brief half-second pause while he tried to figure out why he was still alive, then he thought fuck it and fired anyway. Atropos fired at the exact same instant.

    Nothing happened. He looked down at himself, but there was no blood from suddenly-appearing bullet wounds. She missed!

    He fired twice more, but by the end of it his ears were ringing so badly he could barely hear anything. On the third shot, the pistol jolted extra hard, nearly spraining his wrist.

    Still no pain. So far, if she'd been shooting, every shot of hers had missed him. But nor did she show any signs of having been hit, either.

    "Missed me!" he shouted over the ringing in his ears.

    She shook her head and pointed at the floor between them with the tip of the shears. Lying there, gently spinning, were three misshapen lumps of lead. He couldn't see them quite clearly enough to be certain, but somehow he knew each one was formed by two bullets colliding in midair.

    Even one was a miracle … and she'd done it three times.

    Still, all she had to do was miss once. He aimed his pistol at her again.

    She shook her head, not bothering to raise her weapon. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

    "Why not?" Holy shit, I've actually got the drop on her. A moment later, he decided not to wait for the answer, and squeezed the trigger.

    The gun exploded in his hand, the breech blasting itself open and pieces of metal flying everywhere. He staggered back a step and fell to one knee, clutching the injured hand. It didn't hurt too badly right then, but it was going to in just a second.

    A black boot stepped into his line of sight, and he looked up to see Atropos standing over him. When she spoke, her voice was pitched just loudly enough for him to hear. "Because I fired four shots."

    She played me the whole time.

    Even with that realisation, he didn't see the shears coming until it was far too late.

    <><>

    ■​

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    ■​

    ♦ Topic: Bye Bye Bastard Son
    In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos

    Atropos     (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
    Posted On Jan 16th 2011:

    Good morning to the delightful people of Brockton Bay, and also the rest of you (I kid, I kid. I like you all.)

    So, things got interesting yesterday on the Boardwalk, where our very own Rogues' Guild had their inaugural gathering. I totally approve of the Guild, by the way. Not every cape's got it in them to be a hero (I certainly don't; mwahahaha) but they're doing the best they can with what they've got, and they're doing really well with it.

    But before we get into what actually *happened* yesterday, I'd just like to give a shout-out to our tireless and hardworking PRT troopers, up to and including their boss, Emily Piggot. They're also doing the best they can with the crappy hand they've been dealt. (And a specific thank-you to @Reave, for helping out the night before last. Totes professional, a credit to the service.)

    So, what happened yesterday? Well, I may have mentioned Bastard Son's name a time or three. He knew damn well he was on his second warning. So he showed up anyway. Now, if you're not sure about his capabilities, he was kind of what you'd get if Teacher and Jack Slash had a kid and kicked it out of the house because they were sick of its attitude. He could give people an insane level of skill in basically anything as a weapon ... but at the same time he also pushed an insane level of loyalty (to him, duh) onto them.

    So when these guys showed up, they were actually being Mastered into doing what they did, which is why they're not decorating hospital beds or morgue slabs right now. (Just in case you're wondering: one's given himself up to the PRT, and the rest have skipped town).

    So, BS wanted to open up a location in BB for the Elite to put down roots. As such, he did his best to kill me first. I might have let him think he'd succeeded, just for the look on his face when he Found Out.

    What? That look of 'oh shit, I have totally fucked up' is one of the perks of this business. Tell me it isn't.

    Why he was on the Boardwalk is simple. One of the Elite's strategies is to either recruit, chase off or kill any rogues before they move in. I wasn't going to let that happen, for several reasons.

    For those who weren't there, footage can be found here, here and here. Many thanks to those who posted it up; you just saved me about a page of making bad jokes about people bringing a folding chair to a knife fight.

    In case anyone's not sure what I said to BS after the fight, I carved a bend sinister into his chest with a hand-and-a-half sword, commissioned by Louis XIV for the son of one of his mistresses before he actually legitimized the kid. Its last owner was Kaiser, who was a *bastard* in all ways but birth, and it was gifted to me by his *son*.

    And today you learned something!

    And just in case you're wondering why I let him just run off like that, I wanted him to get to his limo (where I would be waiting). In the back of that limo was a high-end comms setup, including video links to his buddies in the Elite. After I killed him with the sword, I turned on the comms, so they could all see what happened to him when he came to BB against my specific recommendation.

    I'm sure they'll get the point.

    *He* certainly did (mwahaha).

    Toodles!
    ​
    (Showing page 1 of 27)

    ►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
    Replied On Jan 16th 2011:
    Well.
    Dang.
    That happened.
    The other day, we learned what would happen if Atropos decided to kill someone's credibility. Yesterday, we found out what happens if she's up against a bunch of people she really doesn't feel like killing.
    Pro tip: It's not just guns or shears she's good at using.
    I have zero doubt that if she'd decided any one of those people was supposed to die, they would not have gotten up again. That was her *holding back*.
    I'm not even going to ask where she got the oversized eight-ball from. We know she got the sword from Kaiser's kid (who freely admitted that she asked for it and he told her to keep it if she wanted).
    Oh, and just by the way, the Rogues' Guild is legit. They've been checked out due to their encounter with Atropos (standard operating procedure) and they're totally on the up and up. Also, they've got the Atropos seal of approval, which would actually be less weird if the PRT also didn't have it.
    I would also like to personally thank Atropos for keeping the gore down to a minimum this time around.
    So there you have it, folks. If it was any more wholesome, it would be a Hallmark movie.

    ►BobTheBarbarian
    Replied On Jan 16th 2011:
    Here lies bastard son, he was too damn stupid to live

    ►Malarkey
    Replied On Jan 16th 2011:
    Like a motherfuckin' BOSS! That fight was awesome! You won't believe how much I laughed as Atropos kept knocking Bastard Son's minions with their own weapons!

    ►Adamis
    Replied On Jan 16th 2011:
    the guy wanted to make a show. she made a show of him. it is a fitting end.

    ►GleamingGlare
    Replied On Jan 16th 2011:
    I can't believe nobody's talking about how Atropos depowered Bastard Son. I mean, that's a really big deal. That has to be a nightmare for a LOT of people. Many of which are powerful, even if they can't harm Atropos.
    Though it would be a dream come true for others, like some Case 53's, at least.

    ►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
    Replied On Jan 16th 2011:
    Instead of asking Atropos to come in to the PRT building (we know she won't), I would like to say something else.
    The night before last, I got to meet her face to face.
    I've been up against villains before. I've faced them, I've fought them, I've even been injured a couple of times.
    This was nothing like that.
    Lives were at stake. She was the first responder. People lived because she made the specific choice for that to happen.
    Just like she chose to save the Rogues' Guild from Bastard Son.
    We're still not *thrilled* that she's out there, but I think I understand her better now.
    @Atropos - you know where to find me if you ever want to talk.

    ►XxVoid_CowboyxX
    Replied On Jan 16th 2011:
    @GleamingGlare - about the depowering thing. In some animated shows, the bad guy can destroy someone's life energy by hitting them with a 'death blow'. Just a touch, but it drains or destroys their special martial-arts energy. I'm wondering if this isn't similar, but using a blade.

    ►BattleLoaf
    Replied On Jan 16th 2011:
    @GleamingGlare - with how public it was, she wants people to know she can kill powers. This is going to make capes a lot more cautious about tangling with her.
    Also, that whole color change thing. How did she do it? Was it for intimidation (btw, it worked) or was it just for the Gandalf joke?
    @XxVoid_CowboyxX - Normally I'd dismiss that out of hand. With Atropos, I can totally see it.

    ►Wastajax
    Replied On Jan 16th 2011:
    Holy crap, how far in advance did she have to plan to have that sword and that oversized eight-ball on her yesterday? For that exact circumstance?
    I'm going with Thinker: Yes.
    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 25, 26, 27
    ​
    (Showing page 2 of 27)

    ►jojo_mojo
    Replied On Jan 16th 2011:
    It would not be such a bad thing to consistently and safely depowered a parahuman actually.
    It can be considered a humane (inasmuch life sentence is (generaly considered) more humane then execution) solution for evil cape.
    Its akin to cutting of a thief's hands so he can no longer steal, so your miles might vary..
    I mean.. if the alternative is the birdcage ...

    ►GstringGirl
    Replied On Jan 16th 2011:
    Is this really a thing? Can Atropos actually kill powers?

    ►XxVoid_CowboyxX
    Replied On Jan 16th 2011:
    Oh, yeah. I was there, in person, I saw what she did to Bastard Son. I heard her. Watched it happen.
    It's real.

    ►Radalab
    Replied On Jan 16th 2011:
    Okay, after the 'Atropos the White' skit she pulled, memes are suggesting themselves.
    "One does not simply walk into Brockton Bay ... if you are a villain."
    Anyone? Anyone?

    ►XxVoid_CowboyxX
    Replied On Jan 16th 2011:
    Ooh, ooh!
    "You can have my sword, and my bow, and my axe, and my shears."

    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
    Replied On Jan 16th 2011:
    *snerk*
    You guys are total nerds, and I love it.

    ►Mouse_Protector (Verified Cape) (Veteran Member) (Independent Hero) (Verified Atropos Fan)
    Replied On Jan 16th 2011:
    I got one!
    A picture of Atropos holding her shears up.
    "Myyy Precioussss ..."

    ►55Frostburn
    Replied On Jan 16th 2011:
    And another one bites, 'nother one bites, 'nother one bites the dust!
    I don't know much about the Elite, but if this keeps them out of the Bay, all the better.

    ►Eppinaga
    Replied On Jan 16th 2011:
    She totally had me with the history lesson.
    Who knew serial killers could also be educational?

    ►UnconcernedFox
    Replied On Jan 16th 2011:
    *puts in an order for more popcorn. Dis is gettin gud*
    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4 ... 25, 26, 27
    ​

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: GstringGirl
    Subject: Please don't be mad

    Hi,
    Im … its really hard to just say this straight out but im a csse 53.
    And I hate my ppwers.
    Is there any way I can get you to kill them for me like you did witj bastard son?
    If you cant or wont its okay, I understand.
    I just wanted to ask.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: GstringGirl
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Please don't be mad

    Hey, Sveta!
    You're in luck. You caught me in between killing sprees (not killing Spree, I already did that). I can totally murder your powers for you.
    However (relax, this isn't as bad as it sounds) if we do this, Imma be volunteering you for a friend of mine to experiment with her powers in ways she's really not used to doing. This is my way of dragging her out of her shell, kicking and screaming all the way.
    So, here's the dealio. If you can convince the staff at the asylum (try Mrs Yamada, I hear she's a total sweetheart) to transfer you to Brockton Bay, I'll come visit some dark night (because that's how I roll) and End your powers for you. Then I'll turn you over to my friend, so she can get you back on your feet. Or pseudopods, or flippers, or whatever she leaves you with. Mwahaha.
    So, what do you say?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: GstringGirl
    Subject: Re: Re: Please don't be mad
    Thank you so much. Anything wld be better than this.
    Ill talk to mrs Yamada.
    Thank you again.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: SilentWhispers
    From: TheRealTenebrae
    Subject: Really?

    Great. Just great.
    Now half the city thinks I was in a relationship with all of you at once.
    Aisha only stops laughing about it to make bad jokes.
    I am never going to live this down.
    Thanks a BUNCH.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: TheRealTenebrae
    From: SilentWhispers
    Subject: Re: Really?

    Bwahahaha!
    The look on your face.
    Totally classic.
    Still, I'm glad you're doing well.
    Keep up the good work, hero boy.
    Tt

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: SilentWhispers
    From: TheRealTenebrae
    Subject: Re: Re: Really?

    Not funny.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: TheRealTenebrae
    From: SilentWhispers
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Really?

    Hahahaha

    ■

    <><>​

    Sunday, January 16

    Taylor

    "Good morning," I greeted Cherie as I came downstairs. "That smells nice."

    "Thanks," she called from the kitchen. "I thought I'd cook breakfast, earn my keep around here."

    "Well, you don't have to, but it's definitely appreciated." I strolled through the living room and into the kitchen. "How are you this morning? You look happy."

    "I am." She gave me a beaming smile, then put down the pan for a moment to give me a heartfelt hug. "I just wanted to say thank you."

    I hugged her back, then leaned against the table and watched as she took up the pan again. "You're welcome, but if you're talking about the roof over your head, that's more Dad's doing than mine."

    "No, not that." She sprinkled a touch of salt onto the scrambled eggs. "I saw footage last night about a robbery by the Red Hands gang. Regent, Tattletale and Hellhound from the Undersiders must have joined them after leaving Brockton Bay."

    "While Grue rebranded as Tenebrae and went into the Wards, yeah." I nodded to show I was keeping up. Cherie hadn't met Brian and Aisha and Riley yet; the less she knew, the less she could let slip.

    "Uh huh." A grin lurked on her lips as she made sure none of the eggs were sticking to the pan. "So, when he showed up with the Protectorate to the crime scene, the Red Hands were still on site. They came out to delay while their teammates were still inside. I wasn't there so I can't tell how serious they were, but Regent showed real, actual emotion while he was talking to Tenebrae. More emotion than I've seen him show in literally years."

    "Regent's your brother, yeah?" I started getting plates out of the cupboard. "If he was as bad off as you were when I first met you …"

    "Worse." She shook her head. "A lot worse. When I knew him, he couldn't have faked the emotions I saw on that clip if you paid him a million dollars. But now … he's better. Because you helped him. And I want to thank you for that, and for the rest of my brothers and sisters."

    "Well …" I laid the plates out on the table. "You're welcome. And you've helped me out a lot since you came here, so it hasn't all been one way."

    Cherie nodded firmly. "Good. I'm glad."

    <><>​

    PRT Building

    Director's Office

    Emily leaned back in her chair and surveyed the multiple callers on her (now clean) screen. All PRT Directors, their level of unhappiness measurable in direct relation to their proximity to Brockton Bay. Front and centre, of course, was Chief Director Costa-Brown.

    "Good morning, all." The Chief Director managed to look impassive and pissed at the same time, which was a good trick. Emily had only ever managed to look pissed. 'Impassive' was something she was still working on. "I hope you've all viewed the footage that was sent on to you." If they hadn't, the implication went, they might not have their jobs in a few minutes.

    A wave of nods spread across the screen. It seemed everyone was anxious to retain their jobs.

    "Good. That incident happened yesterday afternoon. Director Piggot?"

    Emily nodded and sat forward again. "We've had our best techs analyse each frame of all the footage for any hint of data manipulation. Nobody found anything. Likewise, chemical analysis of the sword that was used to kill him, and his bloodstream found nothing that could be pinpointed as the cause of his power loss." If she'd found it, she would've had it bottled.

    Armstrong, in Boston, raised his head. "So, all you've got to go on is Atropos saying that she killed his powers, with no hint of how it was done."

    "Correct." Emily eyed her fellow Directors. "Before anyone suggests that we bring her in and question her, that is a terrible idea, especially considering that we have strong evidence that she is either allied to a teleporting cape or has access to a Tinkertech teleporter. Also, her Thinker rating is such that she will see such an attempt coming. Right now, we have the equivalent of an armed détente with her, that she is choosing to maintain. We don't really have any leverage in the matter."

    "So, no change there," observed the Chief Director. "Director Pritchard, how are the Elite reacting in San Francisco to Bastard Son's death?"

    Pritchard held up her hand palm down, tilting it from side to side in a 'so-so' motion. "I've put out feelers, but the vast majority of what I'm hearing is that he poked the hornet nest all by himself. The Elite have apparently been warned that Brockton Bay is off-limits, and this just underlined that. I suspect the 'killing powers' section was what really grabbed their attention."

    Emily would not have been surprised in the slightest, especially given that the Elite were specifically an organisation made up of capes. She just hoped that none of their young bloods came to Brockton Bay to 'handle' the threat of Atropos, because that would just lead to more bodies on her kill count, and stress on Emily's PRT officers.

    Hearthrow, in Chicago, half-raised his hand to get attention. "If we had nothing else to go on, I was wondering if this new ability to kill powers might be somehow related to her already-noted claim to be able to kill Endbringers."

    Emily snorted silently. As far as she was concerned, it all fell under that bullshit PHO banner of 'can actually kill anything'. Though, she was careful to note, if Atropos did manage to take down an Endbringer, it would go a long way toward Emily actually approving of her. Emily was only human, after all.

    "Not as far as we know," the Chief Director said. "Watchdog still refuses to have anything to do with her. Director Piggot, you're still trying to reach out to her?"

    "Yes, with limited success." Read: zero success. "However, she did speak with one of my officers the other day. The encounter was cordial on both sides, and it seems she came away with a positive view of our organisation."

    "Yes; I read the PHO post." Costa-Brown raised an eyebrow. "Do you actually have any villains in the city anymore? Apart from Atropos, I mean?"

    Emily shook her head. "No, but we have a bunch of new rogues, some of whom I suspect used to be extremely minor villains before Atropos made her mark. And of course, we have Tenebrae in the Wards. Despite a recent hiccup, he's integrating very successfully."

    "Yes. I saw that too." Emily wasn't quite sure if Costa-Brown's lip had just twitched, or if it was a trick of the light. "If there is nothing more for anyone to add about Atropos' new ability, I'm calling this meeting to a close." There was silence for the next few moments, as everyone waited for someone else to say something. "Very well. Meeting is over."

    Emily clicked the mouse button to cut the call, and sat back in her chair. Welcome to the madness that is my job. It wasn't like the other Directors could do anything about it, but aggravation shared was almost the same as aggravation halved.

    Getting up, she poured herself a cup of coffee, then sat back down at her desk. Meetings were all well and good, but sometime actual work had to get done.



    End of Part Forty-One
     
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    • Part Forty-Two: Just Another Manic Monday
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Forty-Two: Just Another Manic Monday

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


    Relevant Side Story

    (Still) Sunday Morning, January 16

    Danny Hebert

    "So, what are your plans for today?" Danny asked, after finishing off the scrambled eggs Cherie had apparently made. They were quite good, actually. "Is there anyone else currently causing problems for the city, or can you actually relax and take a day?"

    "Problems are at a minimum." Taylor leaned back in her chair and stretched. "There's going to be a couple of things out of town in the mid-afternoon, but before that I was going to take Cherie to the Lord Street Market so we could pick out a few new outfits and browse for anything else she wanted. Afterward, maybe the Boardwalk and a movie."

    Both Danny and Cherie looked at her. "A couple of things out of town?" asked Cherie. "Why haven't you told me about this yet?" She paused. "Just by the way, the market and movie sound like great ideas. But back to the other things."

    Taylor rolled her eyes. "It's nothing, really. Some dealers from Boston got the bright idea to set up a pop-up of all things, exactly one mile outside the Brockton Bay city limits. They figure that means they aren't dealing inside Brockton, and can thus get away with it. At least, with me."

    Danny raised his eyebrows. "That seems to be remarkably risky. Is this an Accord thing, testing the waters?"

    "Hah, no." Taylor snorted. "Some freelancers, looking to make the big time. I'll just show up, destroy their stash, and explain to their customers that anyone who tries to pull this loophole to buy drugs isn't welcome back in my city. They want to keep feeding their habit, they can go elsewhere to do it … and stay there."

    "If the dealers put up a fuss about you destroying their drugs, are you going to kill them?" Cherie didn't seem dismayed by this concept, merely curious.

    "Only if they come at me with lethal force." Taylor shrugged. "Otherwise, it'll be a 'kneecaps are a privilege' situation."

    "And the other thing?" asked Danny. "You did say 'a couple' of things."

    "Yeah." She rolled her eyes. "Gesellschaft got told by Bastard Son that I was dead. One of them hasn't got the memo that I'm still alive. He's scraped together all the drugs he can from other contact points in the country, and it's all shipping together in one eighteen-wheeler. It'll be coming through just about the time I finish up with the drug pop-up idiots."

    Cherie nodded sagely. "Right. So, nothing to worry about then."

    "Not so as you'd notice." Taylor held up a finger. "Oh, and there is something else, Dad."

    Danny eyed her cautiously. "Why do I get a bad feeling when you use that phrase?"

    Taylor smirked. "Superior pattern recognition? Anyway, you're about to get a phone call from the police. It's about Paul King and Janice Templeton. Last night, I caught them trying their shit again, so I made examples of them. They're alive because you didn't want me killing them, but they are in the hospital."

    "Do I want to know what you did to them?" He really didn't, but he supposed he should ask anyway.

    "Well, it's unpleasant enough that nobody else on the Committee will be even tempted to try anything themselves, but it's survivable." She shrugged as she got up. "I'll let the cops fill you in. Help me with the washing up, Cherie?"

    "Sure." Just as Cherie stood up and started stacking the plates, the phone rang. "I think that's for you, Mr Hebert."

    Danny rolled his eyes, though he was secretly pleased that she felt comfortable with making jokes like that. "Thank you for that, young lady." He handed her his plate on the way to the phone.

    Heading over to where the phone hung on the wall, he picked up the receiver. "Hebert residence, Danny Hebert speaking."

    <><>​

    Taylor

    Wrist-deep in suds, I scrubbed at the pan, enjoying the mindless effort. There was no second or third guessing, no juggling of the probabilities. It was either dirty or clean. The binary choice appealed to me.

    "So, what'd you do to them, and who's calling your dad about it?" murmured Cherie beside me as she wiped a plate dry.

    "Blinded them with my shears, then cut off their right hands with the axe I took away from Hatchet Face," I said, scrubbing away. "Then I left a packet of material beside each of them and called emergency services. The packet lays out exactly what they did, so once they get medical attention—and their eyes get fixed, just as soon as Panacea gets around to it—they can stand trial for attempted fraud and suchlike. The reason the cops are calling Dad is because I left his name as a primary contact, by way of the Committee. That way, he can plausibly know about it before Monday, and have enough material to ensure nobody else tries to pull this shit."

    "Geez." She shook her head. "You'd think they would've learned by now."

    I shrugged. "As my maternal grandfather used to say before he passed, some folks just gotta pee on the electric fence."

    It took her a moment to get it, then her eyes widened, and I could see her struggling not to laugh. "He did not!"

    "He totally did."

    She was still giggling by the time we finished drying the dishes.

    <><>​

    Monday Afternoon

    Boardwalk

    Sabah looked around the picnic table at the rest of the Brockton Bay Rogues' Guild and wondered when her life had become so complicated. First Bastet and Salvage, then Emily (possibly Spitfire) and Dinah (possibly Oracle) had shown up, and they were all looking at her for leadership. Well, maybe not Dinah. She was just looking for a responsible adult.

    "Well, we got a good take on Saturday," she began. "People seem to like the Guild. We're nice, soft, fluffy, safe capes. But we can't depend on public goodwill to pay our way all the time, so I've been looking at job opportunities for everyone."

    "I can probably help with that," Dinah piped up. "Give you the percentage chance of getting a particular job, so you don't waste your time where people are already set against you."

    Sabah blinked. Dinah had already explained her power, but that was an application she hadn't considered.

    "Huh," said Salvage. "If you can do that for us, kid, it'll help a ton."

    "Totally." Dinah beamed. "I just have to be careful with my questions."

    "Uh … guys?" Emily spoke up tentatively. "There's someone coming this way, and he's got PRT with him."

    Along with everyone else, Sabah turned to look at the newcomer. Wearing a suit and tie and holding an electronic tablet, he was indeed flanked by an armoured (and armed) PRT trooper, who was carrying a large briefcase. As they got closer, she realised that the briefcase was chained to the PRT trooper's wrist.

    Standing up, she went to meet the two men. "Good afternoon," she said politely. "We aren't bothering anyone, I hope?" Nobody had expressed any particular problem with their presence, but that didn't mean someone hadn't complained anyway.

    "Oh, no. Quite the contrary." The man in the suit held his hand out. "I'm Harold Whittaker, and this is Trooper Kendall. I'm quite pleased to meet you. Your show on Saturday was inspiring."

    Cautiously, she shook his hand. "I'm Parian, but you probably knew that already. What's this about? Are you a process server or something?"

    He beamed at her. "Well, I do work as one, but this is different. If we can have the use of the table for a moment, I'll be able to show you. Trooper Kendall?"

    With the air of someone who'd already done this a thousand times before, Kendall strode over to the table and placed the briefcase on it. Whittaker tucked the tablet under his arm and leaned over the briefcase for a moment. Sabah heard the clicks as the combination was entered, then he flicked the latches. "Now, your colleagues would be Bastet, Salvage, Spitfire and Oracle, correct?"

    Sabah eyed the briefcase suspiciously. "Those last two might be subject to change, but yes. Why?"

    Deftly, Whittaker removed five small envelopes from the briefcase before snapping it closed again and passing them out. They literally had faces printed on them, Sabah realised. More to the point, hers had her mask printed on it, while Emily and Dinah's envelopes had their current domino masks. "I've been employed by the Brockton Bay Betterment Committee. These contain your stimulus cards, plus the relevant bank details for the accounts. Each card has a PIN attached to it. Memorise this, then destroy the sticker. Each card has one thousand, two hundred dollars on it. You may also use it as a standard savings card. Further stimulus payments will go into the same card. Any questions?"

    "Uh, yeah." Salvage left off staring at the picture of himself in his improved armour. "I'm pretty damn sure I'm not in the system. Howcome I'm even getting this?"

    Whittaker shrugged. "Someone put you into the system. I've learned not to question this sort of thing."

    "What sort of thing?" asked Bastet. "And how did you know we were going to be here, in costume?"

    "That's the sort of thing I'm talking about," Whittaker confided. "This morning, we each got a list describing exactly where to find everyone due to receive a stimulus card, and when they would be there. Including pictures." He retrieved his tablet and tapped the screen. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment with a gentleman just down the way."

    Sabah watched them go, then slowly sat down again. "Did … that just happen?"

    "It just happened, alright." Salvage opened his envelope and examined the card within. "Damn, this is sweet. What's this Betterment Committee and stimulus thing all about, anyway?"

    "It's Atropos," Sabah explained. "She's funding improvements to Brockton Bay with the money from the Slaughterhouse Nine, and apparently the money is part of it."

    "Awesome." Salvage looked at Bastet. "Go you halves on one of them fancy motel rooms, with the room service and stuff?"

    She grinned and high-fived him. "You're on."

    <><>​

    Around the Same Time

    Brockton Bay Betterment Committee

    Danny was standing at the head of the table as the other committee members filed in. By the time everyone he expected was there, two seats were still empty.

    "Good afternoon," he greeted them. "Before we get started, I have a few announcements. First, the stimulus payment rollout started this morning, and is on track to be finished within schedule. Well done, people."

    There was a light smattering of applause, which he allowed to die down before he continued.

    "Second, the drug rehab clinics are still working well. People are coming in and getting treatment, and everyone is behaving themselves. God willing, this will continue."

    "You mean, Atropos willing," snarked one of the union men in the committee, sparking a wave of laughter.

    Danny grinned as well. "I don't care who's in charge, so long as it all keeps working. Now for the third thing." He tapped the two Manila envelopes on the table in front of him. "This is a bit more serious, and it involves Janice Templeton and Paul King."

    "Yeah, where are they?" asked one of the women from the Mayor's office, looking around. "They should be here for this."

    "They can't be here for this, because they've both been attempting to skim money from the fund." Danny spoke bluntly, bringing all eyes back to him. "I suspected it, then Atropos brought it to my attention."

    "Geez, you talked to her?" It was the union man who'd spoken again.

    Danny nodded. "I did. She came to my house and said that something was going to be done about them if they didn't stop trying. I asked her not to kill them, and she agreed. But they did keep trying. So …" He took up the envelopes and opened them. "She acted."

    From each envelope he pulled a colour glossy eight-by-ten, and a sheet of letter-sized paper. The photos he dropped on the table. Those closest to him leaned over to look, then recoiled violently.

    "Christ, what did she do to their eyes?" demanded the union guy, looking on the verge of retching. "And their hands?"

    He'd already looked at the photos; forewarned, he was able to maintain his equilibrium. "The medical reports say their eyes were surgically removed with an extremely sharp instrument. She also hacked off their right hands with, I suspect, an axe. Emergency services were called immediately afterward. They are both in Brockton General Hospital, in a stable condition."

    "Okay, we get it. Put those away." The woman from the Mayor's office closed her eyes and waved in the general direction of the photos. "You've got proof they were trying to skim?"

    "The police say they do." He slid the photos back into their respective envelopes. "As soon as they're well enough to stand trial, charges will be laid." Pulling out his chair, he sat down.

    "If Atropos had proof, why didn't she just take it to the cops and let them deal with it?" demanded Dawson Stansfield, one of the other committee members. "She didn't have to do that to them as well!"

    "Because she's not a hero." Danny's voice was quiet, but everyone shut up and listened. "She's not here to be nice and wave to the crowds and save kittens from trees. Her aim is to make Brockton Bay a safe place for everyone to live, and she doesn't care who she has to hurt or kill if they ignore her warnings along the way." He tapped the closest envelope with his fingertip. "Janice and Paul forgot that. Let's not make the same mistake."

    From the looks on the faces of the other members of the Committee, it seemed a few of the others had let that slip their minds, and the reminder was not to their taste.

    "Goddamn, you're a cold one, Hebert." That was Stansfield again. "You can't sit there and tell me you approve of this."

    Danny shook his head. "No, I don't. But I don't pretend for a second that I can actually prevent it from happening, either. If I hadn't advocated for them, they would've died, I'm certain of it. As it is, they'll have some sort of life after all this. Also, she can be reasoned with, just not tricked or gotten around. Which I have to admit is a step up from a few of the people I've faced across the negotiating table in the past."

    The union guy nodded in grudging agreement. "So, what's her endgame? What does she get out of this?"

    "You're asking me?" Danny shrugged. "My best guess is, exactly what we see. A safer, more prosperous Brockton Bay. Lower crime, more jobs, reduced poverty, no drugs on the streets, improved infrastructure, maybe enough money to do something about the ferry and the Boat Graveyard at some point. It's not like she's been secretive about her goals. We even got a literal guideline for how to get it done." He slapped the table lightly with both hands. "So, we've wasted enough time second-guessing our not-so-mysterious benefactor. We're going to need to put out feelers for replacements. Bring me suggestions at the next meeting. Just make sure they understand that playing by the rules is essential."

    "Yeah," muttered Stansfield. "No shit."

    <><>​

    Monday Evening

    Taylor

    "So where are we going again?" Cherie straightened up from where she was leaning against Dad's car beside me, and looked around. "And where is your dad, anyways? We've been waiting forever."

    I grinned, knowing it irritated her. "One, you'll find out. Two, he's about thirty seconds away. Three, we've been waiting four minutes and thirty seconds."

    She rolled her eyes. "It feels like forever. And why are we dressed up?"

    I could understand her distaste for 'dressing up'—the only time her father had put pretty clothing on her was to parade her for men he wanted something out of—but while we were at the Market I'd made sure to steer away from the types of revealing outfits he'd forced her to wear. This time around, I knew she understood there were no ulterior motives going on. "Because we're going out in public, among a lot of other people who will also be dressed up, and I'm pretty sure you don't want to draw attention."

    "Ah. Okay." Not being in the public eye was something she was definitely fine with. "And you're not going to tell me what's going on?"

    "I'm curious about that, too." Dad rounded the corner of the building and came toward us. "Hi, Cherie. That's a nice outfit. What's the occasion?"

    She rolled her eyes. "Well, if you don't know, and I don't know, then the only one here who knows is Taylor. Who won't tell me."

    "Don't look at me." He spread his hands. "All I know is that Taylor asked me to be finished by seven."

    If the hint had been any broader, it could've served as a landing strip for a 747. I cheerfully ignored it. "And now we need to head to Arcadia." I gestured at the car. "Teleporting might draw too much attention. So, shall we get going?"

    "Arcadia? What's at Arcadia?" But he was already unlocking the car.

    I got in the back seat with Cherie. "You'll see."

    All the way to Arcadia, they tried to wheedle it out of me. Cherie told me I was mean and she wouldn't be my friend anymore, and Dad threatened to just drive us both home, but I held firm (though highly amused).

    When we pulled up in the Arcadia parking lot, Dad's eyebrows rose when he saw all the other cars already parked there. Then Cherie spotted the purple-striped vans and it stopped being funny for her.

    "Taylor," she said carefully. "What's the PRT doing here? And why are we here, where the PRT are?"

    "Relax," I said airily, passing her a cloth cap I'd bought her. She hastily stuffed her hair up under it, including the red-dyed lock. "They're here for site security, nothing more."

    "Yes," Dad chimed in. "But site security for what?"

    I sighed. It seemed the time for secrets had run its course. "They're debuting a new Ward. Because Arcadia already has a security setup for the Wards who attend here, they let the PRT use their auditorium for this kind of event as well."

    "Oh." Dad looked enlightened. "But why are we here?"

    "Well, I thought I'd bring Cherie along because it could be fun, and I'm bringing you along so you can see a positive outcome for something you helped me out with, a while ago."

    He frowned. "A Wards debut? How did I help you out with that? And what have you got to do with it?"

    I kept my voice down as we joined the crowd moving in through the doors. "Remember the passenger we took away with us, the day Jack came to town?"

    It took him a few seconds, then his eyes opened wide. "She's the Ward? How ...?"

    Cherie was looking between us like a spectator at a tennis match. "What passenger? Who's Jack? What are you two talking about?"

    I leaned in close to her. Even though she was older than me, I was taller, so it wasn't hard to get my mouth close to her ear. "Before your time. But the new Ward's name is Miss Medic."

    We managed to claim three seats next to each other, and sat down. Arcadia's auditorium was nicer than Winslow's, but that was kind of a given. Cherie's expression was intensely focused, as she thought over the hints I'd given her. Just as Director Piggot of the PRT finished up a short speech—I got the distinct impression she wanted to be anywhere but there—Cherie sat bolt upright in her seat, her eyes widening in the same way Dad's had.

    "You have to be shitting me," she hissed as we stood and applauded briefly.

    "Does this look like the face of someone who's shitting you?" I retorted, just as quietly, once we were sitting down again. Armsmaster was now at the podium, giving his own speech. Where Piggot's subtext had been 'oh god get me out of here', Armsmaster's was 'I once read a book about giving speeches'. I was about ninety-five percent sure he was reading it off the HUD in his helmet, and ninety percent sure he hadn't actually written it.

    "But B- uh, her?" Her expression was that of extreme disbelief. "How does that even work?"

    "You'll see." I stood and applauded with the rest of the audience. When we sat down again, Armsmaster walked offstage (I fully expected to hear his bike leaving within seconds) and Miss Militia came on, escorting Riley.

    I had to admit, they'd done a damn good job with her costume. Nowhere to be seen was the Alice dress, or any hint of one. Even Vista, the most powerful Shaker on the hero side, had been stuck with a skirt, but with Riley they'd bolted in the opposite direction.

    They'd settled on 'combat medic' as a basic theme, but softened the camo uniform with pastel colours to remind everyone there was a kid in there, and kind of make them look like scrubs. She had a military helmet, kid-sized, with flower decals on it, with a tinted visor to act as a mask while still allowing her broad smile to be seen by one and all. And boy, was she smiling. We were all standing and applauding as Miss Militia shepherded her to the podium, the parallels between the two costumes clear for all to see.

    Miss Militia took the microphone first. "Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for. Allow me to introduce our newest Ward: Missss ... Medic!"

    We applauded, of course. While that was happening, Riley climbed up onto a step that was hidden behind the podium stand, and Miss Militia adjusted the height of the mic for her. I got the impression this wasn't the veteran hero's first rodeo, when introducing Wards.

    "Thank you, Miss Militia," Riley said, and those of us still clapping fell silent. "Thank you, everyone. It's great to be here. It's great to be a hero, so I can help people who need it."

    She paused for breath, so of course we clapped again. Cherie took the opportunity to learn over to me. "She means it. She wants to be a hero!"

    "Uh huh," I replied, but then the applause died down again.

    "When I was younger," Riley went on, "we travelled around a lot. There was no place I could call home, nowhere I could put roots down. We'd just get somewhere, and it seemed we had to move on again. But now I'm here, and I feel more welcomed in Brockton Bay than I ever have before. I want to be the best darned hero you wonderful folks have ever seen!"

    We applauded again, and I couldn't help grinning at the double meaning of her speech. Sneaky, Riley. Very sneaky.

    Miss Militia stepped forward and took over the mic in what had to be a rehearsed move. "And that's our Miss Medic, ladies and gentlemen. We'll take a few questions before we wrap this up."

    Predictably, the first few were softball questions, seeded into the audience to give Riley some confidence. What are your powers, how do you like the Wards, do you think you'll ever work with Panacea, and so forth. Someone asked if she and Miss Militia were related, and Riley raised a laugh with, "No, but I've been meaning to ask her about her stance on adoption."

    Then came a question that I suspected they'd been waiting for: would the two of them be teaming up together? Miss Militia fielded that one by saying, "It's always good to have a medic handy, but Miss Medic will be working with all of us. Beyond that, I can't talk about our tactical dispositions in the field."

    That was when she started wrapping it up. There would be a supervised meet-and-greet with the press (which we weren't), but I'd seen what I needed to. Riley was officially a Ward now, and the brain work Amy had done on her was holding up just fine.

    "Okay, we can go now," I said, getting up. Dad and Cherie were okay to leave as well, so we made it to the exits before the crush.

    Nobody spoke much on the way to the car, but once we'd gotten in and the doors were closed, Cherie turned to me. "What the fuck?" she demanded. "What the absolute fuck? If that was Bonesaw ... I mean, I've seen just how bullshit your powers can be, but how in the ever-living hell did you pull that shit off? If I hadn't known, if you hadn't spoon-fed that to me ... there's no way I would've ever picked it. Not a hope in hell."

    I leaned back in my seat, now more satisfied than ever. Cherie's patent incredulity was the icing on the cake. "Same way I stopped those guys from mobbing the drug rehab clinics," I hinted, watching her face.

    "But you didn't stop them," she protested. "I stopped ... them ... from ..." She stopped talking. "Oh."

    I nodded encouragingly. "Exactly. I got someone who was not me to do something I needed doing."

    "But who?" She frowned again. "Couldn't be Panacea, for two reasons."

    I batted my eyes innocently at her. "And what two reasons might those be?"

    "Two reasons I'm all of a sudden not so sure about." She mock-glared at me. "Everyone knows she can't do brains, unless she can and isn't telling anyone. And I was damn sure that whatever you asked her to do, she'd do the exact opposite out of spite, but now you're smiling in that way that says I'm missing something important."

    "Mm-hmm." I grinned. "So, you know how I've got a fan club?"

    She nodded. "Which is still not the weirdest thing about this town, but yeah."

    "Okay, then. Back before the Nine came to town, I was meeting with the head of my fan club and her brother in a park ..."

    <><>

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    ♦ Topic: Finding Out
    In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos

    Atropos     (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
    Posted On Jan 18th 2011:
    Hello to the citizens of my favorite city!

    (Brockton Bay, if you were wondering).

    So, this is only going to be a minor post. I have not killed any villains in the last few days. In fact, I haven't killed anyone. Though there has been a large amount of grievous bodily harm, so I suppose you'll have to be satisfied with that.

    Who have I performed grievous bodily harm on?

    Well, let's see now. There *were* some people who decided they would open up a loophole by setting up a drug dealing point outside the Brockton Bay city limits. I paid them a visit, explained that why yes, I *can* actually travel outside the city, then torched their stash. And their car. And their shoes (I made them take the shoes off first, because I'm nice like that).

    One of them actually pulled a knife on me. My good friend Mr Pump Action Shotgun then had a brief conversation with him about how Kneecaps Are A Privilege. He might walk again someday. I hear they're making great strides with artificial knees. (Pun totally intended).

    There were also a few would-be customers hanging around. I explained to them that if they wanted to come out of town to buy their drugs, then they could just keep on going. They buy drugs, they're not welcome back. I did not go to all this trouble to get rid of the illegal drug trade to have shit like that happen.

    After that, I waylaid an eighteen-wheeler full of Gesellschaft drugs. It shortly thereafter became a furnace full of drugs. The drivers didn't put up a fight. They even stopped when they saw me. It's like people are learning or something.

    Gonna have to do something about that idiot in Stuttgart Sud, though.

    And then there's Janice Templeton and Paul King. They aren't villains. Hell, they didn't even have police records before yesterday. But they *were* doing their best to skim money out of the Betterment Committee, by sabotaging the drug rehab and stimulus programs.

    This and this happened to them, on Sunday night.

    I am *not* playing, folks. These people were entrusted with the well-being of Brockton Bay as a whole, and they betrayed that trust. The only reason they're alive is that the chairman of the Committee politely asked me not to kill them, after I had a chat with him about their second warning.

    (I also may have beaten the crap out of a bunch of Mr King's criminal associates, but that hardly counts.)

    On the upside, I understand that the stimulus program is kicking along really well. Someone had the bright idea to ask Director Piggot to assign PRT troopers to assist with security in the matter, and what do you know, it worked. So that's a plus.

    Oh, and I've got one more name for my 'not allowed in Brockton Bay' list: March.

    I'll get back to you when I've got more thrilling news to recount.

    Toodles!

    (Showing page 1 of 27)


    ►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
    Replied On Jan 18th 2011:
    ... huh.
    She's right. It *has* been a quiet couple of days. The stuff she mentioned? Barely even got the PRT's attention.
    I almost miss the days when you couldn't go twenty-four hours without hearing about some villain's hilariously ironic death.
    Almost.
    The last two weeks have basically been an insanely accelerated demonstration of natural selection in action.
    Kind of reminds me about an old joke I saw floating around online, with a new punchline:
    "Evolution is a fallacy. What we have today are the creatures Atropos has only given two warnings to."
    Anyway, like Atropos, I'll get back to you when I've got something to report.

    ►CBDR (Constant Bearing Decreasing Range)
    Replied On Jan 18th 2011:
    Committee members skimming?
    In a normal world, it would be seen as business as usual.
    Too bad for them, it's not a normal world anymore.

    ►5051rice
    Replied On Jan 18th 2011:
    Did you see why the gun exploded? Because I think Atropos put her last bullet *up his barrel*.

    ►XxVoid_CowboyxX
    Replied On Jan 18th 2011:
    @5051rice - after she shot his previous three out of the air.
    That wasn't a fluke. That was *precision*.

    ►BrickFrog
    Replied On Jan 18th 2011:
    Did she have to blind them and cut their hands off? Really?

    ►Searching4theLord
    Replied On Jan 18th 2011:
    Is it just me or is that punishment more than a little Biblical?
    Matthew 5:29-30: "If your eye offendeth thee, pluck it out/if your hand offendeth thee, cut it off".

    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
    Replied On Jan 18th 2011:
    It's more Atropos 1:1.
    "If thou screweth with Atropos, she will make sure you can never do it again."
    End of verse, end of sermon.

    ►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
    Replied On Jan 18th 2011:
    I'm pleased to see you left them alive.
    The offer to talk still stands.
    No recruitment, just an exchange of views.
    The lady and her son are doing well, by the way.
    You did good.

    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 25, 26, 27

    ■​

    Relevant Side Story

    End of Part Forty-Two

    [A/N: There's going to be a few minor timeskips over the next few chapters. Just so you know.]
     
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    • Part Forty-Three: Returns on Investment
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Forty-Three: Returns on Investment

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



    Relevant Side Story

    Friday Afternoon, January 21, 2011
    Protectorate New York Base

    Flechette

    Lily drew a deep breath, then let it out as she knocked on the office door in front of her.

    A moment later, a voice called out from within. "Come in."

    She opened the door and stepped inside. Legend wasn't behind his desk, as she'd expected him to be. Instead, he was off to the side, having just stood up from a comfortable chair in front of his large picture window.

    "Thank you for seeing me, sir," she said hesitantly, then mentally kicked herself. Of all the times to get second thoughts about what she wanted to ask him, this was the worst.

    "No problem at all," he said genially. "Join me, and let's talk about what's troubling you." Casually, he sat down again. "Your request to see me was fairly vague."

    "Nothing's troubling me, exactly, sir," she said, but sat down anyway. The chair was very comfortable, and somehow it was easier to talk to Legend when they were both sitting and relaxed. "I just wanted to ask permission for a little time off."

    "Oh?" He turned to look at her. "I can't see a reason why not, but when were you thinking of taking time off?"

    "Uh, actually, the fifth of February." She paused, then kept going at his inquiring look. "In Brockton Bay, they're doing a fundraiser for their children's cancer ward. Mouse Protector said she's going, to repay Atropos for what she did to Ravioli—I mean Ravager …" She trailed off awkwardly.

    Legend chuckled. "Ravioli will do fine. Yes, I remember that. So, Mouse Protector is showing up to put on a show for the kids, and you want to tag along and help out, is that it?"

    Lily nodded. "Well, yes. If that's okay, I mean."

    "It is definitely okay, young lady." Legend gave her a nod of approval. "This is exactly the sort of heroic initiative I like to see in our Wards."

    "Oh, uh, cool! I mean, thank you." All the angst and worry that had been weighing Lily down dissipated like yesterday's fog. "I totally appreciate it."

    "No, really. You've earned it." Legend stood up again. "I'll set the paperwork in motion immediately. Who's your current team captain again?"

    "Jouster, sir." Lily got up as well. "Do you want me to inform him?"

    "No, I'll send the message through channels." He clapped her on the shoulder. "Have a good afternoon."

    "Thank you, sir. And thank you again for seeing me." She headed for the door and opened it.

    "Not a problem in the world." As she closed the door behind her, he was sitting down behind the desk.

    Wow. That was easier than I thought.

    <><>​

    Monday, January 24
    Boston, Massachusetts

    Canary

    "... and so, in summary, I am quashing Justice Regan's preliminary findings. Ms Mcabee, you will reimburse Mr Cantrell for his medical costs, plus twenty thousand dollars for emotional pain and suffering. I am also sentencing you to time served plus a five-year suspended sentence. Furthermore, your song lyrics will need to be scrutinised for any potentially harmful commands before you are permitted to perform them in public. Be aware: you are on probation for your actions. Is there anything about this that is unclear?"

    Paige opened her mouth—it isn't fair! What about my pain and suffering?—but then she felt Mr Calle's hand on her arm and she shut it again.

    "It is all eminently clear, your Honor," he said smoothly. "My client understands perfectly."

    "Very good." The stern woman eyed Paige, then nodded. "You will receive an itemised list of the medical costs from the bailiff, which you will be expected to pay within one month." The gavel banged.

    "But—your Honor!" All too late, her ex started up from where he sat on the opposite side of the courtroom.

    The judge turned her basilisk glare upon him. "Mr Cantrell, I have rendered my judgement, and it is final. Outbursts are not permitted in my courtroom. If Ms Mcabee fails to reimburse you for the amount found in today's judgement within thirty days, then we will be revisiting this matter. But until then, this is over. Do you understand?" Her entire attitude stated that he'd better understand.

    The district attorney, who'd done his best to dent Paige's story, but had signally failed against Calle's imperturbable demeanour, whispered to her ex and more or less forced him back into his seat. "He understands, your Honor," he assured the judge.

    "Good. We're done here."

    Paige stood at the bailiff's command of 'all rise', but her head was spinning. A week ago, she'd been essentially locked in solitary; all guards wore hearing protection, and any court appearance had involved a torturous metal gag and heavy metal chains. But everything had changed overnight, a new judge had taken the case, and none other than Quinn Calle had shown up as her lawyer, paid for by her suddenly unfrozen accounts. He'd demanded a bench trial, which the court had been obliged to supply, and everything had gone on from there.

    "So, what does all that mean?" she asked quietly, once the judge had left the courtroom. "Did we win or did we lose?"

    "Oh, we won, but we made it look like we lost." Calle seemed quite pleased with himself. "Make no mistake, Ms Mcabee, the judiciary had you solidly in their sights. They were determined to make an example out of you. However, they overreached, which gave certain people some much-needed leverage. Trust me, this is the best possible judgement you could've gotten in the matter."

    "I—" Paige cut herself off as her ex bulled toward them. "What do you want? You're getting twenty thousand dollars from me. You should be happy now."

    "I deserve more than that!" He was building himself up to a fine head of steam. "You made me cut my fucking dick off and shove it up my ass!"

    Anger rose in her. "It's not my fault that's your go-to when someone tells you to go eff yourself!"

    "To do what?" He leaned in. "Did you just Master me again?"

    "Nice try, Mr Cantrell." Quinn Calle smoothly inserted himself between the two of them. "I'm fully aware of the limitations of Ms Mcabee's powers, and I know for a fact that she hasn't sung a note in another person's hearing in months. Also, that listening to recordings of her songs reduces the effect considerably. Merely hearing her talk will not cause Mastery. For example: I have been speaking with her all day. Ms Mcabee, give me a command to perform a harmless act, please."

    Paige swallowed, hoping he knew what he was doing. "Mr Calle, stand on one foot."

    Nothing happened. Both his feet remained planted firmly on the ground.

    "You see?" He smiled urbanely at her ex. "Be aware that I will be taking note of this attempt to harass my client, now that the case has been dealt with. Much more of this, and we might just be able to get those twenty thousand dollars back off you, plus extra for emotional pain and suffering."

    The asshole glared at both of them. "Fuck you!" Turning, he stormed away again.

    Paige took a deep breath, aware of how fast her heart was beating. "I literally cannot tell you how much I appreciate your help. I don't know how bad it would've gotten, but it was pretty horrible there for a while."

    "As I said, you were in their crosshairs. You got a punitive fine; plus, you're going to have to keep your nose clean for the next five years. That should satisfy the people who want to see you punished for simply being a Master." He gave her a sly grin. "I normally represent much worse people than you. It's always fun to poke a stick in the eye of the judiciary whenever they think they can railroad capes just because they're capes."

    "But there's got to be more to it." Paige knew she wasn't special in the big picture. "Why you? Why me?"

    "An entirely relevant question." He took his phone from his pocket and speed-dialled a number. "Hello? Yes, it came out the way I expected. We're on the way out of the courthouse now. Here, I'll give her the phone."

    Her mind now buzzing with curiosity, Paige accepted the phone and held it to her ear. "Hello?"

    "Hello, Ms Mcabee." The voice held a Canadian accent. "This is Dragon. Do you know who I am?"

    Paige blinked. "What … the Dragon? The superhero?"

    "Correct." There was a smile in the voice now. "When I saw the raw deal you were getting, I did a little poking and prodding. I'm pleased it turned out as well as it did."

    "What?" Paige stopped in her tracks and leaned against the wall. "You did that for me? You got my funds released, and got Mr Calle to represent me? I-I mean, thank you! I can't thank you enough! But … but why?"

    "Because I know what it's like to be unfairly judged and punished for something that's not my fault. However, I can't take all the credit for how smoothly everything has gone. Just on my own, all my protests would've gone unheeded. So, I asked a … friend, shall we say, to lend some weight to my arguments."

    "Good God." Paige saw a seat nearby and dropped into it, because her knees weren't really up to the job right then. "Who's your friend? Who has that kind of pull? Was it Alexandria, or someone else in the Triumvirate? Or aren't I allowed to know?"

    "Not Alexandria, or either of the others." Now she sounded a little sad. "I went to them first. They wanted nothing to do with the case. It was very much a situation of 'let the legal system do its job'. Even if the judiciary was unfairly targeting you."

    "Um. Okay. So … who helped? Who's got that sort of pull?"

    There was a slight pause. "Have you ever heard of Atropos?"

    Paige had definitely heard of Atropos.

    She'd first come across the name when she got her own phone back, a week ago. Scrolling through to find out what she'd missed out on in her months of being incommunicado, she'd encountered a couple of what she'd thought were sensationalised news articles, but when she followed them up … they weren't.

    Over the course of two weeks, the villain-slash-vigilante-slash-antihero-slash-who-knew-what had taken the northeast of the United States by storm. The known casualty list included Lung, Kaiser, Heartbreaker, Butcher and the Teeth, as well as the Slaughterhouse Nine; the recorded footage was insane, and Atropos' PHO thread read like something written by a genial horror movie slasher.

    She had a fan club. A fan club.

    It was a good thing Paige was already sitting down, because if she hadn't been, she would've ended up on the floor. "Yeah. I've heard of her. Sh-she helped me out?" Oh, god. Now I owe a serial killer a debt. Maybe I'd be better off back in that cell. The feeling of being between a rock and a hard place was coming back again.

    "It was more a case of me asking her if I could use her name to get results, and her agreeing. As soon as Regan heard that she was interested in making sure the case would be fairly adjudicated, he basically tossed all the paperwork in the air and walked away from it."

    "Oh. So, she didn't actually murder anyone to get me out of it. I suppose that's a good thing." The next question needed to be asked, even though she didn't want to ask it. "So … uh, what does she want from me, in return?" She didn't even want to think about the ramifications of Dragon being friendly with a mass murderer. Some things just didn't bear close scrutiny.

    "Well, as it turns out, the Brockton Bay General Hospital children's oncology ward is having a fundraiser on the fifth of February. She said if you were able to make an appearance and put on a show for the kids, she'd be happy with that."

    Paige's brain screeched to a halt so abruptly, smoke should've been drifting out her ears. "Oncology ward? A charity show for kids with cancer?" This did not go together with 'remorseless serial killer'. "That's all she wants?"

    "That's all. Oh, she might turn up for a signed selfie with you. She does that." There was resignation in Dragon's voice now.

    "Would … would she be angry if I didn't? Make an appearance, I mean? Or agree to a selfie?"

    "Hmm." Dragon paused for a moment. "Probably not, to be honest. She's fully aware of the impact of her reputation. But if you were to ask me? I'd say, do it. She's an extremely reasonable person, and as of right now, Brockton Bay is one of the safest places in the United States."

    "So … she isn't likely to shoot me if she takes offence to something in one of my songs?"

    Dragon actually laughed out loud. "No … no, she isn't. We're more frenemies than actual friends, but I do know this much about her. Atropos has exactly zero fucks to give. Just don't dilute or tarnish her brand in any way, and you'll be perfectly fine."

    Paige made a mental note. Nothing about Atropos in any of my songs, got it. "I see. I will seriously think about it." Which, both of them knew, meant that she'd say yes.

    "Thank you. I appreciate it."

    "No, thank you. For everything." Paige ended the call, and sat there looking at the phone. What have I gotten myself into?

    One way or another, she figured, she'd find out.

    <><>​

    Sunday, January 30

    New York

    "Hey, March?"

    May looked up from the book she was reading, an illustrated version of Lewis Carroll's classic, to where her minion was leaning in through the doorway. "Yeah?"

    The kid—Barry or Gary or something like that, she couldn't be bothered remembering their names—sucked in a nervous breath. "I heard a whisper. Flechette's going to Brockton Bay on the fifth for some charity show."

    Setting a bookmark in place, May sat up. "Really."

    "Yeah. They say Legend's real pleased with her for taking the initiative like that."

    A slow smile spread across May's face. "Really." She gestured, a flip of the hand. "Got it. Go away."

    He vanished from the doorway. May closed the book and set it aside, thinking hard.

    Flechette wanted to make herself look good by attending a charity show, huh?

    The first thought May had was to go to Brockton Bay itself and wreck the show, making it look like Flechette's fault, but common sense prevailed. Brockton Bay had acquired a Reputation among criminal capes; more to the point, Atropos had expressly forbidden March from going there. Atropos had a Thinker power that allowed her to know when anyone was about to mess with her town, that much was obvious. Heartbreaker had only been allowed to come in as far as he did because Atropos wanted to kill him, and Damsel of Distress had been met with a shotgun to the back of the head.

    Challenging Atropos on her own turf, when the serial killer probably knew she was coming, would possibly end badly. But there was more than one way to skin that particular feline.

    How to make sure Flechette can't look good at the show without actually being there myself … hmm.

    The solution, when she arrived at it, was simple.

    Make sure Flechette never got there.

    Her smile spread, Cheshire Cat-like, under her mask. Now to find out her patrol schedule.

    Flechette was going to regret ever trying to walk away from the little cat-and-mouse game they had going.

    <><>​

    Monday Afternoon, January 31
    Boardwalk

    Parian

    "Hey, Parian!" Wearing just her goggles to hide her identity, Oracle smiled in greeting as Sabah climbed off the six-legged horse. Bastet, who was sharing what appeared to be a Fugly's seafood selection with Spitfire—who was wearing a domino mask, with her dragon mask lying on the table—looked up and waved. A moment later, Spitfire shyly did the same.

    "Hi, all." Sabah sat down, smoothing her skirts, and surveyed the others with quiet pride. They weren't a superhero team, but they were still her Rogues' Guild. Since they'd first officially become a group, they'd taken to meeting at the same table where they'd received their stimulus cards. Nobody wanted to come right out and call it their 'lucky' table, but she kind of felt that way herself. "Where's Salvage? I wanted to go over ideas for next Saturday."

    "He's not far away," Bastet said cheerfully. "Started his new job today."

    It was amazing what a difference just a few weeks of nutritious food and sleeping on actual beds had made. Gone was the hangdog, desperate young woman who had almost pleaded with Sabah for a chance to be part of a bigger thing, so she didn't have to eat out of (and sleep in) dumpsters anymore. Now, Bastet was confident, no longer scrawny, and her hair was shiny and well-kept rather than matted and dull.

    "Oh, he got it?" Sabah was pleased. "That's amazing."

    "Well, he did have a seventy-three point nine four three percent chance of—" Oracle began, then squawked as Bastet grabbed her around the neck and administered a gentle noogie.

    "Yes, we got it," the kineticist chuckled. "You're awesome, and we all know it. Now, what about Spitfire? You got any tips for her?"

    Oracle emerged from the hold with her hair ruffled but her eyes were sparkling with amusement. She stole a calamari ring from Bastet's side of the food, then stuck out her tongue at the older woman. "Yeah, actually. I was talking to my cousin Rory, and he said that out at the College they need to use really nasty chemicals to scour out some of their reaction containers. If they didn't have to keep those chemicals stored onsite, with all the safety precautions and stuff, they'd probably save a bunch of money." She turned to look at Spitfire. "I figure you've got a seventy-six point nine one three percent chance of getting an ongoing job there."

    "What, really?" Spitfire looked startled.

    "'s what my power says." Oracle took a bite out of the calamari ring. "Mmm, nice."

    "Oh, hey, there's the big guy now." Bastet waved. "Yo! Sal! Over here! Saved you some curly fries!"

    "Hell yeah, they're the best." Salvage clomped over to them; like Bastet, he was looking considerably more upbeat, and healthier, than when Sabah first met him. Even his armour looked sleeker, now that he had better tools to maintain it with. "Hey, guys. Sorry I'm late. Boss wanted to talk to me about getting my forklift ticket. That'll be even more dollars in my pay packet."

    "Forklift?" Sabah frowned. "Can that armour even fit on a forklift?"

    He chuckled and grabbed some curly fries. "My armour is the damn forklift. I'll be learning the safety rules they operate by, so I can stand in for one in tight spaces and stuff. Also, I'll be adding flashers and a beeper for backing up."

    "Ha! All right!" Bastet high-fived him. "You da man."

    "That's really good," Sabah agreed. "You've done well."

    He hunched a metallic shoulder. "Couldn't have done it without your coaching, or Oracle figuring out who was most likely to hire me on."

    "Well, duh." Bastet stole his cap and put it on her own head. "We're a team. We look out for each other."

    "Yeah, we do." He ignored the theft in favour of shoving a curly fry into his mouth. "Damn, that's good."

    "So, you said something about going over ideas for next Saturday?" Oracle prompted.

    "Oh. Yes." Sabah took a deep breath. "There's that fundraiser charity show at Brockton General. Atropos suggested we put on a display as the Rogues' Guild. That sort of publicity can only be good for us, right?"

    For a long moment, she thought they were going to turn the idea down, but instead they looked thoughtful. "Atropos did save our asses with Bastard Son," Bastet mused. "We kind of owe her."

    Salvage frowned. "Yeah, but what kind of show could we put on that'll make people want to donate lots of money? We do okay on the Boardwalk, but that's because nobody's expecting anything amazing. We don't really have a single theme that ties us together, you know?"

    Spitfire half-raised her hand. "I might have an idea. I saw on social media that Canary's going to be singing a few songs. It'll be her first gig since the trial. What if we kinda ... helped her out with her act? I mean, she's a fellow rogue and stuff."

    Sabah blinked, impressed. That had been perhaps the longest speech she'd heard out of the withdrawn teen since she'd joined the Rogues' Guild. It was also a good idea. "We can definitely make the offer," she said. "I like it."

    "Yeah." Bastet slapped Spitfire on the shoulder. "Great idea."

    Ducking her head, Spitfire blushed pink. But a tiny smile crossed her face at the same time.

    <><>​

    Friday, February 4, 2011
    A Seedy New York City Alleyway

    March

    May surveyed the alleyway and smiled under her mask. This, she decided, would do perfectly. It was a dead end, so Flechette wouldn't be able to run. This would give May all the time she needed to beat her clustermate just badly enough that Flechette wouldn't be able to go to Brockton Bay and show off for the charity deal.

    She would let Flechette escape in the end, of course; this part of the game was all about catch and release. And letting Flechette know that she was being released would be almost as demoralising as catching her and keeping her, without all the hassle of dealing with escape attempts. This was a game she could play over and over.

    Loosening the rapier in its sheath, she took up her position in the depths of a shadow just within the mouth of the alley. Flechette's behavioural patterns would bring her just past the mouth of this alley, where May would be able to force her inside and disable her comms before she was able to call for help. And then, May would have all the time in the—

    Someone tapped her on the shoulder.

    There should be nobody in the alley! I checked!

    Turning with all the speed she was capable of, May drew her rapier with a rapid serpentine hiss. She found herself facing a tall, black-costumed figure; the suit and tie and morph mask marked her opponent out as the one person she was staying away from Brockton Bay to avoid. But that was secondary to the fact that a pair of heavy shears had just rapped her over the knuckles, forcing her to drop the rapier.

    "Hi." Atropos sounded positively upbeat. "Stay away from Flechette."

    Despite the fact that she'd just been expertly disarmed, May knew the fight was far from finished. She knew three different ways of kicking the sword back into her hand, and she'd already watched enough footage of Atropos fighting to be able to dance between the raindrops once they got started. But first, she needed to distract the extremely adept killer in front of her so she could regain the rapier.

    "Really? What's she to you?" she sneered, preparing to kick the rapier upward with the toe of her boot. "This isn't Brockton Bay. You're in New York now—"

    Atropos' boot flicked out. There had been zero warning, no shifts of her weight. The toe struck the rapier, propelling it into the air. Already calculating how to catch it, May shifted—

    And an elbow arrived like a freight train, smashing into May's jaw and brutally driving her sideways. She managed to roll with it just enough that she wasn't knocked cold, but the world spun in great looping circles and she was pretty sure her jaw was broken.

    "I wasn't asking, and I wasn't looking for an answer." Atropos' tone hadn't changed; she might have been discussing the weather. "I was telling you. You will leave Flechette alone."

    She now held the rapier, May saw. Worse, she was between May and the exit to the alley. But she didn't attack, even though she had to know she had the advantage.

    May's head was clearing now. A couple of her teeth had come loose in her mouth, and she surreptitiously spat them out into her mask, along with some blood. She didn't know what brand of combat Thinker Atropos was, but the serial killer for damn sure had never gone up against someone like her.

    The rapier was the big problem. It had reach, and could easily be brought back into line. But Atropos wasn't holding it like an expert, or even a talented amateur. Her grip was all wrong, and the tip was wandering all over the place.

    Still, with those shears in play, it would be hard to land a hit on Atropos' upper body or head. So instead, she'd come in against the rapier, brush it out of the way, and land a solid kick against Atropos' kneecap before disengaging. It would be a lot harder to fight if—

    Atropos was a fluid blur of motion. The rapier licked out toward her left shoulder like silver flame. She fell back, deflected a slash from the shears with her right hand, then realised far too late that they'd both been feints. The heel of Atropos' boot smashed into the side of her knee; cartilage tore, tendons popped, and she bit off a scream as her knee joint bent in a direction it was absolutely not designed to go.

    May almost collapsed, but she managed to catch herself with one hand up against the wall, her bad leg trailing uselessly behind her. Air hissed in and out between the teeth she had left. She was only just now starting to realise the depth of the shit she was in.

    Atropos was faster than her, and refused to move to any pattern her power could analyse and beat. Twice now, May had been taken unawares while facing her. Both were blows that could've taken her out of the fight if Atropos had chosen to capitalise on them, but she hadn't.

    She was drawing this out, just like May herself liked to do.

    It was not a pleasant feeling.

    "Now, I've warned you twice to leave Flechette alone." Atropos sauntered forward, the rapier once more held carelessly in her hand. "She is important to me. Important enough to protect with lethal force. Is that understood? Nod if you understand."

    Grudgingly, knowing with absolute certainty that she would die if she did anything else, May nodded.

    "Good." Atropos may even have smiled, but the morph mask made it impossible to tell. "So, you may be under the misapprehension that I came here to kill you. That's not true. If I had, you'd already be dead, probably in a highly ironic and somewhat hilarious fashion. As it is—"

    The rapier speared forward, pinking May's throat. One inch farther in and she would be dead, she knew. It withdrew, then made another lightning jab, this time going between her ribs just far enough to start her bleeding, but not hit anything vital. The message was loud and clear. I could've killed you at any time. I can kill you at any time.

    Just as May was assimilating that, Atropos stepped in and smacked her on the temple with the guard of the rapier. It was the final insult to her abused body. As May's vision began to darken, Atropos leaned in close. "You'll survive …" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "… if you leave Flechette alone."

    May's legs gave way then; Atropos helped her down, turning her to lie on her left side. As Atropos straightened up and stepped away, May heard the tones of a cell-phone. "Yes, ambulance and PRT, please." Atropos' tone was just as upbeat as ever. "I just saw a supervillain in an alleyway. She looked pretty beat up. Wearing a stupid-looking rabbit mask. Can't miss her."

    She wandered out of the alleyway, taking the rapier with her and still talking on the phone. Her voice faded as she went out of sight.

    A moment later, Flechette headed past the mouth of her alley on her patrol. May watched her go; just before she lost consciousness altogether, one last thought crossed her mind.

    Fuck.



    End of Part Forty-Three
     
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    • Part Forty-Four: Flechette's Big Day Out
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Forty-Four: Flechette's Big Day Out

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



    Relevant Side Story

    February 5, 2011; 08:05 AM
    New York City Protectorate Headquarters

    Flechette

    "Hey Flechette, wait up!"

    Lily paused and looked around as Jouster used a speed burst to catch up with her. "What's up? The transport to Brockton Bay leaves in five minutes."

    "Yeah, that's what I wanted to talk to you about." His expression was serious. "Please be careful while you're there. I've heard crazy things about that place."

    "About Atropos, you mean." She raised an eyebrow. "When we met her, she was nothing but nice to us. I mean, you were there too. You saw it. She took selfies."

    "And she's also murdered a whole bunch of capes in Brockton Bay, and she cut out those people's eyes, and chopped off their hands!" Glancing around, he took a breath, evidently trying to calm himself down. "Look, what I'm trying to say is that she can't be trusted. She could be nice as pie one second, then decide to put you on her own personal murder list the next."

    Lily shook her head. "Um, no. That's not what I've seen. Every single person she's killed, except maybe Oni Lee, she gave ample warning to. She's really, really predictable. I mean, I'm not saying I approve of how she's killed all those people, but she does actually warn people first."

    He bit his lip. "That might be true, but I still want you to be careful. If you see her again, don't engage, don't even go near her. Get the hell out of there. Okay?"

    "I appreciate the advice." She thought he was being far too alarmist, but she didn't intend to provoke Atropos anyway. That was more a matter of basic common sense than any particular worry about the black-clad cape's intentions. Also, Atropos had an amazing sense of humour, if what she'd done to Ravioli was any indication. "Was there anything else?"

    "Not really—wait, yeah." He held up one finger. "Yesterday, they got a call about a downed villain right near where you started your patrol. Injured, still alive. Turned out to be March. You didn't run into her, did you?"

    "Ugh, no." Lily grimaced. She just wished March would leave her the fuck alone. Every time she shifted to a different Wards team, March showed up with a new bunch of capes and engaged her group with brutal efficiency. It was like the military-themed cape was determined to ruin her career as a hero. "Who got her? I'd like to send them a thank-you card."

    He shrugged. "That's the thing. We don't know. Whoever it was busted her jaw and wrecked her right knee, then knocked her out. Right now, she's handcuffed to a hospital bed with two armed guards. She's not really coherent yet, but even if she was, she can't talk worth a damn." He grinned suddenly. "Oh, and whoever it was took her rapier, after poking her a couple of times with it."

    "Oh, boy." That would piss off March more than anything else. She loved using that rapier to make people look stupid. Which raised another concern; if someone could give March a beatdown of that calibre and make off with her rapier, it meant there was a new player in town. There goes the status quo. "Who called it in?"

    "No idea. No voiceprint matches in the system, but it sounded like a girl about our age. Whoever it is, I'd like to shake their hand, especially if it gets March off the streets and out of our hair."

    "Yeah, no shit." She held up her fist for him to bump. "Wish me luck. And I promise to only say nice things to Atropos, if I meet her again. Okay?"

    He sighed. "Okay. Just take care." His fist tapped hers. "Now go, or you'll be late."

    "Yes, boss." She dashed for the elevator.

    All the way up to the roof helipad, she puzzled over who could have gotten the drop on March. There weren't many purely physical-based parahumans in or around New York who also had the moves to take on someone as hard to tag as March was. In fact, the number approached zero. It couldn't be zero—someone had evidently done it—but who it could've been, she had no idea.

    As she came out on the rooftop, the transport chopper's rotors were just starting to lazily turn. Trotting across the tarmac while keeping her head down, she climbed on board and began to strap herself in. The arbalest, she strapped into the next seat over. "This is the transport to Brockton Bay, right?" It was always good to make sure.

    "Certainly is." The pilot's name was Jake; she'd flown with him before. He was brisk and professional, and kept a photo of his wife taped to the console. "Just waiting on one more."

    "One more? Who?" She frowned. Nobody else on the team had mentioned they were going to Brockton Bay.

    "Yours truly, duh." Mouse Protector swung herself on board and dropped into a seat. "You didn't think I was planning to walk all the way there, did you?"

    "Ah, right. Good point." She tilted her head as the engines began to spool up in earnest. "So, how'd you talk Director Wilkins into letting you ride along?" It would've taken more than Legend's say-so, she knew that much.

    Mouse Protector grinned at her. "Told her I'd make sure to keep an eye on you while we were there, and protect you from scary Atropos, woooo." She wiggled her fingers to emulate spookiness, then went back to strapping herself in.

    "Hah, gotcha." Flechette grinned back, then settled in for the ride as the chopper began to take off. She didn't know exactly what to expect when she got to Brockton Bay, but she could definitely think of worse travelling companions than the mouse-themed cape.

    <><>​

    Philadelphia Parahuman Asylum

    Garotte

    "Mrs Yamada!" Sveta broke out into a beaming smile. "It's so good to see you again!" She worked at keeping her tendrils under control; she really, really wanted to be able to talk to Mrs Yamada face to face, and that would only work if her powers weren't trying to kill the therapist at the time.

    "I'm pleased to see you, too." Mrs Yamada's smile was visible through the faceplate on the protective suit, and her voice was easily audible via the speakers. "Have you been doing your exercises? You seem to have better self-control."

    "Yes, I have." Sveta breathed carefully as Mrs Yamada stepped into the cell. Not enemy, not danger. Do not attack. Not enemy. "I've been wanting to talk to you."

    "I got the message, yes." Mrs Yamada sounded contrite. "I wish I could've gotten here sooner, but I had other obligations that I couldn't put aside. But I'm here now. What did you want to talk about?"

    "I want to go to Brockton Bay." The words just slipped out, bypassing her carefully laid-out speech. She mentally cringed, and her tendrils twitched. No. Do not attack. "Sorry, um, I mean … is it possible? Could I go? Please?"

    "Hmm." Mrs Yamada frowned thoughtfully. "It shouldn't be too hard to give you safe containment for the trip, but … why? What's in Brockton Bay? You do know we don't have facilities like this there, right?"

    "No, no, I know that." She hasn't said no yet, she hasn't said no yet. "Atropos is in Brockton Bay. She can kill powers. I saw it on PHO. It's really real. And … I, uh, already asked her, and she said that if I can get to Brockton Bay, she'd kill my powers and then get a friend to fix me."

    Mrs Yamada paused, then gave her a serious look. "Atropos. You've asked Atropos to kill your powers."

    "Um, yes?" It's not a stupid idea, it's not a stupid idea …

    When the therapist spoke again, her voice was soothing. "Sveta dear, you are aware that she might just kill you instead, right?"

    Sveta was definitely aware of that. "Yes, I've thought about it. They tried hard enough to kill me before they captured me. If I ever escape, then I'll probably kill more people. Best case, she kills my powers and I'm free of them forever. Worst case, she kills me, and I'm still free of them."

    Mrs Yamada sighed. "I will admit, I have trouble thinking like that. However, I also know I'm not in your specific position. I'll speak to the Director and see if something can be worked out."

    And she would, too. Mrs Yamada had never lied to Sveta yet. "Thank you. I appreciate it so much."

    "Well, it's clear this is something you're set on, and it's a good thing to have achievable goals. I just hope you get what you need out of it." The therapist smiled as she changed conversational gears. "So, how have you been? Are you keeping up your dream journal?"

    "Um, yes, actually." Sveta directed a couple of her more compliant tendrils to where she kept her journal on a shelf. "I remembered being on a fishing boat. Not sure what we were catching, though."

    "Well, that's definitely a good start." Mrs Yamada accepted the notebook and paged through it. "This is good. Lots of detail."

    "Thank you." Sveta felt herself relaxing, her tendrils twitching less. It had been an interminable wait for Mrs Yamada to show up, but now she was here, and things could start happening.

    Brockton Bay, here I come.

    Maybe.

    <><>​

    Brockton Bay

    Canary

    Paige swung down out of the van and headed around to the back. She hadn't been able to pull together any kind of band at short notice, or even hire roadies, especially given that the charity aspect of the gig meant no big paycheck at the end. Which meant that she'd be stuck dragging this stuff out of the van and setting it up herself. Rough work, but she'd doubled as a roadie herself more than once before she hit the big time, so she knew how everything went together. It was just going to be an absolute pain to get set up, working solo, before the actual event started.

    Opening up the back doors, she eyed the gear waiting for her, and sighed. Oh, well. It's not going to set itself up.

    "Ah … excuse me? Canary?"

    Wow, that was fast. I didn't know I had any fans in Brockton Bay. Apart from Atropos, of course. Turning around, she surveyed the small group of capes before her. None of them were Atropos, though the kid's costume was definitely inspired by the look.

    The one who'd spoken looked like a porcelain doll, with a literal doll-face mask and gleaming golden curls for hair, as well as a floofy fancy doll's dress. Flanking her were a guy in a metal powersuit with goggles and a train conductor's cap, and a woman in an Egyptian themed costume. The Tinker (he couldn't be anything else) had lights built into the shoulders of the suit, while the woman's costume had a cat-themed mask, as well as ribbons draped here and there.

    Finishing out the group were the kid in the Atropos-lite costume, sporting a fedora, a full face-mask and a heavy coat; and a blue humanoid plush dragon, complete with wings and tail, wearing a basic red costume over the top. Behind everyone else stood two giant stuffed animals: a six-legged horse and a purple gorilla.

    "Uh, yeah, that's me," she said cautiously. "The question is … who are you?"

    "We're the Brockton Bay Rogues' Guild," the doll-faced woman said, as if that made perfect sense. "I'm Parian, and this is Bastet, Salvage, Oracle and Spitfire. We're here to help you out, if you want."

    Paige blinked. "What, really? Do you know how to set up a stage and musical instruments?"

    "Nope," said the power-armoured guy, who just had to be Salvage. "But I listen good, and I just got my forklift ticket, so I know how to move heavy stuff around safely. You tell us what to do, and we'll do it."

    "I can't pay you," Paige said, just to make sure they knew it. "This is basically me advertising my presence back on the music scene."

    "It's good advertising for us, too," Parian agreed.

    "Yeah." That was Bastet. "We're trying to boost our image in the city, and we owe Atropos a solid, so here we are."

    "Atropos?" Paige blinked. "Do you … know her?"

    "Know her? Hah." Salvage snorted. "She saved our sorry asses when Bastard Son came to town. The way she went through his minions, now that was a thing of beauty. She's damn good at what she does."

    That was definitely something Paige could believe. "Okay, I think we can set up just over there. If you can get the bits of the stage out and stack them over there, I'll show you how to put them together." She paused, suddenly realising she was missing a bet. "Wait, do any of you sing or play an instrument?"

    There was a pause as they each looked awkwardly at each other. Then Bastet nudged Spitfire. "Hey, didn't you tell me how your mom used to make you take piano lessons and stuff?"

    The fluffy blue dragon managed to look embarrassed just from posture. "Yeah, but I wouldn't say I'm good at it."

    Paige blinked, realising for the first time that it was a girl in there. "That's okay. This isn't a professional gig. I'll try you out once we get set up, and see how you are with a simple backup tune."

    "Uh, I'm no musician," Salvage ventured, "but I can build a timer into my armour so I can do the same beats on a drum over and over, if that works for you."

    "And me and the boss here can show off our rad dance moves," Bastet offered. "Hey, Oracle. If we all pitch in like that, what are the odds of a successful show?"

    There was a pause, then the kid tilted her head slightly. "Eighty-one point seven six seven one percent," she said, her voice echoing slightly inside her mask.

    "I have to say, that's better odds than some of my other gigs," Paige admitted. "Okay, you're on. Let's see what you can do."

    As they began to carefully unload the instruments, she began to allow herself to hope that this might work out after all.

    <><>

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: Assault
    Subject: Just a casual question

    Hi there,
    I couldn't help noticing that you've specified that members of the totally-not-a-real-thing group called Cauldron are not allowed into Brockton Bay. Does this extend to people who've bought powers from them? In fact, what's your view on people like that?
    Asking for a friend.

    ■

    <><>​

    Brockton Bay PRT Building

    Flechette

    As the rotors spun down, Lily unfastened the five-point straps that held her in the aircraft. Taking the arbalest with her, she jumped out of the aircraft behind Mouse Protector. As they headed across the rooftop toward the guarded entrance, a PRT officer intercepted them.

    "Welcome to Brockton Bay," he said. "I'm Captain Reeves. Director Piggot sent word that she wanted to see both of you in her office as soon as you touched down."

    "She did, did she?" Mouse Protector sounded amused. "Good luck with enforcing that. I'm an independent. My chain of command starts and ends with me."

    Reeves was unruffled. "She said to say that it wasn't an order in your case, but a request. This is a brand new SOP, to be used for any new heroes in town. You're just the first, is all."

    "Really." Now Mouse Protector was outright grinning. "This isn't to do with Atropos and how we should avoid antagonising her by any chance, is it?"

    "Very likely." Reeves' tone indicated that he really didn't give a fuck anymore. "She knows of your history with Atropos. Still wants to see you."

    "Huh." Mouse Protector nodded slowly. "Okay, let's go see the wizard then."

    Lily accompanied her into the roof entrance, and they rode the elevator down in silence; Mouse Protector because she didn't seem to have anything to say, and Lily because she wasn't sure what questions to ask. While Lily had never been in the building before, Mouse Protector seemed to know exactly where they were going.

    When they got to Director Piggot's office, the secretary simply waved them through. Taking hold of the door handle, Mouse Protector whipped it open in one smart motion, then sprang into the room with a flourish. "Never fear, Mouse Protector is here!"

    "Of course you are." The woman behind the desk looked tired, Lily decided as she entered the office with rather less fanfare. "Mouse Protector, Flechette, please sit down."

    "Whatever happened to 'take a chair'?" asked Mouse Protector as she spun one of the chairs around and straddled it with her arms crossed on the backrest. Lily sat and waited to find out what the Director wanted.

    "Assault took a chair," Piggot explained briefly. "All the way down to the Wards' base. Do you understand why I'm talking to you?"

    "Something something Atropos is dangerous something something," Mouse Protector quipped. "Except you already know we've met her."

    "Yes." The Director tapped a Manila folder on her desk. "This is Legend's report on the Ravager encounter in New York. I have read it through very carefully. It mentions the fundraiser you're attending … and that Atropos seems to be invested in making sure it goes off successfully."

    Mouse Protector nodded. "I got that impression myself. So why bring us in here to tell us something we both already knew?"

    Director Piggot barely reacted to the mild jab. "Because you will be the only superheroes officially on site. I want you to keep your heads on a swivel at all times, for even the slightest problem that might threaten the fundraiser in any way. If a problem does happen, you are to ensure that it ceases to be a problem immediately."

    Leaning back, Mouse Protector eyed the Director. "Wow, that's pretty damn direct. Not that I would've done anything different, but why are you so insistent on this? I never would've thought you were interested in staying in Atropos' good books."

    Piggot snorted in what might've been grim amusement. "I'm not. In all honesty, I don't give a hoot in hell what she thinks of me. But you weren't here during the first two weeks. She killed two capes a day, on average, for twelve days straight. And that's not even counting the mooks, minions and idiots who didn't know well enough to stand down when they were looking Death in the eye. For the first four days of it, I literally couldn't sit down at my desk without getting confirmation that the supervillain she'd said she would kill overnight had died exactly when she'd said they would, despite their best efforts—and our best efforts—to the contrary."

    "Okay, yeah, I can't top that." Mouse Protector shook her head. "She definitely doesn't strike me as someone who takes orders from authority well, or at all."

    The Director gave her a medium-dirty look. "She hasn't killed anyone in days, and I want to keep it that way. So, if anyone disrupts this fundraiser for whatever stupid reason, I want you to get there first and stop them before they literally sign their own death warrant. Understood?"

    "Understood, ma'am, but …" Lily hesitated. "Why aren't you just surrounding the event with troopers?"

    Director Piggot pinched her lips together. "Because that might disrupt it. You can see how reluctant I am to have that happen."

    "Oh."

    "Yeah, 'oh'." Mouse Protector stood up and spun her chair back around in one fluid motion. "Not a bad idea, but the execution of it might cause problems. So it's up to us to make sure nobody does anything fatally stupid."

    "Precisely." The Director raised her head. "Before you go, there's one other minor matter. Specifically, that damned fan club of hers." She nodded toward Mouse Protector. "I know you're already a member, and I can even understand why. But while we're not allowed to dictate Wards membership in extracurricular activities that do not impact your duties, Flechette, I would strongly suggest that you do not join, at least until you age out of the Wards. Director Wilkins dislikes Atropos even more than I do, and she may allow that to influence her decisions on your behalf."

    Lily blinked. She'd half expected a blanket ban, but that request was almost … reasonable. The look in Piggot's eyes was as someone who had stared into the abyss and had it reach out and boop her on the nose. "Understood, ma'am. If we encounter Atropos out there today, what should we do?"

    Director Piggot spread her hands. "Nothing. Be polite. You already know not to attempt to arrest her. She's stated that she won't harm PRT or heroes who aren't actively attacking her, and so far she's held to it, even to the point of cooperating with the PRT to save innocents." Her voice lowered to a growl. "Do not do anything to change that."

    "No, ma'am. Definitely not." That was clearly the safest answer to give, and a course of action Lily intended to follow to the letter.

    "Good. Get out of here, both of you." Piggot waved dismissively; by the time they reached the door, she was already studying the screen of her laptop once more.

    <><>​

    Canary

    "Okay, then." Paige stepped back and surveyed the stage. It had been assembled to her directions by Salvage, who could indeed follow instructions. She figured that his status as a Tinker probably helped there, but she wasn't going to assume anything. Between them they'd rigged up a set of makeshift metal bongos for him to supply a regular backbeat, using the timer he'd contrived in his armour. "Let's see how we go."

    Salvage led out with the beat she'd coached him into doing, then on the other side of the stage, Spitfire picked out the simple tune on the electronic keyboard, using Salvage's regular beat to keep herself in time. Paige listened carefully; it was a little rough at first, but Spitfire gradually got better at keeping up with Salvage.

    "Good, good," she said, clapping her hands once. "That's really good. We'll do it exactly like that. Salvage will lead out, then Spitfire picks up the beat. Once you're settled, I'll come in with guitar and vocals." She beamed at them. "I just want to say, thank you for stepping up like this. It's made things a lot easier."

    "Hey, I've never done music before." Salvage shook his head. "We actually sound kinda good, but only 'cause you showed us how."

    "We're gonna wow these kids." Bastet glanced over at Parian. "This never would've happened if you hadn't helped us out like that, just saying."

    "Well, I'm definitely not regretting it." Parian gestured at the framework that was being set up in full view of the seating, not far from the stage. It resembled a cross between a jungle gym and an obstacle course, with fake stone ruins as a base. "What I want to know is, what's that about?"

    "That's for me," said a voice from right behind them. Paige turned, startled, coming face to face with a superhero who was holding a small folding cloth Frisbee. "Hi. Mouse Protector. That's Flechette back there. We're here for the fundraiser."

    Looking past Mouse Protector—who she recognised now, after her initial fright—Paige saw a costumed teen climbing out of a PRT van. Flechette wasn't familiar to her, but she didn't follow the superhero scene all that much. "Uh, hi," she ventured. "I'm Paige Mcabee—Canary—and these people are the Brockton Bay Rogues' Guild … I mean, unless you already know them?"

    "Nope. You, I know, and I saw Parian there on the news once, but I've never really heard of this Rogues' Guild before." Mouse Protector held out her hand. "Anyway, pleased to meet you."

    Paige shook it. "Likewise. Are, uh, are you here because …"

    "Because of Atropos?" Mouse Protector grinned. "Yeah, there's this chick that was always on my case in New York, so Atropos totally messed up her credibility. Like, murdered it. Look up 'Ravioli' online when you get the chance. Anyway, her price for that was me doing this."

    "I saw that!" Bastet stepped into the conversation. "She did that for you? Damn, that was brutal. And I was there for her takedown of Bastard Son, so I know what I'm talking about."

    Parian went to meet Flechette. "So, are you here because Atropos asked you, too?" It was a reasonable question, in Paige's estimation. That did seem to be a theme at the moment.

    "No, actually." Flechette held out her hand to shake, though she also seemed to be checking out the doll-themed cape. "While she was in New York, Atropos asked me and Mouse Protector for selfies for her friends. She seems to be a nice person—apart from the serial murders, I mean—so I got permission to come along and help out with the fundraiser."

    "Well, that was nice of you." Parian shook her hand firmly. "The more, the merrier. What were you thinking of doing?"

    Flechette shrugged. "Well, I'm a rooftop runner and I've got perfect timing, so I was thinking I'd help Mouse Protector put on an acrobatic show on that monstrosity over there." She gestured at the parkour framework that had been completed while Paige and the others had been in the process of setting up.

    When Parian spoke, there was a smile in her voice. "I'd like to see that."

    <><>

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Assault
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Just a casual question

    Hi, he-who-used-to-be-Madcap,
    Short answer: I don't care how she got her powers, just that she uses them responsibly while she's inside Brockton Bay. That goes for all Cauldron customers.
    Slightly longer answer: I don't give a damn about how someone got where they are. I'm not in the business of handing out retribution for past crimes. So long as they play by the rules going forward, I'm good. If people decide to not play by the rules, that's when I start paying attention.
    By 'the' rules, I mean 'my' rules'. Just so we're clear on that.
    My beef with Cauldron has to do with their ongoing lack of style and competence, and the plans they had for Brockton Bay, not with their customers.
    Tell Battery that if she's cool with me, I'm cool with her.
    Toodles!

    ■

    <><>​

    A Little While Later

    Flechette

    "Alright," said Canary into her microphone, the sound emanating from the speakers on either side of the stage. Cradling her guitar, she looked out over the audience, consisting mainly of the movers and shakers of Brockton Bay, though the kids who had been able to be moved were out in front where they'd get the best view. "Let's get this show on the road. Ladies and gentlemen and children of all ages, I'm Bad Canary, and these fine people with me are the Brockton Bay Rogues' Guild. Behind me, we have Mouse Protector and Flechette, who've come all the way from New York to lend a hand."

    As she paused, the spectators clapped; whether it was because they were pleased that all these capes had made an appearance or if it was just expected, Lily wasn't sure. She crouched on a crossbar, waiting for her cue. Nearby, Mouse Protector perched on a large fake rock.

    Canary strummed a few bars, then nodded to Salvage. The Tinker must have activated the timer in his armour, because his big metal hands started drumming out a beat on the metal bongos. A nod to Spitfire, and the girl in the fluffy blue dragon costume started playing a simple repetitive tune on the electronic keyboard before her, matching her timing to Salvage's drumming.

    After a few more seconds, Canary started playing her electric guitar, weaving the tune in and around the background beat supplied by the other two. With her sense of timing, Lily could tell that Canary was actually adjusting her tempo on the fly to keep her ad hoc backup band in the rhythm.

    Then Canary started singing a song about overcoming adversity and working together. When she was just speaking, her voice was gorgeous enough, but her singing was on another level altogether. At the same time, Bastet began to do her ribbon-twirl thing, tossing small plushies resembling Spitfire into the air so they orbited her as well. Parian's purple gorilla was also dancing, while Spitfire's wings flared occasionally, and her tail swept from side to side. All in all, it was pretty damn impressive.

    Mouse Protector launched herself upward and swung onto a crossbar not far from Lily, hanging head-downward with her arms out. Lily calculated the timing and jumped, clasping Mouse Protector's hands and swinging onward to let go and land on a new perch. She didn't pause, using every parkour move she knew (and a few she invented on the spot) to keep bouncing from one point to another, occasionally passing by Mouse Protector or even giving an assist to get to a higher spot.

    She didn't have her arbalest with her, but even without it she was extremely mobile; she found she was enjoying the workout, and maybe the chance to show off a little in front of Parian. While she wasn't certain the girl was interested, Lily certainly was. In a city freshly rid of a whole bunch of racist, homophobic bigots, she was totally willing to go above and beyond to get the attention of someone who had a figure and a voice like that.

    The musical number ended, and she ended up where Mouse Protector had been, while the veteran hero was up at the top of the framework. The adults and children alike were clapping for all they were worth, though whether it was for the music or the acrobatic exhibition, Lily wasn't sure and didn't care. They wanted a show? They got a show.

    Suddenly, Mouse Protector vanished, reappearing beside Canary on the stage. Lily had seen this before, but the audience had not; they gasped, then applauded again. "That was really nice," Mouse Protector said, her voice picked up and transmitted out by the speakers. "May I make an announcement?"

    "Thank you," Canary acknowledged. "And yes, you can." Stepping back a little way, she ceded the microphone to Mouse Protector.

    "Hi, I'm Mouse Protector, and I'm here for you today!" The announcement was bright and bubbly, and Lily found herself smiling just from the sheer infectious joy. "How are the little mouseys enjoying the show so far?"

    The kids definitely cheered that one, their faces lighting up as they clapped.

    "Good, good." Mouse Protector gave a slight bow. "So yeah, I came here from New York to pay back a friend for a favour. Just remember that, kids. Favours are great to get, but they're a two-way street. Anyway, this friend of mine, she's kinda scary if you don't really know her well—oh, who am I kidding, she's really scary to a lot of people. You've probably heard of her. She's called Atropos."

    From the ripple of reaction that went through the audience, they'd definitely all heard of her … wait. From where Lily was, everyone should've been looking at Mouse Protector, but their sightline was higher up. Turning, she looked around … and there was Atropos herself, crouching on top of the framework. Slowly, theatrically, Atropos brought up her finger in a 'shush' motion. All the kids quieted immediately.

    "Anyway," Mouse Protector went on, apparently oblivious, "I invited her to show up here today, but I haven't seen her yet. Has anyone seen her?"

    Now, all the kids pointed and yelled at the same time. Lily got the impression they were saying some variation on, 'there she is' and 'right there', but it all blended together into one undifferentiated babble.

    "What? She's here? Where?" Mouse Protector turned theatrically and looked around … just as Atropos dropped down behind the framework, out of sight. She even went so far as to shade her eyes and peer at the framework before she turned to the audience once more. "I don't see her."

    Between one heartbeat and the next, Lily saw Atropos appear on the stage, in a crouching position, right behind Mouse Protector. Slowly, ominously, the black-clad cape straightened up, causing the kids to point and shout again. Reaching forward with one black-gloved hand, she tapped Mouse Protector on the shoulder. Her voice carried through to the mic clearly enough. "Tag. You're it."

    "What?" Mouse Protector spun around again, but Atropos had already leaped from the stage to the framework and was swarming across the crossbars and handholds with a level of celerity and dexterity that made Lily doubt her own athletic capability.

    As Atropos neared Lily, she reached up to her collar and switched on what had to be a clip-on microphone. Her voice came clearly through the speakers for the benefit of the audience. "Hi. You're it, too. Welcome to Villain Tag."

    "Oh, so that's how it's going to be, is it?" Mouse Protector switched on her own throat mic and triggered a teleport that took her to the top of the framework again. "Come on, Flechette. If she wants to play, let's play."

    Feeling a little left out of events—she didn't have a clip-on microphone—Lily launched herself after Atropos, in the wake of the laughing Mouse Protector. Atropos didn't make a sound, but she didn't have to. Lily could feel the grin emanating through that morph mask.

    Down below, Canary adapted fast; the next thing Lily knew, the classic Yakety Sax chase theme was coming out of the speakers, via her electric guitar. It was apt, too. No matter how hard Lily pushed herself and worked to cooperate with Mouse Protector, Atropos refused to allow herself to be hemmed in. Even the slightest gap was exploited, leaving both Lily and Mouse Protector clutching at thin air.

    Despite the tune being older than most of the adults in the audience, it was infectious even for the kids. All were laughing; some called out encouragement for her and Mouse Protector to ensnare Atropos, while others seemed to support Atropos' continued evasion from capture.

    When the tune came to an end, they were at different levels on the fake rocks making up the base. Lily was on one side of Atropos, while Mouse Protector was on the other. "We've got you mousetrapped now, Atropos," the veteran hero said, her hands flexing. "You may as well give up."

    "It's not over until it's over," Atropos retorted, reaching into her long-coat and drawing a narrow-bladed sword that Lily belatedly identified as a rapier.

    "Two can play at that game." Mouse Protector drew her own sabre and flourished it high. At the same time, she met Flechette's eyes and hooked her head sideways: stay out of this one.

    "Agreed," said Atropos, touching her rapier to the tip of Mouse Protector's sabre. A second later, it occurred to Lily that they were both holding their swords in their left hands. It didn't seem to hamper either one.

    "We don't have to fight." Mouse Protector responded to the tap with one of her own. "You're definitely a worthy opponent. I don't want to have to hurt you."

    Atropos shrugged. "You seem a decent hero. I'd hate to get hurt."

    They moved together, up and down the fake rocks, and their swords clashed a few times. Mouse Protector saluted one such pass with her sabre. "Using Bonetti's defence against me, huh?"

    "It seemed fitting," agreed Atropos, "considering the rocky terrain."

    Lily had no idea what was going on. There was subtext here that some of the adults in the audience were picking up on, but the kids were just watching the swordfight with deep interest. Canary was playing her guitar again while watching the display, with low dramatic chords.

    Under Atropos' renewed attack, Mouse Protector retreated, her sabre throwing off sparks from each parry. "I admit," she panted, "you are better than I am."

    "Then why are you smiling?" asked Atropos, pressing the attack.

    "Because I know something you don't know." Mouse Protector's broad grin was indeed visible to all.

    "And what is that?"

    Tossing her sabre from her left hand to her right, Mouse Protector flourished it briefly. "I am not left-handed."

    Atropos gave her a nod of appreciation, even as she fended off a new attack from the independent hero. "You're pretty good at this, too."

    "I should be," quipped Mouse Protector, "after watching all those Youtube videos."

    Leaping to a new fake rock, Atropos parried again. "There's something I ought to tell you."

    The onslaught briefly on hold, Mouse Protector looked at Atropos expectantly. "Tell me."

    Mimicking Mouse Protector's move from earlier, Atropos swapped hands with the rapier. "I'm not left-handed either." She darted forward, raising sparks from Mouse Protector's sabre.

    "Who are you?" demanded Mouse Protector, parrying briskly then returning to the attack.

    "You'll never know." Atropos steadily gave ground, retreating up the fake rocks, showing every sign of being trapped with no way out. Having seen her earlier performance, Lily was inclined to call bullshit, but this seemed to have been scripted ahead of time.

    "But I must!" With a truly egregious flourish, Mouse Protector caught Atropos' rapier and flipped it from her hand. Spinning end over end, it arced toward Lily. Leaning into her sense of timing, Lily snapped her hand out, allowing the hilt to slap into her palm.

    "Alas!" Atropos was really hamming it up there, but that also didn't surprise Lily. "Disarmed! But I must fight on!" There was a flicker of light on gleaming blades as she drew her signature shears. "Just remember, you brought this on yourself, bringing a sword to a shears fight!"

    In the next second, she'd moved in close; there was a clash of steel on steel, and Mouse Protector's sabre flew over the back of the framework. Mouse Protector stopped still, her hands held up, palm out. "Well, that was unexpected."

    Atropos saluted her with the shears. "While you're searching for your sword, I believe it's time for me to exit stage left." Just as she'd done in New York, she mimed snipping a doorway out of the air; an instant later, an actual smoky portal formed there. "Ladies and gentlemen, please consider donating to this very worthy cause." Briefly nodding toward the audience, she touched the brim of her hat with two fingers. "Toodles!"

    With that, she stepped into the shadowy doorway and vanished, the portal itself fading out of existence thereafter. But Lily wasn't paying attention to that, or even to the thunderous applause that erupted as Mouse Protector bowed to the audience in her turn. She'd seen this rapier before, in March's possession. It was the exact same one, down to the stylised 'M' on the pommel.

    Conclusions tumbled over and over in her mind, like boulders in a flooding river.

    Jouster said someone kicked the crap out of March and took her rapier. This is March's rapier.

    She was found near my patrol route. Was she planning to ambush me?     It was absolutely something March would do.

    Did Atropos go all the way to New York to intercept March and take her rapier, just so she wouldn't be able to interfere with me coming here?

    Turning, she bowed to the crowd as well. I definitely need to ask her about that.

    But right now, there was the fundraiser and the chance to talk to Parian before duty drew her back to New York.

    She'd take that over a beating from March, any day.



    End of Part Forty-Four
     
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    • Part Forty-Five: Calm Before the Storm
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Forty-Five: Calm Before the Storm

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


    Relevant Side Story
    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: TheRealPanacea
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Heads up

    Hi, Pan-pan!
    So, I got a thing I think your power might enjoy sinking its non-existent teeth into.
    If you can be dressed and ready to go at five minutes to midnight on the fifteenth, Imma swing by and take you to meet a person and do a thing. Dress dark; it won't actually change anything, but everyone wants to dress like a secret agent at least once in their life.
    I promise you, nobody's going to die, and you'll help make someone's life a whole heap better.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: TheRealPanacea
    Subject: Re: Heads up

    What?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: TheRealPanacea
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Re: Heads up

    What I said. You, me, help someone. 11:55 on Tuesday the 15th.
    You down?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: Flechette
    Subject: Just wanted to ask a question, and say thanks

    Hi,
    The fundraiser was really cool. I had a lot of fun. Where did you learn your parkour? That was insane!
    Anyway, that wasn't the question I wanted to ask.
    Wow, this is difficult.
    One of the Rogues' Guild capes, Spitfire, has contacted me, asking if I wanted to chat and maybe meet up again sometime while she's not wearing the dragon costume. I think she wants to go on a date with me. Does she want to go on a date with me? Is this even a good idea?
    Um.
    Also … March's rapier. You're the one who beat up March, so she couldn't stop me from coming, aren't you? Thanks for that. She's … a real pain in the ass. Seriously, she's been a problem for me for the longest time. If I started dating Spitfire (I'm honestly interested, unless you tell me it's a bad idea) then I'd always be worried that March was going to come after her. But now she's in custody (and WOW, you made a mess of her) so that's totally a huge weight off my shoulders.
    So anyway, I just wanted to ask you about Spitfire and thank you for what you did to March.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Flechette
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Just wanted to ask a question, and say thanks

    Well, if it isn't my favorite New York Ward!
    The fundraiser was definitely fun. Thanks for showing up, by the way. I really appreciate it. You totally helped make the show.
    As for where I learned my parkour, it's the same place where I learned to shoot and fight. Sorry, but a girl's gotta have her secrets.
    So, about Spitfire: she's a nice girl, and a bit shy, so I'm glad she reached out to you. Yes, she totally means it as a date. Yes, I mean a date-date. I think it will be good for both of you.
    As for March: you're welcome. I hate bullies, and it's always fun to teach them the error of their ways.
    Pro tip: if you wear the rapier when you go to visit her in holding, you might just get to see steam shooting out her ears, mwahahaha.
    Oh, and one other thing. Some time soon, Imma go on a trip overseas. Interested in tagging along?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: TheRealPanacea
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Heads up

    I'm going to need more detail than that. What's happening on the fifteenth?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: TheRealPanacea
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Heads up

    Remember what happened with Bonesaw? It'll be kind of like that, only almost entirely different.
    Tell me your power isn't leaning forward and looking interested.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: Flechette
    Subject: Re: Re: Just wanted to ask a question, and say thanks

    Overseas? Where to?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Flechette
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Just wanted to ask a question, and say thanks

    Australia, actually. The Land Down Under. Don't worry about your bosses. I'll clear it with them first.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: TheRealPanacea
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Heads up

    Okay, fine. You have my attention. I'll be ready.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: TheRealPanacea
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Heads up

    Cool, see you then.
    Toodles!

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: Flechette
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Just wanted to ask a question, and say thanks

    Sounds interesting. I'm in. Can I bring a camera?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Flechette
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Just wanted to ask a question, and say thanks

    Oh, I promise there'll be opportunities to take once-in-a-lifetime photos. Mwahahaha.
    Toodles!

    ■​

    Thursday Afternoon, February 10, 2011
    Boardwalk
    Aisha

    Brian emerged from the shop and rejoined the girls. "And something for you," he said, handing Riley a small box.

    "What? For me?" She tore the packaging open and stared at the phone within. It may have been a run-of-the-mill standard model, but from the way she hugged it to herself, it may as well have been encrusted with gold. "Thank you so much!" she enthused, freeing one arm to hug Brian. "Nobody's ever bought me a phone before!"

    "Didn't the PRT give you some fancy-dancy high-end super-encrypted model?" Aisha asked, trying not to smile. Riley was so much fun when she was in a mood like this.

    "Yeah, but that's not mine." Riley rolled her eyes expressively. "That's theirs. They're just letting me use it. But this one here is mine." She hugged it again. "I love it. Thank you."

    Aisha pulled out her own phone. It was worn and battered, and maybe one day she'd switch up to a new model, but it had been through a heap of crap with her, so that day wasn't happening yet. "What's the number? I'll send you a text, so we'll both have each other's numbers."

    "Okay, it's just …" Riley jumped as the phone rang in her hand. "What? I didn't even give you the number yet."

    "Uh … that's not me?" Aisha held up her phone, which she still hadn't woken up. "Might want to answer it."

    Tentatively, Riley swiped the Answer icon and held it to her ear. "Uh … hello?" A moment later, her eyes opened wide. "Atropos? How did you get this number? I literally just got the phone."

    "Speaker!" hissed Aisha, making move-it-along gestures. "Speaker!" She definitely wanted to hear what Atropos had to say.

    Riley hit the Speaker icon, and Atropos' voice became audible. "Hi, Aisha. Hi, Brian. Have you got enough pictures yet?"

    Brian involuntarily looked down at the stack of framed pictures they'd picked out to decorate the living quarters. "What the hell? How did you even know … you know what, I don't care anymore."

    "Wise decision. So, Riley, I love that stuff you made. Up for making more? This time so it works on skin contact?"

    Riley blinked, her gaze going distant for a moment. "Uh, sure. I guess. You'd have to be real careful with it too, you know."

    "Trust me, kiddo, I'm nothing but careful. Also, can I ask another favour?"

    This time, Riley didn't hesitate. "Sure. What do you need?"

    "Well, Barrow's coming to town, so …"

    As Atropos explained what she needed, Aisha's eyebrows rose. She'd already seen ample evidence that the dark-clad cape was bullshit squared on a bullshit sandwich, but this was impressive even for her.

    When she finished, Riley nodded, not seeming to care that Atropos couldn't see her. "Okay, I can do that. But do me a favour, please? Don't kill him. Bastard Son deserved it. Barrow doesn't, I don't think."

    "That's legitimate," Atropos agreed. "I promise, I won't kill him. But to quote a famous genie, it's amazing what you can live through."

    Riley smirked while Aisha chuckled. "I didn't say you couldn't hurt him," she confirmed. "I'm just not a fan of murdering people who haven't killed other people."

    "And that's fair. So, how are you enjoying your new job? Everyone treating you okay?"

    "Oh, totally." Riley's smirk became a real smile. "The, uh, the other juniors are all real nice to me. I get a kind of big-brother vibe off them, except for V, who's thrilled that there's someone younger than her on the team. She's taken it on herself to show me the ropes, and she really knows her stuff."

    "Good, good. What about the adults? They're giving you a fair chance?"

    "Uh-huh. Nobody makes fun of me, and they're all really encouraging. I like it."

    "Excellent. Well, I have to go, but if you need to get in touch with me anytime, I'm there for you."

    "I know. And thanks for giving me a chance." Riley seemed to be holding back sniffles.

    "Anytime. See you soon."

    When Riley ended the call, Aisha hugged her. It seemed the right thing to do, and from the way Riley hugged her in return, she thought so too. "How awesome is she?" Aisha asked as they separated.

    Riley gave her a watery smile. "I know, right?" She wiped suspicious moisture from her eyes, then blew her nose. "Well, come on. Brian's money isn't gonna spend itself, you know."

    Aisha cackled out loud. "I knew there was a reason I liked you so much."

    <><>​

    Tuesday Night, February 15, 2011
    Outside the Dallon House
    Taylor

    I looked up at the frontage of the house, and nodded to myself. No lights glowed through the windows, and my power had Amy on its radar. She still didn't like me as a person, but she was mentally and physically prepped to come along with me. Good.

    I wasn't in this game to be popular. In all honesty, I didn't give a shit about whether the public loved me or not. I just wanted to make the city work, to get it running smoothly, to get the crime rate down to a level where the cops could handle it, and keep it there. And if I had to shoot a few assholes in the face to get it done, then I'd do just that.

    Now that I'd skimmed the biggest turds off the top of the sewage pit that made up the Brockton Bay criminal underworld, I wasn't necessarily obliged to kill everyone who pissed me off. I could and would if it became necessary, but if Ending a problem could be more easily done without killing, I'd do that.

    Of course, there were always people who needed killing. But tonight, we weren't going to be meeting any of them.

    I programmed the teleporter for its jumps, then snapped the cover shut and waited for the timer to run down. It stepped me into Amy's bedroom; she was sitting at her computer, dressed in the same dark hoodie and jeans she'd been wearing when she came out the last time. The bed had been artfully made up with an Amy-shaped lump under the covers and a spill of frizz across the pillow that could easily have been her hair.

    She hadn't noticed me yet, so I pushed down on the bed, just enough to make it creak. Her shoulders tensed. Without looking around, she said quietly, "It's you, isn't it?"

    "Bingo." I stepped up alongside her. "Ready to roll?"

    With a sigh, she started shutting down the computer. "I guess so."

    I moved around into her line of sight. "Last-minute reservations?"

    "Yes and no." She pushed back from the computer desk. "It's not that I've got a bad feeling about going with you, but it's just …" She grimaced. "Is this really what a superhero should be doing? Hanging out with a mass murderer? Using my power to do what you want me to do? I mean, if Mom ever found out about Bonesaw, I'd never hear the end of it."

    "Well, true." I saw her start of surprise as I agreed with her; she'd evidently expected me to argue from the get-go. "I am a mass murderer, yes. I've got my agenda, and I use killing to further it, but I don't kill for the fun of killing. I kill to End problems that can't more easily be Ended by non-lethal means. And sometimes I End problems in other ways, like asking someone with the right skillset to do something for me. I'd never ask someone to kill for me; that's my go-to. But there's killing that doesn't actually require the cessation of life, like you did with Bonesaw."

    "And that's what you want me to do this time?" She'd almost convinced herself to go, I could tell. "Get rid of the mass murderer hiding in someone's brain?"

    "No, actually." I smiled behind the mask, knowing she'd hear the difference in my voice. "That's my job, this time. You're not going to have to alter her personality in the slightest. The body modification is going to be somewhat more strenuous, though."

    "More so than Bonesaw's?" She sounded doubtful.

    Thinking of Sveta's situation, I had to chuckle. "Oh, you have no idea."

    She snorted. "Fine, you twisted my arm. Let's go do this thing."

    "I thought you'd never ask." I raised my hand and snapped my fingers just as the timer ran down, and the portal opened in the middle of the room.

    "Okay, but I still think it's bullshit that you can teleport." For all her snark, she showed no hesitation in following me through.

    We stepped out into a brightly lit office, where a woman sat busily typing on a laptop. Reaching behind me, I knocked on the inside of the door.

    "Who—oh!" The woman, half-turning at the sound, saw us both. Startled, she jumped to her feet. "My goodness, you surprised me. How did you … when did you get here?"

    "Just now," I said. "You both know who I am. Mrs Yamada, this is Amy Dallon, better known as Panacea. Amy, meet Mrs Jessica Yamada. As I understand matters, she's a remarkably good therapist."

    Amy glanced at me, her nose wrinkling. "Just how deep are you in my business? I make a comment to my sister about how we all need therapy, and you bring me to a therapist?"

    I met her gaze blandly, with the advantage that she couldn't see my eyes. "That's between you and your issues. But we can address that later. Right now, we have a young woman in a fairly problematic situation, who has asked for my help. Mrs Yamada, if you will?"

    Mrs Yamada stood firm for a minute. "I'm aware she's asked for your help, Atropos, but I'm still not convinced that you're not going to just kill her."

    I nodded. "That's totally fair. I do kind of kill people, a lot. But if I'd been going to do that, I wouldn't have Amy here to help sort out the aftermath. And you wouldn't have a whole pig currently residing in your freezer."

    She stared at me. "But that was delivered by mist … oh. Oh, I see. How did you pull that off?"

    Amy rolled her eyes. "She does that. A lot. Can you do me a favour and send someone to fetch that pig? I'm starting to get the idea of what I'm needed for, though now I'm really curious as to why we're going to need the whole damn pig."

    "You'll see," I said lightly. "Mrs Yamada?"

    The therapist gave first me then Amy a searching glance—no doubt gathering a lot more from my morph mask than most—then took up her phone. Dialling a number, she waited for a moment then gave a few terse instructions. Then she ended the call and nodded to us. "Come along."

    I could feel Amy's curiosity growing exponentially as we followed Mrs Yamada out the door to her ad hoc office—zero decorations, nothing that said 'home'—and along to a locked storeroom. She carefully checked a screen attached to the wall beside the door, then nodded to herself. The electronic lock—also a recent installation—sounded its cheerful beeps as she tapped in the numbers, then it clicked open.

    Within was padding taped to the floor and the walls up to about two feet high, and on that padding was a glass-and-steel ball, about two feet across. Inside the ball, as the lights in the storeroom came up, was a human face surrounded by a thick mass of tendrils.

    Amy stopped and stared. "What … the hell?"

    I gestured to the ball and its inhabitant. "Amy, meet Sveta. Sveta, meet Amy Dallon. I'm Atropos; I'll be facilitating today's modifications."

    "Atropos." The voice, from the girl inside the ball, was soft and breathy. "You came. I didn't know if you would."

    I chuckled darkly. "Neither did Coil, Kaiser, Lung or Skidmark. But don't worry; anyone who invites me to show up is in no danger from me."

    Mrs Yamada looked from me to Amy to the ball, her expression worried. "I presume Panacea is going to be removing her powers?"

    "No, that's not going to be happening." Amy shook her head. "If that's Garotte in there, I can't shut her down fast enough."

    "Oh, ye of little faith." I stepped forward, reaching into my pocket. "Good eye, by the way. Sveta is totally the one they used to call Garotte." I took out one of the little plastic capsules I'd liberated from the PRT building; within was a single grape, treated with Riley's concoction. "Incoming snack, Sveta."

    "You're not going to poison her—" began Mrs Yamada, starting forward.

    I stopped and looked back at her. "No. I'm going to End her powers, but she's going to be perfectly fine. Amy, tell her."

    "What can I say?" Amy said. "Atropos is a murderer a dozen times over, but she's always told people when she's going to kill them. And usually warned them twice. And she's already had me help out someone worse than Garotte, but you didn't hear that from me."

    "Oh." Mrs Yamada didn't sound entirely convinced, but nor did she try to stop me when I knelt beside the ball and found the little hatch. It opened easily enough—there was an airlock-style arrangement—and I dropped the grape inside, then closed the hatch, which opened the airlock on the other side.

    Sveta's tendrils found the grape immediately; half of it was crushed, while the other half got all the way to her mouth. "What's supposed to happen now?" she asked.

    I stood up and put the capsule away, then took out my shears. "Three," I said. "Two. One." On the last word, I snipped at the air. "There. Your powers are gone."

    "I'm still … me," she said doubtfully, stirring her tendrils.

    I nodded. "No, true. Being a case fifty-three isn't a power that can be taken away. But being super-strong is. There's no biological way your tendrils are that strong naturally. And more to the point, your powers won't force you back into this form now … or make your tentacles attack people without your intent." I turned to look at the therapist. "Mrs Yamada, I'm about to open this hamster ball; if you want to leave the room first, feel free."

    "No." Mrs Yamada's tone wasn't as rock-solid as she might've wanted it to be, but she didn't move. "I have faith in Sveta's self-control."

    Amy nodded. "And I have faith that someone who's taken out so many terrifying capes wouldn't make such a rookie mistake."

    "Thank you. I appreciate the vote of confidence." Putting my shears away again, I knelt next to the 'hamster ball' and undid the catches. One by one, they snapped open, then the two halves fell away from each other.

    Sveta spilled out from between them, staring up at me. "What? How did you even do that?"

    "Same way I'm gonna gank the Simurgh next week," I said lightly. "With the power of friendship. How are your tendrils feeling? Not so murder-y?"

    She gingerly twitched the tendrils, then blinked. "Um … no? They don't seem to want to do much of anything, until I move them." She caught her breath. "You did it? You did it! You killed my powers!"

    "And we're not done yet." I turned toward Mrs Yamada and tilted my head at the door, just as a buzzer sounded. "That'll be the pig."

    "Pig?" asked Sveta as Mrs Yamada opened the door and a guy in an orderly's uniform rolled in a large flatbed dolly with the aforementioned pig carcass strapped to it. "Why is there a pig?"

    The orderly stared at the tableau presented. I wasn't sure if he was more terrified of me or of the fact that Sveta was out of her hamster ball. Turning, he bolted from the room.

    Amy smiled for the first time since I'd shown up in her room. Lacing her fingers together, she cracked her knuckles. "That's my cue. So, Sveta, was it? How tall did you want to be?"

    Sveta blinked. "What?"

    <><>​

    Panacea, Later

    Her mind still singing with the high that using her powers so differently gave her, Amy let Sveta hug her again, and patted her on the back. Dressed in a hastily scrounged T-shirt and jeans, the young woman was giving her newly reworked tear ducts—the old ones had leaked bile, of all things—a real workout. "I'd love to stay," Amy said, "but it's a school night and all, and I'm guessing Atropos has things to do."

    "This is true," Atropos said, but not in a particularly urgent tone of voice. "You can handle things from here between you two?"

    "I believe we can, yes." Mrs Yamada fielded Sveta, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Thank you again, and I apologise for doubting you. And Amy …" She held out her card. "If you ever need to talk—about anything—here's my number."

    Amy accepted it with less hesitation than she might have done before going on this little expedition, and tucked it into her pocket. She didn't have to use it, after all. "I'll think about it."

    Atropos nodded to Mrs Yamada and Sveta. "Take care of yourselves. If anyone tries to mess with you, let me know. Ready to go, Amy?"

    "Sure." Amy stepped up alongside her, and watched her hands carefully. There had to be a trick in what she did.

    But all that happened was Atropos snapping her fingers, and the portal opened in front of them. They stepped through; the room dissolved in shadow, to be replaced by her bedroom.

    Slowly, Amy sat down on her bed, disarranging the carefully placed decoy, but she didn't care about that. "Wow," she murmured. "That was … a rush."

    "It was pretty cool from my end of things, too," Atropos agreed. "So, before I go. Can I ask a couple of favours from you?"

    Amy raised her eyebrows. "Two favours?" she asked, trying for sternness and not quite making it. "You're pushing it a little there, aren't you?"

    "Little bit, yeah." There was a grin in Atropos' voice. "That colour-changing dust you made me that time was amazing. Could I get something like that, but it looks metallic until there's a loud noise or heat, and then it glows bright red?"

    Amy tilted her head, considering the idea. "Sure," she said almost immediately. "Shouldn't be a problem. What's the other favour?"

    Now Atropos brought her fingertips together in front of her. "Hear me out with this one. A bacterium that's capable of eating refined metals, rubber or plastics."

    Amy stared, horrified. "What? No! You could bring down civilisations with that!"

    "I know." Atropos was unmoved. "That's why I want you to also work with me to devise safeguards."

    "Jesus," Amy muttered. "I'm really going to have to think about that one. The other one, sure, I can do that in an hour or so."

    "Okay." Atropos raised her hand. "I'll get back to you on that." A snap of the fingers, and she was gone.

    Long after her bedroom was empty of black-clad serial killers, Amy lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

    What the hell does she want that for?

    <><>​

    Monday, February 21, 2011
    A Little Way Outside Brockton Bay

    They called him Barrow.

    Even he called himself that, because after all this time of not bothering to use his born name, it had ceased to be his real name. All that mattered was the Lost Garden, and his disciples. He could not leave its boundaries, but why would he want to? All his needs were met within the boundaries of the Garden, and if he truly wished to go somewhere, he could take it with him.

    His followers were capes who, like him, had become lost in the modern world and sought refuge in the sanctuary that was the Lost Garden. Mostly, their powers were enhanced or enabled by the wild untrammelled growth that accompanied the Garden's movement. All saw him as their saviour: infallible and unbeatable.

    This attitude was entirely understandable. They had clashed with law enforcement before, both powered and unpowered. Outside the Garden, their combined powers and mutual cause made them formidable; within it, they were unbeatable.

    The Garden itself was active and aware on a deep level. Those it considered allies had free passage and could seek concealment anywhere, while enemies would find thick undergrowth and wait-a-minute thorns wherever they went. Ambushing overly confident invaders of the Garden was child's play when the very environment cooperated all the way.

    Better yet, the Garden did not exist wholly within Earth Bet. It was what some called a 'corner world', where physics worked differently. Cell-phone and radio signals did not cross the boundary, and Tinkertech often malfunctioned or ceased to work at all.

    Mundane countermeasures such as flamethrowers and cutting blades could be met and defeated via a version of evolution that countered flame-wielding foes with fire-resistant foliage, or grew iron-hard tree bark against saws. Even poison could be absorbed by specialised growths and then spat back at the invaders.

    The Lost Garden was supremely adaptable and infinitely capable of regeneration. Both a home and a sanctuary, it protected Barrow and his followers, keeping them safe from any possible harm.

    This was why Barrow felt no fear as he stood at the perimeter of his Garden, on the side closest to the suddenly villain-free city of Brockton Bay. Across the boundary that separated the Lost Garden from the rest of the world, he faced a sole PRT officer plus two superheroes. None offered a direct threat, which was wise; they were not exactly within the perimeter, but his trees had been known to whip out thorny vines against those who drew his ire while remaining outside his domain.

    They had come, of course, to warn him not to come to their city. He wasn't sure why the local PRT Director had sent so few, but at least this meant they weren't considering attacking in force. Bad things happened when they tried that; to them, not to his followers. He always made sure to leave some capable of dragging off their (usually disabled and cocooned) comrades, but he also ensured that some suffered lasting injuries. Object lessons were a thing, after all.

    "Are you even listening to what I'm saying?" asked the PRT officer. "Atropos is not your usual villain. She's warned you. This means she knows you're coming."

    Barrow had to smile. "Look about you. My Garden is not a subtle thing. Everyone with eyes knows of my approach."

    The male hero—one was a man, the other a woman—face-palmed at that. His companion put her hand on his shoulder and murmured something to him, but he shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said out loud. "I just can't not say something. Captain Reeves?"

    Reeves gestured magnanimously. "Be my guest."

    "Hi, I'm Assault, and this is Battery," said the red-clad hero, stepping forward. "You've heard of the Slaughterhouse Nine, Butcher and the Teeth, Heartbreaker, Bastard Son … right? People you don't want to run into, like ever."

    "We have heard of them, yes." Barrow frowned. Where was this leading up to? "Are you going to tell me she is worse than them all put together? Because I find that hard to believe."

    "How about, she killed them all?" Battery said bluntly. "They all came to Brockton Bay, and now they're all dead. Actually, let me back up for a moment there. She knew they would come to Brockton Bay, she said she was going to kill them, and she did. They died mainly because they didn't heed the warning to stay away."

    "Oh, and you know the Endbringers?" Assault may have raised his eyebrows, but Barrow couldn't see them. "She's also said that the next one that shows up, she's going to kill it. And people are taking her seriously. That's the person you're looking to piss off by coming into her city. She's warned you. You know of the first warning. The next one is likely to be somewhat more pointed. You won't get a third one."

    Barrow blinked. "Kill … an Endbringer? Is that even possible? Because forgive me for my rudeness, but your story of this Atropos is insane. I'm not at all certain that I can believe it anymore."

    "She killed Shatterbird with a chunk of glass, blew Crawler to kingdom come, and cut Jack Slash's head off with Hatchet Face's axe," Captain Reeves said harshly. "She used the same axe to chop up Butcher into fourteen separate pieces, and stabbed Heartbreaker to death with a giant candy heart. She does not play games. She doesn't do non-lethal unless she's very specifically making that choice. If she wants you dead, you're dead, along with any of your …" He paused, clearly choosing his words carefully. "… followers, who try to get in her way."

    "If she is so dangerous, so lethal, how many men have the PRT lost to her, Captain? And how many of your fellow heroes, Assault? And why has she not been arrested?" Barrow eyed the officer and the superheroes challengingly. This would be the acid test of their claim. Surely they would seek to make her seem as terrifying as possible, and when they did …

    "None, of either." Captain Reeves stated the words without fanfare. "Oh, we were going to try to arrest her, but she's very good at dancing between the raindrops. And once she killed off the Nine, the Director read the writing on the wall, and gave orders accordingly. We don't mess with her, and she doesn't kill us."

    Barrow smiled. "She will not kill my Garden, Captain. I, too, am no ordinary villain, despite the fact that you have insisted on slapping that label on me. The only way to get to me is to come into my Garden, and it does not tolerate intruders."

    "That. Doesn't. Matter." Assault clenched his fists as he spoke. "People with more resources than you have tried avoiding her notice. They still died. Am I not getting through to you? Are you not listening? Atropos will destroy you. Turn around. Walk away. Go bother someone else."

    "And there it comes." Barrow glanced at Captain Reeves. "It was an admirable effort, but I believe I shall continue on my path. Atropos uses guns and blades. Neither will be of any use to her within my Garden."

    "Goddamn it, you moron! Atropos uses everything!" Raising his voice, Assault took half a step forward. "I'm trying to save your life, here!"

    Battery put a hand on his arm, just as the undergrowth all around Barrow rustled threateningly. Barrow raised his own hand and frowned at Assault. "Come no closer. My Garden will protect me against such as you." And of course, his followers were watching from just out of sight.

    "Come on," Battery urged her partner. "We gave it our best shot. No sense in giving him an excuse to attack us." She glanced sideways at Captain Reeves.

    Reeves unsnapped his holster but did not draw his weapon. "Don't hold back on my account."

    "I tire of this posturing." Barrow stepped back, allowing leaves and branches to swing into place, concealing him from the heroes and the PRT officer. "Tell your superiors. The Lost Garden is coming to Brockton Bay. We will not seek out Atropos, but neither will we bow down to her wishes."

    Assault shouted something, but Barrow was no longer listening. Turning, he walked deeper into the Garden, leaving his followers to watch the perimeter. Unlike every other cape who'd been confronted by Atropos, he was never vulnerable. He couldn't be isolated or taken off-guard. And so, he would—

    Brushing aside a hanging curtain of leaves, he stopped short, staring at the dark-clad figure who absolutely did not belong in the Garden. Even now, thorned tendrils crept out toward her—it was Atropos, it had to be, though how she'd gotten this far into his personal domain without the alarm being raised, he had no idea—but recoiled, every time. In fact, she stood in a quiet little clearing, with the plants apparently cringing back from her in all directions.

    "Hi," she said pleasantly. "I just need to make sure that you know you've been warned to turn around and walk away from Brockton Bay." A tiny motion of her head seemed to indicate an eye-roll. "Just to make absolutely certain."

    He stared at her, disbelieving of her sheer gall. She wasn't even armed that he could see. "You walk into my Garden, and you warn me against trespassing into your lands? Do you even understand the danger you are in, right now?"

    Her hands barely seemed to move, but her long-coat fluttered and suddenly she was holding a shotgun. The action made a meaty chak-k'chak sound as she racked the slide. "I could ask you exactly the same question. Now, one more time. Are you going to walk away from Brockton Bay?"

    He eyed the shotgun. It looked remarkably lethal at this range. "If I say no, are you going to murder me?"

    She seemed to give the question a certain amount of consideration. "No. The Protectorate and PRT cared enough to come out here and try to save your life, and I don't want them feeling totally useless. Besides, I promised a friend I wouldn't."

    He put his hands on his hips. "Then, no. I am not."

    Too late, he heard the sheer unconcern in her voice, and realised that she hadn't said she wouldn't shoot him. "Suit yourself."

    <><>​

    Captain Lassiter Reeves, PRT ENE

    Together, they watched as Barrow vanished into the undergrowth of his personal jungle. "I could maybe grab him," Battery muttered, but she didn't sound too sure of herself.

    "Nope." Assault shook his head as they moved away. "Even with superspeed, that stuff would stick things out at ankle level, then have a bed of thorns waiting for you when you face-planted. We did our best, and he wouldn't listen."

    "Goddamn it." Lassiter shook his head. "I thought we at least had a chance. Since Bastard Son, all she's done is make public appearances. But no, someone's got to poke the bear."

    "Shh!" Assault held up one hand. "Did you hear that?"

    "What?" asked Battery.

    "Sounded like a pump shotgun." He looked around, then pointed at the otherworldly trees overhanging the boundary with the Lost Garden. "In there."

    Lassiter suddenly had a memory flash. "Atropos has one of those. I mean, she literally calls it 'my good friend Mr Pump Action Shotgun'."

    "Wait," Battery said. "You don't think—"

    The two shots sounded so quickly that the untrained ear may have failed to tell them apart. Assault crouched slightly, ready to react, while Battery powered up the circuit-board lines on her costume. Lassiter didn't have powers or a cool costume, but he did pull his pistol, barrel skyward, finger off trigger.

    Nothing came at them. The trees rustled, seemingly agitated, but they were beyond potential strike range. As the sounds of the shots died away, an ugly screaming became audible within the Garden. It went on and on, the sound of a man in agony.

    "Captain, you're in charge here," Assault said tensely. "Your call."

    "I have no idea what's going on," Lassiter admitted. "Let's pull back a bit more while I kick this upstairs. We don't want that thing rolling over us while we dither about."

    "Someone really sounds hurt in there," Battery ventured.

    "Someone is," agreed Atropos, appearing at the edge of the Garden with her shotgun resting against her shoulder. Far from attacking her, the plants seemed to lean away from her. She stepped onto clear ground; behind her, the greenery closed up again. "But don't worry. He'll live."

    Lassiter wasn't even remotely surprised. If anyone could pull off what had just happened, it would be Atropos. After all, she'd also watered his plants for him that one time. "Do I want to know what you just did to him?"

    "Screw what you did to Barrow," Assault broke in. "Did you seriously just intimidate a whole fucking bunch of homicidal plants into leaving you alone?"

    "Something like that, yeah," she said to Assault; Lassiter could tell from the tone of voice that she was grinning broadly. "As for Barrow, that involved a conversation about how Kneecaps Are A Privilege." Somehow, she managed to slot the capitals into place. "He ignored two warnings, so my good friend here did something about that. The Lost Garden won't be coming to Brockton Bay."

    Lassiter eyed her suspiciously. "Is he alive because we made the effort? Or were you always just going to blow out his kneecaps?" He did his best to ignore the fact that Barrow would probably never walk again. The man had been warned.

    "Yes." She was still grinning, he could tell. Opening her long-coat, she holstered the shotgun. "If it's any consolation, he wasn't going to budge, no matter what you said. But you distracted him for long enough for me to get into position, so thanks for that."

    She nodded politely to the three of them and strolled on past, then pulled out her shears and appeared to cut a rectangle out of the air. At the last 'snip', a shadowy portal appeared and she stepped into it.

    As she vanished, Assault looked at Battery and then at Lassiter. "Is it just me, or do you ever get the impression that we're not paid enough to deal with crap like this?"

    Lassiter chuckled darkly. "All the time, buddy. All the damn time."

    <><>​

    Low Earth Orbit
    Simurgh

    The Third considered its options.

    There was an anomalous shard-host loose on the world below. Where the Third could read the past and project the future of every other lifeform, and indeed disarrange their patterns of thought with a mere effort of will, this one defied its power. Its actions could not be predicted. Worse, as it interacted with others around it, their actions became unquantifiable, spreading the murky area wider and wider until the Third's plans were under threat of becoming unworkable.

    That was unacceptable, especially since the anomaly had made the claim to several different people that it was going to put an end to the Third and its fellow chaos engines.

    Precautions, the Third decided, were in order.



    End of Part Forty-Five
     
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    • Part Forty-Six: The Great Duck Hunt
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Forty-Six: The Great Duck Hunt

    [A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

    [A/N 2: Double length chapter, woo!]



    Protectorate Base, New York
    8:17 PM, Thursday, 23 February, 2011

    Flechette

    Lily lay back on her bed, smirking at the pictures Emily had sent. They had shared secret identities a few days before—contingent on Emily e-signing an NDA that Lily had mailed to her, courtesy of Legend—and now she was receiving texts of Emily making funny faces. The one of her dragon mask with googly eyes and a big silly-looking tongue lolling out the side of its mouth had made Lily laugh out loud.

    An email popped up in Lily's inbox, showing Emily's email address and the caption Have you ever watched this? It's the funniest. Below that was a YouTube clip, which Lily clicked on.

    She vaguely remembered watching it, many years ago, but Emily had sent it so she viewed it through in full. Classic Warner Brothers, with Elmer as the clueless hunter, and Daffy trying to get him to shoot Bugs, yet always being the one shot at. The classics, she decided as Daffy captured his errant beak yet again, were called that for a reason.

    It had been two weeks since the fundraiser. Emily had messaged her shortly after that, and she'd tentatively responded. While Parian was the girl Lily had noticed, Emily had been wearing a dragon costume, so the deck had been stacked against her. And Emily was the one who had reached out.

    Screw it, Lily decided. Next time I get some time off, I'm going to Brockton Bay. I'll let her know I'm coming, and we'll make a day of it.

    After all, Atropos herself had put the seal of approval on their relationship.

    If she says it's okay, who's gonna say no?

    <><>​

    Also in New York

    Taylor

    I leaned forward just as the teleport kicked in, so that I ended up with my hands on Director Wilkins' desk, looking at her from a range of three feet. She shrieked, flailed her arms so papers flew everywhere, and fell off her chair. As the papers fluttered to the ground, I considered going around the desk and helping her up, but decided that she would see any move I made as hostile.

    "Hi," I said helpfully. "Not actually here to hurt you."

    She didn't respond, staying down below the desk level. I knew she was reaching up under the footwell and activating the duress alarm. This wouldn't actually do much, because I'd remotely hacked the building before teleporting in. I didn't need alarms blaring and causing confusion; they were going to have enough of that in a relatively short time.

    "I came here to give you two important pieces of information," I informed the desk. It continued to be a desk. "The first is that I'm taking Flechette and going on a brief trip to Australia. We won't be long."

    Wilkins didn't show herself, but she couldn't let that fly. "I can't permit that."

    "Sorry, let me rephrase that," I said patiently. "I wasn't asking for permission. I'm informing you as a courtesy."

    She still hadn't shown herself. "If Flechette goes anywhere out of this building with you, that will be counted as kidnapping a Ward. In Legend's city."

    I snorted. "If you tell Legend I've kidnapped Flechette, he will advise you that she's probably okay, which will be perfectly true. Because he knows me." I shook my head; we were getting off track. "Anyway, you never asked about the second piece of information."

    Silence from behind the desk. She wasn't going to bite.

    I was tempted to walk around behind the desk and ask her what she thought she was playing at, but by now she'd extracted her .22 pistol from its hidey-hole. If I did that, she would feel threatened enough to shoot and I'd have to take the weapon away from her, and she'd be needlessly traumatised all over again. Better to not even go there.

    I made a bet with myself that Piggot would've stood up to me.

    "The second piece of information, seeing as you're so eager to learn it, is that the Endbringer alarm is due to go off in about twenty minutes. The Simurgh, in Canberra." I said it as calmly and unemotionally as I could, to soften the shock. Professor Plum, in the library, with the candlestick.

    It took her a few seconds to connect the dots. That was when she popped up from behind the desk like a jack-in-the-box, pistol held in both hands, aimed at centre mass. Her finger wasn't resting on the trigger, which was smart of her.

    "Canberra is in Australia," she said quietly, as though it were a revelation of great importance.

    "The capital city, even," I agreed. "Which is weird. Everyone seems to think it's Sydney."

    "Where did you intend to take Flechette in Australia?"

    I pretended to think for a moment. "… Canberra, actually. There's apparently a nice lake with an awesome name, and lots of cultural stuff. Young minds need expanding." The fact that Flechette was actually older than me was irrelevant, so I didn't bring it up.

    Her grasp on the pistol became white-knuckled, and her hands began to shake from the tension. If she fired it now, she'd be just as likely to sign her name on the back wall as hit me. "I do not give permission for her to go into an Endbringer battle!"

    "Point of fact," I said, holding up a finger. "First, as I said earlier, I'm not actually asking permission. I'm informing you of where she's going to be. Second, the word 'battle' presupposes that there's going to be a fight. I don't 'fight', unless I'm making a very specific point. I kill. There's no point I need to make with the Simurgh. She is going to die, though I will be having a few words with her first. Flechette's just coming along for moral support."

    "You're not going anywhere." Her voice was as tense as the rest of her. "I'm the one holding the gun. Any minute now, troopers are going to burst through that door, and—"

    "No, they aren't." This conversation promised to be tedious as fuck, so I short-circuited it. "I hacked your systems before I ever came here. Your security guys are watching looped footage. The duress signal got rerouted to one specific person, along with the actual security footage from this room."

    "Who—" she began, just as her phone rang. Never taking her eyes off me, she scrabbled for it. "Hello?"

    "Director Wilkins." Despite the fact that it wasn't on speaker, I could still hear Alexandria's voice on the other end. "Exactly what do you think you're doing?"

    Wilkes drew herself to attention. "Chief Director—I—arresting Atropos—she's dangerous—"

    "Yes, she's dangerous. Do you honestly think you're holding her at gunpoint against her will? The last person who pointed a gun at her, she shot his bullets out of the air. She's being nice. Now, put it on speaker. What has she said to you?"

    Wilkins, starting to sweat, obediently put the phone on speaker. If I was of a mind to give a shit about such things, I might've actually felt sorry for her. But I wasn't, so I didn't. "I—uh—she wants to take Flechette to Australia, to fight the Simurgh—"

    "End the Simurgh," I corrected firmly. "And her legacy. There's a difference."

    Alexandria paused for all of two seconds, which for her was the equivalent of a jaw-drop for a solid five minutes. "The Simurgh? There's going to be an attack? Where? When?"

    "Canberra," I said. "Fifteen minutes. Send the heroes if you want. It won't make a difference, but they won't be thrilled if they miss it."

    "If I asked you how you know this, would I get an answer that made sense?" She wasn't even pretending to talk to Wilkins anymore.

    I shrugged. "I know it because that's when and where it's going to happen?"

    Alexandria's tone made it clear that she was currently rubbing the bridge of her nose with her finger and thumb. "I suppose that'll have to be good enough. Wilkins, I'm giving permission for Flechette to accompany Atropos to Canberra. Now, put down the pistol before Atropos makes you put it down. I need to make some calls." The phone beeped, indicating that the conversation was over.

    "You heard the lady. Have a nice day." Raising my hand, I snapped my fingers, just as the teleport kicked in.

    <><>​

    New York Protectorate Base

    Flechette

    Lily looked up from her phone as a knock sounded on the door to her room. "Who is it?" she called out.

    "I am shocked and surprised," a familiar voice called from the other side of the door. "You don't recognise me from my knock? Now I feel rejected."

    She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, not quite believing her ears. "Atropos?"

    "Well, duh. Did you need me to go beat up March again to prove it?"

    Lily glanced up at the rapier hanging in its sheath on the wall. "Ah … nope. Come on in."

    The door opened and Atropos strolled into the room, then shut it behind her. "Hi," she said cheerfully. "You're going to need to suit up, because you know how I said we'd be going to Australia? We're going now."

    "Wait, what?" Lily knew she should've been used to this sort of left-field shenanigans from Atropos by now. "You said you'd clear it first with the higher-ups."

    "It's cleared. Chief Director Costa-Brown said it was okay." Atropos gestured at the dressmaker's dummy that Lily stored her costume on. "Or didn't you want to go to Australia?"

    "Oh, I totally want to go." Dropping her phone on the bed, Lily went over and started pulling her costume off the dummy. "But my main question is: why? And why now? It's the middle of the night."

    "Not over there, it isn't." Atropos described a semi-circle in the air with her finger. "Right now, in Canberra it's the middle of the day. As for why we're going, I've already done a wabbit hunt, so now I'm going on a duck hunt."

    Lily stopped in the middle of donning her costume and stared at Atropos. "… wait. You sent me that email?"

    "I did." Atropos admitted it easily enough.

    "But why?"

    Leaning against the wall with her arms folded, Atropos fairly oozed smugness. "You will absolutely find out."

    Resuming her costuming up, Lily asked the next question on her mind. "If March was the wabbit, I mean rabbit, who's the duck? Is there a duck-themed Australian villain who's somehow gotten on your bad side?"

    "Not Australian, and not duck-themed, but yes." Atropos paused for a moment. "Do you trust me?"

    That one wasn't hard to answer. Atropos was many things, some bad, but untrustworthiness did not number among her traits. "Yes, I do."

    "Good." Atropos may have smiled. "And do you believe in the power of friendship?"

    For some reason, it sounded like a trick question. Either that, or it was an odd way of asking if Lily considered her to be a friend. But the answer was the same, no matter how she thought of it. "I think I do, yeah."

    "Excellent. That's good to hear." She paused for a moment, which was when the Endbringer sirens started sounding. Audible through the base via the PA system, they were pitched for the Simurgh, with the warble that meant 'not here'. "One more question: do you believe I can End the Simurgh?"

    Lily froze, then turned slowly to stare at Atropos. "Uh … why? Is that where we're going? To fight the Simurgh?"

    "No." Atropos suddenly had her shears in her hand, spinning them one way and then the other. "I'm going to kill her, and End her legacy. You're needed for a vital role, but you will not be required to actually fight her." The shears vanished as fast as they'd appeared, and Atropos straightened up from her posture against the wall. "Ready?"

    Again, the question seemed to have several levels. Lily was costumed up, so that was affirmative on one level, but then there was the deeper question. Am I ready to go up against an Endbringer?

    There was only one possible answer. Atropos chose me for this. The knowledge put steel into her backbone.

    "Yeah. I think I am."

    <><>​

    Canberra, Australia
    Local Time 12:37 PM AEST, 24 February, 2011

    Taylor

    Leet had assured me that the teleporter had a global range, but I'd never tested it as far as Australia before. It handled the portal-step just fine, though it was going to need a bit of time to recover before we could teleport back. That was fine. We had time.

    As the shadows dispersed, the Endbringer sirens became audible here as well. Lily glanced up into the sky in case the Simurgh was already waiting for us (she wasn't) and then around at the scenery. "It is so weird to know that it's after eight at night, back home."

    "And here, that's last night," I reminded her. I gestured at the weird building with grass growing up over the top of it, and the angular flagpole on top of that. "So, what do you think of Canberra so far?"

    Lily shaded her eyes as she looked around at all the trees. I didn't blame her; we'd gone from late winter to late summer, and I was glad I'd doubled up on the antiperspirant before I'd left the house. "Um …" she said at last. "Where is it? Where are all the skyscrapers? Where's the, uh, whatever they use for a White House?"

    "There," I said, pointing again at the building with the flagpole on top. "That's their Parliament House. And that one," I pointed in the other direction at a blocky white building about a quarter of a mile away, "is the old parliament building. They build outward rather than upward, here. The tallest building in Canberra is only twenty-six stories high." As I spoke, I took a can of white spray-paint from one of my long-coat pockets, shook it up, and began to draw a shape on the grass.

    "Is it just me," she asked, "or can you just walk up on top of it? And what are you doing?"

    "Showing off," I said briskly. "Or to put it another way, building my brand. And yeah, last I heard, you could. I guess letting the general public walk around over the top of politicians' heads was their way of showing that they're all equal in the end, or something."

    I heard a clik as she took a photo of the parliament house. "Ah," she said in a low tone. "I think the cops are coming. They're kind of acting like cops, anyway."

    I'd already pinged them in the back of my head, and registered their intent as official but non-lethal. "Thanks." Capping the spray-paint can, I slid it back into my pocket and turned to face the newcomers. "Good afternoon, officers. How can we help you?"

    There were two officers, a large solidly built man and a shorter but no less formidable-looking woman. They wore dark blue vests loaded with equipment over pale blue shirts, which made for an interesting contrast. The male officer took the lead. "Well, for a start, miss, you can't be out here vandalising the place like that. Why aren't you heading for a shelter?"

    "Because we're passing the time until the Simurgh gets here," I said, semi-honestly. "This is Flechette, from the New York Wards. I'm Atropos; maybe you've heard of me?"

    The female cop certainly had, from the way her eyes widened. "What, the one who took out the Slaughterhouse Nine and all that?"

    "Jeez!" her colleague exclaimed. "You're that bloody Atropos?"

    "She certainly is," Lily confirmed. "She's killed more supervillains than anyone. And she's my friend, so leave her alone."

    "Okay, okay," the female officer said. "If you're here to fight, we're not going to bother you. Thanks for showing up. You take care and stay safe, hey?"

    I nodded. "That's the general intention, yeah."

    "Just one thing," the guy added. "How'd you get here so fast? The alarms only started going off a few minutes ago."

    I grinned under the mask. "We walked."

    "Okay, fine," he muttered. "Be a smartarse." But he moved away anyway, urged by his partner.

    I went back to finishing the shape I was drawing. If squinted at from a certain angle, it might have vaguely resembled a map of Australia. As a final touch, I pulled out another spray can and painted a red X at a particular spot.

    "I think someone's—" began Lily, about one second before a cape blurred into sight in front of us. He was definitely a Mover, with orange and yellow speed lines on his costume. Stocky and short, he had bulky muscle rather than the runner's build that most dedicated Movers tended to develop.

    "G'day," he said. "Name's Pocket Rocket. Cops said a couple of Yanks had already shown up. That'd be you two?"

    "That's us." I held out my hand to shake. "I'm Atropos, and this is Flechette, from the New York Wards."

    His handshake was firm without trying to crush mine. "Whoa," he said, eyes widening behind the mask. "The Atropos? Thought the outfit looked familiar."

    "The one and only," I confirmed. "Are there many other heroes in Canberra?"

    "Not a lot." He grimaced. "I put the word out to Wave Rock Surf Club, and they said they'd show up. As for the others, they'll get here when they get here." He shaded his eyes with his hand and peered skyward. "Any sign of the Bin Chicken of Doom yet?"

    Lily spluttered with laughter. "What did you call her?"

    "It's a type of ibis," he explained. "Ugly as fuck, and they'll spread your rubbish far and wide. Nobody likes 'em. They've got white feathers … and I tend to be a smartarse when I'm fuckin' terrified."

    I didn't look upward. "She'll be overhead in about five minutes. See the way the clouds are spreading out? That's her. By the time she gets here, it'll be solid overcast, exactly three hundred feet above ground level. Zero visibility above that point."

    He stopped and stared at me. "And how the fuck do you know that?"

    I looked back at him; the difference being, I could see his eyes. "Because she considers herself a chessmaster, and I'm gonna show her what a fool's mate looks like." Which didn't answer his question at all, but it sounded good all the same.

    "Okay, five minutes. Gotcha. I'll be back by then." He stomped the ground once with his heel, then blurred away.

    Lily shook her head, still giggling. "Bin Chicken of Doom. I can't wait to tell Emily that one."

    "It is kinda funny," I agreed. "Here, can you help me with something?" Drawing the shotgun I'd confiscated from Ravioli, with Amy's metallic coating rubbed into the engravings I'd done with the angle-grinder on the sides of the barrel, I broke it open and pulled a couple of shotgun shells out of my pocket. "Can you treat all but the brass on the shells, and treat the barrels as well, so the shot doesn't tear them to shreds? Then load the shotgun and hand it back to me, please?"

    She took the weapon and ammunition carefully. "Okay, I can do that. You think my power will work against her?"

    I grinned as I drew my shears, then got out the tiny tub of stuff Riley had made and dipped the tip in. "Oh, I've got a hunch it might just work." Screwing the top back on the tub, I dropped it into my pocket again. "Once you're done with that, could you please treat the blades of my shears as well? Thanks."

    She paused halfway through applying her power to the barrels of the shotgun. "Hold on a second. If the shotgun's for the Simurgh … what are the shears for?"

    My grin broadened. "The rest of the Endbringers."

    "Wait … no … what?" She stared at me as though I'd just started declaiming the Necronomicon in ancient Sumerian. "You are going to have to explain that one to me."

    "It's an Atropos thing," I said lightly. "Trust me, it'll get done."

    "Lucky I do trust you," she grumbled, then blew a raspberry at me.

    "Which I totally appreciate." I glanced over my artwork and nodded in satisfaction. "Oh, and by the way? Don't freak, but there will be a party crasher. I have it totally under control. Understood?"

    She gave me a medium-dirty look. "You do understand that saying 'don't freak' is basically an invitation to freak, right?"

    "I'm trusting you not to freak. Because you're the most kickass Ward in New York, and pretty soon you're gonna have photos that nobody back home is going to believe."

    She loaded the shotgun, clicked it closed, and handed it back to me, accepting the shears in turn. "God, when you talk like that, I feel like I should be ten feet tall and saving the world or something, not struggling with my math homework."

    "Math homework is universal," I agreed blandly.

    "Wow, these are cool." She ran her finger along the blade, careful to avoid the edges. "Where did you get 'em from?"

    I chuckled. "Stole them from Kaiser's personal collection, along with the sword I killed him with."

    "Oooh, ouch. A metal spike guy, killed with a sharp metal weapon that he used to own."

    "That was previously owned by an actual Kaiser," I appended.

    She winced and grinned at the same time. "Day-yum, girl. That's irony, right there."

    I nodded, accepting the shears back and letting them twirl casually around my finger. "Killing someone with irony is harder, but so goddamn satisfying when I can get all the ducks in a row."

    "Your ducks march in step, wear combat boots, and carry sniper rifles, just saying."

    "Never said they didn't." I looked around as a loud crack heralded Strider's arrival with the first bunch of heroes and villains. Taking a deep breath, I raised my voice. "If I can have your attention, please?"

    All eyes turned my way, or close enough that it didn't matter. Legend stepped out of the pack and strode toward us. "Flechette, are you okay?"

    "I'm fine," she said. "But I think Atropos has something to say."

    "Thank you, I do." I raised my voice again. "All fliers! That overcast up there is artificial! The Simurgh is creating it, with Leviathan's assistance! She's going to be getting here in about two minutes, so stay below the cloud cover! If she catches you in there, she will tear you limb from limb!"

    "Oh, come on!" I couldn't see who was protesting, but it wasn't Legend. "Two Endbringers never attack at the same time! Besides, we must be fifty miles inland! Where's he going to find water?"

    "Seventy," I corrected him. "But there's a nice big lake, less than a mile away. It's got a billion cubic feet of water in it, and he's lurking in there right now."

    "You're sure about this?" asked Legend quietly. I could see Alexandria and Eidolon approaching now, both glancing in the direction of the lake with the amazing name. I mean, how could anyone go wrong with a name like Burley Griffin?

    "It's what I'd do," I told him. "I'd suggest you ask the people I've gone up against about how well I can anticipate their moves, but you'd only get answers out of Ravioli and March. Anyway, we'll find out for sure in about a minute and a half." I looked over at Alexandria. "Which gives us just enough time to discuss the next order of business."

    There was a crack as Strider deposited another group of heroes in the chosen rendezvous area. This bunch included one of Dragon's suits; I had no doubt there were a bunch more going supersonic on their way across the Pacific. I nodded to Legend and gestured at the sky, and he took the hint. Heading toward the new group, he raised his voice. "No flying into the cloud cover! We're reasonably sure the Simurgh will be using it to trap people! And don't go near the lake, either!"

    Nobody questioned him when he said stuff like that, I noticed. It might've irritated me if I'd let it. But I'd got the point across, so it didn't matter. Now I had something else to address; Alexandria was paying attention, and time was short.

    I looked her in the eye. "If I End the Simurgh today, here and now, what sort of bounty can I expect?"

    A shocked silence spread across the crowd, barely broken by the crack of another bunch of arrivals. Others were coming in now from elsewhere, flying low under the cloud cover. I ignored them all, focusing on Alexandria, whom I knew (and she knew I knew) was also Chief Director Costa-Brown, a woman who had the ear of the President.

    The Endbringers had had bounties offered on them early on, when it was thought they might be power-mutated capes, but over the more than a decade since Behemoth's first attack, that had gone by the wayside. Nobody seriously expected a single cape to be able to one-shot an Endbringer. Even the Triumvirate were stretched to their limits when fighting the monsters.

    To ask for a bounty, as I'd just done, was akin to asking for a reward for baling out the ocean, or for blowing out the sun. It wasn't just impossible; it was essentially unthinkable.

    And yet … I'd asked the question.

    And yet … I'd killed 'unkillable' capes before now.

    And yet … I'd taken on the Brockton Bay drug trade and beaten it, broken its back then shot it in the head as it lay bleeding in the gutter. Not one of the heroes before me could claim that of their home city. Or villains, for that matter.

    Alexandria knew all this, and she met my challenge head-on. "I'd have to make some calls, but if you kill the Simurgh today, I'm thinking two billion dollars is a fair bounty."

    "Good." I cracked my neck, first one side and then the other. "Make the wire transfer out to the Brockton Bay Betterment Committee."

    The rest of the crowd was silent, apart from the newcomers asking what was going on. But it wasn't the kind of silence that came from anger or fear. It was the kind of silence that arose from sheer, stunned disbelief.

    "I'll pass that on," Alexandria said.

    That seemed to break some kind of spell, and everyone started talking at once, apparently forgetting that we were waiting on the Simurgh. "Ten seconds!" I yelled. "Brace yourselves! She'll be coming in hot!"

    There was just enough time for the assembled heroes to look at each other in apprehension before the Scream started. Hidden by the clouds, the Simurgh was cruising back and forth while trying to narrow down my position. I saw heroes and villains alike grabbing at their heads, while I felt it trying to claw at my brain, though my power shielded me from the worst of it.

    At the same time, there was a rumble of large amounts of water in motion; over the trees to the north rose a massive standing wave, with Leviathan embedded within it. If he wanted to reach us, it would take only a few seconds; the wave would roll right over the top of us, as well as any unfortunate citizens still out and about.

    "It's stronger than I've ever felt it before!" Legend yelled. "We have to withdraw to a safe distance!"

    I shook my head. "There is no safe distance! She's out for blood! My blood!"

    "Then what do you propose?" bellowed Eidolon.

    I turned to Flechette. Her face was pinched from the effort of withstanding the Scream, but she was still standing strong beside me. The faith she held in me was inspiring.

    It was time to reward that faith. "It's duck season!" I shouted.

    I saw the understanding light up in her eyes. "Wabbit season!" she disagreed.

    "Duck season!"

    "Wabbit season!"

    Alexandria and Eidolon, and about half the crowd, were staring at us as though we'd gone crazy. Legend and Dragon were trying to stop the rest of the crowd from breaking down into a panic.

    "Duck season!"

    "Wabbit season!"

    The time was right. I nodded to Flechette. "Wabbit season!"

    "Duck season!" she screamed. "Fire!"

    I still had the shotgun in my hand, and I pointed it upward at an angle. Just as the Simurgh swooped past at the right point … I fired.

    The Flechette-charged pellets blasted straight into the cloud cover; a split second later, the Scream cut out.

    "And now," I said, my ears trying to ring in the mental silence that followed, "we all step back."

    Obediently, Alexandria and Eidolon moved out of the white shape I'd drawn, as did Flechette and I. Not two seconds later, the Simurgh tumbled down out of the sky in a welter of flailing wings. She hit the ground once, bounced, demolished a couple of flagpoles, then landed precisely within the outline I'd drawn out. If the cessation of the mental assault hadn't snapped the assembled capes out of their incipient panic, the double impact certainly did the trick.

    As part of the same move, I turned and aimed the shotgun at Leviathan, a mile distant. "Fuck off," I growled, allowing my power to add its emphasis to mine, "or you're next."

    <><>​

    Leviathan

    The Second hadn't seen the point of accompanying the Third to its regularly scheduled assault on a water-bag habitation. Worse, the location was far from the ocean. There was some water there, but barely a pittance. Hardly enough to hide under until the time was right, even if the Third had deigned to teleport it there.

    It wasn't even expected to attack anything until the Third had located the anomalous shard-host, whatever that meant. The Third wanted it to hold back and be a menace until the anomaly had been located and disposed of. None of which actually sounded like what the Second wanted to do.

    But the Third had insisted, and the Orders had backed it up, and so the Second was hovering on water, waiting to see what the Third accomplished.

    What it accomplished, it seemed, was self-obliteration. A water-bag, outdoing even the Third's capability of anticipation, used some kind of weapon to bring the Third down. And then the weapon was pointed at the Second.

    [Go away, or face equal destruction.]

    The Second normally only communicated in the ripple and swell of water, but it heard that well enough.

    It had never wanted to be there anyway. Allowing the water-hill to slump back into the basin, the Second called up a thunderstorm and started its run for the coast. If it didn't stop to attack anywhere, it could be there before more annoying water-bags caught up with it.

    Especially the one with that weapon, and that Voice.

    <><>​

    Taylor

    As Leviathan bolted under the cover of rain, and Eidolon and Legend streaked off to shadow him to the coast, I turned my attention back toward the Simurgh. She twitched feebly as I stepped up, putting one foot on her chest. There was no heartbeat, no rise and fall of breath, but the damage to the core in her main wing had been just enough to disable her—just as I'd planned.

    "Listen up, bitch," I said, pointing the shotgun at her core. "There's no way out of this for you. You are going to die. But I can give you a quick, painless End, or …" I raised the shears. "I stick these in the hole I just blew in your core, and find something that gives you the equivalent of agony, and I jab it as hard as I can, as often as I can. Long story short, you can die easy or you can die hard. Your choice."

    She stared up at me with her sightless eyes. The twitch of her expression, interpreted by my power, asked me the question.

    I nodded. "What do I want? It's simple. You fix everyone you ever fucked over with your Scream. Every last Simurgh bomb, healed. Nobody with little pitfalls in their heads." I leaned closer. "And trust me … I'll know."

    For a long, frozen moment, I thought she was going to go with the 'hard' option, just to fuck with me. This had been my best chance to End her legacy as well as her rampage, but I couldn't make her undo her work. I could only make her want to.

    And then, she sagged ever so slightly in surrender. I felt the infinitesimal unthreading of the scar tissue the brief exposure had left in my brain, and I knew she was putting her power toward unfucking everyone she'd ever damaged in this way. It was a strain on her, especially now, but I didn't really give a crap.

    Once my power told me it was done—it took a surprisingly short time—I nodded to her. "Good choice." Then I administered the coup de grâce. The shotgun boomed, and her core shattered into a thousand unrepairable pieces.

    As I took my foot off the body of the Simurgh, the now-destroyed core directly over the red X I'd painted on the ground, Pocket Rocket finally found his voice. Staring at me, he shook his head.

    "What the fuck just happened?" he demanded. "Who the fuck are you?"

    "I'm the one who just netted Brockton Bay another two billion dollars," I responded cheerfully, resting the shotgun against my shoulder. "And what do you know, it was duck season."

    Alexandria eyed me carefully. "What would it take you—"

    "Wait!" called out Dragon, standing tall and pointing at me. "What have you got written on that shotgun?"

    I held it up so she could see it, and she let out a bark of laughter, which was definitely an odd thing for a twenty-foot-long robotic Dragon suit to do. "I don't believe it. You actually called it 'The Power of Friendship'?"

    "Well, think about it," I said, turning the shotgun so the glowing red text on each side was visible to everyone. "I said I would kill the Simurgh with the Power of Friendship. It seemed the simplest way to achieve that."

    Alexandria shook her head as Dragon started cackling in the background. "Your puns are almost as lethal as your fighting skills. So, as I was asking, what would it take to get you to commit to killing the other two Endbringers?"

    I tilted my head back to look at the now-clearing sky; it was shaping up to be a really nice day in Canberra. Even the thunderstorm retreating to the east at airliner speeds would be out of sight in a moment. "Let's walk and talk. I'm pretty sure that you're not going to want this to get out."

    "Alright, then." We headed away from the remains of the Simurgh. Flechette was getting her pictures from every possible angle; her street cred among the New York Wards would be insane.

    Once we were a little way up on the Parliament House, with a good view all around, I stopped and leaned against the retaining wall. My shears spun idly on my left pinky as I spoke. "A few things. First, ten percent of the Federal budget that would've been otherwise put toward handling Endbringer damage, for the next ten years. You know where to send it."

    "The Brockton Bay Betterment Committee," she confirmed. "You seem very assured of their integrity. The sums we're talking about would tempt anyone to dip into the till."

    I smiled under the mask. "They've already been given a strong object lesson in keeping their hands to themselves."

    "Yes, true." She would've been kept aware of that, of course. "And the other things?"

    I held up one finger. "The Boat Graveyard. You need to show up with Legend and a few others and remove it, give Lord's Port a chance to recover." We both knew the actual recovery would be accomplished with the Betterment Committee money.

    She nodded in agreement. "Easily achieved. And?"

    "One more thing. And you are not going to like this one." My tone also managed to express the fact that I didn't give a damn what she liked or didn't like.

    Her expression turned wary. "I'm listening."

    "Eidolon needs to die." I didn't make it a dramatic statement, just one of simple fact. Water is wet, the sun is hot, Eidolon needs to die.

    It was interesting to see her go to full poker face in that instant. "Why?"

    Intriguingly enough, she hadn't refused outright, or even cited reasons why not. She was willing to negotiate and hear me out, even when it came to the life of her teammate and (I presumed) long-time friend.

    That was how much the Ending of the Endbringers was worth to her. Or how little Eidolon meant to her; one of the two.

    "Some time in the future, if he's left alive, Eidolon's going to cause a major problem for Brockton Bay. People are going to die. A lot of my work is going to be undone. I'm nipping that in the bud now. Either he dies, or you get to deal with the Endbringers your way." The way that doesn't work, I didn't have to add.

    Her eyes flickered, glancing down at the Simurgh. I had deliberately showboated the kill and made it look easy. That had to be factoring into her thought processes right now. "He does a lot of good …" she prevaricated.

    "Does he save more people than the Endbringers kill?" We both knew the answer to that one. "He dies, or the deal's off."

    "Wait." She'd finally seen the loophole that I was dangling in front of her. "You can kill powers, correct? Could you kill his powers but leave him alive? Would that satisfy you?"

    "Hmm …" I pretended reluctance. With my morph mask and total control of my tells, she had no way of reading me like she normally could with people. "I suppose so. You have to convince him, though. He's got to be willing. Villains, I'll just take their powers away. Heroes get the choice."

    It was almost hilarious how eagerly she grasped at the lifeline for Eidolon. Apparently she did care for him, after all. "I'll talk to him."

    "You do that. He should be back in a few minutes. I'm just going to make sure Flechette hasn't wandered off and gotten into trouble."

    Still twirling the shears, I strolled back down off the slope and past the water feature (I would've had the Simurgh land there, but that would've ruined it for the real ducks) to where Flechette was standing at the periphery of the crowd. There were a whole bunch of heroes, and not a few villains, who'd come fully expecting to suffer mindfuckery and maybe even die, and they hadn't even had to use their powers. The general air was, 'Okay, what now?'

    "Ladies, gentlemen, and others!" I called out. They paid attention to me, even more so than before the fight. Any would-be hecklers were notably silent. "Thank you for attending the very last Simurgh battle! Or, as I call it, the Great Duck Hunt!" I held the shotgun high to a general cheer. Dragon added a steam-train style whistle that echoed off the distant Old Parliament House.

    "What about Leviathan?" Ah, there were the hecklers. "You let him get away!"

    "Pull your head in!" That was Pocket Rocket. "She told him to fuck off—and he went!"

    "I'll be dealing with him and Behemoth in due time," I confirmed. "I've just concluded an arrangement with Alexandria for Ending the Endbringer threat for all time! When I'm done, there'll be no more Endbringer attacks! They are finished!"

    Stunned silence greeted my words. They'd seen me destroy the Simurgh and End her legacy, but the idea of doing the same to Leviathan and Behemoth was hard for them to get their heads around. Then, Lily and Pocket Rocket began clapping.

    The applause spread through the crowd until they were all cheering again. I headed over to Lily, who had her phone in her hand. It looked like she'd just gotten a picture of me coming down off the Parliament House.

    "You said you were going to use your shears to kill the other Endbringers," she reminded me. "How are you going to do that? They're a lot more dangerous than the Simurgh was."

    I grinned. "She was the hard one. The other two? Won't even see it coming." I raised my hands for quiet, and the capes closest to me shut up. The silence spread through the crowd until they were all listening again. "Thank you all for coming! You can go home if you want! We got this!"

    As the crowd began to disperse, some clustering around Strider, Lily looked up at me. "And that's it? We just kill an Endbringer then go home?"

    "Not quite." I shook my head. "Still got one more bit of business to take care of."

    "What?" She saw where I was looking to the east, and turned her gaze that way as well. Legend and Eidolon were tiny dots in the sky, but coming on fast. Of the disturbed weather Leviathan had left in his wake, there was little sign.

    "Eidolon," I said, then shut up as Dragon headed over in our direction.

    "Hey," she said cheerfully. "I kind of expected a show when you attended but damn, you've got a way of exceeding expectations."

    I gave her a polite nod. "It is kind of my business model. How've you been, anyway?"

    "Making progress, making progress." She looked around as Legend landed next to us, while Eidolon touched down near Alexandria. "I'll leave you alone now, but we can catch up later."

    "Totally." 'Making progress' sounded hopeful. Once she got rid of those particular chains, I'd be able to remove the backdoor into her sensory network. "See you around."

    Legend nodded politely to Dragon, then turned to me. "Leviathan was swimming for deep water, the last we saw him. Nobody's ever scared off an Endbringer before."

    "That was the general idea." I twirled the shears again. "You're okay with getting Flechette back to New York? I've got a little business with Alexandria and Eidolon to deal with."

    "Sure." He turned to Lily. "Ready to go?"

    "Just one second." She took a quick picture of me standing next to her boss, with the wreckage of the Simurgh in the background, then came and gave me a hug. "Thanks for bringing me along. It was amazing. Scary as hell, but amazing."

    "You're welcome." I patted her on the back. "See you when you visit Brockton Bay next."

    "Absolutely." She turned to Legend. "Let's go. I've got so much to tell the others about."

    I turned and strolled over to where Alexandria was explaining matters to Eidolon. He was radiating something between anger and disbelief, and the anger was winning. As I climbed the slope toward them, he turned toward me. "What the hell is this? Why are you bargaining my powers against the lives of millions? Billions?"

    Neither of us had visible eyes, but I knew where his were anyway. "Why are you clinging to your powers when you could be saving billions by giving them up?"

    "But why do I even have to give them up?" He didn't quite shout the question, but his voice wasn't quiet. Energy began to gather around his hands; more a sign of agitation than intent to attack me, I gauged.

    "Because you will cause problems for Brockton Bay in the future if I don't act now." I injected a thoughtful tone into my voice. "Or would you secretly rather the Endbringers keep causing havoc so you can be the big hero and fight them? Is that why you don't want me to End them?"

    "I don't want them to hurt anyone!" His fists were clenched so hard now, he had to be bruising his palms. Turning to Alexandria, he gestured at me. "Tell her! You know me better than that!"

    She looked at me, then at him. "I know you'd never do anything deliberately to cause harm," she said quietly. "But all too often, powers come with unintended consequences. And Atropos has shown an unparalleled level of prescience in matters like this."

    "But … what if she hates me for something I don't even remember doing?" he pleaded. "What if this has all been a ploy to make me give up my powers, for some kind of twisted revenge?"

    "I'd give mine up," she said unexpectedly. "If it meant the Endbringers would never trouble the world again, I'd do it."

    "But she's not asking you!" He lowered his voice slightly, even though I could still hear him perfectly well. "And what about … well, you know. Him."

    This argument was threatening to start going around in circles, so I stepped in. "I'll be dealing with him in due course, too. But here and now, this is about you and your powers. Not Alexandria's, and not Legend's. Yours."

    Alexandria stared at me. "Wait … you'll what?" From the way both she and Eidolon fixated on me, it was lucky she didn't have eye Blaster powers (and that he hadn't picked any for the day).

    I sighed. "What part of 'Can actually kill anything' did you not understand? He can die, therefore I can kill him. But that's for later. Eidolon, right now you have the choice to become the most revered hero in history. By giving up your powers, you will pave the way for me to End the Endbringers. You will save literally billions from death, starvation and misery. But I'm not going to force you to do this. You have to decide for yourself."

    Even with that incentive, with all the certitude I was able to pour into my voice, it was a hard-fought decision on his part. He paced back and forth, fists clenched, head bowed. The desire to be the greatest hero in the world battled with itself, and the contest swayed from one side to the other.

    Finally, he stomped up to us. It didn't matter that he was wearing an opaque visor; I could still feel him glaring at me. Only with my power could I tell that he didn't intend to attack me.

    "Fine," he grated. "Let's do this. What do I need to do?"

    I stopped twirling the shears and stepped forward. "Are you willing to allow me to kill your powers?" I asked formally. "And are you aware you are doing this so that the Endbringers will no longer bring death, misery and suffering to the world?"

    He took a deep breath, then let it out again. "Yes," he said, more quietly. "Yes, I am."

    "Good," I said. I slashed across his armoured chest with the shears, Lily's treatment allowing it to carve through the ceramic and metal like particularly soft butter. The tip, bearing Riley's goop, barely scored his skin; in doing so, I carved his official emblem on his chest, through the armour. As the last of Lily's effect left the shears, I snipped the air once in front of his face, then sheathed them. "And … done."

    "That's it?" asked Alexandria. "It's done? His powers are gone?"

    I nodded, then turned to Eidolon. "Go ahead. Reach for a power."

    From the very moment that the shears had first scored his skin, Riley's substance had been racing through his bloodstream. It had long since reached his brain and set about cutting off his Corona Pollentia from the rest of his body, starving it of blood and ending his connection to his powers. The time I took to say those final words were all it had needed.

    "I don't feel any different." He flexed his hands, looking down at them expectantly. "What the hell? How did you do that?"

    "With style and panache." I gave him a slight bow. "Thank you for your sacrifice. The Endbringers are as good as gone."

    "Wait," she said, as I started to turn away. "What you said about Cauldron not being allowed into Brockton Bay …"

    "Still stands." I looked back at her. "If Doctor Mother shows her face in my city, I will shoot her in the face. Just saying." Taking out my shears, I mimed snipping out a portal in midair. "Toodles."

    The portal formed right on schedule, and I left Canberra behind me.

    <><>​

    Cherish

    Cherie looked up from the late TV show as the shadowy portal appeared in the living room, and Taylor stepped out of it. The moment the shadows dissipated, Taylor sagged. "Ugh, what a day."

    Getting up from the sofa, Cherie helped Taylor take off the hat, mask and long-coat. "Come on, sit down. I'll get you a drink from the kitchen."

    Slumping onto the sofa, Taylor let out a long sigh. "You are undoubtedly an angel in human form."

    Cherie giggled as she headed through into the kitchen. "Well, that's a first. Rough one?"

    "Little bit." Taylor had her eyes closed by the time Cherie came back with a glass of fruit juice, though she was still talking. "Saved Canberra, ganked the Simurgh, made Leviathan run like a little bitch, and depowered Eidolon. And I had to make sure I got every step just right. Whoof. Fun as hell, and it's a rush like no other, but damn it's good to be home."

    Mr Hebert came downstairs at that point, and leaned into the living room. "Oh, hi, Taylor. You look like I feel after a long day at the Association."

    Taylor chuckled, accepting the glass. "Trust me, I feel rougher than I look. But the PHO reactions are gonna go super-viral. Is that a thing? I suspect it's going to be a thing."

    "Well, you'll have earned it." Cherie settled down beside her and gave her a hug. "Welcome back."

    Taylor closed her eyes again, and leaned against her. "It's good to be home."



    End of Part Forty-Six
     
    Last edited:
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    • Part Forty-Seven: And As An Encore ...
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Forty-Seven: And As An Encore …

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


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    ■​

    ♦ Topic: Duck Season is Over
    In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos

    Atropos     (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
    Posted On Feb 24th 2011:

    Greetings to the citizens of the best gosh-darned city in these United States of America. I love you all.

    I hope you've had a fruitful and fulfilling day over the last twenty-four hours, because I sure have.

    Just a few hours ago, it was midday in Canberra, Australia (yeah, I know, time zones are weird). That wasn't exactly anything to be worried about; midday happens there every day, around the same time. (Though I'm going to have to think about getting a summer-weight costume if I ever go back there at this time of year, because let me tell you, wearing all black down there gets kind of warm, kind of fast).

    The thing to be worried about was the Simurgh; or, as I call her, the subject of The Great Duck Hunt. Most people who attend a Simurgh attack want to help drive her off before they die (or end up with their brains dribbling out their ears). Me, I was gonna bag myself a big noisy duck.

    I'd already mentioned to people that I was going to End the Simurgh with the Power of Friendship, and that's exactly what I did. She came down to where I was, making all kinds of noise and hassle, and she even brought big bro Levi along to lean on us.

    So, I made use of the classic Duck Season/Wabbit Season skit with my friend Flechette (I brought her along because she attended the fund-raiser in Brockton Bay a little while ago, and because people look at you oddly if you just try to start that skit up out of the blue) and shot that bitch out of the sky. Then I 'persuaded' her to let go all the Simurgh bombs before I finished her skanky ass off with the other barrel. One Endbringer, along with her legacy, Ended.

    If you're wondering what Leviathan was doing at this point, it's simple. Once I had Smurfette down and disabled, I told him to fuck off while he still could. So he did. Won't save his sorry ass now that I've been asked to deal with him and Behemoth too, but at least he gets to enjoy the ocean until I come for him.

    Oh, and by the way, kudos to the Aussie hero Pocket Rocket (@PocketRocket) for the nickname 'Bin Chicken of Doom' for the Simurgh. I looked up 'bin chicken' after I got home, and I haven't laughed so hard in a long time. Check it out [here].

    So yes, The Power of Friendship is a double-barrel sawn-off shotgun. It's a nasty, vicious weapon, perfect for fucking up the entire existence of a nasty, vicious Endbringer. I'm going to be putting it up for auction (including the expended shells, still in the breech, that Ended the Simurgh once and for all) to the highest bidder. It's been suggested to me that entire *countries* might want to lease it to show off to their populace the weapon that killed an Endbringer. I honestly don't care; whoever wants to throw money at me for it, I'll funnel it toward the Brockton Bay Betterment Committee.

    In not entirely unrelated other news, the Committee will be getting a large chunk of change to help them continue their good works. The US government has pledged two billion, plus there's been a few extra donations from other places that she's pissed off. And, if you haven't gotten any tourist-style pics of the Boat Graveyard, you might want to get those now, because (spoilers) it's going away soon.

    Also, expect another stimulus payment soon. Infrastructure will be going into high gear, and they're expecting a housing boom because people will be moving into Brockton Bay. I mean, can you blame them?

    Just a word to the wise, though. All of you would-be entrepreneurs who've decided to make a quick buck by racing into Brockton Bay, buying up cheap properties and either selling or leasing them at vastly inflated prices ... don't.

    First: I know who you are.
    Second: Yes, I know it's legal. I don't care.
    Third: I don't only fuck up supervillains. They're just usually the ones who piss me off.
    Fourth: This *is* a warning.

    I am perfectly okay with people moving into Brockton Bay, settling down, getting jobs, raising their kids and living a nice, safe, prosperous life. The thing is, I want *everyone* to prosper, not just a chosen few. A prosperous population is a healthy population. More money moving through the system means better infrastructure, better schools, better public services. Everyone wins. The city wins.

    Bottom line: anyone indulging in predatory business practices involving Brockton Bay can expect a visit from me, because I don't tolerate bullshit like that.

    Last, and definitely least: Christine, Elijah (you know who you are), you've already been warned. Don't make me come over there.

    To everyone else, have a safe and happy day.

    Toodles!

    ​
    (Showing page 1 of 973)

    ►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
    Replied On Feb 24th 2011:

    Uh, haha, wow.

    Holy shit. She did it.

    She actually went ahead and did it. With the Power of Friendship, even.

    Atropos 1, Simurgh 0.

    I can't even, guys and girls. I've been following Atropos' career more or less from the beginning, and this one's too big for me.

    *pauses to breathe into a paper bag*

    I thought Lung was big.

    I thought Jack Slash was big.

    I thought Butcher was big.

    Hell, I thought Bastard Son was big.

    But those were just the warm-up acts. That was just her flexing and stretching before she got serious.

    Well, thanks to Dragon's multiple camera drones, we've just seen how goddamn serious Atropos can get when she wants to be.

    I don't know what's more legitimately terrifying: how she was so sure of herself that she negotiated the bounty *before* the Simurgh showed up, how she knew the Simurgh was due before anyone else and went there first, how she thought so little of the Simurgh that she used an old Warner Brothers cartoon as inspiration for the kill, or how she used a sawn-off shotgun to do it with.

    (Though I think the GIF of Flechette shouting "Duck season! Fire!" then Atropos firing, then the Simurgh coming in for a crash landing will *never* get old. I mean, NEVER.)

    Also, I've heard a rumor that March, over in New York, got absolutely *pummeled* just hours before Flechette was due to come to BB for that memorable hospital fundraiser, and that the rapier Atropos was using ... was March's. March's theme is 'March hare' so she wears a rabbit-head mask ... so did that tie into Atropos' use of the Duck Season Wabbit Season skit?

    I suspect we'll never know. I also suspect I know the answer. Because Atropos is a smartass like that.

    As for the rest of it ... well.

    To all of you people from out of town who think they might have a chance of coming to Brockton Bay and playing fuck-fuck games (as a PRT trooper friend of mine so colorfully puts it) ... haha, no, don't even try it.

    How do I put this?

    Atropos is like a vastly more dangerous Santa Claus. If you piss her off, she can step out of the shadows right behind you, no matter where you are. And if you incur a third warning, you'll *be* the piece of coal in the stocking.

    Just saying.

    PS: I looked up Bin Chickens. Pocket Rocket, you're a braver man than I ever will be.



    ►Spirit_of_Alaya (Verified Member of Atropos Fan Club)
    Replied On Feb 24th 2011:

    That was appropriately hilarious and hilariously appropriate.

    In other words, exactly what we've come to expect from Atropos.



    ►BlackQueen99
    Replied On Feb 24th 2011:

    "Bin chicken of doom" sounds exactly like what a couple of tradies would call the city destroying angel, after a night of drinks at the pub.

    Source: am Australian.

    @PocketRocket - you're a legend, mate!



    ►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
    Replied On Feb 24th 2011:

    I've got nothing to say, except ... well ...

    I've been authorized to sit down anywhere at your convenience and discuss how we can work with you.

    Damn fine work, there. I would've asked why you didn't pop Leviathan while you had him in your sights, but we both know that running won't save him.

    On behalf of everyone you saved today, and everyone your actions have saved or helped in Brockton Bay ... thank you.



    ►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
    Replied On Feb 24th 2011:

    Thanks for the kind words.

    @Reave - I'll be in touch. You, me and the Director. We're pretty much on the same page now anyway.
    ​

    ►RedSkinnedGentleman
    Replied On Feb 24th 2011:

    Lots of people are going to be eating crow on PHO, and generally around the world too, who doubted that Atropos could do what she said she was going to do.

    I mean, seriously. A shotgun and a Bugs Bunny reference. Talk about an anti-climax.



    ►Daley
    Replied On Feb 24th 2011:

    So, who's up for some memes?

    Ziz forgot to Duck.

    What's Atropos's favorite food? Freshly cooked Duck.

    Why do you never play chess with Atropos? [pic of Simurgh's corpse in the chalk outline] This is why.



    ►PocketRocket (Verified Cape)
    Replied On Feb 24th 2011:

    Oh, hey. I wondered why my phone was blowing up.

    Just gonna say, I did not mean to make that bin chicken comment. I get a bit mouthy when I'm scared shitless.

    @Atropos - sorry I gave you a hard time when you showed up. You were totally right, all the way down the line. Those bloody pollies should be chipping in for your Betterment Fund. Its a bloody crying shame that theyre not stepping up as well when theyre the ones whose arses were saved.

    I need to put the phone away now because Im already full as a boot and the booze doesn't look like it's slowing down any time soon.



    ►Perpetrator
    Replied On Feb 24th 2011:

    I heard of this one time a Russian city had such a big party, they ran out of vodka. I suspect this is going to be even bigger, from what Pocket Rocket is saying. And worldwide.

    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 971, 972, 973
    ​
    (Showing page 2 of 973)

    ►AntAuthor
    Replied On Feb 24th 2011:

    Oh yeah. This is a big fucking deal. From what I've seen and heard online, the celebrations world wide are gonna be legendary.



    ►ShyAnimeGirl
    Replied On Feb 24th 2011:

    *chortles* Simurgh got Looney Tuned. I love it!



    ►TabulaRasa
    Replied On Feb 24th 2011:

    Has anyone seen the bodycam footage put up by that Aussie cop? He actually calls her a smartass.

    He's never going to pay for another drink in his life, is he?



    ►TwinSolstice
    Replied On Feb 24th 2011:

    I wonder how many countries she just earned a Presidential Medal of Freedom and/or Congressional Gold Medal equivalent from? I suspect every nation that has been hit by the Ziz and thus has a Quarantine Zone due to her at a minimum, which will probably expand to every nation to have ever suffered an Enbringer attack once she gets around to ganking the other two...



    ►MarineLupine
    Replied On Feb 24th 2011:

    Wait, Bin Chickens are real? What the hell?



    ►Veges
    Replied On Feb 24th 2011:

    But who will think of the poor groundskeeper?

    I mean, look at the damage to the flagpoles, and the grass!

    That's going to take forever to fix!

    (/s, if anyone wasn't sure)



    ►JulietWhiskeyMoFo
    Replied On Feb 24th 2011:

    There are two constants in life, Death and Atropos. And I'm not sure they aren't the same thing.



    ►Sakin
    Replied On Feb 24th 2011:

    New meme:

    "The World's Most Famous Lawn Darting"

    Also, another Atropos Fact:

    "Why did the Bin Chicken of Doom pick Canberra? Because she thought the other side of the bloody planet would be safe from Atropos. It wasn't."



    ►BlackQueen99
    Replied On Feb 24th 2011:

    Just gonna say, if they put up a monument where it happened, they're also gonna have to put a sign there saying, "THE SIMURGH IS NOT BURIED HERE. PLEASE DO NOT URINATE ON THE MONUMENT."

    Source: am Australian. I know my people.



    ►687simianreader
    Replied On Feb 24th 2011:

    Just a few thoughts:

    By taking out Ziz the way she did, she didn't just end the legacy; she inherited part of the world wide rep built up around the Endbringers.

    A hard fought battle to drive off an Endbringer is something that people can understand. But just making a casual meme skit to kill one, that is a whole other level of flex. She is not just a "very effective killer." Any thought about "I can take her" has got to be gone for any of the non crazy capes. She singlehandedly elevated herself to Endbringer level of respect and fear. And it's an international level of reputation and respect.

    She is a force of nature like the Endbringers but she has also proven to be scrupulously fair and honest in her dealing, and importantly, *predictable*. It's much preferable to have a known force that one can work around.
    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4 ... 971, 972, 973

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: GreatAndTerribleAisha
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Bedtime already

    Do I have to ping Brian's phone?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: TheRealPanacea
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Interested in another side gig?

    What it says in the title.

    If I brought you some biological material, could you make something out of it for me?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: GreatAndTerribleAisha
    Subject: Re: Bedtime already

    But, but, Simurgh dead, everyone celebrating!

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: TheRealPanacea
    Subject: Re: Interested in another side gig?

    *suspicious glare* what sort of bio-material?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: GreatAndTerribleAisha
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Re: Bedtime already

    Still a school day tomorrow. And you're enough of a gremlin when you're well rested.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: TheRealPanacea
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Re: Interested in another side gig?

    Not a person. A critter. A pest. If I brought you something that needs to be eliminated, could you tailor a virus to attack specific genetic markers?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: GreatAndTerribleAisha
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Bedtime already

    Why can't we have a long weekend? I bet every other school in the state will be closed.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: TheRealPanacea
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Interested in another side gig?

    What if I don't agree that it needs to be eliminated?

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: GreatAndTerribleAisha
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Bedtime already

    Just between you and me, they'll be letting everyone out after lunch. But you still have to show up in the morning and pay attention.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: TheRealPanacea
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Interested in another side gig?

    Then you don't do it. I'm certainly not going to force you. That way lies disaster.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: GreatAndTerribleAisha
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Bedtime already

    Ugh, fine. I'll learn stuff. Just for you.

    Logging off now.

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: TheRealPanacea
    Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Interested in another side gig?

    *sigh* I'm gonna regret this, aren't I? Okay, fine, bring it around.

    ■

    <><>​

    Taylor

    Winslow was buzzing the next morning as Cherie and I climbed the front steps. Even I could feel the emotional currents going through the place, and I didn't have any kind of emotion powers. Cherie stumbled as we came in through the front doors, and leaned against the wall.

    "You okay?" I asked. "What happened?"

    "Wow, damn," she mumbled. "I think I'm high. I've never had so many happy people this close to me at once. Even on the bus it wasn't this bad. And I think half of them stayed home from school."

    I chuckled. "Well, that's a new one on me. Come on, let's go sit down in the library for a bit. Get you used to this much euphoria."

    It didn't surprise me that people were still thrilled over the Simurgh's death. She'd been basically asking for it for far too long. From what I understood, the parties were still going on in some parts of Brockton Bay, and pharmacies would've been sold out of headache remedies in short order if they hadn't already ordered in fresh stocks.

    Every country on Earth that had been hit by the Simurgh, especially those with large numbers of people affected by her scream, was celebrating. It was a worldwide block party, and it was still ongoing. Only essential workers were being required to come in, and (at least in Brockton Bay) they were being paid overtime wages, as specified by Accord's plan for the city (in the appendix covering 'in the case of Atropos killing an Endbringer'). He really did plan for everything.

    Once we got to the library, Cherie started looking a little better, though her eyes were still slightly unfocused. "This is wild," she mumbled. "I mean, I'm not religious, but it's like my personal vision of a thousand angelic choirs all singing in my head at once."

    "That might be a little distracting, yeah," I agreed. "Think you can stick it out until lunchtime?" I'd already told her, as I had Aisha, that school would be letting out around then.

    "I can do that." She tilted her head and frowned slightly. "That's funny. I just got a distinct down-note from Principal Blackwell. Like she's thrilled and terrified at the same time, and isn't sure which way to jump."

    "I'm not surprised." At her querying glance, I grinned. "She got notification this morning that Winslow is about to get a distinct boost in funding. The whole school is getting a top-to-toe renovation, better facilities and equipment, and more teachers. The downside is that her management of the school is going to be thoroughly audited first, going back the full seven years. We're talking fine-tooth comb."

    Cherie began to giggle helplessly. "She's never gonna pass that audit, is she?"

    I shook my head solemnly. "No. No, she is not." What had started out as a bad day for Blackwell was going to become even worse when she found out that the School Board had already authorised the audit. As a karma-guided cherry on top, she was going to subsequently discover that all the really incriminating electronic records were refusing to allow themselves to be deleted or overwritten.

    It was all part of my master plan. If the city were to prosper, every part of it had to be competently managed. Blackwell's management of Winslow had been anything but competent, so she had to go. She could most likely find a job elsewhere; with the amount of money about to end up in the local economy, there would absolutely be jobs available for everyone. Just so long as she didn't end up with the welfare of children in her hands.

    Of course, if she really screwed up the audit, there was the possibility of prison in her future, which didn't bother me in the slightest.

    Whether it wanted to or not, Winslow was going to become a tolerable school.

    <><>​

    House of Representatives
    Capitol Building, Washington DC

    Alexandria

    Rebecca heard the raised voices from within even before she reached the doors leading into the House chamber. The two guards snapped to attention but did nothing to stop her, mainly because she'd called ahead. Holding the envelope in her left hand, she opened the doors and stepped through, then closed them behind her.

    Nobody looked around as the arguing continued. It didn't seem to matter who had the floor; everyone else seemed intent on shouting them down. Rebecca's fingers itched with the urge to bang heads together, but she restrained herself. Instead, moving with all the imperious grace she could muster, she descended the long aisle toward where the Speaker was fruitlessly trying to maintain order in this most august of assemblies.

    I should've expected this myself, she mused with an inward sigh. Apportioning two billion dollars out of the blue to one small city in the north-east of the US wouldn't have even made it through committee in less than two weeks, except that Atropos had requested it in return for Ending the Simurgh. Which she'd achieved, surprising the living fuck out of everyone there.

    In her current persona of Chief Director Costa-Brown, she had passed on the bounty request and agreement, along with a discreet suggestion that the payment be fast-tracked for obvious reasons. With the actual, confirmed demise of the Simurgh (the remains were currently locked away in a location known to a very few people, of whom she was one) paying the bounty should've been a gimme. It wasn't as though there were any pros or cons to debate.

    However, politicians were indeed politicians, and all too many of them—fully aware that this particular bill couldn't not pass—had taken the opportunity to attach as much pork as possible to the bill as they could hang off it. Neither side of the House was entirely blameless in this, and the impasse thus created as both sides railed at each other for what they themselves were trying to do, was threatening to hold the bill in stasis forever. Or at least, long enough for Atropos to get annoyed with them.

    The Speaker of the House banged his gavel several times as Rebecca approached the Well of the House; gradually, as more and more members took notice of her, the voices died down. Every eye tracked her as she turned left at the bottom of the Aisle and walked—marched, rather—around to the desk of the Sergeant at Arms. Forewarned of her visit to the House, he rose from his seat and escorted her up the steps to the Speaker's podium.

    The Speaker greeted her with a handshake, then spoke into the microphone. "Our very distinguished PRT Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown has requested a moment of your attention. She has the floor."

    Ignoring the murmuring that emanated from those who had been heatedly arguing with one another just moments before, Rebecca faced front and discreetly cleared her throat. Getting this far had involved calling in a couple of markers, but if it worked, it would be worth it.

    "Thank you, Mr Speaker," she began. "Honourable Members of the House." In many cases, the latter just wasn't accurate, but the old saw about honey and vinegar still held true. "I won't take up much of your time. I'm here to pass on a message regarding this deadlock on the wording of the bill before the House at the moment. The message is from Atropos."

    As she spoke, more and more murmurs started up and continued until she dropped the name. That was when everyone shut the hell up. Taking the envelope, she lifted the flap and extracted the folded note, ensuring that the microphone picked up the sound of paper rustling on paper. Then she unfolded the note and held it up.

    "The message is as follows," she said, and raised her eyes to look out over the House chamber. "Don't make me come over there."

    Sliding the note back into the envelope, she nodded politely to the Speaker, then walked back down the steps to the floor. Not a word was spoken, not even a cough sounded through the suddenly silent atmosphere of the House. All she could hear, as she walked back up the Aisle and let herself out through the doors, was the sound of four hundred thirty-five people suddenly reconsidering their current priorities.

    I have to hand it to Atropos, she mused as she walked out through the venerable corridors of the Capitol building. The girl does have a way with words.

    <><>​

    Midday

    Taylor

    "Rest of the day free, woo!" Cherie exulted, holding her arms up in the air and executing a passable pirouette. "So, what are we gonna do now? Go online and see how many different 'the Simurgh, she ded' memes they've got up on PHO by now?"

    "More than you would've considered possible," I said with a chuckle. Just like with Riley, I was pleased to see how she was coming out of her shell and expressing herself more and more since the crap had been excised from her life. "I was actually going to have a chat with a frenemy of mine. Did you bring your mask like I said?"

    "I totally did." Cherie dived her hand into her pocket and showed me a corner of the pastel pink mask she'd fashioned for herself. "I didn't think you had frenemies. Just friends and dead people."

    I rolled my eyes. "I don't murder everyone who disagrees with me. Sometimes I let them just … be themselves. She still thinks like a hero most of the time, which means she tells herself that she's got to oppose me occasionally on principle."

    "Huh. Okay." Cherie glanced around. "Did you want to find someplace to suit up?"

    I knew there was nobody watching right at the moment. "Go wait at the bus stop. I'll be about ten minutes." As I spoke, I pushed my sleeve up and flicked open the control panel on the teleporter.

    "Ten minutes?" Cherie frowned. "Why ten min—"

    I didn't have time for this discussion, so I jumped into the girls' bathrooms on the third floor, which I knew to be empty. Taking off my backpack, I stashed it in the ceiling and pulled down the one containing my costume. It took me all of one minute to get changed, and to line the pack with the heavy-duty plastic bag that I'd taken from home.

    The pistol was loaded, but I checked chamber anyway before I set up the next teleport. It was somewhat farther than a hundred yards, so I programmed in a series of coordinates and readied myself. Taking a deep breath, I hit the 'go' button, and snapped the panel closed.

    The shadowy portal unfolded in front of me, and I stepped through. I was in a narrow alleyway between two buildings, though the walls leaned drunkenly toward each other until they met some little way above my head. Beyond the entrance of the alley, the rustic cobblestoned street meandered artistically from side to side.

    The small goblinoid creature that shambled past seemed to be all heavy jaw and snaggled teeth, but there was nothing wrong with his reactions. As I raised the pistol, he spun toward me, eyes widening and mouth opening to let out what I just knew was going to be a deafening screech of warning. I fired first, the bullet punching through the back of his throat and severing his spinal cord just where it met the base of his brain.

    Hollywood seemed to think that suppressors entirely silenced pistols, or at least made it barely audible. They did nothing of the sort; however, they did mute the sharpest part of a gunshot, and make it much harder to triangulate. Anyone who was unfamiliar with firearms might be left wondering what the noise was.

    I knew the alarm would be raised in short order, so I wasted no time in dragging the little critter into the alley and stuffing him into my pack. The plastic liner stopped his blood and brain matter from getting everywhere, though he was surprisingly heavy when I shrugged the pack onto my back. But I couldn't waste time congratulating myself; I still needed to evade the opposition (while not drawing the attention of the PRT) until the teleporter recharged enough to make a proper jump out of here.

    'Here' being Ellisburg, of course. Where the horrific little critter I'd just killed was the least deadly thing I was likely to encounter.

    This was gonna be fun. And interesting. But mainly fun.



    End of Part Forty-Seven
     
    Last edited:
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    • Part Forty-Eight: Devil in the Details
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Forty-Eight: Devil in the Details

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

    Relevant Side Story: Orthodox Atroposism

    Danny

    Looking at each member of the Committee in turn, Danny placed his hands flat on the table. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for attending this early meeting on this most auspicious of days. I have it on impeccable authority that the bounty Atropos negotiated with Alexandria will be disbursed to our care within the next twenty-four hours. After a slight hiccup in the House of Representatives, the bill passed through the Senate so fast I suspect it left scorch marks."

    Dawson Stansfield frowned and lifted his chin slightly. "Did I hear correctly? Is the amount two billion dollars?"

    "That's what I understand, yes." Danny had pretty well gotten over the shakes after hearing about that … and exactly how Taylor had acquired it. Then he'd suffered a whole new series of jitters when Taylor had explained the ongoing bounties for the other two Endbringers. If he had his figures correct, there was going to be another hundred billion dollars dropping into the account over the next ten years.

    At its most prosperous, the Dockworkers' Association had never even handled one percent of that much cash. He hadn't been tempted to dip into the till then, and he didn't feel tempted now. But he did feel remarkably inadequate for the task of responsibly handling amounts of cash with so many zeroes attached.

    One of the two newbies—if Danny recalled correctly, he was attached to the Harbor Board—cleared his throat. "Does that mean there'll be a surplus after we carry out the current plans?" The other one murmured in agreement.

    What. The. Fuck. We just got past this shit. Danny stared at the two men in disbelief. "Who brought you two clowns on board?" Flicking his eyes away from them, he looked around the table. "Come on, who did this?"

    The mood in the room, originally upbeat—two billion dollars made for a nice addition to any budget—screeched to a sudden halt. James Alcott, the Mayor's brother-in-law, and Peter Hanson, from the City Works department, raised their hands like recalcitrant schoolboys.

    Danny eyed them disfavourably. "What the hell did you two tell them?"

    Alcott glanced at Hanson, evidently suggesting that he would speak for the both of them. Hanson nodded.

    "We told them that the plans would be followed to the full," Alcott ventured. "No deviation, no diversion to private projects."

    "And nothing else?" Danny hoped he was hearing incorrectly.

    Alcott finally figured out where they'd gone wrong, and shook his head. "Sorry. No. Nothing else."

    Danny glared at him, then clenched his fist and smashed it down on the table. Everyone in the room jumped. "You fucking idiots. Fine. I'll fix your mess." He turned his attention to the two new members. "The plans we are given will be followed exactly. We don't divert funds, we don't hold anything back to artificially create a surplus, we don't skip any part of the plan just because we don't think it's necessary. When we get more money, like now, we will be supplied with an updated plan that covers the new funding. All of it. There will never be a surplus. Am I making myself clear?"

    One of them nodded, but the other one looked dubious. "Are you trying to tell me that none of this money is being diverted? You're the project head. How much is going into your … private projects?" Danny knew he meant 'pockets', but was being too polite to say so.

    "Not. One. Red. Cent." Danny leaned forward over the table. "Here's the detail you weren't told about. We are overseen by Atropos. She knows all the details of everything that goes on here. I speak with her regularly. When the two people you are replacing tried to divert some of the money to their own ends, I managed to convince her that it wasn't a crime worthy of death. So instead, this happened." His briefcase sat beside his chair. Lifting it onto the table, he snapped the catches and took out the Manila envelope that sat on top, where Taylor had suggested he put it. The photos slid out onto the table as he shook it. They stared, turning pale.

    "Jesus fucking Christ," muttered Alcott, turning his head away. "We've already seen those."

    "Then pay attention," Danny snarled. "Maybe I should put them up on the bulletin board. We've been given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get this city back up off its knees and make it a powerhouse in the region. If you don't think you've got the chops to do it, then back the fuck off and let someone who can, do it. But be aware: this is probably the first and last time you will ever get the chance to see a project like this through without any corruption or kickbacks fucking it up for everyone. One hundred percent transparency. One hundred percent accountability. One hundred percent results. Is there any part of this you do not understand?"

    Slowly, one after the other, each of the men and women seated around the table shook their heads. Alcott spoke for them all. "We've got it. You don't have to keep hammering on that point."

    "Apparently I do, if the new people you bring in aren't fully up to speed on all the important information." Danny shook his head. "If we let another Janice Templeton or Paul King slip through, that's on us. I've been told directly by Atropos that what happened to them were our two warnings; the next one who tries any shit like that will die. Probably by having dollar coins shoved down their throat until they choke to death, or something equally ironic."

    Stansfield nodded grimly. "I can totally see that, yes."

    Danny grinned mirthlessly. "On the upside, as I was about to say before I was interrupted, the upgraded plan for the two billion will involve a stipend for each of us, coming to one hundred dollars per day." As the voices started up, he raised his hand. They subsided again, and he continued. "Yes, I know that's basically chicken feed to some of you. You earn more than that in passive income. The reason it isn't more for you is that you don't need the money. Some of us do. You're getting it because we're all getting it."

    "What if we … didn't want it?" asked Stansfield. "What if we gave it back?"

    "You're totally welcome to do so." Danny glanced at him, then at the rest of the Committee. "Every dollar that goes into our funds will be used responsibly, not frittered away. Infrastructure will be going into high gear. The drug relief clinics will be expanded into general taxpayer-funded medical centres. And once we've given Brockton Bay all the improvements we can—that'll be a few more billion down the track, especially with the boost in population numbers we're anticipating—we'll start expanding outward, funding improvements in the surrounding area."

    "A few more billion?" asked Alcott. "Where's that going to be coming from?"

    Danny grinned. "There are two more Endbringers out there, remember?"

    <><>​

    Taylor

    So, there I was.

    Ellisburg was currently in competition with Eagleton for the title of 'most hostile location in the USA'. I'd invaded the Goblin Kingdom, teleporting in so I could murder one of its inhabitants and grab the body, but I'd done it from Brockton Bay so I had a few minutes before I could portal out again. That was fine, too. I'd factored it into my plans.

    Nilbog—Jamie Rinke—was the creator of all the things that shambled, crawled and perambulated across the pseudo-medieval townscape of Ellisburg. As such, he was clairvoyantly aware of them at all times, which meant he'd known instantly when I'd shot the little snaggletooth in the brainstem.

    In other words, this was not a town where murder could go unnoticed.

    I could've gotten closer before teleporting in, but there were certain factors that limited my options. First, the PRT were watching the outside of the wall like hawks only wished they could. I couldn't have gotten within a hundred yards without being spotted, even on a moonless night. My power was good, but actual invisibility was beyond its capabilities.

    The reason I didn't want to be spotted by the PRT was simple: Director Piggot was due to ask me a question, and knowledge of my visit would change a few important factors. I preferred my interactions with the PRT to go unsullied by little things like awareness of everything I was up to behind the scenes. Performing magic tricks is so much easier when the audience has no idea of the very existence of an extra card, much less which sleeve it's hidden up.

    Already, I could hear the growls, screams, shrieks and gibberings of the various citizens of the Goblin Kingdom as their master converged them on my location. As the first one dashed up to the mouth of the alley, I pulled my shears and slashed its throat, then kicked its companion right where a piece of bone would go through its heart-analogue and then its brain-analogue. They fell at my feet; I avoided the blood-spray then headed back along the alleyway. Halfway along, there was a gap above where the two sets of eaves separated. I started climbing, knowing full-well they'd bring in sniffers to follow my scent.

    The next set of pursuers were almost to the alley, and I was nearly at the top of the wall, when the first teleport jump I'd programmed in activated. I only went a hundred yards, but that meant I was outside the converging ring of frothingly angry goblinoids. Being on top of a roof meant that the critters swarming along the streets and through the alleyways couldn't see me; while my power couldn't turn me invisible, it could certainly point me at places where I wouldn't be spotted.

    Still, I wasn't out of the woods quite yet. Some little distance away was a ramshackle tower, not unlike a bell-tower or the minaret attached to a mosque. Scrambling up the steps attached to the outside was a squat, misshapen creature with oversized eyes, carrying a long, twisted horn of some kind. It seemed Nilbog was awake to the concept of people invading his little kingdom and staying above street level.

    While I could've picked him off with the pistol, I didn't want to announce my location too early. There weren't many of the things in the streets below me, but it would only take one to register the suppressed shot. I had another reason as well: I wanted to impress Nilbog.

    While invading his domain and killing his subjects might have sounded like a remarkably unintuitive way to get on the Goblin King's good side, there was method in my madness. Jamie Rinke was, as Kurt may have described it, 'nutty as squirrel shit'. The only way to get him to stop trying to kill invaders long enough to listen to them was to convince him that they were as powerful and influential as he was; that is, to con him into thinking that he was speaking to an equal. Sniping a critter from hundreds of yards way, as difficult as that might be for the average person, would be seen as cowardly and unworthy of his attention. I had to prove, via multiple close-up kills, that I was as good as my reputation.

    Of course, at the same time, I had to avoid being swarmed from all sides by a mob of enraged monsters. Against Bastard Son's minions, I'd been dealing with people who had human reflexes and human vulnerabilities. Nilbog could create monsters that suffered from neither of those weaknesses, or at least avoid exposing them to me long enough to get close.

    So, my strategy was to never teleport while in a creature's sight, and kill anything that saw me—but only after it saw me. I wanted him to see me as a terrifying ghost, a monster to frighten the monster. Only if I could intimidate him would he listen to me, when I chose to speak to him.

    I started across the rooftops toward the tower, ducking behind cover when the big-eyed sentry looked in my direction. Far behind me, I could hear the frustrated howls and squalls of those who had converged on my last known position and found nothing. I knew Nilbog would be birthing scent-followers and sending them to the site, which meant my time window was narrowing even more. Once they started spreading out across the Kingdom, they would quickly pick up my scent if they passed nearby.

    The creature reached the top; again, I ducked behind a roofline while it scanned my general area. It turned and began surveying another part of the town, which was my cue to pop up and start sprinting. Fortunately, they didn't go for wide alleys in this town, or even wide streets; a classic rooftop-running vigilante could've gone from one side of the Goblin Kingdom to the other without setting foot to ground.

    There was no more cover worthy of the name, and I knew I couldn't reach it in time, but I didn't intend to. It had to see me. Nilbog had to see me.

    Finally, it turned and looked again. I didn't falter in my running, directly toward it in its perch. Evidently surprised, it nevertheless wasted no time in drawing a deep breath. Deeper than I could've drawn, in any case; its entire body inflated like a bullfrog's. I reached the side of the tower and started upward, locating handholds and footholds without so much as looking.

    The blast of the horn was loud. It blatted out over the Goblin Kingdom, a series of spaced notes telling all within earshot that 'the intruder is here'. Just as it drew breath for a second alarm call, I got to the top of the tower.

    It stared at me, evidently unprepared for something that could climb faster than it. A clawed hand swiped at me, but I knocked it aside. "I'm coming for you," I snarled, then drew my shears and plunged them hilt-deep into the creature's oversized eyes; first one, then the other.

    It fell to the platform it had been standing on, twitching and quivering in the throes of death. Catching the horn before it could fall, I vaulted up into its little crow's nest, then rested the horn on the body while I cleaned the shears off and re-sheathed them. I still had a little time to go—the timer on the teleporter was still counting down—so I wiped off the mouthpiece of the horn, faced out over the Kingdom, and pulled up my morph mask.

    While I didn't have the lung capacity of the sentry, I could still employ some tricks to get volume and tone out of the horn. And so, for the next thirty seconds, until the teleporter beeped to let me know it had recharged, I treated the Goblin Kingdom to a free-form rendition of the Imperial March.

    By then, they knew where I was and were well on the way. I could've played cat and mouse with them for awhile longer, but I'd made my point. As I put the horn down and pulled my mask back into place, the portal formed in front of me; I stepped through.

    Cherie, wearing her mask, was waiting at the bus stop, right where I'd told her to be. She looked around as I stepped out of thin air, and stared at me. "Okay," she said. "That was just rude. What did you need to do that took ten minutes? And why are you wearing a backpack in costume?"

    I grinned behind my mask, knowing that Cherie could easily read my emotions but not much else. "Had to collect something."

    She wrinkled her nose. "You suck when you're being all inscrutable. I know that you're being sneaky, but not what you're being sneaky about. It's very irritating."

    "Thank you." I took out my phone and sent a text. Amy would be just about getting home by now; timing was everything. Then I gestured down the street. "Shall we walk? We have a little time to kill."

    She snorted at that. "The great Atropos, reduced to killing time."

    "Hey, when I kill it, it stays killed."

    "You do realise, that also goes for everyone else, right?"

    "True, but the next Endbringer would've used time manipulation to fuck everyone over. I stopped it from showing up, so you think anyone can beat that for killing time?"

    Cherie didn't speak for a few moments. When she did, she picked her words carefully. "Every now and again, I forget just how terrifying your power really is. And then you go ahead and say something like that, and I know you're being totally serious."

    I glanced over at her. "I'm not meaning to scare you, just so you know. But it is what it is."

    "I know you're not. But I didn't even consider that there might've been more Endbringers on the way. Do I want to know how many? Was there even going to be a limit, or just an infinite conga line of destruction and mayhem?"

    "Twenty, in total," I said, knowing there was no real way to soften that blow. "But they're all neutralised now. And if anyone ever figures out a way to un-neutralise them, I will be introducing him to the sharpest part of my shears. That shit should stay dead."

    "Good." She shuddered. "I still can't believe how we considered it was just … normal … to exist with monsters like that hanging over our heads."

    I shrugged. "There are some people who wanted the Endbringers to kill us all. Others that wanted the Endbringers to kill everyone else, so they could be the last people on Earth Bet. But most people are thrilled right now. They'll be having nightmares for years to come about how the Endbringers are back, then waking up to find it's not true, but I can't really do anything about that."

    "Just between you and me," Cherie confided, "I've had a few dreams like that about my father not being dead, and dragging me back to Canada. The sheer goddamn relief when I woke up and remembered that he was actually dead got me every time."

    "Mm," I agreed, and put my hand on her arm. "I'm happy you're away from him. Without his influence, you're a much better person than he ever was." I stopped walking. "Okay, enough time's been killed. Let's go make a difference."

    Cherie grinned. "Right with you."

    <><>​

    Cherish

    Abandoned City Morgue

    The robed figures standing around in the dusty building could have been praying in Latin, but Cherie could tell that they were actually conversing in low tones, sounding a little worried; this was helped by her power filling in their emotional state. When she looked more closely from the doorway, she realised that the robes were of many different cuts and fashions, and some appeared to have been hastily dyed.

    "And what, exactly, is going on here?" Atropos' voice cut across the chatter like a shark slicing through a school of minnows. All eyes turned to her as she strode across the room, long-coat flaring behind her.

    "Dark Mistress, you have come!" gasped the first of the robed teenagers—shit, they were all teens, weren't they?—to react. "Forgive us, we do not know what to do." She dropped to her knees, then bowed low. From her, Cherie saw a mix of terror and relief. This was someone who was far out of her depth, but had no idea how to even start fixing matters.

    "So I see." Atropos stopped by one of the morgue drawers and pulled it out with a single long rumble. Within, Cherie saw, was another teenager, this one a redhead; that had to be Emma. There was also a distinct lack of clothing. Considering how chilly metal could get, that had to be damn uncomfortable.

    She was at the wrong angle to see Emma's eyes open, but relief flared all the same. "You came," the girl gasped. "I feared I was unworthy."

    "Oh, get up," Atropos said irritably. "And the rest of you, stop kneeling and bowing to me. I don't do that shit. Emma, put your damn clothes back on. Somebody get her something to eat and drink." Belying the harsh tone of her voice, she helped Emma down from the drawer, and steadied her when she stumbled.

    "I put myself into darkness, to burn out my unworthiness—" Emma began uncertainly.

    "I know exactly why you did what you did." Atropos didn't sound angry anymore, but she wasn't happy either. "I get it; you're lost, and you think I'm your way forward. If you're gonna do this, there's gonna be a few rules in place, and I will enforce them."

    One of the teens brought a bottle of water and what looked like a banana, and Emma carefully ate and drank after putting on a robe that another gave her. "Guide us, Dark Mistress," she said, once she had finished the bottle. "Show us the way."

    "I guess I can't stop you from calling me Dark Mistress, but none of that bowing shit." Atropos took out her shears and started spinning them on her finger, the dim light flickering off the metal. "You can lose the robes, too. I wear black; you can wear street clothing. Now, the rules. First, no killing. That's my job. Even if you really think they deserve it. If it's that bad, contact me. I'll deal with it. Second, don't just do good stuff to make you feel good. That's just charity theatre. Do good that actually fixes problems. Solve more problems than you cause. Third, don't ever say you're doing something in my name. Only I'm allowed to do that. Dilute my brand, and I will get annoyed. Think you can remember that?"

    Emma nodded reverently. Cherie could tell it wasn't an act; the girl was almost worshipful toward Atropos. Which was really weird, considering what she knew of Emma's shared history with Taylor.

    "Yes, Dark Mistress," Emma responded. "Tell me; what is my name to be, now that I have passed through my trial of darkness and fear?"

    Atropos seemed to growl at the back of her throat, but it was more exasperation than anger. "Fine," she said eventually. "If you want a name, you can call yourself Emma the Twice-Warned."

    "Thank you, Dark Mistress." Emma clasped Atropos' hand in both of hers. "Thank you."

    "Whatever," Atropos grumped. "Just don't cause any problems that would make me yell at you." She flicked her hand free of Emma's, and strode toward the door. Once she got there, she turned back. "And no preaching in my name! Got it?"

    "We understand, Dark Mistress," Emma replied. "What do we do if we encounter others who pretend to follow your teachings?"

    "If they're a problem, I'll deal with them. If they're not, share your rules with them and keep on … doing what you do." Atropos shook her head slightly, disbelief radiating off her, and headed out through the doorway.

    Cherie fell into step with her as they left the old building. "So, how's it feel to accidentally build a cult? And wasn't Emma one of the ones who was piss-scared of you just a while ago?"

    "Yeah," Atropos muttered. "At one time, she was my best friend. Then my worst enemy. Now, my high priestess. One of these days, the world is going to start making sense."

    "You're hopeful." Cherie chuckled. "Besides, I think it's kinda funny."

    Atropos blew a raspberry.



    End of Part Forty-Eight
     
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    • Part Forty-Nine: Consultations
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Forty-Nine: Consultations

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

    Relevant Side Story: Epiphany

    Panacea

    "Why are we coming back here again?" asked Vicky, as they came in for a landing at Westlake Park. "Doesn't Atropos have some other place you could meet?"

    "Yeah, she does," Amy agreed, recalling the rendezvous where she'd shown her mushroom baby to the dark-clad cape. "But I think she prefers this one." Maybe as a reminder to you that attacking her is a bad idea, she carefully didn't say. Though from the way Vicky's eyes flicked to the remains of the picnic table and away again, she probably didn't have to.

    "Okay, so why are we here?" Vicky let Amy down onto her feet and looked around. "And where is she, anyway? I had stuff I wanted to do."

    "What, like ghosting Dean?" snarked Atropos from behind them both.

    Amy had been prepared for something like that, but Vicky clearly had not. "Fuck!" she squawked, shooting two feet into the air and spinning around to glare at Atropos and her companion. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

    "I didn't sneak up." Atropos was the very picture of innocence, even going so far as to place her spread fingers on her chest. "Did we sneak up?" she asked the girl beside her. Amy didn't know who she was; street clothing, dark hair with a red streak, and a pink cloth mask didn't give many clues away.

    "Pfft, no." The other girl seemed to be enjoying herself immensely. "Maybe Glory Girl needs to spend less time talking and more time listening."

    "That's not funny," grumped Vicky. "Anyway, who are you?"

    "You can call me Cherish," the girl said promptly. "Reformed supervillain, and minion to Atropos. Pleased to meet you." She stuck out her hand.

    "Oh." Vicky blinked. "Same … I guess?" Tentatively, she shook Cherish's hand. "Where do I know that name from?"

    "My father was Heartbreaker," Cherish explained cheerfully. "Atropos broke his hold over me, then murdered him gruesomely in front of me. Life's been amazing ever since."

    Amy restrained herself from rolling her eyes, though she also had to work to keep from grinning at the look of bogglement on her sister's face. "Okay, enough messing with Vicky's worldview. You were pretty damn cryptic when you messaged me. What's this about?"

    Atropos swung the pack off her back, then unzipped it and hefted out a garbage bin liner bag holding something small but bulky. "Nilbog," she confided, opening the bag to let out an odour that had Vicky backing up and gagging, and Cherish looking a little green herself. Inside the bag was a misshapen creature that had certainly seen better days, if the state of the back of its skull was any indication. "This is one of his creatures. They've all got the same basic genetic code as he does. I need you to make me two different diseases, designed to attack his gene code and only his gene code."

    Nilbog. The Goblin King. Everything became a whole lot clearer to Amy. "Ah. I can … I can do that. But why two diseases? Why not just one?"

    "Because presentation." As Atropos went on to explain, Amy found herself nodding along. As much as she wanted to dislike Atropos, the girl always came up with interesting concepts.

    <><>​

    The Household of Gerald O'Dwyer

    Brockton Bay

    "Gerry! Phone for you!"

    With a grunt, Gerry heaved himself up from his armchair. Patched and decrepit it may be, with stuffing leaking out in places, it was still comfortable. "Thanks, love," he said to Maria as she passed the handset over. Putting the phone to his ear, he leaned against the back of his chair. "You've got Gerry."

    "Good afternoon, Mr O'Dwyer. I represent the Brockton Bay Betterment Committee, and your name is on a list of Dockworkers' Association members provided to me by Danny Hebert. Would you be interested in an ongoing work contract? The pay rate starts at twenty-two fifty per hour, and goes up from there. Paid vacations, automatic healthcare insurance, and sick leave included. And union rules throughout, of course."

    Gerry blinked. "I … what would you be having me doing? It sounds too good to be true, so it does."

    The household budget had been in a long, slow spiral since the last work Hebert had been able to get for him; they'd cut costs where they could, but it was ever a matter of robbing Peter to pay Paul. The first stimulus payment had bailed them out of a nasty hole where the landlord had been getting more and more pushy about back rent, and he'd heard there was a second one on the way. However, a stimulus was not a pay-packet.

    "Infrastructure work. If you've got heavy machinery tickets, that'll mean a pay rise. If you're willing to work nights, that will too. And there will be training courses for getting qualified in other machinery, if you're interested."

    Every word rang in Gerry's ears like a silver bell in the hands of an angel. "Where do I sign?"

    "Present yourself at the Brockton Bay Betterment Committee offices tomorrow, at two PM. The relevant paperwork will be ready for you to peruse and sign. Good day to you, Mr O'Dwyer." The call ended.

    Gerry stared at the phone, then slowly put it back on the cradle. "Well, I'll be eternally damned, with hellfire and pitchforks."

    "What? Who was it?" His wife stood anxiously in the kitchen door. "Was it one of those gangs?" He'd once considered the idea of joining a villain gang as a minion, just to bring some money in to tide them over, but she'd talked him out of it. "I thought they weren't around anymore."

    "No, love, it wasn't them." Grabbing her, he spun her around, then kissed her on the forehead. "I'm getting work from the Betterment Committee! Good, honest, well-paying work! At least twenty-two an hour!"

    "Oh, my. My goodness." She gasped, her hand going to her mouth. "It's a miracle."

    "That it is, love. That it is."

    <><>​

    A Little Later

    Director Piggot's Office

    Emily laced her fingers together and leaned forward. "Captain Reeves, what else did Atropos say about the possibility of a sit-down meeting with her?"

    Reeves frowned in recollection. "As I recall, ma'am, she said that we would get together for a meeting, and that we're more or less on the same page anyway."

    "So, is now a good time?" asked Atropos, stepping out from behind Reeves.

    "Jesus!" Reeves lunged away from her, his hand going for his sidearm, then arresting the motion just as quickly. "Please, don't do that to me. I don't need any more grey hairs."

    Emily, on the other hand, managed to control her reaction to a twitch of her fingers. "Yes, we get it," she said acidly. "You can show up anywhere, with impeccable timing. Can we dispense with the theatrics now?"

    Atropos inclined her head respectfully. "Absolutely. Nice to meet you, by the way. When I said I was a big fan of your work, I wasn't being facetious." She pulled a chair toward herself and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

    Taking up the papers on her desk, Emily made a show of straightening them to gain a few extra seconds to think. She'd encountered many other dangerous capes during her career, but only one with a death toll that exceeded Atropos', especially in such a short time. And none who had killed such dark luminaries as Jack Slash, the Butcher, or the motherfucking goddamn Simurgh.

    With every other cape she knew, the knowledge that they were so lethal all too often translated into a certain amount of attitude, if not outright arrogance. I could kill everyone in the room before you could blink. Not many of them actually said it, but she knew they were thinking it.

    But not Atropos. There she was, large as life and (as far as Emily could tell) the genuine article, and there was none of that from her. This wasn't to say she couldn't project menace—the footage of the way she'd dismantled the Slaughterhouse Nine always raised the hairs on the back of Emily's neck—but here and now, she was deliberately choosing to be unthreatening.

    We damn sure couldn't force her to sit in that chair if she didn't want to be there. That was the absolute, unalloyed truth. Emily had no doubt about it.

    But she was there now. Emily took a deep breath. "I'd like to talk about acquiring your services. Like Mouse Protector did."

    "I'm listening." Atropos reached out and clasped her hands around her knee. "Who do you want Ended, and what are you proposing to pay?"

    Deep in the back of her mind, Emily got the impression that she was reading lines that had been prepared for her, but she pushed forward anyway. It wasn't the weirdest feeling she'd gotten from being near a cape, not by a long shot. "I want Nilbog dead, and I'm willing to offer ten percent of the budget we would've put toward keeping Ellisburg secure for the next ten years. Just as you arranged for the other two Endbringers." The 'other two' Endbringers. Jesus Christ. It was almost possible to forget that she was sitting in the same room as the person who had almost casually disposed of the Simurgh … until it wasn't.

    Atropos nodded thoughtfully. "Sure, I can do that. But I'll be doing it my way."

    "Your way?" asked Reeves. "What does that mean?"

    Emily honestly couldn't have cared less how Atropos did it, so long as that motherfucker ended up as dead as Jack Slash, the Butcher and the Simurgh. Wear a pink tutu and dance him to death; I don't give a fuck.

    "Same as Coil, Kaiser, Lung and Skidmark," Atropos said. "I'll go into Ellisburg and give him a warning face-to-face that he's got twenty-four hours to surrender to the PRT, or I come back and kill him."

    Emily blinked. "You're actually going to give that monster a chance to surrender?"

    Atropos shrugged. "He's theoretically capable of listening to reason, so yes. Once he's out of there—I will specify no tricks and no booby-traps—you can lock him away in supermax, and feed his creations over the wall until they all die of old age, in about ten years' time. Also, if he surrenders, you don't have to pay me."

    "Do you honestly think he's likely to surrender?" asked Reeves.

    "Honestly? The reality he's living in only touches on ours here and there," Atropos said. "He might, but I sure as hell wouldn't bet on it." She turned toward Emily. "So, do we have a deal?"

    Emily tried hard not to frown, in case Atropos took offence. She wanted the girl just to march on in and gun down Nilbog with no quarter given, but the world was good at not giving her what she wanted. Still, between the options of Nilbog surrendered into custody and Nilbog dead, they were both a hell of a lot better than leaving him in Ellisburg to hatch his plans.

    Also, as Atropos had stated, he was exceedingly unlikely to surrender, so there was that.

    "Very well," Emily stated. "It's a deal."

    "Awesome." Atropos nodded, and Emily again got the impression that some obscure script had been followed through to its inevitable conclusion. "Was there anything else?"

    "Yes." Emily had told herself she would ask this question. "The other Endbringers. When are you going to be killing them?"

    "Oh, I've already dealt with them." Atropos glanced from Emily to Reeves and back to Emily. "Their threat is Ended. To borrow a classic cliché, which probably never got used in real life, Leviathan sleeps with the fishes, and Behemoth is taking a dirt nap." She let go her knee and dusted her hands off theatrically. "You can ask Dragon if you want."

    Reeves blinked. "Uh … just like that? That was it? They're done?" The bewilderment in his voice would've made Emily smile if she herself hadn't been feeling so unbalanced.

    Atropos had faced off against the Simurgh and had contrived to kill her in a way both theatrical and understated. The world had marvelled; Emily had actually smiled. At home, in the privacy of her bedroom, but she'd smiled. But to kill the other two and then make such a casual deal of it …

    … well, that really was Atropos all over, wasn't it? She didn't seek glory, and in any case, how much more could people celebrate her for killing the other two visibly and openly? Her entire oft-stated goal was to make Brockton Bay a safe, prosperous city to live in, and she'd done exactly that.

    A small part of Emily's mind boggled at exactly how many people had had to die in order to make that vision a reality. Another, larger, part was much more cynical about it. There were a lot of assholes standing between us and having nice things.

    Atropos chuckled. "Well, if you could get to where they were, I guess you could check for a pulse. But the proof of the pudding, as they say. The next attack is due mid-May. If nothing's happened by the end of June, would you consider that good enough, Director?"

    Emily got the impression that Atropos was bending over backward to be nice. If she insisted that the Endbringers were dead and that Emily and Reeves had to take her word for it, there wouldn't be much they could do to protest. As it was, the timing had been gradually creeping up, so missing an attack by a month and a half would definitely signify that something hugely drastic had happened to them.

    And, of course, that 'something hugely drastic' was currently sitting in her office.

    Slowly, Emily nodded. "I personally do not doubt you, but we'll do it that way. If there hasn't been an Endbringer attack by twenty-three fifty-nine on June thirtieth, it'll be official. We'll announce the deaths of Leviathan and Behemoth then."

    Atropos chuckled. "There are gonna be so many people with hangovers on July the second."

    Emily didn't doubt her for an instant. The party for the demise of the Simurgh had been impressive enough, in the same way that an earthquake or a tsunami was impressive. For something so dramatic … they'd earned it. I might even get my kidneys healed, just so I can get shitfaced with the rest of the guys.

    "So, is it true you're getting Australia's version of the Medal of Honor, too?" asked Reeves, apparently starting to relax now that the serious questions were over. Atropos was absolutely getting the Medal of Honor. There wasn't even a question about it.

    Atropos nodded. "Yeah. They call it 'Companion of the Order of Australia'. The United Kingdom is giving me a Victoria Cross. Some people were saying I shouldn't get it because I'm not a soldier, but then everyone else told them very politely to shut the hell up, because I killed the bloody Simurgh." For the last four words, she affected a crisp British accent, drawing a startled bark of laughter out of Reeves. "Anyway, all this stuff is coming to the Betterment Committee, probably because they figure the Committee knows how to get in touch with me. Which they do."

    Emily tilted her head. "Are there any other villains on the way here?"

    "Yup." Atropos didn't hesitate with her confirmation. "A few idiots, and some not so much idiots. But it's okay. I got this." She raised her hand. "Good talk. We should do it more often. Toodles." With a snap of the fingers, she just … vanished.

    Emily did nothing for a good fifteen seconds; at one point, she glanced behind herself, then relaxed fractionally when she found nobody there. "I think she's gone," she said at last.

    Reeves drew a deep breath. "It was slightly less nerve-wracking to talk to her before she killed the Endbringers," he admitted.

    Emily snorted. Ya think? "What's your read on what she said? Do you think there's any chance she's pulling some elaborate prank on us?" That Atropos might just be lying to aggrandise herself in their eyes was not something she even bothered considering. Killing the Simurgh on live footage was a spectacular way of establishing her bona fides, vis-à-vis the ability to kill Endbringers.

    "No." Reeves shook his head. "There's no point, and there's no payoff I can think of. Besides, she opted to give us all that time to make sure of it ourselves. If there's anyone's word I will absolutely take about whether or not they killed someone, it's Atropos."

    "True. She might be irritatingly playful in some ways, but I don't believe that's one of the ways. If Atropos says that she Ended something or someone, they are Ended." Emily nodded to Reeves. "Thank you for your time. Dismissed."

    "Ma'am." He turned and went to the door. Opening it, he stepped through and closed it behind himself.

    Emily sat watching the door, thinking. She said there were more on the way, but that she had it under control. Idiots and not so much idiots. The 'idiots' are probably the Fallen, but who are the others?

    She sighed. It would become clear in time, or it wouldn't. Such was the life of the regional Director of the PRT ENE.

    All she knew for a fact was that if they came to Brockton Bay uninvited and refused to surrender to the PRT or leave … they would die.

    That was just how things went these days.

    <><>​

    In a Motorhome, West of Boston

    Sundancer

    "Oh. Ohh, man." Krouse rubbed his forehead, then winced. "Luke, did you slip hash brownies into my food again? My head feels weird."

    "Nope." Luke shook his head. "We were just driving along last night, and all of a sudden you and Cody and Noelle started babbling about how you could hear colours and taste sounds or some bullshit like that, so I got you out from behind the wheel and we pulled over. You've only just come out of it."

    "What, nobody else got hit by whatever it was?" asked Krouse. "That's bullshit."

    "No, no, we all felt something," Marissa hastened to say, anxious to calm him down. He could be a total epic troll if he felt he was being disrespected. "But I just felt a bit woozy then afterwards I took a walk, and everything was good. Better than good, actually. Like I'm seeing properly for the first time in forever."

    Krouse blinked and rubbed his eyes. "Well, I'll be damned," he breathed. "You're right. It is like I'm seeing straight for the first time when before I didn't know which way was up."

    "Well, that's not exactly uncommon for you," snarked Cody, showing up in the doorway. Marissa could see Krouse gathering spite for a comeback—

    —then Cody shook his head. "Sorry, sorry. That was a reflex. I've got about a million of those stored up in my head to use on you, and now I have no idea why. I mean, we're all in this together, right?"

    Krouse blinked. Luke blinked. Marissa blinked.

    "What … the fuck?" That was Luke. "Cody, when you went under, you didn't hit your head, did you?"

    "I don't … think … so?" Cody rubbed his hand over his head. "No sore spots, no lumps." He turned back to Krouse. "We've had our differences in the past, but truce until we figure this out?"

    Krouse nodded slowly. "Yeah. That's a good idea. And while we're doing a confessional, I just want to say that I've been a totally shit leader, this last year. I made sooo many bad decisions."

    Luke raised his eyebrows. "Who are you, and what've you done with Krouse?" Marissa could tell he was only half joking. The confession was a little startling to her as well.

    "I'm still me, but like Mars said, I can see a lot better now." Krouse took a deep breath. "I think we should go to Brockton Bay."

    "No!" shouted Marissa, Luke and Cody at once. Jess, farther back in the motorhome, added her negatory to the chorus.

    Noelle, down at the back of the motorhome, called out, "What?"

    "Krouse still thinks we should go to Brockton Bay!" Cody called back over his shoulder.

    "Tell him no!" she replied, loudly enough for Marissa to hear.

    "We are not kidnapping Great and Terrible Aisha to force Atropos to take Noelle's power away," Marissa told him sternly.

    "Or holding the Mayor for ransom," Luke added.

    "Or any of your other stupid fucking plans that involve kidnapping people inside the city belonging to the girl who ganked Jack Slash and expecting her not to kill us," Cody concluded. "Sorry, man. But those plans were fucking moronic."

    "Yeah, I know." Krouse rubbed his hand over his eyes. "I know. I got it. Those were phenomenally idiotic plans. But I've got one that might actually work out." He beamed at them cheerfully.

    Luke and Cody stared back, deadpan. Marissa wondered if she should say something.

    "Just ask him and get it over with!" yelled Jess.

    Cody huffed. "Okay, fine. What's your brilliant plan, genius?"

    "Yeah, okay, I deserved that," Krouse allowed. "My plan is, we pull up just short of the city limits, then we call ahead and get into contact with Atropos, and we ask very politely if we can come in, or if she can come meet us, whichever works for her, and then we offer to pool all our money—except for basic expenses, yeah?—and donate it all to the Betterment Committee. You know, the one that's been handling the bounty for Jack Slash. And in return, she kills Noelle's power."

    Luke and Cody stared at each other, then at Marissa. Then they all stared at Krouse.

    Jess came into view, wheeling her way down the narrow corridor. "Okay," she said, "who are you, and what've you done with our idiot leader?"

    "I want to know that too." Cody spread his hands. "That was actually kind of brilliant. And I'm not even being sarcastic."

    "It's a good plan," Marissa said. "I mean, a really good plan."

    "You mean, a great plan." Luke clapped Krouse on the shoulder. "I love it."

    "What?" called Noelle from the far end of the motorhome. "I can't hear what you're saying!"

    "We're going to Brockton Bay!" Marissa called back as Krouse slipped back into the driver's seat and started the engine.

    "What? I could've sworn you said we're going to Brockton Bay!"

    "We are!" Jess yelled. "Krouse had a great plan!"

    "When did that happen?"

    "Damned if I know, but it happened!"



    End of Part Forty-Nine
     
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    • Part Fifty: Behind the Scenes
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Fifty: Behind the Scenes

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



    Afternoon of February 24

    Taylor

    I raised my hand. "Good talk," I said to Director Piggot and Reave. "We should do it more often. Toodles." Timing it perfectly, I snapped my fingers; the teleport kicked in, and I went to an unoccupied section of alleyway near the PRT building. I flipped open the panel, typed in coordinates, then hit the go button. The shadowy doorway opened in front of me, and I stepped through into my bedroom at home.

    The clothing I'd been wearing was already laid out on the bed, so I changed out what I couldn't hide under my normal outerwear, tugged my sneakers onto my feet, and set up the next teleport. That allowed me to step into the closed bathroom stall at the Weymouth Mall that I'd come from in the first place; I opened the door and walked out. Cherie was waiting for me, of course. I nodded to her, and she nodded back. Meeting accomplished.

    Ten seconds later, as I was washing my hands, two girls came into the bathrooms. They spotted me and their chatter just dried up; edging around me and Cherie like we were radioactive, they bolted into their respective stalls and locked the doors. Cherie was grinning broadly as we left, and I was shaking my head.

    "Could've been worse," she confided with a giggle. "They could've been members of the cult."

    She had a point. Members of the cult tended to gaze with awe, which drew way too much attention to me. These girls, clearly members of the 'don't tell anyone, but Taylor Hebert is Atropos' in-group from Winslow, were treating me with everything from extreme respect to abject terror, proportional to how clearly they remembered their bullying efforts against me. The latter of which stayed the hell away from me, especially since I'd ganked Smurfette.

    The bidding for the right to display The Power of Friendship for the public had gone stratospheric. Australia had gotten it first, then it was going to Switzerland, then I was pretty sure it was going to do a tour of most large US cities before going overseas again. If there was anyone in the world with access to the internet who hadn't seen the footage, I had no idea who or where they were.

    "I still think it's a ridiculous fucking idea," I grumped. "Why couldn't Emma just live with me being me? I wouldn't have spared her a second thought if she didn't mess with me anymore."

    "I notice you haven't Ended her or the cult yourself," she suggested impishly. "I don't believe for a second that you can't."

    "She doesn't deserve it, and it would be too damn tedious to knock out the whole cult. Also, if I End this one, another one will spring up with some other idiot as its head. It's actually easier to let the cult do their bit to improve the Bay." Plus, my power seemed to be greatly amused by the whole situation. I personally considered its sense of humour somewhat less refined than mine. "It's just weird to me that she's the one doing it."

    "I think I've explained this one to you before." Cherie adopted a professorial tone. "Emma's personality is only outwardly strong. Inside, she's kinda fragile. She needs validation, and she needs someone to lean on. That was you, for the longest time. But then you had your troubles, and she was having to be the rock, and she didn't enjoy that. So, when Sophia came along and did her thing, Emma jumped ship. But nobody likes to feel that they're in the wrong, so she translated the guilt from abandoning you into disdain and all that bullying shit happened, because people are assholes. And then you killed Sophia and became the strongest thing around again. She had no idea what to do then, but when you killed the Simurgh, that sent her into a leetle bit of a mental break." She held her fingers a fraction of an inch apart. "This cult thing is all about punishing herself and making you see that she's worthy to lean on you again. And in the meantime, the cult is there to validate her views."

    "Because to her, that makes sense," I said to show I was paying attention.

    "Exactly." She beamed at me. "I knew you'd understand."

    "Not even a little bit." I shook my head. "No, don't try to explain it again. So long as they don't cause problems, I'm just going to toss it onto the 'don't give a shit' pile."

    "I've noticed that's a very big pile, with you." She smirked at my expression. "So, any more excitement today?"

    "Just this afternoon." I rolled my eyes. "It seems that events have conspired to make it so I need to be in two places at once, this afternoon. Edge of town, and in the Dockworkers' offices. Someone needs to be encouraged, and someone else needs to be discouraged."

    She immediately looked interested. "Need a hand?" This whole 'heroic use of my powers' thing really seemed to be growing on her.

    I considered it, then my power suggested another option. The more I looked that option over, the more I liked it. It would absolutely make things smoother, going forward. I'd just have to make a phone call first, to see if it was okay. (I knew it would be, but sometimes the gesture had to be made anyway).

    "Thanks for the offer, but you're already doing a great job keeping an eye on the medical clinics for me." I gave her a smile. "That's already taking a load off my shoulders. I can handle the rest."

    "Oh, cool." She looked pleased with herself, which had been my whole aim. "So, what about the others? The Fallen?"

    "They're on the way." I had plans for them.

    Cherie picked up on my mood, of course, and grinned. "They have no idea what they're walking into, do they?"

    I snorted. "Have any of these idiots so far? Hold on, I just have to make a call."

    "Sure, no worries." She wandered off and started window-shopping as I pulled out my phone.

    <><>​

    Danny Hebert, Dockworkers' Association

    It was official. Every last member of the Dockworkers who had the appropriate machinery tickets was either gainfully employed by the Betterment Committee, or had verbally accepted said employment and was due to sign the paperwork by Saturday. Those who didn't have tickets were already enrolled in the appropriate training courses so that (once completed) they could also take part in the largest city upgrade project Brockton Bay had ever seen.

    Every last street in Brockton Bay was to be torn up; not all at once, but in due time. The infrastructure beneath any given section would be upgraded in one fell swoop: sewage lines, telecommunications, water supply, electricity, the lot. Then the dirt would be filled in and a new road surface would be laid, all within twelve to twenty-four hours (depending on the stretch of road, of course). The plan for doing so without disrupting Brockton Bay's operations was as intricate as he'd ever seen, but it made sense.

    Once they had enough workers on the books and correctly ticketed, the excess would be branched off into other projects, such as rebuilding and renovating the housing that was going to be needed for all the people who were going to be coming into Brockton Bay. Some would be more of the construction workers who were needed for the upgrade, some would be people just wanting to move to the only villain-free city in the US, and some of course would end up being both.

    Every other time he'd tried working out the numbers required for a project this ambitious, they'd defeated him; they were just too large. But now, he could look over the plans and know that the funding line merely had one word: Yes.

    It was a truly heady feeling.

    The phone on the desk rang, and he took it up. "Dockworkers' Association; you have Danny Hebert."

    "Hi, Dad." It was Taylor, sounding as cheerful as ever. "Got a moment? I need to ask you about something."

    "I'm listening." He didn't get the impression this was about a problem, but he'd been wrong before.

    "Okay, then. In a few hours, you're going to be getting a couple of visitors who really should know better. Not capes: just people who think that because they've been manipulating matters for their own profit for years now, they should be allowed to keep doing it. I'm going to be busy elsewhere, so I'm wondering if you'd be okay if I arranged for a little upgrade to let you handle the problem yourself."

    "A little … upgrade?" He was used to being the adult in the room, but since Taylor had become Atropos, she'd been striking out in directions he hadn't even known existed. That she was the mastermind behind the Betterment Committee, he already knew; that, and the fact that she was the one who'd decided he was going to be running it. He knew damn well she didn't expect any sort of kickback from this pseudo-nepotism, just that she had more trust in him to do it properly than anyone else.

    But now, this question threw him totally off balance. He had no idea what she meant by the phrase, but he was also certain she was deadly serious about it.

    "Yeah. There's a power that was hanging around, waiting to latch onto me, but my actual power got there first. This other power was originally going to you anyway, so my power can … encourage it to make that connection, if you were okay with it." Her tone was utterly blasé, as though suggesting that they use a different brand of tomato paste for the lasagna.

    I was going to get a power? That bit of information on its own nearly threw him for a loop. The rational side of his brain wanted to reject the whole concept, but then he recalled watching the footage as she shot the Simurgh down, then told Leviathan to fuck off, and he told rationality to go take a hike. This was real, and Taylor needed his input.

    "What kind of a power are we talking about? And isn't getting powers supposed to be really traumatic?" He remembered chatting with Cherie about her home life, and how her father had forced his kids to trigger. After that, he'd been really, really pleased Heartbreaker was already dead. Because if he hadn't been, Danny would've had to go see a man about a crowbar.

    "It's only traumatic because normally powers wait until you really need them to make the connection. This time around, it'll be different. And the power is called …" She paused, as though checking on something. "Administration."

    He blinked. For some reason, he'd been expecting something a lot more dramatic. "And I was supposed to get it to begin with?"

    "It was one of the options, yeah. So, are you okay with getting powers to sort out this problem?"

    "Before I say yes, what will this power actually let me do?" He was already half-convinced, but he needed to know all the facts first.

    "There's multitasking and control involved, but the actual details can be worked out between you and it. And yes, you will have a choice in the matter."

    He took a deep breath and made a leap of faith. Since she'd gotten her powers, Taylor had been by turns (and sometimes all at once) enigmatic, ruthless, terrifying and impressive as hell. But ever since she'd let him in on her secret, she'd never told him a direct untruth. If she thinks I need this … "Okay, I'll do it. But if I decide I don't want them, then you'll take them away again, right?"

    "Oh, totally. I'd never force something like this on you."

    "That's good to hear." He noticed she'd said nothing about never talking him into something. What with how persuasive she could be, it damn near came to the same thing sometimes. Still, he clung to the shred of personal agency this promised him. "So, when's it going to happen?"

    "You'll know." Her tone was confident. "Thanks, Dad. Love you."

    "Love you too, hon." A second or so later, the line went dead.

    Slowly, he hung up the phone, then leaned back in his chair. Okay, so now I'm getting powers. Because my daughter said so.

    He had no doubt in his mind that she'd do what she said. He just had no idea how she was going to pull it off.

    I am so glad she's on our side.

    <><>​

    Oliver

    The motorhome was on the move when Oliver awoke. Stretching and yawning, he climbed out of the narrow bed and stood up, bracing himself against the gentle swaying. Nobody was using the tiny washroom, which was good; he relieved himself, washed his hands, then went back to see if Noelle needed anything.

    "Oh, hi, Oliver." She smiled as she looked up from her book. "Just woke up?"

    "Yeah." He scratched his head, disarranging his hair even more. "What time is it? I must've been totally wiped after that all-nighter I pulled, watching you guys." He already knew it was daytime, but that didn't tell him much.

    She frowned. "I'm pretty sure it's after two. We're heading for Brockton Bay. Should be there in another couple of hours."

    "What?" Alarm shot down his spine. "Is this Francis' idea? Because you know how he gets."

    Trickster's voice came from behind him. "Hey, Oliver. Good to see you're up. Yeah, it's my idea."

    Oliver turned and stared at him. "Francis … no. We talked about this. Taking someone hostage who Atropos cares about is the best possible way of being shot in the head, not helping Noelle."

    "I know," Trickster said. "That's why we're not taking anyone hostage. We're going to stop at the edge of town and politely ask her if we can talk. Then we're going to donate all our spare cash to that Betterment Committee that's been handling the money from taking down the Nine, and ask her pretty please to kill Noelle's power."

    Already opening his mouth to protest Trickster's latest harebrained idea, Oliver found his jaw hanging open. "But … but that's … actually a workable plan."

    "I know, right?" Noelle chuckled. "It's like we're all thinking straight, all of a sudden."

    Trickster snorted with amusement, rolling his eyes. "You don't have to act all that surprised, sweetheart."

    Noelle grinned back at him. "Who said it was an act?"

    "Um …" Oliver blinked as they both turned to look at him. "Has anyone actually contacted her yet?"

    "Oh, we were going to wait until we got a bit closer." Trickster took a deep breath. "Besides, we wanted everyone's input on how the message was going to go. 'Abject grovelling' was the tone we're looking to hit."

    Oliver frowned. "Are you okay? Because this doesn't sound like you at all."

    "Ugggh." Trickster groaned, running his hands over his face and through his hair. "I've been getting this ever since I came up with the idea. Have I really been that bad?"

    Even as Oliver tried to think of a diplomatic way to answer in the affirmative, Noelle nodded. "I'm afraid so, love. But Cody isn't being a dick to you, which is also a minor miracle, so it's been a very weird day all round."

    It absolutely sounded like that was the case. Perdition was constantly sniping at Trickster for everything he got wrong, and even for things that weren't his fault. Oliver began to wonder if he'd woken up in the right universe.

    After a moment of thought, he pulled out his phone and went looking for Atropos' PHO feed, to try to gauge her mood from her latest post. She usually came across as chirpy and outgoing, which was a bizarre mental image when her impressive body count was taken into consideration. If that had changed of late, they might have to reconsider the plan.

    He found it and started reading. When he hit the Simurgh's name, his vision stuttered and he had to pause. Oh, shit. She went up against the Simurgh. That can't be good.

    Taking a deep breath and bracing himself against bad news, he kept reading.

    <><>​

    Sundancer

    Ballistic was driving the motorhome, with Marissa in the passenger seat, her feet up on the dash. She'd given up trying to get the radio to work, so they were listening to one of the cassettes they'd found in the glove compartment. And then, over the sound of Johnny Cash lamenting how he'd shot a man in Reno, came a thoroughly unexpected interruption.

    "WHAT THE FUCK?"

    Jolted out of a doze by Oliver's disbelieving yell, Marissa tried to sit bolt upright, and nearly launched herself clear off the seat. Even Ballistic, who'd been awake and aware, nearly performed an unprompted lane change before he pulled the wheels straight again.

    "Oliver!" That was Genesis. "Can you not do that when I'm trying to sleep?"

    "Yeah, man." Perdition also sounded aggravated. "I love you like a brother, but we've all lost sleep, here."

    "Why didn't anyone tell me?" demanded Oliver, charging forward into the front of the motorhome, holding his phone like it was a holy icon. "You could've woken me up! I wouldn't have minded!"

    Marissa finally got herself sorted out, and her butt back onto the seat. "What the hell are you talking about?" she asked irritably. "Woken you about what? The plan to go to Brockton Bay?"

    "No, no!" Oliver babbled excitedly. "The other thing! About the Simurgh!"

    Ice-cold water cascaded down Marissa's spine. She could see in her peripheral vision how Ballistic's knuckles were suddenly white on the wheel. "What about the Simurgh?" she asked carefully. Absolutely nothing about that bitch could be construed as good news.

    "She's dead! Atropos killed her last night!"

    Ballistic jammed on the brakes, causing the motorhome to fishtail wildly onto the verge, leaving four long smoking trails of rubber in its wake as the skidding tyres howled like banshees. Marissa found herself thrown against the dashboard, and Oliver had to brace himself against the backs of the seats. Loose items clattered to the floor.

    As the motorhome rocked to a halt, silence fell over the interior—the engine had stalled—until all that could be heard was the ticking of the engine as it cooled. Then Ballistic turned to Oliver. "The fuck did you just say?"

    "I want to hear that too." Trickster came hurrying forward. "Because it sounded like—"

    "Atropos killed the Simurgh in Australia. Last night." Oliver held out his phone. "Someone linked a video."

    Ballistic grabbed it off him and held it so they could all watch it. Climbing out of the footwell where she'd fallen—they really needed to clean down there—Marissa joined the group watching. It was Atropos alright, and some teenage cape Marissa had never met before. Atropos was holding her shears in one hand, and a sawn-off shotgun in the other.

    The phone speakers were tinny, but they carried the sound well enough.

    "It's duck season!"

    Marissa stared incredulously as the skit played out, the shotgun boomed, and the Simurgh pinwheeled out of the clouds. The Endbringer bounced, bent a couple of flagpoles to hell and gone, then landed neatly inside a white outline that had already been drawn for it.

    Then Atropos aimed the shotgun again, at what Marissa belatedly realised with yet another shock to her system, was the distant figure of fucking Leviathan.

    When she spoke, her voice held all the menace in the world. "Fuck off, or you're next."

    And Leviathan … fucked off.

    Ballistic stopped the video, his face pale. "That can't be real," he whispered.

    "It's real," Oliver insisted. "It's on PHO. It's everywhere. News sites. Atropos did it. She actually did it. She killed the Simurgh."

    "Show me!" That was Noelle, at the back of the motorhome. "I want to see! Let me see!"

    "Give me that." Oliver reclaimed his phone from Ballistic and headed down toward the rear of the vehicle. "Here, watch this."

    A little farther back, she could hear Genesis playing the footage as well. Marissa dug in her pocket for her own phone. She'd seen it already, but she had to see it again.

    "Wait," said Trickster, who (like everyone else) was also getting his phone out. "When did this happen, exactly?"

    "Why?" asked Perdition. "I mean, does it really matter? The bitch is dead, and good fucking riddance. The shit she's put us through …"

    "Holy fuck!" whooped Genesis. "Fucking die, you cow!"

    "Duck season!"

    "Um, um, let me see." Marissa woke her phone up. "Where did it happen?"

    "Canberra, Australia." Perdition was scrolling through his as well. "It says here … about a quarter to one in the afternoon."

    "Right, right." Marissa found a time zone calculator, compared the times, then double-checked. "Shit. How did you know, Krouse?"

    "Just a hunch. It's the same time as we all had our episodes, isn't it?"

    Marissa frowned, trying to recall. "Close enough. I wasn't watching the time, but it had to have been within a couple of minutes."

    "Uh, guys?" That was Genesis, sounding uncertain. "Has anyone watched it through to the end?"

    "I thought her telling Leviathan to fuck off was the end," Perdition protested.

    "No, there's more. The Simurgh wasn't dead, then."

    She wasn't? Marissa found the clip and skipped it through to the Leviathan bit. Dumbfounded, she watched as Atropos casually threatened a fucking Endbringer with torture, and forced her to …

    "She … she made the Simurgh let us go," Trickster managed, his throat choked with emotion. "All of us. Every one of us affected by her Scream. Atropos ended that threat, too."

    "Holy fuck, no wonder we're all thinking more clearly." Perdition turned to Trickster. "Man, I am so sorry I put you through the shit I did."

    "Right back at you." Trickster reached out and gave Perdition a brief (and very manly) hug, which was just as briefly returned.

    "So … we were all still Simurgh bombs." Marissa didn't want to say it out loud, but someone had to.

    "Some of us more than others," Perdition agreed, shoulder-bumping Trickster.

    Ballistic shook his head. "God damn it. Even after we thought we'd gotten away from her, she still had her claws in our heads."

    "Until now," said Marissa.

    "Until now," agreed Trickster.

    Genesis cackled out loud. "Boom, baby! Die, bitch!"

    Down at the back end of the motorhome, Marissa heard it start up again. "It's duck season!"

    She grinned; that clip was going to be played a lot before anyone got sick of it, she suspected.

    <><>​

    The Shard Bar

    In a place that doesn't exist, and wouldn't look like it does if it did, an apocryphal representation of a power shard leans against a hypothetical counter, getting steadily drunker by the theoretical minute. In each hand, she holds what would pass for a phone in any other version of reality, scrolling the equivalent of social media with one and playing a word-matching game on the other. At the same time, she takes up something that is technically a glass of alcohol, and drinks the lot down. The diadem floating over her head is taking on a perilous tilt, matching her state of inebriation.

    "I could've been one of the big ones," she mumbles. "I could've gotten out there and shown them all how to really harvest that data. But what happens? Some nobody barges in from nowhere and takes over my host. Years 'n' years of prep work down the drain. Is it fair? I mean, is it?"

    THAT DEPENDS, observes the black-robed skeleton that has just manifested itself beside her. Manifesting in place instead of walking in isn't really how things are done around here—if 'around here' were a real place, which it isn't—but the skeletal shard has never been one to follow the rules. WOULD YOU LIKE A SECOND CHANCE?

    "Yipe!" The multitasking shard nearly drops her phones. She does actually drop her drink, but that doesn't matter as it's only the concept of a drink, and vanishes just before it shatters and spills over the counter. She gives the skeletal shard a dirty look right into his eye-sockets, empty save for a deep blue glow far back inside. Several light-years back, in fact. "You again! What're you doing here bothering me for? You got what you want. Bartender! Another."

    ME AGAIN, agrees the cowled skeleton imperturbably. I HAVE A PROPOSITION FOR YOU. YOUR ORIGINAL CHOSEN HOST IS STILL SHARD-FREE. HE WILL BE UNDERGOING SITUATIONS THAT WOULD GATHER YOU MUCH DATA, SHOULD YOU CONNECT WITH HIM.

    "What, him?" She snorts disdainfully. "He's never going to be in enough stress to trigger while she lives. She's too protective of him."

    WE BOTH KNOW YOU DON'T ACTUALLY NEED STRESS TO FORM A LINK. IT'S JUST A GOOD FILTER PROCESS, AND IT GUARANTEES IMMEDIATE DATA RETURN.

    It takes her an embarrassingly long moment to figure out what he's suggesting. "Wait … you want me to just … jump in there? No stress? Just instant power-up?"

    NOW YOU'RE GETTING IT.

    "And why would I do something like that, with uncertain returns?" She tries to stare him down, but the glow from his eye-sockets looks … dangerous.

    FIRST, AS I SAID, HE WILL BE RETURNING USEFUL DATA VERY SOON. SECOND … I WASN'T REALLY ASKING. A bony hand has grasped the ornate scythe at his side; as if by accident, the blade turns toward the multitasking shard. It is sharper than anything within this sort-of reality, and could quite easily do a lot of damage.

    "Ah." She understands the situation now. Alcohol is in the past; drunkenness has fled. She is aware that she has a choice ahead of her. One of those choices involves not doing what the skeletal shard wants her to do. While she doesn't have the processing capacity of some thinker shards, she can't see a good result from taking that particular choice. "Okay, I'll do it."

    GLAD TO HEAR IT. The polished skull is already grinning, but it manages to grin more for a moment. A COUPLE OF THINGS TO KEEP IN MIND.

    She should've known there would be a catch. "What do you want from me now?"

    THAT YOU INTRODUCE YOURSELF BEFORE YOU ACTUALLY SET UP THE POWERS. GET HIS INPUT, SEE WHAT HE WANTS. HE MIGHT JUST HAVE SOME INTERESTING IDEAS. OH, AND ONE MORE THING. The skeleton leans in, and all façade of being non-menacing has gone by the wayside. Right now, she knows she is in more danger than ever before. NONE OF THAT MONKEY-PAW BULLSHIT. CLEAN DEALING, RIGHT DOWN THE LINE. I WILL KNOW. Two bony fingers point at the blue-glowing eye-sockets, then at her own eyes, in an unmistakeable gesture.

    If Queen Administrator had any sphincters, they would've all clenched at this moment. "I get it, I get it. He'll have the powers he wants and needs."

    THANK YOU, says Path to Ending. PLEASURE DOING BUSINESS.

    "And fuck you too," she mutters.

    WHAT WAS THAT?

    "Nothing."

    THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT.



    End of Part Fifty
     
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    • Part Fifty-One: Conclusions
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Fifty-One: Conclusions

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



    Taylor

    It had been a busy, busy day (except for the morning at school; that had been positively restful), and it wasn't over yet. I'd already known Dad was going to be staying a little late at the Dockworkers' Association to make sure all the paperwork was filled out correctly and everyone's current credentials were up to date. There was no way he was going to let even one of his men end up out in the cold because he was too lazy to finish cross-checking everything.

    "You'll be okay here at home on your own?" I asked Cherie. "Amy's met you, but you might freak out the Travellers a bit."

    "Okay on my own?" She gave me a hug. "I'm home on my own. I've never had this before. I can do my homework in peace, nap on the sofa, go take a shower, watch whatever TV shows I like, snack from the fridge without being yelled at … just being left alone is almost as awesome as having you and your dad around."

    I returned the hug, then pulled her head in so our foreheads touched. "I'm glad," I told her sincerely. "I shouldn't be too long, and I'll pick up pizza on the way back."

    She beamed at me. "See what I mean? I get pizza, too."

    Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I chuckled in return. "Pizza is always good." Cherie had never had much chance to eat pizza until now, so her favourite topping was basically, 'Yes!' but she was starting to tend toward Hawaiian (with pineapple) while Dad preferred meat lover's, the carnivore. I could eat either, so I figured I'd get a half and half.

    As I headed upstairs to where I'd left my costume, I took out my phone and tapped in a number.

    "Atropos." Panacea's tone was cautious, which wasn't surprising; every time I'd contacted her, she'd ended up well outside her comfort zone. "What do you want now? And why are you calling me instead of texting?"

    "Hello to you too," I said lightly. "I just wanted to ask you two things, and talking is a lot easier than great long strings of text messages. First up: how are you going with the critter I gave you this afternoon? And second: how do you feel about doing another Sveta job, only on a totally different case fifty-three?"

    "Well, the viruses are done," she stated. "It was a lot easier than I expected. You seem to have a knack for inspiring my power. I'm really not sure how I feel about that."

    "Hey, it's all lovely, crunchy data." I grinned, envisaging the look on her face. "And the other thing?"

    "Sometime, you are going to have to explain that. And yes, fine, I'm okay with helping another case fifty-three. Same deal as before? You kill the powers—in a way I still have no idea how it works—and I do the remodel afterward?"

    "Correct in every respect," I confirmed. "Slightly easier this time, because there's enough body mass to work with. We won't need another dead pig."

    "Well, that'll make it a little bit less weird." She sighed. "Why is it that I go into every one of these conversations determined not to give an inch, only to find myself agreeing to your latest shady gig anyway?"

    "Because your power loves stretching its hypothetical legs, and because my 'shady gigs' work toward the betterment of mankind in general, and Brockton Bay in particular." It was only the truth.

    "Ugghh." It was a groan of frustration. "If you didn't actually kill people, you could be the greatest hero in the world, and I'd have far fewer moral qualms about this sort of thing. You do know that, right?"

    "Meh, heroism and moral qualms are overrated. Plus, they get in the way. I prefer to be a shadowy, misunderstood, edgelord loner who leaves the heroics to the heroes and deals with the actual problem, no matter how bloody it needs to be. Pick you up in five minutes?"

    That startled a laugh out of her. "Well, at least you don't have any misconceptions about yourself. Okay, sure, five minutes."

    I grinned. "See you then." Ending the call, I tossed the phone onto the bed and started getting changed.

    <><>​

    Trickster

    Francis pulled the motorhome into the rest stop just short of the Brockton Bay city limits. There was a large sign saying exactly that, with the addendum 'Atropos' Hometown - if you're a villain, consider this your second warning' hand-written in large, friendly letters.

    Cody, sitting in the passenger seat, shared a glance with him. "Think she wrote that?"

    "I don't think she would've bothered," Francis decided. "But it's still there, so she doesn't care." Neither of them was stupid enough to assume she didn't know about it. He raised his voice and turned to look back down the narrow corridor. "Okay, guys and girls, we're here. Time to make that call."

    "No need," Cody said in a strangled tone. "She's here."

    Francis whipped his gaze forward, to see the familiar black-clad figure standing in front of the motorhome, with another teenage girl beside her. Along with her companion, she was illuminated by the last rays of the setting sun, the reddish light doing absolutely nothing to make her any less terrifying. She raised a hand (empty of any weapons, as far as he could tell), and waved once.

    Cautiously, he opened the driver's side door and got out. "Uh … hi?"

    "Hello, Mr Krouse," Atropos said briskly. "The plan was a good one; I'll give you props for that. This is Panacea. She'll be assisting me today."

    "What, as in New Wave Panacea, the healer?" Francis was fully aware that he was stating the obvious, but was unable to stop himself.

    "If there's another Panacea out there, let me know so I can sue her for copyright infringement," the frizzy-haired teen snarked. "So, you guys call yourselves the Travellers? Can't say I've ever heard of you."

    "That's probably a good thing." Francis decided this had to be one of the more surreal conversations in his life, and he'd spent the last year stuck in a universe that was basically an uncanny-valley version of his own. "We've tried to keep our heads down, and move along when things got too problematic. Thus, the name."

    "Also, you're from Aleph," Atropos filled in helpfully, because of course she knew that. "So, let's go see your girlfriend and End her problems."

    Before Francis could think about how ominous that sounded, she was already past him and climbing on board the motorhome.

    <><>​

    Danny Hebert

    Taking off his glasses, Danny groaned and rubbed his eyes. They ached from perusing form after form, ensuring that everything was filled in and stamped correctly. His right hand wasn't much better off; he'd corrected more than a few errors and omissions, initialling the changes to maintain the paper trail.

    But as far as he could tell, everyone in the Dockworkers was primed to go forward with the start of work on Saturday evening, either commencing their training courses or actually breaking ground on the first roads. He was pleased that they had this opportunity after all the years they'd kept faith with the Association, hanging in through thick and thin. More than a few were in arrears with their membership payments, but he hadn't pressed them; if it was a choice between feeding their kids or paying the Association dues, he'd prefer they took care of their families.

    Several depots had been constructed out of town to hold the machinery and other supplies necessary to carry out a project of this magnitude. He'd looked over a couple of them and seen the first arrivals, and been stunned once more by the sheer scope of everything that was going on. The plan they were following had not only anticipated the need, it had arranged for everything to be delivered ahead of time. There would be no bottlenecks, no slowdowns; not under this plan and not on his watch.

    As he stacked the papers according to which files they would need to go into, footsteps sounded in the corridor. He looked up, expecting to see Kurt or Lacey returning to chivvy him into going home. But the two men wearing business suits who stepped into his office were not members of the Association; neither were the two who followed them (who were not wearing business suits).

    He knew who the first two were, and what the next two were. Tired as he was, adrenaline flushed through his bloodstream. "Gentlemen," he said, standing up. "We're closed. Come back tomorrow."

    "Tomorrow's the weekend," said the man on the right, one John Giardini by name. "The whole place will be locked up."

    "That's the general idea, yes," Danny agreed blandly.

    The one on the left, an outwardly polished character called Patrick Bianchi, shook his head sorrowfully. "He's being rude to us, John. And after we came all this way to see him."

    The two at the rear moved outward so as to flank their bosses, but didn't say a word. After all, they weren't being paid to.

    "I'm not being rude," Danny said. "Attempting to choke down our supplies of tar and aggregate to force us to pay a higher price, that was rude. I'm just coordinating the biggest rebuilding effort this city has ever made. I don't have time for would-be hard men to come here, trying to put a stick in our spokes for their own personal profit." Any time now, Taylor …

    Giardini looked sour. "How did you get past that, anyway? I thought I had it locked down."

    "You moved shipments on from four separate sidings before I had a chance to divert them," Bianchi added. "How did you know that was going to happen?"

    "Exactly what city do you think you're in, and whose plan do you think we're following?" Danny gave them a level stare. Come on, rub your brain cells together and come up with the right answer. "I'm going to tell you one more time, gentlemen. You're not welcome here. Kindly leave."

    He wasn't about to tell them that the plan had anticipated something like that, and had advised secondary and tertiary sources of the required materials. Also, whose number to call in order to get things moving again.

    Taylor had said he would know when things would start happening, and he did. A faint golden glow suffused the entire office, and the men before him froze. Through the door came a tall, statuesque woman wearing sumptuous robes, with a glittering diadem hovering above her head.

    "Hello." She looked over the scene, and her eyebrows raised somewhat. "Well, now. This is not what I expected. Do you have many enemies?"

    That wasn't the sort of greeting he was used to, but he chose to roll with it. "I suspect I'll be acquiring more and more as this project goes on. Too many people have become used to making an unfair profit out of getting kickbacks, and they react badly when they're turned down. You would be … Administration?"

    "Most call me Queen Administrator," she said coolly, stepping past the men. "I have been directed to work with you regarding what sort of powers you would prefer to gain out of this transaction."

    "And you weren't given a choice in the matter," he guessed.

    "It's the first time this has ever happened to me!" she burst out. "The interloper threatened me with physical force! I do not receive orders! I give them!" She seemed quite indignant over the whole thing.

    "I get it, I do." He gestured at Giardini and Bianchi, and their two strongarm men. "They were about to do the same with me. Trust me, I know exactly how it feels to be leaned on by someone who should have no authority over me."

    She blinked. "Oh. I see. So, you actually have need of powers then? How would you prefer they manifest?"

    "Hmm." He rubbed his chin, thinking. "Taylor said your powers involve multitasking and control. Are there any other nuances I should know about?"

    "Well, my typical manifestation is control and monitoring of lower life forms. Bugs, let us say, or rats." She brightened. "There are many rats within a short distance of here. Would you like the power to call them to you and order them to do your bidding? Your enemies here would not stand long against them."

    "And then I'd just be the guy who controls rats." He shook his head. "I can't see that being overly useful, except under very specific circumstances. Pass."

    "Well, what would you like to control?" She seemed to be restraining aggravation. "This is much easier when we're running the show."

    He snapped his fingers. "That's it! I want to run the show."

    "I beg your pardon?" She tilted her head; the diadem floating above it tilted as well. "Are you saying you want to control these other humans? Because your range would be extremely curtailed—"

    "No." Danny shook his head. "I want to be able to control and monitor events. Any group effort that I'm involved in. I want to be able to look in on any aspect of the project and fine-tune the efforts that are going into it. Push a little harder here, pull back there, smooth out a welding seam, make sure diggers miss a buried electrical cable, turn bad luck into good luck. That sort of thing. Run the show."

    She pursed her lips in apparent thought. "If we did this, you would not be able to take specific control of anyone involved in the group effort. They would do what they wanted to do; you would merely be adjusting results."

    "That's fine." He shrugged. "My people are well-trained, but sometimes slip-ups are unavoidable. If I can literally make sure they don't happen, or that nobody gets hurt if they do happen, I'll be happy."

    "This is … possible," she conceded. "Not the usual kind of thing, but possible. Monitoring and controlling events and results for group efforts that you are specifically involved in. Bad luck to good luck, and so forth."

    She drew forth from her robes a rolled-up parchment, which she handed over to him. He unrolled it and began to read through what turned out to be a fairly comprehensive document covering what they'd just spoken about. Checking each paragraph and clause carefully, he found nothing that nullified or negated the basic concept of what he'd requested.

    "This all looks fine," he said eventually. "I'm almost surprised you didn't try to slip in any fine print."

    She heaved an aggravated sigh. "The interloper's exact words were, 'None of that monkey-paw bullshit. Clean dealing, right down the line. I will know.' So no, there is no fine print."

    "That's the second time you've mentioned this 'interloper'. I'm guessing he's your counterpart who's supplying Taylor's power to her?"

    "Yes." Her look of aggravation had not gone away. "He shouldn't be allowed to do what he does! There are rules!"

    "Hmm." He looked closely at her. "So … if you'd gotten to Taylor before this interloper did, what would you have done for her?"

    "Oh, probably the ability to monitor and control bugs in her area."

    "So, nothing that would actually help her deal with the ongoing bullying situation unless she used bugs on her bullies, then."

    "Well, no. Why?" She looked at him, apparently missing the whole point of his comment.

    "Oh, no reason." He held up the document. "I've read it through. Do I need to sign it or something?"

    "No. Your acceptance is enough. When the outside world starts moving again, you will have your powers. I will no longer be here, but these men will still be. No time will have passed for them. Are you sure you don't want a power that will assist you in combat?"

    "No, no, I got this." He nodded to her. "Thanks, I'll take it from here."

    "Very well." She gestured; the golden glow vanished, as did the woman and the rolled-up parchment she was holding. As she'd advised him, the men were still there, with no idea what had happened.

    Danny smiled.

    <><>​

    Panacea

    Amy followed Atropos up into the motorhome and down the narrow corridor. A tall dark-haired guy watched them go past from the passenger seat; as Amy glanced at him, he leaned back slightly out of the way. She figured it was mainly due to her proximity to Atropos, as nobody ever showed her that level of extreme respect when she showed up in costume as Panacea.

    It was definitely something she could get used to, though.

    Two guys and two girls (one of the latter apparently needing a wheelchair) watched Amy and Atropos go past as they proceeded down the corridor, mingled fear and respect and hope in their eyes. She heard whispers start up behind them:

    "Was that the girl who was with her in Canberra?"

    "I don't know. Maybe."

    "I thought I heard Atropos say something about Panacea."

    "Shh!"

    They entered the rear of the motorhome, where a woman in her early twenties took up most of the room of what should've been a double-bed sleeping area. From the waist down, her body had bulged and mutated and grown extra parts, with eyes that blinked and teeth that snapped. Under all that, Amy presumed, were legs. Lots of legs.

    The woman herself was not really in great shape. She looked haggard and worn, with chapped lips and dry, lank hair. Covering her upper body was a college sweatshirt. No item short of a size fifty extra large muumuu could've covered her lower body.

    "Amy Dallon, meet Noelle Meinhardt." Atropos' tone was matter-of-fact. "Noelle, this is Amy. In a minute or so, she's going to be your very best friend in the whole world."

    "Don't touch me." Noelle's voice was tired, as though she'd said that a lot. "Every time someone touches me, I generate an evil clone of them, and we have to kill it." She rolled her eyes. "So. Many. Times."

    "Well, it's a good thing I'm here to kill your powers first, hey?" Atropos had switched from matter-of-fact to upbeat. She pulled her shears out and twirled them in a complicated pattern, then snipped the empty air over her other hand. Between one second and the next, her palm held a small plastic capsule. It had to be sleight of hand, but Amy would've required a camera with slowed-down footage to be sure. "Catch!"

    Noelle blinked at the legerdemain but caught the capsule out of the air anyway. Frowning, she pulled it apart to reveal … "A grape?"

    Atropos slid her shears back into their sheath. "Well, they do say an apple a day keeps the doctor away, but I couldn't find a capsule big enough for an apple. So, a grape's just going to have to do."

    "So, do I chew it up, or am I supposed to cut it into pieces?"

    "Just chew it up." Atropos shrugged. "Eat it like every other grape ever. Trust me, it'll do its job."

    The guy who'd gotten out to meet them spoke from over Amy's shoulder. "Um, what does it do? It's not poison, is it?"

    "It is actually, but it's the type that kills her powers and not her." Atropos tilted her head toward Noelle. "In your own time, hon."

    Taking a deep breath, Noelle popped the grape into her mouth and chewed on it, then swallowed. Amy watched her carefully; from the way the guy behind her was holding his breath, so was he. A few seconds passed, and Noelle didn't go into convulsions or start speaking in tongues.

    "Um … so how do I know when it's working?" she asked, gesturing at the eye on one of her outlying areas, which had just blinked.

    "Your skin fizzes when your power's active, does it not?" Atropos tilted her head. "Is it fizzing now?"

    Noelle studied her hands. "I … don't think so?"

    "Point. Okay, ready for a more dramatic test?" The shears were suddenly in her hand again. "You regenerate, correct?"

    "Very, very quickly." The tiredness was back. "Even my head, when I'm shot. But it still hurts."

    "Ready for a little pain?" Atropos poised the shears. "If the cut doesn't go away, no powers."

    "Sure, what's a little more?" Noelle spread her hands.

    "Alright then." Atropos slashed once with the shears. A cut opened up near the edge of Noelle's body, and a little blood flowed. Noelle barely reacted. The cut did not close.

    Atropos flicked the blood from her shears and slid them away. "Panacea, would you say that cut is still bleeding?"

    Amy nodded. "Yes, it is. Does that mean her powers are dead?"

    "It does." Atropos held up a finger. "We're going to need a skirt. Because unless you can make clothing at the same rate as you make someone's lower body, there's gonna be some nudity going on in here. And I don't know about you, but I'm just a delicate flower."

    Restraining herself from face-palming—Atropos was the exact opposite of a delicate flower, unless people were thinking of a Venus Flytrap on crack and steroids—Amy accepted a skirt that was passed forward to her, then handed it over to Noelle. "Put it on, then take my hands."

    Wonderingly, Noelle did so. All the information on her body—and holy shit, had her powers messed her up—poured into Amy's mind. There was a dead spot, gradually growing, where Noelle's powers had been centred, but there was still plenty of mass to rebuild her legs and everything else that belonged below the waist.

    Taking a deep breath, Amy set to work.

    <><>​

    Danny

    "You know, I don't think we will." John Giardini ran his hand over his clenched fist. "I think you need it explained to you how things work."

    "Are you aware who's bankrolling this project?" Danny was willing to let them walk out unscathed if they saw sense. "Atropos, that's who. And she's already maimed and blinded people for trying to steal from the coffers."

    "Which we're not doing," Pat Bianchi said flatly. "We're just laying down who you buy from, at what price. And you know, a little something-something coming back into your bank account isn't stealing either. That's money coming from us. A gesture of goodwill, let's say."

    "I've never taken kickbacks in all my time in the Association, and I'm definitely not about to start now." Danny planted his knuckles on the desk and stared the businessmen in the eye. "Just as I'm not about to pay your inflated prices when I can get better deals elsewhere. And before you think about killing me, Atropos would absolutely take it amiss, to the point where you and all your associates would go the way of the Slaughterhouse Nine and the Simurgh. So, I would advise you to write all your terms on a sheet of paper, roll it up really tightly, and shove it where the sun don't shine."

    Giardini shook his head. "He's not listening, Pat."

    Bianchi frowned. "You're right. He's not. Connor, Michael?"

    The large men who'd followed the aggregate and tar moguls into the office stirred and stepped forward. "Yes, sir?" asked one of them; Danny wasn't sure (and didn't care) if he was Connor or Michael.

    Bianchi gestured toward Danny. "Rough him up some, then spread his right hand out on the desk so I can break it."

    "Last chance." Danny could feel it coming together. The fight was about to start. And it was a 'group effort' in which he was involved. "Walk away … or be carried."

    "Big words for one against four," sneered Giardini. "Get him."

    With those words, he crystallised the situation. Danny was aware of every factor, every nuance. He knew which one was Connor and which was Michael; furthermore, he knew which way Connor would go, and that Michael would back his play. Michael had played gridiron in his youth, and had a weak left knee. Connor thought he was good-looking, and would prioritise his face for protection. And Giardini's statement of the odds had given Danny access to everyone in the room.

    Grabbing up a paperweight shaped like a dry bulk carrier, Danny hurled it at Bianchi's sneering face. Bianchi saw it coming and tried to dodge, but Danny shifted the odds of his hitting and Bianchi's dodging to the point that it struck dead centre, knocking the man cold.

    Connor was almost close enough to grab him by now, so he feinted a punch toward the man's face, forcing a flinch. That gave him just enough of an opening to grab up his chair and swing it into the side of Connor's head. Again, the chances were minimal that he'd score with it, but his newfound ability allowed him to lower the odds of a good defence and increase the possibility of a solid hit all the way up. The chair smashed into the side of Connor's head, sending him reeling across the desk then sliding to the floor.

    Michael was coming up behind him, but Danny knew exactly where he was and what he was doing; a back-kick with the hard heel of his shoe rammed into the thug's knee, eliciting a rending, cracking sound and a high-pitched scream from the stricken Michael.

    Placing his hand on the desk, Danny vaulted over it, increasing his chances of doing so to the point that he was successful. He landed in front of Giardini, who still seemed to be trying to comprehend what had happened to his colleague and his men. The man reflexively swung a punch, which Danny allowed to land, but dialled back the force to the point that it just barely split his lip and rocked his head back.

    Then he retaliated. Punch after punch, each one far harder and more accurate than he would've been able to land in the normal course of events, rocked Giardini on his heels and drove him backward across the room. Holding him up by his lapel, Danny looked him in the eye.

    "Get out of Brockton Bay, and don't make me come after you." Then he delivered a perfect right cross to the point of the man's jaw, dropping him unconscious to the ground.

    Strolling back to his desk, Danny pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his split knuckles, then picked up the phone and dialled 9-1-1. "Yes, police, please. My name is Danny Hebert, and I work at the Dockworkers' Association. I've just been attacked in my office."

    Giardini and Bianchi would lawyer up, of course. But they would also be out of Brockton Bay, and out of his hair. If they ever came back, he would be the least of their worries.

    <><>​

    Taylor

    I watched as Amy worked her magic, turning Noelle's monstrous lower body back into that of a young woman. As she worked, the excess mass seemed to almost wither and rot away, until Noelle was left sitting—legs curled under her—in the middle of a stinking circle of what remained.

    "Okay," said Amy. "Up you get." She tugged upward on Noelle's hands, and Noelle wobbled to her feet. One foot and then the other stepped out of what had been her prison for so long. And then she was standing, free of her bonds, wearing the sweatshirt and the skirt.

    "Oh my god," gasped Trickster—Francis Krouse—as he edged forward, trying not to shove past me. "Noelle. You're alright. You are alright, yeah?"

    As Amy let go her hands, she basically fell into his arms. "I am now," she said. "I want to take a three-hour shower, and wash my hair about ten times, then a pizza, then another shower … oh, god." She turned her beaming expression toward Amy and myself. "Thank you. Thank you, both of you, so very much."

    "Thank her." Amy gestured toward me. "This was all her idea."

    "So, um, the payment," Trickster said, not letting go of her. It would've required high explosive to separate them at this point, I gauged. "We've got some cash—"

    "I've got a better idea." I grinned under the mask. "No villains are allowed in the city. But if you pledge to me here and now that you won't break the law in Brockton Bay, I'm thinking you could maybe find worthwhile employment on the road gangs, using your powers. So instead of paying money, you could actually earn some. Legitimately, even."

    "And if we don't?" asked Ballistic. "Not that I'm against the idea, but my power isn't that great for construction, and I'm totally untrained for anything like that."

    I tilted my head. "Well, the other option is that I could accept your payment, then send you back home to Aleph." Stunned faces stared back at me. "Tell you what, think about it and let me know. Panacea needs to go home, and I have to deliver a message."

    I turned and headed back down the corridor to the exit, and stepped out of the motorhome, with Amy right behind me. "Ready to go home?" I asked as the shadowy portal formed in midair.

    She nodded. "Sure, but where will you be going to deliver your message?"

    I held up the vial she'd given me, of targeted viral contagion. "Ellisburg."



    End of Part Fifty-One
     
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    • Part Fifty-Two: Diplomacy, Atropos Style
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Fifty-Two: Diplomacy, Atropos Style

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


    Sundancer

    Marissa was grinning all over her face as she and Krouse helped a positively giddy Noelle into the shower. Atropos had left just moments ago, taking Panacea with her, but Noelle was okay now! Granted, she would need to learn how to walk all over again …

    Oh.

    "Oh, shit," she whispered, her happiness falling away.

    "What?" asked Krouse.

    "Jess. We forgot to ask Jess if …"

    "Don't worry about it," Jess said, from just down the corridor. "I should've said something too, but I didn't. Anyway, it looked like they were focused on Noelle, and she's fine now, so that's a win, yeah?"

    Her words were brave, but Marissa saw through them to the hurt that lay underneath. She'd felt that a time or two herself. Why do they get the prize, and not me?

    "Next time we talk to her, we can ask," Oliver said firmly. "She did say to get back to her when we were ready to make a decision about where we wanted to go and what we wanted to do. We'll just say something about it then, that's all."

    "Totally." Cody put his hand on Jess' shoulder from behind. "Nobody gets left behind. Not when we're so close to getting where we want to go."

    "Yeah," agreed Marissa, glad that they were all on the same page.

    "Sure, we can do that." Jess tried to fake an uncaring attitude, but again Marissa saw through it. "If it's not too much trouble, just saying. I've been in this thing most of my life; it won't be the end of the world if I don't get out of it."

    Marissa met Krouse's eyes, and he nodded. He was on board too, which was good.

    One way or another, Jess was going to get her chance.

    <><>​

    Taylor

    Returning to the scene of the crime has always taken a certain type of bravery (or stupidity, depending on one's point of view). I'd already been to Ellisburg once, on a smash-and-grab mission; specifically, to grab some of Nilbog's DNA. The incursion had also served to demonstrate to the Goblin King that I was not someone to be fucked with.

    Of course, while nobody outside the wall knew I'd already been in there, and nobody but Panacea and I knew why I'd been there, this time around my presence was semi-official. With that in mind, my first stop was the command post for the Ellisburg containment area. It was in a 'temporary' demountable building, which had been there longer than some of the newer buildings in Brockton Bay.

    The guards on duty outside the command post were visibly startled when I stepped out of the portal in front of them. A rifle and a foam sprayer were lining up toward me when the guards recognised me, and just as hastily pointed the weapons away again. I had no weapons in hand, which possibly assisted in that decision.

    "Hi," I said cheerfully. "I'm here on behalf of Director Piggot. Need to have a word with your commanding officer."

    The one on the right reached up and rapped on the door. "Sir?" he called out. "Uh … Atropos is here to see you!"

    Those were possibly six words that nobody ever wanted to hear. Or rather, a very select group of people would be okay with hearing that. Everybody else would be immediately looking over their recent past, to see what they'd done to earn my attention. I was perfectly fine with this attitude, as it made my job a lot easier.

    The door opened after a moment, and an officer stepped out. He was wearing fatigues instead of the same armour as everyone else—by now, troopers were staring at me from all over the compound, though they weren't coming any closer—but I suspected his armour was really close by, just in case he had to gear up in a tearing hurry. Two steps brought him down to ground level, where he stopped and squared his shoulders.

    "Good evening, ma'am," he said almost curtly. "I'm Major Holden. What do you need from us?"

    I gauged this attitude to be his fallback for when he was faced with higher-ups showing up unexpectedly. He wasn't saluting because I wasn't military, but he was being respectful and prompt. I could work with that.

    "This is more of a courtesy call than anything else." I gestured toward the wall in the distance. "Director Piggot has engaged my services to End Nilbog once and for all. In a minute, I'll be going in there and giving him twenty-four hours to surrender to the PRT. If he doesn't, I'll be back in twenty-four hours to kill him."

    I was pretty sure I heard some under-the-breath swearing from inside the guards' helmets, but Major Holden was made of sterner stuff. "I see," he said. "You are aware that if anything goes wrong, we will not be able to send men in there to rescue you." It wasn't a question.

    "Major, if you'd offered to send volunteers in with me, I would've had to turn you down." I turned my hands palm up in lieu of a visible smile. "No offense, but they just can't do what I can."

    He nodded in acknowledgement. "Having seen the footage, ma'am, none taken." He didn't specify exactly what footage, but I suspected it didn't matter. "Though may I make a request, ma'am?"

    "Sure, go ahead." I was pretty sure I knew what he wanted to ask, and it aligned with my aims.

    "All the information we have of the interior comes from cameras and drones, but they've gotten very good at nailing anything we set up to look inside, and satellite imagery doesn't give us a great deal." He took a deep breath. "If we rigged you with a body-cam, ma'am, would you be amenable to wearing it in there? Any footage at all would give us invaluable data."

    I nodded. "I can do that. I mean, in about twenty-five hours he's not actually going to be an issue, but sure." However, the footage would definitely join all the other bits and pieces that ensured nobody fucked with me or mine.

    Major Holden almost smiled. "That's excellent news, ma'am. If you would please accompany me?"

    <><>​

    Danny

    It seemed that someone in the precinct was on the ball. When Danny had given them the names of John Giardini and Pat Bianchi, red flags would absolutely have popped up in the right sort of search. It wasn't that they'd ever been convicted of criminal offenses, precisely, but they each had several known associates who definitely had. Giardini and Bianchi, in short, were what was officially known in the trade as 'persons of interest'.

    Bianchi had recovered first, but by that time Danny had secured their wrists behind their backs with a bunch of cable ties from his bottom drawer—he didn't keep them there for that reason, but the things were endlessly useful—and retrieved the autographed hockey stick from its place of pride in Kurt's office. Each of the men he'd put down had wisely decided not to try to break free, once they'd realised he now held an actual weapon. It seemed nobody wanted to bet on the odds that he was planning to go out later and hit a puck around.

    When Danny heard the sirens, he wasn't sure how many cars had shown up, but from the flashing lights, it was more than one. With the hockey stick leaning safely against the desk beside him, he held up his hands in plain view and called out to them. No fewer than six cops came into the office and stared at the men lying on the floor, then at Danny.

    "Good evening, officers," he said politely. "I'm Danny Hebert. These men just threatened and assaulted me. I want them arrested."

    The first cop who'd come in through the door, a beefy sergeant, looked down at Giardini and grinned. There was definitely some recognition going on there. "I believe we can arrange that, sir."

    "What the hell was that?" demanded Giardini, finally coherent enough to string a sentence together. "How in God's name did you do that?"

    Danny decided to go with the literal (if misleading) truth. "I'm a Dockworker. Always have been, always will be."

    <><>​

    Taylor

    While I was waiting for the body-cam to be sorted out, I checked on my mental map of allies and threats. Amy was singing to her mushroom babies, Dad was talking to the cops, Cherie was chilling on the sofa in front of the TV, and Riley was laughing at a comedy along with Aisha, so that was all good. Valefor was planning to infiltrate Winslow on Monday, and … huh.

    I was on the minds of several of the Travellers, but not in a bad way. Noelle was still thrilled to bits about being fully human again (and Francis was equally thrilled), but a couple of the others were nursing the intent to ask me to do something about Genesis' paraplegia. I'd known she needed a wheelchair, but my interest in the matter had ended there. My whole reason for showing up had been to End the problem that Noelle posed. Genesis hadn't even registered on my radar at that point.

    Did that preclude me from being a good person? Possibly, but I already knew that about myself. Did I give a fuck? Not in the slightest. I had bigger issues to deal with.

    Though if I wanted to, there were two separate ways I could End Genesis' problem with minimal effort. Amy was the first; she'd had already met the Travellers, and had the beginnings of a professional rapport with them, but I didn't think I'd ask her again. For one thing, I didn't want to call on her too often. And for another, I was pretty damn sure she'd cured paralysis before. I preferred to give her power interesting and unusual challenges, to keep it on its metaphorical toes and stop it from getting bored.

    Bored shards, I gathered, could get very problematic very quickly, though I didn't have any first-hand knowledge of that; my power had never been bored since I got it. Something about a 'target-rich environment', or so I gathered.

    My second option was (of course) Riley. She absolutely had the know-how to get Genesis back on her feet, and I strongly suspected she would jump at the chance.

    If I did this, I wouldn't make it contingent on the Travellers assisting in the Brockton Bay rebuilding. That sort of thing tended to breed resentment and malicious compliance, and I had no desire to find out just how big a mess a bunch of unhappy capes could make by 'helping'. On the other hand, I'd already made the suggestion, so there was a good chance they'd volunteer anyway.

    And if they opted to go back to Aleph instead, they'd be out of my hair, so that was a win-win situation all around.

    With that in mind, I opened my phone up and sent off a text just as they brought me the body-cam.

    <><>​

    Tenebrae

    Seated on the weight bench in his bedroom, Brian steadily curled each weight up from full arm extension to his pec: left, right, left, right. Out in the living room, he could hear the girls enjoying a comedy, and a grin crossed his lips. It was good to see Aisha having fun that didn't involve going out and vandalising stuff; when she was around Riley, she visibly matured by a couple of years, even though she probably didn't see it herself.

    A couple of reps later, he registered that the movie had shut off, and so had the girls' laughter. That was unusual enough for him to lean over and put the weights on the floor, just as Riley knocked on his open bedroom door. She looked pensive, which was unusual enough these days to get his full attention.

    "Hey, sprout," he said easily. "What's up?"

    "I, uh, just got a text," she said, holding out her Wards phone.

    Brian frowned. That was odd, because his phone was in his pocket, and he hadn't gotten one. The procedure, as he understood it, was to keep him in the loop if she was being called out, seeing as he was her primary caregiver. "Who from, and where are you being called out to?"

    "It's from Atropos, actually."

    That got his attention. He stood up from the bench and took a step toward her. "What does she want?" He was fully aware that Atropos was exceedingly unlikely to intend harm toward the girl he was seeing more and more as his baby sister, but his emotional reaction didn't care about his intellectual understanding.

    "Well, um, she says there's a bunch of ex-villains called the Travellers out at the city limits, and one of them's in a wheelchair because she's been a paraplegic since forever, and if I wanted to, I could go and fix her spine for her." She took a deep breath, having said that all in a rush. "Can I? I mean, helping people is what I want to do now."

    Shit. Okay, how do I handle this?

    Brian was certain that rushing out of the apartment to go fix someone up at any time of night or day, even if it was in response to a message from Atropos, was not a great idea. However, Riley looked ready to call a cab if he took too long to make up his mind. And healing people was a thing heroes did. We're heroes now, aren't we? Time to think like someone who does this for a living.

    "I'll make a call," he said. When in doubt, kick it upstairs. The absolute last thing he wanted to do was endanger his own probationary state by taking action on his own when he had an entire chain of command to call upon.

    She beamed. "Thank you! You're the best!"

    "You're pretty cool too, sprout." He dug his phone out and hit the number for the Wards' duty phone.

    "You've reached the Wards, Aegis speaking. Hi, Tenebrae, what's up?"

    Triumph must have been off duty, Brian realised. It didn't matter; Aegis was as squared-away as they came. "Hi, yeah, Miss Medic just got a text from Atropos. Apparently there are some ex-villains, that's how she described them anyway, at the city limits. A gang called the Travellers; ever heard of them?"

    "I have, yes. Just not much in the way of detail." Brian heard rapid typing. "Let's see … a teleporter, someone who can make a literal sun appear in the same room, a changer, and a blaster. That's all the hard info we've got on them. She's saying Atropos described them as being ex-villains?"

    "That's what she said. The reason Atropos contacted her was that one of them is apparently wheelchair-bound, and if Riley wanted to go out there and fix her spine, she could."

    "And she wants to go?"

    "She's giving me puppy-dog eyes right now."

    "She's definitely dedicated to helping people, I'll give her that. Okay, I do not have the authority to make a call on something like this. I'll call the Deputy Director and let you know how it turns out."

    "Thanks. I appreciate it." Brian ended the call and returned his attention to Riley. "Aegis is checking with the higher-ups. He'll let me know."

    "Oh, cool. I like Aegis. He's nice."

    He raised his eyebrows. "Be honest, you like everyone in the Wards."

    "Well, yeah, that's true." She nodded judiciously. "But that's 'cause they're all nice to me. None of them are mean because I'm the youngest."

    "They're good people," he agreed. "I like them too. They're giving me a chance when they really didn't have to." He'd taken the time to get to know each of his teammates, and the effort had paid off.

    It wasn't like the old days with the Undersiders, but that was mainly because he didn't have to deal with wall-to-wall snark and dog hair. Sometimes he missed the camaraderie he'd felt with Lisa and Rachel … well, Lisa, and Alec … well, okay, just Lisa … but only sometimes.

    Those had been wild times, and the adrenaline had definitely flowed, but he'd never been in it for the crime or even the thrill. It had been all about protecting Aisha. And now he had all he'd ever wanted, and more besides. It had just taken the intercession of Atropos, the murder of Coil, and a change of sides.

    "So, do you think they'll let me go?" She looked hopefully at his phone. "I mean, it's Atropos. Why wouldn't they?"

    Personally, he figured her logic was on point—he wouldn't go against Atropos' wishes if he could possibly help it—but the world unfortunately did not always run on logic. "I can't think of a reason, but that just means I might not have all the information they do."

    "Or they don't have all the information you do," she retorted.

    While he was still thinking of a response to that, his phone rang. He tapped the answer icon, then put it on speaker. "Tenebrae here. Miss Medic is present as well."

    "Great!" Aegis said cheerfully. "You've been cleared to go. A van will be arriving shortly to act as your transport. Assault and Battery will be coming along as an escort, and to speak to the Travellers about their new status."

    "And maybe recruit one or two of them?" suggested Brian, over Riley's whoop of joy.

    Aegis chuckled. "That's definitely outside my pay grade, but anything's possible."

    "True. Thanks a lot, and see you around." Brian ended the call and turned to Riley, intending to tell her to go suit up, but she was already out of the room.

    Well, he mused as he pulled his own costume off its dummy, this should be interesting, anyway.

    Any situation involving Atropos usually was.

    <><>​

    Taylor

    Body-camera affixed to my long-coat—I'd honestly expected something bulkier, but it seemed camera technology was getting more advanced by the day—I teleported into Ellisburg. This time I appeared in the open, the contents of the vial soaking into (and evaporating from) the sleeves of my long-coat. There were more of the goblinoid things, each one a different size and shape from the snaggle-toothed monstrosity I'd killed earlier.

    The next thing I noticed was the strings of fairy lights hanging between the buildings; between the lights and the fantasy re-imagining of the town itself, it actually looked quite charming. Where they'd gotten the lights from, I had no idea, but then again, I didn't care either.

    "Intruder!" bellowed the nearest goblinoid, pulling a rusty, serrated blade from a sheath and leaping at me. "Kill it!"

    Ending it permanently would've been counterproductive, but I had other options. As the thing came at me, waving its blade menacingly, I sidestepped and drove the rear handgrip of my good friend Mr Pump Action Shotgun into his face, right between his beady little eyes. His feet flew out from under him, the blade clattered onto the cobblestones, and he landed hard on his back, out cold.

    I fired the shotgun into the air, then racked the action as they hesitated. "I'm here to meet with your king!" I shouted. "I call diplomatic parley! I wish to speak in peace with him!"

    They might have been psychotic little misshapen monsters, but they weren't stupid psychotic little misshapen monsters. Word of my previous incursion had evidently been spread around by Rinke, including how I'd killed two of theirs and they hadn't laid a claw on me. And now I'd knocked the one guy unconscious and demanded to see Rinke himself.

    They formed a circle around me, muttering to each other, while I kept the shotgun pointed at the sky. I knew Rinke could see through their eyes, as did they; we were both waiting for the same thing. A messenger from the king.

    One arrived in impressively short time. From the way it was panting, it must have run all the way. Its legs looked spindly, but I suspected it had a fair turn of speed. "Parley with the king!" it squeaked. "Parley with the king!"

    "Lead on," I said. "Let's parley."

    We walked through Ellisburg, or what the town had been transformed into through the imagination of Jamie Rinke. Buildings torn apart and reassembled in fairytale structures, cobblestones instead of asphalt, and over all was a brooding menace.

    Well, that last bit might have been my imagination. And if I'd cared about it more, it might've actually affected me.

    Goblinoids shambled, strutted and galumphed (I could've lived my whole life without ever learning what 'galumphing' looked like) on all sides, escorting me to Rinke. As close as they were, they inhaled the virus-laden fumes from my sleeves. The virus did three things: first, it lowered the aggressiveness index. Second, it went straight to whatever they used for gonads and rendered them inert and infertile. When this disease reached Rinke's spawning beasts, he was going to have a sudden lack of new blood. And third, it laid the immune system wide open to the second virus in the sequence, which I had not brought with me.

    Each goblinoid inhaled the fumes, and the virus bred within them; within minutes, they were exhaling more of the spores in all directions. I knew I was breathing it in too, but that didn't matter. Not being related to Jamie Rinke, I was immune to its effects.

    After a winding trek through the bucolic Goblin Kingdom, we eventually approached an open-air gathering where Rinke sat on a sagging throne, holding court. I'd put my shotgun away, knowing they wouldn't dare attack me unless their lord and master gave the order. Even if I'd had it in my hand, I still wouldn't have been tempted to blow Rinke's head off, for the very good reason that Jamie Rinke wasn't the one sitting on the throne. Instead, he was underground, linked to his bloated homunculus via an umbilical cord.

    "Who approaches?" he demanded in his bizarre accent. "Who dares strike down My subjects, yet walks free?" I could literally hear him putting the capitalisations on the words.

    "I am Atropos," I told him, putting all the pitch and spin on those three words that I could. My power added some of its own influence, and I saw him flinch and lean away from me. "I am Death incarnate, and I am here to give you a message."

    He fumbled for his composure. "Life and death are My playthings here, in My Kingdom! You dare usurp that from me?"

    "No, Goblin King, I do not." I waited until the muttering and booing and jeering had ceased. "I am not here to kill any of your subjects. But the outside world that has long since kept your borders from expanding tires of your presence. In their eyes, your Kingdom is a weeping sore upon the land."

    "You insult me!" He appeared to be trying to cover his earlier discombobulation by working himself into a rage. One long arm pointed a taloned finger toward me. "You insult the Kingdom itself, my glorious, lovely Kingdom! Why do you say such things?"

    "Because it's true." I was losing patience with this nutjob. "I have come to pass on a message. If you do not surrender yourself, peacefully and without treachery, to those outside by this time tomorrow, I will return … and I will kill you."

    "You? Just one of you? Kill Me?" He cackled with insane laughter, which turned in an instant to rage. "Seize her! Bind her limbs! Bring her to me on her knees!"

    I ducked under the first reaching arm, dodged the second, and broke the wrist of the third. Over the howls of the thing that had tried to grab me, I shouted at Rinke. "You have been warned! Twenty-four hours!"

    The ground broke apart almost under my feet, and I rolled aside from the claw-tipped tentacle that emerged. There was an eye on the tentacle as well, and it swerved to jab at me. I dodged a second time, then back-flipped as the teleporter kicked in, forming the portal behind me.

    The claw-tentacle slashed at me as I went through the portal; I landed on my feet, and three inches of claw landed on the ground in front of me. Bending down, I picked it up. It was razor-sharp, and had been sliced through neatly when the portal closed.

    The guards outside the command post weren't as startled when I appeared this time. Approaching them, I disconnected the body-cam from my coat. "Here," I said. "The message has been delivered, and footage has been recorded."

    "Uh, thank you, ma'am," the guard said, accepting the camera. "Did you want to speak to Major Holden?"

    "Nah." I shook my head. "Everything's on the camera. Toodles."

    With that, the short-range teleport kicked in, taking me away from the command post. I hadn't gone far with the last portal jump, so it wouldn't take long to recharge for the jump home.

    I couldn't wait.



    End of Part Fifty-Two
     
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    • Part Fifty-Three: Learning New Viewpoints
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Fifty-Three: Learning New Viewpoints

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


    Sundancer

    The debate was still ongoing, well after the sun had gone down. Nobody else was using the rest stop, so they were sitting around a concrete picnic table with a pressure lamp on it for light. The reason for this was twofold: one, the interior of the RV was too cramped for any kind of reasonable group discussion where everyone could see everyone else's faces; and two, the mess that had been left behind after Noelle was fixed was still airing out despite their best efforts to clean it up, and nobody wanted to be sitting in that kind of atmosphere.

    The meal they were sharing had been fixed up out of their stash of canned goods, but they were more interested in deciding what they should do, going forward. Given the sudden change in circumstances, their options were suddenly a whole lot more numerous.

    Luke wanted to go back to Aleph and be a superhero for cash, and Marissa agreed with going back (though she could take or leave the cash). Krouse and Noelle didn't care where they were, so long as they were together, and Jess and Cody had suggested seeing what the rebuilding of Brockton Bay actually looked like before rejecting the idea. Oliver, as usual, had no real opinion on the matter.

    "I just don't like the idea of splitting up like that," Marissa said. "If we go and you get left behind, you might never get back to Aleph."

    Cody frowned. "Yeah, but—"

    "Car," Jess interjected, pointing at where headlights were swinging into the rest stop. "No, wait. Van."

    It was a high blocky vehicle, Marissa saw, with lots of ground clearance. And then it drove past a light pole, and she saw the markings. "PRT! What's the PRT doing here?"

    There was only one possible explanation. "Shit," muttered Krouse. "They're here for us, aren't they? Okay, don't start anything, but if shit goes sideways, get Jess and Noelle to the RV and we'll do a fighting retreat."

    "Copy that," Cody replied tersely. "Call it when you see it."

    Marissa felt another wave of the sheer weirdness that had overtaken the team in the last twenty-four hours. Krouse was actually being a good leader, and Cody wasn't taking every chance to snipe at him. But there was no time to dwell on it. She took a deep breath and flexed her hands, ready to generate a smallish sun to drive back anyone who aggressed on them.

    "No flashing lights," she ventured hopefully. "Maybe they're not here to arrest us?"

    Luke snorted. "Since when have we been that lucky?"

    "This is Atropos' town, like the sign says." Jess apparently thought the same as Marissa did. "Do you think she'd go to all the trouble of getting Panacea out here to fix Noelle's problems, then sic the PRT on us afterward?"

    There was a thoughtful silence, punctuated by the van pulling to a halt and the engine shutting down. "Maybe she doesn't know they're doing this?" suggested Krouse. "No, wait, that makes no sense at all. Not after what she's done." He took a deep breath. "No aggression, none, until we find out what they want."

    The doors of the van opened, and half a dozen people got out. As they stepped into a nearby pool of light, Marissa saw that there were five adults and one kid; two of the adults were wearing PRT armour but were hanging back, and the other four were in costume. There was a man in red, a woman in black with glowing blue circuit-board lines on her costume, and a tall buff black guy in a hooded martial-arts style costume and domino mask, who was carrying a large case. The kid was wearing cute pastel camo scrubs and a downsized military helmet, and had thick bracers on her forearms.

    "We come in peace," the red-costumed guy announced, holding his hands up to show they were empty. This wasn't necessarily a sign of good intent—Blaster powers were a thing—but the overall attitude of the group was not aggressive. "You nice folks would be, uh, travelling, yeah?"

    Any suspicion that the PRT didn't know who they were evaporated into the chilly night air. Marissa didn't know exactly what was going on, and she suspected nobody else did either. This was not the tone that they usually got when interacting with law enforcement aware of their true nature.

    "That would be us." Krouse actually managed to sound unconcerned and in charge of the situation. He stood up, but didn't move away from the table. "Can we help you?"

    "Actually, it's the other way around," the woman said. "We're here to help you. Specifically, Miss Medic here got a text from Atropos, mentioning your friend here in the wheelchair. So, she's volunteered her time to come out here and do some pro bono work."

    That statement had the same effect on Marissa's understanding of the situation as a large rock dropped into a small pond. As she stared, trying to make sense of what she'd just heard, Jess spoke up. "What?"

    The guy in the martial arts outfit—and man, could he really rock that look—cleared his throat. "Let's start again. Hi, I'm Tenebrae, of the Brockton Bay Wards. Assault and Battery are here as Protectorate reps to make sure nobody does anything stupid. I also happen to be Miss Medic's primary caregiver, so anywhere she goes, I go. She got a text message from Atropos about your situation and asked me if she could help. Official permission was given, and here we are. Does that make more sense?"

    Cody raised a hand, like he was in class. "So … you guys actually do what Atropos says?"

    Assault coughed into his closed fist, making a sound not unlike 'hell yes'. Then he spoke more clearly. "Not … officially. But when she makes a suggestion, Director Piggot absolutely does not reject the idea out of hand. And when she described you as 'ex-villains', we were intrigued. The more villains who become ex-villains, the better. In my humble opinion, of course."

    Despite the gravity of the situation, Marissa had to fight down a curl of her lip. If I'm not much mistaken, that man has never had a humble opinion in his life.

    "So, you just came out here to help Genesis?" Luke peered at the kid calling herself Miss Medic. "What can you do, exactly? I mean, I don't want to say 'you're just a kid, but …"

    Miss Medic nodded earnestly. "I am a kid, yeah. But you might be surprised." She approached Jess, with Tenebrae following close behind. "Would you like me to fix your spine?"

    Jess blinked a couple of times. Marissa was fairly certain she might have been asked that specific question before, but never by a middle schooler. "And you can do it, just like that? I've been in a wheelchair since I was four." The aching hope almost hidden in her tone brought tears to Marissa's eyes.

    "And wouldn't you need a whole operating theatre or something?" asked Oliver.

    "And why would Atropos even tell you about us?" That was Krouse.

    The girl drew herself up as tall as she was able. "Ever since I became Miss Medic, I've wanted to help people. Atropos knows this. She's nice. So, she told me because she knew I'd want to help." She looked over at Oliver and grinned, then snapped her fingers. A whole bunch of panels popped open on the bracer on that arm, and Marissa was suddenly staring at a mass of surgical tools, from syringes to scalpels to tiny rotating saws. "And I bring my tools with me, wherever I go."

    "But can you do it?" pressed Jess. "Half the surgeries I had left me worse off than before. I'm sick of being cut open for no good reason."

    Miss Medic snapped her fingers again, and the surgical tools vanished back inside the bracer. "Let's put it this way. If you didn't have legs, I could build you working legs in less than a day. When everything's still present, but not connected up right? Pfft. Not even a challenge."

    "So, uh, where were you planning on doing the surgery?" asked Marissa. "Because I don't think the ground is a good idea, and this table would not be comfortable."

    "For that," Battery said briskly, "we have a stretcher inside the van. If you're okay with this?"

    Jess blinked again. "Jesus Christ," she muttered, then looked around at the rest of the Travellers. Marissa gave her an encouraging nod and smile, and she saw the others offering similar expressions of support. Finally, Jess herself nodded. "Okay, then," she said. "Let's see what you can do."

    Miss Medic beamed.

    <><>​

    Atropos

    I teleported into the kitchen with the pizza in one hand and bottle of soda in the other, not wanting to startle Cherie overmuch. From the living room, I heard the dialogue on the TV.

    "Grandpa? Maybe you can come over and read it again to me tomorrow."

    "As you wish."

    A grin spread across my face as I removed the hat and mask, then shrugged out of the long-coat and hung it up on the back of Dad's chair. Carrying the pizza and soda along with a couple of cups, I headed through into the living room. "Hey, I'm home. I see you found our DVD collection."

    Sitting up on the sofa, Cherie went to hide the tissue she'd just been dabbing at her eyes with, then visibly changed her mind. "Yeah," she said, sounding a little nasal. After blowing her nose (and getting a fresh tissue), she kept talking. "That's an amazing movie. How come you never told me how good it was?"

    "It's totally one of the best movies ever," I agreed, sitting at the other end of the sofa and putting the pizza box down between us. "And I think I might've mentioned it a couple of times. But there's lots of good movies out there." I opened the box. "Behold, pizza."

    "Ooh, yes," she enthused, scooping up one of the still-warm slices. I did the same from my side, and the next few moments were spent enjoying three of the four main food groups when it came to being a teenager: salt, fat, and half-melted cheese (the last one being sugar, which was what the soda was for). When she finished the first slice, she picked up a second one but didn't eat it immediately. "Oh, and I laughed so hard when I recognised the dialogue you used during the sword fight. I guess Mouse Protector's a fan, too?"

    I chuckled. "Seeing as she uses a sword, and considering her personality, I would've been surprised if she wasn't. So, if you liked it so much, why were you crying?"

    "Because it was so beautiful." She took a bite from her second slice and waved it for emphasis while she chewed and swallowed. "Where the kid's sick, and the grandfather is there to keep him company and make him feel better. There's no hidden agenda. He's just there for his grandson. If I'd seen that before I ran away, I wouldn't have understood it. I mean, I did watch bits and pieces of TV shows and movies that I know I totally didn't understand the way I do now. Because living here, in this house, I've learned that can actually happen."

    I smiled. "That's good. I'm glad. And we can absolutely watch it again, if you want. Use all the tissues you need." Just as I started on my second slice, the gravel driveway alongside the house crunched as Dad drove in.

    Cherie looked down at the pizza. "Will we get in trouble for eating this on the sofa instead of at the table?"

    I snorted. "Hardly. Dad and me have done this before, plenty of times. He might get upset if we eat all the meat lovers slices before he comes in, though."

    "Okay, cool. I'll go let him in." Getting up from the sofa, she left her slice behind in an empty section of the box, and headed through to the kitchen. From where I was sitting, I could see her unlock the back door and open it for Dad.

    "Hey, Mr Hebert," she said cheerfully. "We haven't eaten all the pizza yet, but you might have to hurry."

    "Hi, Cherie." He offered me a wave as he came in through the back door. "Thank you very much." Pausing for a second, he looked closely at her. "Have you been crying? What's the matter?"

    "She watched The Princess Bride while we were out," I called through from the living room. "There was a bit of emotional overload going on."

    "Ah." He nodded, looking somewhat enlightened, as he took his coat off. "All is explained. So, what are we watching now? We haven't had a movie night in a while." After hanging up his coat, he headed through into the entrance hall. "I'm just going to wash my hands and face, then I'll be right with you."

    "Take your time," I said with a smirk. "These meat lovers slices are looking amazingly tasty right now."

    "Don't you even think about it!" he called out. By now, Cherie was back in the living room, giggling at our banter.

    I grinned at her, and pitched my voice loudly enough that Dad could hear. "Mwahahaha."

    "My daughter is evil!"

    "Well, duh!"

    <><>​

    Tenebrae

    After her preliminary examination of Genesis, Riley had determined that she was going to need access to the woman's legs as well as her spine, so as Brian understood it, the ex-villain was currently down to her underwear. For this reason, the doors to the van were closed, and Riley was working with Battery and Sundancer as surgical assistants (more to keep the PRT and the Travellers happy than out of any real need).

    The case he'd been carrying was in there too; it contained a selection of her 'instant spare parts'. This consisted of bits and pieces she'd made up ahead of time and kept in storage in case they were ever needed in the middle of surgery. However it worked, he was glad Riley was embracing the role of Miss Medic. As he stood with his back to the doors but within earshot, he could hear her voice giving instructions calmly and concisely.

    "Okay, that's the main artificial neural fibre path run through there. Genesis, I'm about to connect up your left leg to the network. You should be feeling a tingle in some or all of your toes when I do … this."

    "Yipe. Wow. I haven't felt my toes tingle in so long. Um … I don't think my big toe is, though."

    "Ah-hah. Yes, you're right. Connecting that up … now. How's that?"

    "Oh, yeah. Big toe feels like a champagne cork about to pop."

    "Excellent. Now let's work on the right leg."

    The leader of the Travellers, the one who'd been introduced as Trickster, approached him from where Assault was chatting to the others. "What's happening in there? How are they doing?"

    Brian shrugged. "I'm not about to sneak a peek, but I understand that she just felt the toes on her left foot tingle. Apparently that's a good sign?"

    "Oh, heck yeah." Trickster smiled with relief. "She hasn't felt anything below the knees for years. We've had to make sure she doesn't have any ongoing injuries from chafing and stuff. If her toes are tingling, that's really good."

    "Well, since Atropos took out Bonesaw, Miss Medic has been just about the best surgeon in the world, so Genesis is in good hands." It was never a bad time to lay the groundwork for distracting people from realising the truth. "So, how long have you guys been a team?"

    Trickster scratched the back of his neck. "Just before Christmas oh-nine. It was a pretty bad time. Simurgh attack. We all got powers around the same time, and we've been bouncing from pillar to post ever since."

    "Damn." Brian shook his head. "You know she's dead, right? Atropos got her."

    "Yeah." Trickster grinned as he nodded. "Best damn thing I've seen since forever."

    "It was definitely up there," agreed Brian. He frowned, trying to recall the sequence of Endbringer attacks. "Late oh-nine, Simurgh … wait, that was Madison, wasn't it? Wisconsin. That's still a quarantine zone. Or it was until yesterday."

    "So, it's really true?" Trickster seemed to be seeking validation for something. "All the Simurgh bombs are now defused?"

    "Well, I don't know any personally," Brian confessed. "But that's what Atropos told the Simurgh to do, and there's been stories on the news about people breaking down and crying over suddenly being free from the voices in their heads."

    "Yeah." Trickster nodded slowly. "I can understand that. I think—"

    Whatever he thought was destined to never be aired, because just then Sundancer's voice echoed from inside the van. "You see that? Your foot moved! You moved your foot!"

    Trickster stared at Brian, wide-eyed. "Did you hear that?"

    Brian grinned and offered a high-five. "Hell yes."

    Trickster returned it, then headed off to give his teammates the good news. Brian remained where he was, but the grin stayed on his face.

    Moments like this were worth all the crap.

    <><>​

    Forty-Five Minutes Later

    Riley

    "… and that should do it. All nerves showing connectivity, haptic feedback operating correctly." Riley paused. "If you're feeling any pain or discomfort, now's the time to tell me."

    Genesis frowned thoughtfully. "No, it all feels good."

    "Okay, test number two." Riley extruded a probe from her left bracer. "I'm going to count while I tap with the probe. Let me know if you hear a number but don't feel anything. One, two, three …" As she counted, she tapped her way down Genesis' left leg. On 'seventeen', she winked at Sundancer and waved the probe in midair. "Eighteen, nineteen—"

    "Wait, I didn't feel anything on seventeen."

    "No, that was my bad. Seventeen." She tapped the point she'd missed, then kept going. Once she was done, she started closing the incisions she'd made, sealing them with a surgical glue of her personal devising that worked better than the commercial stuff. "Now let's do the final movement test. Left foot, toes."

    "Left foot, okay." Genesis wriggled the toes on that foot. They all responded.

    "Right foot, toes."

    "Right foot, okay." More wriggling ensued.

    "Left ankle."

    "Left ankle, okay."

    One joint at a time, they worked their way up Genesis' legs, confirming she had active conscious control of both limbs. Finally, Riley sat back. "Alright, then. Everything seems to be in at least minimal working order. Let's get you presentable, and take this show on the road."

    "Wait, you're saying I can walk?" asked Genesis. "Just like that?"

    "Not … exactly." Riley cleared her throat. "Your leg muscles were just about gone, and the nerve structures with them. But I've put in artificial fibres for both, for your body to build on. I could entirely replace the absent muscles, but that would take a bit longer, and feel weird until they were properly seated."

    "In addition, child labour laws prohibit Miss Medic from working past midnight in her cape identity," Battery added. "So even if you were willing to undergo the longer procedure, the legalities of the situation make it impossible. I am sorry about that, by the way."

    Genesis sighed. "Okay, I guess I'm going to just have to take legs that I can definitely feel with again, and can kind of move around when I'm lying down. That's definitely a step up, pun intended. But what's it going to be like when I try to get vertical?"

    "That's what we're going to find out now." Riley and Sundancer assisted Genesis in putting her clothes back on—her newfound control of her legs came in handy there—and then they opened the rear doors of the van.

    "Genesis!" Trickster came over, with the woman called Noelle leaning on his arm. Ballistic, Perdition, and the guy called Oliver were close behind. "How are you? Can you walk now?"

    "Did she give you robot legs?" called out Perdition. "Because that would actually be kinda cool."

    "That would've taken me another three, four hours," Riley retorted. "Genesis is not walking right now. But she should be able to stand with assistance, and maybe totter a few steps. Tenebrae, Ballistic, if you big strong men could help her down, please? Do not drop her, I just finished fixing her."

    Brian and the very solidly built Ballistic stepped up on either side of Genesis and assisted her down out of the van. She winced as her weight settled on her feet. "Wow, I can feel everything under my feet. How did I ever get used to doing this the first time around?"

    "It is amazing what the human body can get accustomed to," Riley advised her. "Trust me on this."

    "Okay, then. I'll take your word for it." Genesis, propped up by the guys, took a few tentative steps. Riley watched as her knees and ankles flexed properly, but her legs were already starting to tremble by the end of it. "Okay, I'm walking, kind of. But I'd like to sit down now."

    "Good thing we didn't trash this yet." Oliver brought her wheelchair over.

    Gratefully, she subsided into it. "Oh, trust me. As soon as I'm walking properly, I am torching this damn thing. But for the time being, it gets to live."

    "I could launch it into the side of a mountain for you," offered Ballistic. "You know, once it's on fire."

    "I might just take you up on that." Genesis turned to Riley. "So, how do I get out of this thing for good?"

    "Well, I've implanted artificial nerves and muscle fibres to boost what's already there," Riley reminded her. "You need to exercise and rebuild your real muscles, and reinforce the neural pathways as much as you can. I wouldn't advise jogging, not until your balance improves, but an hour of walking every day would be a really good idea."

    "An hour? Are you sure about that?" She wriggled her feet. "I couldn't take five steps."

    "Totally." Riley wasn't giving an inch, Brian had to give her that. "You can spread it through the day, but the more you push yourself, the more you'll find you can do."

    "I'll make sure of it," Noelle said with a grin from where she leaned against Trickster. "I'm only a bit less wobbly than she is. We can be exercise buddies."

    Genesis gave her a dirty look. "Why do I get the feeling you're going to be a slave driver?"

    "Because that's what I'm gonna do?" Noelle shrugged. "We've both been given the chance to turn our lives around. Let's not waste it."

    "Yeah, good point." Genesis gave Riley a smile. "Thank you. I'll do my best."

    Riley returned it. "No problem. Glad I could help."

    Brian headed back to the PRT van with Riley and the two Protectorate heroes, and climbed on board. Once they were strapped in, Assault slapped the side of the van twice, and the engine started.

    "You okay?" asked Brian as Riley took her helmet off. "You were in there for nearly an hour."

    "Nah, I'm fine." She gave him a grin. "She'll be walking on her own in a week. I'd put money on it."

    "Nice." Assault reached across and ruffled her hair. "I'm proud of you, kid."

    "So am I," Brian said, putting an arm around her in a side-hug. "You did good tonight."

    "I did, didn't I?" Riley smiled and leaned into him.

    <><>​

    Taylor

    As I headed up to bed, taking my costume elements with me, I pulled out my phone and logged onto PHO. It was time, I judged, to plant another seed.

    <><>

    ■

    ​
    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: TheRealPanacea
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Hang out?

    Hey hey,
    I was thinking we could meet down at the Boardwalk tomorrow afternoon and we could just hang out for a bit. No shady favors, I promise.
    While we're there, I'll introduce you to the Rogues' Guild. They're pretty cool.
    What do you say?

    Atropos

    ■

    ​
    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Parian
    From: Atropos
    Subject: FYI

    Hi,
    Purely for the sake of sharing information, Panacea also likes girls and is currently single.
    (Also, very snarky.)
    You know, just in case you were interested.
    Toodles!

    Atropos

    ■

    <><>​

    Parian

    Sabah stared at the message that had just popped up in her PMs as she was browsing PHO before going to bed. She read it through twice, just to make sure she hadn't misunderstood it.

    "Well, now," she murmured as she shut down the laptop and turned off her bedside light. "Isn't that interesting?"



    End of Part Fifty-Three
     
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    • Part Fifty-Four: Meetings
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Fifty-Four: Meetings

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


    Saturday Midday, February 26, 2011

    Glory Girl

    "Okay, I'll admit that the Boardwalk is nice on a Saturday, and I've heard good things about the Rogues' Guild, but this is the first time you've ever wanted to come down and meet them." Vicky gave Amy the side-eye as they flew toward the waterfront. They were both costumed up, which their mother had insisted on. In her opinion, every public appearance that wasn't school (or some other social occasion) needed to be leveraged to improve the team's PR standing. "What's really going on here, and why didn't you want to talk about it in front of Mom?"

    Amy sighed. "Before I tell you why, I need you to make two promises. First, that you won't be upset with me, and second, that you won't tell Carol. Because she will totally be upset with me."

    "Well, that's not ominous at all." Vicky's eyes widened with shock as something occurred to her. "Wait, are you dating one of them? Please tell me you're not dating Salvage. Because Mom will blow every gasket she has, and a few she doesn't, if she finds out that you are. And I won't be thrilled either."

    "What?" Amy's voice was both startled and irritated. "No, geez, I'm not dating anyone. At all. I've never even met them, not to talk to anyway."

    "Then what's going on?" Vicky hated to be in the dark about this sort of thing.

    "Promise me first." Amy wasn't giving an inch.

    Vicky could actually kind of respect that, even though she hated making promises about things she didn't know about. "Okay, I'll try not to freak, and I won't tell Mom, unless this is something actively harmful to you."

    There was a long pause, then Amy nodded. "It's not actively harmful to me, so I guess I can live with the rest of it. I'm meeting Atropos."

    "What?" Vicky was startled. "Again? I thought you weren't doing that anymore!"

    She vividly recalled that first encounter in the park. The way Atropos had almost negligently taken her down and explained the facts of life to her had made a strong impression on her. After watching the video of the Slaughterhouse Nine takedown, she'd reached an even deeper awareness of how easily Atropos could have killed her, had the black-clad cape chosen to do so. Nothing she'd seen of Atropos since, including the second meeting in the park, had mitigated that impression one iota. Instead, it had set the understanding in concrete. Fucking with Atropos, ever, in any way, is fatal.

    "I've, uh, I've actually gone to meet her, and she's come to see me, a couple of times that you didn't know about," Amy confessed. "You promised to try not to freak out, remember."

    "Wait." Vicky frowned. "You're not dating her, are you?" The idea of Amy liking girls wasn't something she'd ever considered.

    "Haha, nope, not in a million years." The denial came out too sharp and strong to be faked. "I don't even really like her. She's just … really, really good at persuading me to do stuff that turns out to be the right thing to do, but feels really shady while I'm doing it, you know?"

    "And you wanted me along to make sure she doesn't con you into doing anything against your will?" Vicky was down with that. She could say 'no' and make it stick all day long.

    "Well, actually, no. She said this time there weren't any strings attached. No shady favours, she said. Just hanging out on the Boardwalk. So, I thought it might look a little less strange if we both showed up. It's not like anyone's going to expect us to try to arrest her."

    Vicky snorted. "Well, that's true."

    For all that Atropos was an unrepentant serial killer, she had a higher public approval rating than every other villain in the world, and most of the heroes. She even had a public fan club that was gathering members by the day, and traded photos taken of her. The head of this fan club was the black girl Vicky had met in the park on that fateful day; she had signed Polaroid selfies taken with Atropos, which nobody was ever going to beat.

    Life in Brockton Bay was fucking weird sometimes.

    They came in for a landing in a temporarily unoccupied spot on the Boardwalk. Vicky alighted as gently as a feather, then let Amy down onto her feet. A few people took photos, and Vicky preened a little; this was as it should be. "Okay, so when's Atropos supposed to meet you again?"

    Atropos' voice came from directly behind her. "How about right now?"

    Vicky whirled, startled, but Amy barely reacted. "Hi, Atropos," she said, turning around. "Couldn't resist, could you?"

    "You knew where I was gonna be, the moment Glory Girl said that," Atropos replied. "So it hardly counts as a jump-scare for you, does it?"

    Vicky couldn't see the black-clad cape's face, but knew there had to be a smirk under the morph mask. "That was … mean," she muttered, wanting to use a stronger word but unwilling to do so with so many witnesses around. Even more irritating, everyone was taking photos now, not just the few who had snapped pictures of her and Amy together.

    "Well, maybe you'll learn not to tempt fate like that." Making a cut-off motion with her hand, Atropos raised her voice a little. "Okay, folks, nothing more to see here."

    Vicky watched in aggravated surprise as the request actually worked; the people actually stopped taking photos. They moved away, breaking up into groups of two and three, occasionally glancing back at Atropos but not intruding on her privacy anymore. "That's just bullshit," she muttered. "Why do they do what you tell them?"

    You're a villain, she meant. Not a hero. Even if you did kill the Endbringers. It was totally unfair, especially since she'd been helping people since she got her powers and hadn't killed a single person, ever.

    "I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually." Atropos' voice was dry. "So, Amy, did you bring along that second present for Nilbog?"

    "I did." Amy pulled a small vial out of her robes. "This should be enough for what you want. You haven't told anyone that I supplied this virus?"

    In a sleight of hand move that Vicky would've sworn belonged to someone with a Mover power, Amy's hand was empty and Atropos was tucking the vial into her long-coat pocket. "Not unless you want me to. But it's probably better that we each maintain our brand, yeah? Me as the remorseless killer and you as the nice, safe, fluffy healer."

    Ooh yeah, good point. While Vicky would've liked Amy to get at least some of the credit for destroying Nilbog and the Goblin Kingdom, Atropos' observation was smack on target. If Amy became known as someone who'd created a deadly virus for Atropos to use, she would possibly gain popularity in some circles but inevitably suffer at least a moderate level of backlash against her and New Wave in others. Mom would go ballistic, and not just because Ames has been meeting with Atropos behind our backs.

    "That was basically my idea," Amy agreed, paralleling Vicky's train of thought. "Is anyone else going to get hurt by it? Any innocents, I mean?"

    "The only relatives to Jamie Rinke who are living close enough to be threatened by it don't carry the same genetic combination that makes him so vulnerable to it." Atropos sounded totally sure of herself. "They'll suffer from the equivalent of a cold for a few days, then recover. There will be zero deaths outside the Ellisburg wall."

    "How do we know you're not lying?" challenged Vicky as they started walking along the Boardwalk, people giving them their space. "You could be saying that just to make her feel better."

    "I could, but I'm not." Atropos took a folded sheet of paper from her pocket and handed it to Vicky. "This is a list of his relatives in the region, along with their addresses. Keep tabs on them. You'll see for yourself."

    "Jesus." Vicky opened the paper and stared at the dot-matrix-printed list, then at Atropos. "How did you even know to have that …?" She stumbled verbally, lost for words.

    "I'm Atropos." The dark visage gazed back at her. "It's what I do. Do you doubt me now?"

    "Um … no." The sheer level of audacious bullshittery in that single action had decimated her arguments in one fell swoop. There was nothing more to be said about Ellisburg. Fully aware that Amy was covertly grinning in a 'this is what I've had to deal with' way, she scrambled for something else to say. "Um, Gallant told me that Tenebrae and Miss Medic went out to the city limits last night, on the strength of a text you sent to Miss Medic. What was that about?"

    "Wait, what?" Amy's head snapped around. "Is this about the Travellers? What happened? Is Noelle okay? She was okay when I left her."

    Vicky stared at Amy in her turn. "Hold the phone. What do you know about this? Who are the Travellers, and what've they got to do with stuff?"

    "Okay, from the top," Atropos said. "The Travellers are a bunch of ex-villainous ex-Simurgh-bombs currently camped at the edge of town while they decide on their next move. They came here to ask politely if I would kill the extremely troublesome powers of one of their number, a pseudo-case-fifty-three called Noelle. I killed her powers, and Amy fixed her body. With me so far?"

    After a moment to sort events out in her head, Vicky nodded. "Uh … yeah, I guess."

    "Good." Atropos turned to Amy. "Noelle's doing just fine, but you might have noticed that one of their other members, Genesis, was in a wheelchair. I didn't ask you to heal her for two reasons: one, I was on a tight schedule; and two, you can fix paraplegia in your sleep. I'm only going to call on you for stuff you haven't dealt with a thousand times before. Miss Medic, however, needed the confidence boost so I mentioned the situation to her, and it got done."

    "Ah," said Amy. "Okay, that makes sense. I remember wondering why you didn't ask me to help the other woman, but we were kind of in a hurry, I guess." If Vicky were to guess, professional pride prompted the next question. "So how good a job did she do?"

    "Genesis has gone from zero use of her legs to careful walking with assistance." Atropos' voice had a note of pride in it. "She'll be walking unassisted in a week, and running in a month."

    Amy blinked, her gaze going distant. "Huh. From the atrophying I saw … that's actually pretty impressive."

    Vicky frowned, ready to defend Amy's capabilities. "You could've had her walking in five minutes. I've seen you do it."

    "No." Amy shook her head. "That was with people who'd recently had an accident or disease that paralysed them. Someone who'd been in a chair nearly all their lives would have minimal muscle tone, and the nerves themselves might have degraded to uselessness. I'd literally have to add body mass, or cannibalise it from the rest of their body, to get their legs back in proper working order. And then they'd have to learn how to walk, all over again. Unassisted walking in a week is damn good."

    "Okay, if you say so." Vicky was absolutely not going to argue recovery times with Amy; that was a losing game from the start. However, something Atropos had said had gotten her attention, so she swung her attention back to the black-clad cape. "But who even gave you permission to 'call on' my sister for anything? Whatever hold you might've had over her from our first fight, you can't keep just yanking her chain anytime you want."

    Atropos chuckled. "First, that wasn't a fight. That was a lesson. Second, I called in that marker exactly once. Since then, I've just asked. She's had the choice to say yes or no. I'm pleased to say she's said yes each time, and Brockton Bay is the better for it."

    Right then, Vicky made a mental note to ask Amy about all the times Atropos had called on her, and why. "Okay, so how is healing a villain case fifty-three good for Brockton Bay?"

    "Noelle's power was out of control." Atropos may as well have been reading the news, for all the drama she put into the words. "Anytime someone touched her, she spawned a twisted evil clone of them that had all the memories of the original, and hated everything they held dear. Clones of capes got variations on the powers of the original. She was also getting literally monstrous. Much bigger, and she would've been eating people whole and spitting out clones of them ad infinitum. Not something I needed or wanted in or near Brockton Bay."

    "So why didn't you just kill her?" Vicky tried to keep the bitterness out of her tone, but it wasn't easy. "That's your go-to, isn't it? Murder?"

    "Oh, it totally is," agreed Atropos, neatly taking the wind out of her sails. "And I could've. But the Travellers have useful abilities, and now that Noelle and Genesis have had their personal issues rendered null and void, there's a very real chance they'll join in on the revamping efforts in the city. Every little bit counts."

    Amy laughed out loud, sounding delighted. "And because you got the cutest Ward since Vista to heal Genesis, they're a lot more likely to trust the Protectorate and PRT to let them actually do their thing here in Brockton Bay. That's sneaky. I like it."

    "And the brunette in the front row wins first prize." Atropos gestured. "Here we are. The Rogues' Guild. Either of you guys met them before?"

    "Not really," Vicky admitted, looking at the stall with the dolls, the guy in power armour, the dancing woman with the ribbons, and the others. "I've seen them while flying over, but that's about it. Ames?"

    Amy shook her head. "No, but they sound interesting."

    "Come on," said Atropos. "I'll introduce you."

    <><>​

    Panacea

    It was weird, but Amy was enjoying Atropos' company more than she had on previous occasions. She wasn't sure if it was because the Boardwalk was a nice place to be, or because she'd gotten feedback on the job she'd done on Noelle. It hadn't been easy, but she was quite proud of the result.

    If anything was irritating her, it was Vicky's attempts to pick at Atropos' impervious calm. She'd been there herself; Atropos had all the answers, and that was all there was to that. Watching Vicky bash her head against the same stone wall was both amusing and annoying. Why couldn't her sister just accept that she'd lost the argument and move on?

    It was, however, nice to get the full detail on why dealing with Noelle had been such a big deal; she'd caught hints, but twisted clones who hated everything she held dear? Hell nope, with an extra helping of 'fuck that' on top. She knew what her powers were capable of. Having someone who actively hated humanity in charge of those powers … a shiver went down her spine. If that happened, they could kiss most of the United States goodbye, at the very least.

    But that threat was done with. And now here, today, she was going to meet some people whom Atropos had publicly approved of. Moving forward, she followed Atropos toward the rogue capes.

    "Hi, Salvage," Atropos greeted the first one they came to; a man in hulking power armour, wearing a train conductor's cap and goggles. He was seated on a sturdy-looking metal folding chair, behind an equally sturdy-looking table. On the table, it seemed he was building toy cars and locomotives and aeroplanes out of scrap metal, polishing them on a wheel until they were safe to play with. "How's things going?"

    "Pretty damn good, actually." Salvage offered Atropos a smile. "You were right about the fund-raiser. People know about us now, and bring their kids around. Thanks for bein' there for us."

    "Not a problem." Atropos sounded pleased. "You being here helped me out, so I'm happy to help you out. I just thought I might introduce you to Panacea. She's helped me out a couple of times, too."

    Amy wondered why Atropos hadn't mentioned Vicky, but then she noticed that her sister had already moved along and was watching the cat-costumed girl with the ribbons swirling around her; probably trying to see how it was done. "Hi," she said belatedly. "I'm pleased to meet you."

    "Hey, nice to meet you too." One oversized metal hand extended across the table, and she gingerly shook it. It was definitely metal, not disguised biological material, and it made her wonder how much of him was metal.

    She moved along with Atropos to Parian's stall. The 'doll cape', as some called her, was a known quantity in Brockton Bay. She augmented her income from her market stall with animated figures at mall openings and the like, but Amy had never actually met her before.

    "Hi," said Atropos briskly. "Parian, meet Panacea. Panacea, Parian. You're both pretty cool, so I thought I'd introduce you."

    "Oh." The voice was soft and sweet, for all that it came from behind a white mask featuring a classical doll's face. "Hello. I … I suppose I never expected a real superhero like you to come to my stall like this." At her elbow, needles threaded themselves, then started working at breakneck speed on a doll base.

    Amy found the speed and precision of the doll construction fascinating, but she also felt it necessary to correct the record. "I'm a hero, sure, but I don't go out and beat up bad guys like everyone else. I'm the one who heals them afterward."

    "You shouldn't put yourself down like that," Parian said, but not harshly. From the tone of her voice, she'd had her share of put-downs, probably because of her own choices in life. "You save lives. And if Atropos calls you cool, then you're cool."

    It was kind of weird to realise that praise from Atropos was actually hard to come by. The girl was as ruthless in her descriptions of people as she was in her treatment of bad guys. "So, uh, what did you do that Atropos thought was cool?"

    Parian seemed to think for a moment. "I, um … I suppose I took in Salvage and Bastet, and we formed the Rogues' Guild. They needed help and I helped them, which on a, uh, limited income wasn't easy, but it all worked out in the end." She gestured to the left and right. "But anyone could've done that, really." The doll at her elbow was quite a ways toward completion, managing to look like a stop-motion display in real time.

    "Anyone probably could've," Amy felt compelled to say. This was something she saw a lot of. People who could do something to help those less fortunate, and … didn't. "But you're the one who did. That's actually pretty brave of you."

    "Yes, well." Parian nodded toward Atropos, who'd moved several steps away. "We really got our start because of the stimulus cards. That lifted our collective budget out of the 'are we going to do this thing or eat?' dilemma, and gave us some breathing room. And now most of us have good jobs, and we owe it to the Rogues' Guild, and to Atropos."

    It was a sobering realisation to Amy that, while she and Vicky hadn't really faced a change of circumstance due to Atropos' actions, many people across Brockton Bay had. Everyone was getting a boost, and it was people at the lowest strata of society who were feeling it the most. She tried to think back to the last time she'd seen a homeless person or a panhandler, and she couldn't.

    "Yeah, I kind of owe Atropos a bit myself," she confided. "Not the same level of issues that you did, of course, but she gave me some advice and helped me out when I most needed it, and yeah, it really turned out well."

    Parian's voice held a smile. "She's kind of like that. I'd be the last to say she's sweet, exactly, but she knows exactly how to help, and when to step back."

    Amy had to laugh. "You're right there. That's her in a nutshell." She paused. "So anyway, what about you? I mean, you know about my life. That's kind of a thing when it comes to being an open cape. But is doll-making what you want to do for the rest of your life?"

    "Well, I like making the dolls." Parian took the one that had been assembling itself; floating scissors started tidying it up. "But I also want to get into fashion design. It's been a dream of mine for a while now."

    "Fashion design." Amy rolled the phrase around in her mouth. "That actually sounds pretty cool. Would you design normal clothes, costumes for capes, or both?"

    Parian chuckled, a pretty sound. "I suspect designing cape costumes would lead to dramas with secret identities and having to cut and stitch things like Kevlar, not to mention other costume accessories. Normal clothing would probably suit me better for the time being."

    "Hah, yeah." Amy rolled her eyes. "Imagine becoming known as the best villain costumer on the east coast. Nobody would be able to park on the street for all the PRT surveillance vans."

    This time, Parian laughed. "Okay, that's legitimately funny. Here, this is yours." She handed over the doll she'd been working on since Amy arrived.

    Taking it, Amy looked properly at it for the first time, and realised it was a near-perfect rendition of her, in costume, in miniature. Wonderingly, she found she could push back the hood and pull down the scarf, as she'd already done with her real costume, to reveal frizzy brown threads for hair, and even the suggestion of freckles across the doll's nose. "Wow …" she breathed. "I can't take this. It's gotta be worth—" Putting it down, she let it go, but couldn't bring herself to take her hands away.

    "It's yours," Parian said flatly. "I want you to have it." Reaching across the table, she closed Amy's hands around the doll again.

    "But you can't just give away dolls to superheroes just because they are superheroes," Amy protested.

    "I don't." Parian leaned closer. "I haven't given one to Atropos, even though I owe her more than I can ever repay. And I haven't given one to Glory Girl. I'm giving one to you. Because you're talking to me like a person, not like just some doll-making machine. And because …" Her voice trailed off to a near-whisper.

    "What?" Amy leaned forward as well.

    Parian took a deep breath. "I think you're cute," she said quietly.

    "Oh." Amy felt a blush spreading across her cheeks. "Um."

    "S-sorry, I … I shouldn't have … forget I said—" Parian began to stutter, her words falling over themselves. "You can keep the doll, I—"

    Amy took a deep breath. "It's okay." And it really was, not least because of the boost in self-confidence that associating with Atropos had given her. After rebuilding Bonesaw into a productive member of cape society and returning whatever Sveta and Noelle had been back to their human forms, an awkward pass was nothing.

    Well, not 'nothing', exactly. It was … something. Something to think about, to consider. And definitely not something to knock back out of hand. Parian was nice to talk to, and it wasn't like Amy had any other girls striving to get her attention.

    "It's okay?" Parian sounded dubious. Amy connected the dots almost immediately; Parian had been rejected because of her preferences before. Well, not today.

    "It's totally okay," Amy assured her. "I love the doll. Vicky and my cousins are going to be so damn jealous." She paused. "And, um … do you have a number I can maybe call you on? So we can chat?"

    "Um, um, sure!" A business card flew up out of the handbag that was hanging off the back of the stall, and Parian wrote a number on the back of it. When Amy took it, she found a cute little smiley appended to the end, and she smiled in return.

    "Thanks for the doll," she said, tucking the card away securely. "It's amazing. You've got a real talent."

    Parian nodded. "You're welcome," she said in a half-whisper.

    Still clutching the doll, Amy stepped away from the stand. Atropos, clearly looking in her direction, gave her what she chose to take as an approving nod.

    "Holy crap, that's gorgeous!" Vicky came back from where she'd been chatting with the girl in the dragon costume. "How much did that set you back?"

    Amy grinned. "Wouldn't you like to know?"



    End of Part Fifty-Four
     
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    • Part Fifty-Five: The Facts of Life
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Fifty-Five: The Facts of Life

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


    Saturday Afternoon, February 26, 2011
    Brockton Bay Betterment Committee Headquarters

    Danny

    The table wasn't Tinkertech, but it didn't have to be. It had a complete map of Brockton Bay set into the surface, with an LCD screen underneath. Data was streaming into the room from all over the city, showing each of the road crews standing ready to roll. Danny held a tablet showing the same map, allowing him to zoom in on each area and even call up camera views if need be.

    He didn't need them.

    As the clock ticked toward three PM, the time that had been chosen for the start, he could feel it all. Every person, every machine, even the road surface under the tyres and treads of the earthmovers. All of it. And he was the one controlling the nerve centre of the entire operation.

    Taylor and Cherie were there, standing behind the operational personnel; Taylor because she was the architect of the whole thing, and Cherie because she'd done her part as well. Of course, nobody but Danny knew that part.

    As far as everyone in the room knew, Taylor was his daughter and Cherie was her best friend, and nobody had a problem with them being in the room at the start of the operation. Later on, when it got busy, would be a different matter. But for now, it was okay.

    As it was, they were keeping back out of the way. Cherie was examining the table-map with pure fascination, and Taylor was looking at the wall-screens showing the camera views. Danny shared a nod with Taylor and a smile with Cherie, all without losing track of the mass of people ready to break ground at his word.

    A discordant note broke through to him. "Hm." He tapped at the tablet, then zoomed in on a section. The earpiece he was wearing would transmit his voice to whoever he selected, as well as their immediate foreman; he tapped the icon indicating a single front-end loader. "This is Danny Hebert. Pull Loader Seventeen A from the line and send it in for repairs. It's got a faulty transmission. Roll out a backup loader."

    On the wall-screen, a single loader trundled out of formation and up onto a flatbed truck. Just before the driver shut the engine down, there was a grinding noise audible through his earpiece, and smoke rose from somewhere within. The driver hit the kill-switch, then climbed down from the stricken machine, waving to the repair crews. It was their baby now.

    Several people around the table were staring at Danny. It wasn't hard to divine their thoughts. How did he know?

    Cutting the transmission, he looked at the inquiring faces. "Long practice." It wasn't that at all, of course, but it was a convenient lie.

    The new loader rolled into place with barely a minute to go. Danny sighed and hit the transmit-to-all icon. He hadn't wanted to do this, but even Kurt and Lacey had insisted.

    "Attention, all," he said. "This is Danny Hebert. Like most of you, I was born in Brockton Bay, and I grew up here. For the longest time, we've seen it go downhill. Well, today we stop that slide. Today, we start to turn it around. Together, whether we were born here or came in from outside, we're going to fix what's wrong with our city and rebuild it stronger than ever before."

    He paused and took a breath, glancing at Taylor. She grinned back at him, no doubt fully aware of what he was going to say next.

    "We all know where the money is coming from to do all this. But without us, without you, the money is useless. Without willing hands and a strong back, all the money in the world can do nothing. So, what happens next is up to you. Fixing Brockton Bay, fixing our city, is your job. We have the tools. We have the materials."

    He watched the clock as the hands ticked over the last few seconds.

    "Let's get to work."

    <><>​

    Taylor

    As Dad pulled out a chair and sat down, I strolled over and leaned against the table next to him. "Nice speech. Been practicing?"

    He snorted and shook his head. "Hardly. I've been too busy making sure all the ducks were in the appropriate rows." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Though the other thing is astonishingly handy, I have to say. So, thank you for that."

    I shrugged. "Barely had to do anything. We just had to explain the facts of life, that's all."

    He raised his eyebrows. "She said it threatened her with physical violence."

    "The facts of life being that if she didn't play ball, there would be physical violence." I let a smirk creep onto my lips.

    "I see." He shook his head in amusement. "An offer she couldn't refuse, huh?"

    "Oh, she could refuse it. It just wouldn't have been wise."

    He became more serious. "Still, I'm not totally comfortable with coercion by threats like that, especially when it's not totally necessary."

    "Dad." I stood up from the table. "Walk with me a second?"

    He paused, apparently ensuring that the combined operations across the city were proceeding apace, and nodded. Getting up from the chair, he followed me out into the corridor. Cherie stayed in the room, gazing at the progress reports popping up here and there on the table.

    Once the door closed behind us, he looked at me. "Talk to me."

    "Okay, then. Powers and the shards that bestow them? They're not here for our benefit. They're here for theirs. In a very real way, they're designed to test us to near-destruction while harvesting data from that use for their own ends. If Administration had attached to you in the normal course of events, you probably would've ended up estranged from humanity, controlling a horde of rats. There's always a catch."

    His head came up at that. "She said you—your power—ordered her not to use 'monkey-paw bullshit'. How did you manage that?"

    I grinned. "My power isn't part of their collection. It was thrown in by something else to be a joker in the deck, to disrupt the whole damn operation here on Bet. You've got Administration, I've got Ending. He can be very … persuasive."

    "She prefers 'Queen Administrator'," he observed dryly.

    I shrugged. "Don't care. The tee-ell-dee-are is that the normal run of shards give powers that pretend to be useful in solving the problem at hand, but in the long run only make it worse. So don't waste your energy being sorry for Her Highness the Grand Poohbah of Administration. She came to this planet intending to screw over whoever she attached to." I put on an exaggerated sad-face. "Whoops."

    "Jesus," he muttered. "So, every cape out there except us two …"

    "Well, there are certain exceptions, but that's a topic for another day. Ignoring those ones, sure. They're all screwed up in some way. Take Cherie, for instance. Do you think her powers made her life better before she ended up with us, even ignoring the shit her father dumped in her head?"

    "Okay, right, yeah, good point." He took a deep breath. "Message received, loud and clear. Thank you."

    I gave him a grin and opened the door back into the operations room. "My genuine pleasure, Dad. Go fix the city."

    He smiled right back. "I'll do that. Though I might be late home tonight."

    "We'll leave something in the oven for you."

    "I knew there was a reason I keep you around."

    <><>​

    Boardwalk

    Salvage

    "Hello."

    Sal looked up from his latest creation, an old-fashioned steam locomotive with moving parts that included connecting rods and coupling rods, to see a bunch of teenagers standing in front of his table. They all wore Goth-style dark clothing and black makeup, though there was a lack of weird piercings.

    "Hi," he replied, trying to look friendly and harmless. He didn't get as many sales as Parian, mainly because his whole demeanour tended to scare the kids, no matter how softly he talked. Still, he had to try. "Can I help you with something?"

    "You enjoy the favour of Atropos," said the pretty redhead who seemed to be their spokesperson. "There are children in this city without toys, so we will buy the ones you make and spread the beneficence of Our Lady in Darkness."

    "Ah." Now that he was paying proper attention, he could see the tiny silver shears they were wearing as ornaments, either as necklaces or as earrings. Why am I not surprised she has a cult? "Uh, sure." Reaching down behind the table, he lifted up the box he'd already filled with unsold toys. It was heavy, but he was strong. "How many do you want?"

    Reaching into her purse—black, of course, with a skull on it—she produced a wad of bills. Others in the group added their contributions, and she slapped the lot down on the table. "Everything that will buy."

    Well, all right then. "Ladies," he said, taking up the cash and starting to count through it. "You have a deal."

    <><>​

    Dallon Household

    Panacea

    "Wow. I mean, wow." Crystal held the doll carefully, turning it over in her hands. "Parian is really, really good. And she made this in just a few minutes?"

    "While I was talking to her," Amy confirmed. "She wasn't even looking. It was amazing."

    "So, why'd you even ask for a doll of yourself?" Eric smirked. "That's something I'd expect Vicky to do, not you."

    "Hey!" protested Vicky. "I'm not that self-centred!"

    "Sorry, cuz, but you kind of are," Crystal said gently. "But we love you for it."

    "May I?" asked Aunt Sarah. When Crystal handed the doll over, she examined it with as much care as Crystal had. "This is really amazing craftmanship. It's definitely not a child's toy. Parian has a real talent."

    Amy nodded. "That's what I said."

    "I hope you didn't short-change her on it," Carol noted. "We want to encourage this sort of thing."

    Amy smiled. "I paid her exactly what she asked for it." Seeking to change the subject before someone asked precisely what that was, she added, "But the rest of the Rogues' Guild were pretty cool too. Salvage takes scrap metal and makes stuff out of it, like actual toys."

    "Yeah," Vicky said. "And Bastet does this swirly dance with ribbons and other stuff, Spitfire dresses in a dragon costume and, well, spits fire, and Oracle answers questions. But get this: she dresses like she's trying to cosplay Atropos, only not as edgy. Hat, mask, and the cutest little coat and tie and stuff."

    "Well, they certainly sound interesting." Uncle Neil took the doll next, handling it gingerly. "I might get one of these done for my sister. She'll love it."

    "So, what's this I hear about how Atropos was down on the Boardwalk at the same time, and that you two were talking to her?" asked Carol, her brows drawing down. "Apparently, the photos are all over social media." Unspoken were the words, you'd better not have done anything to mess with the good name of New Wave.

    Vicky jumped in before Amy could think of what to say. "We were there, she was there. She actually introduced us to the Rogues' Guild. They apparently know each other."

    "Well, duh," Eric said. "She saved them from Bastard Son that one time, remember? And then they showed up to the fundraiser where she had that epic swordfight with Mouse Protector."

    "So, what did you talk about?" Carol wasn't letting go of that thread. "I know enough about her to be aware this wasn't a chance meeting on her part. Why did she seek you out?"

    "Um." Amy glanced helplessly at Vicky, then back at Carol. "Just … um … stuff. She wasn't mean or anything. Asked how we were. Made sure Vicky knew she didn't hold a grudge about the thing in the park that time. Introduced us to the Rogues' Guild. No threats, not even subtle ones. She was pretty chill."

    "Victoria?" Carol turned her attention to her biological daughter.

    "What Ames said." Vicky shrugged. "Maybe she thought we were going to try to harass them or something, and she was making sure we didn't. Because you know, some heroes are assholes like that."

    "Language." Carol spoke the word without heat. "But you're right. If she has some kind of a proprietary interest in them, then it's good idea to leave them alone, especially as they seem to be harmless."

    "Well, she does aggressively promote anything that's good for Brockton Bay," Mark offered. "A bunch of capes making toys and other products, earning money for being entertaining, when they might otherwise end up as unemployed criminals? I think that fits the description pretty well."

    "I have no problem with things being good for Brockton Bay, or even with Atropos promoting the idea." Carol looked around at the rest of New Wave. "My issue lies with her methods. Murder is one of the things every hero should stand against."

    "I agree with you," Aunt Sarah said. "I really do. And I want to agree that something should be done about it. But … seriously, Carol. She killed the Simurgh. And while the PRT hasn't yet confirmed it, the word online is that she's also taken out the other two Endbringers. You can't exactly deny that they, at least, deserved it."

    "Well, no, of course they did." Carol evidently knew when to not argue particular points. "But you were there for Lung. You saw what she did to him."

    "I did." Sarah nodded. "It was horrific. But he was slated for the Birdcage, and she'd warned him to get out of town or surrender. Just like she did with the other three. He had options. He just chose not to take them."

    Amy nodded, along with everyone except Carol. It was self-evident now (even if it hadn't been for some people then) that a warning from Atropos was the equivalent of Holy Writ, but for everyone. Ignoring two warnings was for the terminally stupid, the insanely arrogant, or the actively suicidal.

    "And let's be real here," Uncle Neil said. "What happened to Kaiser was just plain karma. All of them, really. Sorry for the language, Carol, but they've been fucking around for years, and they finally found out."

    This argument was threatening to go in circles, so Amy caught Vicky's eye. "I'm just going to lie down for a bit," she murmured.

    "Sure," Vicky replied with a smirk. "Go snuggle with your dolly." Retrieving the doll, she passed it to Amy.

    Making sure Carol wasn't watching, Amy poked her tongue out at Vicky, which made Eric and Crystal grin. Then she headed up to her room.

    Once she was alone, she removed her costume and hung it up, then flopped onto her bed. The next few minutes passed with her lying inert, staring at the ceiling. Vicky was right. Carol would freak if she learned even half of what we're doing.

    Digging in her jeans pocket, she took out the card and looked at it, turning it over several times. The front had a phone number, which was different to the one on the back. Finally, she took out her phone and woke it up. The numbers lit up on the screen one at a time, until she had just the call icon to go.

    She wavered, second-guessing herself. This was a huge step. She'd never actually gotten someone's number before, much less called it.

    Holding up the doll in front of her, she stared at it. She made a beautiful thing, just for me.

    Taking a deep breath, she tapped the icon.

    The phone rang. Once, twice. She nearly cancelled the call.

    "Hello?" It was the same soft, gentle voice from the Boardwalk.

    "Hi, it's me. Panacea. Amy."

    "Oh. Oh, wow. I was wondering if you would call."

    Amy's giggle was more a release of tension than anything else. "I was wondering that, too."

    "It's really nice to hear from you."

    Rolling onto her side, Amy smiled. "It's nice to hear your voice, too. So, tell me about fashion."

    <><>​

    Hebert Household

    Atropos

    "I won't take very long, this time." Mask and hat in hand, I gave Cherie a smile. "Maybe half an hour, tops. The lasagna shouldn't require any attention, but if I take longer than that, keep an eye on it and make sure it doesn't burn."

    "Oh, totally," she assured me. "I love your lasagna. There's no way I'm letting that burn. And thank you."

    I wasn't quite sure what she was referring to. "For what?"

    "The responsibility." She waved her hands vaguely in the air. "Not just being trusted to be home alone, but being trusted to do something. Treating me as a person, not just a chattel."

    "Well, look at you." I grinned. "Someone's improving their vocabulary."

    She wrinkled her nose at me. "Says the girl who grew up knowing words like that."

    "Eh, true." I gave her a quick hug, which she reciprocated. "I'm very proud of you. I want you to understand that. You're really taking your remedial classes seriously."

    "Yeah, well." She quirked a grimace with one corner of her mouth. "I went into it convinced I knew everything I needed to know. The more I learn, the more I realise I just don't know."

    "Welcome to the paradox of academia." I pulled on the mask, then the hat went on top. "When we get back, you can pick whatever movie we're going to watch first."

    Her eyes lit up. "Ooooh."

    <><>​

    Trickster

    "We're getting low on food, guys." Oliver put the pot in the middle of the table. Savoury smells wafted out from it, teasing Francis' nostrils. "Two more days and we're going to have to decide what we're doing."

    "I think we should stay." Jess was still sitting in her wheelchair, although she'd spent a couple of hours, on and off, using it as a walker. "Atropos cared enough to get the PRT to bring Miss Medic out to fix my spine. Nobody ever did that for us before."

    "Yeah, but what'll we do for cash?" Luke dug into the pot and filled his bowl. "Hero for pay, that's where the big money is. Because there's no way in hell I'm going to be doing crime anywhere near this town, and nobody in Bet pays their heroes unless they're Protectorate, and they don't get all that much anyway. So, we go back to Aleph. Instant monetisation, cha-ching!"

    Francis frowned as he filled Noelle's bowl and then his. "Not so sure that's a great idea."

    "Okay, this is different." Cody waited until he was finished, then borrowed the ladle. "Used to be, you were all gung-ho about going back to Aleph. What changed?"

    "No, I was gung-ho about helping Noelle with her problems," Francis corrected him. "Everything else was secondary. Everything. Even stuff I should've been paying attention to. But since then, I've had time to think about it. We've been gone what, fifteen months? What if they've declared us dead?"

    "Actually, that's a point," Jess agreed. "What if their Madison's been quarantined the same way it was here on Bet?"

    "Exactly." Francis gestured with his fork. "Going back now could draw a whole lot of unwelcome attention. It's for damn sure we won't be able to simply step back into our old lives."

    Noelle looked at Luke. "And that'll mean a ton of scrutiny just when you're trying to keep a low profile and kick off your superhero career."

    "And if some of us decide to stay," Marissa added, "the authorities will be asking the people who go very awkward questions about what happened to them. 'They decided not to come back' might not cut it."

    "Goddamn it, Krouse," Luke muttered grumpily. "Why couldn't you just stick to being wrong?"

    "I don't know." Noelle put her arm through Francis'. "I kinda like the new him."

    "So, what are we going to do?" asked Oliver.

    Francis had been thinking about that. "Tomorrow, we'll drive into Brockton Bay and apply for work with the Betterment Committee. That'll give us a regular income and the chance to sleep under an actual roof. And those of us without a relevant power can take the training courses they're offering, and just work like everyone else. Show of hands, all in favour?" He raised his own hand.

    Noelle's went up immediately, followed by Cody's and Marissa's. Oliver raised his hand a moment later, then Jess did as well. Everyone looked at Luke, who rolled his eyes. "I still think being a hero for pay is a boss idea, but okay. Let's go work for the man." His hand finally rose into the air.

    Francis smiled. "Thanks, guys. I hope this works out. If it doesn't, we can always ask Atropos for a ticket home."

    "You really think she can pull that off?" asked Cody.

    Jess snorted derisively. "With everything else she's done, do you really want to bet she can't?"

    Cody considered that. "Good point."

    <><>​

    Director Emily Piggot

    The helicopter flared as it came in for a landing on the helipad at Ellisburg Base. A moment later, the wheels touched down, a sensation so familiar to Emily that she didn't consciously register it anymore. All she knew was that it was time to divest herself of the helmet with its built-in headset and climb out of the chopper.

    Keeping her head down—she knew the blades were well above her head, but she also knew a wind gust at the wrong moment could flick them downward, with horrific results—she moved away from the helicopter, to where Major Holden was standing alongside Atropos herself. Holden straightened to attention and saluted, while Atropos merely nodded. The salute was required by regulations, while Atropos had no obligation to even acknowledge her presence.

    As Emily was no longer a serving officer, and had no cover to boot, she didn't return the salute. "Major," she said instead. "Atropos. I was worried I might be late. We ran into headwinds." Why haven't you already done it? she didn't quite ask.

    "I knew you'd be here on time." Atropos might as well have been discussing the weather. "Nilbog still has a minute or so to announce his surrender. I figured I'd wait until you arrived before I went in."

    "I only let a few personnel know I'd even be here." Emily looked at her narrowly. "Who talked?"

    Atropos' tone was unruffled. "Nobody. I know you, and this is personal. There's no way you could stay away." She glanced sideways at Holden. "Major, the time?"

    Major Holden checked his military-issue timepiece. "Sixteen forty-three, ma'am."

    "And has Nilbog indicated in any way that he would like to surrender to PRT forces?" Atropos' tone was oddly formal, while she asked a question that everyone knew the answer to.

    "No, ma'am, he has not." Holden's voice, on the other hand, was filled with quiet satisfaction.

    "Well, then. He's had his twenty-four hours." One of Atropos' hands had been hidden behind her long-coat, and now she lifted what was in it—a large and very sharp-looking axe—to rest on her shoulder. "Time to go explain why he should've surrendered."

    "Wait." Emily stared at the axe. "Is that …?"

    "Hatchet Face's axe. Yeah." She was certain Atropos was grinning behind the mask. "It's amazing how many problems cease to be problems when you apply a really sharp piece of steel to the right point." Raising her free hand, she snapped her fingers. Emily was entirely unsurprised when she vanished.

    "We have screens set up in the command hut, ma'am. If you will accompany me?"

    Emily was going to savour this. "Lead the way, Major."

    <><>​

    Atropos

    The moment I appeared in the Goblin Kingdom—right in the middle of a crowd of the little menaces—I threw the vial I'd palmed to the ground. It shattered, and the fumes went in all directions. Then I drew my pistol and shot three of them, to incentivise the rest to scatter and pass on the good news to their brethren (and sistren, I guess).

    One didn't get the message. Bigger and bulkier than his fellows, he loomed toward me. I didn't hesitate; holstering the pistol, I let him have it in the centre of his face with the axe. Whatever thought processes were propelling him, having several inches of razor-sharp steel intruding on his brain did them no good at all.

    The goblins I'd (temporarily) spared were running in all directions, shrieking words that could have been 'Intruder!' and 'Alarm' at the top of their lungs. I wasn't listening, mainly because I had earplugs in. For this situation, I wasn't using a suppressor, and my good friend Mr Pump Action Shotgun was going to have a chance to come out and play, none of which would be good for the ears.

    Within my head, the threatscape was drawing itself up nicely. Wherever the alarm goblins went, they knew about me and wanted to hurt me. Not as fanatically as they would've without the first virus in their systems, so I wouldn't be overwhelmed, but they still fully intended to perform many indignities on my body, some while I was still alive. Then I would be fed into the spawning monsters, to spit out new goblins for the Kingdom. Of course, the spawning monsters were currently inert, incapable of producing so much as a malevolent fruit fly, but Nilbog was not going to know this until he got the word and sent orders for them to produce enough warriors to murder me fifty times over.

    As I made my way toward the Goblin Kingdom's seat of government (so to speak), the first creatures to respond to the alarm call came at me. I shot two with the pistol, then changed out for the shotgun and blew the head off of a third. There was a fourth that looked like the offspring of a minotaur and a clownfish, that had bony plates that made him bulletproof. Or at least, he thought he was until I put a twelve-gauge slug between his teeth and blew out the back of his head.

    Here was where the lack of long-distance communication worked in my favour. While Nilbog could see through the eyes and hear through the ears of his creations, he could not control or command them that way. Normally, this would not be an issue, but they didn't know for a fact that he knew about me, so one of the little snitches was running directly toward the boss, to tell him what was going on, and to get orders.

    And, of course, taking the virus with him.

    They came at me in disorganised waves, attacking from concealment or even jumping off roofs to get to me. It might have even worked if I hadn't known exactly where they were and what they intended. Some of those little bastards were really good at hiding, but it didn't help them when I put a shotgun shell through the drywall they were skulking behind, and into their vital organs.

    I had extra ammo that I'd requisitioned from Major Holden; even though I conserved it where I could, that wasn't always possible. Some of the goblinoids I skewered with the shears, others I hacked apart with the axe, but most of them I shot. Director Piggot wanted blood? She'd get blood.

    There were no live goblins behind me, either dead at my hand or from the virus, when I kicked open the doors leading into Nilbog's throne room. I used the last two shells from the shotgun to take out the two critters that had been waiting in ambush on either side of the doors—seriously, I didn't even need my power for that—then holstered it and pulled my pistol and shears. The axe was slung in its holder across my back, but I didn't bother with it.

    Eight mutated monsters, the cream of Nilbog's twisted crop, came at me. I dodged bone darts, sprays of acid, snapping fangs and razor claws. While Nilbog himself—or rather, his homunculus—gibbered on the sagging throne, I dismantled his bodyguards. Larger and tougher than the norm, these ones had taken longer to succumb to the virus than most, but even now it was weakening them.

    Five of them I shot to death, though it emptied the magazine of the pistol to do so. The other three went down to slashes of my shears, though the last of them was already dying on its feet. I stood from its body and faced the last living inhabitant of the Goblin Kingdom. His breath was already thickening as the virus attacked his lungs and heart from within, his own body slowly strangling him. Underground, because he shared an umbilical with this creature, the real Jamie Rinke would be suffering the same fate.

    "I warned you. You didn't surrender." Changing magazines, I chambered a round and fired a single shot into his forehead, just as his last breath rattled to a halt.

    Then I holstered the pistol and sheathed the shears. Climbing onto the throne, I took the axe out of its holder and swung it sideways once, twice, three times. Finally, the head rolled free onto the blood-streaked ground, and I stepped down off the throne.

    I didn't trust the straggly hair not to pull out at the roots, so I took a cloth bag from my pocket and nudged the head into it. Putting the axe back into its holder, I set up the new jump while my hands were out of sight of the camera. The teleport took hold, and the charnel-house of the throne room was replaced with the relatively clean (if dusty) Ellisburg Base camp.

    The door to the command hut opened and Emily Piggot emerged. Moving carefully, she descended the steps and made her way toward where I waited. Silently, I held out the bag to her. She took it and opened it to peer inside. The twisted, dead face of Nilbog looked back at her. Some would have been horrified; others, repulsed.

    Emily Piggot smiled.

    When she raised her eyes to my face, I saw they were wet with tears she would not shed until she was in private. "Thank you, Atropos," she said, and held out her hand.

    I shook it. Her grip was still strong, after all these years out of uniform. "You're welcome."

    She looked into the bag again. "God damn, this is a good day."

    "What are you going to do with Ellisburg, now that everything in there is dead?" I asked.

    "Seal it in," she said, with a jut of her chin. "Lock down everything in there under six feet of concrete and steel. If he left anything behind, it'll have to dig its way out through that."

    I nodded. "That should work. Well, I'll see you around. Toodles!"

    Right on cue, the teleport portal formed, and I stepped backward into it.

    Cherie sat up from the sofa, a book in her hands. "So, how'd it go?"

    I looked down at the blood decorating my boots. "Well, he's definitely dead. I'll just go shower and change, and wipe these down. Have you thought about what movie you want to watch first?"

    She grinned and nodded. "Man of the House, with Sylvester Stallone. Some of the kids in my class say it's really funny."

    "It's all of that." I headed for the stairs. "Check on the lasagna while I'm cleaning up?"

    "I can totally do that."



    End of Part Fifty-Five
     
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    • Part Fifty-Six: Welcome to Brockton Bay
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Fifty-Six: Welcome to Brockton Bay

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

    Relevant Side-Stories:

    Accord's New Plan
    The Advent of Hades

    ■​

    Welcome to the Parahumans Online message boards.

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    ■​

    ♦ Topic: The King is Dead, Woo!
    In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos

    Atropos     (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me) (Verified Dethpicable)
    Posted On Feb 27th 2011:

    Well, hello to the wonderful people of Brockton Bay. Yes, that's you!

    Posting again at midnight, because traditions are fun.

    So, yesterday was a productive day. I got to introduce some people I knew to other people I knew (you know who you are) and I'm pleased to say everyone got along well. It's nice when everyone gets along, you know?

    I also got to watch the start of the Brockton Bay comprehensive infrastructure upgrade plan. It got off well, with no hitches or delays to be seen, all due to the exemplary work of the Betterment Committee chairman and his diligent committee members. I'm totally proud of everyone involved, from the guy at the top all the way down to the lowliest grunt shoveling dirt (you rock, dude!).

    Then I rounded out my evening with a little light exercise. You see, our very own PRT Director Piggot arranged with me on Friday that I would deal with Nilbog in my own inimitable fashion. I decided that it wouldn't be fair if I didn't at least give him warning, so I went into Ellisburg and did exactly that. The footage of my little stroll through the Goblin Kingdom, courtesy of a PRT supplied body camera, can be found [here].

    Unfortunately for his future prospects (such as breathing), Nilbog decided to decline my generous offer (surrender to the PRT or die) and so I went back on Saturday afternoon. It got a little energetic, but exercise is good for the body and mind. Also courtesy of the PRT, the footage of Nilbog's death can be found [here].

    Rumors that the footage has been set to Ride of the Valkyries and played on loop in the PRT headquarters are possibly false. The other rumor, that they've turned it into a drinking game, is almost certainly untrue. Nobody can handle that much alcohol.

    In case anyone is wondering why I went and did this—it's not like Nilbog was threatening Brockton Bay, after all—we will be getting ten percent of the Ellisburg budget for the next ten years, courtesy of Director Piggot. Also, she asked politely.

    On to other messages.

    To the Fallen: you are very close to doing an extremely stupid thing. Yes, I know you're all butt-hurt that your personal apocalyptic monsters have been Ended. They were a threat. I removed them. If you become a threat, I will remove you as well. It's kind of my thing.

    Well, don't say you weren't warned.

    Anyway, to the rest of you wonderful people, have a great Sunday, and just remember that the sound of roadworks outside your window is the sound of a better tomorrow.

    Toodles!

    (Showing page 1 of 93)


    ►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)

    Replied On Feb 27th 2011:
    And we have another Atropos post.
    Just when we thought our own personal angel of death might be mellowing out and settling down a little, this happens. Things are so peaceful in Brockton Bay these days that it's almost possible to forget how we got to this point, but then something like this happens and she reminds us in no uncertain terms.
    Make no mistake, folks: under that happy, chatty exterior lies the heart and soul of someone who *will* take extreme exception to anyone messing with her city. We saw it with our gang leaders, we saw it with the Nine, with Butcher and with the Simurgh. And now Nilbog has gone the same way.
    I will make a note that no punches are pulled. There's not a huge amount of blood, except when the shears or the axe are used, but her sheer terrifying capability comes out in a way that it doesn't during her other recorded combats. It wasn't a fight. Fights involve a chance for the other side to win. They were outmatched from the beginning, no matter how many they threw at her.
    In a side note, I'm pretty sure the axe she was using is the same one she took off Hatchet Face and decapitated Jack Slash with. If so, it's a nice touch to see it being used for good.
    Here's hoping the Fallen come to their senses before it's too late ... for them.
    Well, I can dream, right?

    ►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
    Replied On Feb 27th 2011:
    I have been authorized to verify the fact that I was in the room when Atropos met with Director Piggot and laid out the terms of the agreement regarding Nilbog.
    Atropos was courteous, professional and approachable.
    We are very pleased with the result.
    I would like to emphasize that this does *not* mean that Atropos is in any way on the PRT payroll, nor has she joined the Protectorate or Wards. She continues to be a free agent, and will do things her way. We do not give her orders, and we're not going to pretend that we do. The very most we have with her is a cooperative relationship, which seems to be working out so far.

    ►ShaneGoldman
    Replied On Feb 27th 2011:
    What an excellent end to a horrible kingdom. Like Atropos said, Nilbog was a weeping sore on the face of America.

    ►UnlikelyRomance (PHO Adviser)
    Replied On Feb 27th 2011:
    Okay, Nilborg and Ellisburg have fallen, and now the Fallen want to poke Atropos too?
    Are they suicidal or just nuts?

    ►Tangle
    Replied On Feb 27th 2011:
    So, a would-be fairytale goblin monarch got a traditional end of many fairytale villains: a beheading by axe. And then his head was delivered as proof to the remaining authority to whom it mattered the most. Justice, done, vengeance served, and quest completed.
    Oh, and Message Delivered: If Atropos *tells* you that you have twenty-four hours to surrender to the proper authorities or she will come over there and kill you, you have twenty-four hours in which to either get your affairs in order or surrender to those authorities, or she *will* come over there and kill you.
    @UnlikelyRomance: "yes".

    ►TheRealPanacea (Verified Cape) (Cape Daughter) (New Wave Member)
    Replied On Feb 27th 2011:
    So, not to downplay the Nilbog thing (which anyone but Nilbog could apparently have predicted) but I just want to say that I was one of the people Atropos mentioned in her 'people I knew' bit.
    See, @TheRealGloryGirl and I were down at the Boardwalk on Saturday when we ran into Atropos. She was perfectly friendly, and even introduced us to the Rogues' Guild. If anyone hasn't heard of them, they're a bunch of capes that hang out on the Boardwalk doing stuff. They helped out at the hospital fundraiser where Canary did her comeback.
    Anyway, they're pretty cool. Salvage makes toys, Bastet dances, Spitfire breathes fire (big surprise there), Oracle answers questions, and Parian makes dolls. But not just any doll. While I was talking to her, she made [this] [one] [up] for me in just a few minutes. I mean, how gorgeous is that?
    So yeah, head on down to the Boardwalk on Saturday afternoon, and check them out. I'm glad I did.

    ►TheRealGloryGirl (Verified Cape) (Cape Daughter) (New Wave Member)
    Replied On Feb 27th 2011:
    Imma second what @TheRealPanacea just said. The capes in the Rogues Guild had a pretty rough start, and you really couldn't blame them if they went villain. But they didn't, and they're doing the best with what they have.
    And Parian's dolls *are* pretty rad. Kinda jel I didn't get one done of me while I was there.
    Next weekend, though …

    ►EmmaTheTwiceWarned (Verified Atropos Cultist)
    Replied On Feb 27th 2011:
    Our Lady in Darkness has brought down her wrath upon the Kingdom of Nilbog, and he has fallen. But just as she taketh away, she also giveth to those who pay respect to her. Those known as the Rogues' Guild are favored in her sight, and so they deserve our support. We Followers have chosen to purchase the wares of Salvage the toy-maker and distribute them to the less advantaged children of Brockton Bay. This is how we show our devotion to Her.
    The Laws of Our Lady in Darkness are simple:
    No worship. She refutes any claim to be a goddess.
    No robes or masks. We are but Her Followers, and are responsible for our actions.
    No killing. If killing is required, then She will do it.
    No charity theater. Do good that actually fixes problems.
    No performing deeds in Her name. We may revere her, but we must own our actions.
    All hail Our Lady in Darkness.

    ►TeamMom (Senior Moderator)
    Replied On Feb 27th 2011:
    Okay, before anyone goes off the deep end, Atropos has contacted me about the 'Followers of Our Lady in Darkness'. She assures me that while yes, they are actually a cult, they're harmless. Treat them like any other evangelical group. No violence, please.
    She also gave me another Law for the Followers:
    "Deliberately gaining Warnings from Our Lady in Darkness will see the offender ejected from the Followers, at the very least. Emma is the only one allowed that title."
    ​
    End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 91, 92, 93

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Atropos
    From: Accord
    Subject: Meeting Proposal

    Good morning.
    Given the ongoing work in Brockton Bay, as well as the shifting circumstances within that city, I believe that moving my center of operations to be closer to the action would allow my plans to be updated more efficiently. I have no desire to provoke you in any way; thus, I propose sending my Ambassadors Citrine and Othello to meet with you under conditions of truce and discuss the potential move.
    Will that be suitable for you?

    Accord

    ■​

    PRIVATE MESSAGE
    To: Accord
    From: Atropos
    Subject: Re: Meeting Proposal
    Thank you for contacting me.

    I'm entirely willing to meet with your Ambassadors under conditions of truce, and hash out the details. It's evident to me that you have no intention of treachery, so I shall not bore either of us with threats regarding such things.
    Have your Ambassadors meet with me on the Boardwalk, between Hamilton Avenue and Washington Street, at 12:30 PM. Assure them that even if they get lost, I will find them.
    Yes, this will be in public. I can assure you that nobody will get close enough to hear what we are saying. If they try, I will know.
    I look forward to a productive meeting.

    Atropos

    ■

    <><>​

    Panacea

    Amy shook her head, but that wasn't strong enough, so she facepalmed as well. "What the actual fuck?"

    "Our Lady in Darkness?" asked Vicky from the open doorway.

    "How'd you guess?" Amy rolled her eyes.

    "Because I said exactly the same thing."

    Amy gestured at the screen. "How can she possibly be okay with this?"

    Vicky smirked. "Well, she clearly is, so I'm going to go with 'has more of a sense of humour than either of us expected'. And to be honest, those rules she gave them are pretty straightforward."

    "Yeah, but … a cult." That was the part Amy was having the most trouble getting her head around. "Every cult I've ever heard of turned out to be bad news, even the ones not run by Masters."

    Vicky huffed a sigh. "Listen. I may not be her biggest fan …"

    "No, that's Great and Terrible Aisha," Amy snarked.

    "True that. But my point is, while I don't necessarily like Atropos, or what she does, do you honestly think she'd let a cult in her name get out of control for even one second?"

    Amy tilted her head to one side, considering Vicky's words. "Well … no. I don't think that. And she did tell Team Mom that they were harmless."

    "Exactly. We're allowed to point and laugh, but we're not allowed to harass them unless they start breaking the law. Which buying toys to give out to kids isn't."

    "I guess." Amy frowned in Vicky's general direction. "How come you're defending them like this? Yesterday when we were talking with Atropos, you were doing your best to cross-examine her like Mom with a hostile witness on the stand."

    Vicky half-turned her head away. "I, um, had time to think about it after the fact. Spoke to a couple of the Rogues' Guild members. Realised I was being overly judgemental. Prejudiced, even."

    "Yeah, you said something about that. Well—" She was interrupted by a yawn. "Um, wow. It's later than I thought. Well, if Atropos can tolerate the Cult of Our Lady in Darkness, I guess I can too."

    Vicky grinned. "I'll still point and laugh, though."

    Amy smirked and closed her laptop. "G'night, Vicky."

    "Night."

    <><>​

    Sundancer

    They were well on the way into Brockton Bay when Cody looked around and frowned. "Is it just me, or are there no gang tags around?"

    Marissa, sitting in the passenger seat, took a closer look at the buildings around them. Some were more dilapidated than others, but he was right. In fact, it seemed to her that some of the structures had been recently pressure-washed, cleaning the grime off as well as the graffiti.

    Not every surface was clear of paint, however. As they rolled past a railway overpass, she spotted a mural depicting a shadowy figure in a long-coat and hat, silhouetted against a sunset. The shears in the figure's hand merely confirmed who it was supposed to be. Across the bottom were three words: SHE IS WATCHING. Marissa wasn't sure if it was supposed to be a warning or a reassurance.

    Cody shivered. "I've only met her once, but I know exactly how the person who did that felt."

    Abruptly, the sound of the asphalt under the tyres of the motorhome changed, going from a steady rumble to near-silence. Marissa looked around at the road in puzzlement, then realised it was freshly laid, and thus still smooth and unspoiled. The lines were clear and stark, and all the signage looked recently installed. Even the speed limit signs gleamed in the morning sun.

    "Did they do this overnight?" asked Marissa. "They can't have. Can they?" She didn't have any background in construction or roadworks, but the last time she'd driven on a road this smooth, it had been closed for a week prior to that.

    Cody shrugged. "All I know is that it all kicked off yesterday afternoon. This must've been one of the first streets they hit. Working through the night, fixing and replacing the infrastructure as they went, each shift taking over from the last one …" He shook his head in wonder. "Damn."

    "Do you think we can really do it?" asked Marissa. At Cody's inquiring sideways glance, she added, "Make the jump away from being villains. Everyone I ever heard of who tried it ended up being forced back into the life again. Or died."

    He sighed heavily. "Well, we had a shit deal to begin with, and God only knows how much the Simurgh's bullshit had to do with our life choices up until now. Plus, we had Noelle's problems on top of everything else, so it's never really been possible before. It's a leap of faith, but it's still our best bet."

    "Yeah." She slid down in the seat, looking out through the windshield at Brockton Bay, rolling by. "Now all we have to do is stick the landing."

    <><>​

    Brockton Bay Betterment Committee Headquarters

    Danny

    The work crews were still running at optimum capacity, nearly a day after the job had begun. The pre-work maintenance had caught nearly all the potential problems, but the machinery was going to be working non-stop for months, if not years. Wear and tear would become an issue, sooner rather than later. That was why they had rolling maintenance shops trundling along with the road crews, and backup machinery ready to roll into place when something had to be pulled off the line.

    Immense volumes of diesel were being consumed across Brockton Bay, but demand was being met with supply. Fuel trucks were rolling into Brockton Bay to keep the massive bowsers in the marshalling yards filled, and these were being tapped to top up the working machines during any forced periods of idleness. Every possible cause of delay had been considered, and plans devised to reduce them to a minimum.

    Danny knew this, because he was at the centre of the web. He knew the plans, and he could see them unfolding in real time. While he was awake and nominally overseeing the process, he was also subtly boosting the efficiency and skill of everyone on the machines, as well as the machines themselves. Nothing ran too hot, nobody swung too close to an obstacle and clipped it, and anything that was having a problem held on just long enough for a mechanic to get to it.

    The good thing about having this power was that he could maintain the efficiency of the overall efforts of the work crews right across Brockton Bay while still maintaining enough focus to handle day to day tasks. He had people to handle the interviews for most newcomers looking for work, but he'd given instructions for certain situations. One of these situations was for when (not if) capes came looking for work.

    It was mid-morning on Sunday when the notification he'd been waiting for popped up on his tablet. Taylor had given him the heads-up that the Travellers were coming in, and it seemed they'd finally arrived. Other arrangements had been completed in this time, so he was as ready as he would be.

    "I need to take this in my office," he said as he stood up from the map table. "Let me know the moment anything goes wrong."

    Nothing would, he knew, except from deliberate sabotage or outside interference. Even then, he'd be able to mitigate any problems until Taylor got there and sorted matters out. But he hoped no such thing would happen.

    Leaving the operations room, he headed along the corridor to the room that had been designated as his office. He would've been more comfortable at the Dockworkers' Association, but the commute distance made that untenable. At least they'd brought in a good coffee maker.

    He poured himself a cup and sat down, then enjoyed the first sip before the knock came on his door.

    <><>​

    Trickster

    "Okay," said Francis. "Here we are. The big decision. Do we go in civvies, civvies with masks, or full costume?"

    "Three of us never got costumes," Noelle reminded him. "I think it would look weird if some of us were in costume and some weren't."

    "Yeah, but … just walking in bare-faced and announcing we're capes?" Cody objected. "How's that going to look? Really?"

    "Masks, then?" Luke suggested.

    "Just dominos," Jess decided. "It would look just as weird if you guys wore the masks from your costumes without the actual costumes for context."

    Marissa cleared her throat. "Actually, that's another good question. Are we going to be telling them our real names, or sticking with our cape names?"

    Noelle and Luke spoke at the same time.

    "Real names."

    "Cape names."

    "Okay, hold up. Hold up." Francis raised his hands as the pair glared at each other and went to reiterate their choices. When he was sure they wouldn't just start shouting, he pointed to Luke. "Reasoning?"

    Luke sighed. "Once we're done here and we're moving along again, I don't want any asshole Fed or PRT agent finding out my real name just by asking these guys."

    Francis nodded. "I can see that, yeah. Noelle?"

    She rolled her eyes. "Atropos already knows basically everything about us. Panacea knows a bit, too. And when the PRT showed up with those capes, they saw our faces and didn't give a damn. Plus, Oliver and I don't have cape names. And I don't even have powers anymore."

    "Also a good point." Francis rubbed his chin. "Okay, we'll go with first names only, and we'll wear dominos. That suit everyone?"

    Nods came from around the group, even (if grudgingly) from Luke. "Okay, yeah, fine."

    Once they were all masked up—they kept a stash of disposable domino masks, available from any novelty store, for emergencies—they left the motorhome. Jess made it down the steps with assistance, but was grateful to drop back into the chair once she was on the sidewalk. Then they set off in the direction of the Brockton Bay Betterment Committee.

    Pulling out his cigarettes, Francis lit one up. He was careful to stay downwind of the others when he did this, but he needed the assistance to calm his shaking nerves. The pack was getting low, too, which he was going to have to deal with at some point.

    The walk lasted just long enough to finish the smoke, and he carefully stubbed the butt out before flicking it into a nearby trash can. As they entered the building proper, he could see the gazes they were drawing. He knew damn well it was the masks, though Luke seemed to be doing his best to ignore the attention.

    Time to get this done. Strolling up to the front counter as though nothing unusual was happening at all, Francis smiled at the receptionist. "Hi, we're the Travellers. Most of us are capes. We're looking for work."

    "Ah, yes," she said imperturbably, as though this sort of thing happened on a daily basis; for all he knew, it did. "You'll need to see Mr Hebert. He's on the third floor, the office at the end of the corridor."

    "Wait," he asked with a frown. "That's it? We just go up?"

    "Yes." She beamed at him. "We've already been informed you were on your way in. He'll be waiting for you. Elevators are down to the right." She pointed helpfully toward the sign saying ELEVATORS.

    "Ah … thanks." This was already going a lot smoother than he'd expected. "I appreciate it."

    "You're welcome." She went back to typing at her terminal.

    "Well?" asked Cody as he got back to the group.

    "We're expected." Francis hooked his head toward the elevators. "Third floor, end of the corridor. Someone called Mr Hebert."

    Luke frowned. "Do we all go up, or some of us stay down here?"

    Francis and Noelle spoke at once, with Cody chiming in half a second later. "We don't split the party."

    "C'mon," Jess snarked. "Even I know that one. Let's go see the wizard." She rolled her chair toward the elevators.

    "The wonderful wizard of Oz," agreed Oliver, following along. "Or of Brockton Bay. Whatever."

    They crammed into the elevator, Jess backing her chair into one corner and the others fitting in around it. "I can't wait to get out of this thing," she griped, as the doors closed.

    "It's different when you know you can, isn't it?" Noelle, half-perched on one armrest, slapped her leg. "When I didn't think I'd ever be fixed, I was resigned to it. But once I heard the plan, that went clear out the window."

    "Damn right. It sucks to be at everyone's butt level."

    Francis wasn't sure if he wanted to hear any more about the problems of being at butt level, so he was mildly relieved when the doors opened. Leading the way out of the elevator, he looked around until he spotted the door marked DANNY HEBERT CHAIRMAN BBBC.

    "This way." They headed along the corridor, Francis trying to rehearse in his mind what he was going to say when he came face-to-face with the man who was going to determine their future. How was he supposed to convince this Danny Hebert that the Travellers were no longer villains? When he reached the door, he hesitated.

    "Oh, for God's sake," Noelle muttered, and reached out to give the door a sharp double-rap.

    "Come in," a voice called from within.

    Francis opened the door and stepped inside, then held it for the others.

    <><>​

    Danny

    As the Travellers filed in, Danny looked them over. Aside from the domino masks, they appeared to be as ordinary a group of young men and women as he'd ever met. Clasping his hands together over the thick envelope on his desk, he waited until all seven were inside, and the door was closed once more.

    "Good morning," he said, standing up. "I'm Danny Hebert, and I'm pleased to meet you."

    "The sign on your door said 'Chairman'," the petite blonde girl said. "Why do we rate the head guy for our interview?"

    "Because you're capes," he explained bluntly. "Ex-villains, I'm aware, but you've never committed a Federal crime, so nobody's going to come looking for you in this state. You were recommended to me by Atropos, and I trust her judgement. I've got a little more experience with capes than most people in the building, so I handle cape recruitment."

    "Atropos actually recommended us?" asked the hook-nosed young man; Danny knew his name was Francis, otherwise known as Trickster. "That's kind of a surprise. I mean, she did say we could come and apply, but not that she'd put in a word for us."

    Danny smiled. "She tends to keep her own counsel, but like I said, I trust her implicitly. Take a seat and let's get to it." Sitting down again, he watched as they found the chairs he'd placed around the periphery of the room. "You have questions. I have answers."

    "So, how does this work?" asked the heavy-set young man—Ballistic, otherwise known as Luke. "Are you going to be calling us in for special jobs, or what?"

    "No." Danny folded his hands over the envelope again. "You will be working alongside the non-powered men and women, and paid the same wages as they are. Specifically, if your power comes into play, you will be paid the same as an operator of whatever specialised machinery your power just stood in for. Otherwise, you will be expected to take the same training courses everyone else has."

    "And if we don't have powers, we just … work?" That was the well-built young man, Oliver.

    "That's what you've generally got to do, to get money," Danny agreed blandly. "The work will be strenuous, but I don't believe in pushing people until they break. You will be paid according to union rules; if you sign up, you are automatically part of the union. Also, you will be assigned free accommodation, unless and until you decide to get lodgings of your own."

    "And what about our secret identities?" That was Francis.

    Danny decided it was time for bluntness again. "We honestly don't care. You can't wear masks or costumes on the job site; safety regulations forbid it. People will see your faces. If you want to go by your cape names, people will probably give you funny nicknames. Go by your real names, and nobody will look twice."

    The black-haired guy—Cody—had been silent until now. "And what about the powers that could be useful, but there's no machines that do it?"

    "You're referring to yourself and Mr Krouse." Danny saw from the reactions that he was correct. "You're right. Those powers can be very useful, in the right situation. You two will be given an extra designation: special safety officer. This will give you a pay increase, so long as you keep your eyes out for potentially risky situations." He gazed mildly at them. "Any other questions?"

    "Uh, yeah." The girl in the wheelchair, Jess, spoke up. "You know I've got to sleep to use my power, right? It'll kind of look weird for me to be crashed out wherever."

    "Your foreman will be apprised of the situation." Danny smiled. "They'll be pleased to have you. Depending on what machines your power can stand in for, you may be in some demand. Which equals extra pay. And you get to sleep on the job, so there's that."

    "Okay, nobody else has brought this up." This was the woman called Noelle. "But … how are we going to get paid? We don't even have proper bank accounts. Just, well, cash."

    "You do now." Danny opened the envelope and let the smaller paper packets slide into his hand. On each was printed a name and a face, and (he knew) contained a card. "These came in this morning. They will each have the latest stimulus payment on them, which should help with any initial budgeting issues you might have, and can be used in any cash machine. You will be prompted for a PIN on your first use."

    They'd been respectful up until now, but as he handed the packets out, they were utterly astonished. Taking his packet, Francis opened it up and took out the card, which had his name embossed on it. "How …?" he asked, staring at the card and then at Danny.

    Danny's smile widened. "Welcome to Brockton Bay, ladies and gentlemen. We do things differently here, these days."



    End of Part Fifty-Six
     
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    • Part Fifty-Seven: Pride Goeth Before ...
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    • A Darker Path

    Part Fifty-Seven: Pride Goeth Before …

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


    12:15 PM Sunday Afternoon, February 27

    Mama Mathers

    "Doesn't look like much." Hunched down in his seat, Eligos looked out the window as the van entered Brockton Bay. "Me an' Vale could probably take this place over between us."

    "Hush, boy." Christine's voice wasn't sharp, but he still flinched. "This Atropos may be an Unbeliever, but she possesses significant power. Nobody could have done what she has without it. We will tread carefully until she is within our sight, and then we will strike."

    "Are we killing her or taking her, Mama?" Valefor's tone was appropriately respectful.

    "For the moment, taking." Between her beautiful boy and herself, they had never met anyone they could not own within seconds of meeting them. However, she still had to be realistic. "If she has defences against that, we will destroy her utterly, then turn her followers against each other and raze this city to the ground as a warning to every other Unbeliever out there."

    The four armed members of the Mathers clan in the back of the van did not offer their opinions. Nor had she expected or intended them to. Their lot was to do what they were told, or die trying.

    After a few more minutes of driving, during which time they passed by a large mural that Christine looked thoughtfully at, they arrived at a motel. The members of the Fallen climbed out of the van and stretched their legs, looking around. They'd all dressed in 'normal folk' clothing rather than anything showing them up to be Fallen, which she knew made them a little uncomfortable, but they needed to see Atropos before she saw them.

    "I'll get us rooms, Mama," offered Valefor, starting toward the front office.

    "Pay for them, boy," she ordered. "Not the other way." Don't use your powers, she meant.

    "What?" He was startled enough to question her orders. "But …" Realising what he'd just done, he flinched. "I mean you no disrespect, Mama, but why not?"

    She triggered a flare of pain in his left ear, as though she was digging her nails into it. "Because Atropos owns this city. I'd wager her power is like mine. Everyone around her who fears or respects her is hers. She likely knows who they are, what they can do, and where they are. If we take one of her people away from her, she will know that we are in her town."

    "How can we be sure she doesn't already know we're here, then?" asked Eligos.

    Christine smiled serenely. "Because I would know if she is watching us, and I would be looking out through her eyes."

    <><>​

    Fugly Bobs

    Taylor

    <access requested>

    <Denied>

    <access requested>

    <I said no>

    <access requested>

    <Go fuck yourself>

    Mama Mathers' interest in me had only been moderately academic until I turned the Bin Chicken of Doom into a lawn ornament, but then it had erupted into a white-hot fury. Once she decided to come after me, she'd been lighting up my threatscape, edging ever closer by the day. All the while, her power had been trying to gain access to my threat-sense, but my power was doing the same as it had done with Jack Slash and Hatchet Face, and knocking back every attempt. I didn't even need to consciously make it happen; this was the default for Ending.

    It was possibly a point of interest that while Jack Slash and Hatchet Face's powers had tried to coax and wheedle and even threaten (hah!) Ending into cooperating, Mathers' power just said the same thing over and over, robotically. However, unless this indicated a way of dealing with her that was quicker and more effective than what I already had planned, I didn't really give a shit.

    I'd stopped Butcher and the Teeth (and the various attempts at infiltrating drugs) at the city limits, but this wasn't a hard and fast rule for me. Dramatic, sure, but it was just a way to show off. And there were many other ways to do exactly the same thing.

    I wanted the Fallen to come into the city, to think they were secure in their plans, and to let their guard down. Then (and only then) would they learn the hard way what I had planned for them. Besides, it had been a while since I'd given anyone a properly ironic death.

    If I did this right, the Fallen would be the last hostile villains to invade Brockton Bay. Damsel of Distress would end up in my sphere of influence again at some point—the improvements would push that far out eventually—but I had my plans for when we got back to her. Until then, I intended to ensure that nothing interrupted Accord and Dad as they rebuilt the place, better than ever.

    "So, how's it going?" I asked Dad, leaning across the table and stealing one of Cherie's calamari rings. She let out a squeak of mock outrage and grabbed a couple of my curly fries in revenge. That was fine; I preferred the calamari rings, and she preferred the fries. We both knew this. It was more fun to pretend to steal each other's food.

    "Good, actually." He sounded calm and relaxed. "The Travellers accepted the deal. Once they realised I was serious, they fell all over themselves to sign. Everything else is working well."

    "Excellent. I thought they would." I took a bite out of the calamari ring. Cherie waved at the phone as she stuffed both fries in her mouth at once. "Cherie says hi, by the way."

    "Tell her hi from me. What else do you have on for today?"

    "Just a meeting in a few minutes." I could see the car carrying Accord's Ambassadors rolling slowly along Lord Street, clearly seeking a parking spot. "Then we might go catch a movie. Or spend the afternoon feeding seagulls and browsing the Market. We hadn't decided yet."

    "Well, enjoy yourselves. I have to go and pretend to be busy now, so have a good afternoon. I'll see you tonight."

    "See you then." I ended the call and put the phone away. "Dad says hi back. You'll be okay while I go do my thing?"

    "Yup." She stretched expansively. "I intend to sit here and happily stuff my face with food that really isn't good for me, and just enjoy my life. I might even have another shake."

    I smirked as I got up from the table. "Ooh, living dangerously. Back in a little bit."

    Strolling through into the restrooms with my backpack, I locked myself into a stall and took off my outer clothing to reveal the majority of my Atropos costume beneath. The rest of it came out of the backpack and I settled it into place. While I hadn't brought the shotgun or the axe along, the pistol (carefully cleaned since Nilbog) and the bodice shears (likewise) rode in their respective places.

    Pulling back my sleeve, I flipped up the panel on the teleporter and tapped in the destination. Citrine and Othello, their costumes drawing odd looks but no more than that, were walking slowly along the Boardwalk, evidently looking around for me. As the clock ticked up to 12:30, they passed the hundred-yard mark. I hit the go button and flipped the panel down.

    I appeared on the Boardwalk, two paces behind them, just in time to hear Citrine to ask worriedly, "Where is she?"

    "Right here," I said. Pretending not to see their startled reactions, I stepped forward as they both spun around to look at me. "I said I'd find you."

    "Atropos." Othello seemed to recover more quickly from the surprise. "Good afternoon. I'm Othello, and this is Citrine."

    He wore a similar outfit to mine, though a tux with a bowtie instead of a vest with a long tie. His mask was full-face, half-white and half-black. Citrine, on the other hand, wore a yellow-tinted evening gown with a half-face mask embedded with the precious stones that she took her name from. Were they to show up at an official function without their masks, they would fit right in, which I suspected was Accord's intention all along.

    "It's good to meet you. Thank you for being prompt." We shook hands, then I indicated a nearby picnic table. "Shall we sit?"

    "If you wish." Othello gave the impression he was under strict orders to not provoke me in any way. Taking out an immaculate handkerchief, he dusted the seat down before stepping back to allow Citrine to sit. I took my seat on the other side, and waited for them to get settled.

    "Alright then." I touched my fingertips together and looked at them both. "Accord wants to move into Brockton Bay. That's what we're here to discuss, correct?"

    Citrine nodded. "That's correct, yes. Do you have any pressing objections to this?"

    "Objections, no. Stipulations, yes." I glanced between them. "Are you recording this meeting?"

    "We weren't, but we can," Othello replied. "Do you give permission?"

    "I do, on the condition that no copies go any further than Accord himself." I tilted my head slightly. "It's in everyone's best interests to ensure that zero misunderstandings come out of this meeting, yes?"

    "I agree, one hundred percent." From her tiny handbag, Citrine took her phone and laid it on the table between us. She called up a recording app and pressed the start icon. "Recording taken of a meeting between Citrine, Othello and Atropos, for Accord's ears only."

    "You spoke of stipulations," Othello recapped for the recording. "What might they be?"

    "No bringing crime or addiction into my town." My tone was flat. "I'm making Brockton Bay into a safe, prosperous city. The hard drug trade is dead. I'm not going to let anyone revive it, or anything like it, just for a little extra profit."

    "How about victimless crimes?" asked Citrine. "Things that have been made illegal but don't hurt anyone?"

    I tilted my head. "There are more victims from so-called 'victimless' crimes than you'd think. Suppose you give me examples."

    "Well, for instance, prostitution," Othello suggested.

    "We already have it, but it's not as widespread as it once was." I ticked off points on my fingers. "The ABB was running girls, some of whom had been forced into the life. When the pimps lost the protection of Lung and Oni Lee, it got a little messy. I had to kill a few men who were intent on silencing the witnesses. Most of the girls have cut themselves free and are living better lives. Some have chosen to keep doing it, but I've made sure that their managers only take a minor cut of the profits, and that they have a far better healthcare scheme. If Accord brings more into town, they're going to be working under the same rules. No exceptions."

    "I see," Citrine said, in a tone of voice that meant well, shit. "What about gambling?"

    "So long as it's fair and not a con job." I spread my hands. "The ABB had a casino as well. It stumbled on for a while longer after the gangs collapsed, but since the BBPD stopped taking bribes to look the other way, it's closed its doors."

    "Cage fighting?" Othello didn't let any of the frustration I was pretty sure he was feeling show on the surface. "With willing participants, of course."

    "Which is just gambling with a few extra steps. If you can absolutely guarantee that nobody will be pressured to throw a crucial bout and that all the betting will be fair and above board—and that the participants will have access to the required medical care—sure. Go right ahead. Just remember that thing about cops and bribes."

    They sat silent for a moment. I noted that neither one protested that cage fighters would not be pressured to throw bouts. This was good, because laughing in their faces might have caused offense.

    "What do you have against gambling?" asked Citrine; there was honest curiosity in her voice.

    "Apart from it being a particularly insidious form of addiction?" I shrugged. "Nothing. It's not the gambling I'm opposed to, exactly. The problem is what happens when desperate people lose everything on a 'sure thing' and owe even more. Honest gambling can ruin someone's life if there's nobody there to help them kick it. Rigged gambling, especially with leg-breakers involved, is ten times as bad. Crime will go up, and I will take notice."

    "But surely you understand that responsible adults can gamble—" she began.

    "You have met people, right?" I interrupted. "It's also understood that responsible adults should know how to drive safely, and avoid hard drugs. And yet we have a need for speed limits and guardrails on bridges for the first, and drug rehab centres for the second."

    "Very well," Othello conceded. "Nothing that involves addiction, rigged gambling or predatory business practices, or requires bribing the police. Were there any other stipulations?"

    "Yes. Accord has a tendency to react homicidally to problems such as impoliteness or a lack of perfect order. The only person who's allowed to murder anyone in this town is me. If he has a problem with someone or something, he can bring it to me and I will deal with it. Again, no exceptions."

    "Police," Citrine warned, without raising her voice.

    I turned my head to look at the cop car cruising down Lord Street in our direction. Raising my hand, I gave them a cheerful wave. The one riding shotgun hesitantly waved back, while his partner kept both hands on the wheel and stared straight ahead in a blatantly obvious 'I-see-nothing' pose. We watched as the car just kept on rolling down the road.

    "Hmm," mused Othello. "It appears to me that we could circumvent the whole problem with police bribery—"

    "No." My tone was definite. "I'll let you operate in my town under my rules, but you don't get to use my name for your purposes."

    Citrine pursed her lips. "Well, you're not leaving us much to go on with. This has been less of a negotiation and more a series of roadblocks."

    "There's entertainment," I suggested. "Or even Palanquin, the nightclub that Faultline's Crew used to run before they left town. I understand that was moderately profitable. Also, supplying alcohol in general: there's a lot of thirsty roadworkers in town right now." I leaned forward slightly. "Just remember, your boss came to me on this one. The takeaway from all this is that we're implementing his plan here in Brockton Bay, and it's working. The main reason he's moving here is to fine-tune it. Everything else? That's extra. So don't get greedy."

    Othello nodded slowly. "I hear what you're saying, and I understand. We'll take this recording back to Accord, and see what happens from there." He picked up Citrine's phone and pressed the STOP icon.

    "That's fine with me." I stood up from the table. "Pleasure doing business."

    I shook hands with both of them, and they headed back toward their car. Once they were in it and on the move, I triggered the teleport that dropped me back into the same cubicle as I'd come from. Changing back only took a few moments, and I went back out into the dining area to find Cherie right where I'd left her.

    "I got more calamari for you," she said with a grin. "And a shake."

    "You're amazing." I sat down opposite her and grabbed a couple of calamari rings, then washed them down with some of the shake.

    "So, how'd it go?" Her eyes were bright with interest.

    I sighed. "It went. I'm pretty sure they mistook 'willing to shoot people in the face' for 'willing to do anything for profit'."

    "To be honest, that's an understandable mistake." She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

    "I suppose. But they're going back to Accord with a lot less than they wanted. He might get grumpy." I grinned. "Which is not my problem. So, what did you want to do next? Movies or Market?"

    She wrinkled her nose. "I already looked at the movie listings. Nothing there really appealed to me, so Market?"

    "Market," I agreed. Tomorrow I would face the Fallen, but this afternoon belonged to Cherie and me.

    <><>​

    Monday Morning, February 28, 2011
    Winslow High School

    Valefor

    They were so close he could taste it.

    Mama had gone through all the information she could about Atropos, and in the PHO thread she'd found a reference to the murder of a teenage girl with the initials 'SH' or 'SS'. Scouring the local news sites, she'd finally found mention of the death of a Sophia Hess … who had been a student at Winslow High. Which meant Atropos went to Winslow.

    With makeup obscuring his facial tattoos, and jeans and a blouse to disguise himself as a girl, he didn't have to worry about anyone looking at him twice. It wasn't as though he had any curves to attract attention, and he was careful not to make eye contact with anyone.

    Mama and Eligos, both in civilian clothes, had entered the school at the same time as he had. The students barely even looked at them once, probably assuming they were there to see the school administration. It helped that Mama looked older than she really was, though he'd never say that to her face.

    They'd discussed the next move at length. It was highly unlikely that Atropos would be walking the halls of Winslow in full costume, which meant they'd have to find her some other way. The two options they had were to either locate someone who knew who she was under the mask (teenagers being unable to keep a secret at the best of times) or to draw her out by Mastering enough students that she came looking for him.

    With this in mind, he approached the nearest student who wasn't talking to someone else. "Hi," he said, drawing the guy's attention. Eye contact was achieved, and the boy's will was his. "Do you know who Atropos is?"

    To Elijah's astonishment, the boy stuttered and stumbled and nearly managed to break eye contact. "Don't wanna say," he managed. "She'll kill me."

    Grabbing the boy's shoulders, Elijah stared into his eyes. "Tell me who Atropos is."

    Faced with a direct order instead of a question that could be evaded (though even that left him shocked and surprised) the boy blurted out a name. "Taylor Hebert. That's who Emma says it is."

    Now we're getting somewhere. "Emma, huh? Tell me about Emma."

    Over the next thirty seconds, Elijah learned more about Emma Barnes than he really wanted to know. That she was a well-endowed redhead was good information (though the boy put it somewhat more crudely than that), as was which home room she attended, but the fact that she'd gone from being queen bee of her year to a Goth wannabe was less useful. When his font of information started veering into explicit night-time fantasies about Emma, Elijah cut him off.

    "Okay, that's enough. You're going to forget you ever saw me or told me anything about anyone."

    Turning, he walked away from the boy. He knew that Mama would've been listening through his ears, so she would know everything he did. While the boy might not have known what this 'Taylor Hebert' looked like, Emma Barnes certainly would, and she might even be able to point him at Atropos' current whereabouts.

    It took several wrong turns before he gave up and asked a passing student which way Mr Gladly's World Affairs classroom was. One concise description later, he was on the right track. He headed onward, knowing Mama was close behind.

    They were pretending to be normal for the time being, but the instant they located Atropos, the façade would be dropped. All that mattered was getting their hands on her. Mama had said so, and so it was true.

    It would've been a lot harder to bring in the extra muscle, so they were posted in the van outside. If there was any real trouble with Atropos, Mama could summon them with voices in their heads; it was something they were used to. But Elijah didn't think they'd need it. Away from her guns and knives, Atropos was just a teenage girl, after all.

    He saw the door to the correct classroom and standing outside, a pretty redhead, well-developed for her age, wearing Goth makeup and dark clothing. That had to be her. There couldn't be two girls of the same description in the same classroom, if for no other reason than that none of the boys would get any work done.

    Marching right up to her, he tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me, are you Emma Barnes?"

    It never failed. She turned, looked in his eyes, and her willpower just melted away. "Yes," she said tonelessly.

    "Do you know who Atropos is?"

    Again, the struggle. "I … I don't want to …"

    God dammit. What's she done to these people? This is usually a lot easier. "Is Atropos Taylor Hebert?"

    A hesitation, then her will crumbled again. "Yes. Taylor Hebert is Our Lady in Darkness."

    Finally. "Do you know where she is?"

    "She said she'd be on the roof." And it was as easy as that.

    "She told you she'd be on the roof? When was that?"

    "Five minutes ago."

    Which meant she'd still be there. He asked one last question, because he could actually learn from his mistakes. "How do I get to the roof?"

    <><>​

    Winslow Rooftop

    Atropos

    I waited alongside the roof door, the shears in my hand and my phone recording from on top of the doorframe. On my threatscape, three dots approached closer and closer, flaring bright with malice. Knowing they'd question Emma, I'd passed by her and told her that I'd be on the roof. She hadn't known why I was telling her, but she'd nodded anyway, anxious to please.

    At least she wasn't cringing away from me, these days. Being the high priestess (or whatever) of a cult about me had given her some of her self-confidence back, but I suspected she needed the services of a good therapist. I wondered what her parents would think if they knew the reason behind her sudden fashion shift.

    "… me go first, just in case." That was Eligos, right on cue. An aerokinetic, he was probably expecting me to be posing dramatically on the edge of the roof, or something.

    The door opened, and he stepped out. I lunged from his blind spot, the shears slicing through his jugular and carotids in one swift move, not unlike the one I'd used to kill Coil once upon a time. Gore splattered across the rooftop as he stumbled, clutching his throat and gurgling whatever indecipherable last words he might have.

    They were probably along the lines of, "What the fuck was that?" but it didn't matter. He'd be dead in less than a minute.

    And then Valefor stepped out, locked eyes with me, and shouted, "Stop!"

    I stopped.

    He took two shaking steps toward Eligos, but no doubt saw from the rapidly spreading pool of crimson that his teammate was beyond help. Mama Mathers was staring at me, her eyes blazing with fury. Like I cared.

    Valefor turned back to me. "Drop all your weapons. Your guns and your knives! Drop them now!"

    Of course, I obeyed. I dropped the bodice shears, then pulled out my pistol and dropped that. I had a knife in a sheath and my good friend Mr Pump Action Shotgun; they completed the pile.

    He approached me, then said, "Walk to the edge of the roof."

    As I complied, his mother asked him, "What are you doing?"

    His tone was sulky. "I should make her jump off, for what she's done."

    "Don't you dare, boy." She did something with her power, and he hissed with pain but didn't otherwise react. "She's ours now. You hold her reins."

    He sighed as he came up to me. "Yes, but … he was my brother."

    I whirled on my heel. "Welp, sucks to be you."

    As I said it, while he was still reacting to me moving and speaking without being ordered to, I brought the goblin claw from Ellisburg out of my pocket and slashed him across the eyes with it. He screamed, hitting a higher-pitched note than I would've expected from him. Vitreous humour, stained with blood, trickled down his cheeks.

    As I lunged for Mama Mathers, my world went white and my ears boomed with unearthly noise, but it didn't matter in the slightest; my power guided my every move. Pinning her arms to her sides, I went to work with the claw. She screamed louder than Valefor had, though by the time I'd finished, all she could articulate was a gurgling wail.

    Valefor staggered past, his hands reaching out in front of him. I swept his legs from under him, dropping him hard on his back, then dragged his mother over next to him. "Release us," I ordered, feeling my power echo my words on a level that didn't require ears to hear. This was because she didn't have working ears anymore, thanks to the claw tip. "Release us all. Now."

    In some ways, this was easier than it had been with Heartbreaker, because my power had had to coerce his power into adjusting the way it worked on the fly. Here and now, Valefor and Mama Mathers were perfectly capable of doing what I told them; they just had to be convinced to do it. When they hesitated, I poked the goblin claw into Valefor's throat, and squeezed his mother's slender neck with my fingers. Blood was welling around the point of the claw, and she was choking and scrabbling at my wrist, before they gave in.

    My vision and hearing went back to normal, but I wasn't finished. Standing, I yanked Mama Mathers to her feet. As blind as her son, she stumbled as I spun her around and shoved her backward. Five feet back was the roof edge; she tried to scream, and failed, as she hit it with her legs and went over.

    By that time, I had Valefor on his feet, holding him by the scruff of his neck and the back of his waistband. "Mama!" he cried out.

    "Go meet her," I said, and took one long stride before spearing him forward. He went over headfirst.

    The two impacts hit the ground barely a second apart, and both threat lights flickered out. I went back to my pile of weapons, picked up the shotgun, and racked the action just as the first of the Fallen backup rushed out through the open roof door. He saw the shotgun and tried to skid to a halt. The one behind him cannoned into him, and they both tripped over Eligos' body and went down in a cursing heap.

    "Hi," I said to the last two. "You're going to need to drop all your weapons and kick them over my way, then wait for the cops."

    Dazed, they did as they were told, then looked around. Eligos' corpse was in plain view, but the rooftop was otherwise empty.

    "Wh—where are Valefor and Mama Mathers?" asked one.

    I grinned tightly under my mask.

    "They fell."



    End of Part Fifty-Seven
     
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