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Another Way (Worm AU fanfic)

Part Thirty-Four: Revelations
Another Way

Part Thirty-Four: Revelations

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

[A/N 2: Apologies for the delay. Had stuff to do last month, and so some of my commissions spilled over into this month.]




Sophia Hess (Cape name pending)


"What. The fuck."

Marchioness (who was really Claire, and wasn't that a fucking head-spin) grinned at her as the car moved off smoothly. "Well, from your reaction, it seems my secret identity is safe from the casual observer. If I didn't say it already, thanks for the save."

Her reflexive response took over. "Sure, no problem …" She paused, because she had zero experience in dealing with things like the revelation in front of her. "You're Marchioness. You're Marchioness." If she kept saying it, maybe it would start to make some kind of sense?

"And I'm also Claire Marchant." Claire morphed back into herself, a process that involved her hair retracting into her head, then extruding again as the frizzy auburn mop that Sophia was used to. Then she glanced out the rear window of the car. "Huh. Does it seem to you that we're being followed?"

"It does indeed, Miss Marchant." Jonas, who Sophia hadn't even realised was driving the car up to that point, glanced at the rear-vision mirror. "Your text was short on detail, but it got your father's attention. What's going on, and why are you being followed?"

"Sophia saw that something was wrong before I did." Claire nudged her. "Tell him everything you saw."

Sophia glanced out the back window herself, but there were half a dozen cars there, and she had no idea which one was supposed to be following them. "Um, I was in the mall and I saw Claire talking to that kid we met on the Boardwalk. Jay, I think his name was."

"I recall you speaking about him." Mr Marchant's voice emanated from the car's speakers. "Continue."

Belatedly realising that she was talking to Claire's father—shit, if she's Marchioness, then he has to be Marquis!—Sophia cleared her throat nervously. "Yeah, uh, she was sitting in the food court and he was talking to her, but there was something off about it. He was doing all the talking and leaning really close and holding her hand, and she was just sitting there. Like she was hypnotised or something. The look in his eyes was totally creepy. Oh, and he had a couple of minders. Big bruiser types, standing back in the crowd, watching the two of them."

"Interesting. He's a cape, then?"

"I guess." Sophia paused to gather her thoughts. "So yeah, I went over and asked Claire if she could come talk to me real quick, and he told me to get lost, then she said she was gonna stay right there with him. So, I grabbed his skateboard and smacked him in the mouth with it."

"So that's what you did!" Claire had a look of enlightenment on her face. "Dad, until she did that, it was like I was wrapped in cotton wool. I knew there was a world around me, and that he was a cape, but nothing mattered except listening to him. Then Sophia broke the spell, and his teeth too, and shit went sideways real fast."

"Well done, young lady. I suppose this is why you were obliged to flee the building?"

"Yeah." Sophia let out an aggravated sigh. "His goons came in hot and heavy, and Claire and me had to do some pretty fancy footwork to get away from them. Had to use a couple of shadowblades too, but I was careful to make sure nobody saw. Then security got in on the act, because when a black teenager's involved in an act of violence, I've automatically got to be in the wrong, yeah?"

"She's right," agreed Claire. "She had to pull the fire alarm to cause enough confusion to get away. But it looks like Jay's people spotted us getting into the car."

"Give me a description of this 'Jay' person." Mr Marchant sounded intent. "He sounds like someone who has no business being in Brockton Bay." The phrase 'or breathing at all' hung in the air, unspoken but not unheard.

"Late teens," Sophia reported. "Blond hair. I remember he had freckles on the Boardwalk, but I didn't see them in the mall. Looked like he'd been airbrushed."

There was a long silence before Mr Marchant spoke again. "The Jewel of Boston. Damnation and hellfire. When Accord said there was trouble coming my way, I didn't think it would go this far."

"The Jewel of Boston?" Claire frowned. "I've heard that name once or twice. He's the one who turns into your ideal person, yeah?"

"Miss Marchant, the car is getting much closer." Jonas sounded remarkably unperturbed. "Do you wish to evade or go on the offensive?"

Claire shared a glance with Sophia, and nodded at what she saw there. "Offensive. I've had it with people trying this shit on me."

Sophia expected Marquis to try to talk them out of it, but he did no such thing. "Try to keep one alive for questioning."

"No promises. Sophia, strap in."

While Sophia was pretty sure she could survive a car crash with her newfound powers, the combination of the phrase 'offensive driving' and the sight of Claire putting on her own seatbelt made up her mind. Reaching for her own belt, Sophia fastened it around her. "Okay, ready to roll. How are we gonna do this?"

"Plan A is that Jonas lets them get alongside and forces a crash." Claire glanced out the rear window again, then nodded. "Ready."

"Right you are, Miss Marchant." The car accelerated abruptly, then swerved with a screeching of tyres and dived down a side-street.

Holding onto her grab-handle, Sophia looked out the back window and saw not one but two cars following. "Uh, Claire …"

"I see them. Jonas, we're going to need to scrape one of these guys off our tail before we can put any capture plans into effect." Claire sounded entirely matter of fact about the whole situation.

"Affirmative, Miss Marchant." Jonas drifted the limo around another corner. "Drawing one in … now."

Easing to the right, he artfully clipped a trashcan; the car swerved a little, losing speed as it did so. This presented an opportunity to the cars behind, and one of them took the bait. Engine roaring, it started to come up alongside. Sophia saw the man in the passenger seat raising what might've been a pistol with a silencer attached. "Gun!"

"I see it, Miss Sophia. Hold on." Even as he replied, Jonas hauled the wheel over with brutal suddenness, forcing the car to swerve into its pursuer and driving the latter sideways with a squeal of tortured rubber. There was a shattering crash and a scrape of metal; Sophia was jolted against her restraints, then the car that had been beside them was vanishing into the distance, crumpled up against a telephone pole.

"One down, one to go. Nicely done, Jonas." Claire had morphed into Marchioness again.

"Thank you, Miss Marchant. Their comrades won't be so easy to bait. Are we going with Plan A again, or Plan B?"

A bullet ricocheted off some part of the car with a distinct ptang; Sophia instinctively ducked. "Holy shit, they're shooting at us!"

"Huh. They're pissed that Jonas made their buddies crash. Who knew." Claire may have been discussing the latest TV show, for all the worry she exhibited. "Car's bullet-resistant. Polycarbonate windows, titanium outer shell." As she spoke, another bullet smacked into the rear window, causing a small amount of starring. "See?"

"Yes, Miss Marchant, but it can't take that sort of abuse forever." The big South African glanced into the rearview mirror. "Plan of action?"

"Plan C, I think." Claire glanced at Sophia. "Follow my lead, and be ready to kick ass when I say so. Remember, we want at least one of them alive."

Sophia had no idea what was going on, but she trusted Claire. "Uh, right, okay."

<><>​

In the Pursuing Car

Brett gritted his teeth and swerved around an errant trash can, then shoved the accelerator a little bit more toward the floor. "For fuck's sake, shoot straighter!"

"You try shooting straight when some idiot can't even drive straight!" Paulie, hanging half out of the passenger side window, snarled the words even as he took a fresh two-handed grip on his pistol. Brett heard the BLAM BLAM BLAM as Paulie fired three more shots at the Marchant car, knowing full well that it probably wasn't going to work but determined to do his best anyway.

The day had started going to shit when that little bitch clocked Jay in the face with his own skateboard, and things hadn't improved since. Détente wasn't as murderous toward his minions as Accord was rumoured to be, but he still wasn't overly forgiving toward anyone who screwed up as badly as they had. The only chance they had of not being severely disciplined for letting Jay lose teeth like that was to grab the Marchant girl and her friend, no matter what it took.

And then the car up ahead swerved and started to lose speed. "Holy shit, you got him!" Was the day starting to turn around for them? It surely looked like it.

He stayed back as their prey slowed even further, apparently rolling to a halt. The temptation to come up alongside was strong, but he'd seen what that fucking chauffeur had done to Rod and the guys in the other car. If this was a fake-out, he wanted to be ready to react, not get caught on the back foot.

The car kept reducing speed, and he was pretty sure he saw the chauffeur slumped over the wheel. When the engine stalled out and the car jolted to a halt, his doubts finally receded. "Okay!" he yelled. "Let's do this!"

Pulling up behind the other car, he yanked on the handbrake, but left it running. Even if Marchant didn't have any other security looking for his daughter, they were going to have to get the fuck out of there as soon as they had they girls. He opened his door and jumped out, as Paulie did the same. From the back seat, Shaun did the same.

It was unlikely that they'd need all three of them to handle two teenagers, but better safe than sorry. After all, Détente had put nine of them, in three cars, on to watching Jay. The three in the second car were gonna have to help themselves out of the wreck, at least until the Marchant girl and her violent friend were under wraps.

At least this part of the plan was working.

<><>​

Paulie Sterling, Mook

Running up alongside the stalled car, Paulie yanked at the rear passenger-side door and was both surprised and pleased that it opened. Smashing the window to get in was always an option, but that was time-consuming and risky. Inside, the black girl was halfway through the window into the front of the car, while the Marchant girl cowered against the door and screamed.

He wasn't sure if the black chick intended to commandeer the car or was just trying to hide, but he grabbed her by the ankle and hauled her back into the rear of the limo while she shrieked and struggled. At about the same time, Brett opened the door next to the Marchant girl so she more or less fell out into his arms. Brett yelled at Shaun to check on the driver; Shaun opened the door and fired a shot into him, then closed the door again.

Well, that was one way of checking on him.

Dragging the girls to their own car, struggling and fighting as they were, wasn't as hard as he'd feared. Shaun returned to the car first, and got into the back so they could shove the little bitches in there without worrying about them just going out the other door. With both of them in there, Brett shoved his way in after them, cramping them both into the middle, and Paulie slammed the door.

Holy shit. We did it, we did it. Glee bubbled up in Paulie's throat as he clambered into the front seat, but he didn't want to actually laugh out loud so he throttled the emotion back. Yanking the door shut and putting on his seat belt gave him the chance to regain a little self-control, so by the time they pulled out onto the road again, he was no longer grinning all over his face.

"Okay, here's the rules." Brett was speaking firmly but not harshly, so the girls would hopefully listen. "You do anything stupid, you get hurt. You do what we say, you'll be fine."

"Okay, yeah." That was probably the Marchant kid. "So, what do you want with us? Ransom? Because that's never worked out for anyone who tried it on us before."

"It's working pretty well so far," Shaun sneered. "Now shut the fuck up before I make you shut up."

The kid ignored him. "If it's ransom you want, why don't you let my friend go? Her family isn't exactly loaded."

"Yeah, like that's gonna happen." Shaun sounded pissed off that she was still talking. "She's seen our faces."

The temperature inside the car seemed to drop several degrees. Fuck. Paulie wished he was in the back seat, so he could dope-slap Shaun into next week.

"And once Dad's paid this hypothetical ransom …" the girl observed quietly, "… we'll still have seen your faces."

Paulie thought fast. "Yeah, but then we'll have the cash, so we'll be able to skip town instead of hanging around, waiting to be caught."

"Kidnapping is a Federal crime." The little bitch just wouldn't shut up. "They won't stop chasing you, just because you crossed state lines. And that's not even counting Dad. Whatever you extort out of him, he won't blink at spending ten times that to come after you if you harm one hair on my head, or hers."

"What she's saying," the black one added, "is that if you give up right now and tell us who you're working for an' where to find him, we'll give you time to get out of town. Otherwise, I can't answer for the shit that'll come down on you assholes for this."

She sounded so confident that Paulie wavered for half a second. Pissing off the rich and powerful, especially the ones who were adept at wielding their money as a weapon, was never a bright idea. But we've still got leverage, he reminded himself. We've got the kid.

They were going to let the Marchant girl go eventually, once the Jewel had had his chance to get his hooks into her. The black girl was going to have to disappear, of course; the last thing they needed was a witness to the whole thing. But for the moment, she was useful as a lever to keep the Marchant girl compliant.

There was a sharp smack and the black girl cried out. "I told you to shut the fuck up with that shit." Shaun sounded more than a little jittery.

"I don't like you." The Marchant girl said it like she was discussing ice cream flavours. "I don't like you at all."

Shaun sneered audibly. "Yeah, well. Not our problem, girlie."

The traffic light up ahead turned red. Paulie slowed the car to a stop. The last thing he wanted was to draw unwelcome police attention. He could probably have just driven through—there wasn't any other traffic in any direction—but it was better to be safe than sorry, especially after the egregious fuckup in the mall.

When the Marchant girl spoke next, her voice was lower, with an undertone of pure menace and a hint of a growl. "Oh, it really, really is."

Paulie fully expected either Brett or Shaun to give her a smack upside the head as a reminder to keep her mouth shut, but that didn't happen. Instead, both men screamed in what sounded like surprise and fear.

"The fuck?"

"Holy shiiii—!"

Brett got his door half-open before he grunted and fell out. Reacting way too late, Paulie pulled his pistol and twisted around in his seat, but the angle was bad. Before he could figure out how to fix it, something like a cross between one of those acid-blooded movie aliens and a jungle cat came forward through the gap in the seats.

One clawed hand grabbed his pistol and twisted it from his grip, while the other wrapped around his throat. It had eyes, but they didn't look remotely like human eyes. Nor was there the slightest hint of mercy in them.

Suddenly, its face was just inches from his. "One more time," it hissed. "Your boss. Who and where?"

Paulie considered himself a hard man, a tough nut to crack. He'd endured old-school police interrogations, the type where the phone books came out, and said not a word. But as his bladder cut loose and emptied its contents all over the driver's seat of his car, he broke.

Fuck Détente. I want to live.

<><>​

Marchioness

"Well, that was interesting." Claire glanced over at Sophia as they strolled back along the road. "Dad will know more about Détente than I do, but we've definitely got enough to go on with."

"Yeah." Sophia didn't look or sound as though she were certain about her agreement.

"You okay?" Claire tilted her head. "None of them got you with anything, did they?"

She knew the answer to that already, because Sophia was well within her passive-reading range. She wasn't quite close enough to tap into the other girl's mental processes, but she was pretty sure that was where the problem resided. However, she knew it would be far better all 'round if Sophia said it of her own free will instead of having it winkled out of her.

"I'm fine." Sophia took a deep breath. "It's just … geez. I thought I was tough. And with these powers, I'm even better than I was before. But holy shit, you were strangling one guy with your tail while you were dealing with the other one in the driver's seat. I just had to use my shadow-blades on the one holding me. And then you made the driver piss himself, and then you fucked with their heads … you're fucking brutal, you know that?"

"Oh, I'm aware." Claire kept her tone light. "Dad has a policy of meeting force with equal force. I had a good idea what they had in mind for us, and it would've been bad enough for me, but you would've died the moment they knew they had me secured. Kidnapping just doesn't go well for the kidnappees."

Sophia nodded slowly. "What you were saying about how we've already seen their faces."

"Yeah." Claire took the time to give Sophia a side-hug. "You did perfectly, by the way. But you're right, though covering their faces doesn't always make it safe. Sometimes they kill the victims because it's easier, or because they feel like it, or just to make absolutely certain. Most good endings are because the kidnappees managed to escape."

"Wow, that sucks." Sophia returned the hug. "You made it easy to kick their asses. So, what happens now?"

Claire grinned and raised her hand to wave down the approaching limo. "Now, we go home and have that conversation with Dad about you joining our team, and exactly what we're going to do about Détente and his merry band of assholes."

"Kicking their asses would be my choice." Sophia reached out and opened the back door of the car as it rolled to a halt. "Hi, Jonas. You're looking very alive there, for someone who just got shot."

"Thank you, Miss Sophia." The burly South African smiled at her. "Subdermal armour is useful that way. Miss Marchant, I presume you managed to interrogate them without incident?"

"I totally did." Claire climbed into the car and scooted over to make room for Sophia. "Verified that it was Détente, and I got chapter and verse on how many people he's got working for him and where he's working out of."

"That will be very welcome news, second only to the fact that you and Sophia are still hale and hearty." Claire's father was still on the phone to Jonas, it seemed. "What did you do with them?"

Sophia snickered, and Claire elbowed her gently. "Well, I didn't want them running back to Détente with the news that his cover's totally blown, and disappearing them is also a prime way of spooking the hell out of him, so we kinda … let them go. After wiping the entire incident from their minds, and making them think they'd lost us."

"Ah, but if they think they've lost you, won't they be driving around in an attempt to reacquire you?" He sounded curious rather than concerned, probably because he knew Claire very well indeed. "There's always the chance, no matter how remote, that they'll come across you again."

"You'd think so." Claire loftily ignored Sophia's continued snickering. "However, I installed a perception filter in their minds. If they see this car again, they just won't recognise it. It'll be very much a case of 'these are not the droids you are looking for'. We could literally have a flashing neon sign on the roof and they'd still ignore us." Sophia's snickering became full-on laughter at this point, and Claire rolled her eyes. "Ignore her. She just loves the idea that they could be looking straight at us and not see the car for what it is."

"You must admit, it's a considerable improvement over the alternative. I shall await your return."

<><>​

Détente Thug Car

Brett


"Any luck?" Brett slowed down as they neared a side-street. If the limo was lurking down there, he wanted to give the guys a chance to spot it. He grimaced as the smell of urine assaulted his nostrils once more. "And seriously, Paulie, why did you have to piss yourself like that?"

"I thought that truck was going to hit us for sure," Paulie whined. "I'd been wanting to take a leak, an' it just fuckin' happened."

On one level, Brett kind of understood how it could happen. They'd been chasing down the Marchant car, with Paulie giving him a break from driving, when a delivery truck had come hammering out of a side street and nearly given them all heart attacks. While they'd missed it by the grace of God and the thickness of a layer of paint, they'd also lost the Marchant bitch and her little friend.

In the aftermath, while they were still recovering from the shock, they'd discovered Paulie's 'accident'. There being no spare clothing to change into, Paulie was forced to sit in the passenger side of the back seat, while Brett had taken Paulie's coat to pad the seat under him. All four windows were open as a matter of course.

As much as Paulie wanted to go back and change, that wasn't going to happen until they located the Marchant car or proved to their own satisfaction that it was no longer in the area. And so they'd reported the loss of contact, and set to work quartering the streets in the general vicinity, just in case they could pull a rabbit out of a hat. The last thing Brett wanted was for Détente to think he was slacking off on the job.

A big car drove across the intersection in front of them, and for half a second he thought they'd hit the jackpot. But then he realised that it wasn't the one they were looking for. Well, fuck. From the soft mutters of disappointment in the car, the others had had the same thought.

"Okay," he said. "Let's keep looking."

<><>​

Marquis

"And you are well? They didn't harm either of you?" Earl knew he was going over well-trodden ground but his natural parental concern, coupled with the Damsel incident, sparked the question anyway.

Claire grinned and rolled her eyes, setting his fears to rest. "Geez, Dad, hovering much? We're fine. Jonas is the only one who got shot, and his subdermals stopped it nicely. Sophia's a natural, by the way. Took down her guy and the one I was holding with my tail, and left me free to deal with the driver. For someone who's only had her powers for a few days, she's a total badass. And that's not even counting how she separated Jay from all his front teeth."

"Well, yes, I suppose so." Earl favoured Sophia with a smile. "I know I've already thanked you for your quick thinking and willingness to act, but we are deeply in your debt. I understand that you're interested in joining my organisation?"

She nodded. "Well, now I know that Claire's really Marchioness, I'm even more interested. It'll be a lot easier than trying to get to know a bunch of near-strangers from scratch, you know?"

"I'm aware. It was something I was counting on to make your transition easier, once you'd made your decision." He decided that the time for small talk was at an end. "Speaking of making decisions, what was it that raised your suspicions when it came to Claire and the Jewel of Boston? From all accounts, the young lout is exceedingly smooth with his targets."

"Wasn't really him." She looked pensive for a moment, perhaps revisiting bad memories. "His minders gave it away. They were watching her like a piece of meat. Once I saw that, I knew nothing good was going on. And when I tried to get her away from him, the way they were both acting just sealed the deal. So, skateboard."

He smiled briefly, considering exactly who he'd have to bribe to get his hands on the security footage of the incident in question. "Well done for that in particular. I'd never had any dealings with the Jewel before, so I was willing to let well enough alone. But I'd heard that he was rather unkind with his conquests, especially once he was done with them. More than one apparently committed suicide." The thought of the slimy little bastard getting his paws on Claire with the same intention made him want to perform extremely violent homicide.

"Fuck him." She looked up at Earl. "So, when you go after them, do I get to come with?"

He smiled; that was precisely what he'd wanted to hear. "Of course."

She'd need a costume first, but that was just a minor detail.

<><>​

Détente

And everything was going so well, too.

He looked down at the young man who had been so instrumental in bringing many of his efforts to fruition. The Jewel of Boston's features, formerly a model of flawless perfection, were now definitively flawed. It appeared that a skateboard, swung two-handed with all the power an athletic teen could muster, had wreaked havoc with his lips and front teeth. The former were torn and swollen, and the latter had been shattered where they weren't snapped off at gum level.

While he was fully aware that the boy used powers to make himself irresistible to his chosen targets, there were limits to those powers, and he suspected the damage done by the ad hoc weapon would not be easily ignored. At the very least, there would need to be significant time spent healing the external injuries. And that wasn't counting the reconstruction costs for the young man's dentition.

The question was, would it be more viable to spring for the time and effort (and money) required to bring the Jewel back up to scratch, or should he just accept the loss and dispose of the boy? It would have to be all or nothing, considering the levels of vindictiveness he'd seen from the Jewel in the past. Cutting the boy loose and leaving him alive would be inviting a level of trouble that nobody needed.

"How did it happen?" he demanded of the three minders who'd come back with the Jewel while their comrades went after the Marchant girl. "How did she make him?"

"I don't know, sir." One of the minders, Hank by name, stepped forward. "She knew what she was doing from the start. I saw her go over to their table and say something. Whatever he said back was the wrong thing, I guess, because she just picked up his board and went postal on his ass."

"Do we have any idea who she is?" Fugitives fled straight to their homes more often than not, because the draw of the familiar outweighed caution. If they could get a line on her identity, they could perhaps cut her off at home.

"We didn't think it was necessary to find out." Hank grimaced. "I see that was a mistake, now. That kid was smart and vicious, someone it's a real good idea to keep an eye on."

"Well, get on it." Do I have to think of everything around here? "If she evades our people, it may become necessary to acquire a source of leverage to get her back. This girl would be perfect for the requirement." Not least because she'd already crossed him once, and he preferred his enemies dead or far away.

"Yes, sir. On it, sir."

He went back to pondering the problem of the Jewel of Boston. It was a real dilemma.

<><>​

Marchioness

As they rode through the city in the back of the nondescript car, Claire turned to Sophia. "So, how's the costume?"

Holding up her gloved hand, Sophia flexed her fingers then pinched the sleeve of her other arm. It was dark and close-fitting, but flexible where it needed to be. She had a hood and a mask, all in greys and dark blues At night, she had no doubt, it would make her effectively invisible. "Still can't believe how fast you put it together. In my size, too."

Claire grinned, pleased at the reaction. "I can create basically anything organic, remember? It's made of a bio-polymer that I 'programmed' to shape itself into the right form. Kind of like what Dad does, but with more than just bone." She held up a finger. "But it's not bulletproof, or even knife-resistant. Tough, yes, but someone with a blade will still be able to cut it. So it's probably a good idea if I gave you the same subdermal protection that Dad and the rest of them have."

"Don't need it, remember?" Sophia went to shadow form then back to solid before she could start drifting out of the car. "Bullets can't touch me when I'm in shadow."

Claire's father cleared his throat from the front seat of the car. "You're not always in shadow form, and attackers don't always announce themselves."

Just as Sophia was opening her mouth to reply, Claire formed a sharp claw and jabbed her in the arm with it; not hard enough to break the skin, but definitely enough to sting. "Bang, you're dead."

"Ow! Hey!" Sophia recoiled and rubbed her arm. "Quit it!"

Claire raised her eyebrows, wondering if she'd have to do it again to get the message across. "Like Dad said, your powers won't protect you if you're not using them."

Sophia wrinkled her nose. "Okay, fine, you made your point. But sticking me like that when I wasn't looking was totally a dick move."

"I am not going to say that such things are exclusively the province of supervillains, because they are not." Claire's father paused for effect. "But it's safe to say that villains rarely make a habit of fighting fairly, or nicely. It's more or less what we're known for."

Claire chuckled as something funny occurred to her. "And I'm pretty sure Jay would have something to complain about, the way you clobbered him with his own board out of the blue like that."

Sophia blew a raspberry at her. "That was different. He totally had it coming. I didn't know what he was doing to you, but it wasn't good."

"Oh, I'm not arguing with that." Claire giggled and nudged Sophia with her elbow. "You were totally justified in every way. I'm just saying, you ambushed him the same way I ambushed you. So, did you want some subdermal protection?"

"Well …" Sophia trailed off doubtfully, looking at Jonas in the driver's seat.

Claire didn't need her powers to figure out where Sophia's thoughts were going. "Oh, you won't bulk out or anything. Jonas has the major enhancements. He can bench-press this car if he feels like it. Subdermal armour is basically a flexible carbon-fibre mesh with toughened plates here and there. It'll stop knives and pistol bullets from doing serious damage to your important parts."

"And rifle bullets?" Sophia sounded like she was asking more out of curiosity than worry.

"Meh, they'll penetrate but they won't do nearly as much damage." Claire shrugged. "If you're concerned about that, I can reinforce your organs as well. Make it a lot harder for internal damage to actually kill you."

"I can verify that," agreed her father from the front seat. "When Damsel of Distress attacked us, that reinforcement was possibly the only thing that kept us alive until my dear Claire was able to bring her powers to bear on the problem."

Sophia frowned. "You haven't actually told me all the details about that. Was she really that dangerous?"

"Yeah, she was." Claire flexed her fingers. "So, is that a yea or nay on the armour and the organ reinforcement?"

After a moment's hesitation, Sophia nodded. "Yeah, okay, sure. Hit me."

"You got it." Claire laid her hands on Sophia's arm and went to work. What Sophia didn't know (and never would, now) was that Claire had already laid the groundwork with a light mesh, mainly because she didn't like the idea of her friend being vulnerable to some asshole with a switchblade. Now she built on it, then started adding the plates and the organ reinforcement.

In some ways, Claire admitted to herself, this was an infraction against Sophia's agency regarding her own body. But when it came down to it, she didn't care. It was to Sophia's benefit, and it would not have caused her harm or ill effect if left alone. While Sophia still had some growing to do, the mesh was designed with a certain amount of stretch and flexibility in it.

I'd rather be sneaky and underhanded and protect my friend, than be upright and honest and lose her.

It only took about five minutes to get the protective measures in place, mainly because Claire had plenty of practice to fall back on. By the time she'd put the finishing touches on her work, the car was pulling up in a side-street. A similarly nondescript vehicle, containing the other capes in her father's organisation, rolled to a halt behind them.

The Mercia, she knew, would be keeping watch on her father's territory on the off-chance that this whole thing was some kind of long con. Anyone coming in with the intent of causing trouble would find out firsthand what kicking a hornets' nest was like. And since Brent's passing at the hands of Damsel of Distress, they were doubly determined to shut down anything of that nature before it ever got started.

<><>​

Sophia Hess

If anyone had asked Sophia whether she was nervous as she got out of the car, she would've denied it strenuously … and she would have been lying her ass off. Her heart was racing, and it felt like every nerve ending was on high alert. As they convened between the cars, she tried to cover every angle at the same time, personally certain that Détente knew they were there and that an attack would come at any second.

Claire and her father had been in full cape mode the whole way over, so she'd had time to get used to that. But this was the first time she'd met the other capes that made up his organisation since the rescue. She'd had her powers then, sure, but now she was one of them. It was, she discovered, quite a shift in perspective.

"Hi." It was all she could manage. They'd known she was joining, of course, and she didn't see any obviously disapproving expressions, but she couldn't help but feel that they were silently judging her all the same.

Legionnaire was the first to step forward. "Hey, nice to see you again." He held out his hand, a broad smile on his face. "Good to see you're joining the best team in town, bar none. So, what are you gonna be calling yourself?"

Before she could answer, the other capes gathered around, adding their congratulations and slapping her on the back. Sophia was aware that Legionnaire and Palatina had once been members of the Empire Eighty-Eight, and thus presumably card-carrying racists. Either they were really good at acting, or they'd undergone a distinct attitude shift since taking up with Marquis. Whichever one it was, she knew damn well they weren't going to risk pissing off the boss (especially since she'd saved Marchioness' bacon) so she figured that if they could learn to accept her, she could do the same for them.

"Good to be here." She returned Legionnaire's smile, and shook his hand firmly. "You can call me Shadowblade."

The tall fit redhead called Beltane nodded judiciously. "Well now, that's a fine name an' no mistake." Her accent was indisputably Irish, though Sophia could not be certain she wasn't leaning into it just a little. "'Tis good to have ye on board, Shadowblade. Ye've done well already, an' I'm sure ye'll have many more opportunities to kick arse an' take names. Now then, Marchioness, where did ye say the little shite that tried to take ye from us would be hidin' out?"

Ignoring Legionnaire's muttered, 'who needs their names?', Marchioness raised her hand and pointed at a building across the street and down a ways. "That's where the guys we intercepted said Détente was setting up shop. They were adamant that Jay would be taken there first until Détente figured out what to do with him."

"Really?" asked Palatina. "Because from the way that sounds, if we wait just a little, Détente might just decide to put a bullet in the back of the Jewel's head. One problem, out of the way forever."

Marchioness nodded. "That's the impression I got, too. Not that these guys were actively thinking it. More like, it was a possibility they were subconsciously aware of, but hadn't thought all the way through yet. But once I peeled a few layers off the onion, that's what I got."

"The downside to him doing that," Sophia said before anyone else could throw in their own two cents, "is that if they do that, they'll be packing everything up and moving to a different location. Détente's apparently got his little quirks like that."

"I suppose it has to be better than Accord wantin' to murder everyone who disturbs his precious little routines," mused Beltane. It sounded like she had experience with the man; Sophia wanted to ask for more details, but knew it wasn't the time. "Well, then, Marquis. 'Tis your show."

Marquis looked up just as the first street-light came on. The sun had been lowering into the west all this time, and was now beginning to drop behind the buildings. Soon, there would be shadows aplenty for Sophia to blend into.

"Legionnaire, recon," he ordered. "Palatina, go high. Beltane, Marchioness, assault the upper floors. Shadowblade and I will go in through the front door." As he spoke, he grew the bone armour everyone had seen him in on countless news stories.

Marchioness, likewise, was changing into something entirely inhuman, shedding the evening dress like a snake's skin. A moment later, her skin shimmered and she became almost totally invisible. This didn't make the hairs on the back of Sophia's neck stand up any less as she looked at the blur in the air.

Sophia grabbed the dress and tossed it into the back seat of the car before joining the rest of Marquis' crew as they headed across the street. Her heart rate, which had eased off a little, sped up again as she assimilated the fact that she was about to head into her very first cape brawl.

She couldn't wait.

<><>​

Far From Brockton Bay

A Man Once Called Jacob


"Well, that was annoying." Doing his best to ignore his poppet as she cleaned and stitched the bullet-hole in his left bicep, Jack Slash cleaned his knives one at a time before putting them away again. Once he was done with that, he returned his attention to her. "You assured me that the armour you implanted in me was bulletproof."

"I'll do better next time, Mr Jack," she promised him earnestly. "But it was Mannequin who told me it was bullet, uh, proof?"

Mannequin made a series of signs with his hands, which Jack interpreted as 'bullet resistant is not the same as bulletproof'. Then he went back to repairing his head. As it contained nothing vital to his life processes, taking a bullet through it hadn't overly bothered him.

"Who the hell knew that little podunk sheriff's office had a fifty-cal rifle, or a deputy who could shoot it?" Hatchet Face looked pissed off, mainly because he'd been shot in the groin. It hadn't broken the skin, but a kick in the balls was still a kick in the balls.

Jack examined the seared wound across his chest that had wrecked his dress shirt and come damn close to punching clear through his heart. If Chuckles hadn't jumped into the way of the shot at the last second and diverted it with his skull, the deputy would've gotten his wish. As it was, the Siberian had reached him just after he blew Chuckles' head apart, and torn him into several very messy pieces. Which Crawler had then eaten, along with the rifle.

"Alas, poor Chuckles, we knew him, Horatio." Jack kept talking while Bonesaw began stitching the wound across his chest. "He's going to need a replacement. Which means recruiting."

The rest of the Nine cheered up considerably. Shatterbird and Winter hadn't been nearby when Jack and the others encountered the ambitious sheriff's deputy, or the fight might have been even shorter, but recruitment was always fun. It was amazing just how far people would go to convince the Nine it was worth taking them on.

"So, the only question left to answer," he mused, "is where we go to find our recruits? Philadelphia or Brockton Bay?" He'd heard good things about the parahuman asylum in Philly; on the other hand, the news was beginning to spread about how Marquis had returned to his old haunts, and Jack considered it was high time for a rematch.

"Brockton Bay?" piped up Bonesaw. "What's there?"

Jack smiled, his mind made up. "An old friend, poppet. Or rather, an old enemy I haven't killed yet."

"Okay."



End of Part Thirty-Four
 
Lol, anyone want to point out how many 'old enemies' haven't been killed by him?
Jacob just the jester with Shard babysitter. 🤣

Will be interesting how they handle Bonesaw being second-best to someone, depending on how Shards interact, Claire and Marquis are giving plenty of data after all and Shards may not like getting interrupted by Broken Broadcast. :sneaky:

Going to look forward to Claire getting hands on Jay, if he didn't get put down already given how worse it'll be to deal with him once he's fixed... Was a whiny brat before Skateboard, now he'll definitely do something stupid and draw more attention. 🤔

Sophia - If one Skateboard isn't enough, what about another?
Marquis hands over a White Skateboard he 'found'.
Sophia - How convenient.
 
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Part Thirty-Five: If It's Not One Thing ... New
Another Way

Part Thirty-Five: If It's Not One Thing …

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


Shadowblade

Sophia watched Palatina take off and fly up over the building. Although it was still daylight, the glare of her power made her extremely noticeable. "Uh … doesn't that kind of make her a target?"

Marquis nodded in agreement with her query. "It does indeed. In fact, it draws the attention of everyone who might be looking out a window, to the exclusion of all else." He paused, waiting for her to connect the last few dots.

"And she's just as armoured-up as I am." It was obvious, once she was thinking about it. "So they could plink away at her all day and not do more than bruise her."

"Precisely." He sounded pleased at how she'd thought the matter through. "Kaiser was willing to use her as a mobile target and artillery platform, without even outfitting her with so much as a protective vest."

By now, they were at the building. Following his lead, she flattened herself against the wall beside the front door as windows opened on the first floor, people peering out and no doubt shading their eyes at Palatina's sun-bright glare. The heads vanished back inside as she swept over the rooftop, but the windows did not close.

One of Legionnaire's ghosts was nearby; at a nod from Marquis, it vanished in through the door just as readily as Sophia herself could, these days. A moment later, it re-emerged with a thumb's up for the both of them. Beltane and Marchioness were already climbing the side of the building, the Irish woman making as good time as the barely-visible horror that Claire had made herself over into.

Sophia knew that more ghosts were moving into the building, scouting the way ahead for the others, but now it was her time to step up. Pushing herself into shadow form, she stepped through the door, her hand reshaping to become a blade as she did so. As the ghost had informed them, there were no enemies waiting on the other side, but she was sure they'd show up eventually.

For now, she unlocked the door to let Marquis in—he could've definitely opened it himself from the outside, but they were going with the quiet option for now—and flanked him as he moved farther into the building. Her nerves still hadn't gone away, but the adrenaline was singing in her veins, and she didn't want to be anywhere but here, right now.

Let's do this thing.

<><>​

Upstairs, in the Building

Détente


He'd picked the room for the light quality from the large window, and had his underlings scrub it clean. They'd lugged in the desk from elsewhere in the building, making for a comfortable centre of operations. But now, as he was trying to figure out what to do about the injured Jewel, his underlings seemed intent on interrupting his thought processes.

"What do you mean, Purity's flying around above the building?" He frowned, aware that this was even more serious than it initially seemed, but the dots weren't quite connecting yet. "Has she made any challenges? Said anything at all to you?"

The underling—Matthew by name—shook his head. Like all Détente's people, his overall intelligence and problem-solving capabilities were boosted, along with an enhancement to his ability to work in groups, so long as he remained loyal. Serotonin production was increased in those who leaned into the group-effort ethos, to the point that those who were ejected from the in-group suffered varying levels of depression.

Détente considered this to be a feature, not a bug. What was the point in offering a reward for loyalty if there wasn't a corresponding penalty for being unfaithful to their employer? Which led again to the problem with the Jewel; punishing the boy pre-emptively for a future betrayal might be seen by some as unfair, but he was very good at reading people. The Jewel had never shown loyalty to anyone he didn't specifically have to, and that would include Détente himself if he was let go.

But that was a matter for a later time. Having one of the premier Blasters in Brockton Bay flying over one's rooftop had a marvellous way of concentrating the mind, as the saying went. Matthew was still speaking. "She's said nothing. She's just, well, flying. I didn't even know we were in Empire territory."

While the cape's name had failed to trigger any recollections in Détente's mind, the gang name did. "We aren't. If we are to believe social media, the Empire is no longer an issue in Brockton Bay. Most of the leadership is dead, and Purity apparently defected to Marquis and rebranded as Palatina."

Matthew's eyes widened. "So, it's not the Empire. It's Marquis?"

Alarmed by the same conclusion, Détente stood up from the desk he'd been working at. "Yes. If she's here, he's here. She hasn't flown on?"

"No, she hasn't." Matthew looked up at the ceiling. "She's just flying around above the building. Is she about to attack?"

"No." A chill ran down Détente's back. "But it does mean that she's performing overwatch for someone else. Marquis, to be exact. Who is, at this moment … infiltrating this building." The last three words sounded foreign to him, as though his conscious mind hadn't come up with them, but he knew they were correct.

Marquis was doing something, and there had been no shouts, screams or sounds of breakage, so he was doing it quietly. Which meant he was infiltrating, rather than straight-up attacking. Not that this was actually any better.

"What?" Matthew, Détente knew, had heard every word, and understood what they meant. Where he was having trouble was accepting the fact of what Détente was saying at the moment. "Marquis is here? Now? In the building?"

Then he froze, one finger pointing at something beyond Détente. Moving swiftly yet smoothly, Détente moved forward then turned, so as to put space between himself and whatever had gained Matthew's attention. A ghost dressed like a Roman soldier waved cheerily, then held up a sign. SURRENDER NOW.

"Crusader." Détente sighed. There was no fighting those ghosts; he'd studied the cape behind them extensively, and come to the conclusion that avoidance was the best policy. Or rather, evasion until a well-placed sniper could take out Crusader himself.

The ghost looked offended, and flipped the sign over. SERIOUSLY? I'M LEGIONNAIRE. He finished off by pointing meaningfully at the helmet, the segmented armour, and the sandals. Then he flipped the sign over again.

From downstairs, there was a shot. Matthew looked briefly hopeful. "Maybe that means …"

Détente shook his head gloomily. "It means that someone got off a single shot. Marquis has more than one cape. I doubt very much any of your comrades has managed what every criminal cape in Brockton Bay, along with every police officer, utterly failed to do over his previous tenure in this city."

"And you'd be correct, no doubt about it." The red-headed woman who entered the room did so with a jaunty stride. She was twirling a pistol around her finger by the trigger-guard in a way used only by those who didn't know firearms at all or those who knew them intimately well. Détente suspected the latter. "I'm Beltane. Try not to soil yourselves."

Détente frowned. "Why would we—"

"Boo." The voice that came from right behind him was utterly inhuman. It held overtones and undertones that threatened to loosen his hold on his bladder, not to mention the fact that there should be nobody there.

Matthew's eyes widened, he paled, and he took a step back. One very shaky hand raised and pointed. "S-sir," he managed. "I-it's, uh—"

"If you call me a monster, I will be very irritated," hissed the same voice, right alongside Détente's ear. This did not serve to settle down the hairs that were insistent on standing up, from the back of his neck all the way down his spine. Then a hand took hold of his shoulder; despite possessing four fingers and a thumb, the black outer carapace and sharp-looking claws made it entirely inhuman. Thumbs, in particular, should not be that flexible.

"Very well, I shall not." As a Thinker, Détente's main survival strategy revolved around not annoying those people who could rip his head off or shred his internal organs with barely a thought. "May I know who I'm addressing?"

There was a harsh chuckle. "Consider me … the alternative to doing what he says."

"He?" Détente already had a suspicion about who the terrifying cape was talking about, and when Marquis stepped into the room, marching the Jewel along by the scruff of the neck, it was verified. "Ah, yes. Hm. Good afternoon, sir. I would offer you a seat, but I suspect the platitude would be superfluous."

Accompanying Marquis was a cape Détente knew nothing about; apparently teenage, probably female, she was hooded and cloaked, and had a shadowy air about her. One hand appeared to have been replaced with a vicious hooked blade of the darkest black possible. The way she was eyeing the Jewel boded ill for the juvenile Master.

Marquis smiled coldly. "It would, though I appreciate the thought. However, it's the only thing I appreciate about this situation. I'd ask you what you think you're doing in Brockton Bay, but the answer to that is entirely obvious." He hefted the Jewel partially off his feet; the boy grunted, but didn't try to fight back. "What I do want to know is precisely what made you think you would get away with bringing this piece of trash into my city."

"Also," added the dark-cloaked teen, "whose idea it was to send him after Claire Marchant."

Détente swallowed. "I—"

The grasp on his shoulder tightened a little. "Before you consider lying, remember that I can smell your emotions. Be very careful with your words."

"She truly can, to be sure." The Irish cape seemed amused at the interaction. "That one's not to be trifled with. I'd do what she says an' all, especially if ye wish to keep your insides on the inside."

He took a deep breath. It didn't help calm him down in any significant way, but it did let him collect his thoughts. "That … would be me," he admitted reluctantly. "If I'd known you had a stake in her welfare, I would have stayed far away."

The dark-clad cape took a step forward. "So, what you're saying is if we weren't worried about her, it would've been perfectly acceptable to send that little fucking mind-rapist after a teenage girl? Is that it?"

Détente hesitated. "I get the feeling that's a trick question. No matter which way I respond, it will go badly for me."

Through his shirt, he felt the pin-pricks as five separate claws pressed into his skin. "And yet," whispered the voice in his ear, "we would like an answer."

"As Beltane said, I would advise you pay attention to her." Marquis sounded like he meant it. "Those claws of hers can introduce an extremely effective paralytic to your bloodstream at any moment. If at any time you find yourself unable to move, it's because she lost patience with you."

"Don't worry. You'll be able to breathe. And talk." The voice in his ear was relentless and terrifying. "You just won't be able to do anything else. And you will feel …" She paused for a beat, and the pinpricks became five stabs of pain. "… everything."

From the looks of Matthew, he may as well have already taken a full dose; frozen to the spot, all he could do was whimper. Détente realised a moment later that this was because Matthew had distanced himself from the organisation, which then served to cut him free from Détente's influence. What he was feeling had to be the emotional come-down of the severance, combined with the sheer pants-wetting terror of the knowledge that he was likely too late in doing so.

Whatever else Matthew might be capable of right then, he would not be coming to Détente's aid in any useful way. There was only one thing to do. "Okay, okay, yes. I brought the Jewel to Brockton Bay. Earl Marchant is the biggest mover and shaker in the region right now, so I chose to target his daughter to gain influence over him. She would not have been harmed, I swear."

"For a given definition of 'harm'. I see." Marquis' tone was not in the least bit sympathetic to his cause. "You are aware, are you not, of the condition he leaves his conquests in once he's done with them? They rarely survive the experience. I do not make war on women and children, and I have minimal patience for those who do."

"It wouldn't have been in anyone's best interests, least of all mine, for the Marchant girl to suffer any problems of that sort." Détente knew he was begging, but pride be damned; he wanted to live. "If her father had gotten the idea she was under problematic influence, he would have removed her from the situation to get her proper treatment. I didn't want that. As far as she was concerned, it would've been a perfectly normal relationship."

"Between a sixteen-year-old and a thirteen-year-old." The dark-cloaked teen girl's tone could have frozen helium solid. "And with the way he's messed with every other girl he's targeted, it wouldn't have just been her mind he raped." She jerked her chin up. "Go ahead. Tell me I'm reading too much into this."

He dearly wanted to, but between Marquis in front of him and the terrifying apparition behind, he was in the classic position of being between a rock and a very hard place indeed. All he had to fall back on was the truth, and that wasn't very comforting, especially now.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?" It wasn't what he'd intended to say, but it was what came out of his mouth. The only benefit was that it had the virtue of being much more truthful than everything else he wanted to say.

Marquis didn't deny it. "Do you blame me? You know my reputation, and yet you came here. I happen to share certain interests with Earl Marchant, and you attacked his daughter. The girl is specifically under my protection. Do you know what happened to the last people who attacked teenage girls under my protection in this city?"

"I didn't know she was under your protection!" It was his only defence, and he didn't hold high hopes.

The other clawed hand reached around to cup his jaw. Needle-pointed claws dug into his skin. "Neither did the Orchard," murmured the creature behind him. "Marquis allowed me to deal with them. I'm looking forward to dealing with you, too."

"More to the point," Marquis interjected, "did you even bother checking? I didn't exactly make it a secret."

Détente whimpered, then regained control of his throat. "I could leave town today. Right now. Never come back. You'd never see me again."

Marquis tilted his head thoughtfully. "In my experience, villains rarely take 'no' for an answer, especially successful ones. There's a better than even chance that you'll be back after garnering allies, in an attempt to oust me from my position here. Considering all that, it's easier to just kill you now."

It was hard to argue with that sort of logic, but he certainly intended to try. "You're a reasonable man, or that's how you present yourself. What's my win condition? What would I have to do, to persuade you to let me live?"

"Hmm." Marquis tapped his fingertips together gently. "Let's turn that around, shall we? What would you be willing to do to get out from under the gun, here? How far would you go?"

Détente took a deep breath and stilled his mind. The challenge was both explicit and implicit. He knew what was expected of him. Although it wasn't far removed from what he'd been considering before the attack, it was absolutely different for many reasons, some of which he could even name. "Give me a weapon," he said, his voice sticking in his throat, "and I'll show you."

"Gladly." Marquis handed off the Jewel to a ghost that stood at his elbow then stepped forward, growing a knife from his hand. He snapped it off and passed it over hilt-first, then moved back again. Détente took it, his hand shaking as his fingers folded around the warm bone. It was a gorgeous weapon, as much sculpture as utility. The edge was beyond razor-sharp, like off-white obsidian.

"Even think of trying something stupid," the voice behind him whispered, "and I'll make you wish I'd just gutted you."

Trading repartee with the terrifying case fifty-three behind him was not something he was willing to try. He stepped forward instead, gripping the knife tightly. His eyes fixed on the Jewel's, and he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry," he tried to say, but the words stuck halfway.

The Jewel's eyes widened as he belatedly realised what was going on. "No!" he protested. "No! It wasn't my idea! It wasn't! He brought me—"

As the teen began to struggle against the ghostly hands holding him, Détente stepped in. The knife went in under the Jewel's ribs, immediately staining his clothes red around the wound. It took three more stabs, then a slash across the throat, before the boy stopped struggling; Détente dropped the blade on the floor and stepped back, looking down at his red-stained hand.

He didn't want to think about what he'd just done, but knew it would come back to haunt him in the long, lonely watches of the night. While he'd been responsible for deaths before, he'd never actually killed anyone, and it affected him far more viscerally than he'd expected it to.

It wasn't as though he'd been intending to look the Jewel in the eyes as he killed him, after all.

It was only when the Jewel's body slipped through the fingers of its ghostly captor and collapsed to the floor that Détente knew the boy was truly dead. As he looked up at Marquis, he was fully aware that the power balance between them had irrevocably shifted. Marquis hadn't even needed to record the murder for blackmail material; he now owned Détente, body and soul.

The room was so silent that he heard the chilling whisper from behind him. "Too easy. Too quick."

And he knew that was a warning: if the monster ever had to come for him, his demise would be neither of those.

<><>​

Shadowblade

"And that's it?" asked Sophia as they left the building again. "We just let him walk away?"

"We let him walk away, yes," agreed Marquis. "But he may as well have been stabbing himself, just then. As an independent operator, he's finished. He'll never go up against me again, and he will promote my needs and wishes wherever he goes."

The pure assurance in Marquis' tone was what convinced her. "… wow," she concluded. "I guess I've still got a lot to learn about this sort of thing."

"You're young, still." He slapped her lightly on the shoulder as they reached the car. "You did very well, by the way. Your comments, as heartfelt as they were, were entirely on point and helped keep him off-guard. Also, your work in cleaning up the minions downstairs was exceptionally useful."

"Huh. Thanks." She stepped aside as Jonas emerged from the car. "Hi, Jonas. We kicked ass. You should've seen us."

"I had no doubt, Miss Hess." Jonas opened the rear door for them. "Miss Marchant has been telling me all about it." Sitting in the car, clad once more in her evening gown, Claire greeted them with a slight quirk of her lips.

Sophia rolled her eyes. "Because of course she has." It was just like Claire to have made it back and changed to her regular human form before they even got out of the building. "Budge over, I'm coming in."

Once they were all seated in the car and travelling at a sedate pace back toward Marquis' home, Marquis turned to Sophia. "As I said, you did well. However, this side of things isn't for everyone. If you have any misgivings, feel free to air them now. None of us will see you any differently for it."

She didn't even have to think about it before she shook her head. "Hell, no. I'm in this, I'm in it all the way. Anyway, the only reason I didn't stab that asshole myself back in the mall is because I didn't have a sharp enough knife. He got what he deserved. And the fact that he got it from the guy who'd let him off the chain in the first place, that was even better."

Claire cleared her throat lightly. "Not that I'm questioning your methods, Dad. I mean, I'm really pleased at the way everything turned out. But just on general principles, did you think about keeping Jay on as well, to work for us like Détente will be?"

"I considered it, briefly." He looked from Claire to Sophia and back again. "You may very well have been able to rewrite his personality to be not the way he was, but that would've essentially killed him all the same. All that aside, I personally found everything about him to be thoroughly repugnant. Having Détente kill him both cemented my ascendancy and removed a potential problem forever."

Sophia felt she should speak up. "Just on my account, I don't think I could've ever looked at him again without seeing the way he was sliming on to Claire, and I'd want to knock his teeth in all over again."

Marquis nodded. "And that's perfectly legitimate. In my personal opinion, Masters who control people have a personal responsibility to never abuse that power. If they do, the fallout is all on them."

"Wait." Sophia held up a finger. "So, you're saying that human Masters can't use their powers for crime? Sorry if I'm not understanding you, but isn't all use of powers for crime technically abuse of those powers?"

"Well, yes. As you say, technically." Marquis chuckled. "You're a sharp one." His demeanour turned serious again. "However, there's legal abuse of powers, and then there's just going too far. A human Master who forces his victims to empty the safe then tie each other up while he makes his getaway is one thing; one who enslaves people or otherwise forces himself on them, such as the one they're calling Heartbreaker up in Canada, is quite another. Likewise, a Master who uses his power to torture women or children, or make them kill themselves, is beyond the pale. Do you understand the difference?"

Claire frowned. "Robert and Marcus. Would you say they were enslaved?"

"Wait, Marcus? Your cousin Marcus?" Sophia had met him briefly, in passing, and thought he was nice. It wasn't exactly a common name. Robert, however, she knew nothing of.

"No, I do not." Marquis turned his attention to Sophia. "There are some things we don't discuss, and that is one of them. Are you alright with that?"

"Well, yeah." It wasn't like she could say anything else.

Claire wrapped her arm around Sophia's shoulders in a side-hug. "See, Dad? I knew she was solid."

"Not altogether surprising, my dear Claire." He gave both girls an austere smile. "You do have good taste when it comes to choosing friends." As they both began to speak, he held up one finger. "Aside from the latest one, of course, but you no more chose him than a street magician's mark gets to choose his own card from those offered him."

"Yeah." Sophia returned the side-hug. "That little shit came after you. Taylor and Emma are your real friends, and they're pretty damn cool." She was starting to regret not seeing through how 'Jay' had been piling on the charm. It had been funny at the time, but there was no humour in the situation now.

Masters, she decided, were dicks.

<><>​

The Next Day

Not Far Out of Brockton Bay

Bonesaw


Miles and miles had passed by the windows of the dilapidated motor-home that they had acquired days ago. Riley had tried to be a good girl and simply watch the scenery, but curiosity finally overcame her.

"Mr Jack, what's Marquis like?"

She fully expected a flippant answer, but he actually stopped and thought about it first. "He's strong willed, and he's a perfectionist," he finally said. "Never settles for second best. The same goes for his personal life. He'd never accept the idea of working for someone else. I tried to recruit him, and he came close to putting a bone spike through my head."

"You mean he tried, or that he thought about it and decided not to?" asked Shatterbird, at the wheel.

"Oh, he definitely tried." Jack grimaced, a rare expression for him. "Very nearly succeeded, too. The man just would not listen to reason. Also, excellent reflexes; his bone stopped my blades at every turn."

"So, the rumours are true?" Shatterbird turned her head and raised an eyebrow. "You were chased out of the city?"

Jack's expression tightened. "Of course not. I merely had places to be, and there were no good recruits to be had, once he killed Psychosoma."

"Hmm. I see." Shatterbird shared a glance with Riley, one that said quite clearly, Marquis totally chased him out.

Good girls didn't giggle about embarrassing their boss and father figure, so Riley didn't giggle. But she was amused anyway.

"So, how are we gonna take him down?" That was Hatchet Face, whose placing in the motorhome was far enough back that his power didn't nullify theirs. "If he's so good, I mean."

That he intended to take Marquis down personally, Riley took as a matter of course. Hatchet Face had a habit of calling 'dibs' on the most powerful cape on the scene, because once they closed to melee range, he always had the advantage. The only ones he steered clear of were Tinkers, and Shatterbird could usually take care of those.

Jack cleared his throat. "I understand he's gathered a group of like-minded capes under his banner. This is a change; when last we clashed, he was an army of one. One of these is reportedly his daughter, Marchioness. There's another rumoured one, possibly a case fifty-three, quite monstrous and thoroughly deadly. A couple more seem to have been poached from the ranks of the Empire Eighty-Eight. As for the rest, I'm still working on that." He smiled at Riley, Shatterbird and Mannequin. "The basic plan is to either kill or co-opt his minions, then drive him through an obstacle course until he's out of sneaky tricks. Then I'll have my rematch, and my victory."

Riley nodded; that was how Mr Jack usually played it. Divide and conquer was a valid tactic, after all. They always won out in the end, even if they did occasionally leave a member dead behind them. Mr Jack called it the price of infamy.

"So, what about these, uh, Mercia that I read about online?" asked Shatterbird. "How'd he find so many Mover-Brutes?"

Jack stroked his beard. "Well, unless he's got someone like my poppet here working for him, my best guess is a Trump power-granter, like Galvanate was back in the day. Kill the Trump, kill the powers."

"Marchioness is an area-effect healer," Riley noted. "Maybe she's the Trump as well?"

"Possibly, but I doubt it." Jack shook his head. "That would make for a very specific set of grab-bag powers. It might be the case fifty-three, though."

"Which Empire capes does he have on hand?" Shatterbird glanced back. "Anyone famous?"

"Purity and Crusader, though they're going by Palatina and Legionnaire." Now Jack just looked amused. "No matter how much he whitewashes them—so to speak—they'll still be Nazis."

"Purity's mine." Shatterbird's tone was definite. "I can take her."

"Good, good." Jack waved assent. "As well as the power granting Trump, Crusader also needs to be a priority target for everyone. His ghosts are a hard counter for all of us except Crawler. Until he's dead, we're all at risk."

Riley half-raised her hand. "May I have the case fifty-three? And Marchioness? I want to see if I can figure out how their powers work."

"Certainly, poppet." Mr Jack gave her a proud paternal smile. "I like to see you pushing your boundaries."

Riley beamed; she was always happy when Mr Jack approved of what she wanted to do.

<><>​

At the Same Time

Northwest Middle School

Taylor


"Claire, hey!" Taylor swooped in on her friend and wrapped her up in a hug. "Missed you over the weekend! Did you get up to anything cool?"

Claire grinned and hugged her right back. "Nothing too exciting. Sophia came over and we had a bit of a workout."

As Taylor released Claire, Emma got a hug in on her from the back. "Workout, huh? Is this about that other thing?"

"Yeah." Claire shrugged. "Dad had some ideas for testing, so we tried them out. She did really well."

"And you didn't call us in too?" Emma sounded positively jealous. "I would've wanted to see that!"

"Me too." Taylor tried to glare at Claire, but she couldn't pull it off. "I haven't even gotten to see her do that stuff for real yet."

"Sorry, guys." Claire put an arm around each of them. "We were on a roll, so we just went with it. Next time, yeah?"

"Yeah, next time for sure." Emma made wiggling motions with her fingers. "Otherwise, next sleepover, you're gonna wake up with mashed potatoes in your hair."

"Or something even worse than that," Taylor interjected, but drew a blank when she tried to think of something. "Like, umm … just as soon as I come up with it."

"Ah, yes." Claire raised her eyebrow. "The fearsome revenge of Taylor Hebert: 'just wait until I come up with it'."

Emma winked at Taylor. "Anyway, when we didn't see you, we thought you might be spending time with Jay."

"Ooh, yes." Taylor did her best to give Claire a lovey-dovey look, but she suspected it only made her appear constipated. "Jaaaaayyyyyy …"

"Nah, that ship's sailed." Claire shook her head definitively. "I was at the mall before Sophia came over, and I saw him briefly. Overheard him, really. Talking to one of his friends about me."

Emma blinked, and Taylor's head came up. That didn't sound good.

"And …?" prompted Emma.

Claire took a deep breath. "The way he was talking, he was planning to ask me out, take me someplace quiet, and see just how far he could push things. The phrase I heard was 'home run'. So, I went over and told him he could run along home, because I never wanted to see him again. And I may have thrown my drink in his face."

"Woo!" Emma clapped her hands together. Then her face fell, and she gave Claire a quick side-hug. "Sorry to hear that."

"Same here," agreed Taylor. "He wasn't really my type, and now I'm pretty sure I know why."

"I'm just glad I found out before he got around to trying anything." Claire sounded upbeat enough to be telling the truth. "He was nice on the surface and all, but that was as far as it went. So, I think it's best all around."

"Well, okay then." Emma nodded, her expression sympathetic. "Sorry for teasing you about that. I thought he was a nice guy."

"Yeah." Taylor wanted to say something to lighten the mood, but nothing came to mind. It wasn't often that she was lost for words, but this was one of those times. "What Emma said, I guess."

"Geez, wow." Claire looked at the two of them. "Cheer up. You'd think someone died or something. Seriously, Taylor, this is the longest I've ever heard you go without talking up a storm about something. Are you okay?"

Her joking tone was exactly what Taylor needed to see the funny side of things. "Well, now that you mention it, I was just about to make an observation about how the first time Jay saw you, he came off his wheels, and now because he's a pushy jerk, the wheels have come off any chance of a relationship."

"Nice." Emma nodded judiciously and gave Taylor a high-five. "I give it a seven out of ten."

"Eight out of ten at least," Claire decided. "That was pretty good for off-the-cuff." She looked at Emma and Taylor, and tilted her head. "So, enough about me. What did you two do over the weekend?"

Taylor took up the thread. "Well, you know how Emma's thinking of training to be a model? Saturday, we hung out at hers while a friend of her dad's gave her pro tips for how to stand and walk in clothing—and my god, I'm pretty sure I've been doing it wrong all my life—then on Sunday we went down to the Boardwalk and did wind sprints on the beach."

"And faceplanted a few times," Emma reminded her. "Don't forget the faceplants."

"Yeah, yeah." Taylor rolled her eyes, hiding her grin. "Traction on sand is hard when you're trying to do a fast takeoff. But we got there. Next track meet, we're gonna blitz everyone."

"Except maybe Sophia." Emma raised her eyebrows. "That girl's got game."

Taylor gestured magnanimously. "Meh, I'll take the one and two hundred, we'll let her have the four, and and you can take the eight and sixteen." It seemed hugely funny to her that they were dividing up who was going to win which event, long before the events were ever run.

"And she'll totally take second place in the ones she doesn't win," predicted Claire. "She is very good over the middle distances."

"Maybe third," Emma suggested. "I bet I could beat her over two hundred."

Claire tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Probably, yes. But you'd have to go all-out from the jump, get in front of her and just stay there. Not easy."

Taylor wasn't thinking about foot races. "So, uh, did Sophia say anything about what she was going to be doing for her, uh, book report?" Because Sophia was her friend, and Taylor was intensely curious about what she'd be doing with her new powers.

Claire hesitated, which was unusual for her. "We discussed it. She said she wasn't averse to doing it about the French aristocrat, but she hadn't made any moves on that front yet."

Emma nodded. "Yeah, thought as much. I totally would. He's pretty damn cool, as far as I'm concerned."

"Well, yeah, but …" Taylor paused, figuring out what she was going to say. "I'd probably want to do it about a heroic character. That's just me, though."

The bell chose that moment to ring. "And that's totally legitimate," agreed Claire. "But homeroom beckons. See you at lunch."

"See you there." Emma waved as she headed off. Taylor did the same.

Just another boring Monday at school. Yay.

<><>​

Jack Slash

As the motorhome rolled into the outskirts of Brockton Bay proper, Hatchet Face spoke up. He didn't sound impressed. "Well, this is a shithole."

At the wheel, Jacob looked around with interest. He enjoyed going to new places, meeting interesting people, and killing them. One of the things he'd noticed was that a lot of people matched the places where they lived; if it was run-down, so were their lives. A city with an air of hopeful progress would have many hopeful, progressive citizens. One thing inspired the other, and vice versa.

What he really took pleasure in was changing the ethos of a place merely by showing up. In fairness, the change was inevitably toward a fear of what might be lurking around the corner (himself or one of the Nine) but that was to everyone's benefit, in the end. A healthy dose of paranoia was good for the soul. Also, people talked about the Nine for years after he left, so he was improving their lives in other ways as well.

What he hated was being ignored, so he made sure that never happened.

The sole constant factor between Brockton Bay then and now was Marquis, of course. Heroes had come and gone, as had villains. While a couple of Protectorate heroes remained from his previous visit, back then they'd just been the new blood. This time, they'd be leading the charge.

But his focus wouldn't be on them. Certainly, he'd be looking to recruit, and if any heroes seemed disaffected enough to be prospects, he'd keep an open mind, but his main aim in coming to Brockton Bay was to settle things once and for all with Marquis. The osteokinetic was the closest thing he had to a friend; specifically, an enemy he hadn't killed yet.

"It certainly is," he agreed readily enough. The decade and change he'd spent away had not been kind to the city. Allowing the gangs to run rampant had a negative effect; who knew?

"When do we announce ourselves?" asked Shatterbird. He had to admit that she truly enjoyed using her trademark scream to soften up a city's population, but it was a very one-note attack (pun intended). Sooner or later, someone would come up with a method of defending against it, whether they used Tinkertech or something else, and then the Nine would be on the back foot until he determined a new way to announce his presence.

"In time." He pulled the motorhome over to the side of the road. "I need to do some research and see what we'll be up against." For some reason, looking up information from within the target city got him more insights on the capes he was investigating. Whether it was a psychological effect or he just processed intel better when he was on the spot, he didn't know and honestly didn't care all that much. It just worked that way.

He'd heard about this 'internet' fad that was sweeping the nation, but he didn't put much stock in it. There was no room for a bulky desktop computer in the motorhome, even if he'd possessed the time or the patience to learn how to use them. Better to glean what he needed to know the old-fashioned way: newspapers, and lots of them. Delving through pages of newsprint, he knew he'd be able to ferret out the nuggets of truth that he needed.

And once he was armed with the important facts … that was when he'd strike.

<><>​

That Afternoon

Marchioness


"We're home, Dad!"

Claire was still debating with her father about letting her ride the bus with everyone else since the Jay debacle. Her argument was that if she didn't want to stand out from the crowd, then public transport was the way to go. He was still stubborn on the point, but she expected to wear him down in a week or two, but for now she was riding with Jonas.

(The fact that she'd be able to chat with her friends on the way home would be a nice bonus.)

Heading up to her room, she dropped her backpack on her bed and took a quick shower. Using her powers to remove dirt and sweat was possible, and she sometimes did that when she was pressed for time, but nothing beat a good hot shower for feeling clean afterward. Humming to herself, she put on T-shirt and jeans and wandered downstairs again.

"Ah, there you are." Her father, in his Earl Marchant persona, greeted her at the bottom of the stairs. "Did you have a good day, Claire-bear?"

"Yeah. We had to write a short essay in English, so I did it about the new growth in the city. Didn't mention you by name, but I don't think I had to."

He raised an eyebrow. "I hope you're being careful. If one teenage girl starts gushing about how Marquis is the saviour of the city, some people might start adding two and two."

"Haha, nope." She grinned at him. "Half the class are secretly your fans, after we drove out the Empire and the ABB. The other half are ex-Empire and ABB recruits."

"Ah, I see. So, half the essays will be about how bad I am for the city, while the other half will be about how good I am." He sounded highly amused by that.

She nodded wisely. "You've met high school kids before, then."

"Merely an observation on human nature, my dear. Such as the similar observation that once the city's Dockworkers were given a concrete goal, they've gone all-in on it."

"True. Which reminds me, when are they pulling the next ship out of the water?" That was usually when her services were needed the most.

He bent an approving gaze on her. "Tomorrow afternoon. I understand that they see you somewhat as a mascot. Or even a good-luck charm."

"I wish." She rolled her eyes. "I don't do good luck, just good health. But they're smart and they know what they're doing."

"I rarely question such things. Psychological effects, however random, have a very real effect on workplaces." His cell-phone rang, and he retrieved it from his pocket. "And there the man is himself. Excuse me; I must take this."

"Sure." She headed off in the direction of the greenhouse. It had been a little while since she'd visited there, and she liked to make sure the plants were all thriving. Surrounding herself with life was always a pleasant experience; something like going to school, but with less homework involved.

When she opened the door, she knew the sprinklers had just finished misting down the plants, from the smell of water in the air. She closed the door behind her and shut her eyes, drifting along between the plants with her fingertips brushing the leaves and stems. As they entered her aura of effect, she took on the knowledge of how well they were doing, and nudged them back onto the correct track. Most were exceedingly healthy; only a few needed correcting.

At the far end, she placed her hand on one of the plants. Hello, Mr Green. I haven't spoken with you in a while. What's been going on around town?

The plant obediently produced a very special seed-pod, which she popped into her mouth and swallowed. Within, encoded in intricate chemical formulae, was a recording of what every outlying part of Mr Green's distributed intelligence had seen in the last twenty-four hours. Closing her eyes again, she experienced it all, submerging herself in the totality of the citywide awareness.

And then her eyes flickered open again. Diving back into the pod's stored memory, she flicked through the plant-based timestamps until she reached the section that covered the input from scrubby grasses and scrawny bushes on the poor side of town. A motorhome, pulling up at the curb, with nobody else around.

Several people got out. One, a tall man with a certain look to him. Another, a blonde child wearing a distinctive dress. The third, a tall, bulky, scarred man hefting a large axe.

By the time Mannequin stepped out of the motorhome, she knew exactly who she was looking at. This is bad. This is very bad.

She barely remembered to close the greenhouse door as she bolted back into the house. "Dad?" she called out. "Dad! We've got trouble!"



End of Part Thirty-Five
 
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