Another Way (Worm AU fanfic)

[Ack]

Chapter 20? As in, one that hasn't been published, yet?

Click to shrink...

It's the twentieth chapter ... on ff.net.

Here, it's Part 16.

 

[Ack]

Another Way

Part Seventeen: Dealing with Blasto

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


"Well, now I'm asking." Claire loved her father dearly, but he really did enjoy showing off how smart he was. "What does plan B consist of?"

"The first thing we need to do," he said, all business now, "is to keep them off-balance. Blasto has let the genie out of the bottle and if it's got Lung's powers it'll be somewhat larger now, so he won't be able to put it back where he was keeping it. But that won't stop him from trying, and while he's concentrating on that, he won't be overseeing external security. And given that you suborned his guard-creature so easily, he won't want to let them out of his sight, either."

"Got it so far," she agreed. "So, we hit them from the outside? Keep them reacting?"

"That is correct, my dear Marchioness. While you were in there, did you get a read on how he controls his creatures? He seems to have a penchant for using pheromones. If so, that will be his weakness."

Claire grinned savagely, her body already morphing into her full battle-form. "I like the way you think. And yes, you're right. His guard-creatures are all attuned to react to a series of pheromones. I can give you the appropriate emitters, if you want."

"We don't have the time," he said. "I'm coming in, and Palatina will be overhead, but I need you to get close and see what havoc you can cause. The more things that are going wrong with his creations, the harder it will be for him to be proactive rather than reactive."

Beside her, Jonas cleared his throat. "I can accompany her as well, sir," he offered diffidently. "Unless you want me out here instead."

"I think we'll maintain you on overwatch for the moment," her father decided. "After all, one never knows when one needs someone's skull to be converted into a cloud of pink mist."

Claire was barely listening anymore. She slithered out of the evening wear, leaving it in a neat pile with her shoes on the rooftop she was currently sharing with Jonas. Her form was now as sexless as it was sleek and efficient, and owed more to nightmare space movies than anything related to humanity.

The modifications she was making to herself had their basis in the adjustments she'd taken on when the Empire tried to kill her father. However, this time she'd had much more time to think about it, and there were a few optional extras she'd decided to try out. Case in point: her exoskeleton was a glossy black, laced with carbon nanotubes in such a way that bullets would simply bounce off. But with a little thought on the matter, the nanotubes were realigned and set up to contain chromatophores. As a result, her carapace went rainbow-hued, then shifted colour schemes to produce an ever-changing transmission of light 'through' her body. When she moved quickly, she knew the distortion would give her away. But if she held still …

This time, when she smiled, she didn't open her mouth. Transparent covers over her eyes allowed her to see and yet not be seen. "See you later, Jonas."

"See you later, chick." Jonas didn't look up from the sights of the enormous rifle. "Give 'em hell."

"Oh, I intend to." Moving with a sinuosity matched only by snakes and particularly agile cats, she slithered over the side of the roof and down the wall, holding on with a combination of sharp claws and gecko-pads where necessary.

When she'd modified the guard-creature earlier, she'd gotten a complete read on its vomeronasal system and what pheromones had significant effects on them. Including the pheromone that they all emitted, which translated as 'friend; do not attack'.

She smiled an extremely toothy grin. Time to go and have fun.

<><>​

Blasto

Rey Andino was not having a good day. He was down one guard-beast, and all the others were on edge. Worse, while his newest creation had already healed the damage it took in the fight, it was very much on edge (because the other creations were unhappy) and he didn't have time to settle it down. It was also about eleven feet tall at the moment, and didn't seem likely to be getting any smaller. Damn and blast that Marchioness!

If he'd captured her, it would've been somewhat worth it. But from the way his surviving guards were snuffling around the door, it seemed she'd slipped out during the fight. Which left no fewer than three enemies at large that he didn't know the whereabouts of; Marchioness, Marquis and the as-yet unseen Palatina. And of course, his human minions had cut and run at the first opportunity. Which only proved (once more) that the only good underlings were the ones he created for himself.

For a moment, he wondered if he hadn't bitten off more than he could chew. Marquis was formidable enough on his own, and with Marchioness and this 'Palatina' at his side, he could only become more dangerous. And that was before Lung himself got into the mix.

No. I can take them both. He'd knuckled under to the other gangs in the city for long enough. With the Lung/Marquis hybrid at his command, he could meet any threat and overwhelm it. Between the hybrid's regenerative capability, its command of bone and fire, and the sheer ferocity granted it by the animal components (and of course, Lung himself wasn't known for his quiet and retiring ways), he would back the beast against any cape in Brockton Bay. Even Marchioness would be eviscerated and incinerated before she could repeat whatever stunt she'd used to turn the gorilla/hyena guard-beast against him. And if Marquis himself attempted to use his vaunted powers against the hybrid Blasto had made with his DNA, the creature would meet bone with bone, then trump him with fire.

Gradually, he began to relax. His newest creation was prowling around the interior of his base, glowering at the guard-beasts when they came too close. The beasts themselves were on high alert, especially since one of their number had been skewered with bone, roasted from the inside and then torn apart before them. But they hadn't been given the signal to attack, so they were doing their best to keep their distance from the brand-new hybrid.

It seemed more and more likely that Marchioness had been acting on her own; had her father been in the vicinity, he would almost certainly have intervened when Rey shot her at close range, no matter how little effect the bullet had on her. A stupid teenager pulling a stupid stunt. It wasn't as though there was a lack of those in the world at any given time. And now she was going to sneak back to her father and pretend nothing had ever happened.

On the downside, he'd had to decant the hybrid early, a day before he would've judged it properly mature. On the upside, it had been field-tested and come through with flying colours. He'd seen footage of Lung in action; his creation would ramp up faster, do more damage and be impervious to the hottest flame the Asian cape could muster. And once both Lung and Marquis had been vanquished, in the absence of the Empire, Blasto would be the pre-eminent supervillain in Brockton Bay. With his hybrid at his side (perhaps two or three of them, just to be safe), nobody would dare undersell him anymore.

Still, it didn't seem like a good idea to simply decide everything was going to be fine. Complacency had to be earned, not assumed. He directed several of his guard-beasts to perform another perimeter check, to make sure the building was secure. While they were doing that, he went over to his lab equipment and started the process for creating a second Lung/Marquis hybrid. He had enough samples of the first one to get it right, after all. And this one would be grown to full term; it would be the one he sent out on missions while its older (and less matured) brother stayed at home to maintain base security. The new one's first mission, he decided, would be to track that annoying little girl back to wherever she and Marquis called home, so that they could see what it felt like when somebody else invaded their base.

Two of his guard-beasts let off their howl that meant 'all is not right', at the same time. Jerking his head up, he swore inventively. The problem was, he hadn't given them different alarm-howls, so he had no idea what was going on. Putting the lab gear into automatic for the moment—the tricky bit would come later, calculating exactly what sort of nutrients and how much to feed it at critical stages in its growth—he pulled his pistol again and went over to investigate.

The first guard-beast he came to pointed its clawed digits at a trio of its packmates, which were lying sprawled in a darkened corner of the warehouse. At first he thought they were dead—the way he'd built them, they were virtually impossible to knock unconscious via either chemical or physical means—but then one of them shifted and let out a long rattling snore.

What the absolute living fuck?

That was impossible. It was literally impossible. His guard-beasts didn't get tired in the normal sense. They could stay up for thirty-six hours at a stretch, if he needed them to. They did have a sleep-state they could enter, but only if they encountered a certain pheromone, over a certain level of concentration. Which he hadn't released, even when that one beast had been induced to attack him.

And yet, here were three of them, asleep. Muttering under his breath, he told the guard-beast to watch them until he returned. He had a 'wake-up' pheromone he could dose them with, but that was back in his desk. For now, he needed to check on the second alarm. Still with the pistol in hand, he headed in that direction.

Which turned out to be the rear door to the kitchen, sitting ajar.

He stared at the door (which he'd made certain to lock and bolt when initially securing his base), and at the neat half-circle that had been cored out to remove the entire lock mechanism. There had been no power tool use that he'd heard, and yet the thick wood had been sliced through with terrifying precision. For God's sake, there wasn't even any sawdust on the floor! Whoever had done it had cheekily left the piece of door (with the lock and bolt still engaged) on the counter beside the doorway. It was as if they hadn't cared about being detected.

Which was worrisome. People with that attitude were invariably either so good they really didn't need to worry about such things, or thought they were, which bespoke a lack of forethought that could lead to other really bad decisions. Decisions that it would be up to him to clean up the aftermath.

Unfortunately, he'd already met someone not half an hour ago who matched that description to a T; a teenage girl who had thought nothing of invading his base and throwing out unfounded threats, before just waltzing out again. It was looking very much like she had returned to plague him once more. Well, this time he was ready for her; his hybrid was a match for anything she could throw at him. And once the hybrid had finished tearing her apart, he could use the remains as a basis for creating his own version of her.

Though he still had no idea how she'd removed the lock so neatly. Even the hybrid wouldn't have been able to do that. Destroy the door utterly, yes. Rip the lock out and reduce the door to splinters, definitely. But carve out the lock so neatly, without leaving any debris on the floor? Not a hope in hell.

With that in mind, he turned to the guard-beast, his mouth already opening to issue orders for it to guard the door until he got back with something more sturdy to secure it.

The beast was slumped on the floor, asleep.

Looking around wildly, he backed up to the far end of the kitchen area and brandished his pistol. With his other hand, he reached into his pocket for a specific vial. Lifting it over his head, he threw it to the floor, where it shattered. The liquid within sprayed over the floor, then started to rapidly evaporate. From all around the base, he heard answering howls from his guards.

"To me!" he yelled. In an immediate response, three of the creatures showed up at the entrance to the kitchen, looking around wildly. Their claws flexed at the air as they snuffled at the air. One of them lashed out at a cabinet, reducing it to kindling, then came up with a very surprised rat. Muscles flexed; the squeaking, struggling rodent was crushed to a bloody pulp.

That particular pheromone was designed to put them on extreme alert. Anything alive within the base that didn't match the scent parameters of 'friend' (specifically; him, their fellow guard-beasts, or the hybrid) would be attacked in a berserker fury and torn to shreds. He'd tried keeping the previous generation of guard-beasts in that state on a permanent basis, but even when they didn't attack one another by accident, it led to problems like not eating and (in some cases) walking into walls because they were concentrating too much on their sense of smell.

If you're in this base, you little twit, you're dead. Clenching his hand around the pistol, but taking care to move his finger off the trigger first (he couldn't guarantee that the smell of gunshot residue wouldn't result in a terminally embarrassing false positive), he stalked out of the kitchen area. On the way, he touched a guard-beast on the arm and gestured; come with me.

With the beast at his back, he headed over toward where he kept the 'wake-up' pheromone. As he moved, he kept his head up, eyes scanning from side to side. It wasn't like a girl in an evening dress would be particularly inconspicuous, after all. And if I see her before the creatures do, I won't bother shooting her in the chest this time. He wasn't a really good shot, but he understood that a bullet in the head usually worked. And if one didn't, five or six might.

As he pulled open the cabinet where he kept the pheromone, he heard the guard-beast behind him start to sniff more deeply than normal; glancing over his shoulder at it, he saw it staring suspiciously at a point in mid-air … just before it collapsed to the ground. Then something moved, and he saw the wavering outline of a person that wasn't quite there.

No, not a person. Whatever it was, it wasn't human. He was an expert on human proportions, and that thing didn't have them. Which meant it certainly wasn't Marchioness, leaving the question wide open as to who (or what) it really was.

Not that he was in the mood to ask right then; bringing the pistol around, he braced it in shaking hands. Before he could fire, the hybrid let out its attack call, a rumbling roar that shook the building. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw it charging … right at him. Flames billowed around its metal-clad body as it generated weapons of fiery bone.

With a yelp of terror, he dropped flat. Whatever it was that had invaded his base, he didn't want to get between it and his hybrid. 'Death by out-of-control minion' was about the most embarrassing way a crime lord could go.

The hybrid never even looked down at Rey as it leaped over him, the heat of its flames washing over his back. Turning his head, he saw it slash with a huge sword-like weapon, flames trailing behind the blade. The shimmery form of the intruder seemed to backflip out of the way, faster than humanly possible. Certainly faster than Rey could've managed on his very best day.

The hybrid kept advancing, slashing with its blade and launching more flaming bone spikes; at any minute, Rey expected to hear a death-scream and see a limp body falling to the floor. Preferably in two or more pieces. But nothing of the sort happened. It attacked, over and over again, to no result. He'd specifically designed it to bore in after hard-to-hurt opponents and overwhelm them with damage, and this was what it was trying to do.

As the chase went on, he came to the realisation that this wasn't really a fight. The intruder wasn't retaliating or even standing its ground. In fact, it was retreating as fast as it could, bouncing off the walls and launching itself in unexpected directions. As far as he could tell from the flickering, high-speed movements, it merely wanted to disengage. But the hybrid kept slashing, kept pursuing, growing in size, despite the fact that no return attacks were coming back its way. Every failed attack merely seemed to further enrage it.

Roaring its anger, the hybrid kept after the intruder, now shooting more of the flaming bone spikes. These appeared to miss; three lodged in the wall, still burning, while the fourth punched into a hapless guard-beast. The stricken creature howled as it was impaled by the bone weapon, then fell back as the hybrid slashed it on the way past. Rey looked around wildly for other guard-beasts so that he could order them to assist the hybrid in cornering the intruder, but there didn't seem to be any around. In fact, the only guard-beast that seemed to be still on its feet was the now-injured one.

Oh, come on. Rey shook his head in impotent fury. How did it put all my beasts down? How the fuck did it know how to put them to sleep?

He began to climb to his feet, wondering if he should try to revive the fallen guard-beasts, or do something to assist the hybrid in catching its prey. Whichever it was, he realised he should do it quickly; while the furious hybrid had yet to hit with any of its attacks, those that missed were taking their toll on the interior of his base. Several flaming bone spikes were now sticking out of the wall and support pillars, and the hybrid itself—fifteen feet tall and still growing—was doing even more incidental damage by way of the flames that billowed from it and surrounded it on all sides. With each fruitless swipe of the tremendous flaming blade, slicing through structural members and furniture alike, the interior of the base was looking more and more like a war zone.

Then, with a start, he realised that the chase had turned back toward him. The flickering almost-invisible intruder, darting back and forth, was heading in the general direction of his lab gear, the gestation chambers, his storage … and him. "No!" he shouted, holding out his hands uselessly. "No!" He didn't even consider trying to shoot the intruder; if he missed (and he probably would) then there was a good chance he would strike the hybrid, and he didn't want to do that while it was in full battle mode.

An epiphany burst upon him, full-formed. The intruder wasn't fleeing from the hybrid, and never had been. All it had to do was stay ahead of the monstrous clone, leading his most dangerous minion on a merry chase, so that it wrecked his base while trying to catch up with its perceived prey. The intruder's doing this on purpose. Using my own weapons against me. And now he had maybe five seconds before it lured the hybrid into stampeding clean over the top of his lab gear and specimen storage, destroying everything he'd worked so hard for.

There was a way out, of course. He never built a dangerous clone without installing some way to prevent it from turning on him. The sleep pheromone he'd engineered into the guard-beasts would not suffice in this case, but he had something that would. Hands moving with desperate haste, he yanked open a drawer and reached inside to grab the ultrasonic module.

High-pitched sound waves—not just any high-pitched sound waves, but those of a specific frequency and strength—would serve to disrupt its inner ear functions in a way that its innate regeneration could not easily combat. Swinging around toward the oncoming hybrid, he jammed his thumb on the button. Inaudible sound waves lashed out, and the hybrid faltered—

"Yoink!" The intruder flashed past, giving him an extremely close view of glowing eyes and a grinning mouth full of far too many sharp fangs. He recoiled, then reacted far too late to the tug against his fingers. With growing horror, he stared at his empty hand. Oh, shit. It took the module.

The hybrid roared, no longer afflicted by the debilitating ultrasonic assault. It leaped forward, once more in hot-pursuit mode. Faced with the choice of getting out of the way or risk being trampled by his own creation, Rey dived to the side. Not even bothering to leap over precious lab gear and storage drawers, the hybrid smashed on through. The sound of his gestation chambers shattering brought tears to Rey's eyes, while flames licked over everything. Whatever hadn't been trampled and crushed was set on fire; he stared in anguish as his life's work burned.

There was nothing more for him here. His samples were all—or almost all—destroyed, and none of his painstakingly assembled machinery was salvageable. His only option now was to sneak out while the intruder was busy baiting the hybrid into destroying the rest of the base. And when I get set up again, I'm going to build the most vindictive assassin-beast I can manage, and I'm going to send it back to Brockton Bay to kill whatever the living fuck that thing is. As well as Marquis and Marchioness, just because I can. In his pocket were still the metal scale from Lung and the shard of bone from Marquis; with these he would craft his vengeance.

Thoughts hot with retribution, he began to crawl away toward the kitchen area, keeping low. This served not only to keep him out of sight—so he hoped—but also to keep him below the worst of the smoke that was beginning to gather in the now-burning building. It scratched at his throat, forcing a cough from his lungs.

With a sound like thunder, the roof blew away, smashed sideways into rubble by a golden spiralling beam of destruction. Eyes wide, he rolled on to his back as the smoke billowed upward and out of the tremendous hole thus created. He knew that blast, and whose signature attack it was. Marchioness had called her Palatina, but only a blind man would mistake the glowing figure now hovering over the hole for anyone but Purity, of the Empire.

Not that he spent more than half a second wondering what Purity was doing with Marquis and his certifiably insane daughter (not to mention the semi-invisible thing that had just incited his hybrid into destroying his base). Rolling on to his stomach once more, he began to crawl even more urgently toward the escape route offered by the open back door. Escape now, payback later.

He was almost at the doorway into the kitchen area (and the sleeping guard-beast there) when the hybrid bellowed in agony, falling to the ground not so far away and clawing at its ears. Even now, it was too dangerous to approach; over twenty feet tall and covered both in flame and vicious bone spikes, it was a hazard in and of itself. The very concrete beneath it was starting to blacken. He quickened his pace.

"Uh, uh." The rasping, hissing voice came from directly in front of him. "You aren't going anywhere, mister." As he stared, what he'd thought to be a distortion due to smoke solidified, then cast away the flickering camouflage to become …

Whatever it was, it wasn't human. He'd noted that once before, but now he was in a position to truly appreciate its form (for a very loose definition of 'appreciate'), he could see everything that made it other. Digitigrade legs, leading to a triple-toed foot armed with nasty-looking gripping claws; a semi-crouched posture that evoked images of raptors or other predatory dinosaurs; a long whippy tail that appeared almost prehensile; oddly-jointed forelimbs that looked even more flexible than human arms, armed with three-inch razor claws; claws that could fold back out of the way so that it could hold his ultrasonic module and use it; last but not least, a lizard-like muzzle filled with extremely sharp-looking teeth (currently grinning at him), and glowing red eyes. All of which was clad in a flexible carapace of glossy black material.

He coughed due to the smoke, then cleared his throat. When he spoke, he had to raise his voice over the agonised howls of the hybrid, not so far behind him. "What … what are you?" This was the epitome of what he'd been trying to achieve with his minions. With a dozen of these, he could rule the city. "Who engineered you?" Because there was no way in hell someone had stumbled on a Changer form like this by pure luck. That form was designed to terrify. And to kill.

"I engineered me," the creature said coolly, its voice changing to that of a teenage girl. One he'd heard very recently.

"M-Marchioness?" he stammered, coughing again. "How—?"

She sighed. "Everyone looks at the cute girl in the evening gown and doesn't look any further. Your human minions knew better. They've met me before, you see. They get a second chance. You don't." Despite the nonhuman configuration of features, he read dispassionate death in her eyes.

Moving forward with an effortless speed that left him no chance to dodge, it lashed out with its free hand. He cringed, anticipating those wicked talons tearing into his flesh, but all it—she—did was lay an oddly-warm palm against his cheek. In the next second, he felt a weird sensation, as though he'd just been doused from head to foot in chilled water. Desperately, he tried to move, to roll aside, but nothing happened. "Wh-why?"

"You tried to kill me," she said. "But I would've been inclined to forgive that. Except that you cloned my dad and tried to frame him for mass murder. And then you cloned him again." She nodded toward where the hybrid was still thrashing on the floor. "It seems you just don't learn. You'll keep trying things, and people will get hurt, and we'll have to clean up your mess. It's easier this way."

With the same flicker-fast speed, she broke contact and stepped away from him. He moved, scrambling to his feet. Belatedly, he recalled the pistol he still held, and raised it to point at her. "Give me the module," he rasped. "Or I will shoot you in the head." He was about close enough to have a good try at it, anyway.

She sighed. "Feel free. I just swapped scents with you." While his brain was still parsing that, she raised the hand with the module in it … and effortlessly crushed it. As pieces of plastic fell to the floor, she leaned forward slightly, red eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "You better run," she whispered.

Silence fell in the base, broken only by the crackling of flames. Rey looked back over his shoulder, to see the hybrid hauling itself upright. Its rage-filled eyes were fixed not on Marchioness, but on him. A long inhalation of air through its nostrils inflated its chest, and it began to growl. Then it lunged forward. Far too late, he turned and ran.

He didn't get very far.

<><>​

Marchioness

"I thought I told you to distract him and keep him busy until we moved into position." Earl's voice was only mildly censorious as they stood and watched the warehouse burn. "Not engage the hybrid which, from all accounts, would've given the entire local Protectorate a run for its money."

"I didn't engage it," Claire (clad once more in her evening dress) pointed out in a reasonable tone. "It spotted me putting a guard-beast to sleep, and once it fixed on me, I couldn't shake it. So, I decided to make use of it, instead." She put a hand on Jonas' arm and nodded to Kayden. "Thanks for the assists, by the way, guys. It definitely kept things from getting too fraught." She was pretty sure Blasto had been unaware of the fact that every time the hybrid had gotten close to catching her, Jonas had put a high-velocity round through the wall of the warehouse and into the centre mass of the pursuing beast. It would've taken more firepower than even that monster of a rifle to put it down, but the shots had certainly hampered it.

"My genuine pleasure, chick," the South African rumbled.

"What I want to know is how you even got in there without them spotting you at once," Kayden said. "From what you're saying, even if they couldn't see you, they would've caught your scent. And it's basically impossible to remove all scent."

"Yeah, it is." Claire smirked. "But I had a read on the guard-thing I turned. So I basically took on its scent signature. I used a monomolecular claw to remove the lock, and they never even paid attention to me once I was inside. The right pheromone put them to sleep, and once the big clone was busy with Blasto, I made sure to give them all a painless end." She didn't say anything about Blasto's death being painless. It had been quick, but that was about it.

"All very fascinating," mused Earl. "But the fact remains that there's a creature in there that bears my DNA. I don't know the PRT will take a sample, but I don't know they won't, either." He paused. "How did you beat it, anyway?"

Claire flexed her hand, then snapped her fingers. "Once it finished eating Blasto, I got close enough to lay a hand on it. I put it to sleep, then dissolved it down to the molecular level. There's nothing left of it to get anything out of."

"Which is definitely something we're going to be leaving out of the narrative, when and if we say anything to the PRT about this," Earl decided. "Director Piggot doesn't need any more ulcers, and you don't need a kill order on your head."

Claire nodded thoughtfully. "I'd rather not get on the PRT's bad side, if only for their sake," she agreed.

"Precisely what I was thinking," Earl said. "They fulfil an important role in keeping Brockton Bay orderly. I'd rather not have to take that on as well, at this stage in my plans."

Some may have considered the implication that he could remove the PRT from the equation to be pure boastfulness. Nobody who truly knew Earl Marchant would have been included in that number.

<><>​

Director Piggot

Emily sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "So Blasto's dead?" And good riddance, she thought, carefully not allowing the sentiment to show on her face. The cloning Tinker's capabilities had plagued her nightmares ever since she'd found out about them; he wasn't Nilbog, but even a minor correlation was enough to make her grit her teeth when she thought about him. And the resemblance between his capabilities and Nilbog's had been anything but minor. There was a reason he'd had a pre-signed kill order waiting for him if he ever got out of line. The order hadn't actually been her idea, but if she'd had full authority in the matter, she would probably have found an excuse to activate it before now.

"We salvaged a hand from the wreckage," Armsmaster reported stoically. "DNA analysis is inconclusive, but we got three good fingerprints, and they match his. The remnants of the Tinker gear in the base also match what he was capable of." He shook his head. "It was bad. Whatever it was, it ate him. The teeth and claw marks were unmistakable. Also, his remains were severely burned, when there was no direct evidence that they'd been in contact with burning parts of the building."

"Burned?" Emily shook her head. "Are you saying Lung ate him? Or his clone of Lung ate him?" Personally, she suspected she was getting close to the mark. Lung would've been extremely irate if he heard about the clone that Marquis and Marchioness had captured and abducted from the attack on the PRT building. Perhaps not to the point that he would literally eat the Tinker in question, but …

Armsmaster shook his head. "We have insufficient evidence to determine the exact sequence of events. While we found shards of metal in the vicinity that show a fifty to seventy-five percent match with the scales Lung grows over his body, we didn't find any corpses that matched Lung's physique, even partially." He huffed in dissatisfaction. "There was also a large amount of undifferentiated biological material that had been baked into the concrete, but I'm not sure what that means."

Emily snorted. "In other words, the typical aftermath of a clash between two or more unknown capes. Too many questions, not enough answers." Letting out a gusty sigh, she asked the important question. "Was there any evidence, any at all, that would put Marquis, Marchioness or Purity on the scene?" How Armsmaster answered was going to be very important. Marquis had essentially said that he would be going after Blasto for cloning him; Blasto was now dead. But he wasn't dead from being impaled by multiple spikes of bone (as she imagined Marquis might deal with the matter) but from being burned and eaten. On the one hand, she strongly suspected the osteokinetic to be far too intelligent to accidentally leave traces of his presence at the scene of a murder; on the other, he was entirely likely to deliberately leave them, as a message to those who could see it.

"The roof was blown off in a way I could see Purity achieving," Armsmaster said at once. "But she didn't attack anything inside the building. There are spikes of something that could once have been bone nailed into the walls and structural pillars, but those have been burned to the point that even that's conjecture. To answer your question, ma'am; they could easily have been there, but they did not kill Blasto. That's the only bit I'm sure about."

She nodded. "All right, then. Submit your report, with all evidence included, but keep the case open. I have a feeling this isn't going to be the last time something like this happens."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And one more thing before you go," she said. "The reports from the bank that Marchioness turned herself into some sort of creepy horrorshow to fight the clone of Marquis?"

He nodded, showing that he already knew the question she was asking. "All true, ma'am."

She sighed. "Thank you." It was just one more crappy fact in an already crappy day.

He turned and left her office, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

As the door closed behind him, she slumped back into her chair. First the Merchants, then the Empire, now Blasto. The villains are dropping like flies, stopping bank robberies or just plain vanishing. But why does even good news make me feel like there's another shoe just ready to drop at any time?

And what am I supposed to do with the knowledge that Marchioness, the nice safe healer, can alter her form at will?

The answers to both those questions, she knew, would be likely to bother her for quite some time.

<><>​

Marquis

"Okay, so that's the last of his minions given a mental scrub-and-polish," Claire reported briskly. "Nobody will remember a damn thing about us, and only bits and pieces of working for Blasto." She dusted her hands off. "Those guys will come to in six hours, plus or minus fifteen minutes, so that's plenty of time to go dump them someplace they can wake up and wander off from."

Earl nodded, pleased. His daughter's powers made things so much more convenient. "Good. That's good." He pointed at the two of Blasto's ex-minions who were lying separately from the others. "What about them?"

"Oh, while I had them under, I dug down to their most basic motivations and asked them if they'd be loyal to you if we recruited them. Those were the only two who showed up as full positives, no matter what stresses I put them under." She raised an eyebrow at him. "I was going to wait for the okay from you before I gave them the final treatment."

"Hm." He nodded, somewhat amused. "That's one way to make sure your people are loyal from the beginning. Certainly; once you wake them up, I'll give them the spiel then turn them over to Jonas for induction."

"Sure." She nodded, then led the way to the last room, where a young man in his early twenties slept peacefully on a bed. "This is the clone of Lung. I've de-aged him and given him a total face and body makeup."

Earl's eyebrows tracked toward his hairline. "So I see." The clone didn't look at all like Lung anymore, but that meant nothing at all. "You do realise that as soon as he uses his powers, people are going to start speculating about his connection to Lung. More to the point, Lung is going to take notice as well."

Claire nodded. "I thought about that, and I thought about how his powers manifest. And I did some deep digging in his brain while I was giving him a personality and some rudimentary memories. I can't turn his powers all the way off or even change what they are, but I think I managed to adjust the way they show up. It's a work in progress, anyway."

"Really?" This was a true surprise to Earl. "You can actually do that? How are they going to show up, then?"

She shrugged, apparently unwilling to commit to an actual description. "Less like a dragon with metal scales, more like … I dunno, a knight in armour with a flaming sword? I guess?"

Earl's eyes widened as he looked at his daughter. "I'm going to need to see that in action before I judge, but if you've pulled it off, I will be very impressed indeed." This was the best thing about being a father, in his expert opinion; he never quite knew how Claire was going to surprise him next.

"Thanks, Dad." She gave him a grin, which faded shortly after. "Of course, I'm not quite sure how we're going to deal with your clone …"

And there went his good mood. "Ugh, yes." He didn't want her remodelling the clone as she had Lung's, and asking her to euthanise it just felt wrong in a way that killing the hybrid had not.

There had to be a third option, but he had no idea what it was.


End of Part Seventeen

 

[GladiusLucix]

"Thanks, Dad." She gave him a grin, which faded shortly after. "Of course, I'm not quite sure how we're going to deal with your clone …"

And there went his good mood. "Ugh, yes." He didn't want her remodelling the clone as she had Lung's, and asking her to euthanise it just felt wrong in a way that killing the hybrid had not.

There had to be a third option, but he had no idea what it was.

Click to shrink...

Claire gets a little brother?

 

[Ack]

Claire gets a little brother?

Click to shrink...

That's actually what I'm thinking, to be honest.

 

[doug89]

Claire gets a little brother?

Click to shrink...

It would be hilarious if the clone was around the same age as Amy, and went on to date Victoria. After the reveal Carol would lose her fucking mind.

 

[Ack]

It would be hilarious if the clone was around the same age as Amy, and went on to date Victoria. After the reveal Carol would lose her fucking mind.

Click to shrink...

That ... would be absolutely hilarious.

In so many ways.

 

[Ack]

Another Way

Part Eighteen: Friends and Family

[A/N: this chapter commissioned by GW_Yoda and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: if anyone has not yet heard, my first novel has been published. It can be found here or here.]


Robert

Vivid dreams swirled across his mind's eye. An urgent voice was telling him that he had to be a dragon, and for the longest time he believed it. But then another voice intervened, saying that he was there to slay dragons, not be them. None of it made any sense, but he somehow knew it was all exactly as it should be.

He drifted. Sleep was like being submerged in a deep pool of not-water, with the fragments of his dreams flitting by like brightly coloured fish. Or maybe tiny dragons.

Robert, the voice who had told him to slay dragons whispered. It's time to wake up.

He resisted the impulse to obey the voice; it was nice and warm and comfortable in his dream, and he didn't have to do anything except watch the dragons go by.

Wake up, the voice insisted. If you don't wake up, you'll never know how the story ends.

Oh, well, that was different then. He stopped resisting. The dream fragments scattered like autumn leaves or startled dragons as he began to move. He ignored them, kicking for the surface.

Opening his eyes was harder than he'd thought it would be. Light was a lot brighter than it was inside his head, too. He blinked, bringing up his arm to shade his eyes. That was harder, too. It felt heavy as lead, though there was nothing restraining him.

"Uh," he grunted, and realised for the first time that his mouth was horrendously dry and that there was a foul taste in it. "Blagh."

A face swam into view above his; a girl, maybe thirteen or fourteen? He wasn't good at telling age. There was a dash of freckles across her nose, while frizzy auburn hair was tied back in a businesslike ponytail. As far as he could tell, she was wearing a hooded jacket. Her hand slid under his head and helped him sit up, then a squeeze-bottle came into view. He accepted the tube into his mouth and sucked greedily at the pleasantly cool water. She let him take a couple of mouthfuls, enough to clear out the horrible aftertaste and re-hydrate his tissues, before she removed it again.

"Better?" she asked, letting him lie back again.

"Yes, thanks." He nodded to her, then realised her didn't know her face. Didn't know her name. There was a lot he didn't know, in fact. "Uh, what …?"

She did something out of his view, and the bed smoothly elevated him until he was half-sitting, looking across at her rather than up at her. "My name is Claire Marchant," she said, as if she'd plucked the question out of his head. "You're in my father's house. Do you remember your own name?"

"Robert," he ventured. It sounded right, anyway. But there was something missing. "Robert … Robert … uh, why can't I remember …?"

"Your last name? Don't worry." She gave him a reassuring smile. "It'll come to you in its own time. There was a car crash."

"Uh, car crash?" He frowned. "What car crash?" Something had happened, that he was sure of. He vaguely remembered … flames? "Did it catch fire?"

"It got pretty hot for a while there," she confirmed. "We were nearby and helped you get out of the situation after you lost consciousness."

Far from putting his mind to rest, her answers were only generating more questions. "If I was in a car crash, why am I not in the hospital?" He looked down at the swathe of sheet covering him. Surreptitious twitches proved that his legs and other arm were present and correct, and there were no obvious messages of pain coming back. However, something that wasn't present was any kind of IV leading into his arm. "How badly was I hurt, if I was unconscious?" He put his hand to his head. There were no bandages there, which only confused him further.

"Something needed to be done immediately," she said, her tone serious. "But there were two reasons why we brought you here instead of to a hospital. First, you're a parahuman. Second, no hospital can match what I can do, so it made sense to cut out the middleman."

"Wait, what again now? I'm a parahuman?" He stared at her. "Are you sure?"

"Mm-hmm," she said cheerfully, nodding to add emphasis. "As far as I can understand things, you manifest some sort of metallic scaled armour, along with a flaming sword. Pretty sure that's something ordinary people can't do."

"… oh." He looked down at himself. There was a certain lack of scaled armour and flaming sword, but somehow he knew she wasn't pulling his leg. Then something else she'd said came back to him. "What do you mean, no hospital can match what you can do?"

"Oh, that?" She chuckled warmly. "This would be extremely awkward to keep secret, so I'm going to need you to stay quiet about this." Reaching up, she pulled the hood up, tucking her hair into it. "Just one moment …" Giving him a smirk, she turned her back to him.

Not entirely sure what was going on, Robert continued to lie on the bed. It was warm and comfortable, and Claire seemed to know what she was talking about. Admittedly, she was being a bit mysterious right now, but teenagers loved their drama. He wondered absently how he even knew that, when he didn't know his own last name.

"Ta-dah!" She turned around again, pulling the hood back down. Midnight-black hair, long and wavy, spilled out over her shoulders in a glossy tide. He blinked, registering the fact that she was taller and had a different face, and even her voice was subtly more musical. "Marchioness, at your service."

"… wow, that's a good trick." Robert was very impressed; but more than that, he knew that name. Once again, he didn't know how he knew it, but Marchioness was definitely a name that had lodged in his memory. "You're the healer, right? Marquis' daughter?"

"That's correct." She gifted him with a cheeky smile. "Though one day I think it would be pretty cool if someone called Dad 'Marchioness' father'."

"I wouldn't object to that, so long as they said it with the appropriate respect." The new voice belonged to a tall man with neatly styled brown hair. He was dressed casually enough, but there was a glint in his eye that told Robert he would be far better off never crossing this man. Moving over to the bed, the man held his hand out. "Earl Marchant. Also known as Marquis. You've met my daughter already, I see."

"Ahh … yes, sir." Robert grasped his hand and shook it. "I'm pleased to meet you, and grateful that you're helping me … but I still really don't know why I'm here. Is it because I'm a parahuman?"

"Essentially, yes." Marquis indicated Marchioness, who nodded to acknowledge the gesture. "As Marchioness already mentioned, she had to perform extensive work on you. Work that would've been beyond any hospital. But on top of that, your status as a parahuman would've been outed not long after you went in through the front doors, and the PRT would've been all over your case in very short order. No matter how that turned out, you would be on their radar. And do you really want to trust their information security to keep your identity as a parahuman secret?"

"Um, okay." It made sense in a sort of bizarre, backward way. Of course, he'd never had to worry about a secret identity before. Or at least, he didn't think so. "So, uh, why are you unmasking to me like this? I mean, you barely know me."

Marchioness fielded that one. "Because if we tried to keep our identities secret from you while you were living in our house and we're trying to do our thing, the cover stories would rapidly grow out of control, and we'd lose sight of which lies we'd told last. Dad and I both think you can be trusted; and besides, we both know your secret. Fair's fair, after all."

"Your thing …" Robert blinked, then looked at Marquis. "You're a villain, but you've been out of town for some years." He switched his attention to Marchioness. "And you're a healer, but you're also his daughter. How do you even make that work?"

"Because, despite their best efforts to convince the world otherwise, the PRT isn't actually run by drooling idiots," Marquis said dryly. "With a little luck and a lot of chutzpah, my darling daughter engineered a confrontation with Armsmaster himself inside the Brockton Bay General Hospital. Everyone left peacefully, and Armsmaster undoubtedly had a lot to tell Director Piggot when he got back to the PRT building. Including the fact that she would be attending Endbringer battles as an area-effect healer, for free. That makes for a great deal of goodwill, which I am entirely willing to capitalise on."

"Oh. Right." That made a lot of sense. Which only raised the next question. "Okay, so where do I fit into all this? I mean, now that I'm healthy, do you want me to move out? Am I expected to join your team? What's the situation?"

"Neither." Marquis waved his hand around the room. "You may stay as long as you like. I will make enquiries as to your true identity, if you so wish. My only condition is that if you leave us to become a full-fledged superhero, that you do not invade our home to capture us. That has happened once before, and did not turn out well for the team that attempted it."

"Wow, nope." That sounded like a totally dick act to Robert. "I'd never pull something like that. But yeah, if you can look into who I really am, that would be great."

"I will set the ball rolling the moment I leave this room," declared the supervillain. "My best wishes for your speedy recovery, young man." He exited the room, leaving Robert more than a little bemused.

A feeling of lethargy stole over Robert. "Um, I think I need to get some more sleep," he confessed to Marchioness. "If that's okay with you, I mean."

"That's fine," she assured him with a knowing smile. "You've been through a lot. Sleep's a great healer." Reaching out, she placed her hand on his forehead. It was cool and comforting. "When you wake up, you should feel a lot better."

As he drifted off to sleep, he didn't even consider doubting her words.

<><>​

Claire

"You impress me more and more every day, Claire-bear," declared Earl. Leaning back in the sofa with his arm around Kayden, he raised his glass of champagne. "How did you create that young man from the faux Lung that we fought?"

"It was easier than I thought it would be, Dad." Claire sipped at her fruit juice. On the one occasion that she'd tried champagne, she'd coughed so hard bubbles came out of her nose. As far as she was concerned, any drink that required a physical upgrade to enjoy wasn't worth drinking. "I mean, Blasto was a total butcher. Sure, he could clone literally anything, but the hack job he did in giving the poor guy his mindset was like scribbling with crayons where you and I are like a book. Well, I'm like a book. You're like a stack of encyclopedias."

He gave her a suspicious glance. "Are you accusing me of being old again?"

"I prefer to call it 'rich with experience'." She smirked at him. "I couldn't give him the required life experience, not without basically leading him through fifteen years' worth of pretending to do stuff, so I cheated. I dumped a bit of my actual knowledge in there, then filled in around the edges with memories of memories of having done stuff. Then I covered over the rest with some retrograde amnesia. So when he does something he knows about, he gets a few tag-along memories that I planted there, but for the most part, he'll blame not knowing stuff on the car accident. And I made sure to give positive reinforcement for some things he 'remembers' doing, and negative for other things."

"You're right about it sounding easier than I thought it would be," Kayden commented. "Is it going to stick? Will he revert to being 'rawr, Lung' after a while, or if he gets traumatised?"

"No more than you're gonna revert to being a ten year old child if you're traumatised," Claire said. "He didn't have any underlying memories or personality that are likely to crop up. What I laid in there is like ripping the middle pages out of a comic book and gluing in a doctoral dissertation. It's a lot more sophisticated than what he had before, and it's not going anywhere."

"So, is he going to join us?" Earl held up his glass and studied the bubbles. "I didn't want to queer your pitch in there, so I played it by ear."

"I don't know," Claire confessed. "He's definitely inclined to be loyal to us, and there's a good chance of it, but I'm going to leave the final decision to him. Maybe if you 'find' information that he doesn't really have much of a family to go back to, that will tip his hand."

"That's certainly doable," her father declared. "Let me get back to you on that. But speaking of clones, how is the other one doing?"

Claire took a deep breath. "I've still got him in stasis. While I've more or less planned out what I want to do with him—specifically, de-age him and make him my younger brother, so we can both watch over him as he grows up—I want to observe Robert and make sure nothing goes dramatically wrong with the personality implant or anything else before I start working on your clone."

That got her father's attention. "Your younger brother? You intend to make him my son?" He shook his head slightly, as if to dislodge something inside. "That's … I never even thought that would ever happen."

"Should I be jealous, Dad?" Claire's dig was accompanied by a cheeky smile. "I barely mention the idea of you having a son, and you've already gone all goo-goo eyed."

He snorted. "Not jealous. Never jealous. You are my firstborn, and my only daughter. Raising you has been a privilege and a delight. With a son, I can do that all over again. And this time, I can actually teach someone how to use their powers without feeling like I'm making it up as I'm going along."

Kayden chuckled. "For someone who spent so much time as a solo act, you're certainly gathering a team around yourself now."

"And that is in no way a bad thing." Earl clinked his glass with hers, while Claire sipped at her juice.

<><>​

A Few Days Later

Mega Girl

I've got every right to be here, Vicky told herself as she swooped in for a landing at the Brockton Bay General emergency room. I'm a hero and she's doing good things. We're colleagues, comparing notes. And the paper did post the times she'd be here, so it's not like I'm stalking her.

Still, as she walked in through the doors, she couldn't help feeling nervous. Marchioness was an unknown quantity in more ways than one. She was the best healer Vicky had ever heard of, and she was at the same time the daughter of an infamous supervillain; one who had severely embarrassed the team Vicky called her own. The first time they'd met, she'd known basically everything about Vicky, while Vicky had known nothing about her. But she was so nice to me. And that was the deciding factor, here.

"Oh, hey, Mega Girl." Vicky could've sworn Marchioness had been looking in totally the wrong direction to see her come in, but she was already sitting up on the folding recliner and turning around in greeting. "Good to see you again. You're looking well. No casualties this time, I hope?" The smile, which could've been mean, was broad and welcoming, with just a hint of cheekiness from the question. As Vicky approached, she stood up.

Vicky felt her apprehension melt away. "No, no casualties this time," she assured Marchioness. "That was a real wakeup call for me. I'm a lot more careful, since then." She grimaced. "Though Traction never made it to prison. The Empire Eighty-Eight attacked the transport, murdered some of the guards, and broke her out." She wasn't quite sure how many of the guards had been murdered, but it had been at least one.

"Huh." Marchioness suddenly looked introspective. "That's kind of funny." Blinking, she met Vicky's eyes again. "Not funny ha-ha but funny weird. Dad and I had a run-in with the Empire not long ago, and we kind of dispersed them. But Traction wasn't among the ones we dealt with."

"Oh. I see." Vicky had been aware of the way the Empire Eighty-Eight's presence had been fading away from the Brockton Bay gang scene, but it hadn't occurred to her to ask exactly what had happened to a gang that strong. Now, unless Marchioness was pulling her leg hard enough to dislocate the hip joint, she was looking at one of the people who had happened to it. And while Marchioness clearly enjoyed the hell out of being enigmatic and just a little silly, Vicky hadn't caught her in any lies yet.

"Yeah. Thanks for that. I'm gonna mention it to Dad when I get home, so we can look into it. We don't want any remnants of the Empire sidling around here under the radar and causing trouble. Look at the hassle they made for everyone when we could see what they were doing." Unbidden, Marchioness gave Vicky a hug then waved her to a seat on the recliner. "Want a soda? Gummy bear? I've got plenty. So, how'd your mom take things, the last time we met?"

Vicky took the seat, accepted the soda but declined the gummy bear. Marchioness sat down beside her and opened one for herself, observing Vicky expectantly.

"In a word … badly." Vicky grimaced. "She's still very unhappy about what happened back then, I think. I mean …" She glanced around and lowered her voice, even though the emergency room was more or less empty. "She's gone through therapy, and I think she's a lot better than she used to be, but … some things still trigger her. And by 'some things' I mean any mention of your dad." She popped the cap off the soda and took a long drink in an attempt to cover the awkwardness.

"Ew. Um." Marchioness raised an eyebrow. "Is this gonna be a problem? I don't want it to be a problem. I want us to be friends."

"It shouldn't be a problem," Vicky hastened to say. "We'd already been to see Deputy Director Renick, and he said that your dad's off limits so long as you're around, and she seems to accept that. Most of the time." She paused a moment later, as the realisation that she probably shouldn't have said that crossed her mind. "Um. Crap. I'm bad at this."

"Hey, it's okay." Marchioness grinned and draped an arm around her shoulders, giving her a side-hug. "We'd basically figured that one out already. It's why he hasn't been going out without me, unless he really has to. And he hasn't been committing crimes … well, not against normal people, anyway. We did kinda mess up the Empire when they tried to kill him, but nobody died. And hey, we recruited one of them."

Vicky blinked. From 'dispersing' the Empire Eighty-Eight to 'messing them up' was a big step, but the other one was pretty big, too. "Wait, what? You recruited one?"

"Yup." Marchioness beamed sunnily at her. "Everyone's gonna figure this out pretty quickly, but me and Dad have a new team member. Probably more than one, soon. She used to be Purity, but now she's calling herself Palatina, and she's not a Nazi anymore, so you're not allowed to call her that."

"You recruited Purity?" Vicky was severely impressed, despite herself. Purity was—had been—one of the big hitters in Brockton Bay, short of Lung himself. He was tougher, but she had flight all the time and her blasts had much longer range. Of course, her stealth was non-existent, but she couldn't have everything. "How'd you pull that one off?"

"Kaiser was a dick," Marchioness said airily. "She realised that, so when we made him leave Brockton Bay, she stayed behind and joined up with us. She's a really nice person, once you get to know her."

Vicky shook her head. "Do you mind if I tell the rest of the Brigade about this? It feels like something they should know."

"Oh, totally." Marchioness nodded earnestly. "I'm not telling you anything that I don't think your folks should hear. Unless you want to keep some of it to yourself, like us being friends and all. I mean, I'm not a villain, but I'm not so sure your mom would see it that way, seeing how I help Dad out with stuff sometimes. And I don't want you getting into trouble."

"Aww, thanks," Vicky said. "That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in like, ever. Well, except for all the other nice stuff you said when we first met." She leaned against Marchioness slightly, enjoying the company of someone who really got her. "I'm glad you're not really a villain. I'd hate to have to arrest you."

Marchioness snorted. "What would the charges be? Reckless healing?"

That got a giggle from Vicky. "Being suspiciously nice to people?"

"Loitering in the emergency room?"

"Healing for fun and profit?"

"Making heroes look silly?"

Vicky was laughing too hard now to keep going. She wiped her eyes, snorted with laughter, and wiped them again. "Oh, man," she said once she managed to get herself under control. "I so needed that. Thank you."

Putting her soda bottle down, Marchioness booped her on the nose playfully. "You're welcome. I've got friends here, but you're my first friend in costume who's my age. It's nice to talk to someone who gets it, you know? What it's like to be a kid with powers."

"Aww." Vicky put her arm around Marchioness and hugged her right back. "I'm totally good to talk about that all day long if you want." She shifted a little with discomfort and put the empty soda bottle on the floor. "Though I'm gonna have to get up. Bathroom break."

"That'd be right. Abandon me for your bodily needs." Marchioness rolled her eyes as she let Vicky go. She pointed at a discreet door in the corner of the room. "It's through there."

"Oh, thanks." Blessing the fact that her costume had been designed with ease of access for this specific instance, Vicky headed into the bathrooms.

As she settled down to do what needed to be done, she reflected that this had been a really good idea. Marchioness was fun to be around, and there was even stuff she could tell the rest of the Brigade. She'd heard stories about heroes having unofficial backchannels with villains and vice versa, but she'd never understood how that worked without the hero compromising their ideals. Now, she was starting to get a better idea of it.

Of course, Mom might be harder to convince. She was just starting to try to work out exactly how to elide over this specific instance without actually lying when there was a tremendous crash that shook the building.

What the hell was that?

<><>​

A Few Moments Earlier

Panzer

"Okay, there she is. Right where the newspaper said she'd be." Sherrel tapped a control and the screen zoomed in. Inside the glass sliding doors of the hospital emergency room, a slender form lay on a recliner, soda bottle in hand. She bared her teeth in atavistic glee. Fuckin' take away my drugs will you, you little bitch?

"You sure this is the best way?" asked Crusader over the radio link. "I mean, my ghosts could've gone straight in there and dragged her out, and she couldn't've done a damn thing about it."

Sherrel puffed out an aggravated sigh. "This is the best way because I fuckin' said it was the best way, capisce? That little skinny cow fucked with my high. Nobody does that. So we're grabbing her my way. Because I know my way works." She checked to make sure she was broadcasting to everyone at once. "Does anyone else have a problem with that?"

Alabaster's voice was the epitome of no-fucks-given. "Ain't no skin off mine. Grab her how you want to grab her."

Night and Fog didn't even bother answering. She'd made it clear that she wanted Marchioness alive, so eventually they'd stopped volunteering innovative ways to kill the girl. Once she had the little bitch in her clutches, she had no doubt they'd move on to suggesting how best to torture her. She was definitely on board with that aspect of matters.

"Okay, good," she said. "You can start your distractions now."

This time, there was a round of replies in the affirmative. She waited until the scanner reported that BBPD and PRT units were responding to all three incidents, then made her move. Under her direction, the stealthed tank rolled off the main road and across the grassy verge before it clattered down on to the asphalt of the parking lot. She could've used the armoured vehicle to shove cars out of the way, but she didn't want to give away her hand too early. Using careful hand movements, she guided it between the rows of cars until the entrance to the emergency room was dead ahead, the only obstacle a few scrubby little bushes.

Taking a deep breath, she rammed the control forward. "Woo hoo!" she yelled as the image of the emergency room doors loomed large on the screen.

<><>​

Marchioness

The first Claire knew of what was going on was when the emergency-room doors, along with part of the wall, shattered inward with a tremendous crash. A large metallic prow with 'FUCK YOU' painted on it, with a hand flipping the bird between the two words, protruded through into the room. Heavy caterpillar tracks ground forward, pushing the large vehicle further in.

"Marchioness!" The voice was feminine, despite the distortion from the speakers. "Surrender right the fuck now, or I kill everyone here!" Giving substance to the threat, a turret motored upward from the top surface of the tank, and a gun barrel rotated to line up on the nurse's station. At the same time, a large horizontal hatch dropped open at the front of the tank. Within, there was a cavity about the same shape and size as a coffin, with heavy padding. "Get in, or else."

Claire looked at the gun. She didn't know all that much about them, but that one looked like it meant business. The nurse was currently hiding behind her desk, but against something that size, mere wood and glass would do nothing. And even if it missed her, there were people farther back in the building who were at extreme risk.

"You realise if you go through with this, the Birdcage will be the least of the problems you'll be facing." Keeping her voice calm, she pushed hard on her power, trying to find whoever was driving the tank. "My dad will make whatever the PRT does to you look like a gentle pat on the wrist." She was coming up blank on the 'people inside the tank' thing. Either there was nobody in there, or they had it somehow cloaked against her power, in the same way she'd neither heard nor seen it until it busted through the door. Which meant she couldn't oppose them directly.

The gun angled around, then fired. On the wall, the TV exploded in a shower of sparks, but that was nothing to the shockingly loud sound inside the confined area. Claire felt her ears ringing, and fixed the minor trauma. If she was going to get out of this, she needed to have all her faculties at top capability.

As the gun motored back around, the voice spoke once more. This time, the menace was far more than a mere suggestion. "Get in the damn capsule, or I kill everyone in the damn hospital."

Jonas, Mega Girl, where are you? Not daring to even glance toward the bathroom door, Claire went over to the front of the tank. Once she was inside the capsule, she could become her battle form and maybe even burst out. Though, from the thickness of metal, it looked unlikely. Someone was going all-out on capturing her; from the looks of it, they weren't taking any chances.

The question was, who? The Merchants hadn't had any Tinkers, and they were shut down anyway. The gun jiggled impatiently, and she carefully climbed into the capsule. Was it the Empire, maybe? She and her father had broken the gang up pretty good. Though …

Oh, shit. As the capsule closed around her, the padding pressing in from all sides, she realised what was going on. Traction. She was recruited into the Empire, and we never mopped her up with the rest of them.

The capsule clicked shut and locked, and the tank's engine revved, preparing to reverse out of the hole. She felt the jolt as it went over some rubble. Then it lurched again, swerving sideways and jamming in the side of the hole.

<><>​

Mega Girl

With the bathroom door barely cracked open, Vicky watched as Marchioness climbed into the capsule of her own accord. The girl had guts, she had to admit. Willingly allowing herself to be taken hostage to save others was something that even heroes had trouble doing. Normally, she would've been out there taking on the tank from the word go, but there were far too many things to go wrong. Whoever was driving the thing clearly had their finger on the trigger right now, and she didn't want to cause another live-fire incident. The next one might go through people.

She watched as the tank began to rumble backward out of the hole it had made, the cloaking field settling over it again to make it almost impossible to see or hear. Then it stopped, swinging sideways, and she heard the tracks grinding uselessly against the concrete.

Okay, it's hung up somehow. This is my chance, while the driver's distracted. Wrenching the door open, she launched across the room and out through the hole. The gun barrel was pointing in entirely the wrong way, and it had only just started to swivel to her before she grabbed it and tore it out of its mounting with a loud screeching of metal on metal.

That was when she realised there was someone climbing on to the back of the tank; a big man, wearing dark clothes and a balaclava. Staring at the guy, she opened her mouth to ask questions but the person driving the tank got in first.

"What the fuck? Where did you come from? What's going on here?"

<><>​

Jonas

Sitting in the driver's seat of the town car with nothing to read, and only soft music on the radio to listen to, might have been terminally boring to some people. Jonas Hart knew better. He'd lived through incidents in Africa that would've made the worst of Brockton Bay look like a Sunday afternoon picnic at the beach.

As it was, his entire job was to watch over his little chick and ensure that no harm came to her. She'd forbidden him to come into the emergency room and keep people away from her, so his only other option was to stay outside, as close as he could manage, and keep tabs on her. She was tough, he knew that much; any normal person trying to pull shit with her was going to end up on the wrong end of a lot of hurt before Jonas even got to them. But it was the powered ones that promised to be problematic, so he kept an especially sharp eye out for them.

Which was why he was horribly shocked and surprised when he heard a rending crash from the direction of the emergency room doors, after glancing away for just a few seconds. Before his disbelieving eyes, an entire small tank had materialised, ramming its way into the emergency room door, right where his little chick was. Swearing luridly at himself—you had one goddamn job, you useless fucking idiot—he grabbed the balaclava from the passenger seat, checked that the pistol was safely in his shoulder holster, and leaped from the car.

Not that he thought a pistol would do a goddamn thing against a fucking invisible tank, but who knew; he might need it.

Sprinting across the parking lot, he paused at a Yield sign and grabbed it. With a powerful twisting heave that would've left the old Jonas slack-jawed with disbelief, he tore it from the ground, then kept running. Distantly, he could hear the demands of the tank driver for Marchioness to surrender. He hoped she would remember the words he'd drummed into her for if she was ever kidnapped, over and over again.

Do whatever it takes to stay alive, chick. I will come for you, and I will get you back.

Then he heard the metallic clank as something closed up, and the engine note changed; it was about to go into reverse. You're not getting away, not if I can help it.

Bracing himself, he took hold of each end of the pipe holding the sign and heaved. The mild steel bent like putty in his hands, and he crimped it into a hairpin shape. Then, just as the tank began to move, he shoved the bent pipe into the gap between the tracks and the road wheels. The tank moved a grand total of two feet before the pipe got jammed up against the road wheel. A single pipe may have been able to deform enough to make it past the obstacle, but with two it had no chance. The tracks ground to a halt and the tank began to swivel on the tracks until the nose jammed against the far side of the hole it had made.

Just as he leaped up and began climbing up the back of the tank toward a promising-looking hatch, he heard a rending screech. For a second, he thought the tracks had somehow chewed up the pipe he'd used to jam them, but it had come from the front of the tank. Then a familiar face came into view over the top of the tank; or at least, a familiar costume.

"What the fuck?" squawked the speakers. "Where did you come from? What's going on here?"

The blonde teenage girl facing him looked as though she had the same questions in mind. He got in first. "I'm an ally, Mega Girl. Where's Marchioness?"

"Down in the front," she said automatically. "Some sort of holding space."

"Get her out. I got this." He grabbed hold of the edge of the hatch he'd been crawling toward, and wedged his fingers underneath. While he didn't pretend to understand the specifics of what Miss Claire had done to his physiology, he knew what was strong and what was weak. His bones and tendons were tough, but his fingernails and his flesh were weak (though subdermal armour took care of the former for the most part). So he didn't try to claw it open; he just set himself and heaved.

Bolts gave way, one after the other, and he tore the hatch off, holding it in front of him as a shield, just in case whoever was inside decided to start shooting. No such thing happened. In fact, as he looked down into the tank, he could clearly see there was nobody in there. The interior of the tank contained a lot of what he suspected was Tinkertech … and something that anyone would recognise. A blinking red readout, counting down. One minute thirty on the clock.

"Self destruct!" he bellowed, tossing the hatch aside and leaping forward over the front of the tank. Just as he landed, Mega Girl forced a hatch open with a crunch of bending metal. His little chick climbed out, looking as healthy as ever, and he heaved an inward sigh of relief. But there was still the other problem.

"Self destruct?" repeated Mega Girl. "I hate those things! How much time?"

"Minute twenty," he told her, glancing at his watch and dropping ten seconds off the time that he'd seen. "I can help you push it into the parking lot …"

"No, I got this." Stepping forward, she put her hands on the nose of the tank and shoved, driving it backward out of the building with a sound of metal tearing at concrete. Jonas had no doubt that this would be an expensive interlude for the hospital, or at least their insurance provider. He also had no doubt that his strength was simply no match for hers.

Once the tank was clear of the building, Mega Girl lifted it up over her head and took off; not straight up, but angling toward the east. As if drawn by a magnet, they followed her out into the parking lot. Marchioness looked up in the sky, while Jonas kept a close eye all around for any attempt at a repeat performance.

"How long?" she asked.

He checked his watch again. "Thirty seconds, chick."

"Thanks for being here, Jonas."

"My pleasure and my job, Miss Claire."

"Do you think she'll be okay?"

He checked his watch again as he answered. "Mega Girl has shown she can take a hit before, miss." Fifteen seconds.

"Yeah, but this is an exploding tank. Who makes an exploding tank, anyway?"

"I'm certain your father and I will find out, chick."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure—"

The splash was distant, only made audible by the quiet of the night. About a second later, there was a long drawn-out eruption of sound. Jonas fancied he saw a brief glow in the sky to the east.

"Did you hear that?" asked Claire, pointing. "I think it just went off."

"I believe it did, chick. She threw it in the bay first."

"Oh. Good. Hey, look!" She raised her arm and pointed. Jonas saw it immediately; a grey-clad figure, vaguely illuminated by the city lights, flying back toward them. Side by side, they waited for her.

Mega Girl came in for a slightly wobbly landing, looking absolutely bedraggled. Her hair was a mess and had seaweed in it, and her costume was drenched.

"Wow, you got a bit close to the explosion there, huh?" asked Claire, the devil of amusement dancing in her eyes.

"WHAT?" asked Mega Girl. "I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

Claire sighed and stepped forward. She laid her hand on Mega Girl's arm, and the blonde blinked. "Wow," she complained at a more normal tone. "Never gonna do that again. I thought my ears were gonna be ringing forever."

"Well, I can fix your ears," said Claire with a smirk, "but you're going to have to deal with the rest of it yourself. Love the seaweed, though. Really sets off your 'drowned rat' effect."

Mega Girl blew a raspberry at her, then grinned. "Mom's gonna have absolute kittens, but I don't care. I had a good time tonight. Even with the exploding tank. Who do you think sent it?"

"I'm thinking Traction," Claire decided, rubbing her chin. "She's the only Tinker I know of who might have a grudge against me. The trouble is, how do I track her down if she's gonna be using stealth tanks?"

"We'll figure out a way." Mega Girl pulled her into a sudden hug, ignoring the squawk of outrage as her evening dress got soaked with the seawater still dripping from Mega Girl's costume. "In the meantime, I'm glad you're okay."

"Pfft, get off," protested Claire, shoving her away ineffectually. "Yeah, I'm glad you're okay too, you great lummox. Thanks for being here."

"Hey," said Mega Girl. "What are friends for?"

<><>​

Panzer

"Well, that was a waste of time and effort." Crusader rolled his eyes. "Great timing there, Sherrel. You showed up at exactly the same time as Mega Girl did."

"What I want to know is, why didn't you blow the tank as soon as you saw it was over?" asked Alabaster. "It's what I'd do."

"Because Tinkers who don't allow for timers on their self destructs are otherwise known as 'casualties'," Sherrel told him tartly. "We always need a chance to shut it off, in case some smartass figures out a way to remotely activate it."

"Well, what are you gonna do now?" Justin leaned back and swivelled on his chair.

Sherrel sneered at him. "Set up another tank, of course. It was bad luck that screwed me up this time. She has to be lucky every time. I only have to be lucky once."

"Says every failed gambler ever," jibed Alabaster.

"Screw you," Sherrel told him without heat. She aimed her finger like a gun at the frozen image of Marchioness on the screen. "I'll get you. Sooner or later, you little cow, I will get you."



End of Part Eighteen

 

[Prince Charon]

Ah, she has her first Nemesis. I rather suspect she's disappointed about the quality, though, even if she benefits from it.

"What I want to know is, why didn't you blow the tank as soon as you saw it was over?" asked Alabaster. "It's what I'd do."

"Because Tinkers who don't allow for timers on their self destructs are otherwise known as 'casualties'," Sherrel told him tartly. "We always need a chance to shut it off, in case some smartass figures out a way to remotely activate it."

Click to shrink...

Admittedly, that is much smarter than I expected. The effects of not melting her brain on the regular, I guess.

 

[Ack]

Another Way

Part Nineteen: Taking Care of Business

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

Robert wasn't at all sure where the sword came from, but when he summoned it, it grew out of his hand. Much like the armour that covered his body, it was there when he needed it, and vanished when he didn't. He had trouble remembering more than vague details about the world, but he was reasonably sure that people didn't ordinarily extrude metal armour from their skin, or cause long metal blades to grow out of their hands. Even without the armour, he was particularly durable and strong, but with it … he would've said he was unbeatable.

Except that he wasn't.

"Attend to your guard, boy!" Even as the words cracked across the training room, a bone club came whistling past his sword and smacked into the side of his head, sending him sprawling. The steel helmet protected him from the worst of the impact, but his vision wavered and his ears rang with the impact. "Don't look at where my weapon is! Focus on where it's going to be!"

"I'm trying!" he protested. "You keep changing your weapon!" He'd thought he just about had the hang of the bone sword Marquis was using, until it became a club and the veteran supervillain totally changed his fighting style.

"It's true," Marquis agreed. "I do. It's one of the ways I keep my opponents off-balance."

"Well, it's sure working on me," muttered Robert. "Every time I think I know what I'm doing, you change the rules."

Marquis made the bone club disappear. "On the contrary, the rules never change. You're simply unaware of which game you're trying to play. It's very simple: don't get hit."

"You've been doing it for a lot longer than me." Robert tried not to sound like he was whining. "No matter what I try, you hit me."

"Would you rather I allow you to think you were more skilled than you are?" Marquis raised an eyebrow. "That kind of shoddy training gets people killed."

"Yeah, I know." Robert tried to muster a coherent argument. "But you're so much better than me. It's like you're doing stuff you think I should know how to react to, but I'm not even up to the level you're dumbing it down to."

"Hmm." Marquis rubbed his chin between forefinger and thumb. "You may be correct. Very well; we shall change opponents."

"Don't look at me," Palatina advised over the rumble of her treadmill, next to the wall. "I'm best at ranged combat."

"We are going to have to address that at some point," he noted. "But not today." He looked across the gym to where Claire in her Marchioness form, wearing a martial-arts gi, was sparring with the scary man-mountain who pretended to be their bodyguard.

Robert had watched Jonas bench half a ton without breaking a sweat earlier. He was no weakling himself, but that was a level of power he knew he couldn't match. One punch from the big guy, he knew quite well, would probably put him clean through the wall.

He wasn't quite sure if Jonas was hamming it up for the boss' daughter or if she really was that fast, but each time one of those huge fists lashed out, it connected with nothing but air. In return, she was beating on him like a punching-bag, though her punches and shin-strikes seemed to be having little effect.

"Claire!" called out Marquis. "Cease playing patty-cake with Jonas. Robert needs tuition in the basics before I can get back to teaching him how to stay alive in a fight."

"Just a second, Dad!" Claire moved aside smoothly from a piledriver blow from Jonas, took hold of the arm, then spun and twisted in a very specific way. To Robert's astonishment, Jonas' feet left the mat as he somersaulted up and over, landing on his back with a muffled crash.

Claire didn't let go his arm; a brief but fierce scuffle developed between the teenage girl and the burly 'bodyguard' that ended up with Jonas face-down on the mat. His arm was angled up behind him at what looked like a very uncomfortable degree, and Claire was sitting on his back with her left foot wedged in behind his left ear. "Give?" she called out.

Jonas grunted and tried to throw her off, but lacked any kind of serious leverage. She ratcheted up the tension on her hold a few degrees. After a few more seconds, Jonas slapped the mat with his free hand. Claire immediately released his arm and rolled off his back, coming to her feet in a single lithe move.

"I might have to increase the play in your shoulder joints a little," she said as she offered a hand for him to get up. "I'm thinking I took you down a little too easily there."

"Could be, chick," the big man rumbled, accepting the help. She braced herself and heaved him up. "Are you getting faster, or am I slowing down?"

"You're not slowing down," she assured him. "I'm experimenting with a different neurotransmitter-analogue. Maybe fifteen percent faster reactions. But it would have unpleasant side-effects on any human system that hasn't been tailored to accept it." Reaching up, she slapped him on the shoulder. "But we can talk shop later. Let's go see what Dad wants."

"Fifteen percent?" asked Marquis as Claire and Jonas approached. "Really?"

Claire shrugged. "It ranges from fourteen to sixteen, so I went with fifteen. It's a work in progress. Anyway, what's up?"

Robert could see the writing on the wall. Marquis was going to tell Jonas to spar with him. It didn't matter that the man was technically unarmed; nobody who had been within reach of those fists would use that particular term about Jonas with any degree of seriousness. It was bad enough when he got hit by whatever bone weapon Marquis was favouring at the moment. He was reasonably certain that Jonas was capable of putting his fist through a brick wall without doing himself appreciable damage. And he wasn't at all certain he was fast or strong enough to evade or block a blow from the enhanced bodyguard.

This is going to suck, big-time.

"Young Robert has raised the excellent point that I'm too far out of his league to teach him properly," Marquis said without the slightest hint of irony in his voice. "Claire, you're the one here who's learned self-defence techniques most recently. Do you think you could tutor him until he's got a basis we can build upon?"

"Sure." Claire shrugged, then glanced at Robert. "If that's okay with you?"

"Uh, sure." Robert glanced from Jonas to Claire, recalling the ease with which she'd thrown the much larger man. "Just go easy on me, okay? I'm pretty sure you're stronger and faster than me."

She grinned, and he could've sworn her teeth got a tiny bit sharper. "No promises."

Well, it's still probably going to suck, Robert reflected. Just not quite as much.

<><>​

Lung

Kenta stared at the footage. If he hadn't known for an absolute fact that he was not the one in the imagery being blasted out through the front wall of the PRT building, he would've been taken in by the masquerade. The flames and metallic scales were hard to mistake for anyone but him.

On the screen, the impostor hit the asphalt and rolled over several times, then snarled and began to climb to his feet. On his chest, the area of scales that had been blasted away by the energy beam began to grow in again, thicker and heavier than ever. Except that he never made it all the way; an off-white barrier sprang up around him, then filled itself in faster than he could break out. By the time the glowing woman emerged from the hole, the other Lung was thoroughly encased.

What was Purity doing inside the PRT building? A moment later, he dismissed the question as irrelevant, as he had every other time he'd watched this video. The answer would come out, or it wouldn't.

His eyes narrowed and heat built up around his hands when he saw the red and green colours worn by the minions of the fake Lung. If he was not much mistaken, they had fled his service after badly failing him. Running away was bad enough, but they were still purporting to be members of the ABB. This was a mortal insult; if he ever found them again, he would do to them what he'd done to their craven leader.

The sound on the phone video was so bad as to be not there at all, so he could only guess at what was said between Marquis (for who else could it be?), the girl in the evening gown, Purity and Armsmaster. He would've given a great deal to know exactly who Marquis had called to make Armsmaster back off; was the veteran supervillain now working with the PRT?

As the car drove off, tinted windows and obscured license plate making it impossible to garner any clues about its ownership, Kenta leaned back in his chair and thought about what he'd just seen. The girl was almost certainly Marquis' daughter, the rogue known as Marchioness. She had to have a Master rating by the way she'd managed to gain ascendancy over his ex-minions or even his own doppelganger, because they'd walked to the car without the slightest fuss.

Which meant that something was going on behind the scenes. Possibly more than one 'something', given the number of strange events that were happening around Brockton Bay at the moment. The disappearance of both the Archer's Bridge Merchants and the Empire Eighty-Eight from the underworld scene, save for Purity, who appeared to have taken up with Marquis. The strange story of the bank robbery both perpetrated and foiled by Marquis. The explosive immolation of a warehouse in the Docklands, the area now sequestered and shut down by the PRT.

Stripping away all the inconsequentialities, this spelled a potential opportunity for Kenta and the ABB, both to expand in operations and to gain revenge for the insult inflicted by Marquis. He was fully aware of the fact that with allies, Marquis was stronger than he ever had been before, but he didn't care. The bone-manipulator would die for crossing him and claiming ABB territory, and for turning his previously-loyal followers against him.

As for Marquis' allies, Kenta wasn't overly concerned. Purity's blasts were powerful but she couldn't take the same sort of damage that she could deal out. He could weather a few of her shots until he got in close, then he'd deal a killing blow. Likewise, it seemed that Marchioness needed to be close to her victims to make her Master ability work. His flames could easily fry her from a distance, before she could ever lay a hand on him. No, the real danger was Marquis and his osteokinesis; fortunately, Kenta was strong enough to smash through barricades and tough enough to take a hit from any bone weapon the older man wished to try on him. It would be a tough fight, but the leader of the ABB knew he would win. He always had.

He vaguely recalled hearing that apart from her Master ability, Marchioness also healed people at the Brockton Bay General Hospital. Being able to heal was useful, but there was nothing she'd be able to do to bring Marquis back from what Kenta intended to do to him. Let's see her heal a pile of ashes.

The idea of capturing her from the hospital to use as leverage to bring her father out of hiding occurred to him, but he dismissed it almost at once. As one of the two major criminal capes in the city, a move like that would almost certainly bring down unwanted attention on him and the rest of the ABB. Especially considering the odd influence Marquis seemed to possess with the PRT. He, himself, could stand the heat, but if the authorities took to arresting his minions as fast as they showed their faces, the ABB would not last long. Also, he couldn't think of a way to kidnap her that didn't involve getting close enough for her to Master his minions, or even himself.

Having his minions attack Marquis' footsoldiers seemed a valid tactic. From what he'd heard, the men were competent but didn't include any actual capes. They were advancing into what had been Empire territory, and shooing drug dealers out of Merchant turf, with little in the way of opposition. Moving into ABB territory, they were being a little more circumspect, but so far they were having things all their own way. A few judicious defeats, he decided, should both send the right message and draw out Marquis to deal with the problem.

Whereupon Kenta would intercept him and deal with his problem, once and for all. Deprived of their natural leader, Marchioness and Purity would be relatively easy to mop up.

Half-closing his eyes, Kenta allowed a predatory smile to cross his face. Once that happened, the ABB would be the undisputed cape gang in Brockton Bay. They would rule, and draw tributes, from Captain's Hill to Lord Street; from the Forsberg Gallery to the Docks. And if anyone else tried to muscle in on that action … well, there was a reason they called him the Dragon of Kyushu.

He started the video again from the beginning.

<><>​

PRT ENE Building

Director's Office

Armsmaster

Colin wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Normally, he maintained a strictly professional relationship with the Director because she was the Director. Her dislike of capes was an open secret within the local PRT and Protectorate, but for the most part she seemed willing to step back and let the heroes sort things out. Until she wasn't. When she decided that the Protectorate or Wards had overstepped the line, she wasn't the type to send a passive-aggressive memo suggesting that they clean up their act. No, she wasn't that sort of person at all. Emily Piggot was ex-military, formerly a front-line officer, and it showed.

When she was pissed at someone, she didn't get passive-aggressive at all. She just got aggressive.

"So, a tank," she said flatly.

"Yes," he confirmed.

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Heavy, covered in armour, big gun on the front, caterpillar tracks, slow and noisy … that kind of tank?"

"That's the description we got from Marchioness, Mega Girl, and the staff who witnessed it, yes," he said. Internally, he winced at the phrase 'slow and noisy'. Those three words did not bode well for his immediate mental well-being.

"Where did it come from, and why was it not detected before it came within half a mile of the hospital?" she asked, as if to a child. Colin hoped that she never had children, if only for the sake of her putative offspring. She wasn't a bad person, but 'good' did not equal 'nice', especially in her job.

Fortunately, he'd done some looking around in the aftermath of the attack on the hospital. Marchioness had answered his questions, but with a certain amount of blunt sarcasm. She was also a little vague on how she'd avoided being abducted, claiming that Mega Girl had been there to save the day but only giving a few basic details.

Mega Girl had been a little more forthcoming, reporting that 'a big guy in a mask' had assisted her with disabling the tank before she flew away with it. No, she'd never seen the big guy before. No, she had no idea who he was. He was a Brute, she'd told Colin, but everything had happened so fast. No, when she got back to the hospital, he was gone …

Backtracking the tank itself, he'd discovered that the tracks ran out alongside one of the major roads, about two blocks from the hospital. "At my best estimation, it was dropped off by a large truck of some sort," he said. "As for why we didn't notice it before it hit the hospital itself, especially given that it passed by several security cameras, none of which saw anything significant, I'm going with a cloaking device for the time being."

"Anything significant?" she asked, proving that she was paying attention. "Was there something not significant that they picked up?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, glad to have something positive to report. "The tank left trackmarks in the roadway, which gave us a timestamp for each camera it passed by. Enhancing and examining the footage of those cameras, we were able to detect a distinctive fuzziness, as if the tank had been photoshopped out of the footage. By measuring the movement of the camera, we were also able to detect the vibration caused by the tank going past, even though it cancelled audible sound. I am reasonably certain I can devise a drop-down filter that will allow me to spot the next such cloaked vehicle."

The look on her face showed that she was not enthralled by his pronouncement. "The next such cloaked vehicle?"

"Well, yes." Despite his best efforts, his voice took on a didactic tone. "This Tinker dislikes Marchioness personally, but only knew enough about her personal habits to attack her at the hospital …" His voice trailed off as facts connected themselves together in his head to make a brand-new picture. "Wait … of course …"

"Of course what?" snapped Piggot. "Have you worked out a machine that will track this goddamn Tinker down and disable the next invisible tank he Tinker builds?"

Her tone was mainly sarcastic, but he didn't mind. "Not yet, ma'am, but I've been trying to work out who could be behind this. Marquis and Marchioness have only been back in Brockton Bay for a short while, and we have a distinct lack of villain Tinkers as it is. But I just remembered. You may recall my report about Traction, the powersuit user who got injured while I was giving Mega Girl a training run?"

She nodded, an expression of enlightenment crossing her face. "The Bailey woman, correct? She was broken out of prisoner transport by the Empire Eighty-Eight. There were casualties. You think she's our culprit?"

"I do." It was good to be on the same page again. "She showed all the signs of being a habitual drug user, and in fact was attempting to steal pharmaceuticals when she was apprehended. Marchioness was in the emergency room at the time, and not only healed her but cured her addiction and alerted me to the fact that she was awake and playing possum."

Piggot considered that. "Well, she's definitely a Tinker, and for a motive I suppose she might be holding a grudge against Marchioness for warning you that she was about to escape."

"Not even that, ma'am," Colin told her. "Marchioness forced her to go fully sober. Removed all the chemical cravings from her body. She's having to face the world as it is for the first time in a long time. Worse, if there's anything I've learned from going against the Merchants, it's that addiction can be in itself an addiction. Even when they're totally clean, addicts still crave that perfect high. I would bet my halberd that Marchioness made it so she can't just get straight back on the drugs, and that she's pissed at Marchioness for taking that from her."

"In other words, no good deed goes unpunished." Piggot grimaced and shook her head. "It makes sense. God knows I wish it didn't, but it does. Where in a sane universe does someone build a goddamn stealth tank to abduct the person who cured their addiction … and what did she want with Marchioness once she had her?"

Colin figured the first question was rhetorical, so he felt safe in answering the second one. "If I had to guess? Revenge, or maybe to try to force Marchioness to take away whatever's stopping Bailey from getting high. And then revenge."

Piggot nodded in understanding. "That definitely ticks all the boxes. Cape names aren't the best way to determine someone's powers, but a Tinker calling herself Traction sounds like someone who could build a tank, to me at least. Motive, means and opportunity." She drew a deep breath. "We got lucky this time, that Mega Girl and this unnamed Brute were nearby. No indication on who he was? Security footage?"

"I looked for that, too." Armsmaster shook his head. "Whoever it was knew how to evade security cameras. He wore a balaclava and dark clothing. About my size, maybe a bit heavier through the shoulders. We don't have very good imagery of him and once the action was over, he left the area covered by the cameras without even looking back. Apart from the fact that he can apparently bend metal in his bare hands, I would've taken him for a wannabe non-powered vigilante."

"So, another newbie on the scene who hasn't taken the time to get a proper costume together, who happened on the scene and helped out," Piggot summarised. "We'll almost certainly see him around and about at some point in a proper costume, unless something happens to him. At least he seems to have the right instincts, which doesn't always happen. Either way, he helped us dodge a bullet. This time."

"Yes, ma'am." Colin didn't need that to be explained to him. "The question is, now that we know someone has a definite motive to attack Marchioness, is Marquis going to do the smart thing and keep her undercover until we've got Traction stuffed in the Birdcage?"

The look she gave him then would've made him snort if he was inclined to be amused at times like this. "Now, now, Armsmaster. We both know that they haven't yet convened the trial to see if Traction is Birdcage material, and the law of the land says she's innocent until proven guilty."

"Of course, Director." He kept his voice deadpan, eliciting a very faint smile from her. "Whatever happens to Traction, there are several reasons we don't want Marchioness getting hurt; her status as a potential game-changer at Endbringer battles is just one of them."

"I concur." The humour was entirely gone from her voice now. From the sound of things, Piggot wasn't hopeful about Marquis doing the smart thing. "She might be the daughter of a notorious supervillain and murderer, but she's still just a teenage girl. More to the point, if she were to be hurt or killed, I shudder to think about the revenge Marquis would wreak upon whoever he considered responsible." She interlaced her fingers and clenched her hands together. "Which is why I'm going to be taking a very risky step, hopefully to avert an even riskier outcome."

"Ma'am?" This conversation was going places Colin hadn't expected it to. "What do you have in mind?"

Piggot looked up at him, her face set in determined lines. "We both know Marquis isn't the type to step back from adversity. He moves forward, faces it and overcomes it. The only reason he left Brockton Bay was the threat against his daughter before she had powers; he came back because she now has powers of her own and can take care of herself. Do you concur?"

"I do." He nodded cautiously. So far, her logic seemed to be holding up, but he wasn't sure he liked where it seemed to be leading. "Which means …?"

"Which means I'm going to have to authorise PRT and possibly Protectorate surveillance on Marchioness whenever she's seen in public," the Director stated firmly. "No information gathering, of course no attempts to hinder her or take her in. Call it an informal protection detail. If anyone tries anything against her, that's when our people step in."

"And if she makes us?" Colin considered it a distinct possibility. Marchioness had come across as being very sharp, and that didn't even factor in what training her father may have given her in counter-surveillance.

Piggot's expression soured. "Then we're going to have to come clean. The absolute last thing I want is for Marquis to get the impression that we're lurking around with the intent to abduct his daughter. But unless that happens, we have to stay discreet; the second last thing I want is for the news organisations to find out that we're offering free protection to the kids of supervillains. That shitstorm would go thermonuclear faster than Behemoth playing with plutonium."

"I don't like it." Colin shook his head. "Marquis is very good at what he does. If he spots the surveillance crew, gets the wrong idea, and goes in for the attack, we could easily lose people. The man is utterly ruthless and damn near unstoppable when he wants to be." He took a deep breath. "I agree that we need to put people on her … but we're also going to have to inform Marquis about it before we do."

If Piggot had given the impression of sucking on a lemon before, now she looked like she'd just gone through half a dozen of them. "I like that even less. If he chose to alert the press …"

"I don't think he'd actually do that," Colin said with a shake of his head. "All it would achieve is to draw unnecessary attention to Marchioness, and he won't want that." A brief grimace crossed his face. "I can see him critiquing our technique or telling us to back off, but I can't see him making a public song and dance about it."

"As much as I hate to admit it, I could live with that," the Director agreed. "If we're seen to be making an honest effort to protect her and he tells us to back off, then whatever happens afterward will not fall on our necks. It would be a pity and a crying shame if she got hurt, but we can't save every cat from every tree." She took a deep breath. "I'm going to find out from the hospital when she's due to be in there, and have a rapid-response crew nearby on those dates. It'll be slightly more problematic if she chooses to go out and about in public with no prior warning, but we'll work something out."

"I can change up the rosters so we've always got a member of the Protectorate or the Wards ready to detach from regular duties and 'patrol' the area she's in, if that happens," Colin decided. "Perhaps we can bring Mega Girl in on this; she seems to be building a rapport with Marchioness."

"That's not a terrible idea," agreed Piggot. "Now, one last hurdle. Contacting Marquis and letting him know what our plans are before we set all this in motion. As much as I hate to be giving a supervillain a heads-up on our movements …"

"It's a good idea in this case." Colin liked it no more than she did, but extraordinary situations required extraordinary measures. "And fortunately, we have a phone number for Marchioness." He reached into a belt pouch and produced a copy of the card the girl had given him. The original had gone through so many tests and analyses that it had essentially fallen apart.

"That's probably going to be the only convenient thing in this whole damn case," Piggot muttered as she took the copy.

"I hear that, ma'am. I'll get started on the roster change." Colin turned and headed for the door.

"You do that."

The last thing Colin saw in his rear-view camera before the door closed behind him was Piggot staring at the number on the card as if it were a bug she really, really wanted to squash.

<><>​

Marchioness

"And that's how you deal with someone who tries to grab you from behind," Claire said cheerfully as she helped Robert get to his feet. Off to the side, her father was still sparring with Jonas, full-power blows thwacking into bone shields and hardened subdermal armour. Both of them, as far as she could tell, were enjoying the workout. She didn't go that hard into the full-contact stuff until she'd added on some body mass, but she was good at evading attacks even when she was at her normal weight.

"I see." Looking self-conscious, Robert rubbed at his butt. "I know I'm hard to hurt and I heal fast, but you've been putting bruises on me faster than I've been getting rid of them. Maybe I should've been wearing the armour."

"Nope," she said definitively, and tilted her head toward the bench where her stuff was laid out. "Let's hydrate. Wearing the armour would've been bad, because it protects you."

"Isn't that the idea of armour? To protect me?" He followed her over to the bench and took the bottle of Gatorade she handed him.

"You need to learn," she pointed out. Twisting the top off her own bottle, she chugged down a few mouthfuls. "You don't learn if there's no incentive. Bruises are an incentive." Her phone was on the bench, so she sat down and hit the power button.

"How did you learn?" He gestured in her general direction, then took a long drink himself. "I mean, you're naturally fast and armoured, right?"

She nodded. "Yeah, but Dad's had me doing martial arts for years, since before I got powers. There was one teacher I had who made me look like I was standing still on my best day." A little sadly, she thought of Abigail, wondering where the Irish cape was now. With a deep breath, she shook herself out of the mood. "Once I've got you up to speed with the basics, Dad and Jonas can start applying the tougher stuff. By the time they're finished, you'll be able to handle anything anyone out there can throw at you."

"Yeah, but that's because they'll be throwing it at me in here," he said, looking just a little rueful.

"That's the way it goes," she confirmed, then looked down as her phone pinged. "Huh. Two missed calls and a text." She opened the text and her eyebrows rose.

Marchioness-

I need to speak to your father about ensuring your safety, especially regarding the hospital incident. Please have him contact me at his earliest convenience.

-Emily Piggot, PRT ENE Regional Director

"Dad!" she called out across the gym. "I just got a text from Director Piggot! It's for you!"

That got his attention to the point that he put up his hand to stop Jonas as he turned to face her. "That's a first," he remarked. "Okay, training's over for the day. Robert, Jonas, hit the showers. I've got to take this."

As the other two headed out the door, he went over to where Claire was holding out the phone. "I confess, I'm intrigued as to…" He stopped, re-reading the text. "What, really?"

"I know, right?" Claire asked. "They're so worried about my well-being that they're actually willing to do something more than passively-aggressively snipe from the sidelines?"

"Oooh," observed Kayden as she stepped off the treadmill and swiped a towel over her forehead. "Burn."

He raised an eyebrow and smiled at Kayden's sally. "I tend to agree. It would be a change, yes. Of course, it may be a little premature to think about celebrating just yet. So, once we've showered and changed, we shall be taking a drive around Brockton Bay so that we can make a call."

"'We' as in me too?" asked Claire, though she already knew the answer. It was only polite to ask.

"Well, of course." He smiled. "It's about you, after all."

<><>​

Apparently Abandoned Warehouse

Backup Empire Eighty-Eight Base

Crusader

"Are you really going to make this about you?" asked Justin. He scratched the back of his head as he looked over the chassis of Sherrel's latest creation.

She hadn't wasted any time since losing the remote-controlled tank, getting straight back into the workshop. In all honesty, it was a little daunting. Was every Tinker this driven, or had they picked up a particularly obsessed member of the fraternity? Or was it sorority? He couldn't remember. All he knew was that, despite the fact that she was the most recent recruit after himself, Alabaster and Night and Fog, she had somehow ended up calling the shots.

Sherrel looked around, her glare razor-sharp despite the fact that she had to flip up the light welding goggles to make eye contact. He involuntarily took a step back at the intensity of her gaze. "Of fucking course it's not about me," she snapped. Reaching out, she turned off the welder and set the welding rod down. "But I don't see any of you clowns making a move to do something about the skinny little cow who murdered three-quarters of the Empire Eighty-Eight in cold blood."

Justin grimaced. "Well, we don't know for a fact that it was her … I mean, Marquis …" He'd joined the Empire after Marquis had left Brockton Bay, but the stories that the older hands had told him had stuck in his head. The man had run his turf on his own, with no cape backup, and nobody crossed him if they wanted their skeleton to be in the same shape when he was finished. He didn't know exactly what had happened at Somers Rock or at the Medhall Tower, but if anyone had killed that many capes, his money would've been on the bone controller, not some healer chick.

"Marquis does bone, you idiot!" she snapped. "Not great big black flying tigers, or whatever the fuck it was that they saw flying around Medhall! So either it was Marchioness, or some projection of hers, or maybe some friend of hers from out of town. But no matter fuckin' what, Marchioness is the one behind it all. So we are gonna grab her. End of story. Unless you've got something better to do while we wait for Marquis or Lung to push their territory this far."

Justin was no longer wondering how she'd managed to take over the small group. He had no real idea how to lead (even if he'd possessed the ambition for it), Alabaster couldn't be bothered, and Geoff and Dorothy didn't have the initiative to break out of their self-created ruts. "No, no, you're right," he said. "I'll just leave you to it."

"Sure. Good. Hey, before you go, grab me a beer, would you?" She gestured at the bar fridge beside the workshop door. "See if that shit's worn off yet."

"No problem." Justin wished his ghosts could manipulate non-living matter. In the absence of that ability, he went over to the fridge and took a beer out, then handed it to her.

"Thanks." She popped the cap off and took a drink …

… and sprayed the mouthful all over the wall. "Fuck!" she screeched, as the mostly-full bottle sailed across the workshop to shatter against the far wall, the glass shards joining a deepening heap there. Old, dried beer stains bore mute testimony about previous attempts to see if she could handle booze again. It was apparent that today was not going to be the day.

Backing out of the room, he closed the door behind him. He was going to have to see about getting more beer into that fridge. In fact, now would be a good time—

Turning, he bumped into Alabaster, who raised a sardonic eyebrow toward the extremely illustrative cursing emanating from beyond the carefully shut door. "Still can't drink, huh?" the other man asked with a smirk.

"Gah!" Justin was almost certain that the white-skinned man had snuck up on him on purpose. "Yeah, still tastes like shit to her. Listen, maybe you can talk to her. Make her see sense."

"See sense in what?" Alabaster had a shit-eating grin a mile wide on his face.

"This!" Justin gestured broadly. "All … this. We're getting in too deep. Going after Marquis' kid? This isn't what the Empire does. We're here to—"

Alabaster took bunched his fist in Justin's shirt and slammed him against the wall beside the door. "The Empire isn't here anymore," he growled. "Because of whatever bullshit Marquis and his kid pulled. Killed them, ate them, disappeared them, whatever they did. Purity's defected and Kaiser along with everyone else … vanished. Now, we can scuttle back into our hole and whine about how it's not fair, or we can bring the fight to them. We can't take down Purity without taking on Marquis, so we take him down. The best way to do that is to have his kid hostage. Make him come to us."

Justin did his best to inhale. Alabaster was a lot stronger than him, and he knew better than to try to fight the older cape. No matter how many ghosts he summoned to grab Alabaster, the guy wouldn't go down and he wouldn't stop fighting. "You know they're gonna Birdcage her," he managed. "Attacking a hospital? If they get their hands on her, her feet won't have time to touch the ground. Hell, if she keeps going, it might even end up as a kill order. And us with her. You really want it to go that far?"

Shaking his head, Alabaster let Justin down. "You just don't get it. This is the big leagues we're playing in here. Hookwolf went for years with a Birdcage sentence hanging over his head. Think that stopped him from going out and doing his thing? Like fuck it did. If we backed away from something just because the authorities might not like it, we'd never fucking get anything done." He slapped himself on the chest. "And if they want to kill-order me, let 'em fuckin' try."

Yeah, but what if they succeed? Justin didn't say that out loud. "Right," he said, trying to sound convinced. "I think I might go and check my armour over. If we're gonna be going hard, I need to be prepped."

"Yeah, good thinking." Alabaster slapped Justin on the shoulder. "Wouldn't do to have your whiny bitch ass shot or stabbed, just because you got too close to the action."

There was nothing Justin could say to that without sounding either defiant or whiny, so he kept his mouth shut. As he headed off to where he kept his gear, he could feel the jaws of the trap closing in on him.

What can I do? Talk to Geoff and Dorothy? It would be an even worse idea than trying to talk sense into Sherrell. Those two would do whatever she said.

If he turned on the team, they'd kill him. If he tried to walk away, they'd track him down and then kill him. If he stayed where he was ... shit was going to go sideways.

No matter what he did, he was screwed.

Fuuuuck.

<><>​

Marchioness

Claire leaned back in the car seat as her father carried on the conversation over speakerphone. The route Jonas was driving allowed the big man to watch for tails and in general make sure that the PRT wasn't pulling a fast one. Not that she or her father thought they might, but he hadn't lasted so long in the villain business by assuming everyone would follow the rules.

From the tone of her father's voice, he was slightly irritated but mostly amused. Also from the sound of it, Director Piggot had not been in control of the conversation. Claire had had to cover her mouth a few times to avoid giggling out loud at some of her father's comments.

"In conclusion, Emily," he said, "while I cannot prevent you from deploying your fine men and women when and where you choose, and I am not in the least bit averse to extra protection for my daughter ..."

He paused meaningfully.

After a few seconds, Director Piggot prompted him. "Yes ...?"

Marquis leaned forward, despite the fact that she couldn't see him. All humour was gone from his tone. "If your men screw up in any way and these idiots get to her because of it, I will not rest until I've gotten full restitution from them and you. Is that perfectly understood?'

There was another pause before Piggot answered. "Absolutely."

"Good." He cut the call, then turned to Claire. "Well, Claire-bear, it seems you're going to have a whole new level of security."

She frowned. "But you threatened her. Wouldn't it be smarter for her to stand back, now that you've said that?"

"For most of us, yes," he agreed with a chuckle. "For the good Director, a threat works like a red flag. She can't let it go by. And in addition, this means the Protectorate and PRT will be focusing on you."

Her frown turned into a look of suspicion. "And what will you be doing while they're concentrating on me?'

He smiled, showing his teeth. "Tracking down Traction, of course."



End of Part Nineteen

 

[Ack]

Another Way

Part Twenty: Socialising and Scouting

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

Northwest Middle School

Taylor

"Emma, Taylor, hey!" Claire's voice sang out behind them in the corridor. Taylor turned first, with Emma just half a beat behind. Her eyebrows raised as she saw her other best friend forging her way through the crowd, towing a slightly younger male black-haired version of herself (albeit skinnier and a little less self-assured) by the hand.

"Hi, Claire." Taylor nodded toward the boy. "Who's this?"

"This is my cousin Marcus," Claire said happily. "He's just transferred in from Boston, and he'll be staying with us for awhile. I just thought I'd introduce him to you guys before I took him to the office and got him straightened out."

"Well, hi, Marcus." Emma beamed at him. "It's good to meet you. Don't listen to anything Claire tells you about us—"

"—because it's all true," Taylor interjected. "But we'll deny everything to our dying breath. Do you like sports? I like sports. Track and field, mainly. You look like you can run." She tilted her head to the side musingly. "Or are you a swimmer? We've got a great swimming pool here—"

"Okay, okay, wow," broke in Claire, laughing. "Give him a chance to get a word in edgewise, will you?"

"It's okay, cuz," Marcus said with a grin. "They're your friends, not mine. I don't really want to intrude."

"Nuh uh," Emma declared. "Until you get your own friends, we're adopting you. It's the rules. Because we're gonna be coming over now and again—"

Taylor rolled her eyes. "Mainly because Emma and her swimsuit have fallen in love with Mr Marchant's heated swimming pool, am I right?" She held out her hand. "Hi, I'm Taylor Hebert. How do you feel about frogs?"

Marcus raised an eyebrow questioningly. "We have an agreement. I don't pick them up and they don't pee on me. Why?"

Taylor shuddered theatrically. "We're supposedly dissecting them today. Last time I did that, I threw up."

Emma waited until Marcus had shaken Taylor's hand, then held out her own. "Emma Barnes. We did frogs yesterday. Mine got away from me. Jumped out the window."

Claire snorted with amusement. "It had help. There was at least twenty feet between your desk and the window."

"What?" asked Emma, with badly-feigned innocence. "Frogs are good jumpers. Everyone knows that."

"Especially when they start wriggling around after you pick them up, huh?" Claire had the light of mischief in her eyes now. "You guys should've seen it. She let out this shriek that should've busted all the windows, then just threw it."

Taylor felt bad about laughing, but then she saw Emma was chuckling too, even as her face turned almost red enough to match her hair. "I thought it was dead," Emma claimed. "Then it just woke up all of a sudden and started croaking. You'd throw it away, too."

"Okay, yeah, that would've been funny to see," Marcus said. "Would've been funnier if you'd hit someone else with it, but the window is still good."

Taylor smirked, then she and Emma looked at Claire. "He'll do," they said in well-practised unison.

"Oh, good." Claire looked at each of them, then shook her head. "Congratulations, Marcus. My crazy friends approve of you." She tilted her head in the general direction of the admissions office. "Come on, before they decide you aren't showing up today and give your stuff to someone else."

Marcus grinned again. "Coming." He gave Taylor and Emma each a smile. "Nice meeting you. See you around."

"Bye, Marcus," Emma and Taylor chorused as he followed his cousin into the teeming crowds of students. Then they looked at each other and giggled.

"You threw the frog out the window?" Taylor snorted with laughter.

"Well, wouldn't you?" Emma shook her head. "I just, you know, did it without thinking. Marcus seemed nice. And he didn't zone out when you started up your motormouth."

"Excuse me?" Taylor's voice rose with well-simulated indignation. "I do not have a 'motormouth'. I have a well-tuned sense of word placement, which allows me to speak extemporaneously and at length while lesser beings are aimlessly wondering what they're going to say next. You may as well say—"

"How can I say anything?" Emma retorted. "Like Claire said, you barely let anyone get a word in edgewise."

Taylor sniffed haughtily, elevated her nose a few extra degrees in the air, and decided to try a line her father had used once. "I'll have you know, I resemble that remark."

"Well, yeah … what?"

"You heard me."

Still amiably bickering, the two friends wandered down the corridor toward their respective home rooms.

<><>​

Danny

The construction machinery was visible from several blocks away. Danny tried to pay attention to the road but it was difficult; the closer he got, the more curiosity he felt. Finally, he pulled up at the entrance to the new compound that had been set up since the last time he'd been there. The guard stepped out of the shack with a clipboard in his hand and approached the window of his car.

"Good morning, sir," he said. "I'm going to need to ask for your name and your reason for coming onsite today." Despite the polite tone of his words, Danny could see the metal speed hump just inside the drop-barrier with the row of holes on top; if anyone tried to bull on through without being cleared first, the pop-up spikes would almost certainly eviscerate their tyres.

"I'm Danny Hebert." Danny gestured at the narrow section of the Boat Graveyard he could see through the open gateway. "I'm with the Dockworkers' Association. Earl Marchant called me and asked me to come over."

"Ah, yes, Mr Hebert." The guard ticked something on the board. "I was told to expect you. I just need to see your ID and you can go right in."

Feeling somewhat surreal, Danny pulled his wallet out and showed the man his driver's license.

"Perfect." The guard made another notation, then gave a high sign to whoever was still in the guard shack. "Just take a left after you're inside. Park next to the site admin shack. They'll outfit you with a hard hat and a high-vis vest, and let Mr Marchant know you're on site."

Danny nodded. "Gotcha. And thanks." He waited until the barrier rose far enough then rolled on through, his wheels bumping over the speed hump. Following the instructions he'd been given, he turned left and parked alongside a row of other vehicles.

Moments later, after he'd introduced himself to the admin staff, they'd outfitted him with the promised hard hat and vest. When he stepped outside, he was greeted by the sight of Earl himself, striding over from what looked like the direction of the most activity, also wearing a hard hat and vest. Unlike the others, Earl's hat and vest had the word 'BOSS' stamped across the front in large letters. Several men and women trailed in his wake.

"Danny, glad you could make it," Earl said cheerfully. "Come on, let me show you around."

"Uh, sure." Danny fell in beside Earl, the others automatically making room for him. "So, what's going on here exactly?"

"Well, I looked at various ways we could get these ships out of the way and most of them are prohibitively expensive or would take too long. But there's one or two ways that will work within a reasonable timescale." Earl gestured at the waterfront, where various machinery was being installed. Out on the water, derelict ships rocked slowly at anchor, while others were visible only by way of their superstructures protruding above the waterline.

"I'm guessing these ways are also costly," Danny said. He vaguely wondered what Earl saw as 'prohibitively' expensive. What he was already seeing looked way too rich for his blood.

"Yes, but in my line of work you have to give a little to get a lot," Earl said. His tone was definitely upbeat, which Danny saw as a good sign. "So, we're assembling winches and cranes onshore, to drag the ships out of the water. From there they'll go onto cradles where they can be moved out of the way and disassembled at our leisure. On the water, we'll have salvage vessels and tugs as well as a dredge, to get the ships to where they can be dragged out of the water then clean up after them. The biggest ones are going to have to be pulled in close, cut up in place, and removed from the water piecemeal. With me so far?"

Jesus Christ almighty. This is like a major military operation. "Yes," Danny said faintly. "At least, I think so. Where do I come in?"

Earl smiled. "I was hoping you'd ask me that. You see, I've got all my employment slots filled, except for the part where the ships get dragged out of the water and torn down to their component pieces. I was wondering if the Dockworkers had anyone free who had the appropriate heavy machinery tickets."

Danny blinked. He scanned the machinery that was in the process of being installed. "Uh … how many people do you need?"

"I don't know." Earl's smile turned up at the corners, as though he was enjoying an enormous joke. "How many can you supply?"

In that moment, Danny knew that Earl was aware of exactly how many Dockworkers there were on the Association's books, and was intent on supplying full employment to them all. How the man had gotten that information he had no idea, but he hadn't asked for this favour and Earl hadn't overtly offered, so it slid past his radar. Just barely, but it slid past.

"I'll have to check the books to see who's got the right qualifications and get back to you on that," he prevaricated. He wasn't about to sign off on the Dockworkers being used for criminal purposes—that way led to the Association being virtually owned by the gangs, which he'd fought against for the whole of his adult life—but this was good honest paid work. If Earl wanted to employ everyone, he didn't want to supply either an undercount or an overcount before they even started. He was going to play this straight down the line.

"Absolutely." Earl beamed at him approvingly. "Do you have any idea how refreshing it is to work with an honest man? I was speaking with Mayor Christner and some of his councillors just the other day and when I floated a trial balloon about this project, you should've seen all the agendas appear out of the woodwork. Not a one of them would so much as offer verbal support unless I agreed to help fund their little pork-barrel side ventures, or promise a make-work job to their useless cousin-in-law. I swear, if I'd let them have their way I would've ended up financing half their pension plans and three of their mistresses."

This wasn't in the least bit surprising to Danny. What he did wonder, though, was how this worksite was being allowed to go ahead without official interference if Earl hadn't agreed to pay their thinly disguised bribes. "Did you have any problems getting the permits?"

Earl rolled his eyes. "I see you've had to do business in this town before. Fortunately, this is not my first rodeo." He buffed his already-perfect nails on his vest and inspected them. "I have been known to be persuasive from time to time."

"So you got the permits." Danny made it not quite a question, but it was a definite invitation for an answer. Needing work or not, he wasn't going to put the Dockworkers into a situation where the Association could be fined for sending people onto a worksite without the appropriate permits.

"I did," Earl assured him. "I had to speak a little plainly to some of them, and one or two may have found reasons to leave town after the fact, but our overhead expenses were remarkably low, considering the situation. Everything is above-board and legal on this worksite. The requisite paperwork has already been couriered to your office. All it needs is for you to sign off on how many men you're willing to send over."

Translation: they tried to put the screws to him, and he intimidated them into playing ball. Part of Danny wished he could've been there but the rest of him was glad he hadn't, if only because he could remain officially ignorant of his new business associate's methods of persuasion. He'd have to keep a close eye on any further deals he made with Earl, though; while their current business situation might all be on the up-and-up, there were no guarantees that this would remain the case.

"Got it," he said out loud. "What progress have you made on the ferry?"

"Oh, once we're up and running with the Boat Graveyard, we can get right on that," Earl assured him. "I got the permits for that signed at the same time. Same people, even."

Danny raised his eyebrows. "And they didn't try to roadblock you with the gangs?"

"What gangs?" Earl spread his hands disingenuously. "The Azn Bad Boyz—and if that's not a ridiculous name, I've never heard one—are the only group causing problems at the moment. And I hear even they are keeping their heads down right now."

"We've still got Marquis," Danny reminded him. "His men are going around collecting protection money." The tiny gold M was on his nightstand at home; he didn't quite have the nerve to wear it around in the daytime.

"True," agreed Earl. "I can't claim to know the man well, but I've associated with his organisation before. I do know this much about him; if he pledges protection, protection will happen. Causing trouble is not what they do."

Danny nodded, recalling that one night. "Yeah, I can't argue with that." He paused, blinking, as an idea occurred to him. "Actually, I wonder …"

"Yes?" Earl raised an eyebrow.

Speaking slowly, Danny worked his way through the idea. "Marchioness is a seriously capable healer. I'm wondering if we could arrange a kind of ongoing insurance arrangement with her, if she's agreeable of course, to have her able to show up to deal with any workplace injuries while this work is ongoing."

"Well." Earl chuckled dryly. "You have hidden depths, Danny. Asking to hire on a supervillain's daughter as your medical insurer takes balls, I'll give you that."

"Well, she did save my life not so long ago, so I know what she's capable of," Danny pointed out. "And I've heard a rumour that she's being paid just to show up at Brockton General and heal people. If they're doing business with her, I don't see why we can't." Worry began to nibble at the edge of his confidence. "Do you think he'd get pissed off at us if we asked?"

"I'm certain he thinks the world of his daughter," Earl assured him. "But if the request was made with all due respect to her wishes and needs, I can't see why he would become angry."

"Well, I'd be prepared to arrange for whatever entertainment she enjoys to be set up," Danny said. "Out of my own pocket, even. TV, computer game console, fridge with snacks, whatever. Over and above whatever we pay her, of course." He looked at Earl. "I've only met them once. You sound like you know them better than I do. Think you could reach out to him and make the request?"

After a moment, Earl nodded. "I believe I can handle that, yes. Leave it with me." He held out his hand.

Danny shook it, feel better about the whole deal already. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

Earl smiled. For once, the expression reached all the way to his eyes. "No. Thank you."

<><>​

Claire

The rumbling of the car into the garage would have gone unheard by any normal person, but Claire had long since relinquished any claim on the word 'normal'. Getting up from where she'd been watching TV with Robert and Marcus, she wandered on down to meet her father.

"Hey, Dad," she said, and gave him a hug. "How was your day?"

"Fruitful and interesting." He ruffled her hair playfully. "How did your introduction of Marcus at the school go?"

"Well, Taylor and Emma think he's nice," she said, batting his hand away. "After I spoke to the principal, she agreed that his grades were good enough that he didn't have to stay back a year. He says his day went okay after I went to my classes."

Earl raised his eyebrows. "Spoke to her, hmm? Was that all you did?"

As much as she would've liked to lie through her teeth, he could somehow pick up on when she was doing that, even when she suppressed all her tells. It was very unfair. "I may have depressed her critical thinking capability and made her a little suggestible. It didn't take much." She glanced over her shoulder, but her 'cousin' hadn't followed her to the garage. "The grades we faked for him were pretty good to start with."

"Well, he is a bright lad," Earl noted without any irony at all. "In other news, I may have secured you some extra after-school employment, if you're interested?"

She raised her eyebrows. "I'm already doing Friday and Saturday evenings at the hospital. What else did you have in mind?"

His mouth stretched in amusement. "Danny Hebert has advanced the idea of paying you a stipend to be on-call for injuries at the Boat Graveyard worksite. He's also willing to spring for a TV and a snack fridge for your exclusive use while you're on site."

"Sure—" She paused as he raised a finger. She knew what that gesture meant. Slow down and think about it. "Uh, depending on the size of the stipend, I mean. But yeah, I like Mr Hebert, and Taylor's pretty cool too. So as long as they're not trying to rip me off, I'd be happy to do that. Besides, it helps your thing along if the work goes smoothly, yeah?"

He nodded; she could tell he was pleased at her evaluation of the situation. "It does, yes. We haven't discussed the exact size of the stipend, but given the medical insurance payments that we would otherwise be shelling out for an operation of that magnitude, there's definitely some wiggle room in the budget."

"Okay then, let's do it." She looked up at her father. "Whose idea was it to bring in the TV and snack fridge?"

"His, actually." He shrugged. "I'll say this about Danny Hebert. He's not stupid."

"Well, that's true. Taylor's pretty smart, too." Claire grinned at him. "It was weird the first time, meeting Taylor when she only knew me as me, but I think I can handle it."

"I'm sure you can, Claire-bear." Earl raised an eyebrow. "So, I've got a few ideas where Traction, or Panzer, or whatever her name is, might have gone to ground. Interested in coming out and scouting the locations with me?"

She brightened right up. "Definitely. Are we bringing the boys with us?"

"Robert, yes," he decided. "Marcus … not yet. At least, not until he's had all the tutoring I can give him in dealing with bone."

Claire pursed her lips slightly. "That might cause morale problems later. If Marcus gets the idea that he's being sidelined because of his age, he might act out. After all, he's as strong-willed as you, and doesn't have nearly the life experience to teach him not to do something stupid like that."

After a moment or two of contemplation, Earl grimaced. "Damnation, you're right. I would do that exact thing, at his age. In fact, I did do something remarkably similar when I was only a few years older than he is now. The end result could have been very messy, extremely fatal or both. Fortunately, the blind luck that looks out for fools and drunkards saved me, though it did teach me a salutary lesson about paying due care and attention to what I was doing. There's no guarantee that the boy will even survive to learn the same lesson."

"So what are we going to do?" Claire had no illusions that her father was going to reverse his ruling on Marcus coming out with them. As unfair as Marcus might accuse his 'uncle' of being, Earl very rarely changed his mind once it was made up, and only when he was presented with an extremely good reason for doing so.

"Well, I was thinking of inviting Kayden out on the scouting mission," Earl mused. "Do you think she would be overly upset if I asked her to stay home and keep Marcus company?"

"Probably best if she did," agreed Claire. "She's not exactly stealthy at the best of times, and Marcus likes her." She had trod lightly when it came to arranging the memories for her father's clone. After reducing his apparent age to a year below hers, she'd given him an edited version of her own impressions of Boston, along with vague impressions of parents, now deceased. Taking her cues from how Robert had reacted to his mental implants, she'd ensured that Marcus' own brain did the heavy lifting on interpreting the memories she'd installed, filling in the gaps as needed. This ensured that he never ran into an actual amnesiac block, but always figured that the details of a particular event or person had slipped his mind.

Kayden, as an official member of the team, was a near-constant visitor to the house, and had been accepted by Robert and Marcus as being equal to Earl and Claire in authority. In Claire's opinion, she filled the necessary role of 'team mom' for the boys, which Claire didn't really feel qualified to perform.

"I shall speak with her about it," decided Earl. "She gets a say in this as well, of course. Where might I find her?"

"I'm pretty sure she said she was going to take a nap," Claire said. "I think she wanted one of us to come get her when you got home."

"Well, then, I shall attend to that myself." Earl shook his head slowly. "I'm still not sure what Kaiser was thinking when he turned on her. Or if he was thinking."

Claire grinned as they started through the house. "Well, his loss and our win. Apparently, treating someone with respect and decency pays off. Who knew?"

"I know you think you're joking," he retorted. "Far too many people have tripped up on that very respect. Fear or feelings of inadequacy are altogether too common as a controlling tactic in villain gangs."

Claire rolled her eyes. "And more than one hero group, I bet."

Her father raised an eyebrow. "Once again, I suspect that you think you're joking." He strode off toward the rooms that had been set aside for Kayden's private use; both he and Claire made a point of ignoring the fact that they adjoined his rooms.

Claire headed back to the main lounge room, a grin on her face. Capes were dysfunctional in so many ways; heroes were probably no different, in the long run.

<><>​

Crusader

"Okay … a little more … more … nearly there … perfect. Now hold it!"

Justin grunted and sweated, his hands hurting where they gripped the cable, as Panzer gunned the engine of her new tank and trundled it under the suspended gun turret. Alabaster seemed to be able to do this all day—because of course he can—while Geoff barely seemed to be trying. To Justin, it felt like he was carrying the whole thing all by himself.

"Okay!" yelled Panzer. "Lower away! Slowly!"

He wasn't sure if he could handle 'slowly' right then, with his hands on fire as they were, but he did his best. This was exactly what he wasn't good at; his ghosts were only capable of interacting with things that were alive, like people. Inch by inch, his feet trying to skid on the floor, he paid the rope out with the others as the turret slid into place on the tank.

With the last metallic clank signalled that it was properly seated, he let the rope—now slack—drop from his hands. They were red and sore, and he was almost certain he could see a couple of blisters in the process of forming. "I did not sign up for this," he muttered.

"What was that?" called out Panzer, looking around from where she was crouching on the hull of the tank, inspecting the turret.

"I said, I'm going for a shower," Justin replied, deciding a straight lie was the best idea. Besides, he actually needed one. Between his abraded hands and aching back, he'd had enough manual labour for the one day. So much for the life of luxury and ease Kaiser promised me when I joined the Empire Eighty-Eight.

"We still got another turret to put in," she called after him.

He didn't so much as break step. "Then get everyone out of the room and have Night drop it into place in her monster form. I need a shower."

"I thought of that. She's not manually dextrous enough. She's nothing but blades in that form!" Panzer actually sounded angry about it.

"Well, I'm still done for the day." He left the room, closing the door behind him.

I seriously do not need this shit right now.

<><>​

Panzer

Sherrel huffed as she put her hands on her hips. "Fuck," she growled, staring at the closed door as though she could force Justin to come back through with sheer pissed-off willpower. Unfortunately for her, all of her talents lay in the region of building shit, so her glare accomplished nothing of note.

"Want me to go get him?" Alabaster cracked his knuckles. He looked as fresh as when he'd started, for obvious reasons. "I can fetch the little pussy easily."

"No, don't bother," she said, waving him off. "You could bring him back but you can't make him actually pull on the damn cable. And I need all three of you to do the lifting."

"So why don't you have a winch to do the lifting?" he asked pragmatically.

"Because I dismantled it to help build the last tank," she said acerbically. It hadn't really been her fault; Mega Girl had been the one to toss the tank in the bay, not her. She'd expected to be able to use the thing for months, and in the meantime she could've bought herself a new winch.

"So what are we gonna do until he feels like helping again?" He looked at her as though she might give him a job that involved going out and hurting someone.

"Well, I dunno about you, but there's other things I can build." She turned toward the large and very cluttered workbench. "I'm thinking a scout drone of some sort. If we can follow Marchioness remotely, we can pick and choose the spot to grab her. At the same time, we can identify who her friends are, and grab them too. I can just tell she's the unreasonable type."

Alabaster grinned. "Hostages solve so many problems."

"I'll take your word for it. Okay, where'd I put that microturbine?"

Tuning out Alabaster, she set to work on the latest project. Sure, her tech might be clunky as fuck, but she could take actual scrap and make a working tank out of it. Or, in this case, a scout drone. She just had to remember to allow for a mass and power budget for the cloaking unit she was going to have to build into it. Otherwise, her scout drone would rapidly become a skeet drone.

So of course, thirty seconds later a motion sensor alarm went off.

<><>​

Robert

The car rolled silently down the darkened street. Some of the streetlights had been damaged, and some had apparently stopped working altogether, leaving no artificial illumination except for the headlights. Robert could have easily believed he was in a ghost town, for all that Downtown was thriving only a few miles away.

"It looks a little run-down," he said, peering out the window at the grimy, cracked brickwork and the boarded-up windows of the buildings beside them. He braced himself as the car jolted through a pothole. It wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last, though Jonas was avoiding most of them.

"Run down? It's gone to hell." Miss Claire shook her head. "How can they let it get this bad?"

"Politicians feathering their own nests," Mr Marchant announced, disgust in his tone. "With the bribes they tried to offer me to give them favourable deals on the port renewal, half of City Hall must have their hand in the till. And infrastructure is one of the first things to go. Once our venture is properly established in this city, there will be some changes around here."

"So run for Mayor," Miss Claire suggested, her tone joking. "You can't be worse at it than the idiot they've got in charge right now."

Slowly, he turned to look at her. A smile spread across his face. "Do you know, I just may do that. See if they can handle actual cut-throat politics."

"I didn't really mean it," she protested hastily. "I mean, what if they look into your background?"

"Earl Marchant has an established background," he pointed out. "It just so happens that he attended a school that was conveniently destroyed when Behemoth attacked New York, though of course I have copies of his purported scholastic records. The trail is fuzzy enough that anyone looking into me will blame the passage of time rather than deliberate obfuscation."

"We're almost there, sir," Jonas noted from the front seat. "The location is just up ahead."

"Good. Pull over here." Mr Marchant looked at the other occupants of the back of the car. "Time to get your game face on, Robert."

"And remember, in costume you're Knight Errant," Miss Claire reminded him. She, of course, had already made herself over into her Marchioness persona.

"Knight Errant, gotcha." Robert took a deep breath as metal slid out of his skin to form the distinctive helmet and armour. "I still can't really believe you're actually letting me come along like this."

"All the training in the world means nothing without time in the field," Marquis—no longer Mr Marchant, Robert reminded himself—intoned as he opened the car door and got out. "You've got to get your feet wet someday, boy. If you get in trouble, cover up as we've shown you, and one of us will come to your assistance. They may try to separate us. Do not let that happen."

"Don't get separated, right." Robert waited to allow Miss Claire to get out before him, then climbed out as well. He had no illusions about being there to protect her, despite his noble-sounding codename. If anything, they were there to protect him.

From the car behind, four men got out. They wore the long black coats and discreet 'M' badges that marked them out as Marquis' men, and had an air of quiet assurance. While they didn't look the same, they still gave the impression of somehow being cast from the same mold. This was probably due to the way they moved in unison with each other.

"Gentlemen." Marquis gave them a nod.

"Sir." One of the men stepped forward and returned the gesture, bowing his head slightly deeper. "Orders?"

Marquis pointed at a large building farther up the street. For all Robert could tell, it might have housed a factory, a printing plant or a supervillain's lair. From the outside, there was no way to tell. "We're going to investigate that location. You are to watch the perimeter and provide backup if we call for it."

The man nodded again. "Understood, sir."

Together, they moved up the quiet street. The men in black fanned out, hands in coat pockets and eyes checking everywhere. Robert was aware that they had some of the same modifications Miss Claire had performed on Jonas, though he hadn't seen them in action yet. They seemed outwardly confident and competent though, and this heartened him.

When they reached a point across the road from the building and down a ways, Marquis stopped to study it. Robert cleared his throat tentatively, then regretted it as all eyes fell on him.

"Yes?" asked the veteran supervillain.

"Uh … what about underground? Like, through the sewers?"

Marquis looked down at the cracked concrete sidewalk and rubbed his chin. "Hm. You have a point. I can't see Panzer driving her machinery through a sewer tunnel, but if she's in there, it might be annoying for her to escape that way."

"I'll go down and look," Miss Claire suggested. "Knight-Errant can come with me as backup."

It took Robert a couple of seconds to realise that she meant him. "Uh … me?"

"Yes, you, boy." Marquis raised an eyebrow. "Unless you're scared of the dark."

"Well, no, I'm not." Robert was pretty sure about that, at least.

"Good. Give me a moment." Miss Claire went over to a manhole cover, crouched down, and lifted it one-handed with no real sign of effort. Still holding it up on one side, she slithered down into the darkness, much more easily than her evening gown should have allowed her to do. The manhole cover clinked gently back into place.

Robert glanced at Marquis, not entirely sure what he should be doing. Had she decided not to take him along? The crime lord didn't seem overly worried as he studied the building across the road.

Then the manhole cover lifted again, and a black clawed hand emerged holding the bundled-up evening gown. "Come on down," hissed a throaty voice that sounded vaguely like Miss Claire's if he listened very carefully.

"Uh, right," muttered Robert. He took the gown and passed it on to Marquis, then lifted up the manhole and climbed down himself.

Almost immediately, he was glad that Mr Marchant and Miss Claire had made him perform such esoteric actions as climbing ladders and doing calisthenics while wearing the armour, because without that practise he would have been a lot less sure in his movements. Step by step he descended, pulling the cover over the hole until he was encompassed in total darkness. All he had now was his sense of touch, and that was curtailed by the metal plating over every part of his body.

Eventually his feet found level flooring, though it felt unpleasantly squishy underfoot. He looked around for Miss Claire, his eyes wide in the darkness as if that would help him see better.

It really couldn't.

"Miss Claire!" he whisper-shouted. "Uh, Marchioness! Where are you?"

From directly overhead, an amused-sounding voice hissed, "Ceiling lizard iz watching u …" followed by a snicker.

Tilting his head back as best he could, he stared upward, unable to see anything until suddenly two glowing opalescent eyes faded into existence, along with a great many sharp teeth in a very pointed grin. And then, they were gone again.

Oh, wait, he told himself. I can do stuff too. Holding out his hand, he summoned his sword. As always, it seemed to grow out of his skin as if extruding from his body. When he gave the mental command, it lit up, flame crawling along the length of it.

This illuminated the sewer tunnel he was standing in, showing that he was all alone. The ceiling above was empty, which made him wonder where Miss Claire had gotten to.

"This is not funny," he muttered.

And then, right where he was looking, the eyes opened again and blinked twice. The razor-sharp teeth made a reappearance as well, still grinning.

"Oh, I think it's hilarious," Miss Claire murmured, her outline showing as she skittered briefly to another part of the tunnel roof. As soon as she stopped, she seemed to flatten onto the brickwork and the patterning on her body changed to suit her surroundings. Even knowing exactly where she was, Robert could not make her out. It was a decidedly creepy feeling, and he was glad she was on his side.

"I'm sure you do," he said softly, knowing she could hear him perfectly well. "What's 'ceiling lizard' about, anyway?"

"Oh, it's a meme from a story I read about online," she replied just as quietly. "I'll show you later. Let's get scouting."

"Okay." He lowered his flaming sword a little, so he could see where he was walking. There was no way in hell, he knew, that any amount of light would pick out Miss Claire if she didn't want to be seen.

They proceeded onward at a cautious pace while he tried to limit the noise he was making. Miss Claire was sometimes visible and sometimes not, but never more than a shadow out of the corner of his eye. The sewer didn't smell all that bad as far as he was concerned; or at least, it could've been much worse. He supposed he should be thankful that this area was in disuse, or everything might have been a lot … fresher. So to speak.

At one point, he stopped at a Y-junction, waiting for Miss Claire to come and show him which way she'd gone. When she did appear, she actually showed her entire head and shoulders outlined in greenish phosphorescence. Without speaking, she lifted a single claw to her closed mouth, then pointed down one of the tunnels.

He got the message, dimming down his flame even further until he could just barely see the sewer floor in front of his feet. As quietly as he could, he followed along behind her, noting with gratitude that she'd chosen to leave a line of glowing green footprints on the roof of the sewer tunnel. He didn't know what she'd found, but he figured she didn't want him just charging in, so he took extra care.

And then he heard the voices. At the same time, a long black tail swung down out of the darkness and nudged his sword with the tip. He doused the flame immediately, then realised why she'd done it. Up ahead, barely visible even in the pitch darkness, there was a dim square of light in the ceiling of the sewer tunnel.

"Because I said so, that's why!" yelled a female voice. Robert had never heard it before, but he guessed it might be Panzer. "I don't care if you're going for a shower! Something just tripped the motion sensors in the sewer, so you're going to go look!"

There was a pause as somebody answered, but so far away as to be inaudible.

"Because Alabaster and Fog don't go into sewers, and if Night runs into someone she'll be helpless!" The shouting woman sounded angry by now. "You don't have to go down yourself, you little pussy! Just send a couple of your stupid fucking ghosts! Make yourself useful for once!"

Again, there was a near-inaudible answer. The woman didn't do any more shouting. Instead, there was muttering and clanking and a few noises that Robert couldn't place.

Miss Claire's hand appeared before Robert's face, once again outlined by phosphorescence. She made a gesture of turning around, then another of walking. Robert agreed wholeheartedly with the plan; let's get out of here before the scary ghost cape shows up. He was uncomfortably aware that inside his metal armour, he was all too squishy.

With Miss Claire in the lead, he began to retrace his steps, trying even harder to make no noise whatsoever. It was twice as tense now, the nebulous threat of someone in the tunnels giving way to the very real threat of something that knew they were there.

Onward he crept, twice flattening against the wall to avoid the notice of a drifting ghost. On the second incidence, he was almost certain he'd been seen, but it didn't turn its head. It didn't help that he was thoroughly lost by now, and had no idea where he'd come up if he climbed out of the sewers now.

Also, he wanted a shower so badly.

And then, the worst happened. He turned a corner just as a ghost dropped out of the ceiling, directly in front of him. Staring at him. Their eyes met, and he realised he was dimly illuminated by the radiance coming off the ghost itself.

Busted.

He knew damn well he couldn't do a damn thing to the ghost, but the long spear it carried was seriously worrying to him. It could skewer him a dozen times while he was regenerating the first hit, and it could keep stabbing him until he was dead. Worse, there was nothing he or Miss Claire could do to stop it. The best she could do was keep him alive, and even that would be problematic if it called in reinforcements.

Eyes wide, he stared at the intangible form before him. Drawing in a deep breath and ignoring the dank air of the sewer, he prepared to run as fast as he could. Even in armour, he was fast—not as fast as Miss Claire, but she was a special case—and maybe he could outpace it until he could find an exit from the sewer?

And then, it deliberately looked away from him and moved off down the sewer tunnel.

It had seen him. He knew it had seen him. Why had it ignored him? Why was it letting him go? Was this some kind of trick?

"Well, come on," hissed Miss Claire from directly above him. "Don't just stand there. Let's go."

Obediently, he stumbled onward, following the phosphorescent footprints in the ceiling once more.

As he went, one thought kept worrying at the edges of his mind.

Why did he let me go?

<><>​

Crusader

Justin dismissed the last of his ghosts, then opened his eyes to look at Panzer, who was glaring at him from three feet away. "What?" he snapped.

"Well, what's down there?" she demanded.

"Nothing." He tried to make his tone off-handed.

"No, it's not nothing." She prodded him in the middle of his chestplate with her forefinger. "Something down there set off a motion sensor. Twice."

"Well, I didn't see anyone." He knocked her arm aside. "Must have been a rat."

"The sensor was halfway up the wall!"

"A big rat."

"They do get pretty damn big in the sewers here," Alabaster offered, sounding amused. "Less so since Blasto stopped dumping stuff down the drain, but still damn nasty. Why do you think I don't go down there? Renewal's all well and good, but some smells you never get out of your clothes."

Panzer drew air in through her nostrils, then let it out again in a frustrated huff of annoyance. "Fine. Go have your fucking shower."

Before she could change her mind, he went. It wasn't until he had the door of the bathroom closed and the shower running that he allowed himself to think about what he'd seen.

An armoured hero, scouting out Panzer's base. Here to take the out of control villain down, once and for all.

Closing his eyes, he let the spray run over his face.

And not before time.



End of Part Twenty

 

[Alexcorvin]

You know... I was half hoping it would be lewd. Not saying you need to or anything, Ack, just thought ti would be, since, you know, QQ. Any chance it might at some point (when the girls are older, I mean... unless you want some underage lewds... I wouldn't mind...)?

 

[Scopas]

Hmm... Adolescent girl who's basically an eldritch abomination... likes to keep watch from the ceiling...

My mind turns to Nobody Dies, and the many, many Rei's contained therein.

Great update, Ack!

 

[Ack]

You know... I was half hoping it would be lewd. Not saying you need to or anything, Ack, just thought ti would be, since, you know, QQ. Any chance it might at some point (when the girls are older, I mean... unless you want some underage lewds... I wouldn't mind...)?

Click to shrink...

Sorry. Claire is currently thirteen, and due to this, there will be no more underage lewds in my fics.

If this fic lasts until she's at least eighteen, then that's a different story.

 

[Scopas]

Sorry. Claire is currently thirteen, and due to this, there will be no more underage lewds in my fics.

If this fic lasts until she's at least eighteen, then that's a different story.

Click to shrink...

Damn, what painful news.

Well, hopefully these idiotic trolls sustain prolonged intestinal issues.

 

[Vanrus]

Sorry. Claire is currently thirteen, and due to this, there will be no more underage lewds in my fics.

If this fic lasts until she's at least eighteen, then that's a different story.

Click to shrink...

Can't have shit in 2020. I'll miss those fics, and it's a damn shame it's affecting your professional life because some people are too sensitive for QQ. God forbid someone wants to read good smut.

Let's not bring unnecessary drama in here though. Honestly I kinda like this fic more as SFW fare anyways, feels like lewds would be distracting. As for in-chapter stuff, it's been a while since I've read this one; who exactly are Robert and Marcus again? I remember Kayden's recruitment into the Marche but those two are eluding me.

 

[Scopas]

Can't have shit in 2020. I'll miss those fics, and it's a damn shame it's affecting your professional life because some people are too sensitive for QQ. God forbid someone wants to read good smut.

Let's not bring unnecessary drama in here though. Honestly I kinda like this fic more as SFW fare anyways, feels like lewds would be distracting. As for in-chapter stuff, it's been a while since I've read this one; who exactly are Robert and Marcus again? I remember Kayden's recruitment into the Marche but those two are eluding me.

Click to shrink...

Spoiler: Marcus and Robert

Marcus and Robert are the reprogrammed/rewritten Blasto clones of Lung and Marquis that the gang defeated in the last few chapters. Marcus was reprogrammed to be Marquis's son and Ameliia's little brother, and Robert was programmed to be a powered minion for Marquis - albeit, a presumably happy well-treated minion.

 

[Ack]

Spoiler: Marcus and Robert

Marcus and Robert are the reprogrammed/rewritten Blasto clones of Lung and Marquis that the gang defeated in the last few chapters. Marcus was reprogrammed to be Marquis's son and Ameliia's little brother, and Robert was programmed to be a powered minion for Marquis - albeit, a presumably happy well-treated minion.

Click to shrink...

That's correct.

"Marcus" is a direct reference to 'Marquis', and Robert is being treated as a junior member of the team, currently in training.

 

[Ack]

Another Way

Part Twenty-One: Panzerfaust

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

Marquis

Earl rubbed his chin between thumb and forefinger. "Crusader's ghost saw you, but didn't attack you or try to raise the alarm?" He sounded dubious about the concept. "You're certain it wasn't just looking in your direction?"

The young man he'd renamed Robert after his change at Claire's hands shook his head earnestly. "Totally. He was looking right at my face. I could see him, and he could see me. I thought I was dead, right then. But he just turned his back on me and went away. So me and Miss Claire got out of there."

"That, at least, was the correct move," mused Earl, thinking hard. He pulled the handheld radio from his pocket and clicked in the push-to-talk button. "Marquis here. Any movement on the perimeter?"

"One here. Nothing on north side."

"Two responding. Nothing on west side."

"Three here. All clear to the south."

"Four here. Street looks clear."

He knew Four was on the rooftop almost directly above them, and that the man's eyesight and hearing were vastly beyond human norm. The same went for the other three. They were also physically boosted, with strength and reflexes that would bring tears of envy to the eyes of an Olympic athlete. This was par for the course with any one of his loyal troops.

The disloyal troops, on the other hand—those who had joined under false pretences, usually as moles from the PRT or the other gangs—he had placed in a division of their own, so they could chase their own tails and inform on each other.

A smile creased his face in the darkness. Claire's powers had come at a cost, as did everything valuable in life, but she had truly made him proud with her capability and judgement.

"Dad?" she asked now, bringing him back to the present. At the moment, she wore her Marchioness form, including the evening gown, for ease of communication.

Though it consisted of just one word, the question had several layers inherent in the asking. Most centred around the two aspects of Do we have a plan and How are we going to do this?

"We have one major priority here," he stated, addressing his words to both Claire and Robert, though they were meant mainly for the latter. "Removing Panzer as a threat to Marchioness. How we do this is not yet set in stone, though I would be satisfied with the Kaiser solution. As for her allies, we are looking at varying levels of danger. Do not attempt to face Night and Fog on your own, and if you get into melee with Alabaster, go on the defensive. If you exert yourself trying to beat him, he will wear you down."

"What about Crusader?" asked Robert hesitantly. "He didn't attack me …"

"The reasons for which I refuse to speculate," Earl said flatly. "To assume he's automatically on our side is to leave ourselves open for betrayal. He may well have assumed you were a hero, and was unwilling to attack you for one reason or another. Once he finds out you are working with me, his priorities may well change. We will not overtly attack him unless and until he strikes at us, but we don't turn our backs on him or his ghosts."

"If I can get close to him, I'll see if I can figure out his motives," Claire offered.

"Not a bad idea," Earl allowed. "Just be careful. Your organic carbon fibre armour might stop his ghosts' spears, and it may not. We do not want him suddenly getting the idea that we're betraying him, and turning his ghosts on us unexpectedly."

"Yeah, no, pass on that," agreed Claire.

"As for the attack itself," Marquis said, "I believe a dynamic entry from the front will work for both Knight-Errant and myself, while Marchioness finds a roof entry and gains access that way. A two-pronged attack from an unexpected direction is far more likely to work than a simple frontal approach." He looked to Robert. "We will work in concert, flanking any opposition we encounter. Alabaster we will nail to the ground. With Night and Fog, your job will be to deal with Fog while I keep Night honest."

More than a little surprised, Robert stared at him. "M-me?" he stammered. "But you're much better at fighting than I am."

Earl nodded. "Yes, but your regeneration will keep you safe from his acid touch, and your flaming sword will likely cause him more than a little discomfort. It may even ignite him like a cloud of flour."

"Okay." Robert nodded. "And Mi-uh, Marchioness? She'll be alone. What happens if she runs into Fog?"

Claire grinned, showing a few too many teeth. "Oh, Fog and I are old friends," she purred. "I might just have to remind him of that fact, though."

Earl's smile was all proud father. "That's my girl."

<><>​

Marchioness

Claire had to remind herself that overconfidence was a killer. And while she herself was as physically capable and resistant to damage as she could manage, that did not also apply to her father and to Robert. The clone of Lung was certainly tough, with a level of regeneration that rivalled the leader of the ABB, but his combat capabilities were still at a relatively basic level. It had taken Jonas years to get her to where she was now, and having three people willing to train him did not allow him to learn three times as fast.

It had been relatively easy to get to the building under cover of her optical camouflage, then crawl up the wall and approach the crudely-wired security camera from above. Her options had been to either snip the wires or block the lens with a mixture of snail mucus and octopus ink, and in the end she'd gone with snipping the wires. It was fast and easy, and the people inside were going to figure out things had gone wrong soon enough; no sense in delaying her entry by trying to be fancy.

Once the camera was out, she slithered down to the doors themselves, then modified one of her claws into a narrow monomolecular blade and sliced through the wood, coring out the lock neatly. It was a trick she was quite proud of, not least because it looked badass as hell. Her father and Robert were already on the way over before the lock hit the ground, so she turned around and went straight up the wall.

It had only been common sense to expect a camera covering the roof access, so of course there was one. Fortunately, this camera had the same problem with exposed wires as the other one had, and snipping the wires with a purpose-modified pair of claws was but the work of an instant.

Getting in was another problem altogether. The roof access door was made of metal; while this would not pose an impossible obstacle, it would also be a lot noisier than cutting through wood. So she improvised. A tentacle the thickness of a shoelace, though vastly stronger, slithered out of her fingertip and around the door jamb. It felt around the inside of the door until it felt the push-bar, then braced itself and went as rigid and unbending as a steel rod three times its thickness. Claire put one hand against the doorframe and pulled sharply on the other end of the improvised lever. With a clunk, the door came open.

Venturing inside, she let the door click shut, then pushed her camouflage back to maximum and made her way down into the building. Initially, she was just scouting, looking to locate the bad guys before she opened hostilities on them. Her feet secreted a fine powder that was more or less imperceptible to the naked eye, but which her enhanced senses could pick up just fine, so she wouldn't end up scuttling in circles.

Up ahead, she heard a sound like a hundred knives dancing on their blade-points, but when she snuck her head around the corner, all she saw was an open door; within, a woman examining her hands. The woman wasn't trashily dressed or currently building some death machine, so Claire presumed it was Night. The ex-Empire cape was reputed to turn into a mobile blender when she was unobserved, which explained the noises Claire had heard just before she actually looked to see what was going on.

Do I take her down, or leave her for later?

The temptation was almost palpable in nature. Night would never see her coming, and so long as Claire kept eyes on her, the fight would be over before it began. One hit, and the woman would be down and out to it.

Except therein lay the next problem. Once Claire took her down and secured her, she would have to keep the woman in sight from then on. If she didn't, reports suggested that she would recover from any and all damage when she changed forms. They didn't mention the possibility of metabolising knockout toxins, but that wasn't something Claire was willing to gamble on.

Which left two options. Either kill Night outright, or apply a change to her brain so that she was no longer an enemy. Claire had trouble with both of those options, for differing reasons.

For the first one, she was certainly physically capable of executing Night before the woman ever saw her. But she liked to think of herself as a good person, or at least a person with good intentions. Jumping straight to the cold-blooded murder of an unsuspecting adversary smacked of the kind of villainy that her father spoke out against. There was no style to it.

Changing Night's brain permanently was also something she was quite good at doing by now. But there were two ways to do it; the slow and careful way where she knew she wouldn't leave a gaping hole in the command structure she was putting into place, and the quick and dirty way where such flaws were almost inevitable. Right now, she didn't have time to do more than a quick and dirty job, and she wasn't certain that Night's Changer recuperation wouldn't even fix that. She certainly wasn't banking on Alabaster being vulnerable to such things.

So she left Night to her own devices—hearing the hundred-knives chorus on the floor as soon as she turned her back—and set out to explore more of the base. She'd just come out into the main workshop area, and had just had time to register holy crap, that's one fuck-off big-ass tank when the fire alarm started shrieking.

<><>​

Panzer

"Hey, Panzer." Alabaster's remark was cut in half by a yawn. This had to be from boredom, because as far as Sherrel could see, the man never got tired. She wondered if he even slept, or if his resetting power took care of that too.

"What is it?" She put the soldering iron down and popped her goggle lenses upward so she could look at him. Deep down, she felt the craving, not for drugs but for the feeling the drugs gave her. It drove her, made her want to finish the tank so she could have another crack at Marchioness, to get her ability to be addicted back. Still, Alabaster rarely screwed around so she was willing to find out what he wanted.

"Your shitty-ass security cameras are on the blink again." He gestured back toward where she'd set up the rudimentary console. "Can't see the front door for dick."

"Fuckin' what?" She'd double-checked the connection on that one. "Go outside and see if a bird crapped on it or something. I'll look at it from this end."

"Get Crusader to go check on it," he said, not quite ignoring her order but skating very close to it. "His ghosts can fly, yeah?"

"Crusader's just about stomped on my last nerve," Sherrel snapped. "I tell him to do that, there's every chance we'll get into a ten-minute argument about how he's too tired to do it or some shit, or you go and do it right the fuck now and save ten minutes of fucking around."

Alabaster folded his arms. "Ever think maybe he's acting like a pissy little whiny bitch so you won't tell him to do shit? You're basically rewarding him for being lazy."

Sherrel advanced on him. "I. Don't. Give. A. Shit," she snarled. "You got out of sewer duty because you don't wanna get your clothes dirty. Fine. This isn't sewer duty. This is walking outside and looking at a camera." She stomped past him to the makeshift security console. "The sooner you do it, sooner you can get back to doing crosswords, or whatever it is you pass the time with."

"Fine." He threw up his hands dramatically. There might even have been an eye-roll involved, but Sherrel wasn't looking. She heard him leave the room; while he didn't slam the door, exactly, he did close it with a certain amount of force.

I need to finish the tank soon, she decided. If we don't get out and capture Marchioness in the next few days, we'll be at each other's throats. Closing her eyes, she imagined the pleasure spreading through her veins, once Marchioness was forced to reverse the change that had been made to her physiology. Of course, once the little shit did the job and put things back the way they were supposed to be, she was gonna die. Nobody fucks with my high.

Dropping into the chair, she looked over the screens that related to the security setup. Rear entrance was fine, side entrance showed no problems, roof exit … wait, what the hell? She glared at the screen that was supposed to be portraying the roof exit, but was just … blank. Just like the front door camera.

This was looking less and less all the time like a simple equipment failure (always a potential aspect of being a Tinker) and more like someone was fucking with them. There was a big red button taped to the table beside her, with a clear cover over it. The person on security console detail was supposed to hit it if they saw any shit going down on one of the cameras. It was connected to the fire alarm system (she'd disconnected the sprinklers first, and made use of the tubing in the process) so if someone hit the button, everyone would know about it.

"Panzer." Dorothy entered the room, looking … not nervous, she didn't have the imagination for that, but unhappy. "Do you have a camera in our room?"

"Why the fuck would I have one there?" demanded Sherrel, just wanting this stupid fucking conversation to be over already so she could find out from Alabaster what was wrong with the front door camera, and maybe get Crusader to get over himself already and check the roof exit feed.

"I don't know." Dorothy looked directly at her. "But I was in there just now, and I changed back to human when nobody was there. Someone was looking at me."

Sherrel flipped up the cover and slapped the button.

<><>​

Marquis

Alabaster, Earl decided, was a very irritating person to fight. They'd been easing into the base, giving Claire time to get to the roof and effect her own entrance, when he came down the corridor and almost literally bumped right into them. All of Earl's efforts had immediately gone toward preventing the paper-white neo-Nazi from raising the alarm, which meant he'd disabled Alabaster's pistols first before attacking the man himself.

Right then, Alabaster had opened his mouth to call out a warning; fortunately, Robert had showed the presence of mind—or perhaps he'd just panicked—to stab the man through the chest. And the diaphragm, as it happened. While such an injury would be likely to prove very quickly fatal to the normal run of humanity, on Alabaster it merely served to shut him up for a few seconds.

Those few seconds had been invaluable, though. Earl had sent a spray of bone that clamped onto Alabaster and locked around his face to form a solid gag, forcing the Empire villain to breathe through his nose, and silencing any outcry he might make. It did not, however, convince the white-skinned lunatic to give up. In fact, if anything, it exacerbated his efforts to break away from them.

It very quickly became clear that Alabaster was a highly capable and versatile close-in fighter, made only more so by his ability to utterly ignore any wounds he might suffer and by what seemed to be the ability to ignore any level of pain. He was not above breaking his own limbs to escape any attempt to cage him in, and anything grown from his own bones vanished when he reached the reset point. While he wasn't beating Earl and Robert, he wasn't losing either, and that was all he had to do. Endlessly regenerating, he would not tire or make mistakes, while his opponents eventually would.

Or at least, Earl knew that he would, whereas Robert's regeneration had the possibility of keeping him fresh through a gruelling combat. But for all of that, Alabaster could also regenerate, albeit in a different fashion to Robert or even Claire.

Three times Alabaster made a break for freedom, and three times he almost made it. Twice, Earl caged him in with bone. Alabaster battered at the barrier, shattering it with his fists and feet and revealing what had to be a minor Brute level of strength.

On the third attempt, Robert tackled the Empire cape full-on, bringing him down with a tremendous thud. Utilising a move Earl could've sworn Claire had taught the clone, Robert rolled to his feet with the still-winded Alabaster's throat clutched in his hand. But they had to move fast before he recovered and the fight began all over again.

Slamming Alabaster against the wall, Robert ran his sword through the man's chest and into the plasterboard beyond, pinning him there. Earl was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth; within half a second, he had Alabaster encased in bone as white as his skin, arms and legs firmly pinned by the rock-hard carapace. But he wasn't satisfied with simple bonds. Alabaster had proven himself a highly tenacious and altogether too persistent opponent so, once Robert had withdrawn the sword, Earl thickened the bone sarcophagus to a foot thick in all directions, leaving only his head protruding from the top.

"Well done, son," he said with a congratulatory slap on Robert's shoulder. "Let's go."

Just then, the fire alarm went off.

<><>​

Crusader

Standing under the pounding spray of the hot shower, Justin wasn't quite sure what to do with himself, now he knew enemies (not his enemies, but enemies to the group) were gathering outside. He wanted the other side to win, but he didn't want to go to prison. Panzer had seized control of their little group, mainly because Dorothy and Geoff needed direction and Alabaster didn't give a damn.

He himself didn't have the temperament to be a good leader. At best, he'd flail around and screw everything up; at worst, he'd try to treat everyone like his ghosts, and they'd all just walk away from him. But Panzer seemed intent on forcing a confrontation with Marquis, which in Justin's mind was a huge fuck NO!

The worst bit was, the other three were just fine with this. He couldn't discreetly assassinate her (even if he was inclined to do so) because then he'd have three people on his case that he was damn sure he couldn't kill in a hurry. Except maybe Dorothy, and she would only die if he watched her all the way to her last breath and beyond. As soon as she was free of observation, she'd transform immediately to her monster configuration, fully healed. (Which, just saying, was only slightly less bullshit than Alabaster's four-seconds-and-change reset capability).

And while his ghosts were capable of at least slowing down Alabaster and Dorothy via repeated stabbings, Geoff suffered under no such limitation. In fact, Justin knew damn well there was nothing he could do to stop Geoff from murdering him at will, at any time. This was one of the reasons he hadn't raised too loud an objection to Panzer's plans to date; if she ordered Geoff to dispose of him, there was a very good chance the man would do just that with no hesitation whatsoever.

It was almost as if the universe were deliberately finding reasons for him to regret working with brainwashed Nazi supervillains or something. Not that they were any better than working with enthusiastic new recruits; or rather, unstable new recruits. Who had somehow ended up in charge.

I want out but even if I do get out, I'll have zero friends and a lot of enemies, some of whom will be my former friends.

Fuck my life.

He was just starting to wash the soap off when the alarm shrilled through the base, grabbing his attention and holding it. For a moment, he thought the place really was on fire, until he belatedly recalled how Panzer had ripped out the copper piping and rewired the alarm system. Still, that probably meant the guy he'd seen before was assaulting the base. Hopefully with about two dozen PRT as backup. He hadn't recognised the costume, but with the gleaming silver armour and sword the guy had looked heroic as fuck; and with Kaiser just plain vanished, they didn't have access to the latest Protectorate rosters anymore.

Still, he hastened to get out of the shower, because if someone came looking for him, the last thing he wanted was for anyone to suspect he was in on the raid somehow. Also, it would be the height of irony for someone on the other side not to have gotten the memo that Crusader was one hundred percent okay with the base being raided, and to come in shooting. The best outcome right now was that he armoured up and got the fuck out of Dodge while everyone else was (hopefully) being beaten down and arrested by sword-guy and his Protectorate and PRT buddies.

In any case, it was a good idea to find out what was going on, so once he had pants on he sent out a couple of ghosts to scout the area. This was because the ghosts were an exact copy of him at the moment he produced them, and he didn't feel like flashing anyone right now. There was nobody in the corridor outside, and no sound of fighting, at least not anything that could be heard over Panzer's fucking repurposed fire alarm. So he pressed onward, even as he hurriedly pulled on the rest of his costume.

As luck would have it—because fuck my life. Again—the first person one of his ghosts saw was Panzer, in the area near the security console. Worse, she saw the ghost at the same time.

"Get dressed and get out here!" she shouted, putting the finishing touches on a gun he knew she hadn't possessed that morning. It was big and ugly and lumpy, and he was sure he saw parts of the toaster sticking out of it. This made it a Tinker gun, which meant he had no fuckin' idea what it did, and there was a good chance she wouldn't either until she fired it. Mentally assigning it an equal chance of firing Mach 1 slices of toast or high-powered microwave lasers, he made the ghost perform an elaborate salute—no sense in letting her know he was rooting for the other side—and had it drift out through the wall.

The other ghost, which he'd sent toward the area of the front doors just to see if they'd been kicked in yet, found them idly swinging on their hinges with the lock altogether missing. He didn't bother spending time trying to figure out what had happened to it, because one: he really didn't care, and two: Alabaster was only a few yards inside the doors. The guy was alive (duh) but not going anywhere at all, mainly due to being encased from the neck down in what looked very much like either white stone … or solid bone. About a foot thick, if Justin was any judge. More bone had been used to form a very effective gag, leaving him just his nose to breathe through, which he was doing so at the moment, snorting like a steam-train and glaring at Justin's ghost. Vague sounds emanated from within the enclosing calcitic prison; with a lot of effort, Justin figured Alabaster was trying to shout, "Get me out of this, you fucking idiot!"

Much as he was doing right then with Panzer, he had the ghost nod earnestly (they both knew his ghosts couldn't touch nonliving matter, so attacking the bone was a no-go) and head off through the wall with an air of I'll be right back with help. Because that was where he was going. Right after he stopped for coffee … in Boston.

Still, that had been a turn-up for the books, as he'd once heard someone say. There had only ever been one bone manipulator in Brockton Bay, and although Marquis had left the city before Justin ever got his powers and moved to the Bay to join the Empire Eighty-Eight, his reputation preceded him like a Mack truck on steroids. The older capes he'd spoken to, the ones who'd been around when Marquis was still a power in the city, had told stories about why you did not fuck with the guy.

And now he was back, and although Justin didn't know exactly how he'd managed to deal with Kaiser, Krieg, Hookwolf and the rest all in one afternoon, it was obvious this was his work. Which just served to raise a question about the guy with the sword. That had clearly not been Marquis. He'd seen pictures of the guy in action, and he went for bone armour and elaborate bone weapons that he basically pulled out of his own body. Not silver plate armour and a metal sword.

Okay, Marquis and armour guy. At least. He didn't know if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Villains were less likely to arrest everyone in sight, but they had been known to murder everyone in sight. He tried to recall what he'd been told about Marquis' tendencies in that regard, and got back a vague memory of being told if someone really really got up in his grille, that person just … vanished. Like he'd never been.

Which is what Kaiser and the others did, he belatedly realised. Both the getting in his grille thing and the vanishing thing. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. Okay. Rule number one, don't get up in Marquis' grille. I want to walk out of here in one piece.

Honestly, the more he learned about what was going on around here, the less he wanted to be any part of it whatsoever.

Swearing under his breath, he continued to strap his armour on.

<><>​

Fog

Geoff Schmidt was not what anyone would call a deep thinker. He had his priorities, and he attended to them. When not attending to them, he usually awaited further orders. He and Dorothy had their rituals that filled in the time while they were awaiting orders, although being displaced from their apartment meant Dorothy could not cook for Geoff and the others, and he could not sit at the table with the paper while she cooked.

This was moderately unsettling for him. He preferred to be able to go through the comforting motions, rather than think about what to do next. He didn't like thinking. Thinking was painful, and brought back memories of things he did not want to think about.

Being given explicit orders he could follow to the letter; that, he liked. Whether these orders were to kill someone messily or to walk to the post office and retrieve a parcel, he would carry them out precisely. If anyone attempted to stop him from doing what he needed to do, he could react and deal with the problem. Reacting wasn't something he had difficulty with. In some distant part of his mind, he was aware that he lacked initiative and the capacity for independent creative thought, but another part of his mind told him this was perfectly okay, so it was alright.

So long as he and Dorothy had someone to tell them what to do, they'd be fine. Panzer liked telling them what to do, so they were happy. Not as happy as they'd been in their apartment where Dorothy could cook for them and he could sit at the table with the morning paper, but happy enough.

Panzer had pressed the button that made the fire alarm go off, and she had told Geoff to go up to the roof exit and if he found someone on the way that wasn't part of the team, to kill them messily. He hadn't heard the orders she had given Dorothy, but this didn't matter. As Night and Fog, they never missed and they never lost. Once he had killed everyone he found at the roof exit, he would rejoin Dorothy and perhaps she would be able to cook for them again.

Going upstairs in his particulate form was difficult, so he was walking. Panzer believed enemies were breaking into the building, so he was carrying a pistol. One technique he had been shown for when he wasn't being backed up by Dorothy was to pretend to be an ordinary person and fire off a shot from behind cover, then go to fog and overwhelm the opposition while they were returning fire. That was a solid plan, so he was going to do it first.

He reached the roof exit and frowned. It was closed, which meant there were enemies inside the building that had somehow gotten past him. This meant he hadn't carried out his orders yet. Fortunately, he was now at the top of the stairs, which meant he could assume his Fog shape while pursuing the enemies. He could not carry heavy things like pistols in this form, but that did not matter to him. When he rolled over them, they would die screaming. They always did.

Leaving the pistol on the top step, he changed to fog and began to drift down the stairs once more.

<><>​

Panzer

Gritting her teeth in aggravation, Sherrel jammed the last component into place and picked up the large screwdriver. It seemed everything and everyone was conspiring to piss her off today, and she couldn't even get high to let it all go over her head. When I finally get this bitch to give me my high back, Imma get blitzed for about a month straight. After I feed her her spleen for putting me through this shit.

Holding the gun with one hand, she expertly tightened the screw. Her thumb depressed the power-up switch and she felt the coils start to energise. Pulling her top lip back from her teeth, she let out a snarl of triumph. These fuckos might think she was helpless because she was a vehicle Tinker without a vehicle, but she also made weapons for her vehicles. True, it was only just light enough to carry, but it was designed to fuck up other vehicles, so it would make an absolute motherfucking mess of any person it hit, cape or otherwise.

"Hey—"

Reacting without thought, she turned and threw the screwdriver like a knife. It turned end over end and hit its target, the blunt plastic handle bouncing hard off Crusader's helmet.

"—what the fuck?" he yelped, ducking and covering his head with his hands as she swung the accelerator cannon toward him. "Hey, cool it with that thing!"

"Don't fuckin' sneak up on me, then," growled Sherrel. "What took you so long?"

"Normally, I get help to put my armour on," he explained lamely. "It's a lot quicker that way." He waved his spear. "But I'm here now. What do you want me to do?"

"Fuck, do I have to think of everything myself?" she yelled. "Send your ghosts around and see what the fuck's going on!" She paused. "Hey, did you send a ghost into Dorothy's room? She said she changed to her human form earlier, and nobody was there."

He blinked rapidly, then took a deep breath. "Uh, yeah, that was me, sorry. It took a wrong turn. No harm, no foul, right?"

Wait, what? So all this bullshit is because Justin was peeking at Dorothy? Motherfucker!

"Son of a bitch!" she yelled, and stomped through into the security area. Reaching under the table, she flipped the switch that turned off the incessant fire alarm. "I should seriously let those two take you apart like a fuckin' pita wrap. I thought for sure we were under attack, you insensitive perverted cocksucking asshole!"

As if drawn by her tirade, Dorothy came into the room, carrying her bandolier of smoke grenades and wearing her specially prepared cloak. Sherrel knew it had hooks on the outside, so Dorothy could throw it over an opponent's head and it would latch onto their costume, preventing them from seeing her. The smoke grenades were of course intended to bring about the same effect via a totally different mechanic.

"Why has the fire alarm stopped?" asked Dorothy.

"Because we were never under attack!" yelled Sherrel. "Crusader did something stupid and made me think we were. Because he's a fuckwit." Gritting her teeth, she set the cannon down on the table, because it was too fucking heavy to lug around for too long. And if she kept it in her hands for much longer, she'd be tempted to shoot Justin with it.

A brownish-grey fog roiled into the room then reformed into Geoff, looking vaguely puzzled. "We are not under attack?"

"No, we're not," snapped Sherrel, but even as she said it, a doubt assailed her mind. Wait a minute … where's Alabaster? He should've reported back by now.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," purred a voice from the corridor leading toward the front door. "But don't mind us. Do carry on."

Sherrel spun around, eyes going wide. Marquis stood in the doorway, fully armoured in bone with an elaborate battle-axe in his hands. Beside him was a younger man, armoured in silver plate, holding a longsword that had flames flickering up and down the blade.

Fuuuuck.

<><>​

Marquis

It was a calculated risk to make a grand entrance, but Earl had a soft spot for such theatrics. It wasn't enough to beat one's opponents, so much as it was often necessary to prove to them that they'd never stood a chance in the first place. Stepping out and posing with Robert beside him was pure gold, morale-wise; and besides, he knew something they didn't.

"You." Panzer's voice was a low, almost animalistic growl. She didn't look away from Earl, but her hand felt back behind her toward where she'd left the oversized rifle.

"As you say," Earl responded lightly. "Me."

He wasn't quite sure why—his grounding in human psychology was entirely self-taught from hard experience—but responding to anger with cheer always seemed to awaken a much deeper anger in those he tried it on. It was a useful tactic, and one he employed whenever it seemed necessary.

An angry opponent, after all, was one who wasn't thinking straight.

"Where is she?" If the 'you' had been a growl, this was a straight-up snarl. "Where's that bitch?" Her hand fell on the rifle and she scrabbled for the handgrip. He wasn't worried yet, as it was too heavy to lift one-handed. Besides, he had other concerns.

"Are you referring to Marchioness?" His tone was still light, but had a distinct steely edge beneath it. "I'll thank you not to call my daughter such names. For your own sake, rather than her sensibilities. The last person who truly got her angry was Kaiser, and you probably don't wish to find out what happened to him."

As he'd instructed Robert, the boy was watching their backs while he kept an eye on Crusader, who was observing the whole interaction as if frozen with indecision. He still didn't trust the ghost Master fully, but so far he seemed to be unwilling to step up. Good. Every enemy we can sow doubt with, the better.

"Night!" screamed Panzer. "Fog! Crusader! Get them!" At the same time, she swung around to the table and snatched up the massive rifle.

Several things happened in very quick succession.

<><>​

Marchioness

"Where's that bitch?"

Clinging to the ceiling of the room, more or less directly above Night and Fog, Claire bristled. I'll show you bitch … bitch. But before she could decide what action to take, her father spoke. His answer, she had to admit, was far classier than any that she could've thought up on her own.

And then Panzer started the fight. Claire didn't worry about her father or Robert; they could take care of themselves. She was more concerned with the Gesellschaft duo, as Fog dissolved into a cloud of particulates and Night stepped into the middle of it, effectively concealing her from view.

Except from me. Claire grinned as she shifted her vision to the far ultraviolet, allowing her to spot Night through the obscuring fog. Then she dropped into it herself. Growing a third eye to allow for three-sixty degree vision was child's play for her by now, and she barely paid attention to it as she delved into Fog's mind. While she couldn't read his thoughts, she could certainly look at the shape of them and do something about it. Turn back and fall asleep, she ordered him, impressing the requirement on his brain like a red-hot poker.

As he reverted to human form and slumped to the ground, she reached out her tail toward Night, who was staring at her shifting, camouflaged body in confusion and what might have even been anger. The purpose-grown fang at the very end plunged into Night's side and injected a potent soporific before the woman even thought to dodge.

"What did you doooo?" mumbled Night, even as she fell over.

Yeah, I'll answer that one later, if at all. Making sure her third eye had a clear view of Night, Claire looked to see how the rest of the fight was going.

<><>​

Crusader

Panzer aimed the massive rifle at Marquis but just before she fired, he pulled up cloaking bone on all sides. She pulled the trigger anyway, spitting out what seemed to be a series of razor-edged metal discs that blew the middle three feet of the bone column into shards and dust. Justin yelped and ducked away; some of those discs had come perilously close to him.

"Fuckin' do something!" she screamed at him, repositioning her aim toward the guy with the flaming sword.

As if in slow motion, Justin saw the bone column rise up from the floor behind her, open up, and Marquis stepped out. Reaching out, the osteokinetic flowed bone all over the gun and over Sherrel herself, encasing her in an instant.

"And that will be enough of that," he stated firmly. He looked over toward Justin. "Do you stand down?"

Realising he was still holding his spear, Justin nodded and let it clatter to the ground. Carefully, he raised both hands to shoulder height. "This wasn't my idea," he said. "None of it was."

Marquis nodded gravely. "Of course, you will understand if I seek a second opinion."

"Um, sure?" Justin had just watched Marquis and his people take down several horrifically dangerous capes in quick succession. He wasn't going to argue with anything the man said.

The creature that stalked toward him was barely visible; if he squinted just right, he could see a flickering outline. It reached him and put a clawed hand on his shoulder. Just a moment passed, then it spoke … in a warm feminine voice. "He's sincere."

And just like that, the fight was over.

<><>​

Marquis

"So … what happens now?"

Earl looked around at Crusader's question. With Panzer and Alabaster properly secured, Claire was back in her human form, consolidating her influence over Fog and instituting the same with Night. Apparently her worries about the monster cape reverting mental conditioning were groundless, as Earl himself could have told her; after all, Gesellschaft had managed to brainwash the couple in the first place.

"That depends," he said, taking the opportunity to think about what to say next. "You can stay in Brockton Bay as an independent, or you can join my group. There will be a rebranding if that happens, of course. Or you can leave town. Those are your options."

"Wait, you'd let me join?" Crusader looked taken aback at the idea. "Just like that?"

"If you were sincere, certainly." Earl tilted his head. "There are certain … ideals … that you will have to let go of, but we can help with that. However, Kayden has made the transition with little in the way of problems, and you have capabilities that would be useful when we take the fight to Lung."

"You're going after Lung?" Crusader blinked. "What, really?"

Earl showed his teeth. "Of course. How else am I supposed to show that I'm serious?"

"Well, shit." Crusader scratched the back of his neck. "How can I say no to that? I'm in."

Chuckling, Earl slapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome to the team."



End of Part Twenty-One

 

[Scopas]

Good update as always, Ack! I'm happy that you're still writing - I've missed reading your chapter responses over on FC.

That said... Fog and Night are interesting characters. They're monsters, both in your story and in canon, but tragic monsters just the same. I don't know how the brainwashing works, but presumably Geoff and Dorothy could have been decent people once, or at least just shitty people, but they've been forced by both their power and by their trauma to become monsters. I don't think it's ever directly revealed in canon, but I wonder if the pair are Cauldron capes, what with the change in physical form like the Case 53s. Either way, it's hard not to feel pity for them, evil as they might be. They're broken fundamentally, and are more akin to tools in their master's hand rather than truly thinking combatants.

I wonder if the Gesellschaft brainwashing is akin to a power-assisted lobotomy? The stripping away of initiative and creative thought, while leaving behind the capacity to follow orders and maintain routine, sounds similar to some of the reported effects of frontal lobe lobotomy. If so, I wonder if Marchioness could feasibly repair the lesions on their brains, or whatever the equivalent is?

 

[Ack]

Another Way

Part Twenty-Two: Developments

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

Director Piggot's Office

PRT ENE

Emily Piggot raised her head at the knock on the door. She knew what this was; word had come down the chain of command that she was getting another strike squad commander to boost her numbers. However, the nameless bureaucrat who had drafted the memo had neglected to add any details. Whether this was due to some kind of obscure grudge, pure forgetfulness, or an assumption that she didn't care about such details, she didn't know. The upshot was, she had no idea who was on the other side of that door.

Well, there was only one way to find out.

"Come in," she called.

The door opened, and her new officer marched in. Neither one saluted; being uncovered and indoors, that wasn't a thing. But as he came to a halt before her desk, he offered a nod of respect for her rank. She returned it without even realising it, because she was in the process of rising to her feet. Her damaged legs allowed her to walk, and she was able to get along with just one cane these days, but it was still painful. However, she wanted to stand, so on her feet she was.

"Lieutenant Calvert, reporting for duty." He was tall, even skinnier than she recalled from their first meeting, but still looked fit enough. Unlike her.

"Calvert," she said, trying not to let her voice become a hiss as her eyes checked over his uniform. Those were PRT undress blues, and the rank tabs on his shoulders were indeed those of a lieutenant; just as they'd been before the powers that be had cashiered him.

Quietly, of course. Nobody in the PRT wanted any of the details of the Ellisburg debacle reaching the general public. How he'd made it back in, she absolutely wanted to know. But she also knew without a doubt that she'd have to be subtle about questioning him. Her impression of him—first, last and always—was that of a twisty snake.

"Director Piggot," he replied with just as little emotion. "It's good to see you again."

Even if the sentiment had been genuine, the feeling wasn't mutual. "I'd heard you were out. Civilian contractor. A little surprised you accepted this kind of pay cut." Nobody joined the PRT to get rich on what a lieutenant took home.

He offered an almost-shrug. "I disliked being a contractor more than I thought I would. No matter your prior experience, they see you as an outsider. Not one of them. And too many times, I saw my advice being discounted because of that. I don't know if people died because of it, but I figure it was only a matter of time. So when they offered me a commission again, I took it."

He was lying. She didn't know what the lie was, or why he was trying to pull the wool over her eyes, but there was bullshit floating in the air right now. However, it wasn't her place to call out her newest subordinate on a perceived untruth. Not until she could prove the bullshit, anyway.

Shortly before she'd met him for the first time, he'd shot his commanding officer because the man wasn't climbing the ladder into the chopper fast enough. In her opinion, this should be enough to give any of his future commanding officers a permanent itch between the shoulder blades.

They hadn't been managed to quite convict him on criminal charges, given that the situation at Ellisburg had been remarkably fraught, and nobody behind Calvert had made it off the ground at all, which his defence lawyer had parlayed into a case of temporary insanity due to overwhelming danger. As the only other survivor of that particular clusterfuck, she'd been called in as an expert witness.

Personally, she thought Calvert should have gotten a more stringent punishment than the Other Than Honorable discharge he'd ended up with but the PRT wanted the whole mess swept quietly under the rug, so they'd allowed his legal counsel to negotiate a (relatively) favourable deal in exchange for zero publicity.

The judgement should have disqualified him from ever wearing the uniform again, but here he was. Back in her ambit, as a strike squad commander no less. She managed not to glare at him, though he could probably feel her distaste from across the desk by now. "Why were you posted here? I didn't request anyone new."

He cleared his throat. "I understand that you've had an upsurge in cape violence in recent weeks. Plus, it seems that a fairly notorious villain has resurfaced. Things are likely to be unstable until they reach a new normal. I'm here to help keep a lid on things."

"Old news." While she wasn't totally happy with the current situation (translation: fuck that shit!) there were some high points here and there. "The major situations have been resolved. Our biggest mover-and-shaker gang has basically been gutted, and the remnants have gone underground or moved on. Most of the others seem to be staying under the radar until they can figure out what's going on. Cape crime is actually down from what it usually is, this time of year."

She could see from his expression that the conversation had taken a turn he wasn't expecting. "But … Marquis is back in town. Wasn't he one of Brockton Bay's biggest hitters, ten years ago?" Why isn't he making his mark, he didn't quite ask.

"From what I understand, yes. That was before my time." She lowered herself into the chair again, carefully. "He's also an exceedingly infuriating man. Also, not to be underestimated. And that's not even counting his daughter."

"I'd heard he had a kid." Calvert nodded. "Marchioness or something, wasn't it? Scuttlebutt says she's some kind of healer. She any good?"

Emily drew in a deep breath. "She's got an ongoing deal with Brockton Bay Central Hospital. She shows up there and sits in the emergency room watching cartoons and eating junk food, and people sitting nearby have their injuries healed and diseases cured just by being in the same room. I've watched the footage. Assuming what's going on there is genuine, she's very very good."

One of Calvert's eyebrows twitched upward. "Interesting. Have you thought about organising a grab? Once we impress on her that aiding and abetting a known criminal figure is a crime in and of itself, we might be able to flip her—"

Emily's legs complained as she came to her feet again, but she didn't care. This was the sort of shit she needed to nip in the bud, as of fucking yesterday. "Lieutenant Calvert! You will stand at attention and you will listen to every word I have to say!"

The harsh tone of her voice brought him up short, as she'd intended. He stiffened to attention, thumbs alongside the seams of his uniform trousers. "Ma'am, yes, ma'am!"

Taking the cane, Emily stalked out from behind the desk, letting the thump of the heavy wood against the carpeted floor act as a kind of punctuation. Slowly, she began to circle him, still talking. "Marquis is indeed a problem, but not one that can be solved by the simple act of attacking him head-on. Doing so—and let me tell you, kidnapping Marchioness would be a fuckup of the highest order—would ensure that all his attention was on you when it came time to deciding who to murder horribly first. Are we on the same page so far? Say 'yes, Director Piggot'."

"Yes, Director Piggot!" His eyes didn't move from a point on the wall over her desk.

"Good." She moved around in front of him. "Second point. Marquis is currently expanding his territory by leaps and bounds. Crime against individuals is dropping off hard in that area, because he has his men circulating and providing protection. For a price, of course."

Calvert's lips twitched, then stilled.

She nodded to him. "You have something to say?"

"Protection rackets are old hat," he said, his tone barely removed from an outright sneer. "Not exactly high-end criminal activity. Hardly what I'd expect a top-drawer supervillain like Marquis to get into."

"Protection rackets, yes." She shook her head. "It's not a racket if you're not just shaking them down for the money. If you're actually providing the required protection, it's called a security operation. His men are, by all accounts, horrifically well-trained and sporting significant body armour. They're also courteous and polite, and they take their jobs extremely seriously. They don't have to threaten anyone to get people to sign up."

He raised his eyebrows. "I bet that's caused more than a bit of a backlash."

"The opposition has tried, and failed." Emily knew she should not be cheering on the employees of a supervillain, but she still felt a certain amount of satisfaction in saying so. "Anyone who's gone after these guys, individually or en masse, has gotten curbstomped so hard it's ridiculous. After the first few incidents, the local business owners have been falling over each other to sign up for a protection plan. And by all accounts, it's working. The few times the criminals actually get away with their crime, he personally reimburses the business owners for their losses."

By now, Calvert had a frown on his face. She nodded and gestured for him to speak.

"So what you're saying is, he's not performing any grandiose acts of supervillainy?" It was partly a question and partly a statement. At her nod, he went on. "Because I could've sworn I read a report about him robbing a bank just recently. Or doesn't that even make the radar around here, anymore?"

Her nostrils flared at the implied slight, but she answered him anyway. "Old information. That wasn't him. Or at least, if it was, it's the best bait and switch I ever saw. He walked into the PRT building, along with Marchioness and another associate, and requested to see me."

"And you didn't have him foamed and arrested on the spot?" Calvert didn't seem to be getting it.

"No. I didn't. Because he had Marchioness along."

"The healer? I fail to understand."

Emily resisted the urge to rub her forehead. "The extremely capable area effect healer, who has stated that she will be attending Endbringer attacks for free. That healer."

It was as though she'd flipped the switch on a twenty thousand watt spotlight. Calvert's confused expression cleared right up. "Oh. Oh."

"Yes." Emily gritted her teeth. "Oh. Now you can see why I've been forced to treat him with extreme care. Fortunately, he's made it easy for us by not actually doing anything that puts him into direct conflict with us."

"I can understand that, yes." Calvert tilted his head slightly in query. "So what did he have to say when he met with you? Or did you meet with him?"

"I did it via remote screen," she confirmed. "He inquired about the amount that was stolen, along with information about how many people were hurt, and handed over escrow cards that supplied enough cash to cover everything, including medical costs, with some left over. If it was him who'd robbed that bank in the first place, the amount reimbursed would've left him severely out of pocket. So I believed him when he said he didn't do it."

"What the hell, ma'am?" Calvert's confused expression was back. "I can see a supervillain disclaiming responsibility for a particular crime, especially if it goes against their 'code'." Still standing at attention, he couldn't use finger quotes. Emily heard them anyway. "But to actually pay money back for a crime he didn't even commit in the first place?"

Emily shook her head. "When you figure it out, Lieutenant, be sure and let me know. In the meantime, were there any other questions about why you don't mess with Marquis that you needed answered right this second?"

<><>​

Coil

"Just one," Thomas said. He had more than that, but he was asking those questions in the other timeline, and getting the answers he needed. That version of Emily Piggot was a lot less happy with him. "You mentioned an associate. He has a team now?"

"So far it's a team of three, including him," Piggot said. "The associate, I'm almost certain, used to work with Kaiser in the Empire Eighty-Eight. The rest of them have just evaporated after some kind of cape battle that was over before we got there. She calls herself Palatina at the moment, but I'd lay odds that she used to go by Purity. How and why she joined Marquis and rebranded, we're going to have to leave in the 'what the hell is going on out there' drawer for the moment."

"And of course, Marchioness has extended the same protections over her as over Marquis." It seemed a no-brainer to Thomas, anyway.

"Correct." Piggot gave him a hard stare. "Now, you're on the same page as the rest of us as to why Marquis and his crew are a hard hands-off for the moment. Do you have any problems with this?"

There was only one correct answer. "No, ma'am. No problems."

"Good." Her eyes dropped to her paperwork. "Dismissed. The Deputy Director can take you down and introduce you to the men."

"Ma'am." He turned and marched from the office, closing the door carefully behind him. Despite his calm demeanour, he was seething. It wasn't supposed to be like this!

When he first got his powers from Cauldron, he'd decided that he needed a suitable location in which to build his powerbase, one with more than its fair share of chaos and unrest. Being able to pick and choose between outcomes was all well and good, but he needed somewhere that his powerset could provide a large enough thumb on the scales. New York or LA, despite the thriving population of villains in each one, would be too hard to manipulate due to the influential heroes also living there; in addition, he needed to be a medium-sized fish in a medium-sized pond, not a tiny fish in a huge pond.

Brockton Bay, with its disproportionate number of capes in a relatively low overall population base, seemed more suited to the task than most. What had really nailed it down for him was the fact that Emily Piggot was the Director there. He hadn't spoken with her since their brief meeting after Ellisburg, but he knew that if he had suffered the kind of injuries she had, forever denying her the chance to be who she'd clearly wanted to be when she joined the PRT, he would be depressed at best and suicidal at worst.

(This was presuming that she hadn't done what he had, and purchased powers from a certain underground organisation. Which she wouldn't have, given her extremely vocal views on capes and powers. Technically speaking, her views could be a cover … but Piggot wasn't exactly a subtle individual. He couldn't see it.)

Which meant that she should've been a prime target for careful manipulation and gaslighting; building himself up as both her most trusted subordinate as Thomas Calvert, and her most feared adversary as Coil. Given a free hand, he would've been essentially running the local branch of the PRT within six months, and the city itself within twelve. Never the man in charge, unless he was pressed for options. He much preferred having several layers of deniability between himself and official scrutiny.

But all that was gone by the wayside now. It was never going to happen. At least, not as quickly as he'd hoped and expected. Far from being the weak and quivering wreck he'd anticipated, the Piggot woman was standing on her own two feet, driven by a will that almost rivalled his own. She would never operate in the field again; that was for certain. But she'd somehow made the transition into the desk job without losing the fire he'd seen in her on that fateful day, the fire that had allowed her to survive Ellisburg.

As he headed for Deputy Director Renick's office, he gritted his teeth in annoyance. It was becoming abundantly clear that Emily Piggot would never be his patsy. Much of his planning would have to be either scrapped or reworked. Worse, if her analysis of the situation was correct, even the ongoing low-level chaos in the city was far lower than he'd expected.

It was hugely ironic that while he had come to Brockton Bay with the intent of capitalising on the unrest and adding to it as needed, an actual supervillain was in the process of calming down a good deal of that same unrest.

Goddamn it, Marquis. Why couldn't you just be a villain like everyone else?

Now he was going to have to find a way to form some sort of alliance with the man, or neutralise his influence on Calvert's affairs in some other way. Of course, if the daughter was as good a healer as Piggot claimed, perhaps some use could be made of her in his organisation, when he got around to building one. He'd never had much to do with children, but surely they were easier to manipulate than adults?

It was something to think about.

<><>​

Lung

Kenta was … not frightened. He was never frightened. Even when fighting Leviathan, he had never felt fear. Anger, yes. Frustration, certainly. But fear had never entered into the equation. So what he felt now could not be quantified as fear.

Still, there was something wrong. Something subtly off with the undercurrents of crime in Brockton Bay. If he was a fish in the ocean, it would be the sense that something large and dark and currently unseen (perhaps unseeable?) was prowling out there in the deep, occasionally circling near, but never quite coming into sight.

So he felt … uneasy.

There had been the instance with the challenge from Marquis delivered by way of one of Kenta's own henchmen, now dead. That gauntlet, once thrown down, had never been picked up. Marquis had not moved against him, and he'd found no target belonging to the bone-shaper that he could attack in turn.

Kenta had told himself that the challenge was merely posturing, that Marquis had neither the power nor the will to step up and confront the Dragon of Kyushu on his own territory. But then he'd heard of the clash with the Empire Eighty-Eight. Somer's Rock, destroyed in a massive explosion. It was an assassination attempt, he was sure. But of whom, by whom?

Had that been Marquis trying to decapitate the leadership of the Empire, in one fell swoop? Or was it one of the neo-Nazis, deciding that the loss of a neutral meeting ground was worth it to destroy a potential rival? The subsequent battle—more hinted at than witnessed—had proven that at least some had survived from both sides, though the sightings of a huge flying cat-like creature had confused everyone immensely.

As if that wasn't bad enough, there had been the other incident that had hit rather closer to home. He'd been astonished, then outraged, when he turned on the news to find that someone bearing a remarkable resemblance to him had attacked the PRT building. This had returned to astonishment when the clone (or whatever it was) had been handily defeated by someone looking a lot like Purity, working in conjunction with Marquis and Marchioness.

Finally, there were the men belonging to Marquis who had spread out through what had originally been Merchant territory and then into what had been Empire turf. They wore no costumes, flaunted no obvious powers, but they were strong and fast, and very organised. Every clash between them and his men had left the ABB people lying on the ground nursing a variable number of broken bones. And word was spreading; when the Marquis men take your money to protect you, they protect you.

The time to wonder was over, he decided. He had waited long enough for Marquis to make a move against him, but the veteran supervillain had stayed his hand. Kenta chose to believe that the man had repented from his initial intemperate statements; however, they had been made, and the piper was due his payment.

He would not strike at the man's child; at first, anyway. The fact that an attempt had been made to kidnap her, and it had gone badly for the kidnappers, indicated to him that there were hidden safeguards in place against such a thing. Besides, he didn't wish to bring the wrath of every cape from Brockton Bay to New York down on his head for attacking a hospital. That way lay the Birdcage at best and a Kill Order at worst.

No. He would strike at Marquis' territory, at his men, and draw him out that way.

And then Brockton Bay would truly see the measure of the man called Marquis.

<><>​

Crusader

Claire's heel impacted Justin under his sternum and drove him back harder than any teenage girl had a right to do so. He staggered, the wind driven out of him, then landed on his ass with an undignified thud. Two of his ghosts moved to lift him to his feet as he held up his hands in surrender.

"I give, I give. How did you even do that?"

Marquis' daughter barely seemed to be breathing hard, despite the fact that they'd been sparring for over an hour. Her movements as she came closer were catlike, almost alien in their precision. When he looked at her eyes, he shuddered; they were feline, slitted vertically with gold on either side. As he watched, nictitating membranes slid across and back, faster than he could blink.

"Part of it's training, and part of it's remaking my body to do what I want it to do," she explained. Her voice, at least, was normal. "I've had a lot of practice with that, over the past few years. My bones aren't calcium, my nerves don't work the way yours do, and my skin is as bullet-resistant as I can make it and still be flexible."

"That should still leave your internal organs vulnerable to blunt force trauma." He straightened up painfully and shook his head. "They aren't. I've had my ghosts pummelling you and it hasn't done a damn thing."

"Well, no," she admitted, taking a towel from where it hung on the rail. "I've rearranged and remodelled them for greater efficiency, as well as rebuilding them out of much sturdier materials. Carbon fibre, for instance. I've had to carefully juggle my metabolism so my body can naturally renew my new organs, but it's a thing. Even one of your spears won't do much more than puncture my epidermis." Tossing the towel to him, she took another one and wiped her face with it.

"Just don't question it," advised Robert, heading past on the way to the showers. From the way Jonas had been throwing the other young man around, he should've been showing more wear and tear too, but only his exercise outfit was exhibiting scuff marks. "Miss Claire takes the normal rules, folds them into a paper plane, and tosses them away."

"I do not." Claire sounded amused. "I take note of the ones I choose to follow at the moment, then fold them into a paper plane and toss them very accurately. Some rules need to be followed, even if I don't have to." She gestured across the gym to her father. "Isn't that right, Dad?"

"That is correct, Claire." Marquis—Justin was more or less okay with thinking of Marchioness as Claire, but his new employer would always be Marquis—stepped away from Kayden and offered her a brief bow of acknowledgement. They had been sparring just as strenuously as Claire and Justin had, only without the use of powers. "There is such a thing as the uncanny valley. While your Marchioness persona offers many options, you need to be sure not to stray into it. Very well, everyone; that seems to be a wrap. Refresh yourselves, and I shall see you all in the morning."

Claire nodded to Justin. "See you later. And remember to work on that disengage. It doesn't matter if you're wearing body armour, or even if I've got you reinforced like I do everyone else; being tagged is always bad."

He nodded ruefully, quite aware that he was being schooled in hand-to-hand capabilities by someone who had to be ten years younger and fifty pounds lighter than him. "I'll do that. And thanks for giving me a chance."

"Eh, it's all good." She offered half a shrug. "Dad says we need good people around us." She strolled off in her father's direction, leaving him staring after her. Did she just call me a good person? After everything I've done?

Kayden came past him, heading for the exit. "Hi, Justin. How are you finding it? Working for Marquis, I mean."

He fell into step beside her. "Is it a bad thing if I say 'weird'? I mean, I never knew Kaiser's real name until I'd been with the Empire for years. But I know everyone's real names here. Are they that certain I'm not going to turn them in, or simply out them to all and sundry?"

A chuckle escaped her lips. "You don't see it, do you?"

"What?" He couldn't figure out why she was so amused. "See what?"

She flicked a glance back over her shoulder. "Marchioness. Claire. She's the secret. She can read people. I'm not sure how thoroughly she can do it, but any new hires get to meet her before they get shown anything of value. Some get told everything, some get told only what they need to know, and some … well, there's one division of Earl's organisation that never quite seems to go anywhere or do anything interesting. Those guys know nothing at all."

"Plants." It wasn't hard to make that connection. "Informants. Ringers."

"Got it in one." She smiled. "From what I understand, the first time around he was betrayed by a disgruntled minion. This time … the people who are likely to do that are in a place where they can't. They don't even know the location of this house, let alone what Earl's name is."

"And in the meantime, they're reporting on each other to their respective bosses, and not getting a single idea about what he's really doing." Justin shook his head in admiration. "That's actually some kind of impressive. If you can pull it off, of course."

"Apparently, she can." Kayden tilted her head slightly. "Did you want to know anything else? I do need to shower."

"Just one thing." He grimaced. "Why me? How could they know I wouldn't betray them? How can they just … trust me?"

Her gaze on him became intense. "Well, are you about to betray them?"

"No." The word popped out before he had a chance to think about it. "No, I'm not. It's not the Empire—"

"No, you're right. It's not." Kayden looked amused. "It's run by a man who's a damn sight smarter and more visionary than Kaiser ever was."

"If you'll just let me finish." He wrinkled his nose at her. "It's not the Empire, and that's a good thing. There, people like Bradley and Melody were always kind of sneering down at me, pushing me to be purer than pure because I wasn't as tough as they were. It was almost like being in a cult, only I didn't see it at the time."

"It was exactly like being in a cult, because that's what it was." Kayden's voice was quiet, introspective. "I only saw it myself after I got out, after Max tried to murder me. Does Claire have you doing the mental exercises, too?"

"Uh, yeah." They weren't easy, but he pushed his way through the exercises whenever he had a chance, forcing himself to see different people as different, not wrong. Somehow, Claire knew whenever he wasn't keeping up with them, and her disappointment was almost palpable, so he tried all the harder. "Does it get easier?"

"Eventually, yes." She patted him on the shoulder. "Well, I'm going this way. Have a good night."

"Night." He headed off to the showers. There was a lot for him to think about, but the future was brighter than it had been in awhile.

<><>​

Lung

It was possible to tell when the small motorcade passed into the Marches, as Marquis' territory was called by the locals. The streets were cleaner with far fewer potholes, all the street-lights were operational, and there was no graffiti on the walls. Even the stylised 'M', gold over blue, was affixed to street signs instead of being hastily sprayed onto buildings. That spoke of a man who had made his claim over an area and did not intend to leave in a hurry.

We will see about that.

From time to time, Kenta spotted a man (or possibly a woman) in a black long-coat, a gleam of gold on one lapel. These people were often standing in the shadows, occasionally on a rooftop, and every single one turned to watch as the ABB contingent drove past. If Kenta had been of a superstitious bent, he would've found it creepy as fuck. But he wasn't, so he didn't.

At least, that was what he told himself.

Fewer buildings were boarded up, and it seemed that shops were staying open later at night instead of locking the goods up behind multiple metal screens and going home. This was because people were up and around; not adolescents out and about to cause mischief, but those he assumed to be workers, going to and from late shifts. While he'd heard that muggings were almost unheard of in the Marches, it was something that had to be seen to be believed.

Of course, all they'd had to contend with up until now were ordinary people who couldn't put up a proper fight. They hadn't had to deal with someone like him before. Well, he was here now.

Up ahead, he spotted what would be a good enough target for the night's exercise; a small group of shops including a convenience store, an all-night grocery and a liquor store. "Stop here," he ordered.

Obediently, the driver pulled the car over to the side of the road. The other two vehicles parked behind his, and the men in them got out. Some watched the alleyways, while others scanned the rooftops. He thought their caution was a little overblown, but they were the ones who'd had to deal with Marquis' men, not him.

Slowly, almost leisurely, he emerged from the car. Looking around, he spotted three of the black long-coats; one on the rooftop, speaking on the phone and the other two on the ground. Of those two, one was standing and watching him and his men, while the last one seemed to be hurrying the people out of the stores. Out of harm's way.

It was a sensible precaution, he supposed. It was difficult to get protection money out of dead people.

"You," he said, indicating ten of the fourteen men he'd brought along. "Watch behind. Make sure we are not attacked from surprise. The rest of you, with me." Stepping off the curb, he advanced across the street, his men trailing behind him.

The one Marquis man stood watching him until he was halfway across, then held up one hand, palm outward. "That's far enough."

Bemused, Kenta stopped. He saw no weapons being trained on him, and no laser designators were visible in the night air. "You do know who I am, yes?"

"Yes. You're Lung." The man didn't seem hugely impressed to be standing in the presence of the one man who had fought Leviathan to a standstill. Or, more to the point, someone who could fry him to a greasy smear on the pavement with barely a thought. "You're also outside ABB territory. I haven't been told that you're here with permission, so I'm requesting that you leave."

"I do not ask permission." Kenta spat the word out. "I go where I please. And I say that where I stand is Azn Bad Boyz territory. Which means that you are trespassing."

"Marquis hasn't told me this is your territory." The man in the long-coat was still speaking as though he were discussing the weather, as if Lung were not already bulking out and emanating heat. "Until he does, I'm going to assume otherwise. I suggest you take your men and leave."

There was a shout of alarm from one of Kenta's men. He half-turned his head to see black-clad figures moving on the rooftops. It was then that all became clear to him. The man on the ground; talking, visible, being politely obstructive … was stalling. Every member of Marquis' corps must have started moving the moment his cavalcade went out of sight, and now they knew where to come.

Kenta gestured to his four men and pointed at their sole adversary. "He offends me. Remove him from my sight."

This was a calculated move. Would the man fight or retreat? Would more join in to assist their comrade, or would they hang back to observe? He didn't know their tactics, how they fought. They had a certain reputation, so they couldn't be too incompetent.

The four moved forward, readying their weapons. A steel pipe whistled as it was swung through the air. Yellowing fluorescent light glinted off a switchblade. Metal links clinked as a chain was shaken out of a sleeve. The last man, bigger than the rest, grinned as he settled a pair of knuckledusters onto his hands.

As they neared their adversary, he stepped backward, up onto the curb. Just for a moment, it seemed that he was retreating, but then his retreat ceased and he went from reacting to acting. Moving almost in a blur, he moved on the man with the steel pipe, took it away from him, and hit him with it. Even as the first man began to go down and the others reacted, the man in the black long-coat attacked again and again. Kenta decided there and then that the man had some level of super-speed; nobody normal could move like that. Worse, between the whistling crunch noises and the bone-deep thuds, it was clear his men were taking a thrashing.

Less than three seconds later, four ABB men were down, not having scored a hit on the Marquis man. Kenta considered himself no stranger to violence, but he had to admit he was more than a little impressed. Of course, the man had to be a cape. Probably a combat Thinker with a little bit of Mover, from the way he was fighting.

"Last chance." The man hadn't so much as broken a sweat. He just stood there, swinging the pipe idly forward and back, forward and back. "Pick up your trash and go. We don't abide littering around here."

Littering? LITTERING?

Kenta flung his arm forward, sending a burst of fire slashing toward his black-clad target. To his astonishment and anger, the man entirely evaded the flame, as though he'd been trained to do exactly that. More shouts of surprise came from behind him, but he didn't care. This annoying little insect had stood in his way, and so he was going down.

As he drew back to throw another burst of flame, the man darted toward him, not away, until it would be virtually impossible to dodge the fire a second time. Kenta barely had time to wonder why he was so intent on committing suicide, when the black-clad man's aim became clear. Specifically, the pipe he was holding, aimed at Kenta. Repeatedly.

Moving turning, kicking, striking, the man danced around Kenta like a dervish. As the leader of the ABB and possessor of a basic Brute rating even when not ramped up, Kenta could take a hit. But the rain of attacks landing on him were more than just a hit. They were hammerblows, leaving welts and almost driving him to his knees with the incessant assault. His head rang and he staggered from side to side. When he brought up one arm to cover his face and head, what felt like a tree-trunk drove into his short ribs, knocking the wind out of him.

This destroyed his balance, and he went down anyway. But he had one last fuck-you up his sleeve. As he dropped to one knee, he gave his growing anger an outlet, bursting out with flame in all directions. There was a brief scream from in front of him and he bared his teeth in triumph.

But when he opened his eyes, Marquis' man was still on his feet, albeit a dozen yards away. His own downed men were the ones who had cried out; in fact, it seemed that their clothing was still on fire. Were he any other man, Kenta would have felt more than a little embarrassed at that point. But he was Lung, and Lung was never in the wrong.

Another member of Marquis' men stepped out of the shops, bearing a bulky red cylinder. Kenta tensed, wondering if Marquis had in some way managed to get hold of containment foam. But it was just an ordinary fire extinguisher; a few quick passes put out the burning clothing.

The man who had attacked Kenta tossed aside the bent pipe; it clattered to the roadway. "Lung, you're done here. You've done more damage to your men than to us. Take them and go."

Kenta snarled under his breath. Even now, the injuries dealt him by the hail of blows were healing, the aches and pains gradually fading away. So what if four of his weakling minions were down? Big deal. They were expendable anyway. They all were. He, Lung, was the important one.

"Fight me," he struggled to say. While his jaw hadn't separated yet, it was getting there, making it hard to speak clearly. Metal scales slid out of his skin, and he felt flames dancing around his body. "Fight me and die … or bring Marquis here."

The silence that fell then was broken by a single repetitive sound.

toc

toc

toc

Kenta looked around as Marquis rounded the corner, an elegant white cane made of bone in his hand, striking on the pavement with each step. "I'm here, Lung." He came to a halt, hands crossed over the top of the walking stick while he eyed his potential adversary. "You, however, will be leaving."

Angered past the point of casual banter, Kenta opened his mouth and let out a blast of fire in Marquis' direction. It washed over the street, lighting up the night; when it died down, he saw that a curved shell of bone had taken his place. Despite the heat of the flame, the bone only seemed mildly scorched.

The little man thought to hide from him! How dare he! Kenta roared and leaped at the barrier. Grabbing it with massive clawed hands, he ripped great chunks away, tearing it to pieces.

And that was when he discovered there were not one, but two people on the other side. Marquis, of course, and a golden-eyed woman in a gold and blue costume. The woman was crouched down, grinning up at Kenta.

"Hi," she said, and flared into incandescent light. Kenta had time to form one brief thought—Purity—before she hit him at point-blank range with her spiralling blast. Firing upward as she was, she launched him bellowing into the air. He had barely enough time to register that the remainder of his men were down and secured—it had happened behind his back, while he was focusing on the one man beating on him—before the entire tableau was out of sight.

The landing was going to hurt, but the knowledge that he'd been forcibly ejected from Marquis' territory, leaving his men behind, was going to hurt his pride even more.

This is going to suck.

<><>​

Marchioness

Claire strolled around the corner with Robert and Justin, to join her father and Kayden at the site of the abortive battle. "Well, that was brief," she observed. "I'm guessing you did it this way to cut down on collateral damage?"

"I did," agreed Earl. "We'll meet again, someplace where I don't have to worry about people's livelihoods. And then we can make a crater with him. Several craters."

Robert frowned slightly. "I wonder how well I'd go against him," he mused. "I mean, he does fire and I do fire. He does armour and I do armour."

Claire put her hand on his arm. "You'd beat him."

"And you know this how?" asked Justin, watching bemusedly as the shop owners crowded around Marquis, thanking him for his intercession. The Watchers, as Claire privately called them, had melted back into the shadows from whence they came.

"That's easy," Claire said airily. "Didn't you know? The knight always beats the dragon."

Justin facepalmed.



End of Part Twenty-Two

 

[meloa789]

I want those two to do something even more stupid, so they can be hurt even further.

 

[NavigatorNobilis]

I want those two to do something even more stupid, so they can be hurt even further.

Click to shrink...

Don't worry; it is in the nature of stupid to continue until cessation, of either stupidity or animation. One or the other.

 

[Ack]

Another Way

Part Twenty-Three: A New Viewpoint

[A/N: this chapter commissioned by GW_Yoda and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



Monday Morning, December 10, 2007

Two Months After the Lung Ejection

Abigail Beltane leaned against the window of the train and stared out at the landscape going by. Boston was as far north as she'd ever been in New England, but Brockton Bay was where Earl had said he was taking Claire, and so that was where she was going now. The past eight months had been interesting, necessitating her to live by her wits more than once, but now it was time for a change.

Over the last two of those months, she'd noticed a distinct lack of Gesellschaft assassins after her blood. Her inquiries into the matter—necessarily discreet and roundabout in nature—had eventually garnered for her the intriguing information that the US hub of contact for the German cape organisation had been located in Brockton Bay … specifically, past tense had. At some point following Earl's relocation to that city, the Empire Eighty-Eight (a more pretentious name Abigail had trouble imagining) had simply … ceased to be. The head of the gang (Kaiser) as well as all but a very few of its core members had vanished like a puff of smoke on a windy day. Which meant that, while Gesellschaft could still insert capes into the US, they didn't have the ease or freedom to do it that they'd had before. Or, for that matter, a local base to work from.

As for the 'very few', those had either gone into PRT custody, or reappeared under different names—working for Marquis. Palatina, sporting a blue and gold pseudo-military costume, was almost certainly Purity rebranded, while Legionnaire (wearing the armour of a Roman soldier, carrying a shortsword and a spear) had clearly been Crusader once upon a time. But somehow, despite the fact that Marquis was now the head of the most powerful cape gang in the city (she was mildly interested in finding out how he'd ended up recruiting Knight Errant), the local PRT never moved against him.

Lung was apparently still a power in the city. Abigail had vaguely heard the name before, but wasn't quite sure who he was until she looked more deeply into the matter. When she made the connection with Kyushu, she was much more impressed … and yet, there was a disconnect between the cape who had survived the fight with Leviathan and the would-be crime lord of Brockton Bay. Especially since he'd clashed with Marquis once before (or twice; sources were uncertain) and come off second best all the way. Whether it was one defeat or two, he'd been notably reluctant to attempt any reclamation of his former 'unbeaten' title. If anything, there seemed to be an unspoken truce between the two. How long it would last was anyone's guess.

As for young Claire, her little acushla was making waves for herself as well. The girl's Marchioness identity was well-established in the city by now, though the various commentators weren't quite sure what to make of her. While the children of parahumans were known to often take on a variation of their parents' powers, those children usually either debuted working alongside their elders, or (very much more rarely) took up an adversarial role. Claire had done neither; while she'd been entirely transparent about her parentage and her ongoing affiliation with Marquis, she had also made it a regular event to attend the Brockton Bay General Hospital. Not even bothering to go upstairs, she chose instead to park herself in the emergency room and watch cartoons while everyone in the emergency room was healed of their various ailments around her. This included the patients that the medical staff wheeled in from their various wards. While Claire herself apparently paid no attention to what was going on around her, choosing instead to eat candy and drink soda from a rolling cooler. Because of course that's how my Claire acushla would play it.

There had reportedly been one attempt to abduct her from the hospital, unanimously decried by everyone in the city who chose to speak up about it. This attempt was foiled by Mega Girl, newest member of the Brockton Bay Brigade (ironically, the same team that had tried and failed to capture Marquis, back in the day). The cape responsible (a Tinker called Panzer, leading a remnant of the ill-fated Empire Eighty-Eight) had been captured and handed over to authorities by none other than Marquis and his allies.

Abigail could've told the idiot that they'd been extremely lucky. While going up against Marquis in the normal run of matters was no more deadly than any other cape clash, defaulting straight to lethal measures was extremely likely to draw the same in response. More to the point, posing a serious threat to his daughter's welfare could be seen as an elaborate way to commit suicide; the only way she could see that moron surviving to be handed over to the PRT was if they'd been a woman.

As the train rattled into the station, she got up and pulled her luggage off the overhead rack. She never travelled with more than she could pack into a single carry-on bag; waiting around for her luggage to be unloaded was a prime way to set herself up for a sniper shot. Still, she was adept at making do, and she'd never been much of a fashionista anyway. When it came to clothing, bargain bins were perfectly acceptable.

She stepped out onto the platform, scanning for the usual signs of danger without even thinking about it. People paying attention to her while pretending not to was a moderate red flag; doing so while talking on the phone much bigger and much redder. An earpiece, with or without the connecting cord, blew the signal all the way out to 'get the fuck out of Dodge'. It was possible to get a false positive, but she was very good at telling the gaze of someone who had made her as a person of interest from that of some guy who just wanted to massage her ass with his eyeballs.

Within thirty seconds, two potential problems cropped up. Tall, well-built fit men, each wearing a black long-coat over similarly coloured pants and shirt, with a tiny gold badge on the lapel. She wasn't close enough to make out what the pin read, but these guys were cutting through the crowd like a pair of sharks in a school of minnows, eyes everywhere. From the way they moved, they were extremely adept at handling themselves in a close-quarters situation, and she wouldn't have bet against skill in firearms either.

Just about the time she realised that they were both wearing earpieces, one of them glanced her way. Instinctively, she froze and let her eyes drift away from his, though she strongly suspected the guy wasn't fooled. Time hung in the balance while she debated internally whether to saunter away casually or make a break for it before the place could be surrounded—then the guy acted, just not in the way she'd expected.

Flicking his eyes away from hers, he reached out and grabbed a youngster of seventeen or eighteen from the crowd and smacked him face-first against one of the pillars holding up the roof. His free hand swooped down to catch what turned out to be a wallet, then his partner tapped someone else on the shoulder. The person turned, saw the wallet, and expressed shock and surprise.

Abigail decided it was best to absent herself from the scene before the long-coat guys decided they needed come and talk to her as well. Using the crowd as cover, she strolled out of the station, wondering exactly what that was she'd just seen.

Not cops, not PRT, and they weren't masked so probably not capes. What's going on here?

Before she made any important moves in Brockton Bay, she decided, she needed answers. And the person she figured who would have the most answers was probably Earl himself.

Now, how do I track down the most dangerous man in the city?

<><>​

Thirty minutes later, she paid the cabbie off and climbed out of the car. Slinging her carry-bag over her shoulder, she looked up at the imposing house before her and nodded to herself. That's definitely a place Earl would live in, to be sure. Practised eyes picked out subtle hints of a high-end security system and she grinned to herself. From what he'd said to her, he'd never really forgiven himself for allowing the home invasion that had nearly caused Claire to get hurt, so it made sense that he'd double down on his security in the here and now.

Of course, anyone getting past all that would then be forced to deal with Earl himself, Jonas, the deceptively dangerous Claire, and of course the other three people Earl had brought into the team while she'd been away (she had no real idea of their capabilities but knowing Earl, they would be no pushovers). She doubted anyone seeking to break into the house of rich entrepreneur Earl Marchant—she'd found his name in the phone book, of all the ways to locate someone—would be quite ready for that level of punishment. And even if, by some fluke of bad luck, they were aware of his secret identity … they still wouldn't be ready for it. Especially now that I'm back.

She headed up the front steps to the wide portico, considered knocking for a moment—I'd probably need a sledgehammer to make myself heard through it, so I would—then spotted the doorbell button and pressed it. The deep and stately tones were barely audible through the door, but at least the thing worked. She waited, presuming that anyone coming to answer the front door would likely need a little time to get there.

The lock clicked and the massive door opened inward with nary a creak. Jonas stood there, as imperturbable as ever. "Hm," he observed. "Miss Beltane. It's been some time. Are you well?"

The words weren't all he greeted her with. She noted that his right hand was hidden behind the door, and his left was held in a certain way, asking a question. That was part of a repertoire of hand-signs they'd used back when she'd still been employed by Earl, as a way of asking if the other person was under duress. She couldn't really blame him for wondering, given that she'd just now turned up out of the blue after eight whole months of radio silence.

"'Course I'm well, Jonas, you great lummox," she said happily. Her free hand formed the sign all is good. "Is it me, or are you even bigger than I remember you being? And for God's sake, call me Abigail. Anything else makes me feel old."

"It's not you, Abigail," he responded, a smile threatening to crack his grim visage. "There's been changes made. Come on in. Does Mr. Marchant know you were coming?"

"Well, if he did, it's because he's just that good," she said cheerfully. "I only got off the train maybe an hour ago. What do you mean, 'changes'?"

Jonas opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching down the wide marble staircase. "Abigail? Is that you?" The voice was familiar, as was the girl who came into view a second later. Eight months had been kind to her, it was readily apparent, as she bounded down the final stretch, taking five and six steps at a time. Abigail's heart leaped into her mouth as she half-expected Claire to trip or stumble at any moment, but the girl made it to the bottom unscathed.

"Claire acushla! You've grown, so you have!" Abigail dropped her bag and opened her arms, then braced herself. It was good that she had, because the Claire that came in for a full-on glomp had a few inches and a few pounds on the girl she'd left behind. But even that didn't matter, because even as she spun Claire around, she felt all the myriad aches and pains that had built up over the last few days just wash away.

Ahh, yes. I'd forgotten about that little detail. Being Claire's friend was literally good for a body.

"Abigail, it's so good to see you!" Claire's face was alight with happiness as she reluctantly disentangled herself from Abigail's embrace. "How have you been? Where did you go? Are you back now, or are you just visiting? Dad's gonna be so thrilled—did he know you were coming? Have you ever been to Brockton Bay before, or is this your first time? Are you okay? I mean, you were away for so long!"

Abigail laughed out loud as she took Claire's hands in hers. It seemed her young charge had begun to open up and come out of her shell in the older woman's absence, if the torrent of questions was any indication. It was good to see her so exuberant, not to mention confident.

"Well now, Claire, I've been around and about and no mistake. I've met bad people and good, and I'd like to think I was one of the good, so I would. And yes, if your da will be having me, I'd like for me to be back. Is he in the house, or busy?" The other questions she decided to shelve for the moment. There would be time enough for that later.

"Oh, he's upstairs," Claire told her happily. "We're just now going over strategies for dealing with any new villain gangs that might come to town. Also, for undermining Lung on his own turf."

"Lung," she said carefully. "That's the dragon man who fought Leviathan, yes? I have read some things about him. They say your father beat him once, or maybe twice."

"Oh, only the once. The other time was a clone." Claire started for the stairs, towing Abigail with her. "Come on up. See you in a bit, Jonas."

The big man nodded once. "I'll see you then, chick."

Bemused, Abigail allowed herself to be drawn along in Claire's wake, admiring the house as she went. "Your da actually fought that great lump of a monster? And what do you mean, the other was a clone? I always thought that sort of thing was aught but rumour and tales."

"Well, it would've been," Claire acknowledged. "But we had a villain called Blasto who specialised in that sort of thing. If he'd kept his head down, everything would've been okay. But he just had to make clones of Lung and Dad to frame them both for stuff, so we had to step in before things went too far sideways."

Abigail considered Claire's blithe explanation. There was a lot not being said, she suspected. "And how did matters turn out for this Blasto?" Having both Earl and Lung annoyed at him, she decided, would not have been a great career move.

"Oh, he had a hybrid clone of Dad and Lung maturing right then and there. It kind of broke out of his control ... and, well, ate him."

"Really?" Abigail would not have been the thief she was without being able to read people. And as good as Claire was at hiding her tells—she was already almost supernatural at it, and in another few years would be basically impossible to catch out in a lie—Abigail was just that little bit better. So far. "Just so happened to break out of his control, hmm? Might it have had a little help, there?"

The dirty look Claire sent in her direction made her day. "How do you always do that?"

"Never try to con a con artist, my dearest Claire." Abigail reached out with her fingertip and booped the girl gently on the nose. "So what happened to the hybrid clone after it feasted upon the unfortunate Blasto? And could he not have picked a better name? That one makes it sound like his capability should have been grenades instead of genetics, so it does."

Claire's expression lost its exuberance. "I … well, I had to subdue and dispose of it, after. A clone of Lung, sure. A clone of Dad, I could deal with. But a clone of both? I've got to draw the line somewhere, right?"

Abigail tilted her head to one side at Claire's words. "You speak as though you didn't simply dispose of them down the nearest available open elevator-shaft. I detect a secret."

Oddly enough, Claire glanced evasively aside at that. "I'll, uh, fill you in later." Before Abigail could press for more details, she turned the polished brass handle on an elaborately carved door and opened it. "Hey, Dad," she said cheerfully as she entered. "Guess who just showed up out of the blue."

As Abigail followed Claire into the room, she saw the people there were dressed in casual clothing, with most of them seated in comfortable chairs in a rough semicircle around a large whiteboard. Looking as fit and healthy as he ever had been, Earl stood at the whiteboard, while the chairs were occupied by a petite woman with mousy brown hair, two young men, and a teenage boy. They all turned to look at her and she noted that while she'd never met any of them before, the boy bore a distinct likeness to Earl himself. Which was odd, because he'd never spoken of any young male relatives before.

"Good God," Earl said after half a second of what she judged to be stunned silence. "Abigail. When did you get back into town?" Abandoning his position at the whiteboard, he ducked past the chairs and came straight over toward her.

"Just an hour or so ago, leannán," she said, taking his hands in hers. But as she leaned in for a kiss, she noticed an unexpected hesitation on his part. Glancing past him, she saw that the woman's eyes were narrowed in a somewhat displeased fashion, so she diverted her aim and kissed him on the cheek instead.

So, that's the way of things now, is it? It wasn't as though she could exactly blame Earl for moving on; she was the one who had walked away from him after all, without leaving any specific length of time to wait for her. It had also been her choice (albeit for his protection) to cut off all communications; to his perceptions, she would've disappeared into the void eight months ago. Calling him 'lover' immediately on her return had been, she admitted to herself, a little precipitous. Also, more than a little risky, given that the woman was probably Purity (now Palatina), whose blasts could reportedly level small buildings.

"Well, it's very good to see you again." The enthusiasm in his voice was unfeigned as he turned to the others in the room. "Everyone, this is Abigail Beltane, a good friend of mine and previous bodyguard to Claire before she had to move on due to … complications."

"Wait, I know that name." Both the woman and one of the young men had reacted to Earl's introduction, but it was the man who spoke up. He was in his late teens or early twenties with sandy brown hair and the unconscious arrogance of someone who is good-looking and knows it. "Kaiser had us on the lookout for any mention of you maybe six months, a year ago? He never did tell us why."

"He told me," Palatina said bluntly. "Gesellschaft wanted her in their hands or dead because of something she stole from them, and they weren't picky which one it was. When she left town, he figured it wasn't our problem and left them to it." She addressed her next words directly to Abigail, with the barest hint of a challenge. "It looks like you're sneakier than they thought."

"As they say in the old country, it's better to be a coward for a minute than dead for the rest of your life." Unconsciously, Abigail bounced lightly on the balls of her feet. "Anyone here still interested in collecting that Gesellschaft bounty?"

"Absolutely not." Earl's voice, harshly no-nonsense, cut across the almost-banter like a chainsaw. "Even if Abigail were not a valued comrade, she is a guest under my roof and I won't countenance even a joke about turning her in for whatever those people are offering."

His words hung in the air just long enough for the silence to become uncomfortable before the teenager scrambled to his feet. "Wasn't about to, Uncle Earl. Hey, Ms. Beltane, isn't it? I'm Marcus. Claire's told me all about you."

Abigail gave Earl a dry look—wow, really?—before giving Marcus her full attention. "Of course you are," she said warmly, holding out her hand. "But you can call me Abigail, fear óg." Between the name and the family resemblance, she figured she was talking to one of the clones Claire had alluded to earlier. It was eerie to say the least, looking into the face of someone who had been created more or less from whole cloth less than a twelvemonth ago, and yet walked and spoke as one who had lived life for more years than that. "It's good to meet another member of the family." And Claire did this? My little acushla's more talented than I gave her credit for.

He shook her hand firmly, showing both strength and restraint. "It's good to meet you too, Abigail. What's 'fahr-ohg' mean?"

"Ah. Hm." She smiled broadly. "'Tis Irish for 'young man', so it is." She nodded toward the other seated people. "Would you do me a kindness and introduce me to your friends, then?"

"Oh, sure." Marcus didn't seem to have noticed the earlier awkwardness, or perhaps he'd chosen to ignore it. Either way, he indicated each of the others in turn. "That's Ms. Russel, that's Robert and this is Justin."

"Ahh, to be sure." Abigail smiled at each one. "I'd wager your names in costume are Palatina, Knight Errant and Legionnaire, then? 'Tis in the news you've been on occasion. I'm impressed." Right up until the handsome fellow spoke up, she wouldn't have known which of Legionnaire or Knight Errant he was. Fortunately, he'd given her the clue to his original allegiance when he spoke up earlier, so she was able to get it right without having to guess.

"That's us." Palatina gave her a calculating stare. Though her tone wasn't quite as hostile as it had been before, it still didn't give Abigail any confidence they'd be sharing girl talk any time soon. "We haven't heard anything about you. In fact, this is the first I've heard of you from anyone other than Earl or Claire."

"And that's the way I like it," Abigail assured her. "Not for me the big splash. I wear no mask, take no cape name. I just take … things. Usually, unique things. Usually for pay. On occasion I steal reputations, set up situations to leave people looking bad. But I leave no calling card, and I do not ever spread my name willy-nilly. I prefer for my successes to be their own advertisement."

"Sounds to me like you'd make a great assassin," Legionnaire observed. "Not that I've got anything against it. You do you."

"Sure, I could do that and all." Abigail gave him a measured nod. "But I choose not to. Not because I consider life to be sacred or anything so pointlessly abstract. There are many out there whose lives undoubtedly need to be cut short as soon as someone can arrange it, and well we all know it. No, I just know I'd be good at it, and I worry I would become somebody I do not like overmuch if I began to consider killing to be an acceptable option for … well, anything other than saving my own hide, or another life."

"That's … actually a really good point." The broad-shouldered black-haired man whom Marcus had introduced as 'Robert' looked thoughtful. Abigail was strongly inclined to suspect he was the other clone Claire had alluded to. If Marcus was derived from Earl's DNA, then Robert was the genetic derivation of Lung, remodelled. Metal armour and flame were a somewhat unusual juxtaposition of power effects, after all.

"To be honest, I can't disagree with your analysis of the matter." Earl stepped to the side so it was clear he was addressing the whole room rather than just Abigail. "I've killed in the past, and not just to save my life. At the time I considered it wholly necessary, but over the last few years I've found myself wondering if it needed to be so very black and white. Yes, if your life is in peril and the only way out is by killing your aggressor, then you can assume they understand this, and you're not murdering an innocent. But sometimes … I didn't necessarily need to kill someone but I did it anyway, just to ensure that they wouldn't get up and try to kill me when my back was turned."

"Heroes, too?" That was Legionnaire. All eyes turned to him, and he put his hands up defensively. "Hey, I'm just saying. Sometimes Hookwolf would get into stories from the old days, things he'd heard from before he joined the Empire." He nodded to Earl. "To hear him tell it, you were death on two legs when it came to anyone who got in your way. Heroes, villains, it didn't matter. You had a reputation. Even Jack Slash chose to walk away rather than get in your face when you refused to play his sick little games."

Earl snorted softly. "Everyone should live long enough to hear the stories told about what they used to be like. I didn't have one reputation, boy. I had several. As for the one where I killed any hero who got in my face, you're aware of the Brockton Bay Brigade, yes?"

Abigail knew exactly where this was going. Snagging a spare chair, she pulled it off to the side and sat down to enjoy the show.

"Well, yeah," Legionnaire said. "They've been around since …" His brain finally caught up with what he was saying, and he stopped. "Oh."

"Yes. Oh." Earl raised his eyebrows. "They attempted to take me in on multiple occasions, and I sent them packing each time. While they had a rudimentary idea of teamwork, there were gaps in their technique one could reverse an eighteen-wheeler through without touching the sides, and I exploited those repeatedly. They never learned, though. Right up until they invaded my house. Claire was six at the time."

Palatina—Abigail had to get into the habit of calling her that, rather than Purity—sat up. Apparently, she'd never heard this story before. "And you didn't kill them then? They threatened your child!"

Well, now. Interesting, indeed. Abigail made a mental note. Far from being a hardened Nazi killer, it seemed Palatina was a real momma-bear type when it came to the little ones. She was starting to see what Earl saw in the woman.

"Oh, if they'd deliberately threatened her well-being as a means of getting me to surrender, this would be a whole different conversation." Earl's voice was suddenly cold; Abigail half-expected to see puffs of white breath around the room. Then he smiled, the mood lightened, and he went on. "But they didn't. They agreed to take it outside, I sent Claire upstairs, and I proceeded to explain to them why their tactic of using their female members as human shields was still not the game-changer they'd thought it would be."

"Okay, so you didn't kill them." Legionnaire didn't seem to want to let this go. "But you did kill heroes. What's the difference between them and others?"

"It's simple." Earl smiled faintly. "Those so-called heroes weren't trying to arrest me. They were doing their very best to murder me straight out of the gate. Which I found to be the height of rudeness, seeing as I was doing them the courtesy of keeping my attacks on the non-lethal side. So I reciprocated in kind, and of course was painted as a bloody-handed psychopath almost immediately. Despite the fact that those self-same heroes had a collective body count of villains they'd faced and murdered for the fame and glory of it; villains who had done nothing to earn a death sentence. They identified as heroes, so they got a pass. There's inequality for you, right there."

"Okay, just gonna say, wow." Marcus half-raised his hand. "Now I want to hear about Jack Slash."

Earl rolled his eyes and threw a tolerant grin in Abigail's direction. "See what you've done? We were having a perfectly productive session of tactics and techniques against current threats, and now we're discussing ancient history."

She refused to be baited out like that, as he had to have known she would. Lounging sideways with one leg thrown over the chair arm, she threw a smartass grin right back at him. "'Tis shocked and surprised I am you have not yet explained all this to them, your closest allies even. Claire and Jonas and I have the knowing of it, but does your Palatina or any of the others?"

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I should know better than to get into an argument of this sort with you. No, you're correct; they don't. But we'll leave off that particular history lesson for another time. I get the impression you wouldn't have bothered me if it wasn't important. What's the matter?"

"There are folks out and about in this city that have me confused and puzzled," she explained, getting right to the heart of the matter. "In the train station, I saw two of them stop a pickpocket before he'd taken two steps past his mark, almost as fast and smooth as I might have, were I inclined to do so. They wore all black with coats that fell to the knees and beyond, and something gold in the lapel right here." Her thumb touched her shoulder. "I saw no masks, no badges of office. Who might they be?"

From the dawning expressions of amusement around the room, she knew she was missing something, but it was Earl who spoke first. "Those would be my men," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "They provide protection and security to the general public … for a price, of course. I call them the Mercia; it's Old English."

"For 'men of the borderlands', aye," she agreed, seeing the whole concept all at once. The title of Marquis went to one who was responsible for defending a borderland region against invasion, after all. "And it likely does not hurt that the name sounds a little like 'mercy', am I wrong?" Further aspects she considered but did not speak of revolved around where Earl had found so many talented and capable people to work for him. Her eyes flicked to Claire, and the final piece fell into place. Found … or made?

Oh, my. Oh, my. Claire acushla, you have come a very long way in these last eight months, so you have.

Earl chuckled warmly. "A little preventative psychology goes a very long way. When you add in Claire's regular visits to the Brockton General emergency room, my organisation has a better reputation in this city than some hero teams have had in the past."

Abigail swung her leg off the chair arm and sat up. "I find myself impressed, sure and I do. You've done well, Earl Marchant, and that's a fact." Left unspoken was the regret for what she'd missed out on while she'd been away. "I have to ask, though. Is there still a place here for such as myself?"

Earl rubbed his chin seriously. "Now, that's something I can't tell you," he said. "I would like to say yes, but that would be my own personal feelings, not a measured judgement. Why don't you take a few days to figure it out for yourself? We have a spare room for you to crash in for as long as you'd like."

"Also, a heated swimming pool," Claire put in. "I know you were always more into parkour than swimming, but it's amazing to be able to swim all year round if you want. Please say you'll stay." She put on a 'puppy-dog eyes' expression that was even more heart-wrenching than the last time Abigail had seen it.

"Mercy, mercy!" Laughing, Abigail threw her hands up in surrender. "I'll be staying for the moment, I promise. If you can point me in the direction of this room of which you speak, I'll be going there and getting out of your hair."

"I can do that," offered Claire at once. "Come on, Abigail. I can't wait to hear all about what you've been doing while you were away."

"Thank you kindly, Claire acushla." Abigail stood up from the chair and retrieved her bag. "It does my heart good to see you once more, Earl. And 'twas grand to meet the rest of you. Fare well until we meet again." Turning to where Claire was waiting at the door, she followed on.

The house was, as she had already noted, large and well-appointed. It would likely take her a little while to learn the layout, though by all appearances Claire was well used to it. "'Tis a nice place you have here," Abigail offered. "Do you have many visitors, or just your da's allies?"

"Oh, there's a few people who drop over from time to time." Claire smiled happily. "There's the Heberts; they're nice. Mr. Hebert's an important man with the Dockworkers' Association, and Mrs. Hebert's an English professor at the college. They've got a daughter called Taylor who's a year younger than me, but we're in the same grade because the principal decided I should repeat a year. Taylor loves to talk a mile a minute, and her friend Emma's pretty cool too. Emma's teaching me stuff about makeup I never knew."

Abigail blinked. "I'm thinking this chatterbox Taylor might be rubbing off on you a wee smidgen, so she might."

"What, on me? Nahh." Claire shook her head definitively. "Next to Taylor, I barely say a word all day. Anyway, before I take you to see your room, there was something I wanted you to see. Something I've been working on that Dad knows about, but the others don't."

God in heaven, how much does this Taylor talk? Though it's good and all that Claire has friends her own age. "Sure, and I'd love to see what new craziness you've come up with."

"Cool!" Claire grinned broadly, evidently pleased that Abigail wanted to know about it. "Come on, it's down this way."

She led Abigail down a side corridor, which led to a set of back stairs. At the bottom of the steps, Claire led the way into what had once been a greenhouse, but which now had half the panes missing. As they stepped inside, Abigail felt soft yielding soil under her feet instead of concrete.

Occupying the almost-greenhouse, making absolutely certain that the 'green' aspect was well represented, were plants of every description. Big ones, small ones, some that were actively growing up through the open gaps in the roof of the greenhouse and others lying dormant.

Abigail looked around with interest and admiration. "This is a proper garden and no mistake. All grown with your power?" She leaned in to look more closely at a brilliantly coloured flower. There were a few odd spots on the leaves that she figured were some kind of plant disease; Claire would have that cleared up in a moment or so.

"Oh, yeah, but that's not what I brought you here to see." Claire reached up to the nearest growing thing to her, a kind of shrub. As Abigail watched, one of the branches bent, lowering itself until the tip was just over Claire's open hand. A bundle of leaves grew with startling speed, swelling as though Abigail was watching it through time-lapse photography. Then a small object was deposited in Claire's palm and the branch retracted itself again. If that wasn't weird enough, Claire promptly popped the thing into her mouth and swallowed it.

"Uhhh … Claire acushla? What exactly was that, and why did you eat it?" Events were moving faster than Abigail was used to, never a pleasant sensation.

"Oh, that was just an information seed. I asked Mr. Green to let me know what's been going on, so he did." Claire took on a distant expression. "Hmm. Well, there's nothing drastic going on at the moment, so that's good."

"Mr. Green? Who might that be? Are you using the plants to communicate with someone?" Instead of clearing matters up, Claire's answer had only served to raise more questions.

Claire grinned. "Nope. This is what I brought you here to see." She waved her hand at the greenhouse. "This is all Mr. Green. The plants in here, plus all the ones outside, all across the city. A few weeks ago, I started playing with the plants right here, connecting them together via their root systems to make them one giant organism. It was easy enough to do, so I started spreading the connections outward."

This was starting to sound ominous. "Claire, exactly how far out did you spread them?"

"Oh, only out to the city limits," Claire explained blithely. "Dad said I should keep it inside that, for the time being. Somewhere along the way, I came up with a more effective connection fibre, designed to improve information transfer back to me, and had the root network evolve into it. I'd read about eyespots on some micro-organisms, so I figured out how to make them using chlorophyll and wrote them into every plant in the network as well. Now I can use every tree, every bush, every lawn as a compound eye. The hairs on leaves also make a good substitute for eardrums, so I can get sound too."

Abigail considered that, pleased that the girl had at least consulted her da. There appeared to be something missing, though. "So … how do you assimilate the information and input from every leaf and blade of grass in the city, or is there something you're not telling me? Because it sounds to me like that should be one mass of noise rather than any kind of coherent picture, so it does."

"Well, yeah, it was." Claire shrugged. "I was getting ready to toss the whole idea, to be honest. But then Mr. Green came along."

"You have not yet explained who exactly that is, Claire acushla." Abigail raised her eyebrows.

Claire's grin widened, and she gestured at the greenhouse. "All of this. Across Brockton Bay. It's all Mr. Green. The special connection fibre reached a certain limit, and he kind of became aware, and started talking back to me. He's not human, or anything close to it, and he thinks really slow, but he can take in all that information I've been telling you about and make it into packages of coherent images and sounds that I can skim through when I eat one of those information seeds."

Abigail swore softly in Gaelic. "So … what you're saying … is you've created a giant plant brain? With eyes and ears across the city? What's stopping it from going monster-movie on us all? Because surely it cannot be pleased with the idea of us chopping parts of it down, pulling parts up to eat as food, burning parts for light and heat, and trimming our grass on a Saturday afternoon, so it cannot."

"Two reasons. The first is that Mr. Green doesn't think like that," Claire explained patiently. "I've talked to him about all this stuff and more. Because he's all the plants at once, he doesn't really care if some of them get damaged or pruned. I mean, would you go to war if you found out your skin mites were clipping your toenails for you?"

"Well, okay then." Abigail could see her logic, after a fashion. "I might consider it a tiny bit creepy, to be sure, but that's just me. And you mentioned a second reason."

Claire chuckled. "He's a plant-based intelligence, more like a computer than a person. Did I mention he thinks real slow? He can't really move with any speed, because the vast majority of plants don't, and I've made damn sure the genomes of any plants that can move fast aren't incorporated into any part of this plant mass. Also, I'm the only one who can make adjustments to his 'body'. The special connecting fibre doesn't replicate until I tell it to. If I ever went away and didn't come back, Mr. Green would gradually fade away again as connecting plants died off or were replaced with non-connecting ones." She grinned, showing her teeth. "Though if I was ever forced out of this city, I might just make the connecting fibres self-replicating and give Mr. Green some of those genomes. Let whoever took the place over deal with a pissed-off plant monster the size of a city."

Abigail shuddered. "Well now, that would a sight to see and no mistake. From a great distance, to be absolutely clear on the matter. Maybe low earth orbit."

Claire nodded and was about to say something when Jonas knocked on the doorframe behind them. "Excuse me for interrupting, chick, but your father needs you upstairs right now."

"What?" Claire frowned. "What's the matter now? Is the ABB making a move?" She headed out of the greenhouse with Abigail right behind her. As pretty as the plants were, somehow Abigail didn't want to be alone with them anymore. Like, ever.

"No, miss. It's worse than that." Jonas gave the teenage girl a serious look. "The PRT just contacted your father. Leviathan's on track to attack Orlando, Florida."

"Oh, shit." Claire met Abigail's eyes. "Well, time to put my money where my mouth is."

Abigail frowned. "What do you mean, Claire acushla? It's not like Florida's anywhere near here."

"I mean, I already told the PRT I would attend Endbringer battles." Claire quickened her pace. "Looks like Marchioness is going to Florida."

And all Abigail could do was stare at her. Well, shit.

I expected to find any number of weird things when I got to Brockton Bay, but I never expected this.



End of Part Twenty-Three

 

[macdjord]

You know, reading this, I can't help but think of that guy who was complaining that Hostage Situation was too apologist about Marquis. That story has nothing on this one in that department. (Not that I have a problem with that; 'Noble Villain Marquis' is pretty much a core story conceit for this.)

Watch behind. Make sure we are not attacked from surprise.

Click to shrink...

'attacked from behind' or 'attacked by surprise'.

she admitted to herself, a little precipitate.

Click to shrink...

'precipitous'.

 

[Scopas]

Ah, another horribly creative End of the World scenario from not!Panacea. I see that she's well on her way to creating Audrey II.

 

[Ack]

You know, reading this, I can't help but think of that guy who was complaining that Hostage Situation was too apologist about Marquis. That story has nothing on this one in that department. (Not that I have a problem with that; 'Noble Villain Marquis' is pretty much a core story conceit for this.)



'attacked from behind' or 'attacked by surprise'.



'precipitous'.

Click to shrink...

I'll fix the second one, but Lung's English isn't necessarily perfect.

Also, this is a Marquis who is entirely unapologetic about having murdered people in the past, but has come to the conclusion that maybe some of them didn't actually need murdering.

 

[Ack]

Another Way

Part Twenty-Four: Boss Fight

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

Marchioness

Claire entered the room alongside Jonas, with Abigail bringing up the rear. All eyes turned to her, and she raised her chin. "Okay, then. I've heard the news. I'm going. Who's coming with, and who's minding the store while we're out?"

Kayden was the first to step forward, but only by a fraction of a second. Everyone began speaking at once, with each person stating that of course they were coming along. Claire knew that wouldn't fly, but she waited for her father to bring order to the chaos.

He did so, stepping forward and clapping his hands together once. "Thank you for your support. You cannot all go, of course. As my dear Claire has stated, some have to stay behind." Turning, he glanced at Abigail. "Your talents do not lend themselves to fighting an Endbringer. Would you do me the honour of guarding my household while I am away?"

As Claire had known she would, the Irish cape nodded gracefully and stepped forward. "Indeed, and so I will. Leviathan has no pockets to be picked nor valuables to be liberated, so he is of no interest to me."

Earl chuckled with the others at the release of tension in the room. "Thank you. Marcus, you'll also be staying."

"What?" protested the teenage boy. "But—"

"An Endbringer fight is no place for someone as young as you," Earl said gravely. "I'll be taking half the Mercia along to act as search and rescue. The other half will need direction, as our interests in Brockton Bay will need to be protected. Will you stand alongside Abigail in this?"

Marcus, clearly torn, looked at his 'uncle' then at Abigail. Drawing a deep breath, he made his decision. "Yes. Yes, I will."

"Good." Earl's tone was brisk. "Jonas, Robert, you will guard Claire with your life. She will be the most important person there. Do you understand me?"

Jonas merely nodded slightly while Robert lifted his chin. "She'll be safe with us, sir."

"That's the general idea," Earl agreed. "Legionnaire, I doubt your power will be able to put a dent in Leviathan, but your ghosts will be useful for search and rescue. Palatina, you're our biggest hitter. If either of you chose not to go, I would understand; merely sharing a battlefield with an Endbringer is dangerous. But I'm asking."

Kayden and Justin shared a glance, then both stepped forward.

"If Claire got hurt because I wasn't there to hit Leviathan hard enough, I'd never forgive myself," Kayden said softly. "I'm going."

"Me too," Justin added hastily. "I mean, you're not wrong about my power only being good for search and rescue, but I'm trying to be better these days. So, count me in."

Earl smiled and dusted off his hands. "Good to hear. Jonas, we're going to need to equip the men. I've had supplies put away for this occasion. Main storeroom, first closet. Meet us at the cars."

The big man nodded. "Right you are, sir."

<><>​

PRT Building

Fifteen Minutes Later

Emily Piggot had heard the term 'ass-deep in alligators' before, but she'd never applied it to herself. The state the local PRT had been in on the day she hobbled into the office would have fit the bill, but after years of her personal leadership, nobody dared push too hard. Because she pushed back.

However, today could almost meet the description. Leviathan had already made landfall near Orlando, and the only thing stopping him from advancing on the city were the skills of the villainous tinker known as Stinger. Brought over from the West Coast, he'd made use of the facilities of the Kennedy Space Centre to create anti-Endbringer missiles on the fly. There wouldn't be much of the Space Centre left by the time he or Leviathan were finished, but he was buying Orlando valuable time. She'd heard intercity missiles were being prepped next, to be used when Stinger either retreated or was killed.

The message had gone out to Marquis that Marchioness' offer was being taken up, but she hadn't heard back since his acknowledgement of her call. Her cynicism told her that the girl would find some reason not to go, though she had doubts on that matter. Right now, she had no time to worry about that, as she was trying to link in with several other Directors to coordinate reinforcements for the capes in Orlando.

The kid had healed thousands of people in Brockton General over the last few months, after all. And the hands-off situation with her father would only last so long as they knew she would contribute in that fashion. If she reneged, he'd be back in the sights of the PRT as a valid target.

Her office door opened just as she reached for yet another ringing phone. It was Renick, looking more than a little frazzled. "Emily, you need to see this. Check out the security camera in the lobby."

Paul Renick was the quintessential subordinate; though not so great at leadership, he always gave her the information she needed when she needed it. She didn't waste a second clicking her mouse on the appropriate tab.

The image of the lobby downstairs opened on her computer screen. There, standing before the guards, was Marquis, with Marchioness next to him. Also in the frame were Palatina (hah!), Legionnaire (double hah!), Knight Errant (she didn't actually have an opinion on him), and a huge guy in a leather jacket and a simple domino mask. And behind them, the lobby was filling up with men in dark long-coats.

She knew who the latter were; Marquis' Mercia had been building a solid reputation for themselves over the last couple of months. They were his leg-men, his enforcers. Where he said he would protect, they protected, often to far better effect than the cops.

Emily had no idea where he was finding so many low-level capes, but the reports on them universally spoke about Brute-level strength and Mover-level speed. The few times any of them had been arrested, they'd submitted quietly. Through the grapevine, she'd heard that trying to sweat them for information on Marquis was a lost cause; that they'd just sit there, waiting. Invariably, the charges had been dropped due to a lack of credible evidence.

She wasn't sure what was more worrying. That a powerful supervillain had a small army of capes at his beck and call, and that they moved around freely during the day to public approval, or that someone was apparently trying to frame the Mercia for crimes (and failing). Emily believed strongly in the rule of law and that criminals needed to be punished. But there was a right way and a wrong way to do it, and going off the reservation like that was the wrong way.

"He's here for the Leviathan fight?" It was the glaringly obvious conclusion, but she'd been wrong with those before.

"That's what he says." Renick seemed to be having a slightly better time accepting this. "And I'll deny saying this if you tell anyone but from my understanding of the man, he doesn't bother lying about his motives."

"I've looked through his file." Emily shook her head. "He's a stone killer. Implicated in the murders of at least five heroes and several villains. And you're saying we can trust him?"

Renick shrugged. "You were there for the aftermath of the bank thing. My take on him is that he's got an ego roughly the size of Greenland. Put simply, his image is more important to him than the profit motive. If he says he's going to do something, he does it, even if it's only to spite anyone who says he can't."

"And Marchioness said she'd show up for Endbringer fights. He'll be there to protect her and make sure nobody tries anything hinky with his daughter." Emily pursed her lips. "Can't say I blame him. Any idea on who the big guy is?"

"He gave his name as Watchman. We've had reports of a big guy working with Marquis before, but we've never gotten a good look at him before now. I'm pretty sure this is him." Renick tilted his head. "If it's the same guy, he's the one witnesses saw beating the snot out of Hookwolf."

"And with a name like that, he's specifically there to protect her as well." Emily nodded in satisfaction. "Good. It means we don't have to detach troops to do the same thing. Okay, get them all up to the roof. Strider should be coming by in about two minutes."

"Can he handle that many in a single jump?" Renick couldn't see her screen, but he'd clearly gauged the size of the group from his own office.

"If he can't, he's just going to have to come back." Emily slapped the desk. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get them up there, now! Villain's daughter or not, she's our best chance of keeping as many capes on the battlefield as possible!"

"Ma'am!" he vanished from the doorway, heading back to his own office. Her door slowly swung closed, then clicked shut.

Leaning back in her chair, Emily closed her eyes and sighed. She truly hated having to call on parahuman resources to deal with a rampaging menace, but it was very much a case of 'no other options available'. Her every instinct shouted at her that one day the capes would cut and run at precisely the wrong time, leaving unpowered troops facing the Endbringers … but hopefully, today would not be that day.

Grimly, she leaned forward again, watching as the Marquis contingent funneled into the elevators that would take them to the roof exit. On one level, she was obscurely pleased that Marchioness was actually coming through with the promise that had been keeping the heat off Marquis. On quite another, she wanted them all the hell away from her building, right the fuck now.

A click of the mouse brought up the roof cameras, and she watched as the villain gang prepped themselves to be teleported into a war zone. Each of the long-coated Mercia appeared to be carrying a basic first-aid kit on his belt, which probably wasn't a bad idea now that she came to think of it. On the other hip, each of them had something she couldn't quite make out, other than that it had a cylindrical shape. Fire extinguishers? Maybe they're kitted out for a Behemoth fight?

Whatever; it wasn't her problem. They were going to a battle at the far end of the east coast. If the gods of ill luck and destruction were smiling on her, fewer villains would return than went down there.

There was a disturbance on the image, and she realised Strider had arrived. He looked a little taken aback at the number of people waiting for him, but he gestured for them to gather around all the same. A flash of light, and he was gone; the rooftop was now clear of everyone apart from PRT troopers. The only Protectorate capes in the city right now were the Wards (she'd refused to send any down to the fight) and Velocity, who'd twisted his ankle the previous morning and was still on the sick list.

Now, let's hope the villains are smart enough to keep their heads down until this is over. Because she fully intended to Birdcage the fuck out of anyone pulling shit during an Endbringer situation.

<><>​

Marchioness

To a man (or woman), every hero who'd been transported to Orlando with them dropped to a knee or even to all fours. Claire saw Assault discreetly trying not to retch, while she and her comrades stood firm. This was due in part to the subtle adjustments she'd long ago made to their vestibular systems, improving their balance and reducing the chance of motion sickness. The other part was based in how her power reached out to every one of them, bolstering their ability to overcome what little nausea they felt.

It was pouring rain, and they were standing in a broad parking lot. A Dragon suit was crouched at the side of the parking lot, with PRT troopers milling around it. Claire looked around as a trooper carrying a cardboard box came over to where she stood with her father.

"Locator armbands!" the trooper explained, having to raise his voice as thunder rolled. A moment later, she realised it hadn't been thunder as a brief, brilliant light shone through the clouds from the east, and the asphalt under their feet jittered and threw water droplets into the air. This was followed by a tremendous BOOM that would've half-deafened her if she'd let it.

A blue-and-white figure flashed into sight then came to a dead stop, hovering over the collected capes. Claire recognised him as Legend, the leader of the Protectorate. "Stinger's down!" he shouted. "All heavy hitters to the barricade! This way!" He flashed off again, to the east; a motley assortment of capes followed him. Unfolding its wings, the Dragon suit powered up its turbines and lifted off in a spray of water. Kayden snatched an armband from the box, lit up her powers, and flew off in that direction as well.

Taking one of the armbands from the box, Claire fitted it onto her forearm. She listened to the instructions for using it, then spoke her name clearly for the microphone. "Where's the medical area?" she shouted toward the PRT trooper, because the rain was only getting heavier and explosions had already started from the east.

"Over there!" the trooper replied, pointing to the southwest, and a cluster of buildings. "We're slightly higher up than the surrounding area, so we won't flood as easily!"

From what Claire knew of Florida, 'slightly higher up' meant 'occasionally above sea level', so she wasn't optimistic about that. Her father jerked his chin to catch her eye; his expression mirrored her thoughts. "This area is a collection of lakes vaguely separated by land," he snapped. "Leviathan won't even have to exert himself to flood us out."

"I'm sorry!" shouted the trooper. "It's what we've got to work with!"

"Well, we're just going to have to do better!" he snapped back. "Marchioness?"

"On it, Dad," she called back, looking around for something that she could repurpose. Why did they have to pave over everything? "Someone get me a piece of plant life, stat!"

Several of the Mercia darted off in different directions, while she kept moving toward where the medical setup was with her father. Jonas and Robert flanked her, each with their head on a swivel for potential threats. More explosions came from the east, noticeably closer than before.

"They're not holding him," she said, more as a matter-of-fact observation than a statement of worry.

"I didn't expect them to," her father answered. "They're all used to just piling on willy-nilly. Nothing but the most basic of organisation. No strategy, barely any tactics. Unfortunately, that describes the majority of capes today."

A long-coated figure dashed up to Claire and handed her a freshly broken-off branch from a bush. "Is this good enough, miss?" he asked.

She smiled at him and took the branch. "Thank you." He was an ex-Empire member who'd seen the writing on the wall, relinquished his old ways, and approached them to see if he could join. Absolutely loyal to Marquis and Claire both, he had proven his worth to the Mercia several times over.

A moment later, she felt the rumbling in the ground, but initially dismissed it as another explosion. But it kept on building. "Warning," her armband said. "Tsunami. Get to high ground."

"There is no high ground!" yelled Robert in frustration. "This place is a sponge full of water!"

Yes, thought Claire. It is, isn't it? Peering through the sweeping curtains of rain, she thought she saw the approaching line of the wave; even several miles away, it seemed to tower over the buildings. The rumbling grew more intense, and she instinctively added several adaptations; larger eyes for seeing underwater, dolphin-sonar for murky water, heavy-duty gills for silt-laden water, and pop-out fins on her arms and legs in case she had to go swimming.

"No cover, no high ground!" shouted Marquis. "We'll have to bunker down!" Bone shot from his hands, forming a dome over the top of them, while Jonas wrapped his arms protectively around Claire and Robert stood before them. What he intended to do if the flood breached the dome she didn't know, but she was happy to let him do his thing.

The rumbling came ever closer, and then it washed over them. A few cracks developed in the dome, spraying water, but Marquis shored those weak points up, adding more and more layers of bone. Claire's armband, echoed by everyone else's, began listing a litany of people's names, both downed and deceased. "We need to get to the medical area," she said out loud, as the water finally began draining away, gurgling noisily past the exterior of the dome.

"I doubt there's a medical area left now," her father said grimly. "If they were on the first or even the second floor, that probably wiped them out."

The list of those taken out by the tsunami came to an end. Justin sighed in relief. "Kayden's still okay. I've got my ghosts doing search and rescue, alongside the Mercia."

"Find us a hospital," Marquis ordered. "They're typically more than two stories tall, and they have beds."

"On it," Justin responded.

When Marquis cracked the dome and opened it like a flower, the landscape had been ravaged almost beyond recognition. Every building within sight had been either flattened or suffered noticeable damage. The water was still ankle-deep as it sluggishly flowed away; Claire kicked off her shoes and adjusted her feet for greater traction and the potential for stepping on sharp objects.

The piece of greenery in her hand was still alive; she broke off a leafy twig and forced it through a dramatic change, forming it into a seed. As they headed for the building that had held the medical area, she dropped the seed into the water then stepped on it, forcing it into the mud beneath her feet. A vine sprouted almost immediately and followed her footsteps, maintaining contact with her. More twigs were broken from the branch and more seeds formed as she followed her father. If she was going to do more than the required minimum here, she was going to need the tools of her trade.

"Found a college dorm," Justin said, pointing toward a slightly taller building within easy walking distance. "The doctors and stuff at the medical setup are alive, but they're pretty beat up. All their gear's wrecked, though."

"Have them meet us at the college dorm," Marquis ordered, quickening his pace and changing direction. "Marchioness, we're going to need to fortify that place against further waves. What can you do?"

Claire looked over at the building. "I figure I can lift it twenty, thirty feet. But it'll be mainly sitting on earth. A wave will wash that away."

"I'll deal with that part. But the waves will still be hitting us with considerable force."

He wasn't wrong. The local terrain was both waterlogged and flat; neither aspect conducive to slowing down wave action. "Guess I'm going to have to do something about that, too."

The seed she'd buried still had a vine wrapped around her ankle, below water level. It had already been growing and expanding underground, sucking up water for mass and sending roots burrowing in all directions. Usually plants extended roots or branches at a rate of inches per week; with her thumb on the scales and her power pushing hard, this plant's expansion rate could be measured in feet per second.

Now, she gave it specific orders. At preselected points toward the east, hillocks started bulging up out of the ground, lifted and reinforced by writhing root systems. Along with this increase in activity came a sudden drop in the local water level, as the plant sent rootlets to the surface and began to siphon it down. Even nearby lakes saw a similar reduction. There was no sense in giving Leviathan more ammunition, after all.

"Wounded incoming," Robert announced, gesturing with his free hand. Claire wasn't sure why he had a sword formed, but she wasn't going to second-guess him. A major part of the training they'd been giving him was to encourage him to use initiative, after all.

She looked around and saw members of the Mercia coming toward them, carrying injured capes. Even over the damaged and waterlogged landscape, they were running at speeds not even a fully kitted-out all-wheel drive could have managed. It was no wonder Director Piggot had been heard to ask where all these new capes in her city had come from.

"I'm bringing the medical volunteers over as well," Justin said. "Some of them are in pretty bad shape."

"Just get them in around me." Claire looked up at the dormitory. "The worst cases closest."

Dropping another seed on the muddy ground, she stepped on it, making firm contact. As with the first seed, it exploded downward into the waterlogged ground, sucking up the moisture and expanding in all directions. Coiling around the foundations of the dorm building, the plant gathered in as much earth as it could, then started to expand upward.

The ground bulged all around the building, cracks opening to show the writhing plant life below as the building inexorably rose. Like a vastly sped-up film about trees overtaking a ghost town, enormous woody trunks hoisted the dorm building into the air while wrapping thick branches around the outside for support. Claire nodded to herself in satisfaction; that was high enough to be above most of the wave action.

"Marchioness!" The voice was high-pitched and desperate. More to the point, it was someone she knew. She turned and looked up, just as Mega Girl swooped down toward her. Cradled in the teen's arms was another familiar figure; Lady Photon.

The older Brockton Bay Brigade member was badly injured, blood staining her white costume. She had gash across the side of her head, her ribcage was stove in, and her left arm was only hanging on by a shred. Hastily applied bandages, equally stained red, were all that had kept her alive up until now.

"You've got to help her!" pleaded Mega Girl. "Please! She's dying!"

"Give her to me!" Claire reached upward to accept the burden. Most of the other wounded weren't as badly off, in that they wouldn't die before her power took hold, but Lady Photon was in a different situation altogether.

The moment she made physical contact with the hero, her healing power kicked into high gear. She could already see the considerable internal damage that could still kill Lady Photon, so she guided her power to fix the heart and lungs first. There was a little brain damage, but she reversed that with barely a thought. It helped, she mused absently, that she'd met Lady Photon already and respected her quite a bit.

All around her, broken bones knitted and cuts closed without any fuss at all. Unconscious capes blinked themselves awake, feeling for injuries that no longer existed. The volunteer medical staff, supported by Justin's ghosts, were soon able to stand on their own two feet.

"-out!" shouted Lady Photon, waking up suddenly and flying ten feet straight up. Her protective force field snapped into place, then she blinked and looked down at her arm. "What? How …?"

"It was Marchioness," Mega Girl explained rapidly. "She fixed you."

"Oh." Lady Photon looked down at Claire. "Thank you. I mean it."

Claire nodded. "I know." She watched as the heroes flew away, back toward the battlefield. Explosions and other power effects lit up the area, even through the teeming rain. Orlando, it seemed, was not having a good time of it.

"Have you finished with your construction?" asked Marquis. "Or did you wish to make it higher?"

"No, that should be good for now," Claire decided.

"Good." Marquis stretched out his hand, and bone erupted from it. When it hit the front face of the impromptu hill, it spread, plating the earth and wood beneath with layer after layer of gleaming white. As an encore, he added a set of wide stairs up the side, to where a doorway had once let out onto ground level.

As she hurried up the steps, Claire pressed the buttons on her armband in the way she'd been instructed. "New medical post has been set up at my location," she stated. "It's on a white hill. You can't miss us."

"Understood, and thank you," Dragon answered. The armband's screen flickered, then flashed red. "Warning. Tsunami incoming."

When Robert opened the door at the top of the stairs, water poured out. Knee-deep at first, it gushed down around their feet, then ran off to the sides as Marquis adjusted channels on the steps.

But Claire could feel the rumbling under her feet again. Looking out at the horizon, she could see the incoming wave, even through the rain. She didn't want to get caught out in the open again, and this one looked even higher. "Dad …?"

Bone flared, and the staircase continued, in through the doorway. The water kept running out, via drains to either side. They climbed upward until the second floor pressed down on their heads from above. Marquis turned to Jonas and raised an eyebrow.

"Right you are, sir." Bracing himself, the brawny South African drew back his fist and punched a hole straight up through the ceiling and the floor of the room above. Several more blows saw an entire chunk of concrete broken away and sent tumbling down to the side. Rebar got into the way occasionally, but Jonas simply snapped that off and tossed it aside as well.

By the time the rumbling was too close to ignore, they had all climbed out onto the second floor. It was a lot drier up here; while the windows had broken due to the impact of the wave, all the water seemed to have run downstairs. Claire opened a door—it was locked, but she didn't let that stop her—and stared out the window at the onrushing wave.

It was tall and menacing, looking set to sweep away everything before it … right up until it hit her wave-breakers. Placed in staggered formation, they disrupted the incoming mass of water, robbing it of power and momentum. Claire watched the spray fly out from each one as it was run under by the mass of water, and saw that the wave was rapidly losing ground. Putting a hand on one of her plant tendrils as it curved past the window, she sent orders for the plants to start drawing in all the water they could, and to keep on expanding.

Finally, the wave hit the base of the building; it shuddered, but only a little. The very last of it splashed upward against the side of the repurposed dormitory, then receded. "We did it," she said with satisfaction.

"That we did, chick," rumbled Jonas from behind her.

More names sounded from her arm-band, of capes downed and dead. None of them were of the Mercia—they had identified themselves as just that; 'Mercia' followed by a number—which didn't surprise her. She'd designed their modifications for survival above all else, after all.

"We'll have incoming in a minute!" she called out, and was answered with a shattering crash. No shouts of alarm sounded, so she went to see what was going on.

In a moment, she saw and understood; Robert and a couple of members of the Mercia were breaking down interior walls to make a wider area for her to receive patients in. At her nod, Jonas joined in. The sheer destructive power inherent in his repurposed frame was impressive to behold as he tore out entire wall panels at a time.

When the next wave of injured arrived, beds had been arranged so she could walk between them with all the patients within her range. Robert and Jonas still stuck to her side, just in case anyone did anything stupid; fortunately for all concerned, nobody did. Most of the casualties were ferried in by the Mercia and Justin's ghosts working in tandem, but a few came in assisted by other capes.

Parahumans wearing brightly coloured (though waterlogged) costumes came in broken and left whole again, invigorated and ready to rejoin the battle. From the chatter she heard, Palatina was right in the middle of the fray, hammering the monster as hard as she could. Claire was concerned about that; while powerful, Kayden recharged her abilities from sunlight, and there was precious little of that wherever the thick clouds overlaid the land.

But there wasn't much she could do about it, right then. Kayden knew her own limitations even better than Claire did; as much as Claire adored her, she wasn't Kayden's mother. It was up to Claire to provide the healing she'd promised, and up to Kayden to come home safely.

Two more tsunamis came and went while Leviathan rampaged through downtown Orlando and then Disney World (because apparently nothing was sacred). Each wave was more powerful than the last, but Claire had anticipated that, building her network of wave-spoilers higher and wider with every iteration. Either the Endbringer was determined to murder heroes or they were just getting tired, as the number of casualties was gradually increasing.

Fortunately, more were coming in injured than dying in the field, thanks to the Mercia and the ghosts. Even more fortunately, Claire's version of healing meant she didn't have to focus on one patient at a time; they were getting off the beds and making their way back to the battle just a little faster than they came in. Even those with potentially fatal injuries were surviving and recovering within minutes; there were only so many ways a person could be brought almost to death's door, after all.

So then, of course, Leviathan noticed that capes he'd put down were coming back into the battle, ready for another round.

Or perhaps he simply became aware of the anomalous building surrounded by dry land where there should be knee-deep flooding, impervious to the worst tsunamis that came at it. Claire didn't know what went on inside the brain of an Endbringer, or even if there was a brain in there. She certainly didn't want to be the first to try to find out.

But whatever the reasoning, she wasn't entirely surprised when the armband gave its warning.

"Leviathan breaking contact and moving toward grid E-7. I say again, Leviathan is moving toward the medical aid station. Marchioness, you need to evacuate. Do you copy?"

By now, Claire's plant system had spread far enough, with the special communication fibre incorporated into it, that she could treat it as a vastly distributed nervous system all of its own. The first slow thoughts were starting to travel across it as awareness began to awaken. She hadn't been intending to do that here at all, but Leviathan wasn't going away, so she had to plan for the worst.

"Thank you, Mr. Bloom," she murmured without moving her lips as the plant tendril network registered Leviathan's movement. He was moving fast—not as quickly as he'd been measured in water, but still speedy enough to outpace the Mercia, and in fact some light aircraft.

She had less than a minute before he reached the location of the repurposed dormitory. In the back of her mind was the plan she'd evolved to carry out in case he decided to directly attack this area. She began to make her preparations to carry it out, while at the same time leaning hard into her powers in other directions. Most people couldn't multi-task effectively; she was capable of splitting her mind into several sections and letting each area deal with a specific problem.

Lifting the armband to her mouth, she pressed the button. "Marchioness copies. I invite all ranged blasters to this location. We're going to have a skeet party. Marchioness, out."

In the meantime, she decided, there would be a distraction. Leviathan was fast, but her power was faster. Striking upward from the water in front of the monster came thorny vines, distantly related to the irritating 'wait-a-minute' vines that can hook an unwary hiker in deep woods. Only, these were cored with carbon fibre and attached to root balls buried deep underground. Whipping around Leviathan's legs, some tore free but others latched on. With even a temporary purchase, they disrupted his balance so that he had to come to a halt or find himself 'face' down in the mud.

He retaliated, of course; his water shadow, moving as fast as he was and capable of flaying the meat off a person's bones, lashed forward along Leviathan's path, gouging into the earth and tearing up more of the thorny cables. One leg at a time, he ripped himself free of his botanical attackers, then leaped high and wide to avoid more of the thorny vines.

The trap was quickly overcome, of course, but it still cost him valuable time and allowed some of the pursuing capes to catch up. However, he was intent on his goal. No matter how they poured on the damage, he kept powering toward the anomalous dormitory on its singular white hill.

And then Kayden dropped into Leviathan's path, not a hundred yards before the dormitory. Even from that distance, Claire could tell how weary she was, how deeply she was digging into her reserves. She'd given her all in this battle, and the ongoing marks on Leviathan's hide were testament to that. But the battle was not yet over, and she still had more to give.

Refusing to take another step back, Kayden opened up on Leviathan with everything she had. Actinic light flared as her coiling blast slammed into his chest, enough damage to destroy whole buildings smashing chunks off him. Once more he slowed, but this time he did not stop. Stride by stride, he bore down on her, green eyes flaring, claws flexing.

Her blast faltered as her powers reached the bottom of her reserves. She fell to one knee and summoned up more energy from somewhere, smashing Leviathan with another burst of energy. But it was her last gasp; her power flickered and went out, leaving her facing the Endbringer unprotected.

Watching from the dormitory window, Claire gasped in horror as Leviathan blurred forward, claws seeking to shred Kayden for the sheer effrontery of having opposed him. But as they slashed downward, they encountered instead a dome of pure bone, that had formed in a fraction of a second. The Endbringer gouged at the protective housing, tearing large sections away, intent on reaching his intended prey within.

But Claire had not been idle. The instant Kayden was out of sight, the packed root systems beneath her opened to form a tunnel, dropping her into it. There was more plant matter than earth beneath the surface mud now; by the time Leviathan tore away the last of the dome, the roots had closed over again to leave no sign of where Kayden had gotten to.

Within the dormitory, the last of Claire's patients were healed. As none of them were capable of facing Leviathan one-on-one, they opted to take the proffered exit along with the medical volunteers, escaping via the far end of the building. Those who could not fly were floated to the ground by Justin's ghosts. They were just in time, as Leviathan charged the dormitory again, bringing his water-shadow into play to crash against the walls.

Buttressed by the network of branches reinforcing the building, the sturdy brickwork held out against the hammer-blows of water, but were unable to stand up to Leviathan's claws. Claire saw the wall torn away, then Jonas shielded her behind his massive body as another burst of water smashed in through the hole. Some of the water blast was deflected by a shield put up by Marquis, but the rest was handled by Robert.

Fully eight feet tall by now and growing by the second, the clone renamed as Knight Errant held a sword in one hand and bore a shield on the other arm. Both were covered in flames hot enough to literally evaporate the water that struck them as Robert strode toward Leviathan. "You will not!" he bellowed, growing even larger and slashing at a reaching claw, severing two of the talons. "You will not! You will not!"

With each bellow, he grew larger and swung his sword again and again. The white-hot metal carved smoking channels across Leviathan's body. A slash across the monster's oddly truncated 'face' left one of the green eyes blank and dead. Another sliced a chunk out of Leviathan's neck.

Just for a moment, Claire dared to hope that this would drive Leviathan away. But the Endbringer had other plans. A twitch of the body was all the warning they got before the massively long tail came lashing around, demolishing what was left of the wall and striking Robert from the side. Had he been anyone else, the appendage would have cut him in half; as it was, he went down hard.

"Dad!" yelled Claire, and the dome of bone covered them an instant before Leviathan would have struck again. All of Justin's ghosts—the controller hiding behind Marquis—cooperated to bring a rapidly-shrinking Robert back to them, as Claire opened up the escape hatch.

As she'd done with Kayden, she pulled aside the branches and roots that made up part of the floor beneath them, and dropped them all down as if riding a particularly fast elevator. Above them, even as the dome shattered beneath Leviathan's determined assault, the living wood closed off the escape route. The building went next as Leviathan sought to tear into their refuge, but they were below ground level by then.

She deposited them into the same undergound chamber as Kayden was recovering in. Bioluminescent fungi—not there by accident—lit the space, albeit dimly. Marquis took two fast steps and gathered the exhausted woman in his arms. "Are you alright?" he queried anxiously.

"I'll … I'll be fine," she murmured. "I've never gone that far down before."

"Which reminds me," Justin said, a little nervously. "We're still down here, and Leviathan's still up there, and now Claire can't heal anyone because she's stuck down here with us."

"It'll be fine," Claire assured him. "I thought it might come to this." Stepping back, she leaned against the rough interlocking roots that made up the wall of the chamber. "How's Robert?"

"Robert is fine," grunted Robert, sitting up and feeling at his side. "I'll never complain again about learning to roll with a hit."

"Good. I'm just going to finish this." Closing her eyes, Claire let her hands merge with the wood. This was not something she'd ever tried before, but she'd figured it was theoretically possible, so why not give it a shot?

Hello?

The vast slow consciousness seemed to loom over her.

Hello

Hello, Mr. Bloom.

Are you Maker

I am. Can you help me?

What help need

With each exchange with the gigantic plant entity, Claire felt her consciousness expanding in ways she'd never thought possible. She could have taken him over in his entirety, but it would take time to settle herself into the new massive body, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to separate herself down into a single human form again. So she hovered at the edge, watching and learning but not invading.

I need to make Leviathan go away. Can we do that? Claire sent a mental image of her intention.

Make big damage water go away

Yes, exactly.

Can do that

Claire smiled.

<><>​

Alexandria

Rebecca came flashing in at speed and hammered a double-fisted punch into where Leviathan's ribcage would be if he had one. The Endbringer staggered sideways and tried to snare her, but his clawed hand hadn't finished growing its fingers back. Beyond him, the bone-covered hill had been mostly demolished, with no sign of where Marchioness and her entourage had gone. There hadn't been any notification from the wristbands, which would usually have meant they were okay, but she couldn't be sure.

The part of her mind that kept track of such things noted that the villain's daughter had absolutely turned the tide (so to speak) for this fight. Injuries which would normally have put capes out of the fight permanently had been healed in minutes, allowing them to keep pouring on the heat and hold Leviathan back from doing far more damage than he could have.

It was a pity about Disney World, though. She hoped they had good insurance.

Still, as damaged as he was, he seemed determined to locate Marchioness and put an end to her. Either this was the usual Endbringer vindictiveness turned up to eleven, or she'd been his target all along. But in that case, why didn't he attack Brockton Bay? For that reason, she was going with 'vindictiveness'.

Legend and Eidolon hammered Leviathan with another couple of shots … then the landscape shifted. Rebecca blinked, wondering if she was seeing things, but in the next second a dozen trees seemed to explode out of the ground, all around Leviathan. No, not trees.

Fingers.

Leviathan went nuts, trying to move or cut his way out of the trap that had sprung up around him, but the thick woody stems seemed to absorb the water, and regenerate the damage he did to them before he could make any headway.

A mountain sat up, or so it seemed. Huge eyes, vaguely reflective, blinked open and looked at her. And then, with a rumbling crash that echoed across the land, the figure tore itself upward out of the surrounding terrain. Five hundred feet tall if it was an inch, it was mostly humanoid though immensely thick in the legs. And with it came Leviathan.

Caged between the tree-trunk fingers, Leviathan sprayed water in all directions in a frenzied attempt at escaping, making no further headway than he had before. Rebecca held up a hand to stop any blasters from trying to hit him where he was; she recalled Marchioness' earlier words, and didn't want to spoil the plan.

Rearing back, the monstrous figure cocked its arm in an unmistakeable pose. A mouth more akin to a primordial cave opened, and a voice louder than any foghorn announced, "PULL!" Then it threw.

Rebecca considered herself well-read, and to have an understanding of how material strength worked. The speed with which that gigantic arm whipped forward broke a couple of laws of physics as she knew them, and bent several others. But then, she broke the law of physics every day just by existing, so what did she know?

Appropriately warned, the flying blasters were waiting; when Leviathan was sent flying, he passed through a hellish gauntlet that knocked pieces off him all over again. As he disappeared over the horizon, the rain began to slow and then stop. Rebecca watched a beam of sunlight pierce through the overhead clouds, and then another.

Slowly, the gigantic homunculus lay down in the depression it had made when it stood up. Rebecca was still wondering exactly what was going on there when the ground opened up and five perfectly normal capes emerged. As normal as capes got, anyway.

"Attention." Dragon's voice sounded very pleased. "Leviathan just landed in the Atlantic Ocean, seventy-three miles offshore. He is swimming for deep water. We've won, team."

As the other capes raised a cheer, Rebecca drifted down to ground level, in front of the capes. Marquis and Marchioness, she recognized from PRT reports. Palatina and Legionnaire, from their powersets, were rebranded capes from the now-defunct Empire Eighty-Eight. From their performance during this battle, she was willing to leave them be. She didn't recognise the young man in the armour with the sword, but new capes came along all the time.

"Congratulations." She deliberately addressed her words to Marchioness. "Was that all your doing?" If it was, she knew, the PRT would have to drastically upgrade their analysis of her powers. Just a ranged healer, my muscular left butt-cheek.

"Thank you," the girl—no mask, evening gown, and barefoot, though somehow she made it work—said with a smile and a hint of a curtsey. There was a glint in her eye that hinted she knew what Rebecca was thinking. "It wasn't all me, though. A lot of it was Mr. Bloom."

Rebecca blinked. "Mr … Bloom?"

Marchioness nodded. "Yeah. He lives under the city. He doesn't do much, though. Except when he feels like it. I wouldn't bother him, if I were you."

"I … see." The girl had remarkably few tells, but she appeared sincere. "Well, thank you for your exemplary healing capabilities. Our casualty list is far lower than it would be, because of you."

"Well, not just me." Marchioness gestured toward the long-coated figures emerging from the surrounding area and converging on the small party. They were all bedraggled and showed marks of the travails they'd been through, but they each moved with purpose and capability. "The Mercia did a lot of the search and rescue. They deserve credit, too."

Rebecca nodded. She'd seen them doing just that, and had been impressed with their dedication to the job. "I will ensure Director Piggot gets a glowing report for your assistance here, today."

"Thank you." Although Marquis' voice remained steady, a smile quirked the corner of his mouth. "I'm sure she will appreciate that."

And I'm just as sure she won't. Emily Piggot's attitude toward capes was well-known to Rebecca.

With a single polite nod directed at all of them, she lifted off again, surveying the devastated landscape. The vast majority of the citizens had survived, as had all but a few of the capes who had answered the call. That was cause for celebration.

But now, it was time to rebuild.



End of Part Twenty-Four

 

[meloa789]

How long before she decides to amplify normal human beings to create her own parahuman army?

 

[Ack]

How long before she decides to amplify normal human beings to create her own parahuman army?

Click to shrink...

What, like the Mercia?

 

[NavigatorNobilis]

"That's right, Mister Bloom was there all along. Nothing to worry about, The Swamp Thing's big (B-I-G) brother was just a bit annoyed by the Leviathan, so he shot-putted the Endbringer into the Atlantic and then went back to sleep."

Also, for absolutely no reason what so ever, I feel like learning the Ent's Marching Song might be a good idea...