I, Panacea (Worm SI Fanfic)

[Ack]

When Amy Dallon is hit on the head during the Brockton Bay bank robbery, she wakes up with a passenger in her head ...

Disclaimers:
1) This story is set in the Wormverse, which is owned by Wildbow. Thanks for letting me use it.
2) I will follow canon as closely as I can. If I find something that canon does not cover, then I will make stuff up. If canon then refutes me, then I will revise. Do not bother me with fanon; corrections require citations.
3) I welcome criticism of my works, but if you tell me that something is wrong, I also expect an explanation of what is wrong, and a suggestion of how to fix it. Note that I do not promise to follow any given suggestion.


Index
Part One: Oh No, Not Again (below)
Part Two: Getting Along
Part Three: Taking the Bull by the Horns
Part Four: Villainous Interactions
Part Five: Arguing the Point
Part Six: Arguments and Agreements
Part Seven: Questions and Answers
Part Eight: Facing the Music
Part Nine: Discoveries and Revelations
Part Ten: Anger Management
Part Eleven: Stations of Canon
Part Twelve: Escalation
Part Thirteen: Out of the Frying Pan
Part Fourteen: Moving Right Along
Part Fifteen: Arrival
Part Sixteen: Panacea at Winslow, Part the First
Part Seventeen: Panacea at Winslow, Part the Second
Part Eighteen: Whatever Happened to Alexandria?
Part Nineteen: Panacea at Winslow, Part the Third
Part Twenty: Panacea at Winslow, Part the Fourth
Part Twenty-One: Just in Time
Part Twenty-Two: Negotiations
Part Twenty-Three: Playing Hardball
Part Twenty-Four: Adjustments
Part Twenty-Five: Taking Care of Business
Part Twenty-Six: One Thing After Another
Part Twenty-Seven: Do What You Gotta Do
Part Twenty-Eight: Mind Games
Part Twenty-Nine: Introductions
Part Thirty: The Beginning of the End
Part Thirty-One: Tattletale Saves the World (Part One)
Part Thirty-Two: Tattletale Saves the World (Part Two)

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

A Worm SI Story

Part 1: Oh No, Not Again


14 April 2011

Brockton Bay Central Bank

Just after midday

"Eight seconds."

Amy wasn't really sure if Tattletale was bluffing, or if she really had damaging information about Amy's real father. She did seem very sure of herself. On the other hand, Amy really didn't want these two supervillains – they weren't any older than her! - to get away with robbing the bank in broad daylight.

Gambling that the bug girl was just bluffing, that she wouldn't really cut her throat, Amy lunged free of her grip. She met Vicky's eyes as she got free; Vicky nodded slightly and went for Tattletale. The girl in the skin-tight outfit tried to get behind a desk, but Vicky simply went over it, shoving her backward with all the power of which she was capable.

For a moment, Amy thought that Glory Girl might simply fly into the wall, crushing the girl to a bloody pulp, but she stopped just short of it. Giving Tattletale a hard shove that slammed her into the wall, she put her hand over the girl's mouth. Amy approved; Tattletale's voice seemed to be the most dangerous thing about her.

Now to deal with the bug girl.

Amy began to turn back toward the second supervillain. She'd already shown herself unwilling to use the knife on Amy, so all Amy had to do -

Too late, she heard the metallic click-click-click-click.

That's not a gun.

The extendible baton caught her just above the ear. She staggered a couple of feet, then tumbled to the ground.

=///=​

"-an you hear me, miss? Hello? Can you hear me?"

There was a bright light shining in her eye. She tried to blink; the reflex happened, but it was late. A second or so after she applied the effort. The light shifted to her other eye; again, the blink was late. Really, really late.

"Can you hear me?" asked the voice again.

She tried to frame an answer, but her lips and tongue were unresponsive.

And then she answered, anyway. "Yes. I can hear you."

That wasn't what I was going to say!

What?

The voice in the back of her head startled her. It was distinct from her own thoughts, audible over the buzz of sound around her.

"Where … where am I?" she heard herself ask, to her utter consternation. She knew where she was.

Okay, where am I?

What? Who are you? Where are you?

Right here. Who are you? What are you doing in my head? And where am I?

The man asking questions, the paramedic, asked, "Do you remember your name?"

"I, uh -" her lips faltered.

What's my name? Where am I?

I don't know what your name is, but my name's Amy Dallon. Now get out of my head!

I thought this was my head. Fuck.

"- uh, Amy Dallon -"

Whatever was controlling her lips, her speech, seemed to freeze up at that moment.

Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me.

What would I be kidding you about?

A silent groan. I'm in fucking Brockton Bay again, aren't I?

Mentally, she frowned. I'm in Brockton Bay, yes. Why?

What date is it?

What does that matter to you?

A lot.

At that moment, the paramedic asked, "Miss Dallon, do you know what date it is?"

A sigh. Did you just get hit in the head by a girl who could control bugs, right after you clocked her with a fire extinguisher?

You forgot about the bit where she held a knife to my throat.

She wasn't going to use it. She just didn't want to get pummelled to a pulp by your foster sister.

Out loud, her lips said, "April fourteenth, two thousand and eleven."

How did you know that now, when you didn't know it before?

The voice was grim. Trust me, Amy, I know this shit. Can you control your body at all? I'm letting go.

She felt a subtle relaxation, all over her body. Exerting herself, she strained to blink her eyes, move a finger, do anything.

Nothing happened.

Oh god, what's happened to me?

I have an idea. Not the how, but the what.

What? Tell me. Please.

When you got hit, you got … jarred. Jolted loose from your body. And stupid fucking me dropped into the command seat before you got back.

What? How is that even possible?

Oh, trust me. The grim tone was back. I have a habit of doing this shit.

"Amy." The voice was Vicky's. "Can you move? Can you get up?"

She felt the stranger in her mind reassert control, and she got up, moving awkwardly. Vicky helped her, supporting her, until her footing was steady.

"Thanks," her voice sounded strange in her ears. "Are you all right, Vicky?"

Glory Girl's face was blotched with insect bites, and her eyes were reddened. "I'll be fine. I'll be a lot better once I catch up with the Undersiders."

"Here, let me help you with that." Amy felt her hand rest on her sister's bare skin. There was a pause.

Okay, how do I turn it on?

Turn what on?

Your biokinesis. You want to heal your sister's bug bites, right?

How did you even know I had biokinesis?

A sigh. Oh, for fuck's sake. Are we going to trust each other, or not?

How can I trust you? You haven't even told me your name.

A pause. I haven't? I thought I had.

No. You hadn't.

Ah. Sorry. My name's Michael Allen.

That doesn't tell me much. Are you a Thinker?

No. I'm a security guard.

You have to be joking.

I only wish I was. Now, can I have the keys to the car, or not?

… I don't think so. Not for the moment.

A sigh. Great.

She realised that Vicky was looking at her expectantly. "Amy?"

Her arm lifted and her hand pressed to her forehead. "Sorry, Vicky. Head's a bit sore. I'm finding it a little hard to concentrate. Maybe later?"

That's weak.

Spur of the moment, okay?

You realise, Vicky's known me all my life. She'll realise it's not me running the show sooner or later.

It's not like I planned this, okay?

You could tell them what's happened.

Oh, for fuck's sake. I don't even know what happened. Just that it did. And how's it going to sound? "Hey, listen. I'm not really Amy, I'm just driving her body while she gives me advice from the back seat." Master/Stranger protocols much?

… oh.

Yeah. Oh. Now listen, there's things we need to discuss.

Amy was vaguely aware that her sister had replied to her, and was waiting for her to answer.

Aren't you going to talk to her?

What? What did she say?

I thought you were listening.

No. No, I was not.

"Uh, sorry," she heard herself say. "I was kind of distracted."

"I'll say you are, Ames," Vicky told her. "I was thinking we call in sick from school and go straight home. You look like you need about a week of bed rest."

Amy felt herself nodding. "Yeah, that's a really good idea. I'm not feeling the greatest."

Vicky frowned. "Maybe you should go to the hospital?"

"Uh, no," she replied. "Just a lie down should do me the world of good."

Glory Girl nodded. "Yeah, me too. And once you feel better, maybe you can do something about these insect bites. They sting like crazy."

Mentally, Amy bit her lip. Oh, Vicky …

She 'heard' Michael Allen – whoever that was – sigh. I offered to heal her.

She felt Vicky gather her up, and they lifted into the air, the wind whistling through her hair.

And if I showed you how to turn on my powers, you'd have access to them then.

You can trust me. Seriously. I'm not going to misuse your powers.

Sorry, I need more assurance than that.

Her body rolled its eyes. And how exactly am I supposed to give you proof?

That's not my problem.

You're right. It's our problem. And it will continue being our problem until you learn to cooperate with me. Oh, and one other thing.

What?

I know about you being in love with Vicky. That ends now.

A frozen lump encased her heart. What?

You heard me. In any case, it's not you. It's her. She used that damn aura of hers once too often on you, when she first got her powers.

I – that can't be -

Abruptly, her body went limp, every muscle relaxing. Instinctively, she tried to assert control again.

Nothing.

Allen took over again, turning her head toward Vicky, who was looking at her with concern.

"Amy?" asked her sister. "What was that? You scared me."

She felt herself nodding. "I just … felt weak for a bit. If you can get me home, I'll try to rest."

The wind-rush increased. "Okay, Ames. Just hang on. I'll get you there."

Dammit, thought that might work.

What might work?

Giving you a shock, then letting go. See if you could regain control.

Well, it didn't work. She paused. Was that a lie, then? To shock me?

Nope. Truth, as far as I know.

It … it can't be.

Sure it can. Also, your stepmother is wrong.

… about?

You. You're not about to turn into a supervillain, just because your father is one.

What?

What what?

My father's a supervillain?

Well, duh. Why do you think Brandish has been down on you all your life? She thinks 'like father like daughter'. Which is utter bullshit.

Uh … is it?

Sure. My dad raises cattle. I'm a security guard. You know O'Hare Airport in Chicago?

Bewildered by the change of subject, she responded anyway. Uh, yes?

The guy it was named after, a flying ace in World War 2, his dad was the accountant for Al Capone. We do not grow up to be our parents.

I … I guess?

I don't guess. I know. Ah, we're coming in for a landing. This where you live?

What, something you don't know?

Oh, har har. Listen, once you have a bit of a camp -

A what?

A sleep, he replied patiently. Hopefully you'll be back in control. But I still need to talk to you about stuff.

What sort of stuff?

Saving the world.

Amy had no answer to that.

=///=​

Vicky landed more or less on the front doorstep, and set Amy on her feet. She felt the stranger behind her eyes take control of her body; when Vicky opened the door, she watched herself step through and into the house.

She hadn't gone three paces when Carol was there, staring at the two of them.

"And what happened to you two?"

"There was a bank robbery, Mom," Vicky began. "Amy got hurt -"

"Not too badly, I see," Carol broke in. "I don't see any blood." She nodded to Vicky. "But what happened to you, Victoria?"

"Bug bites," mumbled Vicky. "Look, Amy's not feeling too good, so I was thinking she could have a shower and go to bed."

"And Amy hasn't healed you yet?" demanded Carol. "Why not?"

Because someone won't show me how.

Because I know what my powers could do if I wasn't careful with them. And I don't trust you to be careful.

Gee, thanks a lot.

Would you trust a total stranger with your powers?

"She's not feeling good, Mom," Vicky repeated. "She got hit in the head. They think she might have a mild concussion."

Carol stared at them for a long moment, then nodded curtly. "Go ahead. But I want to hear more about it, once you're both feeling better."

Vicky nodded, and put an arm around Amy's shoulders. "Come on, Ames, let's get you upstairs."

Her body paused as they reached the upstairs corridor.

Uh, which one's your room?

Why don't you figure it out for yourself?

A sigh. Amy, I'm on your side. Work with me, here.

She relented a little. Okay, second on the right.

Thanks.

His control over her body's movements wasn't perfect yet; either that, or the body itself was still a bit woozy from the hit to the head. In any case, she stumbled over the threshold of her room, where the carpet stuck up a bit. Immediately, Vicky was at her side, supporting her.

"Hey, are you all right?"

"Yeah," Amy heard herself say. "I'm fine. Just gonna lie down for a bit."

Oh god, please do not offer to help me get undressed.

What are you worried about? It's my body.

Oh god. You had to remind me. Okay, not getting undressed.

What, not ever?

Amy. You're a sixteen year old girl. I'm a forty-four year old man. I am not going to go there.

I have to shower sometime. And girls have hygiene needs too.

Fuck, I hope you have control back by the time we need to do that.

He honestly sounded worried; she took pity on him. So do I, Michael. So do I.


End of Part One

Part Two

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Two: Getting Along

[Author's Note: the character Michael Allen is the same character who features in Security! This story is a sequel of sorts to that one; the action of Security! is resolved before I, Panacea starts.

Yes, he's getting sick and tired of this.]


Amy blinked her way awake. There was a thumping on her door.

"Ames!" she heard Vicky calling. "Phone call!"

She pushed herself to a sitting position and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Coming," she replied.

She was on her feet before she realised what was going on. I'm in control again! Oh, thank god! She paused. Was that just a hallucination or something? Did I imagine it?

Nope. Afraid not.

She stumbled in mid-step, would have fallen if her arm hadn't shot out and grabbed the door frame.

Careful there, kiddo.

As quickly as she had lost control of her limb, she regained it; she could almost literally feel the outside force retreating, leaving her in command of her body once more.

Oh god, it wasn't a dream. It was real. She started to hyperventilate.

Yeah, look, sorry. I think we got off on the wrong foot earlier. Please calm down. Freaking out isn't going to do anyone any good.

Her fear, her apprehension came to the fore. Calm down? CALM DOWN? Are you the one with the strange voice stuck in your head?Are you the one who keeps having their body taken over by an outside force?

No," he told her flatly, I'm the one stuck in a strange body with no way to go home. So yeah, I'm freaking just a bit too. There was a pause; she imagined him taking a deep breath. So can we both please take a step back and think about what we're going to say next?

He was so obviously trying to be reasonable that she did calm down, just a bit. So why are you here? In my head?

I can't be sure, but I have the distinct idea that I'm supposed to save the world.

You said that before. Save the world? From what?

I … can we go into that later, when we have more time? Your sister said something about a phone call.

Oh. Right.

It'll be the Wards.

How do you know that?

Because they got fairly beaten about, fighting the Undersiders. Especially Aegis. And because you went to see them the last time.

The last time what?

The last time you did this. He paused. Well, not the last time last time. That time, no-one got hurt. Let's say the 'first' time. Another pause. Look, can you just answer the phone? Please?

Why don't you answer it? You didn't have any problem with acting for me before.

Because now we have a choice, and I'd rather not. I want you in control of your body.

She blinked. What?

Amy, we're going to need to be partners here. Work together. And for that to work, we're going to need to agree to boundaries. I think "no taking over your partner's body without her express permission" is a good start, don't you?

Somewhat taken aback, she nodded. I … I guess.

"Ames?" came Vicky's voice from outside the door. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she called back. "Just … thinking about something." She took hold of the door handle, opened the door. Her body worked smoothly, with easy coordination. There was no outside control going on.

Vicky was standing there, holding the cordless phone, her face still swollen and welted. She handed it over to Amy. "It's the PRT, calling about the Wards."

You were right.

A mental impression of a shrug. Educated guess.

Numbly, Amy took the phone. "Hello?"

It was Deputy Director Renick on the other end; Amy had spoken with him before. As the voice in her head had predicted, he was asking for her to come in and heal the Wards of their most grievous wounds.

Which reminded her; Vicky still bore the marks of the bugs that had apparently swarmed her after Amy had been knocked out.

You might want to heal her at some point too.

I'm not sure if I can trust you with my powers. In her head was a mental image of herself, under the compulsion of the voice within her head, using her powers willy-nilly. Hurting people. Killing people.

To be honest, I don't think I can use your powers. They're hooked into you, not me.

Really?

Yeah, really.

So why were you so anxious to know how to use them, earlier?

His voice was patient. Because I wasn't sure if you were ever going to regain control of your body.

Oh.

In her ear, Renick seemed to be waiting for a response.

She made a snap decision. "Uh, yeah. I'll be there." Hanging up the call, she handed the phone back to her sister. Touching Vicky's hand, she felt her power kicking in, reading her sister's body, telling Amy exactly what was wrong with it.

It took only the slightest exertion of her power to reverse the effects of the bites, to cause Vicky's body to metabolise the toxins, to smooth out the welts, to take away the irritation.

Wow.

What?

That was … awesome. Sheer poetry.

You were watching?

Unless I choose not to, I see everything you do.

Vicky raised her hand to her face. "Thanks, Ames. You're obviously feeling better?" Her voice was low, her eyes dull.

Amy smiled at her. "I'm feeling much more myself, yeah."

"So you're needed at the PRT building then, huh?"

Amy nodded. "Yeah. We need to help out the Wards. Give me a lift?"

Vicky shook her head. "Uh … rain check? Whatever Tattletale did to me really knocked the stuffing out of me. I just want to curl up under my quilt and not come out for a week." She did her best to muster a smile. "Get Dad to drive you?"

Amy nodded and headed back into her room. Closing the door, she leaned against it, breathing heavily.

What's up?

I hate lying to my sister.

You weren't lying. You just weren't telling her everything.

Which is still lying.

His voice was patient. Amy. You do that every day anyway. Remember?

Don't remind me. Anyway, you're saying that you can experience everything I do?

Unless I concentrate on something else, yeah.

That could get really creepy, really fast.

Uh yeah, I think I already pointed that out. Which is why I want for us to come to some sort of a partnership understanding sooner rather than later.

Well, it's going to be a one-sided partnership. You seem to have all the leverage. Her inner voice was bitter. After all, you can take over my body any time you like.

Not by choice! It was almost a shout. After a moment, she felt him relaxing. Sorry. Not by choice. And anyway, you have access to your powers and I don't.

She was shocked. You tried to use them?

Nope. I watched you use them. And I still have no idea how that works.

Oh. Right.

She opened her closet and pulled out the robes she habitually wore as Panacea, and laid them out on the bed. Then she went to pull her t-shirt off -

Whoa! Wait! What are you doing?

I need a shower. So I'm going to take one.

Oh god, okay. Let me get ready. Right, okay.

She could hear him humming to himself as she took her clothes off and wrapped herself in the towel.

"Just going for a shower!" she called to Vicky as she stepped out of her room.

"Already there!" was the reply, from the bathroom.

The humming in the back of her head intensified as she entered the bathroom; Vicky was already in the shower, the water running. Deliberately, she kept her eyes away from the shower cubicle.

"Can you make it quick?" she asked her sister.

"I was just about done. Wanted to feel clean again after those bug bites."

True to her word, Vicky turned the shower off and stepped from the cubicle, reaching for her towel. Involuntarily, Amy found her eyes wandering toward her sister's body -

LALALALALALALALALALA!

Startled, Amy jumped, then jerked her eyes away from Vicky.

Will you stop doing that? That's very distracting!

It's MEANT to be! Stop looking at her!

Rather than argue the point, Amy pulled off her towel, trying to ignore the "lalalalalalala" that had emerged in the back of her head once more, and stepped into the shower cubicle. She turned on the shower, but when she went to nudge the lever toward 'hot', her hand moved of its own accord and it went toward 'cold' instead. A freezing spray of water hit her, and she gasped.

What the hell are you doing?

His voice was terse. Cold shower. Do you the world of good.

What – is this because I looked at Vicky?

Yes. Now get clean. We've got some Wards to go heal.

At least let me use the hot water.

A sigh. Fine. Okay. Just get it over and done with.

Gritting her teeth, Amy nudged the lever back over to 'hot', and felt the water temperature become something more comfortable than 'arctic'. Then she started to wash herself.

Lalalalalalalala …

Will you stop doing that?

When you stop running your hands over yourself. Lalalalala …

That's very irritating.

He didn't answer, unless she counted "lalalalalalala ..." as an answer.

=///=​

By the time she was dressing, he was reciting poetry in her head. She had to admit, it was an improvement on "lalalalala", but she was puzzled and intrigued by some of the verses.

Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black

Resounded to the thunder of their tread ...

Okay, I'm dressed.

He stopped reciting. Oh, good.

That was an interesting poem.

Uh, I memorised it once upon a time. It was a way to pass the time.

I think I like it. I'd like to hear the whole thing sometime.

Sure thing. When we get a chance. But right now, we need to discuss matters.

What matters?

Improving your situation, for one. And saving the world, for two.

Improving my situation?

Yeah. Right now, your home life? Toxic as all hell. You have to change things, or it's going to go downhill fast.

How am I going to do that? And why will it go downhill? And why do you say my home life is toxic?

"Amy girl?" called Mark Dallon from outside her room. "Are you ready to go?"

"Nearly," Amy replied, adjusting her hood. "Okay, ready."

She opened the door and joined her foster father. They walked downstairs together.

Well, are you going to give me a straight answer?

Sure, but first I need to talk to you about the Undersiders.

What about the Undersiders?

About how they're not as bad as you think. In fact, I think you need to reach out to them. They could help you, and you could help them.

She stopped dead, halfway down the stairs. You have got to be fucking kidding me.

Mark went a few more steps, then turned to stare at her. "Amy? Something the matter?"

She mustered a smile. "No, I, uh, just remembered something. Let's go." She started down the steps again.

Seriously, you have to be kidding.

Not a word of it.

Wait a minute. She paused, remembering. The Undersiders have that guy, Regent. He can control minds. You're Regent, aren't you? Fucking with my head?

And nope again. Regent can't control minds, only bodies. Also, he needs to spend about a day working on someone before he can gain full control of them. And he can't talk to them mentally.

The shadow guy, Grue, then.

Creates darkness. Doesn't do control.

The bug girl.

She controls bugs, not people. And by the time you get to the PRT HQ, the Wards will have chosen the name 'Skitter' for her.

What – how do you know that?

A sigh. Because I've been through this all before. And before you ask, Bitch makes dogs grow, and she understands them really well, and Tattletale is super intuitive. That's it. Oh, and you might want to get in the car.

She looked around; she was standing by the car, and her father was holding the door open for her. "Ready to go, Amy girl?"

"Sure." She climbed into the car, and in moments they were on the road. The delay gave her time to think, and she went on the attack.

How do I know you aren't lying to me?

You don't. That's what trust is about, I guess.

I don't have much of a basis to trust you on, you know.

I know. Which is a real problem. Because there are things happening, bad things, and we only have a narrow window of opportunity to get on top of them, and I'd really rather be on the same page as you before we start.

His words sent a chill down her spine.

Bad things?

Really bad things.

Like what?

Like a twelve year old girl being kidnapped and forced to use her powers to make a supervillain even more powerful.

Okay, now that just sounds like the plot to a bad movie. How can he force her to use her powers, without her using them on him?

She's a precog, a powerful one. Right now, right this very second, he's forcibly addicting her to the drugs which he will use to control her.

She felt sick at the idea, but continued to argue. So where's this happening?

Right here in Brockton Bay.

I don't believe you. If there was a precog that strong, I've never heard of her. And definitely not one that's only twelve.

She only triggered very recently.

So how come she didn't see him coming and take steps?

Because he's a precog too, of a different type. And he made sure she knew that whatever she tried, he would kill people dear to her.

She paused. Oh. Okay, do these people have names, or is this all just hypothetical?

Yes. The supervillain is called Coil. And the girl's name is Dinah Alcott. She's the mayor's niece.

She rolled her eyes. Really. The mayor's niece. Sounds more and more like a bad movie all the time.

He sounded just like he was gritting his teeth. You have heard of Coil, right?

Sure. But he's just a bit player. A low tier operator. And you're saying he's a precog?

He's a lot more powerful than he lets on. He specialises in working from the shadows. The bank robbery? He was behind it. He's got several supervillain gangs on his payroll.

I'm really not sure that I believe you. Especially since I haven't heard of any such kidnapping.

He sighed. Why do you think the bank robbery went off in broad daylight? It was intended to draw everyone's attention. Several other big flashy crimes would have happened around the same time. All to act as distractions, so his men could grab Dinah.

She's that important to him?

In a nutshell - yes. He would cheerfully shoot any of his men - or his super-powered minions - in the head, to ensure that he keeps hold of her.

All this could just be a fabrication. You could be lying through your metaphorical teeth. But she was starting to wonder.

It's easy to prove or disprove. Get on to the mayor, ask where his niece Dinah is. If he can locate her, or if he doesn't have a niece, then I'm lying. If she's missing, then ... yeah.

She paused. He was right. His challenge was simple, direct, and to the point.

What if he's not lying?

Still right here, you know.

Go away. Let me think.

Love to. Let me know how it goes.

His presence seemed to dwindle, but not disappear. He seemed to be mumbling to himself, but that could simply have been his background thoughts.

She looked over at Mark as he hit the indicator to change lanes. "Dad?"

"Yes?"

"You know the mayor fairly well, right?"

He smiled slightly. "Met him a time or two. So you could say that, yeah."

"Does he have a niece by the name of Dinah?"

He blinked. "That's kind of out of the blue. But yes … I think he might, actually. His wife's sister's girl."

"Huh," she replied. "So, how old would she be?"

He frowned. "Twelve or thirteen, I think. Why?"

"Oh, no reason," she deflected. "Someone was talking, and I got curious."

"Okay," he replied, and turned his attention back to the road.

He has a niece called Dinah. Okay, that still doesn't prove anything.

There was no response. Hey! You still there?

Nope. In Puerto Rico for the holidays. Leave a message after the beep. Beep.

Stop being childish. Okay, so the mayor has a niece of the right age. Still doesn't prove anything.

Not if you don't want it to, no.

What's that supposed to mean?

A sigh. Amy. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just … stressed. Very stressed. And so are you. So right now, our chances of reaching any sort of amicable agreement are minimal.

I'm not stressed. I feel fine.

… says the girl to the voice in her head.

His mental tone was so dry, so deadpan, that she giggled mentally. Okay, point taken. I'm feeling a bit stressed myself.

It's what Tattletale said to you, isn't it?

How did you know about that?

He snorted. If I had a dollar for every time … okay, screw it. She was going to tell you exactly who your father was. And it would have messed with you head plenty. But I have the fix.

What?

I'll tell you, right here, right now. Vicky doesn't need to know. Mark and Carol know, of course. But once you know, you can start coming to terms with it. And you don't need to be scared of Tattletale telling everyone.

She felt a surge of apprehension. I – I'm not sure I want to know.

Remember what I told you earlier? We do not grow up to be our parents?

Yeah … but Vicky's kinda like Carol.

And not in the least like Mark. So what if you're like your real mom, and not your dad at all?

I … maybe?

I can guarantee you're not like your dad. I know this for an absolute fact. He was a murderer who kept his minions in absolute fear of him. You have respect for life and the well-being of others. He paused. Amy, I like you, and I want to help you through this.

Like me? You don't even know me!

She felt him smile. That's where you're wrong. I know more about you than you know about yourself.

Such as?

Your real name. The name your mother gave you.

Not my father?

No. She was raising you, but she had cancer, so she passed you on to your father before she died.

I … I didn't know.

When the Brockton Bay Brigade took on your father, he had them beat, but for the fact that he was hiding you in a closet. They saw the way he was trying to lead the fight away from you, so they went to attack the closet. He took the hit, to save you. He was wounded, couldn't fight any more, so he asked them to take care of you. If you'd gone into the foster system, someone would have found out about who you really were. He had enemies. It would not have gone well for you.

So Carol and Mark took me in?

Sarah and Neil would have, but they had Eric and Crystal already, and money troubles on top of that, so Sarah talked Carol into taking you.

But … why did Carol always dislike me?

His tone was gentle. She saw your real father in you. She was wrong, of course, but that's how she saw it. When she was only about thirteen, she and Sarah were kidnapped for ransom, but the kidnappers eventually decided to kill them. That's when they triggered. But before that point, Carol had started talking to the kidnappers, started empathising with them. Stockholm Syndrome. After that, after they tried to kill her, she felt that everyone was out to betray her. So she married a man with chronic depression, because he was safe. Let herself get pregnant with Vicky, because a child of her own body was safe.

And then … I came into her life. Amy's tone was wondering.

Yeah. Child of a supervillain. Not her child, not from a safe parent. She saw you as the epitome of everything that was wrong with the world. But she's mistaken. You're a good person.

I … I don't think so.

He snorted. Better than you think.

No. I'm really not. I … get these feelings, sometimes.

He spoke soothingly, evenly. I know you do.

She flared at him. You don't know anything.

His tone never changed. The kid, with the heart. From Egypt, right? You hated him, because he was going to have a life, and your life was just taken up with healing people, right?

Amy felt her eyes fill with tears. How can you … how can you know this?

Same way I know that you're a good kid. That you've got far too much pressure on you, and you're hurting. You aren't a bad person, and you don't want to be a bad person. But the way things are going, you'll be forced into doing something bad. Because no-one can live the way you are without snapping, sooner or later.

His voice was calm, matter of fact. Not discounting her fears, but simply discussing them. Bringing them out into the open.

But – what can I do?

She felt his smile. See, that's where I come in.

=///=​

She was ushered through into a rear office, where she met with the Deputy Director. "Thank you for coming, Panacea," he told her, shaking her hand. "Here's your visitor's badge."

She hung the badge around her neck. "Want to come down, meet the guys, Dad?"

Mark shook his head. "No. I think I'll hang about and talk over old times with Phil here."

"Suit yourself." Amy shook hands with the Deputy Director once more, then let herself out. She was met by two of Brockton Bay's best-known capes.

"Armsmaster," she greeted them. "Miss Militia."

The armoured Tinker had his halberd clamped to his back, of course, and Miss Militia's current weapon of choice appeared to be a heavy machine-gun.

"Panacea," Miss Militia replied. "Thank you for coming in."

"It's the least I could do," she responded. "After all, they saved me."

They rode down in the lift. The voice in her head was mercifully silent; she needed to think about what he had said to her, after she had finally asked him for advice. Miss Militia's weapon reduced itself to a hunting rifle, slung over her shoulder, for the trip down.

Two sub-basements down, they exited into a gleaming stainless steel corridor, and walked its length to a heavy steel door. Miss Militia pressed the large button bearing the image of a domino mask; they waited until its light blinked out, then she leaned forward and let the retinal scanner look over her eye. As she did so, her weapon became a large rocket launcher.

She obviously passed muster, because the heavy interlocks on the metal doors separated, and the doors themselves opened. Armsmaster led the way in, followed by Miss Militia, with Amy bringing up the rear.

As they entered the large room, Gallant stood up. "Armsmaster," he greeted the leader of the Protectorate in Brockton Bay. "Good to see you, sir. Miss Militia, always a pleasure."

"Ever the gentleman," responded Miss Militia graciously. Indicating Amy, she went on. "We brought a guest. She was kind enough to volunteer to come here and patch you guys up."

Volunteer, hah.

Shush, these are my friends. I would have volunteered if you hadn't been in my head, confusing me.

Miss Militia smiled behind her scarf. "Can't send you home with horrible injuries and hundreds of bug bites, can we? That would give away the show."

He sighed. To be fair, I think you're right. But the fact remains that they called on you.

As Miss Militia's weapon changed shape again, from rocket launcher to machine gun to sniper rifle to harpoon gun, Amy stepped forward.

"I wanted to thank you guys for coming to my rescue," she told them. "And for letting Glory Girl come with you."

Inside her head, he chuckled. See the look on Gallant's face, right there? Director Piggot ripped him a brand new one for asking her to come along.

But that's not fair! She would have come along anyway!

So tell me you're surprised.

Well, they did bring her along, and I'm glad.

Why? Because she got hurt, and the Undersiders got away anyway?

No. Because we tried to do the right thing. She couldn't understand why he could not see that.

Gallant had a concerned look on his face. "You two are okay?"

The voice in her head was very dry. Well, apart from hearing voices …

Amy had to stifle a giggle. Shush!

She shook her head. "Tattletale found a way around my sister's invincibility. Glory Girl was bitten pretty badly, which is why I didn't come sooner. I think it hits you harder, psychologically, when you're pretty much invincible but you get hurt anyways. But we're okay now. She's healed but sulking. I- I'm alright. Bump on my head, but I'm okay."

You want to know how Tattletale got her?

Distracted, she blinked. Uh, how?

"Good," Gallant replied, and he sounded like he meant it.

Her field goes down for a brief moment after she takes a big hit. Tattletale shot her, and while her field was down, the bugs swarmed her. She's too overconfident. This is actually probably a good thing.

I was bluffing when I told the bug girl that I'd give her cancer or stuff, but now I think I could really do it. She could have killed my sister.

His voice was firm. Don't go there. Do not go there. You do not know all the details.

I don't need to know -

Just like Carol Dallon didn't need to know all the details to know that you're a danger to society?

His comment cut her off at the knees, quite likely as it was intended to do.

I, uh -

Armsmaster's voice got her attention. He was standing by a couple of whiteboards which had, she saw, the names of the Undersiders atop columns. Inside the columns were facts about each of the teen villains.

"I like this," the armoured hero commented. "But this one… nearly empty." Amy saw that he was tapping the column set up for Tattletale.

Gallant shrugged. "None of us ran into her, and the hostages didn't have anything to say about her."

Miss Militia looked at Amy. "Panacea may be able to help there."

She suddenly found herself the centre of attention. Her mouth went dry. "I- A lot happened."

"Any detail helps," Miss Militia encouraged her.

Right. Okay. Want to stand out now, or fade into the background?

I … I want to help. But Tattletale …

Can't hurt you. And, to be honest, she won't hurt you. Especially if you reach out to her and help her.

I … we're really going to do that?

Yes. We are. If we're going to get Dinah back, then we need the Undersiders on side. And Tattletale is a natural for that.

Why?

Tell you later. But right now, you can look good in front of everyone. If you want.

Amy took a deep breath. Okay. I can do this. Hit me.

I can just take over and talk for you, if you want.

… no, just tell me what to say.

That's my girl. She could feel his approval. It was amazing how good it made her feel.

Okay, repeat after me …

"Before we get into this," she began, "there's something else I was wondering about. Something odd about the bank robbery."

Armsmaster, who had turned back to the whiteboards, returned his gaze to her. Even through the opaque visor, she could tell he was staring.

"What would that be?" asked Miss Militia.

"The timing," Amy informed her. "Middle of the day, busy period. Right when all the Wards were able to slip away and attend." She paused. "Was Shadow Stalker unable to attend, or was she told to stay away?"

Aegis raised a hand. "I, uh, told her to stay away," he rasped. There was something wrong with his chest, Amy saw.

"Do you need healing?" she asked, automatically.

"I'll be fine for the moment," he managed. "Heal the others first."

She nodded. "Okay. Well, given that you all got there well in time to intercept them, that was either a badly-planned heist – and the Undersiders are not known for that – or it was planned."

Nicely done, the voice in her head congratulated her. You've got them on the hook. Three … two … one …

Armsmaster spoke up, his voice hard. "Planned? For what reason?"

Amy shrugged. "Maybe it was a distraction, designed to draw as many capes away from somewhere else as possible." She paused. "Mom and Dad were at a dinner at their country club, and I think a few other capes were there as well. So they were out of the way too."

Miss Militia's voice was thoughtful. "Do we have information on any other crimes around town, at about that time?"

Kid Win was already sitting down at the computer console. "We have a jewellery store robbery. A pileup on the interstate, that apparently was caused by a cape battle. And … a missing kid."

Amy's head came around. "A missing child? Details?"

The teenage Tinker frowned under his visor. "Um … let's see … wandered away from school. Reported seen talking to some strange men. It wouldn't even show up, except that apparently she's related to the mayor."

"Rich parents?" asked Gallant.

Kid Win shook his head. "Uh, nope. Upper middle, is all."

"What's her name?" asked Amy tensely.

"No first name, just an initial. Alcott. D. Alcott."

D. Alcott. Dinah Alcott. The mayor's niece. She's been kidnapped.

"Does that seem significant to you, Panacea?" asked Armsmaster.

Amy opened her mouth to reply, then found herself briefly unable to speak.

He has a lie detector in his helmet. Choose your words carefully.

Able to speak again, she hesitated. "I, uh, think there might be something important about the girl," she hedged. "Something we're not seeing."

"I'll go back over the details," Armsmaster noted. "Good catch there, Panacea."

She nodded, aware of cold sweat trickling down her back. "Thanks. Now, about Tattletale."

What can you tell me about her?

Well, I won't be telling you her secret identity, of course. That's for her to tell you. But for now, this shouldn't set off too many butterflies.

Picking up the marker pen, Amy began writing in a firm hand.

=///=​

"Feeling better?" Amy asked, as Clockblocker felt his face.

"Oh god yes," he muttered. "I am going to have nightmares about spiders. Lots and lots of spiders."

"The bug girl, uh, Skitter?" asked Amy sympathetically.

He nodded. "She put bugs in behind my eyeballs. Do you have any idea what that feels like?"

She shook her head. "I can't imagine."

"The idea Aegis and I had, to swap costumes? Never again. Never, ever again. I intend to be bug-proof for the rest of my natural life."

She chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder. "Take care."

Well, that should be it.

Nope, here comes Gallant. I think he wants a word.

What about?

Us, I imagine.

Oh, shit -

Relax. I got this. Can I take over? I think I know the steps to this dance.

She took a deep breath. O … okay.

Cool nanas. She felt his influence spread through her body. Her heart rate slowed down.

"Panacea," the teenage cape greeted her.

"Gallant," she heard herself say. "How are your ribs? You seem to be holding yourself a little stiffly."

Gallant seemed to be slightly taken aback. "Uh, yeah. One of Hellhound's dogs rammed me, and I think I might have bruised or broken ribs. Can you check for me?"

Amy's head nodded. "Sure. Want to use your room for privacy?"

"Yeah," Gallant told her. "Sure." He led her toward his alcove.

"That's right," Clockblocker called out. "Give your sister's boyfriend special treatment. He get a lollipop for being a brave patient afterward too?"

Amy rolled her eyes, even as Gallant chuckled. "Don't mind him," he advised her.

"I don't," she heard herself say. "He's harmless."

They entered the alcove, and Gallant turned to face her. "Okay," he began. "What's going on with you?"

Amy wanted to panic, but her heart rate never shifted.

"I'm sorry," her voice sounded calm in her ears, "but you're going to be have to be more specific."

"I see emotions," Gallant told her. "All the time. All around everyone. And ever since you got here, your emotions have been all over the place. Jumping back and forth like a lightning storm. Calm one moment, jittery the next. And just now, just as I came up to you, you went from on edge to … calm. Unworried. Why is that?"

Amy felt herself reach out and put a hand on his shoulder. "Gallant," her voice sounded softly. "Dean. I'm under a lot of stress at the moment, as you can imagine. I'm actually considering taking a break, stepping away from healing, just to recharge my batteries. But you can imagine the hell that I'll catch from all sides if and when I make that announcement, so I'm holding off. Trying to figure out when to say it. Add to that the bank robbery, me getting a hit on the head, and Vicky getting hurt trying to protect me. My thoughts are going a million miles a minute, so if my emotions follow them, I wouldn't be surprised if I look like one of those electric plasma ball globes right now."

Gallant's eyes opened wide. No wider than Amy's would have, if she had been able to do so.

Taking a break from healing? I can't!

It's killing you, kiddo. Killing you inside. And anyway, I didn't say you were doing it, just that you were considering it. Which you should.

"Wow," he muttered. "Damn. I … look, I'm sorry."

Amy felt herself frown. "Why?"

He grimaced. "I know you've got some pretty strong feelings about me. I'm sorry for getting you in here. Maybe this was a mistake."

Oh god oh god oh god.

Relax. He's gotten the targets mixed up. He thinks the jealousy is aimed at Vicky, and the attraction at him.

I don't think so. He's pretty good at what he does.

Okay, one second.

You're not going to ask -

Too late; she heard herself speak in a curious tone. "Uh ... strong feelings?"

He ducked his head. "I'm not an idiot, Amy. I know that you think I'm not right for Vicky. That you resent me for coming between you two. If you ever want to talk about it ..."

Well, fuck.

Oh god … you thought he thought I was attracted to him?

I suspect it's not an uncommon phenomenon.

Amy heard herself speak softly. "It's okay. Maybe sometime I might feel like talking it out, but not right now, okay?"

He smiled. "Any time. My door is always open. When I get a door, that is."

She shrugged lightly. "Just make Vicky happy, okay?"

"Goes without saying." He opened the door and they rejoined the main group.

=///=​

In the car, on the way back to the house, Amy fumed silently in her seat.

You seem a little upset.

You had no right.

I have every right to take steps to improve your health. I'm in this body too. And I know about your problems.

You should have at least consulted me!

Like everyone else who's made life decisions for you has consulted you. At least I've got your best interests at heart.

You're just like everyone else, making decisions over my head.

He was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, less carefree.

You're right. You're absolutely right. I'm sorry.

She was taken aback. I am? You are?

Yes. Just because I'm doing the right thing doesn't mean I can't talk to you about it first. I apologise, Amy. I won't do that again.

I … I'm sorry, too. For snapping at you.

He chuckled. That's okay. Snap away.

And I'm ready.

Ready?

For you to tell me who my real father is. What my real name is.

She felt him smile. Well, your real name is Amelia Claire Lavere. And your father is the supervillain known as Marquis.

Marquis.

Yup.

She considered that. A day ago, she would have been horrified. If it had come out in the bank, she would have been devastated. But now, with the information she had been given, with time to think about it, it merely came as a mild surprise.

And my name is Amelia Claire Lavere.

That's your name.

Thank you.

You're welcome.

She leaned back in the car seat, letting her eyes slide almost closed. Mark Dallon glanced across at her.

"You're looking happy, Amy girl."

She smiled at him. "I suppose I am, Dad. I suppose I am."

I still have troubles. But at least I know what they are.


End of Part Two



Part Three

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Three: Taking the Bull by the Horns


As the car rolled down her street, Amy felt the presence within her mind stir a little. When he 'spoke', his voice was calm, measured. So what's on your mind?

She was a little surprised. Can't you hear my every thought? You are in my head, after all.

The mental impression of a head-shake. Not if it's not at the front of your mind. You're not hearing everything I'm thinking, you know.

Oh. It was something - no pun intended - to think about. I've been thinking about what you've told me.

Oh. Well, that's good. Do you have any questions?

How serious are you that I should contact the Undersiders?

Utterly. You can help them, and I think they can help you.

The car pulled into the driveway, and Mark Dallon set the park brake and turned off the engine. Then he turned and looked at her. "You've been really quiet, Amy girl," he observed. "Something on your mind?"

Jarred out of the silent conversation, Amy blinked. "I, uh, a lot of things to think about after that bank robbery, Dad," she temporised. "Just working stuff out for myself."

He nodded. "Well, if you ever need someone to talk to, you know I'm always here."

She smiled. "Thanks, Dad."

"How's your head?"

Gingerly, she touched the lump; it was still quite sore. "I'll live."

Smiling, he clasped her shoulder for a moment. "That's good." He opened his door and got out; after a moment, she followed suit.

Entering the house, she made her way to her room and closed the door firmly, before sitting on the bed.

Okay, she formulated the thought, you say that the Undersiders can help me. How would they do that? And more importantly, why? I nearly helped capture two of them.

He was silent for a moment. Can we just go with 'can help you' for the time being? I don't think your trust level for them is very high at the moment, so anything I told you would be coloured through that perspective.

She paused, thinking about that. He was right, of course. The Undersiders were villains. They had robbed a bank, right in front of her. And that wasn't even counting what the girl called Skitter had done to her and Vicky. Of course I don't trust them. Why should I?

I can't give you a reason that you can depend on, right now, he replied. All I can do is ask you to keep an open mind.

What if I said I don't trust you, either?

A sigh. Then we're doomed.

She was startled. What?

His voice was sombre. If you can't trust me, if you won't follow my advice, then we're going to follow the same path of miscommunication and mistrust. Vicky will end up under care in an asylum, and you'll have yourself voluntarily admitted to the Birdcage. Thousands, tens of thousands, of people will likely die.

She was shaken by the sadness, the sincerity in his tone. What? That's not possible. What happens to Vicky?

You do.

No. I don't believe you. You're lying.

Not sure that I can, not about important things. Not to you.

Important things? You mean, you've lied to me about unimportant things?

A tinge of something like embarrassment. My name. 'Michael Allen' isn't my real name. But I used it for so long, the last time I was here, that I kind of used it by reflex this time.

She wondered briefly what he meant by 'the last time I was here', but decided to shelve the matter for another time. So what's your real name?

He told her.

Really? But that's -

Yeah. Look, it's not important. Call me whatever you like. We need to sort out what's going to happen right now. I can't force you to trust me, and I can't prove something that's not gonna happen for months. But we need to work together on this.

Her tone was bitter. Can't you just force me to do it? Control my body so I go where you think I should go, do what you say I need to do? It's not like I'll have any real say in the matter, after all.

No.

She frowned, puzzled. What? But before, you -

His tone was patient. I could, easily. But I won't. I choose not to. If we're going to work together on this, it's not going to be a master-slave situation. Equal partners. And I want you to be able to know that I won't abuse that control.

Oh. She considered his words for a minute. Okay. Standing up from the bed, she went to the closet. Can I change back to street clothes now, or are you going to freak out again?

A sigh. Right. Thanks for the warning.

As she opened the closet and pulled clothing out, she felt him retreat a little. His voice started up, again, reciting another poem, with which she was also unfamiliar.

On the outer Barcoo, where churches are few, and men of religion are scanty ...

She listened to the recital curiously as she changed, a smile crossing her face at some of the humorous verses. When she had finished, she raised her mental 'voice' slightly. Done.

Oh, good. He stopped reciting.

Now I'm going to talk to Mom and Dad. Mark and Carol.

Wait, what? What about?

You'll see.

His tone was concerned. It's not about me, is it? Because I really don't think this is a great time -

She cut him off. It's not about you. Trust me.

After a long moment, he replied. Okay, I trust you.

She relaxed just a little at that. The last thing she needed was for him to be grabbing control at an inopportune moment.

Leaving her room, she headed down the corridor to the head of the stairs. For a moment, she debated getting Vicky out of her room. She deserves to know this, too.

Know what?

You'll see. In the end, she decided to leave her sister in peace. There's always later.

Heading down the stairs, she saw her father in the living room, reading the paper, or at least looking at it. "Dad?" she asked. "Where's Mom?"

"I'm in the kitchen," Carol Dallon called out, before Mark could answer. "What do you need, Amy?"

Amy got to the bottom of the stairs and went into the kitchen. "I need to talk to the both of you, please?"

Carol, apron-clad and with a smudge of flour on her nose, opened the oven and peered in. Cooking smells wafted over Amy. "That smells nice," she told her mother. "What are you making?"

"A batch of cookies, to cheer your sister up," Carol informed her. "Can it wait?"

"Not really, but it shouldn't take long," Amy informed her. If I wait too long, I won't be able to go through with it.

With what?

You'll see.

Hm. Okay. He fell silent again.

Carol huffed a sigh of impatience. "Well, okay. What's it about?"

"I need to talk to both of you," Amy stressed. "Dad, too."

For a moment, she thought Carol was going to refuse, but she sighed again and twisted a clockwork egg-shaped timer to three minutes, and put it on the bench. "I can't leave these go for too long," she pointed out, then took off the apron.

Yeah, Amy thought dryly. And I notice you didn't make any to cheer me up.

The voice inside her head declined to comment, in a very pointed manner.

When they came out into the living room, Mark was still looking at the paper; as far as Amy could tell, he had not even turned the page.

"Mark," Carol began, "Amy's got something she needs to talk to us about."

Mark looked up mildly and folded the paper. "Okay, Amy girl," he invited. "What's up?"

Amy moved to where she could look both her foster parents in the face. "I want to know my father's name."

There was a long, long silence. Amy fancied she could hear dust motes touching down on the table.

Well, holy shit. I am impressed.

She was irrationally pleased. Didn't expect that, did you?

No. No, I did not.

Was it the wrong thing to say?

On balance, I don't think so. But this is gonna be interesting.

Carol found her voice first. "Why do you ask that, Amy?"

Amy frowned. "Isn't it obvious? I want to know."

You want to know if they'll actually come clean, after hiding it all this time.

Well, duh. Now shut up, I don't want to be distracted.

Mark glanced at Carol. "Would it be such a bad thing to tell her?" he asked. "After all, she is sixteen. Nearly an adult."

Carol shook her head convulsively. "No." She looked Amy directly in the eye. "It's better that you do not know, Amy. Better that the world doesn't know."

"Why?" challenged Amy. "Because he's a supervillain? Because he's in the Birdcage? What possible reason could there be for keeping that from me?"

Carol went several shades whiter, until her face almost matched the dab of flour on her nose. "Who told you?" she whispered. "How did you know?"

Amy shook her head. "It doesn't matter. It really, really doesn't. What I want to know is, why won't you tell me?"

Mark opened his mouth. "Amy girl -" He stopped when Carol made a sharp gesture.

"Amy." Carol's voice was low and controlled. "Yes, your father is a supervillain. We made the decision years ago not to tell you, when you were showing signs of forgetting who he actually was, so that you could live a normal life, without that burden hanging over you. So that you wouldn't have the doubt in your mind, am I like him?"

Amy shook her head again. "No, Carol," she snapped. Carol's lips tightened, at Amy's tone. "You did it so that you wouldn't have to worry about me turning out like him." She paused, deliberately. "Like Marquis." She looked from Carol to Mark and back again. "Only you never forgot it, did you? You never stopped wondering if I was going to turn out like him anyway. So you treated me like I was going to."

"Amy girl." That was Mark. "I didn't … we didn't ..."

Amy gave him a sad smile. "No, you didn't. But you're only half the partnership here." She turned back toward Carol. "You never, ever said that you loved me. You never hugged me. You've always pushed me to do better, to work harder, to try to please you, so that I would earn the same praise that Vicky always earned just by being Vicky."

Carol found her voice. "I never made you -"

"No, you didn't," Amy overrode her. "I loved you. Don't you understand? You were my mother figure. I wanted you to love me back, to approve of me, to hold me. I always thought that if I did a bit better, did exactly what I was told every single day, you might give me just a little of what Vicky got every single day of her life."

The egg timer went off in the kitchen. Everyone jumped.

Amy took a deep breath. "Well, time's up," she announced bitterly. "I'm going out."

Mark stumbled to his feet. "Wait, Amy girl," he told her. "I'll drive you -"

She shook her head. "Sorry. This is a 'me time' thing. I'll bus it." Again, she gave him a sad smile. "Thanks for the talk."

Grabbing her jacket, she turned and headed for the door. It banged shut behind her.

<><>​

Amy sat at the bus stop, waiting for the next bus to come.

Well, holy shit.

You said that before.

That was surprise. This time it was deep admiration.

What – really? I thought that went terribly.

There was a chuckle. There was no real way for that to go well, kiddo. But you didn't shout or scream, you got your message across, and you left before they could think up an appropriate rebuttal.

I was terrified. I think I nearly threw up.

Well, you didn't. So you did good.

Thanks. I think. Have I just alienated them?

Hmm, let me think. Have you just alienated the two people who spent the last ten years of your life hiding an important fact from you? Possibly. Did they deserve what you just said to them? Almost definitely. Will they treat you any differently? Well, it would be hard for them to treat you worse.

She blinked at that. I … I guess you're right.

How do you feel, now that you've gotten that off your chest?

Weird. I mean, I'm terrified of what's going to happen when I go home -

Eh. Walk in, pretend everything's normal. You'd be amazed how often that works.

And if they don't pretend everything's normal?

There was amusement in his tone. I don't think they'll be wanting to raise that particular topic again in a hurry, will they?

She thought about it. No, I don't suppose so. She paused. So, where are we going?

There was a pause. Uh, I don't know. You're driving, remember?

You said that I needed to reach out to the Undersiders. I'm reaching out.

What, really?

Yes. Really. Unless you were lying to me.

No, no, god no. I'm just a little surprised at your go-getter attitude all of a sudden. And pleased. Very pleased.

She hid a smile. I'm a bit surprised, too. It's amazing what a little revelation about one's origins will do. So, which bus?

Um, crap, I never actually memorised the bus schedule. She felt him take control of her head, and her eyes scanned the laminated sheet posted up on the bus stop wall. Unbidden, her finger rose to point. I think that one there will get us to the north ferry terminal, right?

You do know that the ferry's been shut down for the last sixteen years or so, right?

I know that. We're walking from there. It's about twenty minutes or so. Maybe half an hour.

That's not a good part of town.

So we'll walk fast.

I'm beginning to think this was a bad idea.

We can go back, if you want.

She set her jaw. No. We go on.

A mental impression of a smile. That's my girl.

<><>​

Lisa raised her head. "Someone's -"

Rachel's dogs burst into furious barking. Claws scrabbled on hardwood flooring as they bounded to their feet and ran toward the spiral staircase. It wasn't something they could negotiate in a hurry, but they kept barking as they descended the stairs.

"- out at the front," she concluded.

Taylor turned her head slightly. "Yeah. Not an adult. A teenager, I think." She paused. "They're alone. No-one within fifty yards. A hundred."

"Banging on the door with a rock," Lisa added. "She really wants to get in."

"'She'?" asked Brian. "Really?"

"And she's right-handed, about five-four, and … sixteen years old," Lisa retorted with an impudent grin, one that curled the corners of her mouth up.

Brian came to his feet; Lisa followed. Alec looked up as Brian put the game controller down. "Oh, man," he complained. "We just got to the end of level boss, too!"

"Do we let her in?" asked Lisa. "She knows we're here."

Brian's lips tightened. "Rachel, come on," he snapped. "Let's get downstairs and see what this girl wants."

"Should we mask up?" asked Taylor, a little nervously. "Does this sort of thing happen much?"

Lisa snorted. "Hardly ever." She nodded to Taylor. "Go ahead, mask up." She plucked the domino mask from where it was resting on the chair arm and put it on her face. "Alec, you too."

"Aw, man," complained Alec again, but he grabbed his mask and put it on. As he was still dressed in the majority of his costume, it fitted with the rest of his outfit. Taylor, however, had changed out of her costume into street clothes, so her Skitter mask just made her look extra creepy.

"They'll be bringing her upstairs so we can find out what the hell's going on," Lisa confided as the sound of barking dropped away dramatically. Moments later, Grue's darkness billowed up the stairs, filling the room.

When it cleared, the newcomer was standing in the middle of the living area, held in a light arm lock by Brian. The hood of her jacket had been pulled up over her head, and down so that she couldn't see.

Taylor stared; she looked awfully familiar -

"Holy shit," blurted Tattletale. "That's fucking Panacea."


End of Part Three

Part Four

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Four: Villainous Interactions


Amy banged on the metal door with a rock she had found.

I feel silly. Are you sure there's someone home?

I'm certain of it. Hear those dogs?

What if they've gone out and left the dogs in here?

Nope, Bitch wouldn't do that. They're more dear to her than kids.

The barking was closer now, just inside the door that she was banging on.

You might want to drop the rock now.

Why?

So you don't look like a threat.

Oh.

She dropped the rock, just as the door was yanked open and three dogs leaped out. They circled around her, barking madly, as a tall black teenager and a shorter, stockier auburn-haired girl - Grue and Hellhound, she guessed – each grabbed her by an arm. Before she could protest, she was hauled into the warehouse and the door slammed behind her.

Grue pushed her against the wall, not hard, and frisked her, quickly and efficiently. He came away with her purse and her phone, but not much else. "What are you doing here?" he asked, holding her arm behind her back. "Why were you trying to break in?"

She was vividly aware of the dogs; no longer barking, they were eyeing her and growling ferociously. Hellhound stood off, watching her with a grim set to her jaw. Hostility fairly radiated from the female villain.

"Not trying to break in," Amy managed, turning her head to look at him out of the corner of her eye. "Wanted to talk to you guys. To the Undersiders."

"The fuck?" growled the girl, her head coming up. The dogs took a step forward, their growls intensifying in volume.

Amy felt the tall black guy's grip tighten on her wrist. "Rachel," he snapped. "Back off."

Hellhound - Rachel - stood for a long moment, a challenging look in her eye. Then, apparently satisfied that she'd proven that she did not just blindly follow orders, she stepped back and clicked her tongue. The dogs stepped back with her.

"You want to talk to us?" asked Grue. "We can do that."

I didn't like the way he said that.

He pulled the hood of her jacket up and over her head, and then down, so that she couldn't see anything except her feet. And then even they disappeared. She couldn't see anything at all. Even her hearing was muffled, almost to the point that she thought she'd gone deaf.

The presence in her head was calm, reassuring. You weren't meant to. He's just trying to intimidate you. Like right now, his darkness? Scare tactic. Keep you off balance.

Well, he's succeeding. But she wasn't as frightened as she might have been.

You're doing well. Just remember what we talked about. And Skitter isn't about to see an innocent get hurt. Watch your step. Spiral staircase coming up.

Trusting an awful lot in the goodwill of someone that Vicky threatened to send to the Birdcage. That I threatened to do awful things to with my powers.

Tempers were high, he assured her. Hurting someone in cold blood, that's something that Regent might do. Rachel's never really calm either. But Grue and Tattetale and Skitter won't let that happen.

She felt her left hand being guided on to a railing, one that curved up and around to the right. Grue – she presumed it was Grue – still held her right arm behind her back. Forewarned, she felt for the first step, while simultaneously being prodded, guided and supported by Grue.

The climb seemed interminable. Ascending a spiral staircase is by no means an intuitive process, given that the part of the brain inherited from one's monkey ancestors is used to climbing in straight lines. Doing so in the dark puts an even greater strain on the instinctive reactions. How much farther?

She could hear him mumbling in the back of her head. Twelve more steps. Thirty-three in all.

How can you know that?

Been here before. Counted 'em.

But how -

Long story. Maybe after we finish negotiating with the nice supervillains?

Okay. She shut up and concentrated on climbing steps. Step, turn, slide hand on rail, step, turn ...

Top step.

Okay, thanks. She put her foot flat to what felt like a wooden floor to her heightened senses, and was walked forward a little way.

And then the darkness faded. She could only see a little way in front of her, due to her hood still being pulled down over her face. But it didn't stop her from hearing Tattletale's voice.

"Holy shit. That's fucking Panacea."

<><>​

Amy reached up and pushed her hood back, looking around at the supervillains surrounding her. Regent, she recognised immediately, along with Hellhound, or Rachel, as Grue had called her. The girl with the dark blonde hair, which she was running her fingers through to shake out of a braid, wore street clothes, but her domino mask told Amy that she was looking at Tattletale. The other girl looked ordinary from the neck down, if a bit skinny. From the neck up, she was Skitter; already, bugs were gathering in a nimbus around her. More were swarming into the area with every second that passed.

She stood in a loft area above the warehouse. The floor underfoot was wooden, with rugs here and there. High windows, in need of cleaning, gave light, but did not afford a view from Amy's angle. Two couches, a big-screen TV on a stand, and a gaming console under the TV seemed to make up the majority of the furnishings in this room. A corridor led out of the area, but she had no idea what was in that direction.

Kitchen, bathroom, their bedrooms. Skitter has yet to move in.

She was almost startled by his comment. Oh, uh, thanks.

You might want to say something.

But she didn't get the chance; Skitter spoke first.

"Everyone, be careful of her," the skinny girl warned them. "She can do more than just heal people. Grue, don't let her touch your skin."

"Got it," grunted the tall guy behind her, but before he could put word into action, Amy felt her limbs being taken over. She rammed her elbow into what felt like an iron-hard gut – God, does he eat barbells for breakfast or something? - raked her heel down his shin, and turned and twisted at the same moment. Caught off guard, he let go; Amy felt herself step back until her back was against the wall. Rubbing her wrist, she eyed each of the Undersiders.

What are you doing?

Showing them that you're not a pushover. Control was returned to her. They're wary of you now. Use that.

"Okay," she stated clearly. "Now that I have your attention, please listen carefully."

Check out Tattletale. She's just picked something up.

And it was true. The blonde was staring, eyes widening. "Guys ..." she began. "There's something off here. I think she might be Mastered."

"Hey, that's my thing," objected Regent. He waved in Amy's direction, and her knees began to buckle.

And then they didn't. Amy could feel the control inside her body overriding what Regent was trying to do.

"What the fuck?" he muttered.

"A strong Master," Tattletale clarified. She stepped forward until she was a little over arm's length from Amy. "Okay, you brought Panacea here. What's your plan? What are you doing this for?"

"Tell Jean-Paul to quit it, and we can talk about it," Amy heard herself say. She heard an indrawn breath from Grue and Regent; Hellhound didn't react, and she couldn't see Skitter's face. Tattletale's eyes widened just a bit.

Amy felt herself start to panic just a little. What are you doing? We can't antagonise them!

His voice was terse. We have to present a strong front, or they won't take us seriously. Okay, back to you.

Control returned to her; she took a deep breath.

"As I was saying," she repeated, "I need you to listen carefully."

Tattletale nodded. "Listening." Her expression was intent.

Amy concentrated on what she had talked to Michael about. What he had told her about the Undersiders. What he had told her to say.

"You've got problems, and you don't even know it," she began. "I'm here to help you fix them. To get past them."

Grue had picked up his motorcycle helmet and was fitting it over his head. "What problems?" he asked, his voice hollow.

Amy held up her hand, ticked off points on her fingers. "Your boss does not have your best interests at heart. He wants to enslave Tattletale and, when Skitter becomes inconvenient, he'll kill her off if he can. He lied to you about the bank robbery; there was a reason for it, and that reason was so that his men could have the opportunity to kidnap a twelve year old girl. Also, I know his real name, and I know exactly what powers he has."

Okay, give it time to sink in now.

"You could be lying," Grue stated flatly. "Starting with basic information, cold reading us, trying to instil doubt in our minds. Playing with our heads."

"I could," Amy retorted. "But that's not me. That's what Tattletale does." She looked directly at him. "I know about you, how you triggered, about your sister. How you want custody of her."

He took a step forward. "If you're threatening … "

Amy shook her head. "Not threatening. Just letting you know that I know." She looked from one to another, repeating what Michael was telling her. "I know stuff about each of you. Your names. How you triggered. Names of people who are or were important to you, once upon a time."

"Wait a minute," interrupted Skitter. "Kidnapped a twelve year old girl?"

Bingo.

Amy nodded in her direction. "Dinah Alcott. The mayor's niece. She's a powerful precog. He's getting her drugged up, so that she'll do whatever he says. Right. Now."

It was hard to read Skitter's body language, given that her face was hidden, but she sounded shaken when she spoke next. "Tattletale, is that true? What she's saying?"

Tattletale hesitated for the longest moment. "I … don't know. I can't get a read on her. The Master keeps taking over, imposing his body language."

Bullshit.

"Bullshit!" snapped Amy. "Also, more. Closer to home. The ABB is still looking to take you down."

"But Lung's in custody," objected Regent.

"Probably why they're so eager to get you out of the way," Amy retorted. "Bakuda's hired Uber and L33t to help her do the job."

Grue shook his helmeted head. "You've got to be kidding me. Those losers?"

"Plus a stack of ABB. Including conscripts."

Skitter sounded honestly puzzled. "How do you conscript a gang member and expect them to hang around?"

"Easy." Amy tapped the side of her neck. "Put a bomb in here, keyed to Bakuda's remote detonation control system. You act out, she sends the signal, you suffer the effect of whatever she put in you."

Tattletale sat on a couch, rubbing her temples. "Fuck," she muttered. "Fuck. Every time I try to work you out, you throw another curve ball. Fuck, my head's killing me."

"Detonation system?" asked Grue practically.

"Heads up display in the goggles. Toe rings on her left foot," Amy repeated Michael's words. "Big toe and next toe. She crosses them, the rings come into contact, sends out the signal to the bomb she's chosen."

Tattletale threw herself back on the couch. "Toe rings," she groaned. "Fuck, why didn't I pick that up?"

"Because you need to spend at least a little time interacting with someone to get information like that," Amy pointed out. She was starting to feel a little more confident; with Michael feeding her the information, she was holding her own here.

"So we stay out of their way, or we kick their asses," Regent proposed from his seat.

"Unless they ambush you," Amy responded. "Rachel, you're thinking of taking the dogs for a walk sometime, right?"

Hellhound glared at her. "What's it to you?"

"Because they'll be waiting on you," Amy explained patiently. "They capture you, force you to give up the location of the money, move the money," she looked at the rest of the group, "and when you guys come looking for it, that's when they hit you."

"You're talking like this has already happened," Tattletale remarked. "Which really has me worried. Because I don't know any Master/Thinkers that are powerful precogs."

"No," Amy told her directly, quoting Michael's words. "And you still don't."

Tattletale clutched her forehead. "Argh! Ow!"

Amy felt a little concerned. Is she all right?

Thinker equivalent of an ice-cream headache. She was following a line of inquiry and she ran head-first into 'nope'. There was a measure of grim amusement in his voice. She loves to troll people with what she knows. Turnabout is fair play.

I have to admit, with what she nearly did to me and Vicky …

Grue cleared his throat. "Okay, presuming we even believe you, what do you get out of this? So far you've come here and given us unsupported allegations. You haven't told us what you want out of all this."

"You're going to need to check them up and act on them, one way or the other," Amy pointed out. "I know that while some of you are happy with going along with your boss, others are less than thrilled about working for him, especially when it comes to the fact of kidnapped children. Or are you willing to live with the knowledge that you could have done something … and didn't?"

Amy's eyes tracked toward Skitter; the skinny girl had just moved uncomfortably. Even the bugs orbiting her were moving in a different pattern. Oh yeah, she doesn't like that one little bit.

"Hell, I'm comfortable with it," Regent offered from his seat. "What I'm not comfortable with is some walk-in knowing shit like my real name."

"That's because you're a sociopath." Amy told him. "Probably not your fault. Heartbreaker was not a model dad."

Silence again; Skitter's head turned toward Regent, who got out of his seat.

"Okay," he snapped. "I've just about had enough of this -"

He was moving toward Amy, heavy-looking sceptre in his hand, when Grue got in his way.

"Sit. Down."

"What the fuck?" snarled Regent, looking down at the large glove-clad hand that had been placed in the middle of his chest. "You're taking her side in this?"

"You keep sniping at her, you take your lumps," Grue informed him.

"But she said -"

"She also warned us about the ABB," Tattletale spoke up from the couch, where she was leaning back, eyes closed, hand on her forehead. "And gave us valuable intel on Bakuda."

"If it's true," Regent retorted sulkily.

"Oh, it's true," Tattletale informed him. "She's not lying."

"Unless she's being Mastered," Regent pointed out. "Which you said she is."

"Then the Master isn't lying," she reiterated. "Either way, it's not a lie. She believes what she's saying. And it makes too much sense to not be true."

"And what about the other stuff?" asked Skitter. "About the boss? Enslaving you? Killing me if I become inconvenient? The kidnapped kid? How is that okay? Why aren't we talking about that?"

"Because Tattletale knows who he is, and has a good idea of what his real power is," Amy replied steadily. "And she's been given orders to not tell anyone …" She trailed off, because Tattletale had produced her little pistol again.

Christ, she really is between a rock and a hard place.

Amy couldn't formulate a reply, because she was staring at the muzzle of the gun. It was tiny, really, just a fraction of an inch across, but to her it looked enormous.

She felt him take over speaking for her. "And because he had her recruited at gunpoint," she heard her own voice say, "and she can't be sure that I'm not pulling some sort of bluff intended to out her if she's intending to betray him."

Grue stared at Tattletale. "You never told me that!" he blurted.

Tattletale sighed. "I never told you a lot of things," she told him. "Panacea, you said before that you know all our real names. Was that true?"

She felt control return again. Tell her yes. The other ones are Brian, Lisa and Taylor.

"Uh, yes," she confirmed. "Do you want me to prove it?"

A shake of the head. "No, don't bother," replied the blonde. "Are you working for … for the boss, in any way?"

Amy shook her head. "No," she stated firmly. "Just the -"

Tattletale held up her hand. "Don't say any more," she ordered. "'No' is good enough for me. Right. You know stuff, and you've come to us to give us stuff, but you haven't yet told us what you want from us." Absently, she put the gun away.

I need to save the world, and you guys are the first step. Plus, I'm going to need a place to stay.

What? I can't say something like that!

Why not?

Because it's … it's too corny, that's what! They'll never believe it. And do I really need a place to stay?

Not sure. Maybe. Okay, tell them this.

Amy cleared her throat. "I want you to help me rescue Dinah Alcott."


End of Part Four

Part Five

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Five: Arguing the Point


"I want you to help me rescue Dinah Alcott."

Silence greeted her statement.

Amy looked from one Undersider to another, trying to gauge their responses. Skitter's full-face mask was almost impossible to read, although Amy thought she saw a change in the flight patterns of the bugs orbiting her. Grue, with his full-face helmet, was likewise a blank slate as far as she was concerned.

Regent's head came up; despite his full-face mask, she could easily tell his mood from the tone of his voice. "Really?" he asked – no, sneered. "You want us to turn against the guy who's been backing us for a year? Who's paid us thousands of bucks at a time just to stay on his payroll? Who's never steered us wrong yet?"

"No," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "I want you to turn against the guy who's been using you all this time. Who would discard or betray you in a hot Brockton Bay minute if it suited him. Who wants to take over the city, at every level, and is willing to do anything, to kill anyone, to murder or torture or enslave absolutely anyone - including any of you five - in order to do so. And who won't feel a moment's remorse about it." She looked over at Grue. "And that includes your sister, if that's what it took to keep you in line," she assured him.

She saw his hands flex, clenching into fists. "What do you know about my sister?" he growled, his voice hollow inside the helmet.

"Just about everything that's important," Amy told him, trying to match Michael's careless tone. "How old she is, what she looks like, where she lives, what she wears, stuff like that. And," she added meaningfully, "the fact that you're in the villain game so you can take care of her, give her a proper home, keep her safe. And Coil will use that against you in a heartbeat."

There was a pause, as she realised what she'd just said, repeating Michael's words. Did you mean to say Coil's name? I thought we were going to keep that a secret for a little bit.

Oh shit. No, I didn't. Sorry, my bad.

Skitter spoke first. "Who's Coil?"

Grue was looking at Tattletale. "You mean to say our boss is Coil?" He turned to look at Regent. "Did you know this?"

Regent shrugged. "Didn't know, didn't care. Still don't, not really. Anyone who works for one of the big boys knows the score. Big money, but if you fuck up, big risks."

More and more bugs were swirling around the room; their buzzing was ramping up in intensity.

You see that? Skitter's always calm, collected. But that's because she puts her emotions into the swarm. They start acting like that, you know she's pissed.

Amy glanced at the skinny bug-controller. She didn't seem to be particularly upset or unhappy; even when she spoke again, her voice was steady and even. "I said, who's Coil?"

Tattletale glanced at Amy; the villain looked less and less happy by the moment. But she did not speak.

"A mid-to-low tier operator," Grue told her. "I'd always heard he hired non-powered help. Didn't know capes were his thing at all. Hell, I didn't even know he had powers."

"Oh, he's got powers all right," Amy told him. "I'm fairly sure you think you know what they are, Tattletale … but I also suspect you're wrong."

"Just wait a fucking minute," Tattletale snapped. "Okay, this bullshit's gone on long enough." She pointed at Amy. "I want to talk to you. Not to Panacea, and not to Panacea saying what the Master says to say. I want to talk directly to the Master."

There was a pause, and Michael spoke delicately. You okay with me talking directly to her?

Mentally, Amy shrugged. Sure, may as well.

Right, thanks.

"You got me," Amy heard herself say. "You realise I'm gonna keep infodumping on your group until you all decide to help out … Sarah."

Who's Sarah? But then Amy realised by the look of shock on Tattletale's face that it must be her.

Wait a minute. You said her name was Lisa.

It is now. She changed it. Sarah's the name she was born with.

Tattletale – Sarah – was holding the little pistol again. She wasn't quite pointing it at Amy, but it wasn't far off either. "Keep doing that," she growled, "and this interview gets a whole lot harder."

Amy's shoulders shifted in a shrug. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

"For a start," Tattletale began, "who are you, and how do you know all this stuff?"

Amy's eyes rolled. "For fuck's sake," her voice muttered, "why is it that even the people who know I'm telling the truth keep having to ask damn stupid fucking questions, instead of just acting on the information?"

"I've got the gun," Tattletale reminded Amy, and by extension, Michael. "I ask the questions."

"I'm not from this world," Amy's voice stated. "As for my name, I have several, but for the moment, you can call me Security. As for how I know this … let's just say, I've studied your world for quite a long time. Years, in fact. I know your history, and how it's due to run. I'd like to put a short-circuit on some of the more moronic decisions that some of you people are going to be making. And step number one is saving the precog who knows when the fucking world is going to end."

Very slowly, Tattletale put her gun away. "Okay," she replied quietly. "I'm listening."

Abruptly, there was a snort from across the room. Everyone looked at Regent, who appeared to be quietly laughing.

"You mind telling us what's funny?" asked Grue, in his hollow, echoing voice.

Regent pointed at Amy. "Her," he chuckled. "End of the world? Really? That the best you can do?"

Amy felt her lips curling in a thin smile. "I wouldn't worry, Jean-Paul," her voice murmured. "You won't live to see it. If I go away and do nothing from here on in, you're due to die in late July anyway. So for your own good, I'd strongly suggest you pay very bloody close attention."

Regent turned to Tattletale. "She's fucking with me, right? That's bullshit, yeah?"

Tattletale stared at Amy, then looked over at Regent. "No," she told him. "It's Security speaking, and he believes every word he says."

Grue's head came up. "'He'?" he asked.

"'He'," confirmed Tattletale. "That's a man speaking through Panacea. Older, more mature. I'd say in his thirties … no, forties. And unless he's got total and absolute control over her autonomic system, he's telling the truth about everything. Including the end of the world."

"Always keeping the secrets, huh?" Amy's voice carried just a hint of scorn. "If you didn't read more than that about me, then I'd suggest you put away the title of 'smartest person in the room'. Patrick Jane wants it back."

Amy was puzzled. Who?

The mental equivalent of a grin. Tell you later.

Tattletale gritted her teeth. "Okay, fine. I also saw that you do know each and every one of us, in more detail than I'm comfortable with. But … you bear us no ill-will. You're honestly coming to us to help us out. To keep us safe. Because we're your best hopes for getting Dinah back … and because you actually happen to like us?" Her voice ended on a querying note, as if she doubted what she had just said.

Amy's hands applauded gently. "And there we are. All cards on the table. You each have problems. Working for Coil might seem to be helping, but not really. The phrase 'deal with the devil' might have been written for him, only by most accounts, the devil keeps to his bargains. Coil has no such scruples. Once the rest of this team loses its effectiveness, you're slated to be on the bed next to Dinah Alcott, drugged to the point where you can't resist, answering questions for him until you die or he does."

She shook her head, frowning. "There's my problem, right there. It feels like you're telling the truth, but I've never, not ever, gotten a vibe like that out of him."

Amy felt her head nodding. "And there's your problem. You're not seeing all of Coil. You see, his power is to effectively split time. He has two paths to travel down, and he can not only interact with the world differently in each path, he can discard one path the moment it ends up where he doesn't want it to be. But he recalls both paths as if he had travelled them both in person. So he might call you in for a quiet chat, sit you down, serve you tea or coffee … and meanwhile in the other path, he's got you strapped to a chair, pulling out your fingernails, cutting off body parts … or worse. All the while asking you questions about what you're saying in the friendly chat. Were you planning to betray him, that sort of thing."

Amy wanted to throw up; she could visualise this, all too easily. But she didn't; her body was not her own, at the moment. She felt her head tilt questioningly. "So tell me," Michael asked in her voice, in a gentle, coaxing tone, "have you ever had a quiet chat like that, where he seemed to know far too much about your business?"

The question was superfluous; Tattletale's face had gone white under her domino mask. "Oh, Christ," she muttered. "Oh, fucking hell."

Amy's head nodded. "Oh yes," she agreed. "All of that. Now, imagine what a person like that, with absolutely zero moral restraints, could do with a twelve year old girl, a precog, whose power does not interfere with his. A girl who's being drugged into compliance, right this very second."

Tattletale began to look positively unwell.

"We can't let this happen," Skitter urged Tattletale, her voice a little agitated. "We can't … right?"

Grue stepped forward. "I don't like it either," he stated firmly. "I like the money, but there's more important things than money."

Regent stared. "Seriously?" he blurted. "What the fuck sort of talk is that? More important than money?"

Tattletale and Grue turned to look at him. "Are you standing against us on this?" Grue asked.

Regent shook his head. "No, shit, if it gives me a chance to have some fun, I'm with you all the way. But I thought this bleeding-heart shit was more the dork's thing. Not you guys."

The dork?

Skitter. She only just joined, remember.

Ah.

"It's not about bleeding hearts," Grue told him. "It's about cutting loose from someone dangerous before he hurts or kills one of ours. And if we're going to have him as an enemy, we don't want him also having access to the Alcott girl."

But Amy's head was shaking. "You're not going to have him as an enemy," her voice stated bluntly.

"Why not?" asked Grue.

"Fuck. Me," whispered Tattletale, her face turning white once more. "You want us to kill him."

<><>​

"Well, that was well handled," Carol commented acerbically.

Mark looked at her, confused. "What? What was I supposed to do? Tie her up and carry her up to her room? Lock her in there till she turned eighteen?"

Carol shook her head. "No. But you would have done a lot better if you hadn't just sat there, nodding your head like a wooden dummy. Backed me up a little, maybe."

"What?" He stared at her. "Lied about Marquis? She already knew about him. How she's a supervillain's daughter. The cat was already out of the bag."

"If there's one thing I've learned in court," Carol snapped, "it's that it's not the truth that matters, but what sounds best. We could have spun it, convinced her that she had bad information."

Mark shook his head. "We already made the mistake of not telling her about him, back when she first asked. Outright lying to her? When she found out – and she would have found out – there goes all trust she ever had for us."

"She might not have found out," Carol objected, but it was weak, and she knew it. "And anyway, where did she find out? How did she find out?"

Mark shrugged elaborately. "I have no idea."

Carol eyed him suspiciously. "You drove her to the PRT building and back. You had plenty of time to talk. And she's been acting a little bit off since the bank robbery."

Mark stared at her. "You think I told her?"

"You could have," she pressed. "And you've never been totally happy with keeping her in the dark."

"But I agreed to," he argued. "And I didn't tell her. Not about that."

"What did you talk about?" she asked.

"Stuff," he replied with a shrug. "The mayor's family. Not much, really. She spent most of the drive looking out the window."

"So, nothing at all about Marquis at all, then?"

He threw up his hands. "For Christ's sake, Carol, no. Nothing about him at all. Full stop. Period. Exclamation mark. Quotation mark. End of sentence."

Carol frowned. "So why was she acting strangely when she came back?"

Mark rolled his eyes. "She was hit on the head, Carol," he reminded her. "Vicky's normally up and about like wildfire, but she's lurking under the covers like she never wants to come out. So Amy's not the only one acting strangely."

"But Vicky was actually hurt," Carol insisted. "Bug bites can cause severe allergic reactions. Amy just got a little bump on the head."

"I don't know then," Mark responded non-committally, dropping his gaze to the paper before him.

"I've never seen something get Vicky like that before," Carol went on, not listening to her husband. "What happened, anyway? Amy was there. Why didn't she back Vicky up?"

"I don't know that either," Mark replied, turning a page of the paper.

"And why didn't she heal Vicky before they even got back?" Carol's voice had risen slightly. "Those welts and bumps … ugh."

Mark turned another page. "I'm sure I don't know, dear."

Carol stared at him. "Are you reading the paper? We're having a discussion!"

Mark stood up and folded the paper under his arm. He headed for the stairs.

"Where are you going?" demanded Carol from behind him.

"Upstairs," he told her, without looking back. "So you can have your discussion in peace."

And all she could do was stare, with her mouth hanging open, as he climbed the stairs.


End of Part Five

Part Six

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Six: Arguments and Agreements


Amy felt her lips twist in what was almost a smile. "You're not shocked because I'm talking about killing him, are you?" her voice asked. "You're shocked because you didn't think anyone else knew that you want to kill him."

Wait, what? Amy asked, in her own mind. We're going to kill him? Isn't that a bit extreme? Why can't we just capture him and turn him over to the authorities?

Mentally, he sighed. He's too dangerous for that. His power lets him literally have two chances at everything, including escape attempts.

So have him sent straight to the Birdcage, she argued.

Even if he made it there, he would either be dead or running the place inside six months, and I'm betting on 'running the place'. And probably breaking out in another six. The only absolutely safe way to incarcerate him is to put him in solitary and weld the door shut. And never allow him any sort of uncontrolled communication with the outside world. Anything short of that runs risks that I'm just not willing to take.

What frightened her the most wasn't the words he was using. It was the matter-of-fact tone that he took. He meant every single word.

So we're just going to murder him. Her voice was bleak.

Execute. His was firm. Innocents get murdered. Monsters get executed.

"Well, well, well." Tattletale's voice was bright, her expression one of interest. "It looks like there's dissension in the ranks. Seems as though Panacea isn't as thrilled about the idea of killing Coil as our mysterious 'Security' is."

Amy felt her lips compress slightly, just as she felt the spill-over of the annoyance from the presence sharing her head. "Really?" he asked Tattletale, resignation mixing with the annoyance. "You had to bring that up?"

Tattletale grinned, her smile very fox-like. "Hey, you show off, I show off," she replied unrepentantly.

Amy's eyes rolled. "Not the time, and not the place," her voice stated flatly. "Now, can we get down to business? We need to make a plan, and do it fast."

"What's the rush?" asked Regent. "He doesn't know we're coming, so we can take all the time in the world."

"Except that in twenty-four to forty-eight hours, he will have one of the world's most powerful precogs addicted to whatever drugs he's been feeding her, and she'll be desperate for more, so she will answer any questions he has for her. Questions that he'll be carefully formulating to have a very real chance of uncovering whatever plans you are hatching behind the scenes, unless we're very careful about this."

Tattletale grimaced. "And we're going to have to do this before he calls me in for our next chat. Because if you're right … "

She paused expectantly, and Amy heard herself chime in, right on cue, "And we both know that I am."

Tattletale nodded. "Yeah. He will find out. All about this. About you. And about how we're planning to take him down. Take him out." Her voice was grim, her face set.

Reminded of what they were planning, Amy found her mental voice again. I'm still really, really not comfortable with this.

What can I say to convince you that he really does deserve the quickest death we can give him?

If you know me at all, you'll know that I've spent the last three years of my life helping people, saving lives. I can't even imagine helping to kill someone. Much less …

Much less kill them yourself. I got it.

Have you ever killed anyone?

He paused for a long moment. I ... yeah, I killed someone. Special circumstances. Saving the world. He didn't elaborate, although she got the impression there was much more that he could have said.

Not Coil?

No. The last time I was in this situation, we had the PRT and the Wards to call on. Plus Canary. Fuck. How am I gonna help her now?

Who, Canary?

Yeah. Sweet girl, getting railroaded by the system. I -

"Hey, Panacea, Security, whoever you are," called Tattletale. "Don't zone on us now. Any information you've got on Coil and his operation, it would be handy to know."

Amy felt herself sigh. "Right. Information. Real name, Thomas Calvert. He's the leader of a PRT strike squad. He bought his powers a few years back, but had to spend time using them to earn enough money to pay for them before he was able to strike out on his own."

Tattletale was staring at her again. "Wait, back up. Bought his powers? Who from?"

Fuck. Did not mean to let that slip. I'm really not good at this off the cuff shit.

Her hand made a gesture, as if erasing a blackboard. "Not important."

Grue spoke up. "But if -"

Amy's head shook in negation. "Really not important. I am not going to name the people involved, but I will assure you they aren't involved directly with Coil's organisation. We do not want to get on their radar in any way, shape or form." She focused directly on Tattletale's bottle-green eyes. "Do. Not."

Whatever Tattletale saw in her eyes seemed to shake the blonde supervillain slightly. She blinked. "Okay. We'll shelve that. So he bought his powers, and now he's Coil."

"He is," Amy's voice agreed. "He's also head of a company called Fortress Constructions. They build Endbringer shelters."

"I know 'em," Grue commented unexpectedly. "Did some summer work for them, the year before I triggered."

Amy heard Michael mumbling in the back of her mind. Two thousand and eight, or early oh-nine.

Is that important?

Nope. Sorry. I have a habit of fixating on details.

Great. Listen, I'm really not happy with killing -

There's an alternative, but I can almost guarantee you'll be less happy with it.

What's that one? she asked incautiously.

Brain surgery.

I don't do brains, she replied automatically.

But you could if you wanted, he responded. So very easily. Brains are biology, after all.

It's wrong! I could give in to the wrong impulse, make them do, think, whatever I wanted. What if I'm as evil as Carol thinks I am? What if doing it once makes me want to screw with the heads of everyone I meet?

A mental sigh. Wasn't saying you should. But it's an alternative. You could change just one aspect of his personality, so that he uses his powers for good.

Her voice was bitter. And if you decide I should 'fix' another villain, and another? Where do I stop? Where do I draw the line?

His was almost gentle. These are desperate times, kiddo. The world's going to end in two years, or fourteen, depending on whether we manage to stop a psychopath in time. Sometimes, it's not 'where' we draw the line, but 'when'.

Her heart tried to lurch at his words, but she didn't have control over her body at the moment. The end of the world?

Afraid so.

Psychopath? Coil?

No. Jack Slash.

He ends the world?

"Good grief," muttered Tattletale. "Are you two having an argument or making out in there? Is there anything else we need to know?"

His attention swung outward, toward the Undersiders, who were all watching her. "Uh, yeah," she heard herself say. "Fifty mercs, more or less. They have undermounts on their guns, fire a purple laser beam that'll cut steel. Tinker-built. The mercs are well-trained. Also, there's a vault in the lower level that's got a monstrous Case 53 inside. You do not allow her to come into physical contact with you. If you're lucky, she'll eat you alive."

"And if we're unlucky?" Tattletale's voice was hushed.

Amy drew a deep breath. "She holds your body inside hers, and spits out evil twisted clones. Clones that know everything you do, and hate everything and everyone you love. They'll have powers based vaguely on yours, but different. Sometimes more dangerous. These clones are independent, sentient, living creatures from the moment that they're produced, but you have to kill them. Consider them to be Smurfed in the worst possible way."

"You mean 'Simurghed'," Tattletale corrected her.

"Same same," Amy's voice conceded irritably. "You knew what I meant." She looked at the villains in the room. "Her name's Noelle, and she's well on the way to becoming an S-class threat. So we have to figure out what to do with her before we go in there. Before we take down Coil."

Grue raised his hand slightly. "I'm beginning to wonder if we even can."

"You're the fucking Undersiders!" Amy heard her voice rise sharply. "In another reality, you fucking owned this city! You took on the Protectorate, the PRT, the Nine, Dragon, Echidna -"

"Fucking what?" interrupted Regent, his voice amused. "What the fuck's an echidna?"

"A small Australian animal, like a porcupine but not really," Tattletale told him absently. "Echidna … that's this girl Noelle, isn't it?"

Amy felt herself nodding. "It was a codename they gave her. She did a lot of damage, killed a few heroes. One of her clones killed Myrddin. And she really wanted to kill you guys for killing Coil. So any plan we make has got to include a way to neutralise her." She took a step forward. "But what I'm trying to tell you is that you guys have the wherewithal to step up, to take on the big leagues. Before you're done, you totally rearrange the political landscape. One of you kills Alexandria, for fuck's sake."

What?

"What?" blurted Grue.

"What?" echoed Tattletale.

"You're shitting me," Regent declared.

Even Rachel glanced up from where she was sitting with her dogs; up till this point, she had apparently spent very little time paying attention to what was being said.

"Who?" Tattletale asked.

Amy felt her eyes fix on the supervillain's face, and not leave it. "Not important. Plus, special circumstances."

For the longest time, Tattletale stared back at her, then the bottle-green eyes flickered sideways just once, almost too fast to see. She nodded. "Oh."

Amy hadn't quite seen who she'd been looking at; she waited for the villain to reveal what she'd realised, but no word came.

"Oh, indeed," her voice replied. "Now, we can do this. We just have to figure out how."

<><>​

"Mom?"

Carol put the iron down and looked around. It was probably a good thing that Vicky had interrupted her; she was driving the hot implement over the clothing with a little too much force and vigour, and the chance of causing damage to the delicate fabric was rising all the time.

"Yes, Victoria?" she asked. "Are you feeling better?"

Vicky, still wearing her pyjamas, had stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "Yeah, that nap was just what I needed. The fight at the bank really took it out of me. I wanted to thank Amy for fixing my bug bites. Where is she?"

Carol breathed deeply through her nose, trying to stem the irritation she felt at hearing that name. "Amy," she replied, biting the name off sharply, "has gone out. She did not tell us when she would be back."

Vicky frowned. "Mom, what's the matter? What happened? Is something wrong?" She came forward to put her hands on Carol's shoulders. "Are you angry at Amy?"

Carol gathered her daughter – her real daughter – into her arms. "It's nothing that you need to worry about, Vicky. Everything's fine now."

Vicky hugged her back. "Are you sure? Because you were ironing those clothes like you had a personal grudge against them."

She felt her anger flare up again. "Vicky. Please. Drop it."

Her daughter put her at arm's length again and studied her intently. "Mom, you're starting to worry me."

Carol sighed; the genuine concern in Vicky's voice served to damp down the heat of her irritation. "Okay, come on. Let's sit down. I have something to tell you."

<><>​

"Next bus should be by in about five minutes," Tattletale – or rather, Lisa – announced, as the bus stop came into view.

"Thanks," Amy told her. "And I appreciate you guys walking me back."

"Still think we could have been faster riding," Rachel growled.

"Some of us have costumed identities," Grue reminded her.

"So we costume up," Alec observed; he was no more a fan of walking than Rachel was.

Grue raised an eyebrow. "Which draws attention. Which we do not need, especially not now."

Taylor stepped up alongside Amy. "I'm really sorry about the knife thing. And the baton thing," she told the older girl in a low voice. "And the black widow thing. I just didn't want anyone getting hurt."

"So you put deadly poisonous spiders on everyone," Amy returned dryly.

She had found the Undersiders, once they had decided to unmask to her, to be surprisingly likeable. Lisa had led the trend, noting that Security knew all their faces and identities anyway; Amy had been surprised to see how much difference the mask and the messy hair made to her appearance. She had already seen Brian's face, while Alec's had higher cheekbones, was more delicate. Rachel almost ignored the whole concept of a secret identity, which kind of made sense, as her real identity was out there anyway, along with her face. But Taylor, the newest member, the bug girl …

Amy had been ready to dislike her. After all, the girl had threatened a couple of dozen innocents with black widow spiders. But there was nothing of the hardened criminal about her. Removing the mask had revealed a reasonably plain face, with large eyes and a wide mouth. Putting on her round-lensed glasses had completed the transformation from supervillain to perfectly normal high-school student.

"I wasn't going to use them to bite anyone," Taylor insisted. "It was just to make sure that no-one tried to be a hero, you know? That sort of thing gets people hurt. We just wanted to get in and out with the money." She still felt bad about it, Amy could see.

"So meanwhile," Amy agreed with a crooked grin, "I tried to be a hero and got hurt."

"I'm sorry," Taylor repeated. "I was never going to hurt you. Things just … got out of hand."

Amy rubbed the sore spot on the side of her head. "Yeah. I suppose you could say that."

"Hey, you made my head ring, too," Taylor reminded her. "You swing a mean fire extinguisher." She paused. "Is Glory Girl all right? After she dislocated Lisa's shoulder, I didn't want to take any chances."

Amy nodded. "Yeah, but she's still a bit shell-shocked. No-one's ever done that to her before." She paused. "Uh, Security says that it's probably a good thing. Now she'll be a bit more careful. She's always been too dependent on her invulnerability."

Reminded of her passenger, she sent an inward query. Are you still there?

Sure. I'm staying out of it for now. Carry on, you're doing fine.

Okay, thanks.

"I have to say," Lisa commented, leaning up against the bus stop, "that it was one hell of a shock to have you show up on our doorstep like that. Did Security tell you to come?"

Amy shook her head as she gratefully sat down. "No, actually. He wanted me to reach out to you, but it was my idea to come here today, now."

"Why did you?" asked Brian bluntly.

Amy didn't answer for a moment. Instead, she watched Rachel with her three dogs; giving them commands both verbal and silent, sending them here and there, retrieving a stick or a ball with absolute precision.

Raising her eyes back to Brian's face, she spoke slowly, consideringly. "He told me about Dinah Alcott, and the situation she was in. I didn't believe him, not at first, not until I had confirmed that the Mayor had a niece, and that she'd been kidnapped. Then I wanted to see what sort of people you really were. I didn't believe him about that either. But that's why I came. So I could see, and decide what to do next."

"You did the right thing," Taylor told her firmly. "We will help her."

Lisa was rubbing her chin. "Not the only reason," she mused. "Something else. Some anger there. A fight. A confrontation."

Oh. Which reminds me.

What? What of?

Tell you later.

Oh, uh, okay?

Amy watched Lisa cautiously. "Do you have to go there?" she asked.

Lisa made a vague gesture. "My power. It feeds me conclusions."

Amy sighed. "Okay then, yes. I confronted my parents about what you said in the bank. About my father. They didn't want to tell me, there was some yelling, so I went out, and came here. Because I wanted something positive to happen today."

Lisa tilted her head. "I never told you who your father was." A pause. "Ah. Security. Does he know about the other thing – oh, yeah, I see he does." A frown creased her face. "How does he feel – ah."

Amy felt her cheeks flaming red. "You can shut up now," she gritted.

Ahem. Ask her how Rex is doing these days.

Amy looked at Lisa's dancing eyes, her mischievous grin. "I just got told to ask you how Rex is doing these days."

And just like that, the light died in Lisa's eyes, the grin fell away. "Low blow," she muttered. "Low fucking blow."

Who's Rex?

Her older brother. Committed suicide. Caused her to trigger.

Christ, you could have told me. I'd never have said it like that.

She was giving you a hard time!

It was all in fun! Jesus!

Amy stood up, opened her arms and hugged Lisa. "Look, I'm sorry," she muttered. "I didn't mean to – he told me to say it, didn't tell me who Rex was."

Just for a moment Lisa leaned into the embrace, then she pulled away. "Hey, don't go getting ideas now, just because I'm blonde," she snarked, the grin returning to her face.

Amy rolled her eyes and jabbed Lisa in the ribs. "Seriously," she growled. "You villains and your sense of humour."

"Help, help, I'm being brutalised by a superhero," Lisa announced in a deadpan voice. Brian started chuckling, followed by Taylor. Alec looked bored; Rachel glanced over, then ignored them thereafter.

The dogs heard the bus first; they turned their heads and one of them barked; Rachel hushed it with a word. It was still a little distance away; Amy turned toward Rachel. "I've been meaning to ask," she commented. "What are your dogs' names?"

Rachel pointed at them each in turn. "Brutus. Judas. Angelica." As they heard their names, their heads came up and their ears twitched.

Amy nodded. "Before I go, if you want, I could check them over."

Rachel glared at her. "What, you think I don't take care of my dogs?"

All I did was offer. What did I do wrong?

Don't be tentative. Be positive. Look her in the eye.

Amy took a deep breath, and forced herself to look the bulkier girl in the eyes. It wasn't easy for her; she naturally tended toward deference. "No, I don't think that," she stated as firmly as she could. "But my power gives me the ability to see if anything, anything at all, is wrong with them. Parasites that have only just lodged. Diseases they've only just caught. Cuts, bruises. I can fix all that. But only if you want me to."

She held the stare as Rachel continued to glare at her. Gradually, a little of the hostility leached out, and Rachel nodded sharply. "Okay." She whistled, and the dogs sat down in front of her in a row.

Amy went to thank her, but found that the words would not come out.

Don't thank her. It doesn't mean anything to her.

Oh. Okay.

Dropping to one knee, she ran her hands over the muzzle and head of the dog called Brutus. He was in good health; there were a couple of old injuries, but they weren't hampering him. She moved to Judas, and found a cut on his pad, which she closed over, and the beginning of an ear infection, which she cleared up. Finally, she went to Angelica. The torn ear was only cosmetic, but the missing eye -

"I can grow her eye back if you want."

Rachel stared down at her. "What?"

"Her eye. I can grow it back."

"Will it work?"

"Yes. It will work." Did the girl think she'd give the dog a non-working eye?

"Good. Do it."

Wow, I see what you mean about not understanding 'thanks'.

She doesn't think 'human'. She thinks 'dog'.

Oh. Okay. I think.

Angelica whimpered and shifted under her hands as the eye began to reform in the socket, but a sharp word from Rachel held the animal still. In seconds, the operation was complete, and the dog was blinking at them from two perfectly normal eyes. She looked somewhat confused for a few moments, but seemed to be adjusting well. Rachel leaned down and snapped her fingers on either side of the dog's head; covering the good eye with her hand, she watched as Angelica tracked her finger with the the regrown one.

She slapped Amy on the shoulder. "It works. Good."

I see what you mean. I feel as though I've just been fed a doggy treat for doing a trick properly.

There was an amused snort. Something like that.

The bus pulled up at the stop, and the doors opened; Amy got up, dusted her knee off and nodded to the Undersiders. "I'll see you guys later then."

Brian nodded back. "See you then. And thanks for stepping up."

Amy shook her head. "Can't let that shit fly."

She turned and climbed on board the bus; to her surprise, Taylor followed.

"What's going on?" asked Amy. "Are you bodyguarding me home?"

Taylor shook her head. "Nope. I need to get home, too."

They found seats down the back, away from everyone else. Amy shook her head. "Somehow, I never thought of supervillains riding the bus. It just doesn't fit the image."

Taylor grinned. "You'll have to excuse me. I'm only new at it."

For some reason, this struck Amy as being very funny.


End of Part Six

Part Seven

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Seven: Questions and Answers


Taylor looked directly at Amy. "Listen ... before we go any farther, can you answer some questions for me?"

Uh ... what do I say?

Say yes. I suspect that these are questions you'd like answered, too.

Amy nodded. "Yes." She paused. "That is, Security will be telling me the answers, and I'll be passing them on to you."

Behind her glasses, Taylor frowned slightly. "Not to say that I don't trust you, but ... "

May I?

Amy sighed internally. Okay. Go ahead.

"But you're wondering if she'll give you the answers I give her, right?"

Taylor blinked slightly. "I'm talking to ... Security, now, right?"

Amy's mouth curled into a slight smile. "That's me. Mike Allen, at your service."

"Right." Taylor took a breath. "How can I know that I can trust what you have to tell me?"

Amy felt herself shrug. "You'll have to make up your own mind on that. But I'll tell you now; I know things about you that you don't think anyone else knows, I know things about you that not even Lisa knows … and I know things about that you don't know. And I'm willing to share."

"I'm really not sure how to take that," Taylor responded. "You could be running a huge bluff."

"Not on Lisa. She'd know if I was lying. Or if Amy was. You noticed she could tell between when I was talking, when Amy was talking, and when Amy was telling her what I was saying?"

Reluctantly, Taylor nodded. "Yeah. So, uh, talking about Lisa, would you be able to tell me … "

Amy felt her eyebrow lift. "Does she know? Yeah. She knows."

Taylor paled. "Shit."

Amy's head shook slightly. "Don't worry about it. She knows that you'd decide, eventually, to join them for real. She's not going to out you to them."

"Oh." Taylor paused, her gaze becoming introspective.

Is this about her being a hero and infiltrating them?

Yeah. Lisa knew from the start. But she was kind of suicidal, so Lisa took her under her wing anyway.

Oh. Because of her brother?

Basically, yeah.

Amy paused to consider that. Lisa was being nice to Taylor because she wanted to help her …

You realise, this is really screwing with my perception of how villains are supposed to act.

I find it helps if you ignore the descriptor and focus on the actions and the motivations.

Oblivious to the silent conversation, Taylor spoke up again. "Armsmaster told me that there are two murderers in the Undersiders. Who are they? And who kills Alexandria?"

Amy felt her throat being cleared. Oh boy. This is going to be interesting.

Why? What's the matter?

You'll see.

"Before I answer that, Taylor," Amy's voice replied, "I need you to remember to keep an open mind. All right?"

Taylor grimaced. "Oh shit. Lisa?"

A shake of the head. "Taylor. Open mind. Okay?"

"Okay." Taylor bit her lip slightly. "So tell me."

Amy took a deep breath. "Alec is one of them. I mentioned that he's Heartbreaker's son, yeah?"

"Uh, I've heard of Heartbreaker," Taylor admitted. "But I don't know too much about him."

"Canadian villain. Emotion controlling powers. He can rewrite your entire mindset regarding himself. Make you love him, utterly loyal, scared to death, whatever. And it doesn't wear off, if he doesn't want it to. He meets celebrities in the street, talks to them for thirty seconds, and they willingly come home with him." Amy was surprised by the flat, hard tone of her own voice.

Wow, you don't like him very much.

Would you?

She considered for a moment. I don't suppose I would.

"Christ," muttered Taylor. "Why haven't they - "

"Arrested him?" Amy's shoulders rose and fell in another shrug. "They tried. Everyone who comes near him falls under his spell. Anyone who tries to get close has to get through all the innocents; people who will literally lay down their lives for him. So they leave him be."

"That's horrible." Taylor looked sick. "And Alec is one of his kids?"

Amy's head nodded. "He wanted to get away from the old man. But before he managed it, he was ordered by Heartbreaker to kill one of his minions, a man who had let him down. So he did. Forced the man to kill himself."

"A murderer." Taylor's voice was hard.

"Under duress by Heartbreaker," Amy's voice reminded her. "The reason he doesn't seem to be a very nice person? That's years of his father screwing with his head."

"Oh. Okay." She paused for a moment. "And the other murderer?"

"Rachel."

Taylor's eyes opened wider for a moment, then she slowly nodded. For a moment, one hand rested on the other sleeve. "Yeah. I can believe that."

"Taylor." Amy's voice was flat. "Listen to me. Rachel has had a really horrible deal. You already know that she spent ten years in the foster system, right?"

Taylor nodded again. "Yeah. Brian told me." Her tone wasn't as flat, any more.

Amy's voice went on. "Abandoned by her mother when she was four, put into the foster system. Systematically targeted by all the other kids, until she learned to fight back, and hit hard and fast, before they could hit her."

That shot went home, Amy saw. Taylor was jolted to her heels.

Why did that affect her so much? Then she realised. Oh – you said she was bullied.

Yeah. Up till now she's seen Rachel as a thug. Now, she might see why she's like that.

Taylor looked at Amy. "When did she … "

"Become like she is now? It took ten years. She was seen as a troublemaker, nothing she did was good enough, nothing she owned was sacred. Until she found a stray dog, coaxed it home, kept it in secret, went hungry to feed it her own lunches. But then her foster mother … well, let's just say, the dog was drowning, and Rachel triggered. Her power activated, the dog got big, it had never been trained, and it went after the foster family. People got hurt. Killed."

"Oh god." Taylor's hands were clenching tightly. "I've been seeing her all wrong. She … she's like me, in a way."

Amy felt her head nod, her hand reach out to rest on Taylor's forearm. Taylor glanced up at her, wary.

"Your arm," Amy's voice observed. "Where her dog bit it. Still sore?"

Taylor blinked. "How did -" She cut herself off. "You said you knew stuff I thought no-one knew."

"I did," Amy heard herself confirm. She didn't try to say anything for herself; her head was whirling over what she'd just heard herself say, about two of the villains she had just been talking to.

"Oh, uh, yeah, still a bit sore," Taylor admitted. "But it's fine." She took a deep breath. "How about the other bit? Who's due to kill Alexandria?"

Amy took a deep breath. "Okay, first off? Me telling you this makes it a whole lot less likely to happen. Which is probably a good thing. But second? What I said earlier, about an open mind? Goes twice as much for this one."

"All right," Taylor agreed, her voice steady. "I can do that. I'm listening. I won't judge."

Amy nodded, but her passenger did not speak through her. She could feel his mind racing, even though she couldn't see the shape of the thoughts themselves.

Are you trying to figure out how to break it to her? Which of her friends is going to murder Alexandria?

Kind of. This is going to be a real tough one.

If you tell me who, I can maybe offer advice?

A mental shake of the head. Sorry. I'm going to have to … hmm.

"Taylor." Her voice was quiet, almost contemplative. "Let me ask you a question. Hypothetically."

Taylor nodded warily. "Okay."

"Let's say, hypothetically speaking, you're in the place of the person who's going to kill Alexandria."

Even more warily, Taylor nodded again. "All right."

"Now, you don't want to do it. Who does? Seriously, Alexandria's a hero. Or at least, you're used to seeing her as a hero. But right now, she's threatening to capture your friends, one by one, unless you surrender to her. She's already grabbed a couple. And the last one she brought in, in a body bag. And you're fairly sure that it's Brian."

Taylor's face had paled again, and her hands were clenched. "Oh god."

Amy's head nodded. "Yeah. So, hypothetically speaking, if you wanted to prevent her from killing the rest of your friends, including Lisa, and killing her was the only way to do it, would you?"

Taylor's head was lowered, but her knuckles were white. "God help me." Her voice was barely audible.

Amy's arm went out, and her hand rested on Taylor's shoulder for a moment. "If you really want to know who kills Alexandria, I can tell you. But you don't have to know, not really. The circumstances, yeah. The culprit, not so much, yeah?"

There was a long, long pause, then Taylor raised her head. "No," she managed. "No. I don't."

"And anyway," Amy heard herself add briskly, "because I've told you this, I doubt very much that it'll ever happen. So cheer up. Bullet dodged."

Taylor blinked. " … right."

So who does kill Alexandria?

Given that it's never likely to happen now, does it matter?

Amy paused; there was a tone in his mental voice … It's Taylor, isn't it?

One more time. Does it really matter?

She looked at Taylor. The girl did not look like a murderer to her. No. I guess not.

Taylor sniffled and pulled out a tissue, to wipe her nose. "So. What else do you have to tell me?"

Amy's head tilted slightly. "Did you have any more questions?"

"You said that you know stuff about me that I don't know about myself. What is it?"

Amy felt herself smile. "Good question. Several things, in fact. One of which is that you're becoming less and less likely to change sides back to being a hero, at this stage. Lisa is a good friend, you're developing feelings for Brian, which he's too focused to return, and Armsmaster is still a dick."

Startled, Taylor let out a giggle. "Yes, he is, isn't he? But Brian … " Her expression became lost. "I … he … "

"He's fixated on making a proper home for his little sister," Amy heard herself explain. "Besides, you're two years younger than him; he's growing to see you more as a sister than as a potential love interest." A shrug. "Sorry."

"Okay, fine," she replied, her voice perhaps harsher than Amy thought she intended it to be. "That'll just make it easier to break free. I know who their boss is now. I can turn them in."

Amy's head shook. "Probably not a good idea," her voice cautioned Taylor. "If you try to inform the PRT about Coil, they will stuff it up. Taking him out requires immediate action, and the PRT is a bureaucracy. They never do anything fast. And that's if they take you seriously. Worst case, Lisa is killed or enslaved, and the Undersiders with her."

Taylor's head hit the backrest with a soft thump. "Fuck."

"On the other hand, I can offer you something we can act on," Amy heard herself continue brightly. "Something that will improve your life measurably."

Taylor glanced at her sharply. "What?"

Amy felt herself smile. "What if I said I could stop the bullying? Flat, dead, over and done?"

Silence fell between them; Taylor's eyes bored into Amy's. She had never been on the receiving end of such an intense stare before.

"You can do that." It was not a question.

Wait, you can do that?

His tone was amused. We can do that. If you're willing.

"Well," her voice responded to Taylor, "given that I know who and why, and Panacea is a well-known hero, I'm thinking if I walked into Winslow tomorrow morning, and had a word with Principal Blackwell about Emma Barnes, Madison Clements, and … " A pause, inviting.

"Sophia Hess," Taylor completed the statement, biting the words off.

Wait, what? Sophia Hess? I know that name. That's …

Oh yeah. That's Shadow Stalker. There was grim satisfaction in his voice.

Wait, Taylor's being bullied by a Ward?

Since before she was a Ward, but yeah. That's the gist.

Oh shit, that's so wrong.

"Exactly and precisely," Amy heard herself say; she wasn't sure if he was responding to Taylor or herself, or both. "If I told Blackwell that those three were bullying you, and that I wanted something done about it now … "

"But would they do anything?" protested Taylor. "Would they even listen to you?"

"I'll let Amy answer that one." Amy felt the control over her body relax and withdraw. Over to you.

What? What do I say?

What would you say in a situation like this?

She took a deep breath. "Yeah, they would. Especially if I brought along Glory Girl. You know, my sister?" She grinned at Taylor. "I tell her about this, and I guarantee she will go to town on this Blackwell person. She's got a thing about people hurting those weaker than them. Also, she loves a good media spectacle."

Taylor grimaced. "But … how are you going to explain why superheroes are getting involved anyway? It's likely to make people look closely at me. I don't want to be outed for this."

Amy shook her head. "No, you won't. Because there's another cape involved. And this will mean that Blackwell will want to keep it as quiet as possible."

"What, Blackwell's a cape?" Taylor shook her head violently. "I can't see that."

Amy chuckled. "No. She's not." Is she?

Nope. Carry on, you're doing fine.

Thanks. "But if I tell her that one of her students, who she knows is a cape, is bullying someone, she's not going to want that to get out."

Taylor stared at Amy. " … what?"

Should I tell her again?

A grin. No. Let her sort it out in her own mind.

Amy felt a sudden doubt. Should we really out Shadow Stalker to her, in this way? Taylor might decide to take drastic action.

She won't.

How do you know?

Because she didn't, the last two times that she did find out.

That's very confusing, when you talk like that, you know.

A grin. I know. The grin faded. And besides, Shadow Stalker needs to be shut down, hard.

Okay, I can get that. Bullying is -

Taylor spoke, interrupting her train of thought. "So what you're saying is, either Emma, Madison or Sophia is a cape."

Amy nodded. "Yes. Exactly."

"Are you going to make me guess?"

"No." Amy took a deep breath. "It's Sophia."

"Sophia?" repeated Taylor. "Sophia Hess?She's the cape?"

Amy glanced around. No-one was paying attention to them. "Keep it down," she suggested anyway. "But yes, that's what Security tells me."

Taylor ran her hands through her hair, disarranging it thoroughly. She didn't seem to notice, or care. "Shit. Shit. Who is she? Which cape?" Without waiting for an answer, she moved on. "Is she a Ward?"

"Uh, yes," Amy answered.

Taylor's eyes snapped into focus. "Shadow Stalker," she whispered. "She's Shadow Stalker."

Amy nodded. "Yes," she agreed. "But you've got to listen."

The sharp tone in her voice seemed to get Taylor's attention. "What?"

"We don't just go in looking for trouble," Amy urged her. "You shelve it, for the evening. Tomorrow, we go to the school. I'll back you up. I'll get Vicky to come along too. She'll enjoy the chance to yell at someone. We confront Blackwell."

Tell her to bring the pages.

Pages?

She'll know what I mean. The ones she's been working on.

Taylor was looking at her; she realised that she had stopped talking. "Uh, he says to bring the pages. The ones you've been working on."

There was a light in Taylor's eyes now, one that had been absent before. "Oh, you can bet I'll bring the pages." She paused. "Did you know that she's carrying lethal arrows?"

Amy blinked. "I … no, I didn't know that. Isn't that kind of against the rules?"

"Oh yeah," Taylor replied. "Totally against her probation."

Amy held up her hand. "Wait a second." Probation? We didn't cover this.

Because we didn't get to it. Shadow Stalker used to be a vigilante, right? Joined the Wards?

Uh, yes?

Yeah. What they don't tell you is that she nearly killed someone. Nailed him to a wall. So it was a choice between juvey and the Wards. And guess who took her side in that case.

I have no idea.

Ask Taylor what Emma's dad does for a living.

Taylor grinned as Amy focused on her. "So, he fill you in, did he?"

"Uh, some of it, I guess," Amy admitted. "He wanted me to ask you what Emma's dad does for a living."

"Mr Barnes?" Taylor asked. "He's a divorce lawyer. Why?"

"Ah," Amy replied. "He's the one who represented Sophia in her hearing, to see if she'd go to juvey or not."

Taylor's jaw dropped open. "Wait, so he knew? He knows?"

"About her being a cape, probably?" hedged Amy. A little help?

Yeah, he knows. About the bullying, probably not. But he's also likely to threaten legal action if you try to nail anything on Emma.

Oh. Oh, I see. Aloud, she continued. "Yeah, he knows about her being a cape, but not about the rest of it. But Security says that he's likely to pull out all the stops to protect his daughter if we make accusations against her."

"Oh god." Taylor leaned back against the seat. "Him and Dad have been friends like forever." She looked hopefully at Amy. "Would that … ?"

Not in this case.

"I just got told, not in this case." She shrugged. "Well, it probably won't matter anyway. Because you know who my mom is."

Oh shit. After the scene we had earlier …

So tell Vicky, and she can get your mom in on it.

You're altogether too good at knowing which buttons to press, did you know that?

Sorry, did you want me to be polite and ineffective, or actually get this shit sorted?

Amy sighed internally. Point taken.

Taylor was looking curiously at Amy. "Would your mom get involved?"

"Not sure." Amy shrugged.

You do know that Emma's dad works at the same firm as Carol does.

Oh wait, does she?

Sure. Alan Barnes.

… yeah, I remember the name now. Huh.

She blinked. "Actually, I've just been reminded of something else. Emma's dad works at the same firm that Carol – Mom – does."

"Oh, okay," Taylor replied cautiously. "Is this a good thing or a bad thing?"

Amy grinned. "Well, if I can get Vicky to talk to her, and convince her in the matter, she might just step in and tell him to back off on any legal action."

Taylor took a deep breath. "That … would be good, I think." She glanced at Amy. "Do you think you'll be able to talk to your sister about all this, without outing me, that is?"

"Trust me," Amy told her with a roll of the eyes, "Vicky doesn't see anything that Vicky's not interested in seeing. She's very self-centred that way."

Taylor nodded. "Huh. Okay, cool. Should I bring Dad to school as well?"

Should she?

Hm. To be honest, I'm not sure. On the one hand, it might do well to turn up in force; on the other, that will slow things down, as they get their parents in as well.

I could ask Carol her legal opinion on it.

Might help. Oh, just one thing. The 'social worker' who's going to be turning up to represent Sophia? That's her PRT handler. Just so you know.

Amy blinked. Wow. Okay. Good to know. Aloud, she went on. "Tell you what; I'll talk to Mom about it. See what she says."

"Yeah," agreed Taylor. "Might be a good idea." She smiled at Amy. "You know, when we first met, I wasn't at all sure that we were going to be getting along."

Amy snorted. "You put three poisonous spiders on me, and I hit you on the head with a fire extinguisher. The basis of a lifetime friendship."

"Which reminds me," Taylor observed. "What did you do to the spiders, anyway?"

"Oh, to screw up your control over them?" Amy shrugged. "I could see the parts of their brains that were sending back feedback, so I turned it from a tight, clean signal to one with as much garbage as possible."

"Well, it worked," Taylor admitted ruefully. "I could barely concentrate. You really did a number on me." She paused. "But what happened to the rest of them? Once I lost fine control, hell, I had no idea where they even were. They could've been biting everyone in the room, and I wouldn't have known."

Amy grinned. "Oh, uh, I found them on the people, paralysed them and left them sending back the same signal that they'd been sending when I touched them. Then I sent everyone upstairs while I tried to deal with you."

"Huh." Taylor blinked. "Wow, that nearly worked, too. It did work, right up until you clocked me with the extinguisher."

"Yeah, about that," Amy commented. "How's your head? I hit you pretty hard."

"Still sore," Taylor admitted. "How's yours?"

"Probably more sore," Amy confessed. "But I can do something about yours, if you want."

"I – uh - " Taylor hesitated.

Amy sighed. "If you're worrying about the threats I made back in the bank, don't be. I've learned a lot over the last few hours. Security's told me so much … I'm still getting my head around it all."

Taylor looked at her for a long moment. Then she nodded. "Okay."

Amy reached out and took her hand; Taylor did not stop her.

Should I heal her?

Up to you. But it's a good thing. You and Taylor could be good friends.

Not -

He chuckled. No, not that kind of 'good friends'. She's straight, and you're … what you are. Just … friends. There's a synergy you two could reach with your powers; she controls bugs, and you can make new bugs.

Amy began the process of fixing the damage. Taylor had sustained a very mild concussion, but nothing that would affect her. The bruising and swelling was also relatively mild, but she brought that down to nothing. She also noted the bite-marks on Taylor's arm, probably from Rachel's dogs. It was the work of a moment to fix that as well.

I'm not sure if I want to enable her as a villain.

With you helping her, she could be a seriously effective hero. And what did I say about paying too much attention to descriptors? She wants to do the right thing. And, you know, save Dinah Alcott.

If I hadn't told her about it … what would have happened?

His voice was serious. She would have found out, eventually. And she would have quit the Undersiders in protest, when they didn't back her up in wanting Dinah freed. Because Coil had too tight a grasp on them, by then. And even Lisa didn't get the full implications.

What happened in the end?

Oh, she rejoined them, and they did end up freeing Dinah, and killing Coil. But that caused a whole other set of problems. Which is why I want to bring him down early.

Oh. Okay.

She let go Taylor's hand. "That should do it."

Taylor reached up and gingerly felt her head. "Huh. Doesn't hurt any more." More confidently, she touched her forearm. "And you fixed that too?"

Amy nodded. "One's as easy as the other."

"Well, thanks." Taylor smiled. "I appreciate it." She looked out the window of the bus. "Oh, this is my stop. So, this evening?"

"I'll be ready." Unbidden, Amy's hand came up, formed a fist.

Taylor blinked at it, then shrugged and bumped it with her own fist. "See you then."

"See you, Taylor." She watched Taylor get up and shoulder her bag, then make her way off the bus. As the bus pulled away from the curb again, she could see the tall, lanky figure making her way down the street.

What was that about?

Oh, it's a thing I did with her, last time. Seemed appropriate.

Huh. Okay. So, you're serious about making new types of bugs for her, huh?

Absolutely. It'll make life so much easier for both of you.

Okay, I'll think about it. Got any ideas?

He chuckled. Many.

Okay, let's hear them.

As he began to speak, Amy leaned back to enjoy the bus ride.

Today had been a very interesting day, and it wasn't over yet.


End of Part Seven

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Eight: Facing the Music


Amy mulled over the descriptions of the types of bugs that Michael had suggested to her.

I could make these?

You could definitely make these. I've seen you do it.

When you say 'me' …

… I mean the previous version of you, yes. But it's still you. Still able to do it.

I … still not sure if I should. After all, she's a villain.

His voice was very dry. In about the same way that Sophia Hess is a hero.

That jolted her. I'll accept it when you say that Shadow Stalker's a bully, sure, but -

She's also repeatedly attempted to murder Grue.

You're joking.

Nope. His powers interfere with hers, so she's decided that he needs to die. She uses lethal arrows at every chance, to try to kill him. Not arrest, not capture. Kill.

Amy took a deep breath. You're actually serious about this. This is so against the unwritten rules.

Silently, he made a rude noise. Like she cares about those. Next time you get a chance, do a body read on him. He has a scar on his stomach from a through-and-through wound. Shadow Stalker shot him there with a lethal arrow, after she joined the Wards.

Fuck. Amy rarely swore; this was an indication of how shaken she was. Has she ever actually killed anyone?

At least one that I know of, but that was basically an accident. Possibly more. There was the guy she nearly killed, the one that got her into the Wards. And then there's the people she's let it happen to, because they were too scared to fight back -

No, no, wait, what? Shadow Stalker?

He sighed. Yeah, see, her personal philosophy is that the strong survive, and the weak don't deserve to. If you're being attacked, mugged, raped, whatever, if you're too scared to fight back, then she doesn't stop them. She just watches, then presumably comes in afterward and kicks their asses. But unless you prove you're willing to fight back, she won't lift a finger to help you while it's happening.

Amy shook her head, just a little, not wanting to get anyone's attention. That's wrong on so many levels.

Well, yeah. His tone was almost matter of fact. She also caused Taylor's trigger event.

Amy had thought she couldn't be shocked any more. Do I want to know?

Probably not. His tone was contemplative. I'll just hit the high points. You know about the bullying.

Yes, I recall. Amy's tone was cautious. She could not imagine any act of bullying so egregious that it would trigger powers in someone.

Okay. January third. Her locker had been 'somehow' filled with the contents of the special bins found in the girls' bathrooms, over the holidays. With me so far?

Unfortunately, she was. Did Sophia do that?

His tone was almost cheerful. Easiest way, isn't it? So, she smells the smell. Opens the locker. Goes to toss her cookies. Sophia grabs her by the hair and shoves her in the locker. Locks her in. Leaves her there. She doesn't get let out until the janitor gets told, after an hour or more.

Amy's eyes went wide, and she put a hand over her own mouth. Oh my fucking God. That's a trigger event, right there.

Sure as hell was. First and second triggers, one after the other.

Oh god. Amy was no expert, but she knew about both types of triggers, and the sort of stimuli needed for each one. And Shadow Stalker did that?

Signs point to 'yes'.

Oh god. Oh my god. And I thought the Wards were so nice.

He sighed again. Most of them are. Kid Win loves being a Tinker, but he doesn't know what his specialty is yet. Clockblocker is a smartarse, but his dad's got leukaemia. He's gonna ask Vicky to ask you about helping him, sometime in late May, after - He cut himself off.

After what?

After something else happens. Right now, not a huge concern. But yeah, Clockblocker. Not a bad kid. Vista, she's good at what she does. More experience than most. Prefers her hero life over civilian life. Her parents are on the outs with each other. Browbeat's a little on the cold side, but that's just the way he is. Aegis and Gallant are good people, too. The only really bad apple in the bunch is Shadow Stalker.

Amy felt relief that her judgement had been not found totally wanting. So she's an isolated case, then?

Not so much,he told her. Taylor went to Armsmaster before the bank robbery. Her intention was always to infiltrate, to be a mole. She asked him to give her an assurance that if it went wrong, if they were captured, she wouldn't go to jail. This is after she let him take credit for Lung.

Amy had a feel for the way this was going. He said no?

Got it in one. Called her a stupid girl. So then she stuck with it, continued to gather information. If things go as they probably will, in a while there'll be more clashes with the PRT and Protectorate, which the Undersiders will win, mostly because Taylor's a friggin' tactical genius when it comes to her bugs.

Oh boy.

So, anyway, during the next Endbringer battle, Armsmaster sets it up so she'll be killed. Only, she isn't. He nearly dies, but she saves his life. And then she takes on Leviathan, hand to hand, more or less.

Holy shit. She takes on fucking Leviathan?

Well, she shoves Armsmaster's halberd up Leviathan's arse, and gets her back broken for her trouble, and she nearly dies, but yeah.

Amy was nearly lost for words. Jesus Christ.

He chuckled. Basically, yeah. That's when she accidentally finds out who Shadow Stalker is. And then, because she refuses to unmask in return, they're all threatening her with the Birdcage. When Lisa more or less blackmails them into pulling their heads in, Armsmaster turns around and outs her to the Undersiders.

Outs her?

Tells them that she only joined in order to betray them.

Oh, that's just … wow. He is a dick.

Yyyup.

When she next spoke, she was more contemplative. I can see why she wouldn't unmask. If Sophia's got it in for her that badly, if she knew who she was under the mask …

Correct. In fact, afterward, Sophia goes hunting Skitter, with the express purpose of killing her. Holds her down and tries to cut her throat.

Tries?

Spider silk is pretty well knife proof, it seems.

Oh. Well. She tried to haul her mind back on track. So, all this has yet to happen?

It might not happen. A lot of it won't now, given that you've reached out to the Undersiders, and that Taylor knows what she knows, and what you and Vicky are going to do tomorrow at Winslow.

Because of you.

Yeah. And hopefully you'll be willing to help me make a lot more changes. Help people out, save the world, that sort of thing.

Amy blinked. I … wow. Save the world?

Not all at once, he assured her. One step at a time. But will you give it a try?

She drew a deep breath. I … guess I can, at that.

He smiled. Excellent. Isn't this your stop?

Oh. Oh, wow, it is too. She scrambled up and out of the seat, and only just made it off the bus before the doors closed.

<>^<>​

The house loomed large before Amy. She took a deep breath before starting up the path to the front door.

I don't suppose you have any advice for getting through the next half hour?

His tone was grimly amused. I did suggest asking for a place to stay, with the Undersiders.

You did. Maybe I should have done that.

Or you could stay with Taylor and her dad. They're good people.

I – what? She was moderately startled. Would that even work?

Did last time. You and Taylor ended up great friends.

I mean, would that even work, this time?

Hm. He thought about it. Maybe we can look into it, tomorrow. But right now, maybe you should open the door. Amusement tinged his voice. Unless you plan on sleeping on the lawn tonight.

She blinked, realising that she was standing on the front step, staring at the door. Fishing out her keys, she unlocked the door, and let herself in.

The first voice she heard was Vicky's. "Amy! You're back!"

This was followed by the appearance of her sister, wearing a robe over pyjamas, as she ambush-hugged Amy, and held her tight. "I've been so worried about you!"

Amy patted Vicky's back; she was going to go for a hug, but her hands instead worked to extricate her from the embrace. "I'm okay, Vicky, really," she heard her voice say. "Just a bit tired, all right?"

What the hell are you doing? Why can't I hug my sister?

Because she's in her pyjamas, and I'm not hugging a sixteen year old girl in her pyjamas if I can possibly help it. And yes, I saw what you were thinking when you went to hug her. We are not going there.

You said you weren't going to take over my body without my permission. You lied to me!

A sigh of resignation. Yeah, I promised you that, didn't I. She felt control return. Just remember what I said. Bad things happen if you keep going down this path.

Wait, you didn't tell me anything about that!

I didn't? Fuck, I didn't. I'm getting my timelines mixed up. Look, if you keep thinking that you and Vicky have a chance, then bad things happen. She's not interested. Barring pretty extreme circumstances, she never will be interested.

Vicky was eyeing her. "Amy, are you okay? You kind of zoned for a moment there."

Amy nodded. "Yeah … things have been happening. I've kind of got a lot to think about." She put her arms around Vicky, and felt her sister returning the hug. But she didn't make it as deep, or as long, as she could have.

I'm going to need more explanation than that. A lot more.

You probably won't thank me for it.

I'll take that chance.

Carol was the next to appear. "Amy, where have you been?" Her voice was sharp and disapproving. "Your father and I need to talk to you."

Amy rolled her eyes. "You mean, you need to talk at me, and Mark will sit there and nod his head occasionally."

Vicky stared at her. Carol's jaw dropped. Even Michael seemed to be taken aback. Ouch.

To give her credit, her foster mother recovered quickly. "What's gotten into you? You will not speak to me like that."

Amy looked her in the eye. "Tell me that's not exactly how it's going to go down."

"Amy Dallon!" snapped Carol. "You do not get to speak to us like you did earlier, then storm out of the house, and come back with more … more … "

"Backchat?" suggested Amy, feeling as though she was riding the crest of a wave. She knew she was going to crash, and crash hard, really soon, but right now she was flying. "Insolence? Truth?"

"Amy!" protested Vicky. "Don't talk to Mom like that. She's your mother too, you know."

Amy snorted. "In name only. And my name's not Amy Dallon. It's Amelia Claire Lavere. We may as well use it, from now on. Seeing that I know the truth."

Carol shook her head. "I always knew this day would come," she observed, more to herself than to anyone else. "I just didn't think it would come this soon."

Vicky frowned at her. "What day? And who's Amelia Claire Lavere?"

"I am," Amy told her. "This may come as a surprise to you, but Tattletale, back in the bank? She was telling the truth. I'm a supervillain's daughter."

"Yeah, I know," Vicky replied, surprising her slightly. "Mom told me. Marquis."

"Wow, fucking thanks, Carol," Amy responded. "You tell Vicky, but you can't be bothered telling me?"

Carol opened her mouth to reply, but Vicky got there first. "This afternoon," she added hastily. "She told me this afternoon, after you left."

Taken aback, Amy blinked. "Oh. Okay then."

"I only did it so that Victoria would be fully informed once you returned," Carol informed her tartly. "Though where you got that name from is beyond me. It's only written down in three places that I know of, and you don't have access to any of them."

Amy let a smile curl her lips. She imagined that it might look a little like Tattletale's know-it-all smile. "Let's just say, I have access to information sources that you don't know about."

Carol's eyes narrowed. "You've been talking to villains."

Amy's eyes widened. How the hell does she know about that?

Michael seemed equally surprised. I have no idea.

"Villains?" Amy squeaked, through a suddenly-constricted throat.

"His old allies," Carol clarified bitterly. "They finally contacted you, didn't they? Looking to see if you'll take up where your father left off?"

There was a long moment as the realisation soaked into Amy's brain. Then she burst out laughing. Looking around, she found a chair and sat down, still chuckling.

"This is no laughing matter," Carol told her severely. "If Marquis' old organisation -"

Amy shook her head, letting the occasional snicker escape. "No, Carol. I haven't been contacted by any of Marquis' crew. I wouldn't even know who they are. I don't think they even exist any more. Anyway, I'm not about to become a supervillain. That's not in my life plan."

Unless, you know, you join the Undersiders.

Shut up. That's different, and you know it.

Vicky knelt beside her. "Then what is going on, Amy? Something's different, and you're scaring me."

Amy took a deep breath. "Can we go into the living room? I think we're all going to need to be sitting down for this."

<>^<>​

They sat on the two sofas, on either side of the coffee table, facing one another. Carol sat on one sofa, with Mark beside her, with Amy opposite. Vicky went to sit beside her mother, visibly changed her mind, and sat beside Amy, although she maintained a certain distance.

Well, at least it's not three to one. How are you going to play this?

Amy's internal voice was a lot less sure than her outward facade. By ear, I guess. Any help?

When and if I can.

Thanks.

Carol opened the running, her voice harsh. "We're all here. Care to explain your actions?"

Amy was about to answer, when Michael broke in. Make Mark ask the questions.

What?

Tell her you'll only talk to Mark, not her. That brings him into this, and slows her down.

Oh. Yeah. Okay.

Amy took a deep breath. "Carol … you're a lawyer. You've got experience in tearing people apart on the witness stand. I'm not going to answer your questions." She looked at her foster father. "But I'll answer them from you."

Mark, who had been staring into the distance, blinked and roused himself. "Hmm, what?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" snapped Carol.

Amy raised an eyebrow. "So Mark doesn't have equal say with you?" It was true; she knew it was true, and so did Carol. But they both also knew that Carol wasn't about to admit it.

Her foster mother growled deep in her throat and turned to Mark. "Very well, dear. Ask her."

Mark looked mildly at Amy, and thought for a moment. "Sweetie, you were a bit rude to your mother, earlier. Maybe you should apologise to her."

Amy nodded. "I'm sorry for being rude to you, Carol. I apologise." Her voice was contrite, but inside, she was grinning broadly. Okay, that's just genius.

Nope, just knowing how to rig the game.

"Not that!" Carol snapped. "Tell her to explain her actions!"

Mark sighed. "Maybe you're being just a little harsh on her?"

Carol shook her head. "Mark, we need to know. So please, ask her."

Mark turned to look at Amy. "Honey, your mother wants to know why you acted like you did, earlier."

She smiled sweetly at him. "Okay, seeing as you asked so politely." She looked around at the three of them. "I've discovered some things about myself today. About myself and about some other stuff. My name is Amelia Claire Lavere. I'm the daughter of a superviillain. Marquis, to be exact, but you all knew that."

She paused; Vicky seemed to be hanging on her every word. Mark was gazing at her benignly. Only Carol made an impatient gesture. "Get on with it," she muttered.

"You named me Amy Dallon," Amy went on, locking eyes with Carol. "But that's not how you treated me. You didn't treat me like your daughter. You treated me like Marquis' daughter. Like a supervillain, ready to slap me down at the first sign of danger, of walking down the wrong path. Didn't you?"

"Well, it's true," Carol snapped back. "You are Marquis' daughter, and from all indications, his blood is coming out in you, just as I suspected it would."

Amy ignored her words and glanced significantly at Mark. He got the hint, and looked at his wife. "What do you want me to say, Carol?" he asked plaintively.

"Ask her where she found all this out," Carol replied, her eyes never leaving Amy. "Ask her who contacted her."

There was a long pause as Mark looked expectantly at Amy, and Amy returned the look. After a few moments, he seemed to realise that there was more expected of him. Not a good day to skip your meds, huh, Dad?

"Amy, your mother wants to know -"

She held up a finger. "Sorry, Mark, but I'm going to have to stop you right there. That's not true, and you know it. Carol isn't my mother, and you're not my father. I'm sorry to say it, but Carol's never acted like my mother, and you've only been a father on occasion."

He paused, then nodded. "I suppose that's fair," he agreed.

Carol stared at him. "Mark!" she exclaimed.

He looked at her and shrugged. "What am I supposed to say, Carol? I might be depressed, but I'm not stupid. You've never treated her the same as you've treated Vicky."

"And what if I haven't?" she demanded. "Look at her, the way she's acting. After all we've done for her -" They devolved into a low-voiced argument.

Amy became aware of Vicky's gaze. "Amy, I've been an all right sister, haven't I?" she asked quietly.

Amy nodded. "Yes, Vicky. You have." She swallowed a lump in her throat. "But -"

"But what?"

"I'll, uh, tell you later." She looked back at Carol and Mark.

Her foster father cleared his throat. "Uh, Carol wants to know who told you this information. Where you found it out."

She looked him in the eye. "I'm sorry, but I can not and will not give you that information."

Mark grimaced. "She really wants to know." From the thunderous look on Carol's face, that was the understatement of the year.

Amy heard her blood roaring in her ears. She had never, not ever, defied Carol and Mark like this before. It was liberating. It was terrifying.

Are you doing this?

Nope. It's all you.

I think I'm going to throw up.

If you do, aim at Carol.

She only just managed to stifle a wholly inappropriate giggle, and took a deep breath to settle herself. "And I really don't want to tell you. It wouldn't help the situation. In fact, telling you would only make it worse. Sorry."

Carol's eyes narrowed. "I'm going to have to insist."

"Uh, Amy," Mark responded. "She says -"

"I heard her," Amy replied. "But my name is Amelia Claire Lavere, and I'd really prefer you used it. And I don't care how much she insists, I'm not going to tell either of you where I learned my information. Because, in legal terms, that information is not germane to this case. Now, do you have any other questions you want to ask me?"

Carol's expression became more forbidding. "If you're not more forthcoming, young lady, penalties will be in order. Grounding, for a start."

Amy didn't reply; she just looked at Mark.

"Oh, uh," he began. "If you don't tell us where you got this information, you'll be grounded." He leaned forward, his expression pleading. "Don't make this hard on yourself, sweetie. We only want the best for you. Whoever told you this stuff might not have your best interests at heart."

Wow, good cop, bad cop. Took them long enough.

Yeah, with Carol, it's usually bad cop, bad cop.

"Well, whoever it was told me stuff that I'm better off for knowing," Amy told Mark steadily. "And which you guys were keeping from me. So who's got my best interests at heart, again?"

Silence, while Carol regrouped. Amy could see her expression changing second by second as she thought furiously.

"Fine," she gritted at last. "What did this person tell you, exactly? He or she might have given you false information. We might need to clear that up. Any misconceptions."

Mark took up his cue. "Sweetie – Amelia," he corrected himself. He ignored the sharp glance that Carol shot him, and went on. "Did this person tell you anything else that's important? We might need to know."

She nodded to acknowledge his use of her name, then considered her reply. "I was told some other stuff, yes," she agreed cautiously. "But I believe it all to be true. And if you decide that it's false, and you act on it, you could cause problems."

"If you tell us, and it's important enough, we could help you with whatever it is," Mark urged.

She looked him in the eye. "And can you guarantee that Carol will accept whatever I say without question? Because some of it's some pretty way-out stuff."

"My job is to question," gritted Carol.

"Which is a no," Amy confirmed. "Which means that I can't tell you a lot of the stuff that I learned."

Mark frowned. "Sweetie – what stuff? How did you learn it?"

Amy shook her head. "I can't tell you that. But I got it all from the same place that I got my name and who my father really is. And I believe, totally, in its accuracy."

Wow, thanks. I'm touched.

A fleeting smile. You've been a lot more up front with me than they have. And you kept your promise, and gave me control back.

Carol compressed her lips. "I'm beginning to think that there's something more at play, here. Ever since you hit your head -"

Amy rolled her eyes. "You're acting like I was just clumsy or something. I was hit on the head by a supervillain and knocked out. After she held a knife to my throat."

Mark frowned. "Why didn't you use your powers?"

"Full body costume, Dad," Vicky put in. "Armoured too, by the looks of it."

"Huh, wow," he replied. "That's the bug controller?"

Amy nodded. "They're calling her Skitter."

"Sounds creepy," he observed.

Vicky shook her head. "Oh, trust me. You have no idea."

Amy snorted. "You think you had it bad? Clockblocker had bugs crawl in under his eyelids."

"Clockblocker?" asked Vicky, her brow wrinkling. "But he wears a full-face helmet -"

"Swapped with Aegis, to put them off guard," Amy informed her. "But I'm guessing someone figured it out."

"We're getting off track here," snapped Carol. "Amy, you've been acting strangely since this Skitter hit you and knocked you out. I suspect some sort of outside influence."

Vicky looked startled. "What, like a Master?"

"Seriously?" Amy snapped. "I get hit on the head, I learn some stuff, I act a bit differently because of what I learn, and all of a sudden it's Master/Stranger protocols? What are you gonna do? Lock me in my room until you find out what's going on? Because honestly, that shit isn't going to fly."

Well, to be honest, you were under a sort of Master influence for a bit there.

It wasn't a Master, it was you. Which makes it an inside influence, not an outside one.

Wow, semantics even. I love it.

Oh, shush, you.

"Maybe the hit on the head jarred some memories loose," Mark theorised. "And you remembered things that you'd forgotten. Add some concussion in there, and bingo."

Should we pop that balloon, or let them think that's that for a while?

I guess? I don't know.

"A concussion that causes delusions? We're going to need you to be checked out, in that case," decided Carol briskly. Her glance spoke volumes.

To make sure you don't become dangerous, right.

Wow, you really know how to read Mom.

A grin. I've got thirty years on you in that regard.

What's your mom like?

She's nice. You'd like her.

She became aware that Carol and Mark were watching her expectantly. "What?"

"Uh, Carol has suggested that you get your head checked out, to see if the damage is more problematic than we first thought," Mark explained. "Are you all right with this?"

"And if I'm not," Amy noted, "you're likely to think that something more sinister is going on with me, right?" Her eyes cut sideways to Carol. "Whereas mom of the year, over there, starts with that basic assumption."

Wow, ouch. Did you mean to actually say that out loud?

Um, no, not really?

Mark's tone hardened. "Amelia, please don't be impolite to your mo – to Carol. I'm doing my best to be fair, here. Could you please answer the question?"

You know, he really is.

Okay, yeah, true. A lot more fair than she is.

Amy nodded, conceding the point. "Okay, sure. I suppose it wouldn't be a bad idea to make sure I'm not bleeding into my brain or something." She took a breath. "And sorry, Carol. I didn't mean to be rude."

He smiled. "Good." A sideways glance at Carol. "Is that good enough for you, honey?"

The look on Carol's face stated that it really wasn't, but she nodded reluctantly. "Good enough for the time being," she conceded.

"I'll phone the doctor, to make an appointment for tomorrow after school," Mark decided, getting up. Carol got up also, muttering something about cooking dinner. They both exited the living room, leaving Amy and Vicky alone.

Vicky eyed her closely. "Are you really all right?" she asked solicitously.

Amy nodded. "Better than I have been for a while, actually," she assured her sister. "Oh, I'll go along and let the doctor look at me. But that's not what's causing this."

"Then what is?" asked Vicky, her expression curious.

For a moment, Amy considered telling her, then shook her head. "Sorry. You probably wouldn't believe me. Maybe later, when things are different."

"Man," Vicky observed, looking her up and down. "Mom wasn't wrong. You've changed. More self-confident. I think I like it."

Amy smiled. "Thanks. I think I like it, too."

Now to go off and hide in a corner until I stop shaking.

Yeah. I know how that goes.

Spontaneously, Amy hugged Vicky. "Thanks," she murmured.

Vicky was surprised, but she hugged Amy back anyway. "Wow, okay. What for?"

"For supporting me," Amy told her. "For taking my side. For being my sister."

Vicky cheerfully tousled Amy's hair before letting her go. "Hey, what are sisters for?"

Amy smiled, but she was already thinking of what was going to happen later that night.


End of Part Eight

Part Nine

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Nine: Discoveries and Revelations


Dinner had been an awkward affair; Vicky had done her best to keep the conversation going, but between Mark's vagueness and Carol's less-than-thrilled demeanour, it had been hard going. Michael had stayed in the background, doing his best not to distract her. Amy appreciated it; she didn't need Carol and Mark having any more doubts about her mental capacity.

And now, after all of it, Amy lay awake in the darkness. Waiting for everyone to go to bed, go to sleep, so that she could sneak out and meet the Undersiders.

She stirred, rolled over to check the bedside clock. It was after ten. So how much longer?

Not sure. Taylor's probably waiting till your parents go to sleep.

Oh, right.

There was a tap on her bedroom door. "Ames? You awake?"

Shit. Pretend to be asleep.

I can't. Vicky's my sister. Aloud, she called out, "What's up, Vicky?"

Yeah, but you're lying on top of the covers, fully dressed. She's gonna know something's up.

Oh. Shit. Right.

"I can't sleep. Can I come in, talk awhile?"

Tell her no.

And then she'll really think there's something up. Amy scrambled to pull the sheets over herself. "Sure, okay. Come on in."

The door opened, letting in soft light from the hallway; Vicky was silhouetted against it, wearing her robe over her pyjamas. Her brushed blonde hair made a gentle halo around her head.

For a mercy, she left the light off; she was of course familiar with Amy's bedroom, so she made her way straight to the side of the bed and sat down on it. Amy felt the mattress sag with her weight.

Momentarily, she wondered if Vicky's fearlessness at walking around in the dark stemmed from her immunity to stubbed toes and barked shins.

Heh. Probably.

Shush. "What's the matter?"

Vicky sat with one leg up on the bed; she reached forward, patting with one hand.

What's she after?

Oh. My hand. She holds my hand when we talk like this.

Oh god. Okay. Just push your sleeve up a bit, okay? So she doesn't realise.

Following Michael's advice, Amy was wearing a dark long-sleeved pullover. She slid the sleeve up toward her elbow, then reached out from under the covers to grasp Vicky's hand; their fingers interlocked in the familiar pattern. With the skin contact came Vicky's body rhythms; her heart rate, her brainwaves, everything working in the interlocking pattern that people called 'life'.

"I haven't been hurt like that since I got my powers," Vicky began, as if continuing a conversation. "And I haven't seen you hurt like that in a while, too."

Amy felt her own heart rate pick up a notch, at the skin contact.

Ahem.

I can't help it, okay? Now shush.

"We just got unlucky," Amy told her. "It happens. Tattletale figured out your weakness. She's good at figuring stuff out. But she didn't want to hurt you badly, or kill you."

"Seriously?" Vicky asked her. "Could've fooled me." Amy couldn't see her grimace – all she could see was a vague shape in the dimness – but she knew which muscles were tensing and which were relaxing, and she picked up the changes of brain chemistry which spelled out 'disgust'. "Those bugs were … well, 'creepy' was the nicest thing I could say about them. And what if I'd been allergic?"

"Well, you had me there," Amy replied reasonably. "If you were in distress, I would've healed you anyway, headache or no headache."

Would you really have? Even with me in the driver's seat?

Of course. This is Vicky. If it came down to saving her life, yeah, I would've chanced it.

"Still, it was a pretty dick move," Vicky stated.

"She could have just shot you twice," Amy pointed out. "Or three or four times. I would've definitely have had to heal you on the spot then. If she didn't shoot to kill, that is."

"I guess," mumbled Glory Girl. "I just don't like feeling that vulnerable."

Welcome to the rest of the human race, kid.

That's a little bit mean, isn't it?

Hey, she might just learn to be a better hero from this. See what it's like for the poor bastards who can't bounce bullets.

Amy squeezed her sister's hand. "You know, some of us feel like that all the time."

Vicky's brain chemistry shifted; Amy automatically read the change as 'contrition'. "Oh shit. I didn't mean it like that."

"That's okay, sis," Amy assured her. "I'm used to being the squishy one here." Her tone became contemplative. "I guess I really shouldn't have tried to play the hero."

"Well, duh," agreed Vicky, her demeanour becoming more cheerful. "Any course of action that ends you up with a knife at your throat is generally a bad course of action."

"I don't think she really meant to hurt me," Amy pointed out before Michael could remind her.

"Ames, she had a knife at your throat," Vicky reminded her, in slow and patient tones. "I really think she did."

"No, but I pulled away from her," Amy pointed out. "She had to let me go, or she really would have cut my throat. And she could've, really easily. But she didn't."

"It was still a huge fucking risk," Vicky told her. "Why did you do it?"

"That Tattletale girl," Amy told her. "She was talking about my dad, remember? Either you locked yourself in the vault or she told me something worse than even that."

"And you were willing to risk a cut throat for that?" asked Vicky. "What the hell's worse than finding out that your dad's Marquis?"

Amy froze. What do I say to that?

Fuck. I have no idea. It never came up like this before.

Well, how did it come up?

Once, really badly. And once, after you'd been doing therapy for a while. That time came out a bit better.

"Ames? What's up?"

Therapy? Why was I taking therapy?

Because I told you to.

And did it help?

You were smiling a lot more, so I guess so.

"I, uh, can we talk about this another time?" Amy asked, feeling trapped.

"When?" asked Vicky. "It's obviously a private thing, and I can't see you wanting to talk about it in front of Mom and Dad. You didn't talk to them about it, so it's not something they know. And any other time we're out and about together. When's a better time than right now?"

Shit.

No kidding. She's smarter than people think.

What am I gonna do?

Well, outside of using your powers on your sister, which might be a little extreme -

Amy was shocked at the very idea. Well, no shit! I'd never do something like that to Vicky!

- your three options are to lie your head off, say nothing … or tell the truth. But if you take the last one, for fuck's sake, leave the aura out of it.

Why?

No time to explain. Just trust me on this one.

Okay, fine. She took a deep breath. I hate lying to her, and she's not gonna leave this alone.

Oh god. Good luck. Please don't fuck this up.

Thanks, I think.

"Ames?" asked Vicky. "Talk to me, please."

"Okay," Amy replied. "I'll tell you what's going on. But I don't think you're going to like it a whole lot."

Vicky shook her head; in the darkness, Amy could hear her hair swishing back and forth. There was a fond smile in her voice – and on her face – when she replied. "Seriously, Amy, the last time I was actually angry with you was when you messed up my fifth grade class presentation."

Amy rolled her eyes. "I said I was sorry. I was trying to help."

Vicky chuckled. "I know. Which is why I forgave you about an hour later." Her free hand came out, smoothed Amy's hair back from her face. "So give. Whatever it is, we can deal."

Amy took another deep breath; the lingering feeling of Vicky's fingertips on her cheek was not helping her composure any. A mental image came to her; an older man, dressed in some sort of uniform, heavy set, bearded, crossing his arms and tapping his foot. She almost giggled, but calmed herself instead.

"Vicky … you know how you keep setting me up with boys, but I don't like any of them?"

Muscular contraction and relaxation told Amy that Vicky was rolling her eyes. "Yeah, picky much? We've still got that double date with -"

Amy shook her head, then recalled that Vicky couldn't see her. "No. I'm not going. Vicky, I don't like those boys. Any of them."

"But you haven't met this one -"

"Vicky." Amy tried again. "I don't like boys. I'm not interested in them."

"Oh?" Vicky seemed vaguely puzzled. "Oh." That was a sound of realisation. "Oh." And finally, the penny dropped. "Oh, you're gay. Why didn't you tell me? We could have sorted something out. I know a guy, his sister's your age, she's kind of interested in girls too -"

Okay, that's a start. Michael's voice was tense. Can we leave it there?

I'd love to, but Vicky'll see through that bit. She'll want to know why it's such a huge secret. Wow, Panacea's gay. Big deal. It 's not like people care any more.

"No, Vicky," she pressed on. "I'm not interested in 'girls' either."

Puzzlement entered Vicky's voice. "But if you're not interested in boys, and you're not interested in girls, then what … ?"

There was a snort of amusement within her mind. Many options. Most of them illegal.

Shush. Aloud, she went on, before her nerve could fail. "You."

There was a long, long silence. Amy could hear the chirping of night insects outside her window; there didn't seem to be any great concentration of them -

- but Taylor could tell them not to chirp if she didn't want them to.

Michael, what if she hates me now? She hasn't said anything.

What do your powers say?

Amy was shocked; she had been so wrought up that she had totally tuned out what her powers were reporting via Vicky's body. This was the first time that had happened in … forever. She looked for anger, disgust, repulsion … and didn't find it.

"Ames." Vicky's brain showed a trace of confusion, then embarrassment, blending into understanding and then compassion. "How long … ?"

Amy sighed. "Ever since … " Time to shade the truth just a little. " … ever since I started developing, I guess. Started being able to feel that way. I mean, you're my best friend, I've always loved you, it's just that now I love you a little more … "

"Amy." Vicky was shaking her head again. "We can't do this. We can never do this. I'm straight. And you're my sister." Through the link, there was sorrow and regret.

"Adopted." Amy didn't even really mean to say the word out loud. "But yeah, I know. You're straight. It's not going to happen." She tried to keep the pain out of her voice, and did not totally succeed.

"Shit." Vicky's voice was filled with emotion; Amy felt, for the first time, loathing in her brain chemistry. Oh god, I've made her hate me.

No.Michael's voice calmed her. It's not you. It's herself. She's upset with herself.

How do you know that?

An impression of a grin. Life experience, kiddo. Talk to her.

"Vicky … ?"

Her sister was crying silently; Amy could feel her tear ducts working. "So sorry, Amy. I am so goddamn sorry. Every time I undressed in front of you, or hugged you or kissed you, I was sending you mixed messages. All this time, you must have thought I was the most godawful tease."

Amy had to chuckle. "You are the most godawful tease. Wearing a short skirt, with pants underneath? As a flier?"

Vicky sniffled, but stopped crying. "You're making fun of me."

"No." Amy reconsidered. "Well, maybe just a little. But it's all right." She squeezed Vicky's hand. "I've been carrying this load around for way too long. It's a relief to be able to share it, just a little bit."

"But you're still … attracted to me. In love with me, whatever."

Amy sighed. "Yeah. Still am."

"And every time I showed off my new underwear, or got changed in front of you, or we swapped out in the shower, you were checking me out, weren't you?"

A blush started creeping over Amy's cheeks. She was tempted to lie, but Michael's silent presence urged honesty. "I … yeah, I guess so."

Another eye-roll. "Figures." A pause. "Hey!"

Amy was a little startled. "Hey, what?"

"If you're holding my hand like this, you can read my whole body, yeah?"

"Yeah, of course." Amy frowned. "What are you getting at?"

"So you can see the shape of my body with your power. So you're kinda checking me out right now."

Amy had to chuckle. "Heh, no. My power doesn't give me a three-dimensional image of your body. It just tells me how it's working, down to the most minor detail. I'd need a whole new set of kinks to find that sexy."

"Or you could be just, you know, lying. So I would keep holding your hand while you got a load of my bod." Vicky's tone was light, bantering.

Amy shook her head in the darkness. "Not lying. You deserve the truth about this."

"So you're not going to lie about this at all?" Amy detected mischief in her sister's brain, as well as her voice.

Oh god, what have I gotten myself into?

Not entirely sure. I'm just hoping she doesn't ask what I think she's going to ask.

What's that?

Better you don't know. She's waiting for an answer.

"I, uh, yeah. Total honesty, all the way." Amy waited for Vicky's reply.

It wasn't long in coming. "So," her sister murmured, "have you ever had, uh, fantasies … ?" As far as Amy could tell, she was asking the question from morbid curiosity, as opposed to actually reciprocating Amy's feelings.

Oh god, she asked it.

Fuck. I said I'd be honest.

I'm presuming you have.

Well, in my place, wouldn't you?

I reserve the right to not self-incriminate.

Hah. And thank you for showing me how to answer. She took a deep breath. "Vicky, if I answer one way, I'm going to be horribly embarrassed. If I answer the other way, you'll know I'm lying my ass off. So can we just accept that we both know what the answer is, and drop this subject? For all time?"

"Hm." Vicky seemed to be thinking this over. "Can I tease you again later?"

"Only if you catch me checking you out later."

A shrug that made the bed shake slightly. "Okay, deal. And I'll stop giving you mixed messages. Okay?"

"I … yeah, okay. I appreciate it." She paused. "You know, like sneaking into my room late at night and climbing into bed with me."

"I haven't done that for at least -"

"- two years, four months, one week and three days," Amy recited promptly. "After you got your costume and went out for the first time. You were so excited that you couldn't sleep, and you actually wore your costume to bed. My bed, as it turned out."

"Wow." Amy could feel Vicky trying to look at her in the darkness, her eyes searching. "You remember that, then."

Amy felt herself blushing. "Vividly."

"Oh." Vicky seemed to be lost for words. "Well. I … uh, kinda forgot why I even came in here."

Shit, I have too.

Talking about the bank robbery.

Oh, thanks. "We were talking about the bank robbery."

"Oh, right. Yeah. Okay, I guess you're right. It wasn't as bad as it could've been. They could have hurt us a lot worse than they did. Though hitting you on the head was a bit risky. That could have killed you."

"Don't remind me," Amy retorted. "My head still hurts. Not badly," she added hastily. "Just, you know, bump-on-the-head hurt. You know what that's like. You got a few bumps playing basketball."

"Nothing that knocked me out," Vicky pointed out.

Amy conceded the point. "But I'm not nauseous, I don't have double vision, none of the signs of concussion."

How about hearing voices in your head?

Oh, shut up.

"Yeah, but I still worry about you, Ames. You know that."

"And I love you for it."

Amy didn't realise what she'd said for a moment, until Michael did a very realistic throat-clearing noise inside her mind. "Oh, uh, you know, appreciate," she added hastily. "The other kind of love." She felt herself starting to blush, all over again.

"You know," Vicky observed, "I was looking forward to teasing you about this. But you're doing a better job than I ever could." She was amused, Amy could tell.

She's right. You are.

"Oh, shut up," she muttered. And that goes for you too.

Look on the bright side. She's not mad at you.

"Okay, fine," Vicky replied, still sounding amused. "You've given me a lot to think about, so I'll be going to bed." She paused for a beat. "My own bed, just so there's no misunderstanding."

"Night, Vicky." Amy let her sister's fingers go, and the awareness of Vicky's body vanished from her powers.

Vick got up and moved to the door, then paused. "So am I still flying you in to school in the morning, Ames?"

"Oh, uh, if you're fine with it?" returned Amy. "Knowing I've got feelings for you and all?" She cleared her throat. "How come you're so cool with this, anyway? I would've thought you'd be more upset about it."

Vicky snorted. "I'm kind of used to it. About ninety percent of the boys in Arcadia have 'feelings' for me, and more than a few of the girls. If that sort of thing squicked me out, I'd never leave my room. I mean, yeah, it's a bit of a surprise, finding out that you've got the hots for me too, but it's not something I haven't had to deal with before. Just so long as you don't try to break up me and Dean – oh god." She paused. "So that's what that was all about."

"What was?" Amy thought she knew, but asked anyway.

"We were talking about you awhile ago, and he got kind of evasive."

"Yeah," sighed Amy. "I ... I don't like him. The fact that he's with you. He more or less let me know that he knows about that, today."

"Shit. And you see us together all the time." Vicky's voice was that of someone undergoing a revelation, or seeing something in a new light.

"Yeah," Amy replied again. "Please don't tell him that you know? I don't want things to be even more awkward between us than they already are."

Vicky paused for a moment. "Okay, Ames. If that's what you want." She went to open the door.

Amy got up on one elbow, and spoke before she could think too hard about it. "Vicky? I'm sorry. To put this on you."

"Hey." Vicky's voice was warm and understanding. "This shit happens, okay? You can't control who your body thinks it likes. We can work through this, now that we both know about it. You okay with that?"

Amy sighed. "Yeah, I'm good with it."

"Good," Vicky told her. "See you in the morning. Good talk, Ames." She opened the door, allowing the dim hall lighting to spill into the room momentarily, and slipped out. The door clicked shut behind her.

Amy lay back, letting out a long sigh. Well, now I'm exhausted.

Michael echoed her sigh, silently. Yeah. That went off a hell of a lot better than it had any right to.

Okay, tell me.

Tell you what?

About the time it went badly.

There was a pause. Do you really want to know? Because I'm not kidding when I say 'badly'.

Amy swallowed, and steeled herself. Yeah, I want to know. So I know what to avoid.

Okay, for a bit of context; New Wave had attended an Endbringer battle. Mark had brain damage. You hadn't fixed it, because you don't want people knowing you can do brains.

Oh god.

Carol was at you to try anyway; Vicky was upset with you because she knows you can do brains, but choose not to. But you were stuck between a rock and a hard place. Way too much stress on you.

If I fixed him, everyone would know. If I didn't … oh god.

Yeah. Then the Nine came to town. Bonesaw had a robo-spider inject acid into his brain. You had to fix him – right then, right there – or watch him die horribly.

Amy was shocked. But why?

Because she wanted you to use your full potential. And join the Nine. To be her big sister.

Her eyes wide, Amy started at the darkness. Oh god. And she thought I was Nine material.

Well, she was wrong. But. You fixed Mark, and he drove her off.

I didn't really have a choice, did I?

Not really, no. Not and stay sane. Bonesaw had you in a no-win situation.

So what happened then?

Well, you'd just learned a little while previously that your dad was Marquis. There was a letter from him to Carol that you found. So that was on your mind too. You basically decided that you'd betrayed everyone by refusing to fix Mark earlier, so you grabbed some stuff and bolted.

But that's not the end of it, is it?

No. Vicky found you.

What did I do?

Okay, understand that you were at the end of your rope. Other bad stuff had happened. Gallant had died fighting Leviathan. You'd been just a little bit secretly glad, because that let you get closer to Vicky. You had the Mark thing, and the Marquis thing, and Carol wasn't letting up on you. When Vicky came to you, she asked you to go home.

And I refused.

Yeah. She wanted to hug you, and you told her to not touch you. Because you'd just broken your own rules, and it had been so easy.

Amy could see where this was going. And she did it anyway. Because Vicky. Because she trusts me not to use my powers on her.

Yeah. So you broke, right then. Because you wanted so much for her to be with you. And you changed her brain, just a little. So she'd feel the same way about you as you do about her.

Fuck.

He didn't answer. She didn't wait for one.

Fuck. No. No, I would not do that shit to Vicky.

Amy -

No. No, fuck you. I would not do that fucking shit to my own fucking sister. I. Would. Not.

Amy -

No, that's it. I'm done. I don't believe it. I wouldn't do it. No fucking way.

I believe you.

… what.

I believe you. You wouldn't do it.

But you just said -

The Amy who did that is not the Amy that you are now. You're in a much better place. You've faced some of your issues, and you don't have the pressures on you that the other you did, in the other place and time. You, here and now, would not do it.

His words, measured and reassuring, cut through her anger.

So you're not telling me that I'm going to do it?

Nope. In fact, all this stuff I'm telling you? It's so you don't do it.

… oh. Uh, sorry.

For what?

Yelling at you.

A snort of amusement. Heh. No worries. You want to hear how it ends, or will you take my word that it gets worse?

I … I want to know, but not right now, okay? Maybe later?

There was the suggestion of a hug. Sure. Any time.

Thanks.

For what?

Walking me through this. Being there. Helping me.

It's what I'm here for, near as I can tell.

Huh?

Helping you, and a lot of others, to avoid the shit that's coming down the line.

That sounds ominous.

Oh, trust me, ominous is only the start.

But you can help us through it?

I can only try. And I will try. Every step of the way, I'll be with you.

Amy didn't answer; she smiled, knowing that he felt it, and rolled over in bed.

<><>​

Amy! AMY!

Huh? What? Amy blinked her way awake. She was already standing up, with her shoes on. Half a dozen fireflies were orbiting her head.

Taylor's outside, with the others. Time to go.

Wow, was I asleep?

Just a little bit. There was amusement in his voice.

Were you sleepwalking me? Realisation shocked her fully awake. Wait, you can control my body while I'm asleep?

He sounded almost apologetic. It's more like, you sleep and I don't. I can already control your body while you're awake; I just don't lose that control when you go to sleep.

She tried to control her reaction to that revelation. That's got the potential for all sorts of creepiness.

I thought you'd already figured that out, when Regent tried to control your body.

I ... I guess. But I didn't think it applied when I was actually asleep. She paused. Wait, you don't sleep?

Not as such, apparently. I sat you up first, to see if that would wake you, but it didn't. I could have slapped you awake, but I didn't think you would appreciate that.

No. I would not. Thanks, I guess. She glanced at the clock. Eleven thirty, wow.

Yeah, I thought they'd come earlier. Maybe your parents stayed awake later than normal.

Talking about me, probably.

Do you blame them? You put the cat among the pigeons, earlier. And really, I think it's a good thing.

Softly treading over to the door, Amy turned the handle gently. As with the other times she had sneaked out to go to the hospital, it opened with barely a creak, barely a click. The fireflies had quit their circling, and had flown out the window.

A good thing? How so?

Well, for one thing, they'll stop taking you for granted. Stop looking at you in the same way.

Not sure if that's a good thing.

And what you had before was so great?

… okay, you have a point.

So engrossed was she with the internal conversation that she didn't notice the door opening behind her. Not until, that is, Vicky spoke.

"Amy!" she whispered. "What are you doing?"

Amy glanced back at her guiltily. "I … I'm going down for a cup of water," she temporised. "Go back to bed."

Instead, Vicky left her room and followed Amy down the passageway. "That isn't your pyjamas," she murmured. "You're wearing shoes. Are you going to the hospital?"

Oh. shit.

Crap on a stick.

"Oh, uh -"

Vicky shook her head. "You're not going to the hospital. You'd be wearing your costume if you were." She leaned closer to Amy. "Where are you going?"

What do I tell her?

Don't look at me. She's your sister. Way I see it, you've got three choices. Go back to bed, lie, or tell her the truth.

Fuck.

And do it now, before she wakes up your parents.

Amy made her decision, and drew a deep breath. "Okay … "


End of Part Nine



Part Ten

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Ten: Anger Management


"Okay … " began Amy, with the feeling of stepping through an open door into a darkened space, which may or may not be an open elevator shaft. "Vicky, I need you to keep a secret for me."

Vicky rolled her eyes. "Jeez, Ames, what else are you gonna hang on me tonight?"

Amy inclined her head toward the stairs. "Come on, let's get downstairs before we wake up Carol and Mark. I'll tell you there. But you gotta promise not to freak."

Vicky's eyebrows drew down in what Amy knew to be her 'worried' face. "Seriously, just saying that is kind of freaking me out already." But she followed on as Amy crept down the stairs.

When they reached the bottom of the steps, Amy turned to Vicky. "Okay. Now please, promise."

Vicky nodded in the darkness. "I promise. I won't freak."

Amy took a deep breath. "I'm going out to take down a supervillain."

There was a long moment of utter silence; Amy fancied that she could hear the house settling around them. Then Vicky spoke, her voice a harsh hiss.

"Amy, geez! Come on! What the hell do you think you're doing? Especially after what happened today!"

"Vicky!" Amy protested, in the same hushed tone. "I know what I'm doing. I'm not going alone. I'm going with some others."

Vicky blinked at her in the gloom. "What the fuck? Who's the supervillain? Who's going with you? And most importantly … "

She paused for effect.

"Why the fuck haven't you invited me along?"

What?

Oh, shit. I should have realised. Vicky's gonna want in on this.

She's gonna go nuts when she realises who's coming with me.

So break it to her. Really gently. If you can.

Amy breathed deeply again. "Vicky. Before I even let you in on this, you've got to promise that you won't do anything to screw the mission. Anything. At all. If you have a problem, talk to me before going off the rails." She hardened her tone as much as she could. "I mean it."

"Wow, geez, secrecy much, Ames?" asked Vicky.

Amy nodded her head vigorously. "Yes. Totally. And these are people you're not going to want to work with. But this mission has to go through."

"Mission against who?" asked Vicky.

She had to tell Vicky sooner or later. "You've heard of Coil, right?"

"Yeah, I've heard of him. Small-time crime boss. What's he done that's got you sneaking out in the middle of the night?"

Amy drew a deep breath. "Kidnapped the Mayor's niece. We're going to rescue her and take him down."

"Seriously?" Vicky seemed about to laugh, but she held back. "That's a Capes of Our Lives plot if I ever heard one."

"Well, it's true. Her name's Dinah Alcott. But I don't have time to argue about it. Like I said, I'm working with some people that you're not going to enjoy associating with. So if you can't do it, can't suck it up, let me know and leave me to it. But with you or without you, I'm doing it."

Vicky's eyes were almost glowing with her intensity. "I'm in. I don't care if it's Clockblocker teamed up with Shielder. There's no way in hell you get to pull a secret mission without me at your back."

"Okay. Just so long as you remember that you promised," Amy reminded her. She held up her hand, smallest finger crooked. Vicky hooked her own finger through it, completing the childish ritual.

"Pinky promise," she assured Amy. "So let's go meet the rest of the team."

Amy eyed her pyjamas. "Sure you're dressed for crimefighting?"

"Shit, hang on," Vicky muttered. "I'll just go and change."

"Not your costume," Amy warned her. "Something dark."

"Gotcha. Back in a sec."

With a whoosh of air, Vicky was up the stairs, leaving Amy alone in the dark. Her heart was racing; she knew that the next few moments were going to decide the events of the rest of the night. Michael? How's she going to react?

I have no idea. She's your sister. How binding is that promise?

She's never broken it before.

Good. Let's hope that holds. Or maybe we could make a break for it, get away before she realises we've gone.

No way in hell. She'd catch us before we got two blocks.

You're right. I wish you weren't, but you are.

<><>​

Moments later, Vicky returned, drifting silently down the stairs; now she was a ghostly presence in the dimness, wearing a long sleeved sweater as well as dark jeans, and her long blonde hair was even tucked up under some sort of cap. Amy felt the presence behind her eyes scanning her sister from head to toe, then she realised that Michael was just making sure that she didn't have anything bright on her.

For a moment there, I thought you were checking her out.

Okay, young enough to be my daughter, all right? Also, not the time and place.

Amy's reply held a tinge of mischief. Aww, you're no fun.

Shush, you.

She became aware that Vicky was looking at her expectantly. "So where are these people you're working with, Ames?"

"Outside, waiting for us." She eyed Vicky. "You know, last chance to go back to bed and pretend this is all a dream."

Vicky shook her head. "Not a chance in hell."

"Okay then." Leading the way to the front door, she unlocked it and carefully pulled it open. She had done this enough times to be familiar with it, though this time the long walk to the hospital did not lie before her. Vicky followed her as she stepped out through the door. Almost immediately, Amy spotted the newcomers waiting on the front lawn.

Despite the glare from a street light painting the scene a washed-out yellow, darkness slid away from Grue, roiling across the ground, hiding everything from the knees down. In contrast, Skitter stood in a shadow of her own making, cast by the thousands of bugs orbiting her. Bitch stood foursquare, arms folded, her dogs bulking menacingly behind her. Only Tattletale and Regent didn't seem to ooze menace and intimidation; the latter stood alongside Grue, while the former stepped forward with that cheeky grin plastered across her face.

Behind her, Amy sensed Vicky coming to a complete halt. She stopped and turned. Frozen in the act of pulling the door to, her sister was staring at the arrayed supervillains before them.

"Vicky … "

Vicky grabbed her shoulder. "Get behind me, Ames." Her voice was low and controlled. "Back into the house. Wake Mom and Dad. Now."

"Vicky, no!" hissed Amy.

"What? Go! I'll hold them off!"

Amy shook her head desperately. "No! They're the people I'm working with!"

A long, frozen moment. Vicky stared at her, then at the arrayed villains. "No. I refuse to believe this. Not this. No fucking way."

"Vicky. You promised not to freak. Listen to me. Please."

"Y'know," commented Tattletale, "if we were here to be hostile, we could've attacked by now. Amy's telling the truth. She's working with us."

Vicky stared at her, then at Amy, her mouth dropping open. "Fuck, what's happened to you? What's going on? What sort of hold do they have over you?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "They don't have a hold over me. I went to them."

Vicky looked as though she were having trouble processing this. "What? When? Why?"

"Look," Tattletale told her briskly. "Our boss ordered us to do that bank job. We didn't know that it was a diversion so he could kidnap the kid. Amy came to us, told us a whole heap of stuff, convinced us it was the right thing to do."

"Convinced you, maybe," muttered Regent, clearly audible to Amy.

"Shut up, Regent," Grue told him quellingly.

"So, just because you find out your crime's a cover for another crime, you've decided to go straight?" asked Vicky disbelievingly. "That's bullshit. I don't buy it."

"If it was as simple as that, sure," Tattletale agreed. "It would be bullshit. But there's more to it than that. He's an asshole. The type of guy who gives supervillains a bad name. The girl he kidnapped? She's a precog, a powerful one. He's gonna be drugging her, using her as a slave so that he's got full access to her power no matter what she wants."

"So wow," sneered Vicky. "You find out that your criminal boss is an asshole, and now you want amnesty? Sorry, it doesn't work that way."

"No," Amy told her. "They just want to help me take him down." She searched for a way to convince Vicky of her reasoning, had an inspiration. "Thing of it like our own personal Endbringer truce."

Vicky gave her a long, searching look. " … okay, fine," she admitted. "I can see that." She hooked her thumb at the assembled teen villains. "But what do they get out of it?"

"Not working for an asshole, for one," Tattletale put in. "Also, it's possible to be a villain and have scruples."

Vicky moved away from Amy, stepped up to the other blonde, looked her in the eye. "Really," she replied flatly.

"Really," Tattletale agreed. "I only joined his organisation because there was a gun at my head. Imagine how that makes me feel."

"And I never knew he was going to be kidnapping kids," put in Skitter. "I'm not standing for that."

Vicky looked at them both for a long moment, then turned back to Amy. "So where do you come in? How come you're joining them on this? When did you even arrange this?" She paused. "This afternoon. When you went out. How did you even know where to find them?"

Amy took a deep breath. "That's a really long and complicated explanation. One that we don't have time to get into now. Just … what we're saying is true. We need to take him down, tonight, and rescue Dinah, before he gets her addicted and working for him. So if you're going to help us, help us. If you're not, then please don't tell anyone."

Vicky shook her head. "Fuck, Ames. I was never not going to help you. I just didn't know it was going to involve supervillains."

Amy went to speak, but her voice didn't work.

Michael?

Shh. Let her work through it.

Oh, okay.

Tattletale waited, watching Vicky expectantly; Regent fidgeted. Skitter's swarm buzzed sullenly. Bitch waited, a glowering presence. Grue could have been a statue carved from obsidian; his darkness still flowed over the ground, almost like a living thing. The massive dogs panted silently, the puffs of steam from their nostrils highlighted by the street lamp.

Vicky raised her chin. "Okay, fine. Truce. I'll work with you to take Coil down, this one time. But after it's all over and done? I see you, I'll smack you down." She pointed at Tattletale. "Especially you."

Tattletale's grin widened slightly; Amy could tell that she was about to say something. Something that might just set Vicky off. "Okay, that's settled," she interjected hurriedly. "So, can we go?"

"Yeah," Grue agreed, his voice hollow and more than a little creepy. "Let's get on with this."

<><>​

It was a dark night, and there were very few cars on the road; the Undersiders galloped their oversized canine mounts down the middle of the street, with Vicky flying Amy above and beside them. The only sounds came from the huffing of the great beasts and the impacts of their paws on the road surface, so it was relatively easy to maintain a conversation.

"So where are we going?" asked Vicky.

"Coil's base," explained Tattletale.

Vicky waited, but the blonde supervillain obviously wasn't interested in explaining further. "And what're we going to do once we get there?" she asked, biting the words off.

"We're waiting for a little bit, then busting in," Tattletale told her with some relish. "You've got a job elsewhere first."

"She does?" asked Amy.

Remember the plan? We were going to send Bitch. Vicky can get there quicker.

Oh, right. Amy paused, thinking. This actually makes the plan easier, doesn't it?

That's the idea.

"Wait," Vicky objected. "Where am I going?"

Tattletale grinned. "To break and enter the house of a PRT strike squad leader, and beat him up if he's there."

"Wait, what?" Vicky stared at her. "Okay, now you're just fucking with me."

Amy shook her head. "She's really not. This is Coil's secret identity. You've got to bust in there, grab him, and beat him up. Hard. Let him know that you know who he is."

"Wait, wait," Vicky objected. "Coil's a PRT squad leader? Do you have any idea how unlikely this sounds?"

"It is what it is," Tattletale informed her blithely. "Getting cold feet?"

Vicky swooped down in front of the dogs and dropped to the ground, forcing them to stop or hit her. "No, but this stinks more every second. You assholes somehow convince my sister to come out with you to take down Coil, and now you're saying that this bastard's secretly a PRT officer? Shit, even if I believed you, that's a breakage of the unwritten rules, right there."

"Coil doesn't care about the unwritten rules," Amy pointed out, wriggling out of Vicky's grasp until she was standing on the ground. "He's got information on nearly every cape in Brockton Bay that they don't know about, and he'll use it to hurt us all if he has to."

"Yeah, I find that hard to believe, too," Vicky retorted. "Ames, I have no idea how they managed to get you to believe all that shit, but this ends now. I'm -"

"They didn't tell me," Amy told her desperately. "I told them."

Vicky frowned. "And where the hell did you get all this stuff from?"

Amy hesitated. Michael?

Yeah?

I'm going to have to tell her.

Ah crap.

Please?

An impression of a nod, and a sensation of resignation. Okay. Let's see how this pans out.

Thanks.

Vicky was still waiting for an answer. "Ames?"

Amy took a deep breath. "Uh, you know when I got knocked out in the bank?"

Vicky nodded, scowling at Skitter. The bug controller didn't show any emotion in return. "Not like I can actually forget."

"Right, yeah, well, when I woke up, there was someone else in my head."

Vicky's attention swivelled to focus on Regent. "You."

Amy shook her head quickly. "No, not him. Besides, he takes hours to get a proper hold on someone. It's someone else. From elsewhere. He's not a bad guy. He's been telling me stuff, helping me out. He's the one who told me about Marquis."

Vicky's face held an expression of deep suspicion. "If he's controlling you -"

"He's not," Amy told her hastily. "He could, but he's not. But it's why I've been acting a bit strange now and again."

"Strange or not, I don't want him in your head. Tell him to get the hell out, now."

Amy shook her head. "It doesn't work like that. He doesn't want to be here either. But he's got a job to do, and until it's done, he's stuck here. As far as I understand things, anyway."

Vicky frowned. "What the fuck? What job?"

Amy shrugged, very slightly. "As far as I can tell, he's here to save the world."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Vicky growled, rolling her eyes. "Let me talk to this jerk myself."

Michael, you're up.

Fuckin' yay.

Amy felt herself draw a breath, then she gave Vicky a nod. "Victoria Dallon," her mouth stated.

"And who the fuck are you?" demanded Vicky.

"Michael Allen, at your service," Amy heard herself say. "Once upon a time, I called myself Security. Not that you'll know either name."

"Never heard of you," confirmed Vicky. "What the fuck are you doing inside my sister?"

She must have realised what she'd said only after the words passed her lips; Tattletale's smirk widened slightly, Grue may have snorted inside his helmet, and Regent snickered.

Amy's expression didn't change at all. "I'm going to presume you didn't mean that to sound quite that way. What I'm doing here is that I ended up in your sister's head through no intent of my own. I'm not a hundred percent on what actually placed me here, though I have my suspicions. But like she said, I strongly suspect that my job here is to save the world, and just to make that job so much fuckin' easier, I've got to do it as the voice in the head of a traumatised sixteen year old girl. Joy."

Mentally, Amy winced at the biting sarcasm that came out in the last sentence.

Michael, am I really … that traumatised?

Trust me, kiddo. Nine out of ten people in this shitty old world of yours is walking wounded. You're hurting and you don't even know it. I'm just trying not to make it worse.

Accompanying the words was a fleeting sensation, as of a hug. Obscurely, she felt comforted. Thanks.

You're welcome.

"Wait, seriously, so that's it?" demanded Vicky. "That's all the explanation you're going to give me?"

"Vicky," Amy's voice told her patiently. "You're the one who wanted to come along on this expedition. Now, I've given Amy and the Undersiders all the information I can on how to take down Coil, and why it should be tonight. I'd much rather leave her out of all this, but I can't very well do that when she's all the mobility I've got at the moment. So do me a favour. Either come along and give us a hand, or back off and leave us to get on with it."

"Or I could just fly Amy back home," Vicky countered. "Wake up Mom and Dad, let them know what's going on."

Shit. She could too.

Michael, let me talk.

Amy felt control returning to her. Okay, go for it.

Thanks. "Vicky, no, don't, please," she urged her sister. "It's me, Amy. What Michael is telling you is the absolute truth. And you promised not to pull this exact shit on me."

Vicky hesitated. "Shit. No, the promise doesn't count. I didn't know -"

"Like hell it doesn't count," Amy retorted. "Have I ever broken a promise I made to you? Even if I didn't know all of what was going on, or if I'd get in trouble?"

"But this is more important -" began Vicky.

"No, it's not," argued Amy. "There's a twelve year old girl who's currently being addicted to drugs right now by a man who doesn't care at all about her, except that she's got a power he can make use of. That man is willing to make use of his authority as a PRT squad leader to cover up what he does as a criminal."

Well, I don't know that he does -

Would he? If he had to?

Shit, yeah. In a heartbeat.

Well then.

"And you know this for a fact?" Vicky asked reluctantly.

"Michael does," Amy informed her. "And he told me, and the Undersiders, stuff that no-one should be able to know. Stuff that convinced them to turn against their boss."

"So tell the PRT," Vicky suggested. "Put it out there. Let them know about it."

Tattletale slid down off the dog she had been sitting on. Turning to face Vicky, she shook her head. "No can do. Absolute best case scenario is that he disappears with her. Anything slightly less than best case? We each end up face down in a back alley with a nine-millimetre lobotomy. Because he can find us, and he can make sure that we die, and he can get away with it."

Vicky frowned. "Fuck." She stared at Amy. "You're certain of this."

Amy nodded. "Absolutely. I believe Michael implicitly."

The blonde hero grimaced. "Fuck," she muttered again. "Right. I said I'd back you up. Okay, fine. Who's this guy I'm supposed to beat shit out of?"

"His name is Thomas Calvert," Amy supplied. "Did you bring your phone?"

Vicky nodded. "I did," she confirmed, pulling it out.

"Texting you the address now," Tattletale told her, tapping away on her own phone.

"Wait a minute," Vicky protested as her phone chimed. "I never gave you my number."

Tattletale grinned. "No, you didn't, did you?"

Vicky set her jaw and took a step toward Tattletale; Amy felt her aura flare. Gritting her teeth against it, she put a hand on her sister's shoulder. "Vicky, not the time. Please."

Slowly, Vicky nodded. "Okay, fine. I'll go beat this guy up." She took off straight up; her dark-clad form was quickly swallowed by the night.

"Well," commented Regent quietly, "I never thought I'd meet someone who produces more testosterone than you do, Grue."

"Fuck you, Regent," Grue replied, just as quietly. "And keep a lid on comments like that. Both of you."

Tattletale approached Amy. "You okay?" she asked the biokinetic, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Amy nodded. "Sorry about that. She caught me leaving the house."

"Figured as much," Tattletale told her. "Shit happens. Let's get closer to Coil's base. You can ride behind Skitter."

<><>​

Amy was glad for the tough fabric of her jeans, because the rough back of the grotesquely oversized dog-thing was not conducive to ease of sitting. She hung on to bony spurs and hoped that her hips weren't about to dislocate, as they felt they might; the roadway blurred by below them, for all that the gigantic dog was merely lolloping along at a steady pace.

"Much further?" she asked Skitter.

The skinny bug controller shrugged. "I have no idea. I've never been there myself."

"Oh, right. You said you'd only been working for him a short time." She still had a hard time connecting Taylor with the creepy-looking girl with the flat yellow gaze.

"Yeah." Skitter shrugged again. "When the heroes are dicks and the villains are actually nice to you, what are you gonna do?"

It wasn't something Amy had ever considered. She had been born into a family of superheroes, and Vicky had been cape-mad ever since she had known what capes were. Even when she got her powers, it had never been a matter of doubt as to what she was going to do with them. The decision had been made for her, it seemed, and she had never been able to find a good enough reason to overturn it.

Maybe I should have put my foot down. Maybe I should have asserted myself a little more.

Not sure if it would've done any good. You had constant pressure from Carol to be good or else, and from Vicky, expecting you to be a hero.

Well, I doubt that I would've become a villain.

So you reckon maybe just a healer for hire?

I don't know. Amy thought about that. I'd probably have just as much pressure on me as I do now.

Heh, no. He sounded amused. You know what the great thing about having sole access to a very rare, very in-demand commodity is?

Amy frowned. What?

Being able to set your own price. Also, your own working hours.

She felt somewhat disquieted. That makes me feel … cheapened.

Hell no. Expensive. Very expensive. Also, set a limit on how many people you see a day, and tell the ones who can be dealt with by doctors to see a damn doctor!

She blinked at his vehemence. Are you actually saying that's what I should do?

Nope. Not gonna tell you what to do. Just telling you what you can do, if you feel like it. You don't have to be a hero. You're under no obligation to keep putting yourself out there.

Amy was still trying to get her head around that when her phone rang.

<><>​

Vicky hovered in the air near the house. It was a typical suburban cookie-cutter dwelling, the same as every other house near it. Tapping in Amy's number from memory, she dialled.

"Vicky? What's up?"

She wasted no time on pleasantries. "Look, are you sure of your information? I do this, there's all sorts of consequences if I'm wrong."

"Vicky, I told you. He's a supervillain. Plus, Michael tells me that his power lets him think he can get away with anything. Especially with female capes that he's captured."

She felt a chill of rage go down her spine. "You mean he -"

"I mean exactly that, yeah." Amy's voice was equally cold. "And he's got a way of making sure that no-one ever finds out."

"Shit. Right. Okay." Vicky eyed the house. "So I bust in, grab him, beat him up."

"Yes," Amy told her. "Make sure he knows why you're doing it. Break a few bones. I'll fix any permanent damage." She paused. "You are at the right place." It wasn't a question.

"Checked it three times." She took a deep breath. "Okay then. I'll call back when I'm done."

"Okay. Kick ass."

"Always do." Ending the call, she slid the phone into her pocket. Momentarily, she considered walking up the front path and kicking in the front door, then she shrugged. Lining up, she accelerated at the front wall of the house.

If something's worth doing, it's worth doing properly.

<><>​

Coil's head came up as he sat at the computer console. In the other timeline, he had been awoken by a tremendous crash, as of the house coming down around his ears. He blinked as he tried to figure out what was going on; at the same time, he picked up his phone and tapped in a query. The answer came back immediately; the alarm system in his house had been triggered.

Who's attacking me, and why?

His other self scrambled out of bed, switching on the light and reaching into the bedside drawer for a firearm. A surge of terror nearly disabled him, the weapon slipping from his nerveless fingers and clattering to the floor.

"Coil!" a feminine voice screamed. "Coil! I'm coming for you!"

Fuck, how did this get out? And who is this?

He forced himself to pick up the pistol; he was terrified, but he could still act. The very fact that he was terrified puzzled him; he had been in far worse situations. Are my emotions being affected from the outside?

Whatever it was, it didn't affect the version of him sitting in his base, of course, but it was affecting the combat capability of his other self. He only knew of one female emotion-altering cape in Brockton Bay. Why is Glory Girl attacking me in the middle of the night?

His bedroom door smashed off of its hinges, and a dark-clad figure lunged through. The accompanying wave of terror turned his guts to water and made him soil himself, but he still managed to get off a couple of shots. One hit, but the other missed; she didn't falter in the slightest.

Enough of her face was showing that he was sure it was indeed Victoria Dallon as she blurred across the room and smashed the gun from his hands; next, she grabbed him and threw him at the wall hard enough to crunch plaster. The plaster wasn't all that crunched, either; he felt his shoulder and some ribs go.

"Why are you doing this?" he pleaded as she grabbed him again.

"Shut up, you bastard," she growled. "Thomas Calvert, aka Coil, I'm making a citizen's arrest." She threw him across the room again, back at the bed. He felt more ribs go, and there was something wrong with his legs as he landed on the floor.

"You can stop … hitting me," he grunted, racked with agony.

"Nope," she replied. "I need to hit someone, and you're it." She picked him up by the front of his pyjamas, just as he brought his hand up. Holding the pepper spray that had been on top of his nightstand.

He sprayed it liberally in her face, but of course she ignored it. Until he punched her solidly in the jaw. His fist stung, but she inhaled the cloud of spray, and doubled over, coughing and choking.

"Okay," he growled, grabbing her by the throat. "Who sent you after me, and why?"

Too late, he saw her straighten up, resolve in her eyes. Too late, he saw her fist coming up. It smashed into him.

Blackness.

That timeline ended.

Coil sat back in his chair, confused. Splitting the timelines had been a regular precaution of his for years, and occasionally it had proven useful. This time, it had saved his life. He just didn't know why Victoria Dallon had burst into his house, out of costume, with the clear intent to maim or kill him. And the fact that she was still out there posed a clear and present threat to his safety.

He split the timeline. This required investigation.

<><>​

Amy's phone rang again. She answered it immediately. "Vicky?"

"Ames? You sure this is the right place?"

"Absolutely certain. Why?"

"Because I just busted the place up and there's no-one here. And now I hear sirens."

"You'd better get out of there."

"But I can't find him."

"You won't. Trust me. I'll text you the address of where we are now."

"I'm going to need some explanations."

"You'll get it. Just don't get caught on site."

"Okay. See you soon."

Vicky hung up, and Amy sent the text, then put her phone away. Well, you were right.

It's what he does.

So if Coil wasn't there …

He's in his base. Vicky just flushed him there for us.

So why did we want him in the base and alert? Surely it would've been better if we separated him from his men.

He's got it wired to self destruct. And I don't trust him not to be able to do it remotely.

Oh. Oh yeah. Wow.

Yup.

At that moment, Tattletale's phone rang. She let it go for a moment, then picked it up. "Yeah?" she asked, yawning.

Amy didn't hear much of the conversation that followed, but it obviously had something to do with Glory Girl, and their encounter in the bank. Tattletale hung up just as Vicky came swooping in out of the darkness.

"Okay, someone please tell me why the fuck I just committed several felonies for no visible gain," the blonde hero snapped.

"Long story short?" Tattletale grinned. "He's a precog who can experience two timelines at once. One timeline he's at home, the other he's in his base. He'll shut down whichever one he doesn't like."

"So you sent me to his house, and in the other timeline I beat him up," realised Vicky. "How do we know it even worked?"

"Because he wasn't there," Amy supplied. "So we're in the timeline where he's in his base."

Vicky nodded slowly. "I've heard weirder things. So what do we do now?"

"Simple," Tattletale told her. "We go kick his ass."


End of Part Ten

Part Eleven

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Eleven: Stations of Canon


Wait.

What?

I said wait. There was something else that you needed to do before we go in.

What's that?

Bugs. Lots of bugs.

But Taylor – I mean Skitter – already has a swarm with her.

Remember what I told you on the bus? The sorts of bugs you can make?

I … I've never done that sort of thing before.

Actually, yes, you have. I saw you do it. It just wasn't you, that time.

… that doesn't actually make any sense. Although she knew it did, in a really weird way.

There was a sigh inside Amy's head. So tell me what part of this does.

… you have a good point.

She heard Vicky clearing her throat, and looked up guiltily. "Sorry, what?"

"I was just asking you if you're ready to rock and roll," Vicky told her. "You were a million miles away."

"I, uh, just thought of something I had to do," Amy replied. She looked toward Skitter. "What sort of bugs do you have here?"

'Here' was a shadowed alleyway just across the road from a construction site. Amy wasn't sure why they were here, but this was where Lisa had led them to.

"Uh, hornets, honeybees, wasps, brown recluses, black widows, fire ants -"

Amy cut her off. "I'll need some beetles and hornets."

"How many?"

She pushed her sleeves up. "As many as you can give me. Land them on my arms and hands."

Tattletale suddenly looked very intent. "He's told you something, hasn't he?"

"'He'?" asked Glory Girl. "Wh- oh, right. The guy in your head, right?"

Amy nodded. "Yeah."

"This is still very weird, and not a little creepy," Vicky decided. "What's he told you?"

"Stuff," Amy replied. "Lots of important stuff." Already, beetles of all sizes were descending upon her upturned arms and hands, interspersed with large hornets. She couldn't see them at all well – the alley was ill-lit – but as they touched her skin, she registered each and every one.

What should I make?

Think about what she's going to need them for. That should inform your choice.

Ah, right. She recalled which bugs he'd told her she could make. Visualising them, she could see the steps to making it work. Okay, yeah, I think I've got it.

Good. He paused. Now, I don't want to beat a dead horse, but you are okay with this, right? I get the impression you're still not so sure about helping supervillains.

Sure. I'll make the bugs but I'm taking away their ability to breed or eat, plus their aggressive instincts. I don't want Skitter to have them for too long.

That sounds fine. So long as they work here and now.

She frowned, wary at his easy acquiescence. You aren't going to give me a speech about how I should be more trusting?

Do you not actually trust her, or are you doing this to see how I react?

I – She paused. I guess it's a little bit of both?

How did you expect me to act?

To, I don't know, tell me that we don't have time for this crap, and remind me how well Taylor and I got along on the bus.

Listen, if you still don't trust her, if you don't trust the Undersiders, I can't make you trust them. It's as simple as that. You're still going through with this, and making the bugs. So long as you're comfortable with your motivations in the matter, I'm good with this.

And the bugs?

If you change your mind, you can always make more that can breed and eat – though I'd advise you to put the breeding function solely under Taylor's control. We don't want them escaping into the wild.

His reassurances steadied her. That's a good idea. She took a deep breath. Okay then. She began altering the hornets; it was only a small modification, and she finished with each one in seconds.

"What do they do?" asked Skitter quietly, and Amy jumped; the dark-clad girl had moved up right alongside her.

Amy explained briefly. "You can use them for -"

"Oh, I get it," Skitter told her. "I definitely get it. Thanks – and thank him for me, too."

She stepped back, almost merging with the shadows; the bugs that Amy had finished with were taking wing and flying over to her, landing on her and disappearing.

Are they in her hair?

And a compartment down her back, yeah.

Ew. I don't know if I could stand that.

She was kind of grossed about it at first, but got used to it.

Amy considered that. She takes a lot of this in her stride, doesn't she?

She's got what some would call a low-end power. She thinks a lot about how to leverage her ability. You just gave her some really, really good levers.

Am I going to regret this?

A lot less than you would have regretted certain other choices you're never going to make, now.

Amy let that slide; once she had finished with the hornets, she turned her attention to the beetles. Some of them she took apart with her power and merged together into larger specimens; then she started modifying these as well. It was an interesting modification, one that she wasn't sure she would have thought of on her own.

She was only a few moments into it when Grue cleared his throat; the sound was a hollow echo, the skull-detail of his visor seeming to hover in midair. "Just waiting around like this is a bad idea. If Coil has external security, or even just cameras -"

"He doesn't," interrupted Tattletale. "Leave her be. What she's doing is going to increase our chances of success considerably."

"You mean we didn't have a good chance of success before?" asked Regent sharply.

"It was good," Tattletale told him. "Just not fantastic." Her phone rang; she answered it, turning away down the alley for a little privacy.

Amy paid little attention, working on creating more useful bugs out of the ones that Taylor was landing on her arms. Michael said little; she got the impression that he was watching the process in sheer aesthetic fascination.

Tattletale returned. "We don't have much time," she informed the group. "Coil's expecting me soon."

Amy's head came up. "What? Why?"

"He wants to ask me about Glory Girl's attack on his house, and subtly question me to find out if I know anything about it," was the candid reply. "After all," she added, apparently addressing the next statement to Vicky, "you and I did have a conversation of sorts in the bank, and I have been known to be persuasive, from time to time."

Vicky snorted. "Yeah, that'd happen."

"How much time do we have?" That was Skitter, standing motionless, almost invisible in the dimness. The greys and blacks of her costume blended with the shadows, almost as well as Grue's did; the only thing that spoiled it was the yellow lenses of her mask, which tended to catch the light. In a way, they were even creepier than Grue's skull visor.

"Couple minutes," Tattletale told her. "I didn't tell anyone because time wasn't of the essence. We were heading here, after all. But now it is. So I'm telling you."

Amy concentrated, working on converting bugs while she spoke. "So the plan's still roughly the same?"

"Roughly, yes," agreed Tattletale. "But now we've got a Glory Girl to hit things till they fall down." From the tone of her voice, Amy just knew she was grinning that irritating grin.

"Yeah, well, right now I'm considering getting some practice in." Vicky was already on edge; it didn't seem like it would take much to push her over the edge.

May I?

Feel free.

"Tattletale. Do us all a favour and don't irritate the Alexandria Junior." Amy heard her own voice, with much more of a snap than she usually put into it. Tattletale paused and looked around; she obviously knew that Amy wasn't the one speaking. "And Glory Girl, don't let her get up your nose. You agreed to do this. You're a hero; act like it. There's a twelve year old girl to rescue, after all."

Both girls looked at Amy, and shut up; Vicky stepped away from her aggressive stance and came to stand next to Amy.

"You're not normally like this, Ames," she murmured. "Was that you, or -"

"Amy's busy," Amy's mouth replied, just as quietly. "We do not need this distraction. Do your sister and yourself a favour and don't let Tattletale needle you. She does it for fun, you know."

"Do we really need to work with these people?" demanded Vicky in a low tone. "They're villains!"

"Yes, they are, and yes, we do, unless we want Coil to become nigh untouchable, with a drug-addicted schoolgirl at his mercy," Amy heard herself say. "Endbringer truce, remember?"

Vicky gave an aggravated sigh. "I wish you weren't so right."

"I'm in," announced Skitter suddenly.

"What?" asked Grue.

"I've found my way through the air vents. I'm getting my bugs inside right now." To Amy's ear, Skitter sounded very pleased with herself.

"Firearms are priority," Tattletale told her. "Security, how many men does he have?"

"About fifty," Amy's voice replied. "Grue, you're going to need to use your fog once we're in there. They've got powerful laser mounts on their rifles. Skitter, once the attack starts, kill Coil's computer. Shut it down totally. We can extract the hard drive and access it later."

"What – oh, self-destruct, right," Tattletale noted.

"Found his barracks. Found his men. Found him. Found his computer." Skitter paused. "Found the girl."

"What sort of shape is she in?" asked Vicky sharply.

Skitter paused again. "I don't think she's conscious."

"But alive?"

"Yeah, she's breathing."

"Where is Coil, and what's he doing?" asked Tattletale.

"At his computer," Skitter replied. "Looking at stuff. Talking on the phone. Don't know who, don't know what he's looking at. Bug senses are crap."

"Let's go," decided Tattletale.

Amy spoke up. "I haven't done all the bugs I need to do."

"Make 'em on the move," the blonde villain replied. "Much more of this and he's likely to try to get out of the base."

I'll walk you. You concentrate on bugs.

Okay.

Gives a whole new meaning to walking on autopilot, doesn't it?

Oh, ha ha.

<><>​

Moving quickly and quietly, they crossed the road and entered the construction site. At an almost soundless whistle from Bitch, the dogs – gradually reducing in size, now that she wasn't exerting her power on them – followed along behind. Still converting bugs, with more arriving every second, and the finished ones flying off again, Amy found that she didn't have to pay any attention to walking at all; true to his word, Michael was handling that side of things.

There was a fence surrounding the main area, composed of conjoined panels bolted together; a chain, held together with a padlock, secured two panels, one of which was obviously intended to act as a gate.

Well, that's helpful.

Lisa's got a key.

Without much surprise, Amy saw that this was true; in the stillness, even over the sound of their feet crunching on gravel, she heard the click as the lock opened, then the rattle of the chain being pulled through the opening in the 'gate' panel. Of course she does. She eyed the skeletal building above, what she could see of it against the night sky. I'm guessing that Coil owns this construction site.

Pretty sure you're right. Don't forget, he owns Fortress Constructions.

But they … they build Endbringer shelters.

Indeed they do.

They save lives!

And make him squillions of dollars in the process, let's not forget.

Oh. Yeah. There is that.

Nothing wrong with a bad guy doing something good if he can also pull in an obscene profit in the process. Anyway, how do you think he managed to pull off a Bond-villain base under Brockton Bay?

… he had his own construction company build it.

Bingo.

And used his powers to choose the right timeline to ensure that no-one knew about it.

Handy, yeah?

I'll bet.

They were all inside the construction site by now. Lisa draped the chain back through the 'gate', then led the way to where Amy was waiting alongside a hatch cover; it had some sort of warning label on it, that wasn't really readable in the dim light.

"You've been here before, haven't you?" asked Lisa.

Amy's shoulders shrugged. "Once. But that time I had a bulletproof vest on, and I was being escorted by a PRT guy. Plus, we had Canary, as well as Protectorate and Wards with us." She felt her head turn, as she looked at each of them. "We kicked the crap out of them that time, and hopefully the Travellers won't be in residence." She paused. "Just remember, once we've got Dinah and dealt with Coil, we pull out as fast as we can, and we call in the PRT. And while we're in there, we don't make any noise we absolutely don't have to."

"Because of the Case Fifty-Three in the vault, right?" Lisa's voice was chirpy. "You only gave us a few details before. Got any more?"

"Vault? Case Fifty-Three?" Vicky's voice was startled. "First I've heard of this."

Oh crap, we didn't fill her in, did we?

Nope.

Amy found herself switching her gaze between Tattletale and Vicky. "Like I said, her name is Noelle Meinhardt. She's roughly the size of an elephant or two, and she eats anything that comes near her. Literally; she can absorb anything organic into her body, and once you're touching her, you lose control of your body. You don't come loose unless someone really strong is pulling hard. If it comes to a contest between Amy's powers and hers, Noelle wins. Worse; if she eats something living – anything living – she can spit out a twisted clone of it, one with all its memories and a total hatred of everything it loved. Cloned parahumans also get a twisted version of their powers. So long as she has the parahuman inside her, she can keep spitting them out. If she gets loose, it's pretty damn close to an Endbringer attack. She's also highly regenerative. She survives being literally cut in half at one point."

"What kills her?" It was Tattletale. "Something does kill her, right?"

Amy felt her head nod. "Sundancer's mobile sun. Which is a problem, this time around."

"Why?" asked Regent lightly. "Travellers are villains, they probably need the cash. We pay her, she does it."

"Because she's one of them." Amy heard the grimness in her own voice. "Trickster is in love with her; he will violently oppose any plan to kill her. Even if she's running rampant at the time."

"Good to know." Grue's voice was an almost silent rumble. "Although you might have told us those other details before roping us into this little rescue mission."

He has a really good point there. Amy was somewhat shaken at the description that Michael had given. I don't want to go up against that. Especially as you say that my power is trumped by hers.

Given that our current plan to deal with her is 'let the PRT handle it' … yeah. Good idea. Though I still think the 'make Coil a good guy' concept has merit.

Ew. No. She paused. How do we know that her power beats mine, anyway?

Coil tried, in a timeline he dropped. Apparently it turned out badly.

… how do you know about that?

Same way I know about a lot of other things.

She waited, but he didn't enlighten her. Okay, fine. Be that way.

Thanks, I will.

I think Grue is waiting for an answer.

Oh, right.

She looked up at the tall teenage villain and felt her throat being cleared. "Because they don't really change matters … and because I wanted them to be fresh in your mind when we go in. Just in case." A glance at Skitter. "Have you got everyone marked yet?"

"Just about. I hope the bugs work as well as you say they do."

Amy felt a smile stretch her lips. "Heh. Yeah. They surely do." Her gaze turned to Vicky. "Having heard that … are you still sure you want to come with?"

"Like I said before, Ames," Vicky told her steadily, "if you're in this, I'm in this." She paused. "Quick question."

Amy's head nodded. "Shoot."

"This Noelle person. What happens if I hit her with something else? Like a piece of rebar, or something?"

Amy's shoulders shrugged. "You hit her. But she's got serious Brute ratings."

Vicky's teeth gleamed in a brief smile. "So do I. Thanks. I'm good."

"Good to hear," Tattletale remarked, "because it's time we moved in. Coil expects me in the next few minutes." Lifting the hatch cover with a grunt, she descended a set of steps. One by one they followed her; Grue, the last in, lowered the hatch to the 'closed' position once more.

Within the access tunnel, it was absolutely, utterly pitch black. She heard someone fumbling with something, and then there was a click and a beam of light splashed across the ceiling. Tattletale held a small flashlight; it wasn't that bright, but with her eyes adapted to the darkness, Amy felt that it was bright as daylight. Looking at each of them in turn, Tattletale gestured for quiet, then led the way down the tunnel.

What was it like, the last time you were here?

A lot darker. We were using night vision, and I didn't have a set of goggles.

I suppose this time we're expected. Or at least Lisa is.

Yup. Hoping that makes a difference.

You don't know?

Hey, making this up as I go along.

Yay.

<><>​

I need to find out what's going on.

With his current project still undergoing the process of addiction, Coil had to fall back on Tattletale. He currently had the timelines split; in one, he stayed in his base, while in the other, he left it and travelled to a safe-house. In both timelines, he called upon Tattletale to attend him.

His rule was to not indulge himself on his powered minions; they were hard to replace. However, in this particular circumstance, he really, desperately needed to get the truth; he was aware of Tattletale's attempted machinations against him, and so he had to find out if she was the one engineering this. If it was, he could find out the full plot and deal with it. If not … well, she was still very intuitive. Give her enough details of the encounter, and the chances were that she could work out the plot, and perhaps even point him toward the perpetrators.

And so, in his base, she would be treated with courtesy and respect. In the safe house, she would be treated … roughly. The answers would be compared, and used on both timelines to elicit farther answers from her. It was a technique that he had polished over time. Afterward, he would drop the safe-house line, so that she would never have been there.

Of course, it helped to have both questioning sessions going on at the same time, so he had timed his orders to Tattletale so that she arrived at both locations at the same time.

He leaned back in his computer chair and waited. It wouldn't be long before he got his answers.

One way or the other.

<><>​

Tell everyone, small room coming up. Everyone should hang back, so Tattletale can do her thing.

Okay. Amy cleared her throat as quietly as she could. "Small room coming up. Everyone stay back. Tattletale goes in."

Lisa's head turned toward her. "I was just about to say that. You have been here before."

"That's what he says," Amy replied, flushing slightly.

"Okay then. Grue?"

As Tattletale stepped into the room, Grue moved to the front of the group, billowing his darkness around them. Amy understood the idea; it was to prevent the camera seeing them via a chance movement of the flashlight. She just didn't enjoy being in the almost suffocating lack of light.

It's weird stuff. Generated by his power, it acts like gas. Breathable, but absorbs all EM radiation with perfect efficiency. Dulls sound, and old scents as well. And he can see through it, of course.

How do you know so much about it?

Not my first rodeo, remember?

Hmm. She wanted to push the issue further; there was something he was holding back, she was sure. But at that moment, she felt a movement as someone pushed past her. What was that?

That was Skitter. I'd say Grue and her are dealing with the mercenaries on base.

This part of the plan had been detailed already; as Grue could see through his own darkness, and Skitter could use her bugs to navigate, they would move through the base in a cloud of darkness and take down the mercenaries as they came to them. Mired in Grue's darkness, the mercenaries would be out of touch with one another and with Coil; they would neither see nor hear Grue and Skitter coming.

I suppose it's a little bit unfair.

It's a whole lot unfair. But do you know what they call someone who offers his opponent a fair fight when he doesn't have to?

A sportsman?

An idiot. His tone was hard. Coil doesn't deserve a fair fight. He never gave anyone else one. He shot his commanding officer in the back, once upon a time.

Wow, really?

Yeah.

How did that happen?

Well, this was back in two thousand one. Ellisburg. Remember that?

I read about it in school.

Okay then. Calvert was a junior officer in one of the squads that went into Ellisburg …

<><>​

At first, Coil wasn't sure what was happening. In both his base and the safe house, contact was lost with the guards manning the entrance. And then a swirl of blackness swept in, blotting out everything. He knew, then. There was only one person who could do that, and that person was nominally in his pay.

He had planned for this, of course. It was only sensible to make plans for the possibility of any of his parahuman minions turning against him. Unfortunately, those plans required that he be free and clear in the other timeline.

Drawing his pistol, he fired blindly into the fog, in the general direction of the entrance; his men, as well trained as they were, would also be firing into the darkness, hoping to catch the interlopers in a crossfire.

But his pistol refused to fire at all; investigating, he found that the hammer was frozen solid. No amount of force would allow it to travel back. He tried to work the slide; that, also, was locked solid.

Tossing the useless weapon aside, he turned back to the keyboard. He might not be able to see it, but he could certainly enter the destruct code for the base. There was a secret back way out of the safe house …

In the safe-house, he felt his way along the wall, pushed aside a panel, and stepped into a secret way out. The panel slid back into place; he found his sight clearing, and moved more quickly now. He would have to destroy the base; there was far too much in the way of incriminating evidence there. Pulling out his phone, he sent the destruct signal; as he paused beside the outer panel, he got the return signal that it had been carried out. He pushed aside the outer panel, and found himself face to face with a very large dog.

Something was wrong; the base should have been destroyed by now. That timeline was still active and running. He tried to re-enter the destruct code on the keyboard, but his arms and hands were heavy, floppy, unresponsive. As his other-timeline self was seized and shaken like a rag doll between merciless jaws, he realised with horror that this timeline might be the only viable one left.

Why hadn't the base blown up yet?

As his spinal vertebrae were crunched like so much popcorn between the jaws of the monstrous dog, he shut down the safe-house timeline and reverted to the base timeline. He wasn't quite sure what was going on, save perhaps that they were still dealing with his mercenaries. How they had fixed his pistol not to fire, he wasn't sure. Or disabled his arms, for that matter.

And then his arms wouldn't move at all; they felt almost glued to the arms of the computer chair. He tried to make them obey him, but there was no response, no matter how he strained. But then, ever so slowly, the darkness began to fade away.

His wrists, he saw, were fastened to the arms of the chair with zip-ties. With whatever had been done to him, he hadn't even felt it.

And then the darkness faded farther, and he saw them. The Undersiders; standing in a semi-circle, observing him dispassionately. With them … he wasn't sure. Teenage girls, definitely, wearing dark clothes. One shorter than the other. The shorter one holding Dinah by the hand.

And then he recognised the taller one as having smashed into his house, and everything clicked together.

"Well done," he stated in as congratulatory tone as he could manage. "I'm proud of you, Tattletale. How did you ever talk these two young heroes into helping you?"

<><>​

"I didn't," Tattletale told him cheerfully. "They came to me. Told us about Dinah."

Skitter stepped forward. "How could you?" she asked bitterly. "You used us."

Coil shrugged, as best he could. Apparently, his best wasn't great. "Villain, remember?" he pointed out. "I needed a diversion."

This was the truth, Amy judged. Tattletale would be calling him on it, otherwise.

"And talking about that," Coil went on, "did you delay the self-destruct or halt it, because if the former, we're all in danger here."

"Self-destruct?" asked Tattletale mockingly. "What self-destruct?"

Amy saw Coil turn his head; the cords leading to and from his computer had been severed. As he did so, several large bugs of what Michael called the 'cutter' type scuttled from under his desk and up Skitter's legs. Although she had to be aware of the creatures, she ignored them. At Michael's suggestion, she had built them with acid glands to better cut through whatever they were gnawing on.

Where did you get that idea from?

Well, last time around, it was your idea.

Oh. She felt oddly pleased.

"Well, then," Coil stated. "How did you disable my firearm? And what did you do to my arms?"

Grue stepped up to him then. "We're the ones asking questions," he rumbled. "And I've got a really simple one."

"So ask." Coil leaned back in the chair, apparently at ease.

Damn, he's a cool one.

Hell yes.

Grue leaned close. "We were told that you bought your powers. Who did you buy them from?"

Amy felt her eyes open wide. Oh shit -

Is it so bad?

Fucking yes.

Before either she or Michael could speak, however, another voice broke in.

"That is a question that you do not need to have answered." The voice was feminine, assured, and held no particular accent.

The group before Coil turned; a woman was standing there, where seconds before there had been nobody. Behind her, as a hint as to where she had come from, a portal in midair was just closing. She wore an immaculate business suit; her dark hair contrasted with her pale skin.

Despite being outnumbered six to one, she seemed not at all concerned by the odds stacked against her.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit.


End of Part Eleven

Part Twelve

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Twelve: Escalation


Amy felt Michael take her body over, and inhale deeply; at the same time, he shoved Dinah behind her.

What - ?

Sorry -

He didn't even bother finishing the thought; the moment that he had finished filling her lungs with air, he expelled it all in a shout.

"EVERYONE STAND THE FUCK DOWN!"

But it was too late. Amy had a split second to consider the fact that if he had not used the expletive, they may have heard him in time. However, around about the same instant that Amy's front teeth were pressing into her lower lip to form the 'f' sound, Bitch gave a sharp command. Snarling and barking – and, incidentally, drowning the final two words out – the dogs leaped to the attack.

Regent lifted his arms to gesture; Grue started forward with blackness welling up around him. But even faster than Grue and the dogs was Vicky; taking to the air, she lunged at the woman. Amy saw the woman sway aside, removing her hat and placing it over Vicky's face in a perfectly-timed move; at the same time, she swung a fist. Blinded by the hat, Vicky went past the woman and hit one of the catwalk supports; the woman's fist struck her in the solar plexus just a fraction of a second later, dropping her to the metal grating with a groan.

The dogs were almost upon her; she darted into Grue's blackness. They followed, of course.

Christ. They'll tear -

Amy was still formulating the thought by the time that one dog came flying out of the black fog backwards and another sideways; each one dragged tattered fragments of the blackness with it. The first one hit Regent at about chest height, while the second struck Skitter in the solar plexus; her spider-silk costume did little to cushion the impact, and the breath whooshed out of her. Both went staggering backwards; Taylor lost her balance and fell heavily, striking her head on the floor. Regent went back against the guard rail; the weight of the dog flipped him back over it, and they both disappeared from view. The third dog, emerging from the cloud a moment after the other two, hit Bitch across the face; she went over backwards as well.

The blackness dissipated; Amy saw, as it did so, that Grue was down, at the feet of the woman. Tattletale had her small pistol out, but the woman was already moving toward her; Tattletale's eyes widened behind her mask and a shot rang out. But it ricocheted from concrete; the woman had swayed from its path. And then she had her hands on it, was taking it from Tattletale's hands as easily as a mother might take a toy from the hands of a baby. Tattletale was on her knees, the arm twisted up at an angle that had to be painful.

- her apart.

In less time than it took to think about it, the mystery woman had gone from being unarmed and at the mercy of half a dozen opponents, to armed and in control of the situation. Vicky was still doubled up on the ground, while Skitter and Grue seemed to be stunned or unconscious. Bitch was also out; the dog that had collided with her was whining and licking her face. And Regent – Regent went over the rail!

Fuck. I did not want this.

What are you going -

But Michael was already moving her body forward. As if in a dream, she saw the woman turning toward her, saw the flash of utter bewilderment as her wrist slapped into Amy's palm, preventing the pistol from coming into line. The woman struggled, tried to use her superior strength, but Michael was still moving, gripping, twisting. She was behind the woman now; one final twist on the wrist and the hand opened, the pistol clattering to the metal catwalk.

Amy was only moderately fit, and not overly strong for her age, but she now saw how a relatively weak person can overcome a stronger, unskilled opponent. Her arm laced around and through the woman's, her biceps under the elbow, her hand pulling the woman's hand down hard against the wrist. The pressure, she could tell through her powers, was moderately uncomfortable, unless the victim struggled, in which case it could become extremely painful.

Paralyse her!

Reflexively, she did what he told her; her power flooded into the woman's nervous system, disabling all voluntary control over her body. Autonomous and semi-autonomous mechanisms remained, of course; she didn't want the woman suffocating. The woman sagged in her grip, and Michael prepared to lower her to the ground.

The shots that rang out took them both by surprise; the woman jolted in Amy's grasp. They echoed through the complex, one after the other; at least five in total. One bullet punched into the woman's stomach, another into her chest. The rest had gone elsewhere.

Fuck. Shit. What happened?

Amy felt the strain in her shoulders as Michael lowered the woman to the ground. Blood covered her chest and her abdomen. It soaked into her clothes, dripped through the metal grating. She could feel the thin pulse of life, getting thinner by the second. Looking up, she saw Bitch holding the pistol, pointing it, the thin curl of smoke from the barrel.

Holy shit, Bitch shot her.

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. Stabilise her!

What? Why? I thought you wanted her dead!

No, I wanted her not calling for help! Stabilise her! He seemed almost frantic with the need to save this mystery woman.

Amy concentrated; blood vessels closed, the body scavenged fatty tissues for blood. The heart rate steadied.

Okay, she's stable. Now tell me why -

Bitch stepped closer. "Get out of the way." She aimed the pistol.

Amy felt herself move into the path of the gun. I've been here before. The tiny muzzle, only a fraction of an inch, seemed even larger to her than the last time she had seen it from this perspective.

"Get out of the way," Bitch repeated. Her voice was dead, flat. The pistol shook, very slightly. Amy was fairly sure that this wasn't due to fear.

"Why? Why kill her? She's not a threat any more." Amy wasn't sure whether she was asking this, or Michael.

"She killed Brutus. She killed Regent." Bitch gestured, off to the side. Tattletale was leaning, looking down. She looked back. Amy could read from her expression that the news wasn't good.

"It's only been a few seconds." Tattletale's voice was urgent. "Amy can save Brutus. She can save both of them." She stepped forward. "Just don't kill that woman."

The pistol swung to point directly at Amy's face. "If you can save him, do it," gritted Bitch. Amy knew she wasn't referring to Regent. "Now."

"First, give me the pistol," Amy heard herself say. "Now."

"No."

"Give me. The pistol." She took a step closer.

Why are you so anxious to save her?

Bitch shook her head. "No," she repeated.

Saving the world will be a fuck-load harder without her.

Saving the world?

Yeah, saving the world. When I grab Bitch, you paralyse her.

When you what?

Amy's eyes lowered, her whole body hunched. "Okay. You win." She started to turn away, then lunged forward. Bitch was taken off guard by the sudden shift from submissive to aggressive behaviour, and Amy managed to grab her forearm. The pistol went off, a malignant flat crack, the bullet winging past her ear. And then Amy was into her nervous system, and Bitch was collapsing like a marionette with the strings cut.

Michael took a moment to lean against the rail, breathing heavily; Amy could hear her heartbeat thundering in her ears. "Fuck," her voice muttered. "I do not need shit like this."

Regent and Brutus. We have to save them.

Oh. Fuck. Yes. Here, have control back.

Jerking upright, Amy scanned to the left and the right for stairs down. Then she turned and grabbed Vicky, who was still suffering from the punch the woman had given her. "Vicky!"

"Ungh?"

Amy pushed her power into Vicky's body, reviving her, removing the bruising, bringing her back to normal. "You need to get me down to the lower level, now!"

"Shit, okay." Vicky picked her up. "Did someone post the bank thing on Youtube, or does everyone just know my weakness now?"

She just knew it. It's her thing. She can do that to anyone.

"Michael says she knows everyone's weakness."

"Oh. Well, I feel better now. Not much, but better."

Over the rail they went, and down to the lower level. Regent lay there, his mask cracked in half. The dog lay half under him, its head twisted at an odd angle.

Falling to her knees, Amy checked on Regent. Alive. Unconscious. Mild concussion. Landed on the dog.

"Regent's alive!" she called out.

Can you fix it?

He'll be headachey and dizzy due to the concussion, but I can fix the bruising, wake him up.

If you can do that, do it.

Okay.

No, actually. If he's fine, then check the dog. I don't want to have to deal with a more-homicidal-than-normal Bitch.

Amy took a deep breath, and rolled him to a more comfortable position. Then she moved to the dog.

Broken neck. Crushed skull.

Is there brain activity?

Some, but -

Can you fix it?

I can, but -

But what?

I'll have to work on its brain. Otherwise it'll be like it's had a stroke.

Do you have a moral problem with working on dog brains?

I … they're pretty intelligent -

Fuck. Stabilise it, so it doesn't die while we're debating the matter.

I can do that, yes.

Drawing a deep breath, she fixed what she could. The crushed skull clicked back into place, the swelling went down, and the broken neck healed itself. She left the dog unconscious, and turned back to Regent.

Aren't you going to say something?

Such as?

That I should fix his brain? Maybe make him a little less sociopathic?

If you want to, go right ahead. You'd just be fixing pre-existing damage anyway.

What do you mean?

I mean that his father is Heartbreaker, and he inflicted horrors on his kids till they triggered. And he's still doing it, even today.

Christ. Amy looked more closely at Regent's brain. Now, she could see the neural scarring. He was terrified to the point that he could no longer feel fear.

Got it in one.

I could change that, but that would change who he is. Who people know him to be. That's not my right.

And that's why you don't do brains.

There's more to it than that. The body is simple; it's healthy, or it's not. It's injured, or it's not. It works, for a given definition of 'works', or it doesn't. The brain is a lot more complex.

I can just imagine.

You really can't. There's so much going on in there, all interconnected. It's biology; I can change it as easily as I fix a broken leg. But where a broken leg is fixed and done, you can't just 'fix' a brain problem like schizophrenia. There are many underlying causes, and you have to go and fix all them, and by the time you've done all that, the person's not really the same person any more.

Oh. Yeah. Ouch.

The worse bit is, I can see it all. I can see how it could be fixed. How I could get rid of this neurosis, and that personality disorder, and make the person a better person. And they'd never know it. Worse, even if they did know, they might thank me for it.

I can see where that could cause problems, yeah.

So the basic problem isn't that I can't do brains, or that I don't know what to do. I'm just scared that I'd always want to do one more -

And that was when they heard the shot.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuuuuuuuuck!

Amy turned to Vicky. "Get me up there now!"

Vicky didn't even argue; she simply grabbed Amy, and they went straight up and over the rail.

<><>​

Calvert tested his bonds and came up short, again. He had two timelines running, of course. In the first, he sat tight, evaluating the three girls left watching him.

<><>​

In the second, he began to speak; softly, compellingly.

"Well, now," he murmured. "We're all in a pretty pickle now, aren't we?"

"Shut up," Tattletale told him flatly.

"No, no, what does he mean?" asked Skitter. She addressed Calvert directly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, dear Skitter, that the woman right there is the enforcer of the world's premier shadow organisation. She's struck fear into the hearts of more people than you can imagine. And now you've got her down and wounded. She might even die. There's going to be some very angry people over this. And these are people who don't just shrug and say, 'oh well, it was a fair fight'. These are people who obliterate the opposition."

"And you've got a solution, no doubt." Skitter's voice was just a little cynical. She's been spending far too much time with Tattletale and Regent.

"Of course I do," he agreed. "Work with me on this one. If we combine our powersets – I tell you what to do, you do it – we might just come out of this alive. We may even prosper."

"Shut up, I said," Tattletale ordered.

"What's the matter?" asked Coil. "Scared I'll tell her the truth? My dear Tattletale, we're boned here. I know who this woman's allies are; you don't. Even with your vaunted power, you'll never see them coming."

<><>​

In the first timeline, the three girls were talking quietly.

"So you're really all right?" asked Skitter of Dinah.

"Uh huh," agreed the middle schooler. "I feel all right. I'll feel cravings for a bit, but that'll fade."

"So he was just going to keep you prisoner, keep you addicted, keep you using your power for him?"

Dinah nodded. "Yeah. Until you killed him and got me out of there."

Calvert's head came up. He managed not to respond, but Tattletale caught the movement.

"Wow, that got you where it hurt, didn't it?" she taunted him. "I always kinda thought that I'd be the one to end you."

"Your reach always exceeded your grasp," he replied, stung. "Every day, part of my amusement involved dismantling your little plots before they could come to fruition."

"Not all of them," she shot back.

"Yes, all of them, you stupid little girl," he retorted. "I could always out-think you. I was plotting my way around people far smarter than you before you ever -"

The shot interrupted him. He looked down to see the bullet-hole in the middle of his chest, slowly oozing blood.

"Plot your way around that," Tattletale told him bitterly. "And don't call me stupid."

As the world went dark, he ended that timeline.

<><>​

In the second timeline, Skitter waved Tattletale to silence. "I want to hear this."

Calvert split off another timeline, but this seemed to be working well. If I can get Skitter aligned to me ...

"You and I, we could work together," he told the bug controller eagerly. "You, all of you, work well together. I can provide you with strategy that works. And afterward, after we deal with this problem, we can build up the city, make it work."

"Fix the schools," Skitter put in.

"Definitely fix the schools," Calvert agreed, anxious to go with what seemed important to her. Something occurred to him, and he spoke without thinking. "Your father has a lot of civic pride. Imagine what he could do as mayor."

Skitter's voice was very quiet. "You know who my father is?"

Calvert was suddenly aware that he had made a mistake; before he could rectify it, Dinah spoke up. "Eighty-seven point three six percent chance that he has your father assassinated before he finishes his first term."

"I – that's -" began Calvert hastily.

"Because your father wouldn't play ball with him," Tattletale went on musingly. "He wouldn't take kick-backs or bribes. Would he?"

"No," Skitter replied. "He wouldn't. And Coil would have him killed?"

"No!" blustered Calvert. "That's ridiculous! I can work with your father! I wouldn't have him killed! Tell him, pet!"

"Ninety-six point nine three seven four percent chance your father survives his first term," Dinah confirmed. Skitter relaxed; Calvert breathed a sigh of relief. If this went wrong, he didn't have any way out.

"Chances that Skitter survives the same term?" asked Tattletale.

"Eighty-nine point three seven two four percent chance that Coil has her killed instead," Dinah noted.

"And no doubt you'd have my dad die afterward anyway. Once I was out of the way." Skitter had the pistol in her hand. It was an untutored grip, but pointing directly at Calvert's chest.

He opened his mouth to protest, but he knew it would do no good. They weren't listening to him any more.

Dinah nodded. "Ninety-six point three two nine four -"

The pistol went off, and Calvert felt the pain in his chest. In both timelines at once.

" - five percent chance of that happening."

He clutched at life; there were no more timelines. I can't die like this!

But he did anyway.

<><>​

The mystery woman still lay there; she had no new wounds, and she still breathed. It was Coil, still fastened to his chair, who slumped dead, his head hanging forward. A darker discolouration in the middle of his chest showed where the shot had gone in.

Skitter still stood, holding the pistol. Slowly, she let it fall, where it clattered once more to the grating. She turned as Amy approached.

"Why?" asked Amy.

"He was talking," Skitter mumbled. "Making big plans. Talking about my Dad."

Tattletale put her arm around Skitter's shoulders. "He talked about putting her dad in as mayor. Then Dinah mentioned the fact that he'd have the guy killed for refusing to take bribes. Even when he knew that we knew, he couldn't stop plotting, planning to kill one or both of them."

"I didn't have a choice," Skitter told herself, told Amy, hopelessly. "I didn't have a choice."

He would have done it, Michael informed Amy. He was an arse. But I was hoping that we could use him. Fuck. Well.

Amy looked at the dead man, at the almost dead woman, at the figure of Grue slowly sitting up, at the limp form of Bitch. She looked at Skitter, sitting in the chair, staring at the floor, at the still, silent form of Dinah standing by her, then turned to Vicky. "Take me back down there. I've got to finish up."

Not even going to try to save Coil?

If he'd have Skitter assassinated, he'd have all of us assassinated.

Vicky carried her over the rail, and set her down on the floor below.

Really weird the way things are turning out.

What do you mean? She knelt beside Regent, looking over the head injury. There were no broken blood vessels, nothing that would cause ongoing problems.

She would have killed him anyway, but it would have been months later. After she makes him come good on the promise to release Dinah, but then he goes back on it and tries to have her killed. She gets away, and ends up killing him later on.

Oh. I see. I think. She brushed her fingertips across Regent's forehead, waking him up.

Grue's voice echoed down from above. "What's wrong with Bitch? And who is this woman?"

May I?

Sure.

Amy inhaled and looked up to call back. "She wanted to kill the woman, so I had Amy paralyse her. It's fixable. But do not kill that woman. We desperately need her alive."

His voice did not sound thrilled when he answered. "Okay, fine. We've gotten this far. We'll see it through."

Control returned to Amy. Now for Brutus.

What do I do?

He's not human. You don't have to worry about taking away what he is. Surely you can just fix him.

But he's a thinking being. Not as intelligent as a person, surely, but -

Listen, you're going to have to draw the line between bugs and dogs, or dogs and people. Where is it? Where do you not cross over?

Amy felt herself shaking harder, until Michael stilled her hands. She caressed the dog's scarred head. The damage was bad, despite the fact that she had stabilised him. Some of his brain tissue was was totally disorganised from the rest; he would never have a normal life.

He didn't know any better. He doesn't deserve this.

I agree.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she sent her power into the dog's head, reforming the damaged parts. Fixing them. Making Brutus whole once more.

I swore I would never touch brains. Never.

Never is a big word, kiddo. If Vicky ever suffered brain injury from being hit on the head, would you still not fix her?

Oh god, don't ask me that.

If I don't ask it, what happens when you're faced with it?

Shut up. I don't want to hear this any more.

I'm sorry.

And I wish I hadn't told Vicky, hadn't spoken to her. At least then I could live in hope.

Amy. His voice was grim. That's dangerous thinking.

She knew he was right, but she ploughed on anyway. So what? It's a dangerous world. We nearly died, before. I could have died. Bitch could have shot me. Killed the both of us.

I had to do something. I couldn't let her kill Contessa.

"Ames?" asked Vicky. "What's the matter?"

Amy came to herself, realised that she was still kneeling between Regent and the dog. Regent was sitting up, somewhat dazedly; Brutus was still out cold. Reaching out, she brushed the dog with her fingertips, and he awoke.

<><>​

"What I want to know is, who is this woman?" asked Grue. They were all now on the upper level. Bitch had been revived, and sat on the floor, holding Brutus close to her, shooting Amy suspicious glances from time to time.

Can I talk?

Yeah, sure, go ahead. Amy didn't care any more.

"Her name is Contessa," Michael explained. "And she's a member of a powerful organisation that operates from the shadows. I didn't expect to get her attention, and I really, really didn't want to get it in this manner."

"How did she take us down so easily?" asked Regent. "I mean, I missed some of it, but she was dancing between the raindrops, there."

"More to the point," Grue added, "how did you take her down? She was in the dark, and she was still ducking past my hits."

Amy felt her hands rubbing over her face. "This is the part of the conversation that I wasn't looking forward to," Michael muttered. He raised her voice. "She's a precog of sorts. She can look for a solution, and her power tells her the exact steps needed to reach it. All of them. So she didn't need to see you to beat you; her power told her what moves she needed to make. Perfectly and flawlessly."

"Okay, so how did you beat her?" Regent persisted. "Are you a precog after all?"

"No," Michael replied. "It's like I told you. I'm an extra-dimensional being. Kind of extruded into Amy's brain. It's why I can no-sell your power on her. I can't access her powers, but I can puppet her body. Contessa can't tell what I'm going to do, because the majority of me is outside the reality that her power can scan."

Even Skitter's head came up at that. The pressure of the disbelieving stares was almost palpable in nature.

"And you're just … telling us that," Grue stated flatly. "Like it doesn't matter."

"Against you, it doesn't," Michael assured him, via Amy's voice. "Your power works on Amy's senses just fine, and I can't go outside her body. About the only other person here who might be affected is Dinah."

Dinah looked up at that. "My power can't sense you at all," she assured Amy – or rather, Michael. "Every time you speak, it's a surprise, because I'm expecting silence. Or for Amy to say something different."

"Okay, I'll bite," ventured Grue. "What's so important about keeping this woman alive?"

"For one, she's a great way to contact that organisation I told you about," Amy's voice told him. "For another, she's really important to keeping things from going to shit before the end of the world kicks off. And for another -"

"And for another," a familiar voice intruded on their gathering, "she's a friend of mine, so I'd really rather have her back alive."

<><>​

Skitter raised her head. "Oh, shit," she whispered.

Amy felt her head bow for a moment. "Fuck," Michael announced through her. "It's Alexandria, isn't it? I'd know that tone anywhere."

Slowly, she turned; Alexandria was indeed hovering there, arms folded, surveying the group coldly.

"You may consider yourselves all under arrest," the Triumvirate hero announced. "If you run, I will catch you. I don't promise not to injure you." She drifted closer. "What have you done to her? Is she even alive?"

Amy felt her chin being raised. "She was shot twice at close range with a low-calibre pistol. The damage was neutralised and she is stable."

"How did this even happen?" snarled Alexandria. "How did you beat her power?" She scanned the group. "I've read your files; there's not a Trump among you."

"It's because of who and what I am," Amy heard herself say.

"Amy Dallon. Panacea." Alexandria shook her head. "You could not neutralise her power. Not unless you got into contact with her. And she would not let you."

Amy stood still. "Look deeper."

Alexandria's scrutiny was almost a felt thing. She drifted closer again. "The voice stress patterns, the mannerisms. You're not Panacea."

"Yes and no," Amy's voice told her. "I'm just visiting. She's here, but she gave permission to talk to you. We need to talk, you and I. And Contessa. And the others."

The older hero's lip curled, under the edge of the helmet that obscured half of Alexandria's face. "Whoever or whatever you are, you don't get to dictate terms to me."

"No, I don't," Michael agreed. "But I'm asking you to agree to them. Because I know."

"Know? Know what?"

"About everything worth knowing," he told her steadily. "The dirty little secrets. The dirty big secrets. About you, and Cauldron, how you go together, and why. And how to save the world. How to beat Zion."

Alexandria was jolted, just a little, Amy saw. But she rallied, spoke strongly. "Anyone can say anything. Tattletale there could say more with just a few hints. You're trying to avoid your just punishment. There's no way you could know as much as you say."

"There is, and I do." Amy's feet moved, stepping her forward. "You're really good at reading people. Read me. Tell me I'm lying."

"You spoofed Contessa's powers somehow." Alexandria's voice was … wary? "You could be spoofing mine. You could make me think you're telling the truth."

"You really think that's likely?" Amy's voice was sharp. "Or do you just not want to face up to the fact that there's someone standing in front of you with all the answers, and you didn't come up with them first?"

"That depends," Alexandria riposted. "How did you get the better of her? I've never seen it done, and I've known her for years."

"Since … oh, nineteen eighty-six, wasn't it? August, if I recall correctly." Alexandria's head came up at that. "Doctor Mother visited you in hospital. You didn't take much convincing."

"If you know that, you know why." Alexandria's voice was sharp. "All right, you've convinced me that you know more than you should. How did you beat Contessa?"

Amy's shoulders shrugged. "I'm an extra-dimensional being, about as far above Zion as he is above you, plugged into Amy's brain. Fortuna had as much chance as reading me as one of Skitter's bugs has of figuring out who you are under that mask."

"Whereas you already know."

"I do indeed."

"That's very dangerous information to have."

Amy's lips made a rude noise. "It's the least of it. I know shit that you don't. That you'd sell your soul to get."

"What do you know?"

"Where Endbringers come from. Why they exist. What's likely to happen if you ever manage to kill one. How to stop them. And that's just for starters."

"Is this related to Scion – Zion – whatever you call him? Why did you call him that, anyway?"

Amy felt herself grin. "It's what he calls himself. The people who heard him speak got it wrong." Michael paused, then asked another question. "How come you turned up here, anyway?"

"They'd arranged to meet," Tattletale supplied. "Contessa missed the appointment, so Alexandria came looking."

Ah. Makes sense.

"This information." Alexandria seemed to get a grip on herself. "You'll share it?"

"Presuming conditions are met." Amy found herself meeting Alexandria's gaze steadily.

"Define 'conditions'." The older hero's voice was hard.

"The Undersiders get to go on their way. That's the first one."

"Hm. Why did Contessa come here?" Alexandria eyed Coil's body. "Because of him?"

"Yeah. Someone asked him where he bought his powers. I'd say he was going to spill the beans so that Cauldron would take notice of these guys. He's a dick like that."

"Who asked?" Alexandria's voice was steel-edged.

"Doesn't matter. They've learned the error of their ways." Amy's voice was just as hard. "The Undersiders get to go where they want. Hell, you could bring them in as allies. They're pretty resourceful."

"I'll consider it." There was no give, no surrender, in Alexandria's voice. "Next?"

"Amy and Vicky get to keep being ordinary cape teens. No surveillance, no following, no abductions."

Vicky turned to stare at Amy. Oh yeah, not me in the driver's seat.

"All … right," acknowledged Alexandria. "Any more conditions?"

"Certain people need to die or be co-opted."

Amy felt her heart lurch. What? No! Just casually ordering the deaths of people …

Sorry, but it's the way it's gotta be.

Alexandria didn't even hesitate. "Who?"

Michael ticked off fingers as he spoke. "Jack Slash. Crawler. William Manton. Shatterbird. Teacher. Saint and the Dragonslayers." He paused. "That's that list for the moment. Then there's the ones who need to be gotten out of the situations they're in."

"You're asking a lot."

"I'm offering a lot."

" … I'm listening."

"Canary needs to be pulled out of jail, for starters. Kill the court case. Bonesaw needs to be taken out of the Nine, cleared of all dangerous shit, and given lots of therapy. Purity needs to be offered a chance to make up for her crimes. Flechette needs to be transferred to Brockton Bay. Shadow Stalker needs to be booted into juvey as of about tomorrow afternoon."

Alexandria was staring at Amy. "You're insane. You have to be. I can't pull all that off."

"Sure you can," Tattletale assured her. "You'll have Contessa back on her feet. She can pull off anything."

"And doing all this will get us closer to being able to beat Scion?" Alexandria's voice was sceptical.

"It'll help lay the bare bones of the plan, sure," Amy heard herself say.

Alexandria frowned. "Very well. You've made your demands. Now I'm going to make mine."

"I'm listening."

"You will tell us everything we need to know, at the earliest possible convenience. How to beat Scion. What you know about the Endbringers. Everything."

"May fifteenth."

"What?"

"Leviathan is due to hit here on May the fifteenth. We've got one month to stop that from happening."

"No." Alexandria shook her head. "You can't know that. Nobody's been able to predict an Endbringer event, ever."

"Dinah." Amy turned to look at the girl. "The Boardwalk, by May the twentieth. Useable, or utterly trashed?"

Dinah paused. "Ninety-three point four six one five percent chance that it is wrecked beyond use."

Amy's hands dusted one another off. "And so."

"You're coming with me, now." Alexandria approached Amy. "This information needs to be verified."

"No. We are not. I'm going to get Contessa back on her feet, then each of us here is going to assure you that we're not going to spread the word, then we're all walking out of here. You get to do whatever you want with Coil and the subdued minions around the base."

"I don't think you were listening. We need the information. Now."

"And you'll get it. At my earliest convenience. Which is not right now." Amy heard herself fake a yawn. "I'm tired. I need my beauty sleep."

"This is no time to play games!"

"And it's no time to come the heavy." Amy's body stepped up to Alexandria. "You'll get the information in good time. And if just one of these people is inconvenienced in an attempt to get it out of me, I'll give you wrong data. So play nice, and you get all the cookies."

If she grabs us, get ready to paralyse her.

I'm not sure if my power works on her.

Now you tell me.

I didn't think I'd be facing Alexandria.

Fair point. Well, do your best.

Alexandria was studying Amy's face. "I think -"

What she thought was never made clear, because at that moment, a phone went off.

Is that yours?

No. It's not Vicky's, either.

"Okay," growled Grue. "Who forgot to put their phone on silent?"

"Him." It was Dinah, pointing at Coil's corpse. A dim light could be seen, flashing through the thin cloth at his hip.

The Undersiders traded glances; you get it. No, you get it. Nobody moved, until Tattletale grunted in annoyance and stepped forward. Gingerly, trying not to touch the cooling corpse, she levered the phone out of what appeared to be a pocket set into the side of the costume.

Pressing the answer icon, she held the phone before Coil's dead face and schooled her voice into as masculine a grunt as she could manage. "Yeah?"

The phone lit up with an image that Amy couldn't see from her angle. "It's me. Noelle. No-one's put any food in for me. Could you tell someone to hurry it up? I'm getting really hungry in here."

Tattletale made Coil's head nod, then she cut the call. She turned to the rest of the group. "I've got a really bad feeling about that."

Oh fuck.

What?

Amy heard herself clearing her throat. "You're right to be concerned. Remember that Case 53 I told you about?"

"What Case 53?" asked Alexandria sharply.

Amy went to the rail, leaned over, and pointed at a largish metal door on the lower level; it looked to have been assembled in sections. "In there. She's pretty big by now. She absorbs capes that touch her – that does include you – and spits out twisted, evil versions. Just as powerful. And guess what – she's hungry."

Alexandria absorbed this. "So, can that door hold her?"

"Not if she doesn't want it to."

"How dangerous are we talking?"

Michael waggled Amy's hand. "A-class to S-class."

"Fuck me," muttered Grue. And that seemed to adequately sum up the situation.

In the silence that followed, the phone began to ring again.


End of Part Twelve

Part Thirteen

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Thirteen: Out of the Frying Pan



Constructed of raw concrete and steel girders, there was nothing in the base to mute the sound of the phone. Its ringtone echoed harshly from overhead, from the nearby wall. Wrists still bound to the armrests, its very recently dead owner lolled in his chair. Tattletale held the phone like a poisonous snake; she obviously didn't want to answer it again.

Fuck. This has the potential to go very bad, very fast.

What do we do?

Amy felt herself fall to her knees beside the woman Michael had referred to as 'Contessa'. Heal her all the way. Wake her up. She'll grasp what's going on. She'll know how to fix it.

What if her idea of 'fix it' is to shut us all up?

Tattletale held the phone in front of Coil's head once more. She pressed the Answer button, and gestured to Grue. He stepped forward and spoke gruffly. "What?"

She can't be sure that'll work, not with me in your head. Whatever solution she comes up with cannot involve me. And by extension, you.

A tinny voice came over the phone; Amy couldn't hear what was being said.

What if she just decides to kill you? And by extension, me?

She's used to depending on her power. You saw how we took her down before. The only way she can beat us is if you're controlling your body.

Internally, she grimaced. This does not make me any happier, at all.

Sorry, but emergency situation. Soon as we're done here, I'm out of the driver's seat.

"Why are you bothering me with this?" growled Grue. "You have protocols. Use them."

It can't come soon enough for me.

Me neither. Trust me on this.

A pair of booted feet came to rest beside Amy; involuntarily, she glanced up. Alexandria was looking down at her. She pointed at Contessa, and her lips formed words. Heal. Her.

Please, do this, and I'll do my best to make sure that you don't have to heal anyone for as long as possible.

Give me control back.

He didn't hesitate; she felt control flowing back to her. Taking a deep breath, she laid her hands on Contessa's wrists. The damage had been closed off, the blood loss curtailed. Now she completed her repairs on the internal organs, scavenged more blood from waste products, and stimulated the nervous system to wake her up.

Contessa came awake in a blur of motion. Amy was spun around; in another instant, her hands were trapped behind her, an arm about her throat. There was no skin touching hers, only cloth. She tried to gasp, could barely get any air; the arm around her throat contracted warningly. She looked toward Grue and Lisa, but the blonde was whispering to her teammate, and not really paying attention.

Can't … breathe …

Anything you try to do, she'll counter instantly. It's what she does.

And you're the idiot who wanted me to heal her.

She's still necessary. We just have to get her on side.

Her vision was darkening; Alexandria was standing between her and the other members of the Undersiders. She tried to struggle, but it was as he said; no matter what she tried, the woman behind her was stronger and could anticipate her every action.

What do I do?

Let me back in control.

I don't want to be your helpless puppet! Her internal voice was a scream of rage.

Okay then, bash the back of your head into her nose.

Won't she anticipate that?

Would you have done it normally?

No.

Well then.

She didn't waste another second; her lungs were labouring for breath as it was. Swinging her head forward, she lashed backward, and felt it strike something that crunched. The grip came free, just for a moment, and Amy gulped oxygen. She yanked her arm clear, grabbed for a wrist, and was countered once more.

God dammit.

She's anticipating you again.

What do I do?

Kick off, fall over backward on her.

That's going to hurt.

She certainly won't expect you to do it.

Gritting her teeth, Amy shoved off from the floor. Taken off balance, Contessa couldn't hold them both upright, and they both fell backward to the grating. Once more, she felt the iron grip loosen, then begin to tighten once more.

Elbow her in the guts!

She rammed her elbow into Contessa's stomach, pulled away from the clutching grip, and rolled free. Standing, panting, pushing her hair back from her eyes, she glared at the dark-haired woman. Her shoulder hurt where it had been wrenched in the fall, but she didn't care.

"Stand down, Contessa." Alexandria's voice was calm. "The situation has changed."

Contessa, also getting to her feet, wiped blood from her nose, and stared steadily at Amy. "She's an anomaly," she replied, in a matter-of-fact tone. "She disrupts my power."

"Not her," Alexandria explained. "Something within her."

Hey, I resemble that remark.

Amy rubbed her throat; it was still sore from where Contessa had been compressing it. Michael hadn't taken control again, for which she was grateful. "He's a person," she reminded the two women. "He's helped me. Saved me. Shown me things. And he wants to save the world. He says you can help him."

Of the two, Alexandria seemed most taken aback. "He says we can help him?"

Tell them that I'd really rather they didn't get in the way.

Amy took a deep breath. Her heart still pounded in her ears, but it was starting to ease up. "It'll be a lot easier, he says, if you don't get in the way." Could you even do it, if they did get in the way?

Extremely doubtful. But I want them wondering exactly what I can do.

Won't they just read me?

Not if they're trying to read me, instead. She caught the flash of an internal grin.

Okay then. Okay then. She fought to catch her breath, to string two thoughts together. Why didn't Alexandria help her?

Not sure. Ask her.

Drawing herself up, Amy faced Alexandria. "Why didn't you help her?"

A cool gaze surveyed her from behind the steel mask of Alexandria's helmet. "What makes you think I wanted her to win?"

"Okay, if you didn't want her to win, why did you let that fight happen?"

"I was curious," replied the older hero. "I've never actually seen her lose a fight. But you weren't beating her as easily as you could have. He was advising you rather than controlling you, wasn't he?"

Amy nodded jerkily, then she glared at Contessa. "If you ever try that again, I'll tell him to beat you to a pulp. Got me?"

Contessa's eyes widened slightly. "I understand," she replied. "You healed me. Saved my life. Thank you."

Amy was still panting. "Thank him," she replied shortly. "He was extremely insistent."

"Amy!" It was Tattletale, holding up the phone.

"What?"

"It was one of Coil's men in an offsite location. They got a distress call that one of the guys here sent out. He asked Grue for a code. I think I got it right, but I'm not sure that he bought it. What's likely to happen?"

Shit.

What?

Worst case, self destruct. Coil had a habit of leaving behind fuck-you things like that. Which reminds me. We're gonna need a DNA sample.

What? Why?

Because we might need him back at some point.

I don't know what you think I can do, but -

"Amy?" Tattletale was still waiting.

"Uh, maybe set off the base self-destruct?"

Contessa's eyes focused. "Doorway," she muttered. A portal opened in midair, and she stepped through. It closed behind her.

What the fuck?

It's how she gets around. As for Coil, I know you can't clone him, but that's not to say that nobody else can.

Wait, I want to talk about what she just did.

She had someone open a portal for her. Like I said, it's how she and Alexandria and the rest of that organisation get around. One step transportation.

That must be useful. Where did she go?

Probably to make sure that nobody sets off the base self-destruct.

Why didn't Alexandria go with her?

You did see her fight, yeah? With anyone but me or a very few others involved, she's like that all the time.

Ah.

She became aware that Alexandria was watching her closely.

"What?" she asked defensively.

"You're having some sort of discussion in there, aren't you?"

"I … am, yeah." She nodded at Coil's body. "Can you put that on ice for me?"

"Why? Can you bring him back?"

"No." She tapped the side of her head. "But he thinks we can do something similar."

"Hm. Interesting. Yes, we can preserve the body. Who shot him?"

"I didn't see." The evasion came easily to her.

"Did anyone say who did it?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Why was he shot?"

Because he was a manipulative arsehole who would have been as safe to handle as a bucket of warm 'foof'.

Warm what?

F-O-O-F. Look it up sometime. She's waiting for an answer.

"Uh, because he was planning to assassinate some of us. And family."

"And you know this how?"

"I told them," Dinah's voice sounded at her shoulder. "I saw the percentages. Coil would have been too hard to control. People would have died."

Alexandria's lip twisted. "Still, murder is very … final."

Tell that to his victims.

Amy's chin came up. "He says Coil had lots of victims. They would have found murder very final, as well."

"He was potentially very useful. Killing him was a bad idea."

In the short run, he's a hindrance. In the long run, I have an idea how to get him back before the fight against Zion.

I've been wanting to ask you about that. Scion's the bad guy in all this? I always thought he was a hero.

He's doing it out of boredom. When he decides to break things, he won't do it small.

Oh, crap. Okay. "Michael says he knows how to get him back before we have to fight Zion."

Alexandria's gaze, even from behind the steel mask, was almost laser-like in its intensity. "You know about that as well?"

How are we going to fight him? It's impossible.

Oh, it's possible. Just very, very hard.

"I, uh, just found out," Amy stammered. "But yes, I do now."

Tell her I know how.

How do you know how?

Because I've seen it done. But don't tell her that bit.

"Uh, he also says he knows how to beat him. Zion."

"And you believe this." Alexandria's gaze was unwavering.

"He says it. I believe it."

"You're relaying his words. I'd like to speak to him myself."

You don't have to if you don't want to.

"I, uh, I'd prefer to stay in control, and pass on what he says."

"Why?"

"Because he's been in my head for less than a day, and I'm already sick of being used as someone else's hand puppet!" Amy burst out. "Unless we absolutely have to do it differently, I'm going to keep control of my body. Okay?"

Alexandria gave her a long, cool appraisal. " … very well," she agreed. "I can work with this."

Wow, holy crap. You just faced up to Alexandria.

God, don't remind me.

Uh, hand puppet?

That's what it feels like from time to time.

Sorry.

Well, you're giving me control now, so I'm good. For the moment. But I hope that you end up in your own body at some point.

Why?

So I can smack the crap out of you for each time you've just taken over, without asking first.

… that's fair. I think she's waiting for an answer.

Okay. Amy re-ran the conversation in her head.

"Uh, good. So, uh what else did you want to know?"

"Many things," the older hero noted. "But some are much more important than others. May I ask as to who has control over who controls your body?"

Go ahead and tell her.

"Uh, he does. But he's letting me be in control for the moment. I … he had to grab control a few times, and I'm not pleased with him. So he's backing off."

"You're being very matter-of-fact about this. I don't know that I would be so laissez-faire about someone controlling my body like that. Especially when I had no say in the matter."

That's because she's a control freak. You're not.

Amy cleared her throat. "I, uh, spent a good part of my life being told what to do. He's uh, helping me. Telling me stuff. Letting me sort things out in my head. Explaining things to me. Giving me advice. And when I ask him to, he backs off. I don't like being controlled, but I can see that it's been necessary. At least some of the time."

"And his ultimate aim is to save the world, help defeat Scion."

The change in direction caught Amy off-guard, and she floundered a little. "Uh, yes. That's what he says. That's what I believe."

"And after that? Does he spend the rest of your life in your head?"

No. Hopefully I get to go home after this.

"He says he wants to go home after that. He's very definite about it."

"Where is he from?"

That's a good question. Where are you from?

It would take far too long to explain right now. For now, you can call me a 'BRB'.

BRB?

Benevolent Random Being. It's a kind of shorthand term.

Oh. Right. You're going to have to explain that one, too, sometime.

One of these days, sure.

I'll hold you to that. Aloud, she went on. "He finds it hard to explain. But he means well. I'm pretty sure about that."

"That's good, because I'm very interested in learning how we are to defeat Scion."

One step at a time. First, let's deal with the problem in front of us. Noelle.

Oh, the Case 53?

Yeah, her.

"Uh, first, he wants to deal with Noelle."

"And how does he intend to do that?"

Amy listened to Michael's explanation. "Okay," she began after he had finished, "if I get this right, Cauldron sells powers to people with enough money. But there's also usually favours involved. Because not many people have enough money for the powers they want. So there's a repo clause. Sorry, that's how he put it. If they try to renege, you remove their powers. You have a cape who does that for you."

Alexandria's lips thinned. "I do not appreciate having Cauldron's secrets broadcast to the world."

On Michael's urging, Amy turned to the others. "Guys, are you going to tell anyone about this?"

Rachel, involved in checking Brutus over for lingering damage, shook her head. Vicky, eyes wide, also shook her head. Each of the others signalled negation as well.

Amy turned back to Alexandria. "He says you're going to have to shut down operations anyway. And no more … abduction of people from other worlds?" She stared at the Protectorate hero. "You do that? That's horrible!"

Alexandria gritted her teeth. "I would advise you not telling any more. My colleagues may decide to take unilateral action."

"In which case you get nothing," Amy retorted. "He said to tell you that. We'll keep your dirty secrets, so long as you dismantle what you're doing. And you get information regarding Endbringers first." She paused, listening to Michael. "Saturday. I – we – whatever, I'll be in touch."

"That's two days away," Alexandria snapped. "Unacceptable."

"You've been flailing around trying to get a handle on the problem for the last twenty-some years," Amy replied, repeating Michael's words with relish. "You can stand to wait another two days." She paused again. "Also, I want Doorway privileges."

"Out of the question!"

Amy folded her arms and waited.

Alexandria clenched her fists so tightly that skin squeaked on skin. Then she breathed deeply, inhaling slowly, exhaling smoothly. Once more centred, she gave Amy a level stare. "Why do you need this?"

Amy spread her hands. "Because he wants it. Now, are we getting access to the power remover cape?" She paused. "Did you really call him the Removalist?"

"It wasn't my decision," Alexandria replied. "Very well. This Case 53 is as dangerous as you say? How did that happen?"

Amy listened for a moment. "Well, apparently, the power formula was shared between Noelle and one of her friends."

Some of Alexandria's face was hidden by the mask, but her look of disquiet told Amy how bad that must really be. "Idiots," she muttered. "How did that happen?"

"Simurgh," Amy repeated. "Madison. They found some formulas in a lab that was broken open. Took them. Some of them were injured, so they drank them to heal up." She shrugged. "Gamers."

"I remember that attack," Alexandria noted. "They were there?"

"They were," agreed Amy. "The Simurgh set it up so that they'd do exactly what they did. Pieces put in motion. Only now I'm here to change how they move on the board."

"Are you sure she isn't predicting you?" Alexandria looked at her closely.

Amy didn't copy Michael's chuckle, but she smiled. "Certain of it. He says that she can predict me but not him." She raised her chin. "Do I get Doorway privileges?"

"You can earn them," Alexandria told her shortly. "Once I know how to kill the Endbringers."

"Fine," Amy replied. "Now, the Removalist?"

"One moment." Alexandria began moving off down the catwalk.

There was a loud metallic crash. Everyone turned to look down at the door that hid the Case 53. It was still vibrating, and concrete dust was settling around it.

"Make that a short moment," Amy advised her.

<><>​

Noelle was hungry. Hunger gnawed at her very being. She needed to eat, to support this gross body that had been inflicted upon her. If it didn't eat, regularly, it got restless, and did things outside of her control. Like eating things anyway. Or people. All those people in New York, and the other places. She hadn't meant for that to happen. Her body had decided that it needed to eat, and so it had eaten.

She hated feeling helpless like that, a prisoner in her own body. It reminded her of the dark days, before she met Krouse and fell in love with him, when she had the eating disorder. Convinced she was fat, she would starve herself for days to become slim, become pretty, become a better person. But there was no end goal there; every time she looked in the mirror, every bump and lump on her body – even her ribs and pelvis – constituted excess weight to be shed.

She had to keep going, to stay the course. Even when hunger pangs wracked her in the middle of the night, she couldn't bring herself to eat, because eating led to being overweight, and she wanted to be slim. Even when she did eat, she would sneak off to the bathroom as soon as possible, and bring it all up again. Food was bad.

It had taken an intervention by her parents to break her out of the destructive cycle. Her father had taken a leave of absence from work, and they had sat over her for days, making sure that she ate, preventing her from throwing up again, getting nutrition into her. She had hated them, raged against the tyranny, but she had had no choice in the matter. Gradually, she had gotten better, felt her mind clearing. And one day, she had woken up, eaten breakfast, and had felt no impulse to dash to the bathroom to get rid of it.

This wasn't to say that she was cured, of course. The feelings came back every now and again, but now that she had learned to recognise them, she was able to fight them, with or without the assistance of her parents. It had been a long, hard road, but she was making progress.

And then she had gotten into gaming, had started with the group. It had provided an interest for her, and she had met Krouse. Initially unimpressed by him, she had tolerated his advances, while rising to her own position of leader of the team. He had been an outsider with talent, while Cody, already on the team, was skilled but not advancing very fast. Cody was also interested in her, and she liked him, but the spark just wasn't there.

When she finally admitted to herself that Krouse was more than just a friend, it was like turning a corner. He liked her for herself, for her body as well as her mind. He made it clear that he found her attractive, and this put the finishing touches on her recovery; she would never starve herself again, just to try to look pretty. Krouse's compliments made sure of that.

And now … now she couldn't starve herself. Her other half, the part of her body that had a mind of its own, would seek food, whether it be garbage, animals, or even people, if she went too long without eating. The dark irony was all too clear to her; here she was, stuck in a wholly new version of a destructive eating disorder. One that she couldn't break out of. There was no fixing this.

I wish I could die. But she couldn't. She'd tried.Others had tried. It had rarely turned out well. And now, she was stuck in this claustrophobic vault, who knew how far underground, while Krouse lived elsewhere with the rest of the Travellers, and visited far too rarely. Coil brought in so-called experts, who treated her with wholly understandable wariness, but never returned with anything other than bad news and shaken heads. The crime boss tried to keep her optimistic, but her level of hope dwindled each day.

At least he feeds me. Whole pigs, fresh from what she assumed to be a slaughterhouse, would normally have made her feel squeamish. Now, her lower body took them and consumed them with almost terrifying greed. But the amount he was feeding her wasn't enough, not any more. She was still hungry after a meal, still empty inside. He wasn't cutting her rations, so her body was needing more. How much more is enough? She feared that the question had no answer.

Her lower body moved again, restlessly. She tried to still it, to calm it. It kept moving, rammed against the steel door that protected the rest of the base from her. The door rang like a bell, but held. She suspected that if she truly wanted to get through it, she could. Little could stop her if she really wanted to leave.

"Noelle."

It was an unfamiliar voice on the intercom. She leaned down toward the pickup. "Who – who's there? Where's Coil?"

"Noelle, my name's Amy Dallon. You may have heard of me as Panacea."

She recognised the picture on the screen now; it did look like the healer known as Panacea. Noelle had only seen glimpses of her on TV; up close, or as close as the intercom screen would show her, she looked … ordinary. Messy brown hair, a smudge of something on her nose. Her white robes were absent; she wore dark clothing.

"Panacea? Did – did Coil bring you in, to help me?" She felt a huge surge of hope. Panacea could heal anything. She'd even heard that the New Wave member could cure old age, although she tended to discount that particular idea. But wounds, amputations, even cancer; the teenage girl on the other side of the door had dealt with them all. Surely she can fix what's wrong with me.

"Uh, no, sorry. Not quite. I'm told that your power would trump mine, so things would get really nasty if I tried. But there's something else we're going to do. Something that's absolutely guaranteed to get you out of that vault, and back with Krouse."

"Absolutely guaranteed? What are you going to do?"

"Me, personally? I'm going to save your life after he finishes taking your powers away."

"Who what now? Take my powers away? Who's going to do that?"

"Just get to the back of the vault and close your eyes and cover your ears, okay?"

"Why do I have to close my eyes?" Noelle was starting to get a little edgy. This didn't sound right.

"So you don't attack anyone. Please?"

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Noelle, please." There was a pause. "Before this all happened, Cody was pissed because you were dropping him from the team in favour of Francis. Cody was accusing you of doing it because he's your boyfriend."

Noelle's eyes went wide. "How do you even know this?"

"I know a great many things, Noelle. Do as I say, please?"

"Okay. I'll do it." She left the intercom, backed away from it until she reached the far end of the hated vault. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, and then called out, "Okay!"

Distantly, she heard the vault door locks disengaging. Clamping her hands over her ears, she concentrated on keeping her eyes shut, even the ones decorating her lower body. That body wanted to move, to see what was invading her space, but she kept a careful grip on it.

There may have been a voice, but she didn't hear what the words were. And then something happened. It was the weirdest sensation, washing through her whole body. Her strength ebbed, and she felt numbness, creeping in from her extremities. At the same time, the impulses of her lower body began to fade and die.

And that was when the pain hit her. Pain worse than anything she had ever felt before. Pain worse than when she had been injured in the toppled building. Her legs, the monstrous legs that now supported her bloated, grotesque body, gave way, and she felt herself slumping to the floor.

She took her hands from her ears, opened her eyes. Panacea stood there, alone. But she could not even begin to wonder how the girl had done this, what she'd done to her. The pain ravaging her body, tearing at the internal organs that she had not needed to use for so long, precluded all else.

"Help me!" she screamed. "Help me! It hurts!"

And then the vault door opened once more, and a second figure entered. Similarly dark-clad, the newcomer picked up Panacea and flew her up to where Noelle's torso was situated atop the mass of dying flesh that had once been her lower body. Cool fingers traced her brow, and the pain went away.

The world went away.

<><>​

"Is she going to be all right?"

Amy ignored the question; she concentrated on working on Noelle. Lying on the concrete floor beside what had once been the mass of what Michael called Echidna, the girl's lower torso and legs were only vaguely roughed out. Amy's concentration was mainly on keeping her alive. Her heart and lungs were in poor shape, and her digestive system had almost totally shut down; it was obvious that the lower body had done all the eating and breathing for her once it had started to warp out of control.

Finally, she had the girl's breathing and heart rate to a point where she liked them; she started sculpting the rest of her body out of the mass of flesh that was currently standing in for her legs.

Digestive system, bladder … check. Reproductive system … check. Vagina, anus, urethra … check. She paused. Do you have any idea how tall she was?

No answer.

Hey!

What? I was, you know, carefully not paying attention.

How tall was she?

Buggered if I know. Make her, say, as tall as you are.

What if she's a different height than that?

I sincerely doubt that she will complain.

Okay, good point.

Oh, wow.

What? I thought you weren't paying attention.

You know, you could make her into a mermaid right now.

Not funny.

Yeah, but the look on her face.

Okay, a little bit funny, but I'm not going there. Now go back to not paying attention.

Going.

Taking a deep breath, she kept on going. The legs separated, bones forming, then muscles over the top. Fat deposits, then skin. The feet were a little difficult to get exact – when she grew someone's limb back, she usually had the other one to use as a template. "Vicky."

"Uh, what?" Vicky looked up from where she'd been watching the process with an expression of horrified fascination.

"Give me your hand."

"What? Why?"

"I need to copy your feet."

Vicky blinked. "Oh. Okay." She extended her hand, and Amy took it. Immediately, the knowledge of her body flooded into Amy's mind. She zeroed in on the feet, and began reworking Noelle's feet to match. With Vicky's anatomy as a template, she went back and checked on her other work, fixing a few minor errors, then checked all the way through. Everything looked good.

"Okay," she decided, standing up and stretching mightily. "Let's see how she goes. Vicky, you got the pants?"

"I did indeed," Vicky replied, pulling the garment in question from her shoulder. Amy didn't ask where she'd gotten a pair in Noelle's size; she simply presumed that there was a relatively slim guard on the base, now missing pants. Not my problem.

Together, they managed to work the pants on to Noelle's legs.

"This is harder than it looks," grunted Vicky, rolling Noelle's limp body on to her side so that Amy could pull the pants all the way up. "I can bench a cement mixer, and I have trouble putting pants on an unconscious person. How weird is that?"

"'Dead weight' isn't just a phrase," Amy informed her, fastening the waistband. "It's the difference between carrying a hundred pound iron weight, and a hundred pound flexible sack of water."

She reached out and placed her hand on Noelle's forehead; a minor exertion of her power, and Noelle's eyes opened. She gasped.

"What – what's going on?" she asked. "I can't move."

"I turned off the neural impulses that let you move on your own, so you wouldn't twitch while I was fixing you," Amy told her. "I'm turning them back on now."

Slowly, she reinstated Noelle's voluntary movements, and at her request, the girl lifted her right and left arms. And then, hesitantly, she began to move her legs; a little at first, and then with more and more confidence.

"Why is it so hard to move them properly?" she asked, as Amy and Vicky helped her to her feet.

"Because you didn't have legs," Amy explained. "I made these ones for you. All the nerves are connected up, and the muscles are in the right place. You've just got to learn how to use them again."

"Oh. Okay." Noelle tried to stand properly, and tottered. "Wow. I think I'll be a while."

"You'll get there," Amy advised her.

Vicky pushed open the vault door, and they exited, with Noelle supported between them. Amy handed off the girl to Vicky, and approached Alexandria, who was waiting with the Undersiders outside the vault.

"Well done," the older hero told her. "She's healthy?"

"Probably do with a few good meals," Amy replied. "But healthy enough. You remember the list of people I gave you?"

"I do," agreed Alexandria, with the slightest flaring of her nostrils.

"There's an American citizen in China. His name's Cody. He was inducted into the Yàngbǎn. He also harbours a hatred of Accord. We want Accord alive."

"If he's in the Yàngbǎn, he's not coming here any time soon," Alexandria noted.

"Endbringer battle," Amy pointed out.

"He'd be so stupid?"

"He would."

"Do you want him rescued or eliminated?"

"Rescued is better. He could be helpful against Zion."

"And so could Accord," agreed Alexandria.

"Once you pull him from China, he becomes much less of a threat."

"How does that work?"

Amy paused as Michael explained. "Okay, he apparently … there's a cape who can spread powers among the whole squad, and another who can amplify them. If he defects during the fight, he'll have all their powers for a while, even after he leaves the squad. And he'll use this to kill Accord. And Trickster and Noelle too, if he gets the chance."

"I'll see what I can do."

You mean, see what Contessa can do.

Shush.

"Oh, and one more thing."

Alexandria's lips tightened. "I'm getting a little unhappy with your demands."

"Okay, fine. Later, then."

At Michael's urging, she turned away from Alexandria.

What are we doing?

She doesn't show a damn thing that she doesn't want anyone to see. She's putting on a bluff of anger to get us to apologise, to back down.

She is?

She's really good at playing the political game. Keep walking.

Amy kept walking. She was almost up to Tattletale when Alexandria called out from behind her. "Wait!"

Slowly, she stopped and turned. "Yes?"

"What is it that you want?"

Amy spoke slowly, pausing between sentences to let Michael catch up. "The ABB, in custody. You already have Lung. Bakuda is gearing up for a terror strike on the city. Oni Lee will be helping. It's all aimed toward busting Lung from where he's being held. She's also got the wherewithal to build a bomb that could EMP about a fifth of the United States. And probably some of Canada as well. Once Lung gets out, he'll tell her to build it. So you might want to look into that as well."

"Do you need them alive?" Alexandria's lip curled.

She hesitated. "Bakuda, yes. Oni Lee, he really doesn't care."

"Good. Doorway to Bakuda."

The doorway opened, and she stepped through; it closed behind her.

Did you just sentence Oni Lee to death?

He's a murderous bastard. Do you really have a problem with this?

I … need to think about this for a bit.

Trust me, there are those who improve the world, those who make no difference, and those who are better off not being part of it. Oni Lee fits the third category.

Yes, but … I still don't even like the idea of kill orders. I've spent far too much of my time helping heal people.

Sorry, but I can't take the chance that he won't try to screw up saving the world. Because some people are dicks that way.

You're kidding, right?

I wish I was.

So what do we do now?

Go home, I guess.

What about Noelle? And Dinah?

Oh, right. Um. Okay then. Let's get Dinah back to her parents. You've got her cleaned up?

Amy knew he wasn't referring to the precog's outer appearance. Yes. A few cravings, maybe, but they'll pass in a day or two. She paused. And Noelle?

We should get her back to the Travellers, but I have no idea where they are.

Why don't we ask Tattletale?

A moment of silence. Okay, new rule? You're the brains of this operation.

She felt herself smiling; it wasn't his influence, but a genuine impulse. Thanks.

<><>​

At this time of night, the street was deserted. Lonely streetlights left pools of illumination on the pavement. The Undersiders stood together, the oversized dogs behind Bitch, their breath steaming gently in the cool night air.

"I really appreciate this," Amy told Tattletale. She looked at Skitter. "Thanks for putting your weight behind this, too."

The bug controller was quiet. Finally, she muttered, "I can't believe I … "

Amy put her arms around Skitter and hugged her. "Trust me, the man was a danger to you. I'm told that if things went as normal, he would try to kill you at least once, and put your father in danger as well. That's even without assassination attempts."

"Still doesn't make me feel much better."

"Well, any time you want to talk about it, I'm here, okay?"

"Hey, hey, me too," Tattletale reminded them.

"You're not much help," Skitter told her with a burst of her old spirit. "You wanted to shoot him too."

"I'm glad I didn't know he was dead," Noelle remarked. "I might have gotten angry then."

"Yes," agreed Amy. "You would have. It wouldn't have been pretty."

"How do you know?" asked Noelle, frowning.

Tattletale chuckled. "It's a thing she does." She turned her head. "I think this might be yours."

The station wagon slowed as it neared them, then pulled to a halt some ten yards away. Both front doors opened, and costumed figures stepped out. One was just placing a top hat on his head, and the other wore a square mask.

"Okay, you've got us here," called the one in the top hat. "State your business."

In answer, Noelle tottered out from the group. She was still having trouble walking, but she was doing her best. "Krouse!" she called. "It's me! I'm healed! I'm better!"

The top-hatted figure stared, then started running. The two came together in a hug that was more of a controlled collision than anything else. At first they just held one another, and then they kissed, fiercely and passionately. Amy turned away, uncomfortable.

Yeah, it's kinda like that, isn't it?

I have no idea what you mean.

Sure you don't. Might want to blow your nose.

Pulling out a handkerchief, Amy did so. Doesn't mean anything. I probably picked up a cold tonight. It's not exactly warm out.

Pull the other one. I know about your immune system. The cold virus is your bitch.

Oh, shush.

There was a tap on her shoulder; she turned. Trickster, the man in the top hat, stood with one arm supporting Noelle. His face was hidden behind a mask; hers had tears running down it.

"Thanks," he told her hoarsely. "You've – we owe you. Big time."

Amy smiled. "It's nothing. I prefer Noelle like this to what she was before." She paused. "I, uh, didn't have anything to compare her to, uh, down there, so I basically winged it."

They looked at each other, then Noelle giggled nervously. "Well, we've got time to work it out now. Again."

Trickster nodded. "We do." He held out his hand; Amy clasped it. "We'll see you around."

"See you then." Amy watched them walk back toward the car.

Uh, didn't you -

Shut up! I'm not going to tell him that I modeled some parts on my sister when I had to guess!

Shutting up now.

Thank you.

<><>​

"We can take it from here, guys."

Grue nodded at her. "Okay then. It's been a night, all right."

Amy nodded to him, then turned to Tattletale and Skitter. "Thanks again. I appreciate it."

"Hey, don't I get thanks too?" asked Regent. "I turned up too!"

"Reluctantly, yes, but you turned up," Amy agreed. "So thanks. And Bitch?"

The auburn-haired girl looked up. "What?"

"Thanks for letting me ride your dogs."

Bitch looked away with a grunt.

Pretty sure that meant 'you're welcome'.

Probably.

She stood back with Vicky and Dinah as the Undersiders mounted their dogs. Tattletale leaned down from Brutus. "Sure we can't keep the base?"

Amy shook her head. "Already made the call to the PRT. Be happy you got the hard drive."

The blonde wrinkled her nose. "You're no fun."

"I'm here to save the world, not have fun."

"Whatever." Tattletale rolled her eyes. "See you around. Let me know if you want any more supervillains taken down."

"Well, Skidmark's been causing problems recently … "

"Never mind, I retract the offer."

Briefly, they shared a chuckle, and then Bitch clicked her tongue. The dogs started moving, loping off down the road at a remarkable turn of pace. Amy turned to Dinah. "So, ready to go inside now?"

"You sure my parents will want me?" The tone tore at her heart.

They will. I guarantee it.

"I know they will." Taking the younger girl by the hand, she led her to what looked like a recently-repaired front door, and knocked, using the heavy iron knocker.

There was no answer, so she knocked again.

"Maybe they're not home," quavered Dinah.

"Of course they are," Amy assured her. This time, for variety, she pressed the doorbell.

Eventually, footsteps could be heard approaching the door, and then there was a fumbling at the lock. The door opened on what looked like a heavy chain, and a suspicious voice called out through the crack. "Who's there?"

"Daddy?" asked Dinah.

A moment of frozen silence passed.

" … Dinah?"

"Daddy, it's me. I'm all right. The superheroes have brought me back."

"If this is some sort of trick, by god, I'll … " With a click, the porch light came on. Dinah stood full in the brightness.

The door closed, and then opened once more, devoid of the chain. A man in his late thirties, or early forties, looked out at us. "My god, Dinah, it's you," he gasped.

"Who is it?" Amy heard from back in the house.

"Anna!" he called. "Come quick! Dinah's back!"

"Dinah?" Hurrying footsteps culminated in a nightgown-clad woman, who engulfed Dinah in a hug; her father hugged them both. Amy smiled at the reunion, then tilted her head, signalling Vicky that they should go.

However, they only made it a little way down the path before Dinah's father came out to them; her mother was leading her inside, telling her that she'd make her favourite cocoa drink …

"Who are you?" he asked. "What happened to her? Who kidnapped her?"

Amy blinked. "I'm Panacea," she told him. "This is Glory Girl."

"You're not in costume," he pointed out, his voice just a little suspicious.

"We had to go undercover," Vicky put in, apparently enjoying herself immensely.

" … right," he replied. "So … what happened to her?" Behind his voice was the dread that every father feels about something happening to his daughter.

"She was not molested, or physically mistreated," Amy told him firmly. "The man who took her was seeking to use her powers for himself, so he was in the process of addicting her to several powerful drugs. I cleaned those out of her system. She may feel odd cravings over the next few days, but that will pass, and there should be no strongly adverse symptoms. It should be all over by Monday."

" … powers?" he asked. "So she does have powers?"

Amy nodded. "Yes. She's a powerful precog. Her headaches come on when she tries to get images of the future, lies about her predictions, or tries to get too many predictions in a day. Tell her to stick to percentages only. Also, try to avoid asking her questions about the future. Her power cannot help but answer them, and this may strain her."

He blinked, but nodded. "Okay. Percentages, no images. Don't lie about it. Certain number a day. Got it."

Amy smiled. "You have a strong girl there, Mr Alcott. Take care of her."

"I will. Thank you both for bringing her back." He reached out and shook her hand, then Vicky's.

"Trust me," Amy told him. "It was our genuine pleasure."

Turning, he went back to the porch; Dinah came out, mug of cocoa in hand, and waved goodbye. "Thank you both," she called.

Amy waved back, then turned to Vicky. "Can we go home now?" she asked. "I am so dead on my feet."

"Thought you'd never ask," Vicky replied with a grin. "Though I have to say, it's been an interesting night."

She scooped Amy into her arms, and they lifted off into the night air.

<><>​

"That's funny," Vicky noted as they coasted in toward their neighbourhood. "One of those houses is all lit up."

"Uh, Vicky, I think that's our house." Amy began to get a bad feeling.

"Holy shit, I think you're right."

"What do we do?"

"I think we should land and bluff it out."

"That's what you always do."

"And it works for me, so why change a winning formula?"

Amy sighed. "Okay then, let's do it your way."

This might be a mistake.

Can you think of an alternative?

Remember when I suggested you move out?

I can't do that, not to Vicky.

So yeah, land and face the music, I guess.

As they came in for a landing, it became obvious that the Dallon household had a visitor. The identity of said visitor was equally obvious; no-one else in Brockton Bay rode a motorcycle quite like the one that was parked in front of the house.

"Armsmaster's here." Amy's voice was hushed.

"Want to see if we can't sneak in through the upstairs windows, and maybe pretend to have been in bed all this time?"

Amy shook her head. "They'll have checked." She pulled out her phone and turned it on; Vicky did the same. Each device chimed multiple times as missed calls popped up. All in the last half hour. "Oh yeah. We are so busted."

"Busss-ted," Vicky echoed her.

As they advanced toward the front door, it opened. Armsmaster stood there.

"I thought it was you," he observed, stepping forward. "Why aren't you in costume?"

"Uh, we've been out and about, enjoying the night air?" ventured Vicky. "Why, is that a crime?"

Armsmaster's lips thinned. "No, but aiding and abetting in a crime is. And so is being an accessory to murder."

Oh shit.

Oh shit indeed.



End of Part Thirteen

Part Fourteen

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Fourteen: Moving Right Along



What do we do?

We say nothing. Lie detector, remember. Also, less chance of incriminating ourselves.

Vicky, it seemed, had less in the way of restraint. "What, seriously?"

"Seriously." Armsmaster's voice was hard. "We have footage of you associating with known criminals and not attempting to arrest them."

Oh shit, this could be bad. Amy felt herself beginning to hyperventilate, but then her breathing smoothed out again; she realised a moment later that he was doing it, helping to calm her down.

Mm, I don't know. He's not actually attempting to arrest us. So it might not be as cut and dried as he's making out. His tone was almost detached.

"Jeez," Vicky retorted at the same time. "It's almost as if heroes never team up with villains ever, in any way."

Where would they get footage of us with the Undersiders?

His reply was interrupted by Carol Dallon, who had joined them on the pavement. "Vicky, not another word. Armsmaster, are you accusing my daughter of a crime without presenting proof? Are you interrogating her about that alleged crime without reading her her rights? What's she supposed to have done, and what proof do you have?"

Yay, and she's defending Vicky and not me.

With luck, any defence that covers Vicky will cover you too. You might want to mention the lie detector.

Armsmaster seemed about to say something, when Amy cleared her throat. "Uh … Carol, Vicky? Just so you know?"

Carol ignored Amy, but Vicky turned to her. "What is it, Ames?"

Amy nodded toward Armsmaster. "He's got a lie detector in his helmet."

Carol's head came up, and her glare at Armsmaster notched up a few levels. "Is that true? Are you subjecting my daughter to an illegal lie detector test?"

"It's an invaluable tool for -" He cut himself off.

Brandish pounced. "Interrogating criminals? Is that what you were going to say? Do you consider my daughter to be a common criminal, to be interrogated with no regard for the law? For her rights? For the right to not self-incriminate?"

"Mrs Dallon," Armsmaster stated, "there has been a murder committed. Your daughters were present when it happened. This is a fact."

"That may well be," Carol responded. "But if and when my daughter is questioned about this matter, I will be present, and you will not be. If you do attempt to sit in on the questioning, I will require independent verification to ensure that any lie-detection apparatus in your helmet has been disabled. Do I make myself absolutely clear?"

Wow, she's really going at him hard.

Do you blame her? Vicky's under threat. But he should agree. It won't cost him anything.

Why is that?

Because he can get almost the same reading from watching a recording.

Oh. Wow. His lie detector's that good?

Repeat after me: bullshit Tinker based technology is bullshit. Did you know his halberd teleports back to him if he loses it?

I … did not know that. Okay, you've convinced me.

But don't relax quite yet. She might have him on the run ...

He paused as they watched Armsmaster swing his leg over his motorcycle; it started with a deep-throated rumble. Smoothly, it moved off down the road.

Damn, I never get tired of watching that thing.

You were saying about having him on the run?

Yeah. Now that he's gone – you're next.

What?

She looked back at Carol, who was indeed glaring at her. "Vicky. Amy. Inside, now."

"But, Mom -" began Vicky.

Are you going to stay or go? Last chance to bail out before the interrogation.

"Don't you 'but Mom' me, young lady! Get inside this instant, both of you."

I – Amy wavered for a long moment, but the old habits of obedience were too strong. Crap. I'll stay. It would be unfair on Vicky to bail on her now.

Then get inside now, before she has to tell you a third time.

There was more than the hint of a parental tone to his voice; either he was a father, she guessed, or he'd associated with teenagers more than once. She didn't argue, trotting up the path to the house with Vicky not far behind her.

Carol followed on, closing the front door with a certain level of finality. She pointed at the sofa. "Sit. Both of you."

Vicky glanced at Amy, who saw the seeds of concern in that look.

Wow, if Vicky is worried … maybe I should've gone.

I think Vicky's got much the same idea. Still think you don't need another place to stay?

Urgh. Maybe.

But yeah, you might be right. Let's see how this turns out.

<><>​

Carol was pacing back and forth, glancing from Vicky to Amy and back again; she wasn't quite tearing her hair out by the roots, but Amy wondered if she wasn't far off it. Abruptly, she stopped, and put her hands on her hips. "How could you be so stupid?"

Amy wasn't sure if Carol was addressing her or not, but she felt her mouth open anyway, to defend herself, to offer an explanation.

Uh uh. That was a general question. She's throwing guilt at you, in the hopes that you'll confess all.

It's working. I feel guilty already.

Well, don't. We did a good job tonight.

And got Coil killed.

"Uh, what do you mean, Mom?" asked Vicky.

That's not on you. Taylor made the choice, and I think it was the correct one.

You can't be serious.

Carol glared at Vicky. "You tell me. You let Amy talk you into a midnight excursion, out of costume, and before you're even done, I have Armsmaster on my front doorstep, enquiring into your whereabouts."

Well, you tell me. If someone you have at your mercy is threatening your life and those of your loved ones, do you trust that he's changed his mind by the time he's in a position to do just that, or do you end the threat first?

I – I could've checked -

Vicky set her jaw stubbornly. "It was for a good cause, Mom. It was something that we had to do, and we succeeded."

And what would you have done if you'd found the unshakeable intent to do what he said he was going to do?

I … I'm not sure.

"A good cause?" Carol shook her head. "I don't think you realise how much trouble you're in, young lady. Armsmaster is angry – very angry – about what's happened. He hasn't filled me in on exactly what's happened -" She didn't seem at all pleased about that. "- but he's talking aiding and abetting, and accessory to murder. Plus other potential charges. What you've done is obviously very serious. We've got to get ahead of it, and to do that, you've got to tell me exactly what happened."

Amy turned her attention back to Mike's voice. Suppose the threat wasn't toward Taylor and her dad – who's a pretty nice guy, and damned honest, for someone in city politics – but toward Vicky and you? Would you have stood by and let him threaten you? Accepted that he wasn't going to follow through? Or made sure of it?

I couldn't just kill him … Her thought trailed off, because she wasn't so sure that she wouldn't kill to save Vicky's life. The realisation brought her up short.

"Mom, it's not so simple as that." Vicky's voice was earnest. "This is important. I can't go telling just anyone." She glanced toward Amy.

As I see it, you have three options in that scenario. First, turn him over to the authorities and hope to God they don't chuck him in a revolving-door jail. Second, alter his brain so he can't ever think that way about you and yours. Third, kill him. He paused. Let me know if I've missed any.

"Don't look at her," snapped Carol. "She's the one who got you into this mess in the first place!"

I don't know. I've never thought of killing with my powers before, not seriously. I've never had to go there. And I've always avoided working with brains … well, because.

Well, at some point, you're going to have to decide whether or not changing someone's mind is worse than killing them. Your choice. Anyway. This argument's getting interesting.

"Don't blame Amy for this," Vicky snapped right back. "It's bigger than both of us!"

"Why shouldn't I blame Amy?" Carol wanted to know. She turned to face Amy. "I want to know what's going on, and why you dragged Vicky into this!"

Well, at least she didn't say 'my daughter'.

Shush.

Amy cleared her throat. "We were doing something really important."

That's probably not going to be enough.

By Carol's expression, he was correct. "You're going to have to do a hell of a lot better than that, young lady, or -"

"Or what?" retorted Amy, stung. "You'll ground me? Fine. It'll be up to you to explain why Panacea's not out and about any more."

Carol rallied quickly. "You'll still be coming out as part of the team," she stated. "But when we're not patrolling -"

"Hah, no," Amy told her. "You don't get to pick and choose." She felt her resentment rising, and she rode it, let it give her words strength. "Either I'm part of this team, part of this family, or I'm not. Either I'm trusted or I'm not. Either you give me a fair hearing, or you don't. But you don't get to decide that I'm subject to your authority without giving me a fair deal. Not any more."

Holy shit, where did that come from?

It's what you've been telling me … isn't it?

Uh, yeah, but … wow. That was as awesome as the mouthful you gave them this afternoon.

Before Amy could reply, Carol broke herself out of the stunned state that Amy's defiance had apparently put her into. "You're a child. You don't get to dictate -"

"I'm sixteen," Amy told her. "I had my birthday last year, if you hadn't noticed. I can leave home now. I could join the Wards. They'd fall all over themselves to accept me. And can you imagine the newspaper headlines? 'Panacea rejects New Wave'. How would the team look then?"

Carol's face twisted. It seemed that she could imagine it all too well. "We could tell them the truth about how you're the child of a supervillain -"

"Who you attacked in his own home, and abducted his child to raise as your own? That'll go down well."

Carol's mouth fell open; Vicky's didn't, but she came close. "That's not how it was -" began the older woman.

"Actually, yeah, it more or less is," Amy went on relentlessly. "I could give a tearful interview where I reveal how you've barely ever treated me the same as Vicky … believe me, I've got a lot of ammunition here."

"You'd destroy the team," Carol protested. "Do you want to do that? To Mark? To Sarah and Neil? To Eric and Crystal? To Vicky?"

Amy shook her head. "It's not me who'd destroy the team. You've already done everything that's needed to do that. All I'd do would be showing people the truth about New Wave."

"Ames -" began Vicky, putting her hand on her sister's arm.

"What?" Amy looked at her. "It's true. You know it's true."

"Yeah … but do we need to bring the team down over it?"

"No, we don't." Amy shook her head. "But I'm not going to let Carol get away with dictating my life, either. Not any more. Especially not about this."

"But the criminal charges -"

"Aren't going to stick." Amy grinned at her sister. "Or did you forget who we spoke to, tonight?"

"Oh. Right." Vicky's face cleared. "But surely even she can't make something like that go away." A pause. "Can she?"

Inside her mind, Amy echoed the question. Can she?

Yes, actually she can.

Really?

Let's just say, Alexandria's secret identity has serious throw weight.

Oh. Okay.

"She can." Amy's voice was firm.

"Okay, what the hell are you two talking about?" demanded Carol. "Who did you speak to? What do you mean, the charges aren't going to stick?"

"I mean that the charges aren't going to stick," Amy enunciated carefully. "And where we went and who we spoke to is absolutely none of your business, unless you're ready to accept that we know what we're talking about."

Carol's expression darkened, but Vicky intervened hastily. "Mom, look. Amy's right. There's a whole lot more going on than you know about, and if you keep prying, you're going to find out more than you wanted to know."

"You're taking her side?" Carol sounded as though she couldn't believe it.

"Hell yes, I'm taking her side." Vicky indicated Amy. "Tonight, I saw just how awesome my sister can be. I kind of like it. Plus, I got to team up with people I never thought I'd team up with, which was also several kinds of cool."

"I'm presuming that's the 'aiding and abetting' that Armsmaster was talking about." Carol's voice was still chilly.

"Mom, look." Vicky's voice was impatient. "A girl was kidnapped. The bank robbery was a cover. We went and rescued her."

Carol looked dubious. "What girl? What's her name?"

"Dinah Alcott," Amy supplied. "She's Mayor Christner's niece."

"I know of her." Carol frowned. "She was kidnapped?"

"Ring her folks and find out," Vicky suggested. "We spoke to her dad. He knows we were there."

"So why didn't you just tell us?" demanded Carol. "New Wave would have pitched in."

Amy blinked as both Carol and Vicky looked at her. Actually, that's a good question. Why didn't we?

Two reasons. First reason was, I wanted the Undersiders involved, and you can't deny that they did a good job.

Well, granted, but what's the second reason?

He told her; she repeated it to Carol. "Because at best, you would have questioned me at every step of the way. Worse, you might have pushed me aside and taken charge, and gotten people hurt. At the very worst, you would have simply refused to even try, and kept me from doing it as well."

"Mom wouldn't have done that," Vicky stated. "Would you, Mom?" She looked at her mother; Carol stared back, jaw set. "You wouldn't ... would you?"

The damning silence stretched on, then Carol spoke; her tone was grudging. "Not necessarily."

Which is yes, she would've, but she's not going to admit it.

Amy's mental voice was very dry. I got that, thanks.

Vicky had also apparently gotten it. "Mom!" Her voice was full of pain.

"It's over," Carol's voice was curt. "We'll never know now. What I want to know is, what about this accessory to murder business? Who got murdered, and why in God's name did you allow it to happen?"

May as well tell her.

"Coil," Amy stated flatly. "He was the one who had the bank robbed, and Dinah kidnapped. We took his base, and took him prisoner. He was … executed, by one of the villains."

"A helpless prisoner?" snapped Carol. "Murdered? Why did you even let this happen?"

"We didn't know it was going to happen!" Vicky retorted. "Ames was saving R- saving one of the villains, and we heard the shot. To be honest, we though it was someone else who got shot."

"Who?"

Amy shook her head hastily. "No, that's something that we're not going to talk about. But Coil was an idiot. He was talking, making false promises, with a precog in the room. He as good as threatened to have one of the villains killed. Maybe more than one."

More forgiving of the impulse now, huh?

Well, you've helped me understand it a little more, I'll admit.

Carol frowned. "You don't kill helpless prisoners. It's just not done."

"He wasn't helpless." Amy spoke as firmly as he knew how. "Coil had powers. He was a precog, very specialised. He could take two timelines and pick the best one."

"Which puzzles me," Vicky noted. "If he could pick between timelines – what happened on the other one that made him pick this one?"

Amy shrugged. "Pretty sure we'll never know. Maybe it was going to happen in both timelines."

"Surely he wouldn't be so stupid as to bait them in both timelines," Vicky protested.

That's a good point, actually. Any idea what happened?

Buggered if I know. Though he was probably trying to angle for freedom, making promises. Maybe he made the wrong promise on the other timeline and one of the others popped him.

Yeah, probably.

"So who killed him?" asked Carol practically.

Amy saw Vicky glancing at her, and shrugged elaborately. "Didn't see it happen."

Vicky took the cue. "No, nor did I."

Oh, thank you God. That could have been awkward. Especially for Taylor. Skitter doesn't need a murder charge over her head right now. Or even one for justifiable homicide.

Carol folded her arms. "I refuse to believe that neither of you has any idea of who did it."

"Mom, you're a lawyer," Vicky pointed out. "We could say who we thought was the one who did it. But as we didn't witness the actual shooting … " She trailed off meaningfully.

"Why are you protecting this villain?" her mother demanded.

"Because I think it was justified," Amy snapped. "If you had a villain down and at your mercy, and he was vowing to come back and murder Mark and Vicky, and you knew you wouldn't see him coming, how would you handle it?"

Hang on, I think I've heard this line of reasoning before somewhere. Wait a minute, it'll come to me … The impression of a sly grin illuminated his thoughts.

Shush, you. But she was grinning back.

Carol gritted her teeth. "Murder is never an appropriate answer."

"So tell me what is," Amy shot back. "In that case, what's an appropriate answer? One that'll let you sleep at night?"

The look she got from Carol was one of pure dislike. "Sometimes there is no right answer."

"I don't know," mused Vicky. "Coil's not going to be a problem for anyone after tonight, yeah?"

Carol rounded on her. "That was insensitive and inappropriate." She drew a deep breath, apparently trying to rein in her temper, with indifferent results. "Fine. Get to bed, the both of you. And I expect you to be up in time for school tomorrow."

Amy raised her chin. "Am I still grounded?"

"We'll talk about that later. Bed. Now."

Much later, if I'm any judge.

She suppressed an inappropriate giggle. Shush, you.

<><>​

Amy came out of the bathroom towelling her hair – Carol had unbent enough to allow each of them to have a quick shower, during which time Amy had learned some more lyrics of one of the songs Mike had memorised – to find Vicky waiting for her.

"So what's going to happen now?" asked her sister, in an undertone; their parents' bedroom door was closed, but there was still a line of light under it.

"I have no idea," Amy replied. "They might kick me out. I might move out. I might join the Wards. I think I'll be sleeping on it."

"If they kick you out, I'm coming too," declared Vicky.

Amy frowned. "No. Stay, please." Vicky opened her mouth to protest, but Amy raised a hand. "I'd love you to come along, you know I would. But if you come with me, Carol will come after me twice as hard. If I'm gone, then I'm just gone. And we can keep in touch. Right?"

"Right." Vicky grimaced, displeased. "It'll be totally unfair if she does kick you out."

"Yeah," Amy commented dryly. "And my life's been totally fair up till now."

Vicky snorted, but did not dispute that. "Night, Ames." She held out her arms for a hug.

"Night, Vicky." Amy hugged her; the voice in her head kept a diplomatic silence.

She went to her room and climbed into bed – back into bed, her memory reminded her – revelling in the warmth, the comfort, the cessation of effort.

It's been a big night.

Pretty big, yeah. A pause. You want to talk about anything?

No, thanks. I'd just like to sleep, please.

Yeah, no problem. Night, roomie.

A sliver of amusement tinged her return thought. Night, Michael.

It didn't take her long to get to sleep at all.

<><>​

Friday Morning

"Are you sure this is all the data that you were able to get out of the base security system?"

Armsmaster nodded in reply to Piggot's query. "Yes, ma'am."

Frowning, she tapped in a command, and her desk computer began to replay the footage of the area around where Coil had been murdered. At first the playback was flawless, but then strange blips and jumps started creeping in. A camera pointing from one angle caught Panacea and Glory Girl and the Undersiders, looking off-screen, but the camera covering that angle showed nothing but static.

The picture loss became more pronounced, until it was rapid jumps, until it finally cleared, to show Coil slumped in the chair, a red stain on the white snake showing that he had been shot. She ran it back and forth a few times, but nothing eventuated.

"So Glory Girl, Panacea and the Undersiders hit Coil's base last night," she growled in frustration. "Something was in that vault on the lower level, that left behind a pile of some organic slurry or other. Someone, possibly Glory Girl, hit Commander Calvert's house, possibly abducting him, dressing him in Coil's costume, and bringing him to the base during one of the security footage blips before someone shoots him."

Armsmaster's lips pursed thoughtfully. "Director … I might be out of order … "

She looked up at him. "Spill it."

"How well did you know Commander Calvert?"

"Not well." She shook her head. "I didn't like the man. Altogether too self-serving for me."

"Self-serving enough to be Coil?"

She paused for a very long moment. Her initial estimation of Ridiculous! died before her mouth even had the chance to form the word. "He hadn't triggered when I first met him … " After Ellisburg, she didn't tell him; Armsmaster still wasn't cleared for that particular debacle. "But it's possible that he could have triggered since. He certainly would have welcomed it."

"Should we investigate the possibility?" Do you think it's possible enough to check out?

"Definitely," she decided without hesitation. It was starting to sound more and more plausible in her own mind. If it's true, there'll be egg on the faces of everyone who vetted him. Including mine; I let him back into the strike squads.

"Okay, so if Calvert was Coil, does this change what happened?"

She shook her head. "Not by much. Not by nearly enough. He was still murdered. By a low-calibre bullet, they say. Pistol, not rifle. And it's either Panacea, Glory Girl or one of the Undersiders who squeezed the trigger."

"Unlikely to be Panacea or Glory Girl," he decided. "Two of the Undersiders already have outstanding murder charges."

"Nothing to do with guns," she pointed out. "Tattletale carries a pistol. I'm waiting on the ballistic report; we can match with the slug we got from the bank."

"Still won't prove she did it," Armsmaster pointed out. "Anyone could have handled that pistol during the camera blackouts."

She made a frustrated noise of agreement. "Did you get anywhere with the Dallons, last night?"

"No." His voice was almost as frustrated. "I spoke to Brandish; she told me that Flashbang had declined to get up. She also made it clear that she would stand by the girls if it came to any sort of legal proceedings. I got a little information out of them, but not much."

"If we end up prosecuting them, it would be huge," Piggot mused. "It would be publicised, maybe nationwide. Crazies crawling out of the woodwork all over."

"Are you saying we shouldn't follow it up, ma'am?" asked Armsmaster dubiously.

"No." Her voice was firm. "I'm going to boot this up the chain. I'll send all the evidence we have, footage, the lot, to Chief Director Costa-Brown. She can look it over and advise me on how we're going to play this; quiet or loud."

"Good idea." He fell silent then, as she began the work of doing just that; dropping the various files into one folder. It took less time than she would have imagined. For a moment, she hesitated on clicking the Send button; the action, she knew, could not be taken back. For better or for worse, it would inform Rebecca Costa-Brown of exactly what had happened.

With the feeling of someone stepping off of a cliff, she clicked the button. The computer displayed its 'operating' icon for a moment or two, then declared that the message had been sent.

"Well, that's that," Piggot decided. "I'll keep you in the loop about what we're going to do about this, of course."

Armsmaster nodded. "Thank you, ma'am."

He let himself out, and she allowed herself to be enfolded by the day-to-day minutiae of her job. Many things, big and small, demanded her attention; not all of these were as attention-arresting as a dead crime lord in the middle of his own base, but they all had to be dealt with.

And then her phone rang; picking it up, she stated, "Piggot."

"Emily, this is Chief Director Costa-Brown."

Unconsciously, she straightened in her seat. "Uh, Director. Did you get my email?"

"Yes, I did. I'm calling about that now."

"I only expected an email. What did you want me to do?"

"Nothing."

" … what?"

"Leave Panacea and Glory Girl out of it."

"But … at the very least, they're witnesses -"

"No. They are not. You can investigate, collect the evidence, but do not involve those two."

She drew a deep breath. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good." The call ended; there was a faint dial tone in her ear.

Carefully placing the phone down, she sat staring at it for several minutes.

Now what the hell was that all about?

Misgivings or no, she had her orders; she set to work carrying them out.

One of these days, I'll have my answers, she promised herself. Just not today.



End of Part Fourteen

Part Fifteen

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Fifteen: Arrival


Friday, April 15, 2011

"Wake up, Ames. It's time to get up."

Amy Dallon shook off her sister's hand and rolled over, burying her face in the covers. "Jus' five more minutes," she mumbled.

"No, you need to get up now, or we'll be late for school," insisted Vicky.

"Don' care." Amy burrowed deeper. She was bone-tired, the type of fatigue she only got from walking to the hospital and back in the middle of the night. I must have had some really difficult cases last night. It was odd that she couldn't really remember them …

Nope.

She sat bolt upright, wide eyed, as adrenaline coursed through her system. The sudden movement startled a yelp from her sister, as Vicky fell backward away from the bed. She recovered herself, of course – flight was good for that – and came to a hover just in front of the dresser. "What was that about?"

"Did you – did you hear that?"

Vicky brought her feet down to the ground again. "Hear what?" she asked with a frown.

"That voice." Amy was panting now with repressed fear, her heart hammering, aware that she should be remembering something very important …

Ah, sorry. Didn't mean to frighten you. Remember me? Mike Allen? Security?

Her eyes very wide now, Amy stared around the room, looking for the source of the disembodied voice. And then, as her brain finally rebooted, she did remember. Oh. Oh, right.

Yup. The voice was very dry. Still here. You okay?

I … I am now. Sorry, I just took a moment to remember what happened.

S'okay, kiddo. No worries. So, now that you're awake, you want to get up?

Yeah, I think I will. Now that she knew what was going on, she felt her heart rate ease back a notch. Gotta shower quick and get dressed. Want to turn your back and close your eyes?

Too bloody right. Thanks for the heads-up. Oh, and by the way? Vicky still looks a little confused.

Oh. yeah. She focused on her sister. "Sorry. I temporarily forgot about Michael. You know, the voice in my head?"

"Oh, yeah, that." Vicky's expression did not seem overly joyful. "Still in there, is he?"

Nah, I went to Hawaii for the holiday season. Where the heck else would I be?

Amy repressed a grin at his exasperated tone. Shush, before you make me laugh. "He, uh, he says that no, he's still right there."

Vicky's eyes narrowed. "So how do you deal with …" She gestured vaguely at Amy's body. "I mean, this is a guy, right?"

Oh great, not this again. "He's also old enough to be my father, and he's a perfect gentleman besides." If just a little inclined to grab the wheel in times of crisis …

Ouch. I resemble that remark. But I have been getting better, right?

Admittedly, yeah. She cleared her throat. "So yeah, it was more than a little awkward at first, but we've worked out how to get around that. Okay?"

"If you say so." Vicky's expression was less than thrilled.

Amy was more than a little puzzled at her reaction. Why's she upset? We kicked ass last night. All due to you. She should be pleased that you're around.

She's being protective. You're changing in front of her eyes, and that's due to me as well. She's worried that I might not have your best interests at heart. But she can't do anything about me. If she punches me, she punches you.

Oh. Right. I see. "Anyway," she continued out loud, "I do need to have a quick shower now, or we'll be late for school, even with you flying me in."

"Uh, yeah, about that," Vicky commented. "Um, just presuming that what you told me last night wasn't you messing with my head …"

Is she talking about …

Yyup.

"Ah, no, that was all true. Sorry. Is true." Amy felt a blush beginning to colour her cheeks.

"Right. Well. And you're certain you're still okay with me flying you in to school? I mean, you don't feel awkward about it?"

Vaguely, she felt the presence within her withdrawing. Staying well out of this.

Thank you. Outwardly, she rolled her eyes. "Seriously, I feel more awkward with you asking me if I feel awkward than when you didn't know. Because then I start wondering if it's awkward for you, and you don't want to make me feel bad."

"Oh. Uh. Sorry. No, I don't feel awkward. After all, I've carried guys, and I'm pretty sure they were interested in me too." She gave Amy a sly grin.

"Smartass." Amy snorted. "But yes, I still enjoy being carried in to school by you." She paused. "But not in that way, no." Not that being carried like that didn't fuel certain fantasies, but Vicky was never going to learn about those if Amy had anything to say about it. Leaning forward, Amy rapped gently on Vicky's forehead. "You're still my best friend. And I'm not about to let stupid teenage hormones get in the way of my friendship with you. Okay?"

"Okay, cool," Vicky agreed. "But you'd better hurry up and get dressed. If we leave in the next five minutes, we can get to school on time, but that's only if I push it."

Which means that if I grab a shower now, I might make us late. Wonderful. She was only vaguely aware of Vicky leaving the room, shutting the door behind her.

Well, you don't need to take a shower.

What do you mean? And were you listening to all of that? Delicately, she sniffed at her underarm. Shower is definitely a good idea. I smell.

Yeah, I was listening. Involuntary guest, remember? By the way, you handled that really well with her. Little bit of embarrassment on both sides, but you laughed it off and got on with the job at hand. Well done.

Uh, thanks. She smiled a little at the praise. I don't think we're ever going to be quite the same together again, but I want us to still be friends. But what do you mean, no shower?

Well, it looks like you're on the right path to keeping her as a friend. As for not needing to shower, that's simple. Retask your skin microorganisms to nomming down on anything that causes body odour. It won't feel as nice as a hot shower, but …

… but it'll work for today. You're a genius. As she formed the thought, she delved into the microcosm of the multitude of skin mites that lived on her body. Normally, she blocked that sort of thing out, so that she wasn't distracted twenty-four-seven by their activities, but now she had need of them. It took just a moment to plot out the required changes, then set them in motion.

Not me. I was just pointing out the obvious. You're the brains of the operation, remember?

Silently, she snorted. Some of the time, maybe. You're obviously very conversant with how my power works. How'd that happen, anyway?

The impression of a grin came to her. Let's just say I read the cheat sheet. So yeah, got my eyes closed and back turned. You can get changed now. Once more, she felt the presence retreating into the back of her mind.

Thank you. She reached into the closet and began to pull out clothes. But I'm taking a shower as soon as I get home. Even if I don't need one now, I still feel like I do.

Fair call.

<><>​

Changed, she dashed downstairs, where Vicky was waiting with a couple of plates of toast spread with butter and jam. "Saved some for you," she told Amy cheerfully, holding out one of the plates. Then she went back to eating a piece off of the other plate.

"Ooh, you're a lifesaver," Amy told her, grabbing the plate. There was a glass of juice waiting on the kitchen bench for her, so she drank that down before starting on the toast.

"Only some of the time," Vicky replied in an amused tone. She popped the last of her toast in her mouth , chewed and swallowed. "Can you finish that on the way? We're pushing it as it is."

"Sure, okay," Amy agreed readily. She preceded Vicky out to the front porch, where her sister locked the front door then effortlessly scooped her into her arms. The cool morning air made her cheeks sting as they lifted over Brockton Bay and made a beeline toward Arcadia High.

Wait, shit, no. You're going to Winslow this morning, remember?

What? Winslow? Why? And then, belatedly, memory of the bus ride burst in on her, of telling the solemn-faced bespectacled girl that she would end the bullying forever. Oh crap. I promised, didn't I? I forgot all about that.

Don't feel bad about it. So did I, till just now. But yeah, we promised. Can we still do this?

Going to have to, aren't we? Aloud, she cleared her throat. "Uh, Vicky? Change of plans. We need to go to Winslow."

Vicky looked startled. "Winslow? What? Why?"

Amy heard an inaudible chuckle, then realised that Vicky had repeated what she had said almost exactly. Ignoring that, she went on. "Yesterday, I made a promise. Remember the Undersiders, last night?"

"As if I could forget." Vicky paused. When she spoke again, her tone was suspicious. "What kind of promise?"

"Well, at least one of them got that way because of bullying," Amy forged on. "She wouldn't have gotten powers without it."

"Okay, that's pretty horrible, but she still had the choice to not become a villain," Vicky pointed out. "We're not our trigger events, you know."

Pfft, yeah, right.

Amy didn't stop to ask what he meant. "Actually, in this case, yeah, she kinda is." She paused. "Because the bullying is still going on."

That was enough to bring Vicky to a halt in midair. "You're shitting me."

"I shit you not." Amy made her tone serious. "Yeah, she's a villain. Yeah, she uses her powers to commit crimes. But she's being bullied right now, and she's refusing to use her powers to retaliate. Tell me what sort of villain does that."

There was a very long pause. Vicky grimaced, as if in pain. "Seriously? Life was a lot simpler before this shit started." She didn't have to explain what she meant by that. "Okay, what was your promise?"

"That we'd go to Winslow, today, this morning, and sort this shit out once and for all. Name the bullies. Out them to the principal. Put a stop to it."

Vicky grinned. "Any chance I could get in on this action?"

Amy shrugged lightly. "I did say 'we', remember? I kind of thought you might like to yell at someone after last night."

The grin grew sharp. "Oh hell yes." She nodded toward Amy. "You're gonna have to make the call to Arcadia, tell 'em we're gonna be late."

"It's in a good cause." Amy tried to sound philosophical.

"Yeah, well, my first period was gonna be PhysEd. Think they even let me pretend to play basketball any more?" Vicky snorted. "This is gonna be so much more fun." She started toward Winslow as Amy dug her phone out of her purse.

"Oh, and one more thing," Amy told Vicky as they gained speed.

"What's that?"

"One of the bullies is a Ward."

Vicky stared at her, shocked. "Okay, now you have to be shitting me."

"Once again, I shit you not. Shadow Stalker."

"Fuck." Vicky set her jaw. "She's a bitch, but I didn't think she was that much of a bitch."

"Believe it."

"And she's been doing this for how long?"

Amy briefly consulted Michael. "September, year before last," she informed Vicky. "Before that, she turned this girl's best friend against her."

"Okay, wow, this is just weird." Vicky paused. "Uh, if we're gonna be saving this girl from bullying, I'm kinda gonna need to know her name …"

Amy grimaced. "I kinda promised her that I wouldn't out her to you."

"Okay, just her real name, then. And I won't look too hard at her to see which one she is."

It wouldn't be hard to tell, Amy knew. The three female members of the Undersiders had different body types, not to mention hair colour. Shit, I shouldn't have said she was one of the Undersiders.

Michael sounded unhappy too. Yeah. Fuck. Well, it's out now.

"You're not going to be using it against her?" Amy looked Vicky in the eye. "Because that would be the dick move to end all dick moves."

Vicky shook her head. "Cross my heart. They were actually all pretty cool last night. Even Tattletale, when she wasn't being a pain in the butt." She paused. "It's not Tattletale, is it? Because I really can't see her rolling over and allowing some high school bitch to bully her."

Amy shook her head. "I can't tell you one way or the other. Her name's Taylor."

"Taylor, huh? Okay."

"I rode on the bus with her. We had a good talk. She actually started out wanting to be a hero, but then Armsmaster was a dick to her. And the Undersiders saved her life. And the bullies kept on being bitches to her. So she joined the only people who'd been nice to her since she got powers."

There was a long silence as Vicky considered that. "And Shadow Stalker's one of the people bullying her." It wasn't quite a question.

Amy chuckled again. "Yes. You are correct. We are indeed flying to the crappiest school in Brockton Bay to go to the rescue of a supervillain who's currently being bullied by a superhero."

"Well, when you put it like that …" Vicky added a little speed. "You might want to make that call."

Amy made the call.

<><>​

Vicky's sneakers crunched down on the gravelled parking lot outside Winslow's front doors. She let Amy down on to her feet, then stared up at the less than impressive frontage of the school. Graffiti slashed across the brickwork here and there, fresher colours overlaying more faded efforts.

"Fuck," she muttered. "This is a place I normally wouldn't bother going into without serious backup."

Amy stepped forward. "If you're scared, I can go in alone," she offered.

"Fuck, no. You go in, I go in. Let's go talk to the principal. What's his name?"

"Her name's Blackwell," Amy passed on as they started forward. "She knows that Shadow Stalker's a Ward, and she bends over backward to accommodate her in the school."

Vicky grimaced. "I hate it when that happens. I mean, I like being liked for being Glory Girl, but I wanna be treated the same as everyone else too, you know?"

Wow, does she even listen to herself?

Shush. Can you remind me of the names of the other bullies?

Which is it? Shush, or talk to you? She got a distinct impression of humour.

Mentally, she made a rude noise. Talk to me. Jerk.

Well, since you asked so nicely … she felt the grin. Emma Barnes and Madison Clements. There are others, hangers-on. One girl called Julia Morrow, a friend of Madison's. Taylor will no doubt be able to point out others.

Okay then, thanks. How have they been able to get away with this?

Emma's pretty and popular, plus her father's a lawyer, remember?

Oh, right, yeah. He defended Sophia.

Right. Sophia's athletic and popular, despite being a bitch. Madison's cute and petite. You know, classic high school clique?

I was never really part of that scene. I was Panacea almost from the start.

Yeah, nobody bullies the healer, right?

Especially with Glory Girl to back me up.

Heh, yeah.

"So, names you need to know," Amy informed Vicky as they made their way down the corridors. Subtle cues from Michael told Amy which way to go. "Emma Barnes. Her dad works at Mom's firm. She's pretty and popular."

"Right." Vicky grinned.

Wow, I think I just heard 'challenge accepted'.

Me too. Shush.

Make me.

Amy ignored him. "There's also Madison Clements. She's part of the same clique as Sophia and Emma, and she's got a friend called Julia. Pretty sure that Taylor can point out more."

"Okay then." Vicky cracked her knuckles; they were approaching the door marked PRINCIPAL. "Shall I kick it in, or knock first?"

So … very … tempted.

Yeah, me too. But we really should do this the right way. "Uh, knocking is probably a good idea."

Vicky wrinkled her nose. "Spoilsport." But she knocked anyway.

"Come in?"

Opening the door, Amy entered. There was a desk, with a secretary behind it. Her name badge read MARIE. Beside the desk was a door leading back into what Amy guessed was the principal's office proper.

"Hi," Vicky greeted the secretary. "I'm Glory Girl, this is Panacea. We're here to see Principal Blackwell."

"Oh, uh, do you have an appointment?"

Vicky grinned; Amy felt her aura start to press outward. "We do now."

Marie blinked a couple of times. "Oh, uh, go right in."

"Thank you." With a smug look at Amy, Vicky strode to the inner door and flung it open. "Good morning, Principal Blackwell," she announced, severely startling the narrow dirty-blonde woman behind the desk. "My name is Glory Girl, and I'm here to make your life easier."

<><>​

Five minutes later, they were just beginning to get through to her. Blackwell still dabbed occasionally at the fresh coffee stain on her blouse – the corresponding pool on the desk had been wiped up – but she was paying attention now.

"You know of a case of bullying in Winslow, and you're here to put a stop to it?" she asked, somewhat blankly. "But you don't even attend Winslow." If only you did, the wistful tone in her voice proclaimed to one and all.

"Doesn't matter," Amy replied. "I rode on the bus yesterday with a girl from here, and she ended up telling me about what's going on here. So I asked my sister to come and help me deal with it."

"But … you're superheroes. Isn't high school bullying a little … well, beneath you?"

"Not if the bullying counts as criminal assault, it isn't," Amy declared. "Do you recall an incident at the beginning of the year? A girl being locked in her own locker?"

She could tell almost to the second when Blackwell's eyes clicked into focus. Oh shit, it's about that.

"Her own locker?" asked Vicky. "That actually happens?"

"It not only happens," Amy told her, "but it happened to one particular girl here at Winslow. The locker was first filled with used feminine products, and then when she opened it, she was shoved in, and locked in there. For more than an hour."

Vicky stared at her. "And you know this for a fact."

Amy's stare was dead level. "I do."

"Holy mother of crap." Vicky turned her gaze on Blackwell; Amy could feel her aura ramping up, and not in a good way. "You let that shit happen?"

"I – we – there was an investigation -"

"And nobody came forward. Right." Vicky's lip twisted in disgust. "Of course they didn't. And of course nobody wanted to listen to what the victim had to say, because she's a loner. She's nobody." She leaned forward, her knuckles on the desk, lowering her voice. "And because one of the perpetrators is a Ward."

Blackwell went so white that her hair looked almost dark by comparison. Amy seriously wondered if she was about to pass out. "I – uh – how -"

"I date a Ward, you …" Vicky bit off the insult she had been about to utter. "I know all their faces, all their names. So when Amy came to me with the names of the bullies …"

"Th-that's just hearsay. You have no proof -"

Vicky smiled now, razor-sharp. "Oh, good. Legal terms. I know just who to talk to about legal terms." Pulling out her phone, she dialled a number.

Blackwell glanced at Amy. Who's she ringing? Amy thought she knew, but decided to just shrug. She was enjoying the show too much to spoil Vicky's surprise anyway.

Okay, this is just awesome. All I need is popcorn.

It's kind of like watching a train wreck in progress. Only a good one.

Hah, yeah. This should be good.

"Hi, mom?" Vicky's voice was bright, cheerful. "I have a legal question for you. Yeah, sorry, not at school. Had a hero thing I had to take care of." A pause. "It's all right, Dean will give me his notes. So, the legal thing. Hang on, I'll put you on speaker." She clicked a button, put the phone on the edge of the desk.

"This is Carol Dallon. Who am I speaking to?" Carol's voice crackled out of the phone.

"You're talking to Principal Blackwell of Winslow High," Vicky informed her sunnily. "She has a student who told Ames about the bullying she's undergoing to this very day. But at the beginning of the year, she was locked in her own locker with toxic waste. She's told Amy who did it, but nobody else is listening to her. What does this sound like to you, legally speaking?"

"It sounds like a massive lawsuit to me," Carol stated flatly. "Does the alleged victim have any other proof?"

Vicky turned to Amy. "That's one for you, Ames."

Her own word, plus pages and pages of material she's written down since September, plus printouts of emails she's gotten.

"She's got lots of written evidence of bullying," Amy replied carefully, "but only her own word that it's the ones she's named. Plus a well-documented incident earlier this year."

"Well, even if the actual culprits can't be pinned down – and a good lawyer can do a lot with written evidence – it still sounds like the school is extremely liable."

"Okay, that's true," agreed Vicky. "But I've got one more kicker for you. One of the bullies named is a Ward. Which is why they've been covering it up all this time."

"Did the victim know that the Ward was a Ward when she named her as a bully?"

"No," Amy stated flatly. "Absolutely not. I recognised the name when it was told to me."

Carol did not second-guess her. "Who is the Ward involved?"

Vicky and Amy looked at one another. Amy drew a deep breath. "Shadow Stalker."

There was a long pause, so long that Amy checked the phone to make sure that it hadn't dropped out. "That's … actually plausible," replied Carol, eventually. "So what do you plan to do with this information?"

"Uh, get them called into the office, I guess," Vicky replied. "Talk to them. Have Taylor hand over the evidence. Tell them if it happens again we'll be back."

"That could work," Carol agreed. "Don't say or do anything that could lead to legal problems. And pull Shadow Stalker aside and let her know that if any more trouble comes of this, I'll be dropping a word in Armsmaster's ear."

"Oh yeah, one other thing," Vicky added. "One of the bullies is called Emma Barnes. Her dad works with you?"

"Alan Barnes. Right. I know him. I'll have a word with him about his daughter. If the school decides to punish her, he won't be interfering."

"Thanks, Mom. You're the best."

"That's all right, honey. Once you're done there, get to school, will you? Good grades aren't going to happen on their own."

"Will do, Mom. Love you." Vicky ended the call and put the phone away. She gave Principal Blackwell a bright smile. "So, answer your questions?"

Blackwell looked hunted. "Uh … I suppose. What happens now?"

Reaching across the desk, Amy grabbed a pen and a pad. She wrote down five names. "Call these people to the office. Please."

<><>​

Taylor

They're not here. Amy said they were going to be here.

Taylor sat in her World Affairs class, not even caring that Madison and Julia were eyeing her like vultures. It was true that her new career as a supervillain had changed her outlook – being something like twenty-five thousand dollars richer overnight was only a part of it – but she had felt that Amy was someone to be trusted. She had said she was going to show up with Vicky and confront Blackwell about the bullying, but classes had started and she hadn't turned up.

Just one more person I can't depend on to have my back.

Taylor forced down the sense of disappointment and betrayal and tried to focus on what Mr Gladly was saying. She barely even heard the ancient public address system crackle into life.

"Will the following people please come to the principal's office … Emma Barnes … Madison Clements … Sophia Hess … Julia Morrow … Taylor Hebert … repeat, will the following people please come to the principal's office … Emma Barnes … Madison Clements … Sophia Hess … Julia Morrow … Taylor Hebert …"

It was with a shock that she heard her own name at the end of the list; across the room, Madison and Julia were both staring at each other in surprise. As it began to repeat again, her eyes widened as Emma's name and then Sophia's came up.

Oh shit, oh shit, it's happening. They're here.

Coming to her feet, she dumped her books in her bag and slung it over her shoulder. Before Mr Gladly could even say anything to her, she was heading for the door. Once in the corridor, she started toward the office, long legs eating up the distance. But she wasn't fast enough.

"Taylor!" That was Madison, behind her.

"What the fuck?" Julia was chiming in. "Did you snitch to Blackwell?"

Snitch. As if it was a crime. "No, I didn't," she called back, without turning her head. "I don't know what's going on." Which was half a lie, but it would do, for the moment.

"No, that's not good enough!" Madison sounded closer; Taylor increased her pace. "You must have said something."

"Well, why don't we find out what the fuck's going on when we get there?" Taylor shot back, still not looking at them.

"If you say one fucking word about what's been going on -"

Taylor tuned out Madison's words, but then she heard running footsteps behind her; a quick glance showed Julia coming up fast. She only needed that impetus; she took off running. They gave chase, of course, but she had longer legs. Her morning and afternoon runs had improved her wind and speed, so she outdistanced both of them relatively easily. Their shouted taunts dropped away behind her, but she didn't mind. Words were just words; they didn't know the ones that hurt and stung, the way Emma did.

<><>​

Vicky

When the office door opened, Amy and Vicky both looked up. A tall skinny girl with glasses entered, looking just a little flushed and dishevelled; she was breathing a little harder than normal. Blackwell looked at her disapprovingly. "Have you been running in the halls?"

"Yeah," the girl told her flatly. "Because Madison and Julia wanted to interrogate me as to why we've been called here. I didn't want to be interrogated. So they chased me and I ran."

"Are you all right?" asked Amy.

"Yeah, they didn't get hold of me," she replied. "Hi, Amy. Good to see you."

"Good to see you, too," Amy replied. "Taylor, this is my sister Vicky. Vicky, meet Taylor."

We've already met, Vicky thought quite loudly. You're the bug controller. The body type and the long dark hair were unmistakeable. But she put out her hand anyway. "Hi, Taylor. Pleased to meet you. Any friend of Ames is a friend of mine."

Since she'd gotten her powers, Vicky was less able to gauge strength in others. But Taylor's grip was at least firm, maybe a touch stronger than her skinny frame suggested. She shook Vicky's hand once, then let go. "Nice to meet you," she replied. "So has Amy told you what's been going on?"

Vicky nodded. "Some of it, yeah." She grinned. "I spoke to Mom about it. About the first word out of her mouth was 'lawsuit'."

Taylor blinked. "I don't -"

The door opened again, and a red-haired girl marched in, followed in quick succession by a petite brunette wearing sky-blue pins in her hair, a taller blonde girl … and Sophia Hess. Shadow Stalker. Neither the blonde nor the brunette were pretty enough to be the leader of this little pack, but the redhead was.

The girl who Vicky presumed to be Emma Barnes looked directly at Taylor, then at Principal Blackwell. Vicky was a little surprised that she hadn't taken enough notice of either her or Amy to recognise them, but then, they weren't in costume either. It was interesting to note.

"We're here, Principal Blackwell," 'Emma' announced. "What seems to be the problem?" What's Taylor been saying about us behind our backs? was reasonably understandable in what she didn't say.

Principal Blackwell straightened herself in her chair. "The problem, Miss Barnes, is that these people seem to think that you've been bullying Taylor Hebert -"

"Oh, we don't think that," interrupted Vicky. "We know it. You're Emma Barnes?"

Emma turned to look at her. "Yes," she replied sharply. "And who are …"

By the dawning expression of comprehension, she knew who Vicky was. Now, she recognises me. On Sophia's face, there was a look of sudden calculation. I know who she is, and she knows it. She's trying to figure the way out of this trap. The other two just had growing looks of horror on their faces.

"Yup," Vicky told Emma with pure satisfaction. "I'm Glory Girl, and I'm here to shut you down."


End of Part Fifteen

Part Sixteen

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Sixteen: Panacea at Winslow, Part the First


"I'm Glory Girl, and I'm here to shut you down."

Wow, Michael commented in Amy's head. Does she practise lines like that?

Probably. She shared in his amusement. She does like her dramatics.

That's like saying the ocean's a little bit wet. Did you know she practised her landing till she got it just right? You know the one, where she lands on one knee and one fist, with an arm out behind?

I … no, but it doesn't surprise me. How did you know that? Oh, wait.

Yup. Now, if only I could get popcorn in here.

"I'm sorry?" Emma stared at Vicky. She had been taken aback for a moment, but now she was recovering quickly. "Are you here as a superhero or a student?"

"Well, I don't attend Winslow," Vicky retorted. The words thank God hung in the air unsaid. "But when I heard about a case of bullying here, I decided to come and deal with it." She took a step forward. "Because this sort of thing doesn't fly. Not on my watch."

"Bullying?" Emma raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Isn't that a little bit … well, pedestrian for you? I mean, there's robberies and muggings going on all the time in Brockton Bay, and you come here, to Winslow, to pick out one particular case of alleged bullying? What's really going on here?"

Silently, Michael cleared his non-existent throat. I think that's your cue.

Oh. Right. Amy stepped forward. "What's going on here is that no crime is too small to be dealt with … "

Before she could say more, Emma interrupted. "A crime? Really? Hazing between students isn't really a crime is it, Principal Blackwell?"

Ooh, she's good.

She's definitely got a career in law ahead of her, Amy agreed silently as she forged on. "It depends on what the hazing consists of. Like consistent theft of the student's belongings. Deprivation of liberty. Assault and battery. They sound like crimes to me. How about you, Vicky?"

Emma smiled tightly. "Well, to start with, I'd want to see what proof you have that any of these so-called crimes even took place. And then I'd want to see proof that I or my friends had anything to do with any of them. Slander is also a crime, even for a superhero."

Vicky's smile had an edge to it, and Amy felt her aura ramp up a little more. "Oh yes, your father's a lawyer, isn't he? So's my mom. Remember her? Brandish? Carol Dallon? Works at the same firm as your dad? Only he specialises in divorce cases while she's a criminal lawyer. And I've already spoken to her. And she'll have spoken to him, so he's not gonna be able to back you up on this one. So sorry."

Emma blinked, but rallied fast. "Still doesn't mean that there's any case to answer. And if you follow me around, looking for proof, I can have you charged with harassment, lawyer mom or no lawyer mom."

Amy watched Vicky's hands begin to curl into fists as the aura ramped up yet again. That's not a good sign.

Figured it wasn't. Ah crap, too strong, too strong.

What? She was confused.

His inner voice was urgent. Get Vicky's attention. I'll explain once you have.

Okay. She cleared her throat; each of the others turned to look at her, except for Vicky, who kept her eyes on Emma. "Glory Girl? A word?"

Now Vicky half-turned her head. "What is it, Panacea?"

Amy tilted her head. "I need to speak to you, now."

"Can it wait?"

"No." She shook her head. "Now, please."

Reluctantly, Vicky broke eye contact with Emma and stepped over to her sister. "What?"

Ah, yeah, what?

Tell her to turn her aura the fuck down.

Now that he mentioned it, Amy could feel the heightened anxiety that came from being around Vicky when she was angry. It wasn't that she was immune, as she liked to tell Vicky, but that she was inured to it and could ignore the effect. "Vicky," she murmured. "You need to turn your aura down. Like, right now."

"What? Why?"

Assault with a parahuman power.

Amy realised that he was right. "Just do it," she whispered. The pressure of the fear upon her eased right off as Vicky complied. What made you think of that?

Been there before. If Emma hadn't thought of it, Sophia would have.

And in fact, even as he voiced the thought, Amy saw Sophia's face twist in disappointment.

How did you know?

"Okay, done. Now why did I do it?"

I've been in a situation where that came up. Didn't come to much at the time, but the threat is there. In fact, I'm personally surprised that she's never had a problem with this before.

Well, usually it's a street scumbag who's too scared to try anything. Even if they are, the threat of Carol Dallon, parahuman lawyer, is enough to make them back down.

With the merest of head movements, Amy indicated Sophia. Her lips barely moved as she spoke. "She was getting set to claim that you were assaulting her with a parahuman power."

Vicky frowned. "I never touched her."

"Your aura," Amy said succinctly. "You're making them fear you. Legally, a case could be made for an assault charge."

Vicky blinked; it was obvious that she'd never even considered that before. "That's never happened before."

Amy echoed Michael's words. "First time for everything."

"Okay." Vicky bit her lip. "Want to take over?"

"Uh -" I'm not sure about this.

You'll be fine. But I can take over if you want me to.

That put steel into her spine; a moment later, she wondered if he had intended it that way. Then she stopped wondering. No, I can handle it.

She stepped over to face Emma. "So, let's take this from the top."

Emma looked her up and down. Her expression wasn't quite a sneer, but nor was it exactly respectful. "Why don't you just admit that you've got nothing and go away?"

"Because that wouldn't be exactly true," Amy said steadily. "You see, yesterday, I rode on the bus with Taylor. We got to talking and she let slip something that made me ask a few questions. Questions that led to this moment. She revealed that she's been getting bullied here on a daily, almost an hourly, basis."

Emma tossed her hair. "She's always complaining about something. Nobody likes her, you know. She tells tales to get attention and to get others in trouble. She could be lying to your face and you'd never know."

Amy smiled. "Well, that's the problem. My powers tell me when someone's lying, with a one hundred percent success rate. She never lied to me." Okay, details please.

Coming right up. Michael began speaking inside her head; she repeated his words carefully.

"Just for instance, her backpack has been stolen on several occasions. She doesn't use her locker any more, because even since the time she was locked in it – and yes, we'll get back to that – because it's been broken into at least four times, and personal items stolen." She looked at Sophia. "You stole her mother's flute from her locker, and asked Emma what to do with it." Her gaze switched to Emma. "You told her to mess with it, destroy it, make it so that Taylor would never even want it again."

"You can't prove either of those allegations!" burst out Emma.

"True," murmured Amy, "but there's more. Principal Blackwell, I presume you have access to all student email accounts?"

"I, uh, yes," the principal said. "Why do you want to know that?"

"Because I want you to access Taylor Hebert's accounts. All of them. Tell us what you find in them."

Blackwell frowned. "All of them? Each student is supposed to have just one."

Amy sighed theatrically. "Apparently Taylor needs more than one to hold all the hate emails she gets on a daily basis." She gestured. "Please humour me."

"Principal Blackwell, are you honestly going to let a couple of kids who don't even attend Winslow tell you what to do?" Emma's voice was the very epitome of reason.

"Am I honestly going to have to call my mother and ask her to start preparing the paperwork for the lawsuit?" responded Amy sweetly. "This way, it gets dealt with in-house. The other way is extremely expensive for the school and for your family, Emma, plus those of your friends. And I'm pretty sure that Winslow won't be thrilled at you dragging its good name through the mud."

Such as it is, appended Michael. Amy didn't repeat that bit out loud.

The principal was looking back and forth between them like a spectator at a tennis match. "This is highly irregular," she managed at last. "Panacea, Glory Girl, if you have formal charges to lay, then lay them. But as it is, you're disrupting the running of this school. These girls have classes to go to, and I have work to do."

"So your paperwork is more important than getting to the bottom of an ongoing campaign of bullying? One that's been happening since the beginning of school, the year before last?" Amy didn't need Michael's prompting. "The victim and perpetrators are right in front of you, and you're not going to do anything about it?"

Emma opened her mouth. "Those are baseless allegations -" she began.

"Miss Barnes, I'll handle this," Blackwell said. "Panacea, I don't know how New Wave handles this sort of thing, but I presume you wait until you have some evidence that the person you're accusing actually has something to do with the crime? Just saying 'he did it' isn't exactly legal or ethical."

"This is why we had you call Taylor here as well," Amy pointed out. "She's the victim. She's the witness. She was there. Taylor?"

Startled, Taylor cleared her throat. "I have been getting bullied, Principal Blackwell," she confirmed. "Repeatedly. Daily. By these three and their friends."

Blackwell frowned. "Then why haven't you been telling the teachers?"

"Because it's happening in front of the teachers, and they haven't been taking notice, or if they have, they haven't cared enough to do anything about it," Taylor replied, her voice rising slightly. "Just for one example, Mr Gladly ignores everything that Madison and Julia do to me."

"I find that hard to believe," the principal said. "Mr Gladly is a very conscientious teacher."

"Oh, he pays attention all right," Taylor told her bitterly. "To the popular kids. I'm not a popular kid. I may as well be part of the wallpaper. Madison walks to the trash can to sharpen her pencil. On the way, she pushes my books off my desk. On the way back, she dumps the shavings over me. And he doesn't see a damn thing."

Blackwell cleared her throat. "Language, Miss Hebert."

Taylor rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry. He doesn't see a darn thing, then. It's still true."

"If you called attention to this, then he would have to do something about it," Blackwell pointed out.

"Oh, he sees it. Barely." Taylor shook her head. "Just the other day, we had a class assignment to do with capes. I did a pretty good one. He split us into groups. Madison was part of my group. She stole my assignment and gave it to Emma, who presented it for her group."

"That's not exactly something that would lead to criminal liability -" began the principal.

Taylor held up her hand. "I wasn't finished. After the class was over, he kept me back, told me that he wasn't blind, that he saw stuff was going on."

"Well then," the principal stated, a smile beginning to cross her face. "As I said."

"Except that he wanted me to name names," Taylor said. "On my own? With nobody backing me up? Even if it stuck, it would come to nothing and I'd be even more of a social pariah than I am now. I told him exactly how useless that would be. So when I left the classroom, Emma and her friends surrounded me, calling me names. Taunting me. Sophia even stole my backpack. And he was right there, locking up the classroom. He even looked over at me. Then he walked away."

There was silence for a moment, then Emma spoke up. "That didn't happen." Her voice was bold, daring anyone to contradict her.

Amy reached out to Taylor. "May I?"

Taylor blinked. "Uh, sure?" She allowed Amy to take her by the hand. Amy became fully aware of every biological process, every aspect of her. "What do I do now?"

"Just answer this. What you just said, about Mr Gladly and Emma and her friends, was it true in every regard?"

"Uh, sure," Taylor said. "Absolutely. After it happened, I was so upset that I walked out of the school. Skipped the rest of the day."

Amy felt the hormonal balances, the tensions in her body. Thanks to her power, she could read them like a book. She turned to Blackwell. "She's telling the truth. Not even lying a little bit."

"So she says," Emma stated flatly. "We can't see what's going on."

Amy felt her lip curl very slightly. "My powers are well documented. I will testify to the absolute truth of her statement in any court of law."

"And I'll back her up," Vicky said. "This is Panacea. She cured the president of what's-that-place's kid of cancer. She didn't just get her powers yesterday, you know."

They both turned to look at Principal Blackwell, who was beginning to develop a particularly hunted look. "I'll, uh, speak to Mr Gladly about this matter," she muttered. "If it's true, it's definitely something we're going to have to look into."

"Really?" Vicky's tone was definitely sarcastic. "If it's true? We come in here telling you what's been happening and you're still covering your ass as hard as you can?"

"Well, what do you want me to say?" demanded the principal. "I'm fully aware that you, Glory Girl, could pull the school down around my ears if you so wished. And you, Panacea … well, I don't know exactly what you could do, but I can't just ignore you. However, on the other hand, I can't just take everything you say in blind faith, because if you're mistaken -"

Sophia and Emma had been whispering together, and now Emma spoke up. "Or lying -"

"Don't even go there." Vicky's voice was flat, almost emotionless, but Amy felt her aura beginning to ramp up again. Oh, crap. "Don't ever call my sister a liar."

Amy didn't need Michael's reminder; hastily, she cleared her throat. Vicky looked at her; Amy patted the air in a downward motion. The emotional pressure receded, but it was too late. Sophia put her hand to her throat. "Principal Blackwell," she said, "may I be excused? Glory Girl's aura is making me feel unwell."

"Me too!" Madison added hastily. "It's making me feel really horrible."

Emma looked at the principal while pointing at Vicky. "See what she's doing? She's controlling our emotions with her aura. She's attacking us. Does that seem like the fair or right thing to do? Especially for a superhero?"

"I'm not doing it now," protested Vicky. "And it's not an attack. It's just my aura. It shouldn't be affecting you any more."

"Well, it is," Sophia claimed. "I don't feel good at all. Principal Blackwell, I think she's trying to intimidate us into confessing stuff we never did."

Principal Blackwell shook her head. "That's unconscionable, Glory Girl. And highly unethical."

"But I'm not doing it!" Vicky's face was a study in frustration. "It wouldn't affect them that much, and I've turned it off anyway. They're faking it for sympathy."

"I could feel it earlier," Blackwell told her flatly. "That's enough for me. Please leave my school now. Don't come back without an express invitation."

"But -"

"Glory Girl." Blackwell pointed at the door. "Go, now. Before I'm forced to call your parents."

Well, that's one way to deal with a parahuman that isn't in the standard procedures.

Shush, you.

Vicky set her jaw, looking mutinous. Amy felt the first stirrings of her aura once more, and nudged her. "Go," she murmured. "I got this."

Oh god, I hope I got this.

We got this. It's okay. But I gotta say, Emma's sticking to her guns. Didn't know she had it in her.

"You sure?" Vicky asked, just as softly.

"Sure," Amy replied with a smile that she didn't feel. "Wait outside."

"I don't like leaving you alone."

"But I'm not alone," Amy reminded her. "I'm good. Just go."

Slowly, reluctantly, Vicky went to the door and opened it. One last glance, then she was gone.

"Is anyone still feeling unwell?" asked Amy brightly. "I can check you over, if you want. Make sure there's no lasting side-effects."

The looks traded between the four girls carried a wealth of communication. Emma spoke for the group. "No, we're good. Now that she's gone."

"Are you certain?" asked Amy. "Just to be sure?"

"We're certain," Emma assured her. "We're all feeling just fine."

"Translation," Taylor put in dryly, "they don't want you being able to say they're lying if you ask them any questions while checking them over."

Well, that was plan A.

Nice try, but yeah, they got there first. But, on the upside …

Amy grinned at Emma. "It also means that Vicky was right, and her aura did wear off pretty quickly, then, yeah?"

Emma frowned. "It was still really unpleasant. We didn't consent to that at all. Maybe a lawsuit -"

"Nope." Taylor cut her off. "I met Glory Girl for the first time yesterday. I've felt her aura. I can testify that the effects wear off pretty quickly." She turned toward Principal Blackwell. "Have you gotten into my email accounts yet?"

"I, uh, no," Blackwell replied, taken aback by the question. "Is it really necessary to … ?"

"Uh, yes," Taylor said firmly. "You want proof that I've been bullied, here's evidence they can't explain away or hide. Open them up and have a look."

"Whatever's in those email accounts," Emma interjected, "anyone could have written it. It wasn't me or my friends."

"Wow, it's almost as if you know there's bad stuff in there," Taylor commented.

"Well, you said there was," Emma countered.

Blackwell was tapping away on her computer. "Here we are … Taylor Hebert … seriously? How many email accounts do you have?"

Taylor sighed. "I'm not sure. I've been through about one for every two weeks of school. The inboxes get clogged up with hate mail."

"It sounds to me like you've upset someone, Taylor," Madison ventured. "Maybe, whatever you're doing, you should stop it."

"I've done nothing to anyone," Taylor insisted. "This is all happening to me. I'm the victim here."

Blackwell clicked the mouse a few times; Amy guessed that she was reading one of the emails. The principal's lips moved silently as she studied the screen. Amy watched the line between her eyebrows, already prominent, deepen considerably.

The temptation to say something was almost unbearable, but she kept quiet. Blackwell clicked on to another email, then a third. Then she did something else that Amy couldn't interpret. Finally, she sat back from the computer and looked at the girls in the room.

"That was … disturbing," she admitted. "Someone obviously bears a lot of ill-will toward you, Miss Hebert. Are they all the same?"

"'Eat broken glass, I hope you die in a fire'? That sort of thing?" asked Taylor. Blackwell nodded. "Yeah, pretty much."

"And your email accounts. They're all full?"

Taylor nodded. "All except for the latest one, yeah."

Blackwell folded her hands and looked at Emma. "And what do you have to say about this?"

The redhead looked defiantly back at her. "What I said before. We didn't do it."

Can we prove they did?

Not conclusively. They didn't do anything stupid like sign their names to any emails. Throwaway accounts only.

Oh. Then what can we do?

Remind them that there's other stuff.

Oh, like the locker?

Like the locker.

Amy cleared her throat. "That's fine. That was just to prove to you that there is ongoing bullying. Now, there's been some physical incidents as well. Such as the locker."

Taylor swallowed involuntarily, and Blackwell's lips tightened. It was obvious that neither one had fond memories of that incident.

Emma, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes slightly. "And I suppose you're going to blame us for that, too."

"Well, yeah," Taylor told her boldly. "I saw you in the crowd just before I opened my locker. All three of you. It's something you'd do."

Principal Blackwell cleared her throat. "Taylor, can you prove that they are the ones who put the trash in your locker, then locked you in with it?"

Taylor locked eyes with Emma for a long moment, then shook her head. "I was puking at the time. But I know it was you."

"You don't know anything," Sophia told her.

"Wait, wait," Amy said. "You weren't looking, right? But just before, you had seen Emma and who else?"

"Sophia and Madison," Taylor replied at once. "Right near my locker. Watching me."

Amy turned to Emma. "So you were there, but you say you didn't push her into the locker?"

"No," Emma said defiantly. "I didn't lock her in the damn locker."

"But you were there," Amy pressed. "Right?"

It was Sophia who answered. "Sure we were there. But like Emma said, we never locked her in the locker."

Amy didn't say any more; she just turned to Principal Blackwell and raised an eyebrow. It took the principal a moment or two to get the point. "Wait," she said. "You saw Taylor get locked into a locker full of … toxic sludge and you never did anything about it? Didn't raise the alarm? Didn't tell a teacher? You just left her there?"

Hah!

What?

Nicely done. I didn't even see that coming.

Internally, Amy grinned. I don't think they did either.

The three girls were looking at one another in some consternation. Sophia recovered first. "Uh, we didn't actually see her get locked in her locker. We were just passing by."

"Bullshit," snapped Taylor. "You were standing. Watching. You weren't going anywhere. You knew what was in there. And if you didn't, the smell would have clued you in. It was rank."

"I tend to believe her." Blackwell's tone was judicious. "If nothing else, you would have been aware that someone had pranked her. The urge to stay and watch is almost irresistible. I think that you were at least aware that she had been locked into her locker." She stood up, placed both hands flat on her desk, and leaned forward. "Which means that while it can't be proven that you put her in there, I am convinced that you deliberately left her in there."

Madison and Sophia opened their mouths to protest, but Emma waved them to silence. "And so what if we did?" she asked boldly. "We're teenagers. We're not legally responsible for any of this. So we stood in the crowd and watched. It's a peer group thing."

"Pshh, yeah, as if," Taylor jeered. "You don't follow peer group pressure, Emma. You dictate it."

Emma looked her directly in the eye. "Prove it," she invited softly.

"Enough." Principal Blackwell sat down and nodded to Amy. "Please continue."

Uh, give me something else, quick.

Okay then. Michael began to speak; Amy followed along.

"How about the incident in the girls' bathrooms, on the third floor? Last week? Remember that?"

"I couldn't exactly forget it," Taylor replied. "It was Friday. I was eating my lunch in the bathrooms, and they came in. Emma held the cubicle door shut while Madison and Sophia poured their drinks over me from either side. Then they walked out laughing." She gave Amy an odd look, then turned back to Blackwell. "I saw them. There was no doubt. They were standing there outside the cubicle when I opened the door. Making jokes."

That was the day she decided to actually go out in costume for the first time.

Oh. Wow. Amy looked at Taylor with a little more respect. She's pretty good for a first-timer.

"And what do you say to that?" Blackwell's gaze on Emma wasn't exactly benign.

"She's lying." Emma's voice was firm. "We were nowhere near those bathrooms. Either she's making the whole thing up, or someone else did it and she's blaming us."

Wow, the technique of the Big Lie is alive and well.

You're not wrong. Aloud, Amy cleared her throat. "Taylor?" She held out her hand. Taylor promptly took it. "Have you lied in any substantial way about any of this? Did you actually see Emma and Madison and Sophia in the bathrooms after the drinks were poured over you?"

Taylor nodded. "I'm not lying. I did see them. I also saw Madison and Sophia tipping the drinks over me. Some of it went into my backpack and ruined my books."

Amy felt the strength of her conviction translated into brain chemistry. She nodded in turn, looking at Blackwell. "I believe her. She's telling the truth."

Blackwell laced her fingers before her. "Well, then." She eyed the quartet of girls with some disfavour. "Panacea is a well-regarded superhero. I have no reason to believe that she is lying about incidents with which she has no connection. She's proven that Taylor is being bullied, and by your own admission you have at least allowed Taylor to suffer a particularly grotesque prank. Each of you has also been implicated in at least one other prank. I'm seeing a pattern here."

Emma's face was a study in stunned disbelief. "But – but we didn't do it!" she protested. Had not Amy read the truth from Taylor's biology, she may even have believed Emma, so good was the act.

"Merely saying so doesn't make it so, just as I told Panacea earlier," the principal told her. "Contact your parents, all of you. There will be a meeting this afternoon to deal with this matter, once and for all."

Amy felt relief settle over her. Well, that should sort them out.

I wouldn't be so sure.

Huh?

Trust me, Alan Barnes is as twisty as a snake. And if he doesn't have someone there to trump him …

Oh. Right. "Uh, Principal Blackwell?"

Blackwell looked over at her. "Yes, Panacea?"

"With your permission, I'd like to attend the meeting as well, along with my mother. Who will be representing Taylor, in her professional capacity." Ignoring Taylor's wide-eyed stare, she gave Emma a tight smile. "You bring your lawyer, we'll bring one for Taylor."

"Can she even do that?" demanded Sophia. "It's not like she even attends Winslow."

"I won't be here as a student," Amy told her with some satisfaction. She turned to Principal Blackwell. "With your permission, I'll be here as a superhero. However, Taylor has the right to legal representation in this sort of situation, and that will be my mother."

Outwardly, she was doing her best to radiate confidence. Inside, she was not so sure. Oh god, I hope I can get her to come.

Ask Vicky to make the call, Michael suggested pragmatically. Get her to play up how smug and self-serving they are. Most especially, how long they've been getting away with it. It should push a few buttons.

I'm not sure exactly why, but I'll take your word for it.

"But why do you even need to be here for it?" Emma pressed. "It's not like you have a stake in this."

"Sure I do," Amy told her sweetly. "I've undertaken to protect Taylor. So I will be coming back -"

No, you're staying for the day.

What?

Just trust me.

Amy looked to Blackwell. "Uh, I mean, again with your permission, I'll be staying here for the day, and asking my mother to come to the meeting this afternoon." She tried not to stumble over the phrase 'my mother'. "To make sure that justice is done."

Blackwell eyed her curiously. "And exactly why are you staying?"

Yes, why am I staying?

Do you honestly think they won't try to coerce her into backing down, or at least get retribution for this, the moment you walk out the doors?

What, really?

A snort. Wanna take the chance?

But she can take care of herself -

Okay, would you rather see her go bugpocalypse on the school?

… I think I'll stay.

Good idea. I wish I'd thought of it.

She ignored that, and deliberately looked Emma in the eye. "I'm thinking that some of Taylor's bullies might not get the message that she's off limits." She faced Blackwell, her tone less challenging. "So, if I may, I'll be hanging around and keeping an eye on her, just to be sure that nothing untoward happens between now and this afternoon."

"I'll have to check with the PRT," noted Blackwell. "Just to okay your presence as a cape in the school." Interestingly enough, she herself didn't seem to have a problem with it.

Oooh.

What?

This could be interesting. His mental 'voice' was gleeful, but he didn't explain any further.

Blackwell picked up the phone, then looked at the six girls. "Wait in the outer office until I've finished this call."

One by one, they trooped out, Taylor sticking close to Amy. Madison, the last out, shut the door behind her. Emma immediately turned toward Amy.

"Okay," she said in a low tone, "what's this really about? Because I refuse to believe that you met this loser and spontaneously decided to fix her bullying problem."

Amy gazed back at her, not speaking, for a long moment. She studied Emma's expression carefully, trying to figure out what was going on behind her eyes. "Do you even hear yourself?" she asked at last. "Taylor was your best friend, once upon a time. Do the words 'loyalty' and 'commitment' actually mean anything to you?"

Emma flinched as though she had been slapped. "Sophia, back me up here." When there was no answer, they both looked around. Sophia had her phone out and had turned away from the group. Her hands were cupped around the phone and she was speaking in a low voice. "Sophia!"

Sophia didn't even look around; instead, she waved Emma away without pausing in what she was saying. Amy caught the words "- to the Director -" before her hand cupped over the phone once more.

Who's she calling?

Her social worker. Otherwise known as her PRT handler.

Oh.

Yup. Now, if Taylor's gonna call her dad, you're gonna have to lend her your phone, Michael suggested. She doesn't own one. Her dad won't allow them after her mom died in a car accident, texting.

Oh. Wow. That's rough. But maybe I should call Vicky?

I'd actually give it a moment. You're going to be getting a phone call from the PRT sometime shortly. And they're gonna be asking what the hell's going on with Shadow Stalker.

Oh. Right.

And as Sophia's calling the PRT right now, you'll need to answer fast, before Sophia gets her version out there.

I … yeah. I see your point.

At that moment, her phone rang. Glancing at the screen, she saw it was Director Piggot herself.

Told you.

Turning away from Emma, she accepted the call and put the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Panacea?" She was pretty sure she recognised the voice.

"Yes. Are you calling about …" She paused for just a moment, unwilling to name Sophia in either her normal identity or her masked ability. "Uh, about one of your Wards?"

"Yes, I am. Are you where you can speak privately?"

"Just one second, please." Gesturing to Taylor to follow, she pushed open the door into the hallway and stepped through. Taylor followed as she walked a short distance down the corridor. "Now I am."

"Good. I just got a call from Principal Blackwell at Winslow High, telling me that you're saying that Shadow Stalker has been perpetrating a long-term bullying campaign against another girl at the school, aided and abetted by other students there."

"Yes, ma'am. I believe that implicitly."

"Do you have any evidence?"

"There are written sheets, detailing actions by Sophia Hess against this girl," Amy told her. "She has accused Sophia and her friends of orchestrating these actions against her. Using my powers, I have verified that she is speaking the absolute truth as she knows it."

"I see." There was a long pause; Amy began to wonder if the Director had put the phone down and walked away. But then the Director's voice came back on the line. "So you personally believe Sophia Hess to be a bully? This isn't just some casual schoolyard hazing?"

"Her actions go far beyond 'hazing' and fall into the lap of 'criminal intent'." Amy made her voice as firm as she could. "One of the other girls just asked me why I'm defending 'that loser'."

"Very well. I see. Thank you. So you will be staying on at Winslow for the day to ensure that nothing else happens to this girl? What's her name, by the way?"

"Her name is Taylor Hebert and yes, I will. Do you want to speak with her? She's right here."

"I … think I'll leave that for a later time. Have you told her who Sophia is?"

Amy thought back. She knows, but … "No, I haven't."

Oooh, semantics, even. I like it.

Shush.

"Good. Please do not. We don't need that complication on top of everything else. Do your parents know about this?"

"Not yet. I was about to call them when you rang."

"Understood. The sooner they know what's happening, the better. Principal Blackwell has said you will be getting one or both to sit in on the meeting?"

"If I can get Brandish to sit in on Taylor's behalf, I will," Amy told her. I am not going to call her 'my mother' again.

The Director didn't seem to notice. "As a lawyer or as a cape?"

"Lawyer. One of the other girls has a father who's a lawyer, and that would give her an unfair advantage in this situation. So I've decided to level the playing field."

There was a pause, and Amy heard the rattle of computer keys. "This would be Alan Barnes, father of Emma Barnes?"

Damn, she is on the ball.

Yup. Bitter, yes. A little bigoted, yes. Stupid, hell and no.

Got that, yeah. "The very same."

"Understood. Ah; I have a call coming in on another line. I would very much appreciate it if you could fill me in on what happens in that meeting."

Almost, Amy asked the question out loud, but she restrained herself in time. What, she can't just ask Sophia or the social worker?

Neither one of whom has seen fit to tell her about the bullying so far. You're an independent source.

Oh. I see.

"Are you there?"

"Oh, sorry, yes, ma'am. I can definitely do that."

"Good." And without further ado, the Director hung up.

Well, that was abrupt.

She's not exactly one for diplomacy. Michael's 'voice' was more than a little amused.

The door into the office opened, and the secretary looked out at them. "Oh, there you are. The principal wants you back inside."

"Coming," Amy replied. She nodded to Taylor; they both went back into the office.

You should have mentioned the arrows.

We can do that later, right?

Probably.

<><>​

"Director Piggot made it very clear to me," Blackwell stated. "Panacea is here in her capacity as a cape, not as a student. She will remain in the general vicinity of Taylor Hebert, given that her stated goal is to ensure Taylor's well-being for today. I will be informing the faculty of this situation."

She looked at the group of girls before her, apparently awaiting a response, before going on. "If there is any attempt to interfere with either one of them, then I will come down on the offender like a ton of bricks."

"Wait, wait," protested Emma. "Are you accusing us of -"

"I am accusing you of nothing, Miss Barnes," Blackwell told her. "I am making a general statement. If you have no intention of bullying Miss Hebert or causing problems for Panacea, then you have nothing to worry about." She turned to Amy. "Do you have any issues with any of this?"

"None whatsoever, Principal Blackwell," Amy replied politely. "I just need to speak with Glory Girl before classes start, so that she knows what's going on."

"Do so outside, then," Blackwell said. "No doubt she means well, but that aura is not what we need in a school already filled with highly-strung teenagers."

I'm guessing this means she won't be able to stay as backup for us, in case of trouble.

I'm thinking you're right.

Was this in the original plan?

Hell no. I liked the idea of having Vicky there to get us out of strife.

Out of what?

Strife. Trouble.

Oh. Okay. So what do we do?

We see it through. Unless you want to pull out, of course.

Amy shook her head, then realised what she'd done. "Oh, uh, you're perfectly within your rights, of course," she agreed belatedly. "I'm kind of used to her aura, but being exposed to it for the first time can be rather overpowering."

Principal Blackwell nodded. "Yes. Well, classes start soon, so you'd better go now."

"Sure thing, and thank you for your patience, ma'am," Amy said. "Come on, Taylor."

<><>​

As they headed along the hallway, Taylor's voice was almost hushed. "That was … awesome."

Amy grimaced. "It could have gone a lot better. We could've caught them out in a lie, or Vicky could've been not kicked out of the school. Just for instance."

"Yeah, no, I get that. But the last time anyone came in and laid down the law like that, it was Dad, when the locker thing happened. No-one else has done it for me, ever."

"Wait a minute." Amy was starting to put a picture together, and she didn't like the look of it. "You were bullied for like a year before the locker thing happened."

"Uh, yes."

"And your dad never intervened before then?"

Taylor was looking uncomfortable. "Uh, he didn't know?"

Amy stared. "What? Why didn't you tell him?"

The look of discomfort increased. "Because, well, he had enough on his plate. And we were still getting over Mom. And if you hide something like that long enough ..."

She trailed off, but Amy was nodding. "It's really hard to start admitting to it. Okay, yeah. I can understand that one."

Michael made a throat-clearing noise.

What?

She might want to call her dad?

Oh. Oh, yeah. She pulled her phone out. "Want to call your father and tell him about the meeting?"

"Yeah, that might be a good idea." Taylor accepted the phone. "Thanks. Thanks a lot."

Uh, do you know if her father knows that she's …

That she's got powers? Not that I know of.

Should he be told?

Only by her. His voice was definitive. We could try to convince her to say something, but if she says no, we don't take matters into our own hands.

Okay. But …

What happens when he finds out eventually? He'll deal. He usually does.

She paused. Okay, you've lost me. He usually does what?

This isn't my first rodeo, remember? I've been through this before. Danny Hebert finds out that Taylor has powers at some point. Sometimes at the worst possible moment, sometimes not. But he loves her enough that he almost always accepts it, and her.

I have no idea how it would feel to be outed like that.

Well, yeah. You kind of grew up pre-outed. To you it's normal.

Sometimes it is, and sometimes I envy those capes who have a secret identity. They can take off the mask and be Joe Normal. I'm always Panacea, even when I don't want to be.

Which is basically all the time, now.

… yeah.

<><>​

Danny Hebert signed the last sheet and pushed the stack of paper into his Out tray. He eyed the new stack in the In tray and sighed. Standing up, he put his hands in the small of his back and pushed; vertebrae popped.

Stepping around his desk, he poured himself a cup of coffee from the machine; it was harsh and bitter, but it was hot. He was just stirring the second teaspoon of sugar into the brew when his desk phone rang.

"Okay, who is it this time?" he muttered, leaning over the desk and twisting his neck to read the caller ID. More vertebrae popped, but he took no notice; the number was not one he knew.

Frowning, he seated himself on the edge of the desk and reached back for the phone. Bringing the receiver to his ear, he took a sip of coffee and swallowed it before answering. "Dockworkers' Association, Danny Hebert speaking."

"Dad?"

He blinked a couple of times. "Taylor?" Of all the voices he had expected to hear, hers was not one of them. "What's up? Why are you calling me?"

"Nothing's the matter, Dad. I can't talk much right now, but Principal Blackwell wants you to come into Winslow after school finishes this afternoon."

"What? Why? What's happened?" A dozen scenarios popped into his head, all involving Taylor, all bad. But she didn't sound distressed; in fact, she sounded positively chirpy.

"Nothing. Well, nothing bad. But there's a meeting today with me and some other girls and their parents, and I'm pretty sure you need to be here too."

He took an aggravated breath, then let it out as a sigh. "Taylor. Slow down. What's this meeting about?"

Now she sounded less sure of herself. "Uh, you know how the school said they'd keep people from bullying me?"

"Yes?" An ominous feeling was building in his chest. "It's started again, hasn't it?"

"It, uh, never stopped?"

Briefly, he wished he could reach through the phone and shake her. "Taylor, dammit, I thought we talked about this. You were supposed to tell me about things like that."

"Yeah, I know. And I'm sorry. But it's being dealt with. Which is why the meeting."

" … dealt with?"

"Yeah. You're never gonna believe this. Superheroes came to the school, and now Principal Blackwell's looking really hard at the bullies."

"You're right. I don't believe it."

"It's what happened. Look, I gotta give Panacea her phone back. See you this afternoon?"

"Of course. See you then," he agreed automatically. She hung up before her previous words had time to register on him. When they did, his brain locked up for just a moment. What's she doing, borrowing Panacea's phone? What's Panacea even doing at Winslow?

Shaking his head, he placed the receiver back down on the cradle. This is one meeting I'm not going to miss for anything.

<><>​

"What? No! You're not spending the day here. Not a hope in hell."

Taylor leaned against the wall, watching Panacea talk to her sister. Glory Girl didn't seem to be taking the news well. Which, Taylor mused, was not much of a surprise; the blonde teen cape struck her as being somewhat protective of her 'little' sister.

"Yeah. I am." Amy, however, was capable of being just as stubborn. "You can't come back in till Principal Blackwell says you can. And you saw how Sophia and the others were. They'll have hours to plan something that won't look like their doing, but will be calculated to get at Taylor in some way. So I'm sticking right at her side till the meeting."

"Meeting?" Glory Girl looked puzzled. "What meeting?"

"What do you mean, what meeting?" Amy frowned. "I told you about the meeting, didn't I?"

"Well, no," Vicky told her. "What's happening?"

"Blackwell's getting Taylor together with the bullies, and she's told them to call their parents in. I'll be sitting in." Amy paused, looking a little awkward. "I, uh, kind of volunteered Carol to sit in as well. In case Emma's dad tries something."

Vicky winced. "Did you clear it with Mom first?"

The awkward look turned into a grimace. "Uh … could you? Ask her, I mean?"

There was a distinctly doubtful look on Vicky's face. "You're the one who made the decision. Pretty sure you should be the one to make that call."

"No way." Amy shook her head. "She'll listen to you. All the times I helped you out? I'm calling that in."

"You're … but … you … oh, crap." Vicky's face fell. "That's low, Ames."

Amy beamed at her. "Thank you." She paused, then went on. "And don't forget to point out how smug and arrogant they are, how they seem to think they should be allowed to keep doing it."

Vicky nodded. "Yeah, I can do that." She gave Amy a mock glower. "I never thought you'd hold that over my head. I thought family didn't do that."

That got a shrug from Amy. "Hey, desperate times call for desperate measures."

"Yeah, right." Vicky wrinkled her nose. "Okay, fine. I'll make the call." Pulling out her phone, she hit speed-dial.

<><>​

Carol Dallon stamped the document and set it aside. She was reaching for the next one when her mobile trilled at her, using the ringtone she had assigned to Vicky's calls. Putting the stamp down, she pulled the phone out and answered it. "Vicky. Has the situation at the school been resolved?"

"Uh, not quite."

She frowned. "What's happening?"

"Well, the bullies are smarter than we expected. They got me booted from the school. And Amy's spending the day here."

" … what."

Vicky began talking rapidly. "It's a long story. Well, not really. We were talking to the principal but the bullies kept winding me up, and I kind of let my aura slip a little, and they complained about that, so the principal told me to leave so I did."

She paused for breath, and Carol managed to get a word in edgewise. "That's unfortunate, but why does Amy want to spend the day there?"

"Because the bullies are real bitches, excuse my French. There's going to be a meeting after school with the girls and their parents. She's staying here to make sure they don't get to this girl before the meeting. And we think you should come along."

She frowned. "Why? Surely the principal has it under control?"

"Well, they've been specifically told to bring their parents in. And if Mr Barnes gets going, he might just twist things enough so they wriggle out from under."

"And you want me to come along to stop this from happening." She was already mustering the wording for turning Vicky down – it wasn't as if she had time to attend every hard-luck story – when her daughter spoke again.

"Yeah, Mom. You should see them. They're arrogant and smug as hell. Emma Barnes used to be the best friend of the girl who's being bullied, then she just turned around and stabbed her in the back. It really burns my butt to see it."

The words wouldn't come out. For a long moment she froze, undecided. I can't really afford -

Vicky was still talking. "And then there's Shadow Stalker. I thought she was supposed to be a hero. But the way she's acting, it's like she's been getting away with it for so long that she thinks she deserves to, you know?"

Carol spoke softly, her tone dangerous. "Oh, she does, does she?"

"God, yes. It's like they think the rules don't apply to them."

She smiled grimly. In her mind, she was already going through her daily planner, shuffling appointments around to make a free space. "I'll be there." And god help them. Especially Shadow Stalker. Heroes need to be held accountable.

"Thanks, Mom! You're the greatest. Love you."

"I love you too, Vicky," she replied. Automatically, her thumb pressed the button to end the call, but her mind was elsewhere. Images from her past rose, unbidden, in her mind's eye.

They think they can just get away with doing something like that, huh?

Not on my watch.

<><>​

"So she's coming?" Amy had figured as much, from Vicky's side of the conversation, but it paid to not assume anything.

"Oh hell yes she's coming," Vicky replied with a grin. "I pity the opposition."

Me too.

It'll be nice to have her being disapproving at someone else instead of me.

Yeah, well, first off, we've got to survive a day at Winslow.

Yeah, that. She took a deep breath. "Shall we go in?"

Taylor licked her lips and nodded, looking just a little nervous. "Let's go kick ass."

Amy grinned. "That's the spirit."

Together, they stepped forward and re-entered Winslow High School, just as the bell rang for the next period.


End of Part Sixteen

Part Seventeen

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea


Part Seventeen: Panacea at Winslow, Part the Second


Amy was used to spending time in school with people who knew her heroic identity. However, there were a few differences in this particular instance, each of which contributed toward a somewhat surreal experience.

In the first place, while everyone at Arcadia knew who she was, they were also accustomed to her presence. Nobody found it odd that Panacea was sitting at the next desk over; people would borrow a pencil off of her or lend her an eraser, without making a big deal out of it.

While she usually had Vicky nearby, this was not always the case. But even when Amy's super-strong sister was elsewhere, nobody hassled her or asked for an autograph. Someone wanting a selfie with her or Vicky was not an unusual occurrence; at one time, such photos had been common, with some people not even bothering to ask permission first.

The latter practice eased off when Brandish made a formal complaint to the Principal's office. There were still a few who didn't get the message, but when Vicky made a point of crushing their phones and cameras in her bare hands, even that had stopped.

But that was Arcadia. This was Winslow. She wasn't in costume which helped a little; given how much of her face it covered, she was actually less recognisable than most of New Wave, despite being the most famous healer in the world.

Wow. I'm guessing you're kind of sick of that phrase.

Yeah, I guess. It was nice at first to know that so many people thought I was so special.

But then you learned that 'special' meant 'never be able to quit', yeah?

She had long since stopped wondering where he got all of his unique knowledge about her situation. It was still a little weird when he referred to things that she'd only ever thought about in the privacy of her own mind.

Are you sure you can't read my memories? She hoped like hell that it was still the case, because otherwise she'd be blushing all day long. Nobody's uncensored memories should be put on public display, especially those of a teenager.

Absolutely certain. What I know about you is … well, it's from a unique source. One I can't tap from here, unfortunately. But like I said before, I can only really 'read' the thoughts you're thinking at the front of your mind. Background stuff, I can hardly even notice it's happening.

Right. Okay. So what do I need to be worried about? What do I need to watch out for?

"Where are we going now?" she asked out loud. "I kind of don't have any books."

Taylor, striding alongside her, grinned. "Pretty sure they won't actually ask you to do any work. Or if they do, you can borrow mine."

Wow, she's definitely in a better mood. Oh, and to answer your question, I'm thinking not overt pranks. You might not be able to punch through a brick wall, but you have someone on speed-dial who can. I'm guessing they'll go for a whispering campaign. They might even try to turn the gang kids against you.

It was taking all the concentration she had to keep the two halves of the conversation in order. "Uh, thanks," she said, in reply to both Taylor and Michael. Turning to Taylor, she went on. "You're definitely looking happier than you were earlier."

"Yeah, well, then I thought that you and Glory Girl had punked out on me. Like everyone else who ever promised to help." The flash of bitterness made Amy wince. "But then you showed. And even if we lose, the school can't ignore this shit any more. Not when superheroes are getting involved."

As one of the superheroes involved, Amy felt a flush of pride. "I just wish we didn't have to, to stop this sort of thing going on. I mean, if even one percent of this happened at Arcadia, to anyone, there'd be a metric ton of trouble landing on all concerned. Including any staff members who might've seen something but failed to do anything about it."

Taylor sighed. "Oh, God. I only wish." A faint crease marred her brow. "I just hope that they get the message and back off."

"Which reminds me," Amy said, recalling Michael's words. "Remember the guy I told you about on the bus? Security? He said they might try a whispering campaign, or even turn the gang members against us. Against me."

Now Taylor did look a little concerned. "Ooh. Yeah, maybe. Hopefully not, though. With any luck, any gang kids she talks to won't be that stupid."

Great. Now she's banking on the inherent intelligence of teenagers who've already joined a criminal gang.

Amy grimaced, acknowledging Michael's point. "Uh, they're gang kids. And we're depending on them to be smart?"

Taylor didn't look thrilled at all, but she nodded. "As much as I hate to say you're right …"

"Not me. Michael." Amy glanced around, trying to spot anyone who might be looking at them with particular malice. "Though I agree with him. It's not a great assumption to base our safety on."

When Taylor spoke next, there was an edge to her voice that hadn't been there before. "So we improve our chances. We might be alone in a school that doesn't care about our well-being – okay, my well-being – with a bunch of gang kids who might well be incited to move against us at any time, but there's nothing to say that we can't take precautions."

Okay, there's the Skitter that we know and love.

Why did I just get a bad feeling about this? Out loud, she asked, "Uh, precautions?"

Because you're a thinking, intelligent human being. I'm reminded of the quote from Watchmen.

Taylor's grin was now showing a few more teeth than normal. "Just keep your head down and follow my lead, okay?"

"Uh, okay." Amy was starting to wonder what she'd gotten herself into. Is she going to do something supervillainish? And who are the Watchmen? Are they a cape group I've never heard of?

Most likely. And Watchmen is a graphic novel that got made into a movie. They probably made it in Earth Aleph. There's a psychotic vigilante in there who says something like this: "I'm not locked in here with you. You're locked in here with me."

Oh, yeah. Getting a really bad feeling about this.

He responded with a chuckle. Knew you were a smart cookie.

But what can she do without outing herself?

Trust me. With Taylor, there are ways and there are means.

Somehow, this failed to reassure her.

<><>​

Amy watched as the art teacher turned the sadly battered model of the Rig over in her hands. Miss Simone, as she preferred to be called, was a peroxide blonde, almost as skinny as Taylor, with hair that flared out from her head in all directions. Her fingers were long, with tiny cartoon decals on the nail extensions.

"But what happened to it?" the teacher asked, almost plaintively. "The last I saw of it, Taylor, you were doing wonderfully."

"My backpack got, uh, mishandled," Taylor told her woodenly. Amy winced, knowing what 'mishandled' really meant. "I'm sorry."

One garish fingernail tapped a purple stain. "This isn't mishandling, Taylor," Miss Simone said sternly. "What is this? Fruit juice?"

If anything, Taylor became even more wooden. Amy got the impression that the taller girl had been through this many times before. "Uh, yes. It got poured into my backpack."

Amy had had enough. "Miss Simone, Taylor's not telling you the whole story. There's three girls who are bullying her. They trapped her in her toilet stall and poured juice and soda over her."

"Oh." Miss Simone switched her attention to Amy. "That's very serious. Did you see this happen?"

"No." Amy set her jaw. "But she told me about it."

"Well, thank you, Panacea, for bringing this to my attention." Miss Simone turned brightly back to Taylor. "Did this really happen?"

"Uh …" Taylor glanced at Amy, who nodded encouragingly. "Uh, yeah. It happened."

"Well, if you can tell me their names, I'll take that to the principal," Miss Simone declared.

"She already knows," Taylor mumbled. "I just wanted to let you know why I wouldn't be handing it in on time."

"Oh." To Amy, Miss Simone seemed oddly deflated. "Who are these girls? Are they in this class?"

"No, they're not." Taylor spoke quietly but deliberately. "Their names are Madison Clements, Emma Barnes and Sophia Hess."

Amy watched the teacher's face as the names came up. Madison didn't elicit much of a response. Emma got a widening of the eyes, but it was Sophia's name that got the most telling reaction. Upon hearing it, Miss Simone's face simply … went blank. She knows that name, all right. And she's been told that Sophia's something special.

Are we surprised?

Not really.

"I see," Miss Simone said, and that was it. "Well, Taylor, I'll give you until Tuesday to fix your project, but I'm afraid I'll have to take ten percent off your mark for tardiness."

"But that's not -" began Amy.

"Thank you, Miss Simone," Taylor said, deliberately talking over her. "Come on, Amy. Let's sit down."

Amy wanted to keep talking, to make the teacher see that it was unfair to penalise Taylor for what the bullies did to her, but this wasn't her school and it wasn't her fight. So she followed the taller girl to a pair of adjoining desks near the back of the room, where they took their seats.

"But that's not fair!" hissed Amy, keeping her voice down. "They ruined your art project, not you!" She couldn't understand why Taylor was taking the down-marking so calmly.

Taylor grimaced. "Uh, the juice was them," she said, just as quietly. "But the actual damage happened when I kind of lost my temper and threw my backpack across the room afterward."

Amy blinked. "Wow. Sorry. I thought it was them for sure."

"No." Taylor shook her head, a wry grin on her face. "That bit was actually my fault. I should have chucked something less personal."

Amy was fully aware of the consequences of losing her temper while using her powers, and Taylor's could barely be any less dangerous. So she understood the slightly sheepish look that the taller girl gave her. The girls caused that outburst, but just like I've got to keep a grip on my temper, so does she. The consequences are too great to do anything else. But it looks like she knows that already.

Yup.

Wait, did you know about that?

Sure. His 'voice' was matter-of-fact. Why?

She channelled some of the aggravation she was feeling into her reply. Why didn't you give me a heads-up? I just looked like an idiot in front of Taylor.

But now, instead of me spoon-feeding you everything, you're finding out from her. Getting her to open up is a good thing.

She wanted to be angry at him for blindsiding her. The fact of the matter was that he was correct, as much as it aggravated her. This is you making sure that I connect with her on a personal level, isn't it?

Mayybe. She'd heard that innocent tone a hundred times from Victoria.

You suck.

Undoubtedly. But I do appreciate the way you're willing to stand up for Taylor. Pretty sure she does, too.

Well, now that I see the place, and the people, I can understand how hard it's been for her not to retaliate.

Not quite the hardened criminal, yeah?

Her aggravation had eased off, but she felt justified in a mildly sarcastic response. I'd already figured that out. There was no reply, so she turned her attention to the outside world.

Taylor was looking over the model, her expression rueful. Amy leaned over toward her. "Is it fixable?" she asked quietly.

"I guess," Taylor conceded. "But I'm going to have to take it apart. Which means tearing it. I had toothpicks giving it internal strength, and I'm pretty sure that they're mostly broken." She rubbed uselessly at a juice stain. "And this stuff will never come out."

"So we fix it," Amy declared. "We've got till Tuesday, after all."

Taylor's startled look made her grin.

"What, you'd do that?" Implicit was the question don't you have better things to do?

Amy held out her hand. "Give."

Her face a study in curiosity, Taylor placed the model in her hand. Amy turned it over, examining the juice stains.

Are you going to do what I think you're going to do?

Probably. Now shush. Amy licked her thumb, then waited for a moment before rubbing it over the purple mark. At first nothing happened, then the mark faded, becoming almost indistinguishable from the off-white of the heavy cardboard from which the model had been constructed.

Niiiice.

Amy allowed herself a tiny internal smile. Unable to resist a slight flourish, she handed the model back to Taylor. "I can do the same for the glue, if you want. That'll let you take it apart and glue it back together properly."

Her satisfaction grew as Taylor examined the place where the stain had been. "How did you do that?" asked the bug controller.

"Micro-organisms," Amy explained cheerfully. "We have something like a hundred trillion on or in our bodies at any given time. I gave my thumb a fresh coating and changed them to something that would eat dried fruit juice then die. Glue's organic. We can do the same for that, as well."

"Sure, that's -" Taylor looked around as Miss Simone began the class. "- something we can do later, I guess."

"Okay, sure." Amy turned to face forward, keeping her face impassive in spite of how pleased she was feeling at the moment.

That was nice. I approve. Also, kind of awesome. Micro-organisms for the win.

His approval sent a warm glow through her. Thanks.

This was the most she'd used her powers for something other than healing in years, and it was fun.

<><>​

English class at Winslow was about as boring as it was at Arcadia. The teacher, Mr Robbins, was tall and bland, with sandy hair and a neatly trimmed moustache. Amy had tensed up when she saw Madison and Julia in the classroom as well, but they did nothing more than shoot hostile glances toward Taylor and Amy.

As for the subject itself, Amy wasn't too bad at it, but it wasn't exactly her favourite. Taylor, on the other hand, seemed to be in her element. Far from retreating into her shell in the presence of her tormentors, she put up her hand for every question, and seemed to be able to answer every one correctly.

Amy wondered if Taylor wasn't being a little foolhardy, drawing attention to herself like that, until she realised what the other girl was up to. If the teacher's looking at her, those two can't pick on her.

And if they do try to pick on her in class, that gives both of you more ammo at the meeting. Michael seemed pleased with the situation.

Did you know she was going to do that?

Nope. But it's a smart idea.

Won't they try harder because of this?

Think they would've left her alone?

You've got a point. But there was still one more thing that Amy was wondering about. Michael no doubt had the answer, but he was encouraging her to talk to Taylor, so she waited until Mr Robbins was writing on the board..

"How do you know all this stuff?" she asked quietly.

"Mom used to teach college-level English," Taylor explained. "She got me into reading at an early age. When they couldn't get a sitter, she'd have me sit up at the back of the classroom with crayons. Sometimes I'd draw, but other times I'd listen. I picked up a lot of stuff, that way."

Amy tried to imagine doing the same with her mother's line of work. Sitting at the back of the courtroom, picking up a working knowledge of the law. Somehow, she suspected, she wouldn't do as well at it as Taylor was doing with English.

Turning back from the board, Mr Robbins held up a dog-eared copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. "Everyone has been given a copy of this book for the semester. Who's actually read it so far?" From the tone of his voice, he didn't expect many people to respond.

Nor did Amy; she had tried to get into it once upon a time, but found it supremely dull. Not very much to her surprise, however, Taylor's hand went up almost immediately. Hers was the only one.

"Taylor, uh, Hebert, isn't it?" Robbins asked dubiously.

Taylor nodded. "Yes."

"And you've read it all the way through." His tone indicated that he thought otherwise.

"Yes." Amy saw the animation on Taylor's face. "It's a very interesting story."

"Indeed it is," Robbins agreed. "Can you tell the class what costume Scout wears to the Halloween party?"

Glad he's asking her and not me. I didn't even know there was a Halloween party in there.

Yup. She went dressed as a -

"A pork chop, sir," Taylor said promptly.

- pork chop.

"Hmm." Mr Robbins rubbed his chin. "Well, that's correct." He turned to stroll back to his desk.

What, you've read it too?

Several times. It's actually got interesting parallels to the social situation here and now.

Wait, wait, wait. Where you come from, you've got our books there too?

Well, yes.

"Next Friday," Mr Robbins said, momentarily distracting Amy, "I'll want a fifteen hundred word essay from everyone on To Kill a Mockingbird, drawing contrasts between society as depicted in the story and the modern world." The bell began to ring as he finished; chairs scraped on tile as students came to their feet. Raising his voice, he went on. "Taylor, could you stay back a moment, please?"

Taylor turned to Amy. "Go on ahead. I'll catch up."

Amy shook her head. "No. I'm staying right here." How is that even possible? You're from a different dimension!

Yeah, I am. But I can't tell you any more. A full answer would totally screw up your worldview. At best, you would think I was pulling your leg. At worst … I don't want to think about 'at worst'.

She tried to make sense of what he was saying. So your world is an alternate of ours, like Aleph?

For a long moment, he hesitated. Given a certain definition of 'alternate' … yes.

Are you going to tell me what that certain definition is?

No. That one word had a blunt finality to it, quite unlike his previous openness with information.

Before she could figure out what to say next, the last of the students filed out, leaving her in the classroom with Taylor and Mr Robbins. The teacher approached Taylor while Amy looked on.

"Taylor, up till now, I've been disappointed with your work," he said bluntly. "You hand in hastily-written assignments, or you hand them in late or not at all. Normally, I'd be putting it down to a lack of competence or interest in the subject, but today's performance tells me that's not the case. What's going on?"

Amy watched Taylor gather herself. "Are you sure that you want to know?" Amy could read the subtext. Because up till now you've been willing to write me off.

The flicker of a glance that Robbins sent toward Amy gave her the rest of the picture. And he's only talking to you now because I'm here. Lovely.

Welcome to Skitter's world.

Amy could see what he meant. I can see this environment producing a villain. Even if she intends to be a hero.

"Yes. I do." Robbins spoke firmly.

Wait for it …

Wait for what? She's standing up for herself. This is great.

Just wait. His voice held a certain amount of resignation.

To her credit, Taylor's voice was steady. "Are you aware that Madison Clements has been stealing my assignments and presenting them as her own, or simply destroying them before I could present them, for the last year? Or that Julia Morrow's been assisting her, along with some others?"

His eyes widened. "Really? That's … very out of character for Madison. She's a sweet kid. I have trouble believing that."

Amy cleared her throat. "You could check the handwriting, at the very least."

"I could do that," he said to her, then looked back to Taylor. "Can you name the others?"

Even before she started speaking, the corner of Taylor's mouth took on a bitter twist. "I can. Are you familiar with Emma Barnes or Sophia Hess?"

Shutdown in three … two … one …

Again, Amy saw the impact of the two names. Mr Robbins' expression changed, becoming almost unreadable. "I … yes, I am. Those are very serious charges. Are you willing to take them to the principal's office?"

"That depends." To Amy's ear, Taylor's voice was almost challenging. "Are you willing to look into it, or just sweep it under the carpet?"

"That's not a good tone to take with me on that," he snapped. "If this has been such a problem, why haven't you reported it by now?"

"I have. Repeatedly." The challenging tone was definitely evident, now. "Twice, to you. The first time, you asked Madison about it. She lied to your face and batted her eyelashes. Julia backed her up. I was the one who got in trouble. The second time, you didn't even bother pretending to believe me. After that, I stopped trying."

He looked more than a little taken aback. "I don't recall any of that. You're making it up."

Amy decided to weigh in. "Says anyone, ever, who's been caught out and doesn't want to admit it."

"Unless you've got proof of your allegations," he snapped, "then they're nothing but libel and slander."

"Why, Mr Robbins, I would've expected more from an English teacher," Amy retorted, trying not to raise her voice. I need to sound like a hero, not like a shrill teenager. "Taylor hasn't libelled you at all, and if it's true, it's not slander. Now, are you going to take what she said seriously, or are you going to ignore her, again?"

"Both of you, out of my classroom, now," he said, clenching his fists. "I'll be talking to Principal Blackwell about your behaviour."

We'll be talking to her about a hell of a lot more than that. Amy opened her mouth to say exactly that, but Michael got there first.

Don't say a word. Let's go.

What? Why?

I'll explain once we're outside.

Okay, but it better be good. Amy put her hand on Taylor's shoulder. "Come on, let's go."

Taylor nodded curtly. "Okay. Fine." She stalked from the room without another glance for Robbins.

"Panacea." It was the first time that the teacher had addressed Amy by name. "Please, wait. I was a little hasty, there." His tone had moderated, a lot.

Wow, I wonder if he realised that he just booted a cape from his classroom.

I don't give a damn. Amy's fists were clenched, and she realised that she was gritting her teeth. Who the fuck does he think he is?

"Please, just a moment. Please?" Robbins' tone was now almost pleading.

Maybe you should see what he has to say.

Maybe I don't care.

You know and I know that it won't change your mind, but it might be useful to let him think that it will. Michael's voice was calm, reasonable. She hated to admit it, but he had a point.

Okay, fine. We'll do it your way.

Stopping in the open doorway, she turned toward Robbins. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry for the way I spoke. May I offer my apologies?" If Amy didn't know better, she would have said his tone was actually humble.

"You may." Not gonna say I'll accept them.

"Thank you." He looked relieved. "May I speak with you for just a moment?"

She looked at him. He was standing by his desk, without offering to go to where she stood.

Should I talk to him?

Let him say his piece. Then judge the crap out of him.

She almost smiled, but managed to keep it in check. Okay. Glancing over her shoulder, she looked at where Taylor stood outside the classroom. "I'll just be a second," she said.

"Okay." Taylor moved back toward the doorway.

For her part, Amy headed over to the desk. "Yes?" She tried to strike a tone indicating neutrality.

Robbins glanced at where Taylor stood just inside the doorway, and lowered his voice. "I understand that you're here on her behalf, but … she's a loner. A troublemaker. I've heard things about how she makes up accusations to deflect blame from herself. Like just now."

"Really?" It was a lot of work to keep most of the scepticism she felt out of that one word. Some leaked through, however.

"Really." He didn't seem to have noticed it. "You're a great superhero. I mean, you've got a great future in front of you. If she's just an attention-seeker, this could only cause you problems."

"Thank you." She did her best to keep her disgust off her face and out of her voice. "I'll keep that in mind." And I'm not about to forget what you said to Taylor, either. Jerk. Turning her back on him, she walked from the room. Taylor stepped out of the doorway to make way for her.

And she sticks the landing, with a nine point five, a nine point five, and a six point five from the East German judge. Michael sounded amused. Amy couldn't quite figure out what he was talking about, but she got the gist.

Shush, you. He couldn't tell sarcasm if it … if it … She floundered, looking for a simile.

Ran up his leg and bit him on the bum?

Taylor stood waiting for her to catch up, looking more than a little pissed. However, this turned to confusion when Amy started giggling uncontrollably.

<><>​

It took her a few moments to regain her composure, during which time they began to stroll in the general direction of the cafeteria. Taylor shot her a glance loaded with what Amy had little trouble deciding was amusement. "You okay now?"

"Yeah, I'm good." You're bad.

Well, duh.

Why didn't you let me tell him about the meeting with Blackwell?

The less he knows, the less he can spin things to make himself look better. If someone changes their ways just because they know authority is looking, there's every chance in the world that they'll change back when they know they're not under scrutiny any more. Blindsiding him is much better.

Oh.

And much more satisfying.

Amy felt herself smiling. You have a really good point.

"What are you grinning at?" That was Taylor. "Is there a joke I don't know about?"

"Not really," admitted Amy. "Michael was just pointing out why it's a good idea not to tell the teachers about the meeting. Blindsiding them is a lot more fun than letting them have any warning."

"Well, yeah," agreed Taylor, bumping Amy's shoulder with hers. "Trust me, I know how hard it sucks to have shit happen when I'm not expecting it. It's good to be able to inflict it on others for once."

"He's still probably going to bitch to her about us." Amy felt that it should be said.

Taylor nodded. "True. But because you didn't tell him, he took the chance to say something bad about me behind my back. Which you can now use to point out just how sucky the staff here is. Teachers gossiping about students? So wrong on so many levels."

Amy frowned. "I never told you what he said." We were right across the room. Was she reading lips, or listening in with her bugs?

Probably neither. She doesn't know how to read lips, and bug senses suck to the point that she can't listen to conversations with them yet.

Wait, what do you mean by 'yet'?

Nothing. But his tone meant anything but 'nothing'.

"Oh, puh-leeze." Taylor's voice was thick with sarcasm, echoing Amy's own thoughts, for entirely different reasons. "Exactly what else was he gonna say? Let me guess, I'm a loser loner who tells tales about being bullied and tries to get the popular girls in trouble?"

That was eerily close to the mark. Amy looked at Taylor with new respect. "Almost word for word. You just left out the part where you might get me in trouble if I kept defending you."

Taylor chuckled darkly. "Oh, of course. The best way to disarm me is to separate me from all support. Wonder if he'll ever realise that he's basically trying to do what Emma's been doing all this time?"

"Don't know. Don't care." Amy shrugged. "Fuck 'em all. I'm sticking right by your side."

That got her a briefly startled look from Taylor, followed by a shoulder-bump. This time, Amy bumped her right back.

<><>​

Amy looked at the lunchtime crowd in the cafeteria. To her trained eye, the divisions were clear to see. The Empire had a certain section of the cafeteria to themselves, as did the ABB. The Merchants were less picky about things, spreading here and there without caring much about where they sat. Then there were the non-gang-related cliques, segregating themselves against outsiders just as clearly as the gangs did.

Brockton Bay in miniature, Michael commented.

You're not far wrong, Amy agreed. All we need now is Uber and L33t.

Oh, that's easy. Greg Veder.

Who?

If you're lucky, you won't meet him.

Oh. Okay. She stepped into the cafeteria proper, then noticed that Taylor hadn't followed. "What's the matter?" she asked, turning to look at the other girl.

"I don't eat here," Taylor said. "It's too easy for someone to 'accidentally' spill their drink or something over me. Or over my backpack."

"Jesus, they don't even let up on you in here?" Taylor grimaced; immediately, Amy regretted the hasty statement. "Okay, yeah, that was kinda naïve of me. I'm still coming to grips with how far out of their way these bitches are willing to go in order to bully you."

"So how do they handle shit like that in Arcadia?" Taylor's voice was distant. Amy wondered if she was using her bugs to scout for trouble. Then she wondered how many bugs she was using to scout for trouble.

Amy shrugged. "Oh, uh, if there's trouble between students, the principal checks the security camera footage before talking to them separately. Clear-cut cases of bullying end up in detention. If it keeps up, suspension and expulsion are brought on to the table."

Taylor focused on her, now apparently interested. "And if it's not clear-cut?"

"If it can't be determined who's at fault, teachers are told to keep an eye on them in class. With the heightened scrutiny, if either one tries to cause problems again, they come down on them hard."

"Wow, I wish it worked like that here," sighed Taylor. "That's what they said they'd do, after … well, you know."

She didn't elaborate, but Amy figured it out easily enough. The locker?

The locker.

"And of course, they didn't." Amy shook her head, not knowing what to say. "Christ, if something like that happened in Arcadia, everyone involved – you know, except the victim – would be either in detention, suspended, or expelled. Probably the latter, unless all they did was stand and watch."

"Arcadia sounds nice." Taylor's voice was wistful.

Amy grinned. "Well, you know, they do have rules. Like no cell-phone use in class."

"Wouldn't matter to me. Don't use one." Amy saw Taylor's mouth tighten.

Oh, right. Yeah. Great going, dumbass. "But anyway," Amy forged on, "I didn't bring lunch, so I'm gonna have to buy some. And I'm gonna sit right here in the cafeteria and eat it. And you're gonna sit with me. Okay?"

For a moment, Taylor seemed to be about to object; Amy wondered if she'd pushed the other girl too hard. Has she really been abused so much, that she doesn't dare eat in public?

Well, basically, yeah. She's used to finding hiding places to eat, then rotating them when the girls find her and pick on her while she's eating. Like last week, she was eating in the bathrooms and they held the stall shut and poured juice and soda over her head and into her bag.

Was that when her art project got damaged?

That's the one.

Holy shit. "Hey," she said out loud. "Okay, look, we don't have to. We can get our lunch and eat elsewhere if you want." Where's a good place?

I used to eat mine on the front steps.

Okay, that sounds as good as any.

"No," Taylor stated almost angrily. "No. Like you said, fuck 'em. If you're gonna eat in the cafeteria, I'm gonna eat in the cafeteria." Something like a grin passed over her face. "Besides, someone's got to look after you."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "And here I thought I was supposed to be looking after you."

"Against the bullies, sure." Taylor's explanation was almost casual. "But only a Winslow student knows where not to sit in the cafeteria."

That, Amy decided, was a very good point.

<><>​

"So, how's the mystery meat?" Taylor seemed to be somewhat amused. Justifiably so; she had pulled a bag lunch from her backpack and was eating a pita wrap.

Next time I come to Winslow, I pack my own lunch. Amy was very definite about that.

Well, yes. Michael seemed to be sharing Taylor's amusement.

Amy prodded the meat-like substance doubtfully with her plastic fork. "I'm not sure if whatever this came from even existed in nature." Touching it with her forefinger didn't give her any more of a clue; fortunately for the health of the Winslow student body, it didn't hold much in the way of live organisms. She doubted that there was much in the way of nutrition, either. "Well, I guess it won't kill me …"

"That's the spirit." Taylor took another bite of her wrap, then paused after swallowing. "Don't look around, but we've got a bunch of Empire guys glaring at us. Your ten o'clock."

Amy rolled her eyes but kept her voice down. "How do you expect me to not look around once you've said something like that?"

"I thought you should know – shit, I said don't look around!"

Fuck it. Amy turned her head to see the table full of shaven heads, all the people on it looking her way with more than a little hostility. She picked out the oldest one by eye and locked gazes with him for just a moment. Then she turned back to Taylor. Let's see what happens.

The taller girl was staring at her as though she'd grown a second head. "What the fuck? You don't do that! That was a flat-out challenge!"

Uh, she's kind of correct. What was that about?

First: they might be Empire but I'm a cape. Second: I'm tired of people telling me what I can't do. Third: we both know that if they start anything on me, Kaiser will have their balls by the end of the day.

There was a new tone of respect in his mental 'voice' when he replied. Oh. Right. Yeah. Okay, I hope you're reading this one right.

Believe me, so do I.

"It was deliberate," she murmured to Taylor. "What are they doing now?"

"Uh, one of them's getting up and coming over." Taylor didn't look at all comfortable with the situation; Amy didn't blame her. "I think we should just go."

"No." She put her hand on Taylor's arm. For a moment, she was tempted to dial back the amount of adrenaline in Taylor's bloodstream, but she restrained herself. That sort of thing needs to be consent only. Michael didn't comment, but she felt the warmth of his approval. "I got this."

Timing her move with the widening of Taylor's eyes, Amy turned as the boy she'd locked eyes with approached. Unhurriedly, she stood, bringing her eye level closer to his. He was still taller than her, but not by a lot. "Can I help you?" Her tone was polite, but disinterested rather than dismissive.

"You're Panacea." He spoke loudly, uncaring of whoever heard.

He's putting on a show.

I know. Shh. "Yes." While his stance was aggressive and bullish, hers was relaxed, arms at her sides. "I'm aware of this. What about it?"

"What's a superhero like you doing in a shithole like this? Getting dirt on us?"

She shook her head. "Nope." Not that it would be hard, but … "I'm not here for that. Right now, I'm just doing a favour for a friend." The 'friend' being Taylor, but they don't need to know that.

… I think he was put up to this. The way he came up to you, he knows Glory Girl isn't gonna interfere.

I think you're right.

"For a friend, huh?" He gestured toward Taylor, adding a sneer for good measure. "She a hero, too?" Keep it together, Taylor …

Amy moved forward, into his space, but she didn't raise her voice. "No. She isn't a hero. She's just someone I'm looking out for. I'm not here for you. I'm not here for the ABB. I'm not even here for the Merchants. So long as you leave me and her alone, I'll leave you and yours alone." She leaned forward so that only he would hear, and hoped that he didn't catch the quaver in her voice. "And Kaiser doesn't have to hear that you've annoyed me." This has gotta be the second stupidest thing I've ever done. She offered a sugary sweet smile that she didn't mean. "Understood?"

Stupidest being the fire extinguisher?

Yeah. She could feel her heart pounding as she waited for the skinhead to react. Her fingertips were twitching, other muscles tensing oddly, out of her control. Is that you?

Yeah. His 'voice' was tense. If he swings a punch at you, I'll get skin contact and you can do the rest.

It wasn't a solution she liked but it was a solution. However, she liked hers better. Unless he's a total idiot, he's gonna cave. Kaiser doesn't stand for this shit and he knows it.

Good point.

The Empire guy's eyes opened wide for just a second; Amy figured she knew exactly what was going through his head. Then he re-established his habitual glower. "You just stay out of our way, then," he grunted, and turned to stomp back toward his table.

Amy watched him go, then let herself slide back into her seat. The tension started bleeding out of her muscles. Despite her still-pounding heart, she forced a smile on to her face for Taylor. "See? Told you I had this."

"And what if you hadn't?" Taylor didn't seem thrilled about it. "Those guys are dangerous. They carry knives. I'm pretty sure the top guys, like the one who just came over, have guns."

Which your power can't really protect against. Like, at all.

"They weren't going to make a move against me," Amy insisted. "If they'd done anything more than talk and Kaiser heard about it, he'd have their guts for bungee cords and they knew it. They just wanted to know what I was here for." She paused, thinking about it. "And correct me if I'm wrong, but I got the distinct impression that the only reason that guy even came over is because he thought I was here to hit the Empire. Which is totally fucking ridiculous. I am not a front-line cape." She flicked a glance at the table with the skinheads. They were laughing and joking among themselves again. So far, so good.

"Unless he heard someone spreading the word that that's what's going on," Taylor said slowly. "And I can think of three suspects, right now."

Amy's eyes widened. It didn't just sound possible; it sounded plausible. Except that … "They'd have to know they'd be putting me in danger, and you with me, by spreading that story." She rubbed her fingertips over her forehead. "Would they really go that far?"

"More like, they'd expect you to just leave once you were confronted," Taylor pointed out. "But hey, they've been getting away with shit like you wouldn't believe for more than a year. What's one more drop in the bucket?"

Amy grimaced. "Well, all I can say is, I can't wait for the meeting to start."

"Me neither," Taylor agreed. Amy appreciated the sympathetic look the taller girl gave her. "And I want to say thanks again for putting up with this shit for me. It means more than I can say."

This time, Amy's smile was genuine. "That's okay. I'm guessing that you had something in store for if that guy had actually attacked me?"

Taylor nodded seriously. "About three dozen wasps and hornets. He wouldn't have known what hit him."

"Aww, that's so sweet." Amy chuckled quietly. "I've never had anyone threaten to sic bugs on someone for me." It would've outed her for sure, but she still would've done it to save me.

Yeah, total villain material, hey?

Shush, you.

Taylor grinned back at her. "Hey, I'm a sucker for a damsel in distress."

Amy found the imagery intensely amusing, and broke down into giggles. A moment later, Taylor joined her. The release of tension was good, and they both started eating again. However, Amy couldn't help worrying all the same.

I wish Vicky was here. They wouldn't even think of bothering us then.

Hm. I dunno. Might be a good thing that Collateral Damage Barbie's no longer on site.

Yeah – wait, what did you call her?

His mental voice held a grin. You heard me. Tell me I'm wrong.

She barely avoided shaking her head. Oh, god. How did you even come up with that one?

Oh, it's a nickname that some of us use for her where I come from.

Wait, what? Amy stared at nothing, shaken to her core. There's more of you?

Um, yeah. He paused, almost evasively. There's dozens, I guess. Hundreds. Billions, if you count the ones who don't do what I do.

I don't even … She paused, trying to comprehend the situation. And they can all just poke their noses into our world and pop up in our heads?

For a long moment, he didn't answer. It's really hard to explain. The best answer for your question is 'yes, but no'. Remember what I said about how telling you too much would screw with your worldview? This is part of what I can't tell you about.

Had his 'voice' been light-hearted and joking, as it sometimes was, she might have pushed the issue. However, this time, his tone was serious enough to make her think twice.

Okay, I guess I can respect that. But really? A bunch of people who know about Vicky and me, and who else?

Well, basically everyone on Earth Bet worth paying attention to, I guess. The information isn't comprehensive or all-encompassing, but I did pick up some more during my last time here.

Sometime you're going to have to tell me what you mean by that.

Someday I might. Just not today.

Amy pursed her lips. Okay, that's fair. So their nickname for Vicky is what again? Collateral Damage Barbie?

It's one of the more flattering ones, yeah.

And me? Do they have nicknames for me? She braced herself for whatever he might say.

Nothing too bad, actually. 'Pan-Pan' is the most common one. Though there's a lot of back-and-forth about why you don't just, well, go all out. Some people think you're a bitch, some think you're basically sandbagging, and some think you could own the world in a week if you really tried. But those are kind of the radicals.

And you? What do you think? She didn't want to ask the question, but she couldn't not ask it, either. Nor did she want to think about the potential repercussions of her using her powers unchecked.

His reply came without hesitation. I think you're a nice kid who never had a chance for a normal life. You found your dad at five, lost him at six, got ignored till you triggered with powers, and you've been shat on from a great height ever since. It's not uncommon for powers to not actually fix problems, but yours actually managed to magnify the shit you were going through. While pretending to do the exact opposite.

For just a moment, she was stunned by his insight. She had never put it into words precisely like that before, but it was exactly how she felt, deep down. She did, however, feel the need to say something in her sister's defence.

It hasn't been totally terrible. Vicky's always been there for me.

True. And when she got her powers, she got her aura. And there went a large chunk of your free will. The worst part is, she still doesn't know she was doing it.

But if I tell her, she'll be totally horrified.

And if you don't, she'll just keep doing it. Oh; one other thing.

That sounded ominous. What?

She's terrified of being mentally controlled. I suspect that's why she got the aura when she triggered.

Oh. Oh, god. Amy could see all sorts of problems coming out of that.

Yeah. So if and when you talk to her about the aura, it might be an idea to be really careful about it.

"Earth Bet to Amy. Come in, Amy."

Amy started as Taylor interrupted her reverie. "Sorry, what?"

Taylor grinned across at her. Amy could see the glint of mischief in her eyes. "You've been really quiet, and I'm pretty sure it's not because you're loving the cafeteria food. What are you thinking?"

Amy paused to gather her thoughts. "Oh, uh, just talking, actually. To Security. Michael."

"Oh, right. The voice in your head. Still not sure what to think about that." Amy couldn't quite figure out Taylor's expression. "Did you ever find out where he came from?"

Amy hesitated, recalling Michael's words on the subject. "It's … kind of complicated."

Taylor's grin was infectious. "I'd be astonished if it wasn't. Anyway, you want to walk and talk before classes start again?"

Amy nodded. "I think I'd like that." And let us never speak of the mystery meat again.

I still say it was an alien life form.

But it showed no signs of life that I could detect.

By now, she knew he was joking. What part of 'alien' did we not understand?

<><>​

Bakuda

There were three of them in the jeep. Oni Lee sat on one of the rear seats, silent and unmoving. Some guy, whose sole reason for being there was that he had a driver's license, sat behind the wheel. Bakuda herself leaned back in the passenger seat, hard at work.

Carefully, she eased the bomb she'd been working on into the forty-millimetre grenade-launcher casing, then screwed it into place. Squinting with her left eye caused the goggles she was wearing to zoom in, allowing her to connect up the detonation mechanism just right.

"This is Number Seventy-Three, on the corner of West and Fairfield." The voice that came over the radio was high-pitched; either a young teenage boy or a woman. She didn't know or care who it was; all she gave a damn about was whether they did what they were told once she'd implanted their cortex bombs. Screw recruitment; I'll go with conscription any day.

Holding the grenade in one hand, she scooped up the radio mic from the dash in the other. "Bakuda. What've you got, Seventy-Three?"

"I can see her. The dog girl. Bitch. She's walking north along Fairfield with three dogs. She's not looking at me."

"If she knew you were reporting to me, her dogs would be all over you." Bakuda knew that her voice modulator wouldn't allow a scornful tone, but she tried for one anyway. "Bakuda to everyone in that area. Converge, but don't get too close. We don't want to tip her off." Clipping the mic back to its holder on the dash, she slapped the driver on the shoulder. "Get us moving, for fuck's sake."

"Y-yes, Bakuda!" he blurted, twisting the ignition key. The engine roared to life, the driver grinding gears in his haste to get moving. A moment later, they were off, homing in on Rachel Lindt, otherwise known as 'Bitch', of the Undersiders.

<><>​

Three Hours Ago

"The plan is simple," Bakuda had told her conscripts, enjoying the way they eyed her nervously. "You all spread out around the area where they've been seen the most. When one of you spots them, you call in the alert and follow them. The rest of us converge on that area. At best, you keep tabs on them. At worst, you engage them until I get there with Oni Lee. We'll end the fight. Any questions?"

There were none. It seemed that her 'no fucking moronic questions' policy was finally showing its worth. It had only taken two guys melted, one turned to glass, and a fourth blown into pink mist before the others decided that they could keep their questions to themselves. About fucking time.

<><>​

Now

A male voice came over the radio. "This is Fifty-One. I've got a view of her. She's turning west on to Colson."

Bakuda finished screwing the grenade together and handed it back over her shoulder. Oni Lee took it and carefully slotted it into the box that held the rest of them. The Tinker took the mic from the dash once more. "Follow her, don't lose her, but for fuck's sake don't alert her. Keep an eye on those damn dogs. If they start growing, assume she's seen you."

There was a map stashed in the centre console; pulling it out, she unfolded it part way, then looked up to check on the street sign. Stabbing a finger at the map, she shouted, "Down this way, then right on to Hawthorne!" Behind her gas mask, her grin was downright predatory. After I get Bitch, I get the Undersiders. Make an example of them, then bust Lung out. By the time I'm finished, nobody is gonna be messing with the ABB.

The jeep took the corner on to Hawthorne at a moderately unsafe speed; she grabbed for a handhold. Suspiciously, she glanced at the driver for any sign of amusement at her expense, but he was completely focused on the road. He knows I want to get there fast. Okay, fine, he gets to live for now.

"Lee!" she shouted over the roar of the engine. Turning her head, she saw the painted mask angle in her direction. He didn't answer, but the creepy bastard rarely spoke. "Just remember, we're capturing her, not killing her!"

Bakuda was not great at reading body language, so it was probably just her imagination that made her see disappointment in his posture. Still, it was important that he followed the plan, so she forged on. "We're capturing her alive so we can find out where the Undersiders have stashed the money from the bank job. That way, we can set up an ambush for them. Once we've got them all, then we can kill them. Got it?" She'd explained it all before, seven times, but the guy did tend to be a little forgetful when it came to orders about not killing people. Or maybe he just liked stabbing and blowing up people a little too much. Which she could totally understand.

After a long moment, Oni Lee nodded. Bakuda settled back in her seat, satisfied. I'll give him a couple of them to play cat and mouse with after all this is over. That Tattle-bitch can go to the farm. The rest I'll try out some new bombs on. I'm interested in seeing if that Vista bomb really does what I think it will, and how long someone can live after it goes off.

Picking up the mic again, she clicked the button. "Fifty-One, do you still have her in sight?"

The answer was a lazy drawl. "Sure, I've got her in sight. Fat and happy and stupid, still walking down Colson."

Bakuda frowned in mixed anger and confusion. I trained my people better than this. The way Fifty-One was talking bordered on insolence. Either that, or a death wish. They all knew she didn't just punish insolence; she made sure it never happened again. She grinned under the gas mask. Making an example of her minions was the fun part of the job. But they still had an Undersider to catch. "Seventy-Three, can you still see Bitch?"

"Yes, I can see Bitch." Seventy-Three's voice was calm and collected. "Still on Colson. Near Kingswood."

"Good. Stay on her. We're just coming up to … French. We'll use that to cut her off."

"Will do."

"Bakuda, this is Sixteen. I'm on Colson, near Kingswood. I can't see anyone at all."

Gritting her teeth, she brought the mic up to her mouth again. "Sixteen, rendezvous with Fifty-One or Seventy-Three. They'll be able to point her out."

"Uh … this is Twenty-Five. I'm, uh, on Colson, too. I think I can see Sixteen, but I can't see anyone with dogs."

"Wow, are you guys blind? Fifty-One, here. Bitch is right there. Three dogs. Are you sure you can't see her?"

Before Bakuda could muster another reply, the jeep hurtled around another corner. This time, she was braced for it. However, up ahead, there was someone who shouldn't have been there. A stocky auburn-haired girl, wearing camo pants, heavy boots, a flannel shirt tied around her waist, and a man's sleeveless undershirt. Bakuda knew exactly who she was. The dog girl, Bitch. Mounted on one enormously enlarged lizard-rhino-dog, with two others flanking her, running directly toward the oncoming jeep. Grue was mounted on one of the other dogs, trailing a cloud of blackness. On the third, Tattletale and Regent rode double. The former raised a radio to her mouth. "Seventy-Three here. Surprise."

Bakuda's mind, too stunned to properly encompass the situation, threw out fragments of thought.

What the fuck

She shouldn't be here

They lied

Then realisation sank in. It was a trap.

The driver immediately hit the brakes. Bakuda was already holding on, so she didn't face-plant the windshield. As the jeep rocked to a halt, she unsnapped her seat belt and pulled herself to a standing position, snatching up the grenade launcher. Bitch was about twenty yards away and closing fast. Bakuda raised the launcher to her shoulder and sighted in on the chest of the lead dog. Fuck it. All at once works for me.

As she was about to squeeze the trigger, the boy in the Ren Faire costume gestured. Her arm convulsed of its own accord, jerking the launcher around until it pointed straight down between her feet. Then it fired.

Fucking Masters.

Her last coherent thought was that she hadn't thought to put a minimum arming distance on her pain bombs.

<><>​

Tattletale

Random queries continued to spill out of the radio that Lisa still carried; Alec had since discarded his. They cautiously circled around the jeep, looking outward for signs of danger. There were only two people in the vehicle.

Lisa looked more closely. Bakuda and the driver were both twisted into almost impossible poses, with only minor twitching showing signs of life. She'd seen the blast go off, with all three caught in it. Oni Lee was now gone, leaving a pile of ash behind.

"Will he be back?" That was Grue. "And what was that?"

Lisa let her powers expand and take in the scene. "Pain bomb," she reported. "Causes intense agony throughout the central nervous system. He teleported away after the blast hit, but I doubt he'll be much good for anything else for a while."

"Right." Grue looked at Bakuda and the driver. Lisa could see that the latter's teeth were clenched in a rictus of suffering. "Well, shit. We've captured a supervillain. What do we do now?"


End of Part Seventeen

Part Eighteen

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea


Part Eighteen: Whatever Happened to Alexandria?


Friday Morning

April 15, 2011

"What do you mean, Bakuda's been seen?" Brian stuck his head out of the kitchen nook. "Alexandria herself said she was going to take care of that shit!" He searched Alec's face for signs of amusement, and found none.

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger," the younger boy said, sounding defensive. "I was just trolling – uh, browsing, the PHO boards and I saw a mention of her. Thought you should know."

"Alec, what the fuck have I told you about using my laptop without permission?" demanded Lisa, storming along the passageway from her room. "If you've messed up my settings …"

"Hey, chill, chill." Regent hastily put the laptop on the couch beside him. "You left it open, so I thought I'd check the boards."

"Using my damn username," snapped Lisa. "I swear, if you've gotten me banned, you're never going to sleep again."

Alec rolled his eyes. "Oh, do tell."

Lisa stomped over to the couch and snatched up the laptop. "Cut your shit. And what about Bakuda?"

Alec put on an annoying whining tone that made Brian want to punch him. It was probably deliberate, too. "Briiian, she's making promises she's not keeping. Make her stop."

Brian had had enough. He stepped out of the kitchen and advanced on Alec. "I'll make you stop. What was that about Bakuda?"

If he hadn't heard Alec's aggravated sigh a dozen times before, he would have sworn it was genuine. "Okay, fine. Bagrat says she's been seen out and about. He might be pretentious as fuck, but that guy generally knows what he's talking about."

Lisa scanned the screen. Brian watched the lines between her eyes deepen. "Oh shit. This is fucking bad. Legit. Alexandria was supposed to be taking care of her and Oni Lee."

"What's bad?" asked Regent. "That Bakuda took down Alexandria or that she'll be probably coming after us next, like that creepy guy in Panacea's head said?"

"Yes," said Brian flatly. "They're both really, really bad." A thought struck him. "And she was supposed to be going after Oni Lee, too. If she went after Bakuda first …"

Lisa grimaced. "They're both still around. Great."

Brian took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. "Uh, right. Okay. What do we do about this?"

"Do about what?" asked Rachel, entering the common area; three dogs followed along behind her. "What the fuck's going on?"

"Alexandria didn't get Bakuda," Brian informed her. "She'll still be coming after us. And if she is, then so's Oni Lee." How the fuck did she stop Alexandria? Did she kill her?

"Okay." Rachel went into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee.

"Wait, wait," demanded Alec. "'Okay'? Is that it? Is that all you've got to say?"

"Okay, we take her down ourselves." Rachel's tone was matter of fact. "She's a threat." She took a drink of the coffee. "If something's a threat, you either run away or take it down. I say we take her down."

"How the fuck is that a good plan?" demanded Alec. "A bomb Tinker is after us, so we go after her? Are you fucking dense?"

Rachel took a step toward him, her face darkening with anger. "Don't call me fucking stupid."

"I didn't call you stupid, I called you dense."

The auburn haired girl clenched her fists. "Don't call me dense, either."

"Okay, fine, you're not dense." Alec raised his eyes to the ceiling. "But in what way is that a good plan?" Brian wanted to chime in with agreement, but he didn't want to be agreeing with Alec right then, so he stayed silent.

"Actually, it's doable." Lisa spoke without looking at either of them. "Amy's friend gave us some very valuable intel yesterday. We know that you, Rachel, get captured when you go out for a walk. Bakuda grabs you, forces you to show her where the money is, then sets an ambush for the rest of us. So you go out, we follow along, and when Bakuda goes to capture you, we ambush her."

"Wait, so Rachel gets used as bait in the trap?" Brian didn't like the sound of that. "That's really risky. Rachel, if you're not comfortable with that …"

"Fuck it." Rachel shrugged. "She probably won't ever let up. So we deal with her."

Regent reached forward and turned the game console on. "You're all fucked in the head. If someone's on your ass, the only reasonable course of action is to fuck off and find somewhere else. Ask anyone from Kyushu."

"Not necessarily." By now, Lisa's grin was in what Brian privately referred to as 'run for the hills' mode. Someone's going to suffer, and hopefully it's not me. "I'm going to need a map."

<><>​

Lisa tapped her finger on the map of Brockton Bay which Brian had located and spread over the table. "Here's the best place for Bakuda to be waiting. It's in ABB territory, and it's on a major intersection. So we draw her to a location of our choosing."

"How do you know she'll be waiting?" Alec sounded bored, leaning on the table with his elbows.

"Because she wants to take us down." Lisa's tone was matter of fact. "This is a big thing for her. We did the Ruby Dreams thing, Lung came after us for that, and he got taken down, in part by us. If she doesn't do this, the ABB's rep is tanked."

Brian decided to get back to the current question. "So how do we do this?"

Lisa looked smug. "We use her own assets against her."

"Hey, I'm good," objected Regent, "but even I can't make someone's ti- ow!" He rubbed the back of his head, where Brian had smacked him. "What was that for?"

"Behave," growled Brian. "Lisa, you were saying?"

Lisa ignored the interruption. "She's gonna have spotters out. Probably with radios. We locate a couple of those …"

<><>​

A Little Later

Danielle Liu leaned against the wall of the alley and tried not to scratch at the scar at the base of her neck. It was difficult not to, especially when it itched. She didn't remember much about getting the implant, except for the pain and the screaming. Her own screaming, mainly.

I still can't believe my own brother turned me over to Bakuda, she thought bitterly. Okay, so he had one too, but fuck, he could have lied or something. The betrayal still hurt, almost as much as the knowledge that she now had a bomb in her fucking head. One that Bakuda could set off just by thinking about it. And it might not even kill me quickly. She had seen the look on the face of the one guy as he melted in front of her. It had been neither painless nor quick.

I should be at work right now. Secretary for a legal firm wasn't exactly the dream job she had yearned for all of her life, but she would have given a lot to be there instead of where she was. Lurking in an alley, clutching a two-way radio, hoping that Bakuda wouldn't simply decide to make an example out of her for some bullshit reason, or no reason at all.

A movement caught her eye; she moved to the entrance of the alleyway. There was someone walking down the street, on the far side of the road. She was stocky, auburn, dressed like a man. That fitted the description of Bitch well enough. But even as she lifted the radio to her mouth, she paused. She's not leading any dogs. That's not right. Bitch would have dogs with her. It must be someone who looks the same, but isn't her.

Before she could continue the thought, an unnatural blackness rolled over her. Hands grabbed her from behind, and she was yanked back into the alleyway. She yelped, dropping the radio as she tried to fight off her attacker. Unfortunately, any cries for help she might have made were muffled by the blackness, barely reaching her own ears. Whoever it was, they were both taller and stronger than her. She struggled anyway, wishing just for once that the common stereotype about Asians applied; being a martial-arts expert would have been so handy right then. But before she could even complete that thought, an arm went around her throat and began to squeeze …

<><>​

As Brian lowered the unconscious young woman to the ground, Lisa picked up the radio. She fiddled with it for a moment, then nodded. "Excellent. The fall didn't damage it."

"So what's the callsign?" asked Brian. "If we're gonna be gaslighting them, we need to know what they're using to identify themselves."

"If there's this many of them, Bakuda won't worry about giving them individual codenames," Lisa countered. She turned the radio around to show him the number 73 scratched into the casing. "This is what they'll be using."

"Wow," Alec commented, failing to sound impressed. "That's so original. I think I might faint."

"So can we do this now?" asked Rachel, stomping into the alley. Brutus, Judas and Angelica trotted forward to greet her, wagging their tails happily.

"Not yet," Lisa said. "We need to grab one more for the best effect."

<><>​

Just a Little Later

Joey Chou considered himself smarter than the average gangster. He had found a perch on a rooftop next to a fire escape , giving himself a bird's-eye view of the street below. This way, he'd be far less likely to miss Bitch if she came by. He shuddered to think what Bakuda might do to him if she did pass him by and he missed her. So he dedicated his time to scanning the street, over and over again.

So long as this fucking thing is in my head, I do what Bakuda wants. I really don't care what happens to some white chick. I'm looking after Joey Chou first, last and always.

Leaning forward, he scanned the street again. There were a few pedestrians, but none that fitted the description of Bitch. However, there was someone walking three dogs on leads. From this angle, he couldn't see her face, but he could see that her blonde hair was done up in some sort of braid. Could that be a wig?

For a moment, he considered it, then decided that she simply wasn't stocky enough to be Bitch. Also, her clothes were well-fitting and feminine. From what he understood about Bitch, she either didn't care about that sort of thing or she was a dyke. Not her, then. Relaxing, he began to scan the street again.

Footsteps crunched in the gravel behind him. "Excuse me. Building super. You're not allowed to be up here." It was a deep, commanding voice.

Oh, for fuck's sake. He began to turn, already opening his mouth to explain to this interfering asshole that he was ABB and if the guy didn't want -

The sceptre jabbed him in the middle of the chest, making him convulse from the electrical shock. His muscular control over his own body totally disrupted, he crumpled, his radio beating him to the rooftop by a narrow margin.

<><>​

Brian turned the twitching ABB guy on to his stomach and began to secure his hands behind his back. "Seems to me," he observed, "that you like tasing these guys altogether too much."

"What's not to enjoy?" Regent retorted, twirling the sceptre in his hand. "They put on a show, then they fall down."

"If I had to explain it, you'd never understand." Reaching over, Brian picked up the discarded radio. "Here we go. You're … let's see, now." He turned the radio around. "Number Fifty-One."

Regent struck a pose. "I am not a number!" he proclaimed. "I am a free man!"

Brian shook his head as he got up from beside the supine gangster. "Seriously? That show's older than both of us put together. And I do not believe that you've ever watched it."

"Not deliberately, no." Regent grimaced slightly as he took the radio. "But when my father decided to catch the reruns … well, let's just say that nobody asked him if he could change the channel."

There really wasn't anything that Brian could say to that. I'm sorry your dad's a massive douche who Masters everyone he meets? It seemed a little inadequate.

"Now can we do this?" demanded Rachel, somewhat to Brian's relief.

Brian grinned. "Yes. Now we can do this."

<><>​

Just a Little Later Again

Lisa took a deep breath and pressed the button on the side of the radio. "This is Number Seventy-Three, on the corner of West and Fairfield." As she spoke, she considered the chance that the girl had been someone that Bakuda knew personally. She put a bomb in her head. Pretty sure that means they weren't close.

There was a pause, then a mechanical voice crackled from the speaker. "Bakuda. What've you got, Seventy-Three?"

"I can see her." Lisa grinned at where Rachel was standing by her dogs, then continued. "The dog girl. Bitch. She's walking north along Fairfield with three dogs. She's not looking at me."

They were standing on a rooftop, back from the edge, well away from either West Street or Fairfield Drive. Down below was French Avenue, which was where they needed to be.

"If she knew you were reporting to me, her dogs would be all over you. Bakuda to everyone in that area. Converge, but don't get too close. We don't want to tip her off."

Lisa listened as the acknowledgements trickled in, then nodded to the others. "Hook, line and sinker. Alec, give it about a minute, then make your call."

"Sure thing." Alec fiddled with his radio for a moment, then looked over at her. "Think this'll really work?" She didn't have to use her power to know that he was still dubious.

"If there's one thing I've learned over and over in this business," Lisa said cheerfully, "it's that people see and hear what they expect to be there. Give them something plausible to look at, and they'll never question it."

"How do you know she'll drive up this street?" demanded Rachel. "It's not where you told her I was."

"No, it's not," Lisa agreed. "But from where she'll be starting, coming up this way will be the fastest way to cut you off, from what Alec will be telling her." She pointed at Regent. "Okay, showtime."

Alec nodded, and clicked his radio button. "This is Fifty-One. I've got a view of her. She's turning west on to Colson."

"Follow her, don't lose her, but for fuck's sake don't alert her. Keep an eye on those damn dogs. If they start growing, assume she's seen you."

Lisa released a pent-up breath that she hadn't realised that she was holding. Despite the bomb Tinker's mechanical monotone, she could still ascertain basic facts. One very important one was that Bakuda was still buying their ruse.

Regent was looking at her. She nodded encouragingly. "She's still fat and happy," she said quietly. "As far as she's concerned, Rachel doesn't have a clue."

"Shit, this would really have worked if we hadn't been warned, wouldn't it?" Grue sounded unhappy. "We had no idea how far they were willing to go to get at us."

Lisa grinned at him. "Yeah, but we know where they are and the opposite doesn't apply." She glanced at Regent. "We could lead her in circles all day, or just fade away every time they get close."

Regent shook his head. "Fuck that noise. Let's see this through."

The surprise was evident in Grue's voice. "Really? Not so long ago, you were all about running away."

"That was before I saw how Lisa was jerking her all over the landscape," Alec said. "I wanna see how this turns out."

"Oni Lee's involved," Lisa warned them. "It could still go bad."

Regent shook his head. "I still have no idea why nobody's sniped that bastard from three hundred yards away."

"No kill order, for one thing," Grue pointed out.

"So what?" Regent spread his hands. "Who says it has to be a sanctioned kill? This is Oni Lee. He's already got a body count of his own."

"Yeah, but -" began Grue.

"Fifty-One, do you still have her in sight?"

Regent lifted his radio and replied in a lazy drawl. "Sure, I've got her in sight. Fat and happy and stupid, still walking down Colson."

Lisa face-palmed. He repeated what I said! And that's sure to piss her off. "Jeez, I hope you didn't -"

"Seventy-Three, can you still see Bitch?"

Rapidly, she composed herself. "Yes, I can see Bitch. Still on Colson. Near Kingswood."

"Good. Stay on her. We're just coming up to … French. We'll use that to cut her off."

Lisa keyed her radio, forcing herself to sound calm and collected. "Will do." Just as she was starting to relax again, another voice sounded on the radio.

"Bakuda, this is Sixteen. I'm on Colson, near Kingswood. I can't see anyone at all."

Bakuda spoke next. "Sixteen, rendezvous with Fifty-One or Seventy-Three. They'll be able to point her out."

"That doesn't sound good," Grue said, sounding worried.

"No time," Lisa snapped. "Everyone, mount up, now. We've got about sixty seconds to be in place."

As they scrambled on to their selected mounts, the radio crackled to life again. "Uh … this is Twenty-Five. I'm, uh, on Colson, too. I think I can see Sixteen, but I can't see anyone with dogs."

Lisa was still climbing on to Angelica when Regent clicked his radio on again. "Wow, are you guys blind? Fifty-One, here. Bitch is right there. Three dogs. Are you sure you can't see her?"

He dropped the radio so that he could hang on. Lisa had already clipped hers to her belt. She shouted, "Go, go, go!"

Rachel whistled loudly, and the dogs surged forward. The next few seconds were a terrifying blur; one by one, the dogs leaped to the roof of a one-storey building, and then to the ground. As jarring as it was, they landed on the pavement without serious incident; at a nod from Lisa, Rachel sent the dogs galloping down the street.

A moment later, a jeep came hurtling around the corner, straightened up from a wild fishtail, and roared toward them. Lisa pulled the radio off her belt; lifting it to her mouth, she said smugly, "Seventy-Three here. Surprise."

The driver of the jeep slammed on the brakes; the rugged vehicle screeched to a halt, greyish smoke pouring off of the tyres. In the passenger seat, a costumed figure stood up, raising something that looked like a really big gun in their direction.

As the dogs pounded closer to their intended prey, Lisa looked down the barrel of what her power told her was a forty-millimetre grenade launcher. Behind her, Regent moved; through her power, she got the impression that he was making some sort of gesture. He's screwing with her aim. In response, the barrel of the launcher dipped dramatically, until it was pointed straight down inside the vehicle. There was a gush of smoke as it fired, then a translucent golden globe radiated out from that spot. Right then, Lisa decided to forgive Alec for any transgressions for about, say, the next week.

Rachel whistled another command, and the dogs split to the left and right. Brutus and Judas went left, while Angelica went right. All of the dogs avoided the rapidly-expanding hemisphere; even as they passed by, it got out to about a ten yard diameter, then popped like a soap bubble. At about this point, Oni Lee collapsed into ash.

He jumped too late and got caught in the effect. Whatever the effect was, Lisa wasn't quite sure. However, she was glad that she'd missed it. Knowing Bakuda, that wasn't a happy-friendly-hug type of grenade.

Guiding Angelica back around in a circle, she sent the dog trotting toward the stopped jeep. "Keep an eye out!" she shouted. "Oni Lee might still be around!"

While the others scanned the area, she paid closer attention to Bakuda and the guy in the driver's seat. They were alive, but not in a good condition. It wasn't hard to figure out what had happened to them. Pain, and lots of it.

<><>​

Brian

"What do we do now?" He was asking more out of reflex than anything else.

"If we just leave her, she'll keep coming after us." Lisa wasn't answering the question so much as thinking out loud.

"Okay, why don't we -" began Regent.

Lisa spoke over him. "We can't kill her, because unwritten rules."

"She wanted to kill us," objected Rachel. She was leaning forward on Brutus, her hands flexing slightly. Wants to give the order anyway. We can't stop her if she does.

"No, she's right," Grue put in. "If we killed her once she was helpless, that opens us up to everyone else coming down on us like a ton of bricks." He paused, then went on reflectively, "And I'm not sure that Taylor would really approve anyway."

"She wouldn't," Lisa agreed immediately. "It would alienate her. She'd think she couldn't trust us. Also, Amy's friend wants Bakuda alive, remember?"

"Well, okay, fine." Lisa couldn't see Regent's expression, but she knew he was rolling his eyes. "What do we do with her, if we can't kill her? Because I'm not letting her go."

"Way I see it, we've got one option …" began Grue.

Lisa slid down off of Angelica and went over to the still-running jeep. "I agree," she said, checking the driver's pulse. It was rapid but strong. He twitched when she touched his neck. She turned the vehicle off, then moved on.

"Two options," Regent offered.

"What's the other one? And we already agreed not to kill her." Grue's voice was firm.

"No," Lisa stated as she rounded the jeep. "We're not letting you hijack her." A small part of her mind protested. Having a Tinker at our disposal would be very useful. She grimaced. Until the other capes in Brockton Bay realised that we were holding her in slavery. And then we're dead.

Again, Regent put on that deliberately-annoying tone. "I never get to do anything fun."

Lisa ignored him, pulling off Bakuda's left boot and sock. After that, she carefully removed the toe rings she found there. For good measure, she appropriated the woman's goggles as well.

"Unmasking …" Grue reminded her warningly.

"This is what she needs to set her bombs off," Lisa pointed out. "You don't leave Tinker shit in reach of the Tinker." Each of the rings went into a separate pouch in her belt. The goggles she hung around her neck. Then she started zip-tying the woman's wrists together, attaching them to a handhold.

"So what are we gonna do with her?" Rachel sounded impatient.

"That's easy," Lisa said cheerfully, pulling out her phone.

<><>​

One Phone Call Later

Colin slowed down when he saw the jeep. It was slewed across one lane, part-way into another. From what he could see, it held two people. The call said Bakuda and some ABB flunky. A flick of his eyes brought up the latest image of Bakuda, and he compared it with what he could see. She's not wearing goggles, but apart from that …

"Armsmaster to Dragon. I'm on site. The tip seems accurate. One jeep, two occupants. Visual inspection suggests that one of them is Bakuda. They appear to be unconscious." Another flick of his eyes toggled a different visual mode. "Infrared scan indicates that they're alive."

"Copy that." The little green dot in the upper-left field of his HUD showed that she was streaming his helmet feed. "That's what it looks like to me, too."

Parking the bike, Armsmaster swung his armoured leg over the saddle with the ease of long practice. "Moving closer to investigate and apprehend."

"Understood. Be careful."

"I'm always careful." He unracked the halberd from his back and made it extend to its full length in one easy movement. Using the HUD, he set it to stun-shock mode and advanced on the vehicle. Neither occupant reacted to his approach; once he got around to Bakuda's side of the jeep, he paused to examine the situation more closely.

"Bakuda and the driver seem to be either unconscious or faking it very convincingly. Their hands have been zip-tied to the interior of the vehicle. There is a pile of ash in the rear of the jeep, along with what appears to be a great deal of Tinkertech ordnance. Do you concur?"

"I do. The ash seems to be of the same consistency as that which Oni Lee leaves behind. Did you see the zip-lock bags and the note taped to the dashboard?"

Colin had not. He swung his gaze to the dashboard; as Dragon had pointed out, there were two small plastic bags, as well as a note, attached to the dashboard with professional grade duct tape. Each bag held a metal ring; one of the rings was somewhat larger than the other. The note was brief and to the point: Don't let the rings touch. Look in the glove compartment. It was signed with the letters Tt.

Removing the bags from the dash, Colin brought them close to his visor, careful to not even bring the plastic into contact. The close-up inspection revealed minute details, resembling circuit boards, inscribed into the metal of the rings. "Dragon, does that look like Tinker work to you?"

"It certainly does. I would infer that we are looking at Bakuda's detonation trigger, and that it was indeed Tattletale who called it in. Look at Bakuda's left foot."

"I swear, you're better at using my helmet sensors than I am." But his grumbling was good-natured as he looked down. Sure enough, the bomb Tinker's boot lay next to her foot, a sock draped over the top if it. Around the base of the big toe was a groove; Colin would have bet his halberd that the larger of the two rings would fit neatly into that groove. "So. Rings on toes. She selects the bomb somehow ..."

Dragon must have realised the next step at the same time as he did, because they spoke in unison. "Using the HUD in the goggles."

"Exactly," he said. "And then she crosses her toes to set off the one she's chosen."

"Which means that the goggles must hold the data for where all the bombs she's set are. And possibly the codes to disarm them."

Colin popped the glove compartment. Inside, along with a roll of the same duct tape and the expected goggles, was another note with just one word on it: Hi!

Grabbing his halberd, he spun around, raising the weapon defensively.

"Colin, what's the matter? What happened?"

"That note means I'm being watched," he said tensely. "Nobody ever leaves something like that unless they've got you under observation." He scanned the rooftops on both sides of the street.

"It could be just a ploy to mess with your head," she suggested. "My analysis of Tattletale's actions to date suggests that this would not be out of character for her."

"True," he agreed, but he did not relax. Instead, he activated the polarisation for the visor. "However, there are more effective ways of doing that. I think – ah." His eyes narrowed as he spotted something protruding over the parapet of a building opposite. Sunlight glinting from a window on a taller building made it almost impossible to see with the naked eye, but the polarisation handily defeated that. "And there they are. Correct me if I'm wrong, but that's the top of someone's head."

"You're not wrong," Dragon admitted. "Oh, and they just waved." The slim arm was clad in purple. "That's the colour of Tattletale's costume, isn't it?"

She was right, of course. Activating the grapple-line mode of his halberd, Colin pointed it at the edge of the rooftop. A press of his thumb caused the capacitors to discharge into the high-powered electromagnets, launching the grappling head toward its target. It struck, clamping on to the ageing brickwork. He triggered the rewind function, locking his gauntlets on to the shaft of the halberd as it yanked him upward.

His boots struck the side of the wall first, then the halberd reconnected with its head. Latching more tightly on to the brickwork, it swivelled so that the shaft swung up and over, depositing him on the rooftop with relative ease. He turned to face the villains that awaited him, the halberd releasing its grip on the edge of the roof and re-purposing itself as an offensive weapon.

It was times like this, he decided, that made all the hard work and long hours in the lab truly worth it.

Four parahumans faced him. He recognised them all from their file photos; Grue, Tattletale, Regent and Hellhound. The latter had three enormous lizard-rhino-dog monsters behind her; he'd seen photos of those, too. For a moment, he wondered about the absence of their newest member, but then recalled that it was a school day. No large swarms of insects seemed to be in evidence, so he decided that he was safe from that quarter, at least for the moment.

"You gonna fight me?" he called out. A flick of the eyes activated his HUD lie detector.

"Wasn't in the plan," Tattletale replied with an irritating grin. She wore a skin-tight lavender costume with an eye design worked into the chest area, and a domino mask. "We just thought we'd hand over Bakuda and go on our merry way."

TRUE, the detector reported.

"Bakuda's secured," he replied shortly. "And you're still wanted for the bank job, and for being accessories to the murder of a PRT officer. At the very least." He hefted the halberd. "Make this easy on yourselves. Give up now."

"The bank job was at the behest of Coil," she replied. "You know, that PRT official? Yeah, he was a supervillain. So whoever offed him did you a huge favour. Plugged a massive security leak. Also, that Amber Alert that was due to come out today, where the mayor's niece got kidnapped? That was Coil, too. We didn't know we were just a diversion. But once we found out, we fixed our mess. We saved the girl and got her back to her parents."

"And Calvert?" he asked. His detector was reading TRUTH on every statement, but he wanted to shake things up in case she was quoting from a prepared script. If she sees it as a story, then she might not give appropriate reactions to truth or falsehood.

She gave him a dry look. "Coil wasn't going to give up, and he wasn't going to go away. What happened was for the best. Trust me on this. The PRT would not have looked good if it ever came out." Her grin became even more irritating. "You're welcome. Again."

His detector had not flickered from its TRUTH reading even once. She believed every word implicitly. Maybe that's her power. To make even herself believe her lies. "You're Tattletale. The so-called psychic. Why should I believe you?"

"Because you've got a lie detector in your helmet," the lavender-clad villain pointed out quite accurately. TRUTH. "From what I've been told, anyway." TRUTH.

Who the hell would have told her?

"Armsmaster, how did she know?"

He didn't bother denying it. "I've reason to believe that it can be spoofed. People have done it, recently." The bug girl. Skitter.

"No." She stared directly at his visor. "One person. And that person was telling the truth, then." TRUTH. "You were the one who changed things." TRUTH.

What – I – how … He tried to rein in his spinning thoughts. Did I make her into a villain?

"What's she talking about? What did you do?"

"I'll tell you later," he sub-vocalised, without moving his lips.

Although he thought that he'd been careful, Tattletale grinned again, then waved. "Whoever it is that you're talking to, say hi for me."

Dragon's voice was measured. "She is very perceptive."

So I'm learning.

But Tattletale wasn't done. "Oh, and by the way, what he's going to tell you later is that he was a dick to someone we know, who wanted to be a hero, and now that person has gone the villain route."

TRUTH.

"Oh, Colin." Dragon's voice was a sigh. "What have you done?"

He drew himself up. "I did what I thought was right at the time."

Tattletale snorted. "Like no cape in the history of the world has ever said that before. Nobody ever sets out to do the wrong thing. That bit just comes naturally, after a whole lot of bad decisions."

TRUTH.

Gritting his teeth, Colin hefted the halberd, double-checking that it was set to a non-lethal stun mode. He also deactivated the lie detector; it was starting to get on his nerves. "Be that as it may, you're still wanted. I'm taking you all in. Do yourselves a favour and don't resist. It'll go better for you that way."

Each of the teenagers opposite him, bar Tattletale, tensed up at his words. Regent raised his sceptre, while blackness billowed out around Grue. Tattletale held up her hand, still grinning that infuriating grin. "Nope. You're gonna have to put us on the back burner. There's a more important matter that you've got to deal with, and any fight with us would waste precious time."

He gritted his teeth again, reactivating the detector. She was really very annoying. "And why would that be?"

She pointed toward his belt. "Those goggles. Have you checked them out yet?"

He couldn't resist glancing down, to where Bakuda's goggles hung from his belt. He didn't even remember putting them there after opening the glove compartment. "Not yet, but I've deduced that they're how she picks out targets. Is that the important information you were going to tell me?"

Her air of insufferable smugness intensified. "Nope. The information is this. Bakuda was planning to create a massive diversion so that Oni Lee could bust Lung out of the PRT building." TRUTH.

The grin fell off her face. "She's got bombs planted all over the city, and those goggles can help you find them. If they get set off, we're looking at hundreds of casualties. And we don't know that some of them might not have been set to go off on a timer already. And there's one more thing."

TRUTH.

As the detector flashed green yet again, he felt a chill run down his back. "What's that?"

"A lot of those bombs are designed to kill one person only. The person they're implanted in." To make her meaning crystal clear, she turned her head and tapped the back of her neck, up under the skull. "Right there. Innocents. Parents. Children. It doesn't matter to her."

TRUTH.

It was as if she knew every button to press to get his attention. Fucking Thinkers. But even if she was spoofing his lie detector, he knew that he couldn't ignore the warning. "Very well. But I will find you again. And if you're lying to me …"

"I'm not. We're done here." She began to turn away, then paused. "Oh, and one more thing."

He was beginning to hate that phrase. "What?"

Atypically, she hesitated. "There's something … you're going to want to keep it on the down-low. Alexandria was supposed to go after Bakuda last night. Bakuda's here today. What do you think that might mean?"

Without waiting for an answer, she turned and headed for the smallest of the three mutated monsters. The others followed, more warily. Colin let them go; his entire attention was on the lie detector readout. The last question hadn't registered, but the statements before it had.

TRUTH.

<><>​

Thursday Night

April 14, 2011

As long and distinguished criminal careers went, Bakuda's … wasn't. She had gotten away from the debacle at Cornell more by luck than good judgement. Not long afterward, she had been approached and recruited by Lung, who apparently didn't care that she was only half Japanese, or that she'd been born in Ohio, or that her maternal grandparents had emigrated to the United States just after the Second World War.

It was one of the reasons that she wore the mask; while it made her sound creepy and robotic, it also erased all traces of accent from her voice, so that those of Lung's flunkies who took stock in such things wouldn't know that she couldn't even speak Japanese.

She hadn't been at Cornell to learn the language of her mother's parents. Nor had she been intending to start a villainous career. But after she had triggered with powers – and the less said about that, the better – she had done the best she could with what she had.

It hadn't been enough to get everything she wanted, but at least she had evaded capture. And learned some very valuable lessons in the process. And so, when Lung offered her a large amount of money to make use of her Tinker talents for the ABB, she had hastened to put some of it toward the most intensive workshop security that she could manage.

Thus, when the HUD in her goggles flared to life with multiple warnings, she immediately knew that she had a real problem.

There was no overt warning; the door hadn't opened, and she hadn't heard footsteps. The pressure-plates in the floor were quiescent, so nobody was sneaking up behind her. But there was someone in the workshop with her, all the same.

To begin with, the IR sensors were certain that a human-shaped object had just appeared in the workshop behind her. In addition, the CO2 filters were reporting an increased workload, and the laser scanners were painting a human shape closing with her position. A flying human shape, one who had apparently just teleported into the most secure Tinker lab in Brockton Bay.

The bomb Tinker turned fast, a half-assembled trap-mine in her hands. Hovering in the air just a few yards away, heavy cape draping over her shoulders in a way that would set the most stylish parahumans to weeping with envy, was every villain's nightmare.

Alexandria.

"Back off, bitch!" snapped Bakuda, knowing that the mask would translate it into a mechanical monotone but not caring. She brandished the uncompleted mine in the flying woman's direction while beginning a retreat of her own. "If I set this off, it'll do something unpredictable. Kill you, kill me, create a miniature black hole … who knows what it'll do? You want to be responsible for something like that?"

Alexandria drifted forward, slowly but inexorably closing the distance. "I think you're bluffing," she said flatly. "You're not showing the appropriate respect for something that volatile."

Shit. Bakuda didn't know how she knew that, but it was true. So much for the goddamn mask wiping all stress out of my voice. Which was the other purpose she had designed it for. She backed up a little faster, angling to put a bench between her and the hero.

"Now, put it down, carefully," Alexandria went on. Bakuda wished she knew how the hero managed to pack so much menace into just five words. Even Lung required overt threats to put the fear of God into her so thoroughly. "Do not use your fingertips. Do not press any panic buttons. If I see you attempt to press anything, I will come over there, and I will break your arms."

Using the heels of her hands, Bakuda put the mine down on an empty section of her bench and kept backing up. Behind her goggles, she was busy with her HUD. "Why haven't you already done that, then?"

Alexandria's tone was calm and steady. "Because I'm fully aware that I'm facing off a Tinker with a very destructive speciality in her own workshop, and I'm fully aware of the potential for disaster if I happen to cause you to panic. I don't want you to panic. I want you to listen. And to keep your hands in full view. Thank you."

Under her mask, Bakuda grinned viciously as she raised her hands once more. I don't need my hands to set shit off, but you don't know that, do you? "Listen?" she repeated. "To what?" She backed up to another bench.

"I want you to work for the Protectorate," Alexandria stated flatly. "You'll get a salary and all the resources you need."

Okay, now she's just bullshitting me, trying to get me off guard. Bakuda eyed the benches, their contents, and the relative positions of Alexandria and herself within the room. Not perfect, but it'll have to do.

"Yeah, sure – like fuck I will!" she spat, turning to dive and roll under the bench behind her.

"Bakuda!" shouted Alexandria, lofting into the air to pass over the benches separating them, just as Bakuda had anticipated. She already had the HUD commands queued up, and her toes crossed within her boot. I am gonna have to rebuild so much shit.

The first bomb to go off was the black-hole grenade, behind Alexandria and to her left. It immediately started sucking in everything in its vicinity. The bench it had been sitting on went first, crumpling and crushing itself into an absurdly tiny space. Thousands of dollars worth of components and finished bombs followed very shortly, sucked into the point-mass. Caught in the powerful pseudo-gravitational surge, Alexandria was momentarily dragged backward, before she poured on the power and began to struggle forward again.

Keeping track of her progress via the workshop sensors – those not being distorted by the baby black hole's intense gravity field – Bakuda was impressed. But not so impressed that she didn't set off the other bomb just as the Triumvirate hero passed over it. This one was the time-freeze grenade. More shit to rebuild. Oh, well. Better it than me.

As far as Bakuda could tell, Alexandria had no idea what hit her; one moment she had been seconds from laying hands on the bomb Tinker and the next she was engulfed in the time-stop field. She must have been watching me rather than the stuff on the benches. Her bad luck. The time-freeze grenade had been rolling across the bench toward the baby black hole when Bakuda set it off, so her timing had been better than even she had hoped. Timing. Hah. I kill me.

The tiny black hole fizzled and died; this was followed by a thunderous crash, as the ton or so of super-compacted debris fell to the floor. However, Alexandria was left floating above the bench in the globe of stopped time, her cape drawn back behind her dramatically. Although stationary, she was straining forward as if trying to break the sound barrier and save the day. Around her, small objects had also been captured, frozen in motion toward the now-defunct black-hole effect. They weren't going to be going anywhere now, and nor was Alexandria.

"Holy shit." That didn't feel nearly effective enough. "Holy shit!" she yelled. The adrenaline was just now starting to wear off, and she felt a wave of exultation welling up from deep within her. "I took on fucking Alexandria and won!"

Dancing wasn't really her thing, but she tried anyway, executing an extemporaneous victory jig. As a finale, she grabbed a piece of scrap paper, balled it up, and threw it at the frozen hero. It struck a boundary only a few feet away from Bakuda, and hung there. This time, it was Bakuda's turn to freeze, with the realisation that she'd been an arm's length away from being trapped herself causing ice water to trickle through her veins.

"Fuck." She stared at Alexandria. The woman had been powering toward her while the grenade rolled away; half a second either way, and she would have been either trapped in the time bubble or captured by Alexandria. "Fuck." That was too fucking close.

There was a small fridge in the corner of the workshop, ostensibly there to keep certain components chilled until they were ready for use. However, she also stored beer in it … because, well … beer. Heading over to the fridge now, she lifted her mask, popped the cap off a bottle, and chugged it down. The ice cold liquid seemed to rejuvenate her brain, speeding up her thought processes.

Okay, so what do I do now? I've got a member of the fucking Triumvirate stuck in time like a fly in amber. Pretty sure the ratio in there's ten billion to one, so even if she gets out in one-tenth of a second, that's thirty years. So she's out of the picture. But what about the other two?

The first bottle was unaccountably empty, so she opened a second one and considered her options. If they were keeping tabs on her, they'd be here right now and I'd be kinda screwed. And if they can find her, they can find me. And once that happens, I am definitely screwed, and not in a good way. Legend and Eidolon, of course, favoured ranged attacks, which would play to their strengths and her weaknesses. I guess I was kinda lucky that it was Alexandria who came looking for me.

She drained the beer, then hurled the bottle at the time-freeze field. It stuck there, hanging upside-down in midair. Within, Alexandria stared fixedly forward; she obviously hadn't realised her predicament as yet.

I could close down this workshop and go elsewhere, but that leaves her to be found, along with all that evidence inside the time-freeze field to point toward me. No, it's better if I stay. I'll just have to mark out the field boundary before I do anything else.

Another thought intruded. What about tomorrow? I still need to fuck up the Undersiders before I start the bombings. She looked over the workshop, at the damage created by the black-hole bomb and the area presumably enclosed by the time-freeze field. That's tens of thousands of dollars right there. I don't know if I can afford to hire Uber and L33t right now. She grinned savagely. That's fine. I'll do it all myself. I don't need those losers.

<><>​

Earlier on Friday Morning

April 15, 2011

Contessa sighed. How did she get herself into that situation? A minor exertion of her power would have given her the answer, but all she needed to know was that while Alexandria wasn't dead, she was out of the picture until something could be done to save her. This is going to disrupt matters. Fatally? She checked the plan in her head. No. Just more to do. Seventy-three extra steps to deal with it. I don't need her immediately, and it won't harm her to stay there for a while. This might go as far as to teach her some humility. The last bit was a private joke; teaching Alexandria humility, she knew, would take far fewer steps than that.

Pulling out her smartphone, she typed up and sent an email without looking, much less paying attention to what the email said or who she was sending it to. That task complete, she put the phone away and boarded the bus. Step complete. In the process, she gave the bus driver a wide smile and a generous tip. This would give him a boost to his day, and he would avoid a traffic pileup which would otherwise cause three people on the bus to be late to work.

<><>​

Washington, DC

Miranda Lange was proud to be an American. Moreover, she was proud to assist, even if it was from behind the scenes, with the running of the office of the Chief Director of the Parahuman Response Teams. A minor aerokinetic with the ability to mimic any sound she had ever heard, she was also fortunate enough to be a reasonably close match to Alexandria, in body if not face. She kept her blonde hair cropped short, and there was a metal mask and long black wig in her closet at all times.

Originally, she had been brought on board to impersonate Alexandria, but after several years, she had been cleared for the full secret behind the deception. A Tinkertech face-mask allowed her to masquerade as the Chief Director when needed, freeing Alexandria to perform acts of derring-do while Miranda was making public appearances as the Chief Director.

The discovery that the head of the PRT was a parahuman had initially somewhat shocked her. However, after a careful explanation of the situation by a business-suited woman whose name Miranda hadn't quite caught, it all became clear to her. Rebecca Costa-Brown was the best choice to run the PRT; she had proven that many times over since it had been formed. And if she was a parahuman, so what? If all that Alexandria needed was a helping hand to keep the secret, then Miranda was absolutely willing to do her part. It wasn't as if anyone was being hurt, and Alexandria was much better at being a hero than she was.

Her laptop chimed, signalling an email. She clicked on it, noting the familiar header; a thrill of anticipation ran through her body. Do I get to be Alexandria today? Please let me be Alexandria.

As she read through the email, her shoulders slumped ever so slightly. Being Rebecca Costa-Brown was more strenuous, and she had to talk more. Her power let her replicate the Chief Director's voice exactly, but she still hadn't gotten the hang of projecting her personality in the same way. Still, they were depending on her to do the job, so the job would get done.

Picking up her phone, she dialled a specific number, leading with a series of digits not used by any normal phone number. This diverted the call through the Chief Director's office line, making it seem as though the call was coming from there.

The phone on the other end rang just once before being picked up. "Piggot."

Miranda took a deep breath, 'tuning' the sound that came out of her mouth to match the Chief Director's voice. "Emily, this is Chief Director Costa-Brown …"


End of Part Eighteen

Part Nineteen

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Nineteen: Panacea at Winslow, Part the Third


[A/N: This chapter beta-read, and much improved upon, by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


The more that Amy moved around Winslow, the harder it became for her not to compare the place – unfavourably – with Arcadia. Graffiti abounded, students openly wore gang colours in the hallways, and she was pretty sure that more than a few of them were high. The three that brushed past her certainly were. But the worst bit, in her considered opinion, was the fact that the staff apparently just didn't care.

Still trying to get her head around this, she followed Taylor down the hallway. Despite the fact that she couldn't get sick, she still didn't want to touch the walls.

Hey, Amy.

What?

Do me a favour. Get your phone out, and turn on the recording function for me.

What? Why?

There was humour in his tone. It's amazing what people will say if they don't know they're being recorded.

Pretty sure it won't be admissible in a court of law.

An after-school meeting isn't a court of law.

Of course. Carol had taught her that much. Good point.

Taking her phone out, she paged through the screens, found the one she wanted, and did as Michael had said. Feeling more than a little self-conscious, she tucked the phone into her blouse pocket. Taylor looked at her oddly; Amy shrugged. I hope we get something good before the battery runs out.

<><>​

As it happened, they were the fifth and sixth people into the classroom for math period. Emma sat with Madison and Julia, at the desks they always favoured. The teacher, an older man who Amy decided had to be on the downhill slide of a battle against alcoholism, sat at his desk. Rather than ask Taylor who he was, Amy decided to check her own personal repository of esoteric knowledge. Who's he?

That's Mr Quinlan. And you're right. He's a pisspot.

She was almost startled into a giggle. A what?

Pisspot. From 'piss', noun, meaning 'alcohol', and 'pot', noun, meaning 'one who contains'. Thus, one who contains alcohol.

Oh. A drunk.

What I just said.

Where is that a word for 'drunk'?

Australia.

How do you … She paused. This is a conversation for another time.

Yup. And Taylor's got some bad news.

What?

She looked at Taylor, to see that the taller girl was looking down at the seat of the desk nearest the door. It was covered in orange juice.

Amy immediately looked over at the red-haired girl and her cronies. They looked back at her; she detected not the faintest flicker of guilt in their expressions. Triumph and challenge, yes, but not guilt. If I accuse them, they'll just deny it and alibi each other out.

Yup. Michael's voice held dour satisfaction. See what Taylor's been up against, here?

Yeah. Kind of wondering why she didn't go out to be a villain months ago.

Like I said. Wanted to be a hero.

"It's okay," Taylor said quietly. "We'll get different desks."

Amy shook her head. "No. I'm not going to let this shit go on." Turning, she marched up to where Mr Quinlan was sitting at his desk, writing. Stopping in front of the desk, she waited, while other kids entered the room behind her. She could tell that some were shooting her curious glances, but she didn't let that deter her.

After half a minute, during which time the teacher did not look up once, she cleared her throat politely. "Excuse me, sir?"

Another fifteen seconds or so passed before Mr Quinlan raised his head and looked vaguely in her direction. She didn't need the waft of alcohol-fuelled breath to tell her that he was drunk; or at least, that he had been drinking. On a school day? Drunk in class? Jesus. I can't even …

"Can I help you?" he asked sharply, his gaze focusing on her. "Do I know you? I don't think you're in my class."

"Sir, my name's Amy Dallon," she said, then added helpfully, "Panacea."

Quinlan blinked hard, then stared at her. "Panacea?" It was as if he'd never heard the word before. "Ridiculous. Panacea would never come to Winslow. Go and sit down, whoever you are. We're about to start class."

With a sigh, Amy pulled out her PRT-issued ID card. It wouldn't get her anywhere sensitive inside the building, but she could at least use it to identify herself to dubious PRT officers. And drunken math teachers. "Sir, I am Panacea, and I need to talk to you about something important."

He stared at the card. "That can't be real."

Holy shit, this is worse than dealing with the Merchants. Producing her phone from her pocket, she showed it to him. "I can call Deputy Director Renick of the PRT and get him to verify it for you," she offered. "Or, you know, Brandish. Of New Wave."

"All right, fine, let's say you are who you say you are," Quinlan huffed. "Why are you here, and what do you want?"

"If you don't mind, sir, I'd like you to come and look at Taylor Hebert's chair. Someone's played a prank on her. Again."

He frowned. "Who?"

"That girl there," she said, pointing directly at Taylor. "They put orange juice on her chair."

"Orange juice?" He frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." She couldn't believe that she was having to spell it out. "One of your students has been pranked by another one of your students. In your class. In front of you. Please, come and examine the evidence. There are exactly three suspects."

With an irritated grunt, he heaved himself out of his chair. She waited till she was sure that he would indeed follow her, then led the way to show him the seat in question.

Orange juice was still pooled in the seat of Taylor's chair. Quinlan stared at it, as if unsure as to what it was, or what to do about it. "Okay, who did this?"

"One of three people," Amy stated clearly. "Emma Barnes. Julia Morrow. Madison Clements. All of whom are under suspicion for bullying Taylor already." As she spoke, she pointed out the three girls in question.

Quinlan looked back and forth between the juice-filled seat, Amy's set face and the three that she had pointed out. Amy didn't have to have physical contact with the man to know that he really didn't appreciate being put into such a position. Well, if you actually did your fucking job once in a while …

Before he could come to a decision, Emma spoke up. "That's a lie. None of us did it."

Amy was coming to despise her more and more by the moment. "Mr Quinlan, she or her friends almost certainly did do it, because they were the only ones in here when we got here. You didn't do it, and we didn't do it, so -"

"Actually, you probably did do it," Emma broke in, glaring at Amy. "Glory Girl's so popular, you'll do anything to get attention."

"Or just to get us in trouble." That was Madison, right on cue.

"Yeah," added Julia sycophantically.

Amy shook her head. "No, you -"

"Panacea, listen." It was Mr Quinlan. "They're right. We don't know who did it. So just clean it off and sit down already. I've got a class to teach."

Taylor sighed; Amy realised that she'd known how this was going to go from the beginning. "Mr Quinlan, where can I tip it? I don't want to make a mess on the floor."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Emma stage-whispered, causing a ripple of laughter across the room.

"I don't care," the teacher declared as he reached his desk. "Just do it."

"Taylor, one second," Amy murmured. She took her phone from her pocket, turned off the recording function and activated the camera. Carefully, she took a photo of the seat. The light wasn't great, but she was pretty sure that she'd gotten it.

After tucking the phone away, she put her finger in her mouth for a second, then dipped the same finger into the pool of juice. The custom micro-organisms that she had created in her mouth spread through the pool like wildfire; by the time she pulled her finger out of the puddle, the surface had already hardened to a jelly-like substance.

God damn, that gets more impressive every time you do it.

Mentally, she preened. Why, thank you.

Taylor stared at what had once been orange juice but which was even now darkening to a light brown. "What did you do to it?"

Amy grinned at her. "Tell you later." Carefully, she prodded the surface. It was springy to the touch, and there were no active micro-organisms at work, which meant that they had run their course and died off. It was the work of a moment to use her nails to lift the now-leathery edge, then she tugged at it. It peeled off the seat, leaving it cleaner than it had been in decades. Am I good? Yes, I am good.

Yes, you are.

Taylor touched the plastic seat. "It's dry."

"Well, it should be. All the water's locked up in this." Wadding the slab of transmuted juice into a rough ball, Amy strolled over to the trash can and dropped it in. By the time she got back, Taylor was already seated. Nobody had quite dared to take Amy's seat, so she sat down as well, and prepared to pretend to pay attention.

Well, that happened.

It did. But we can't relax. They're gonna double down. It's their only option. To scare you off before the day's over.

They won't just give up? Because I don't scare easily.

No. You don't. But the time to give up was the meeting in the office. They didn't take it, so they're going for gold.

What do you think they'll try now?

Nothing in class. Nothing physical where you can see it. They might try to separate you.

She felt the beginnings of frustration. But they're just making more trouble for themselves. Why are they persisting like this?

Because they succeeded in having Glory Girl kicked out. As far as they're concerned, winning is their natural state of affairs. Once you're gone, they can concentrate on coercing Taylor into saying nothing at the meeting.

Amy set her jaw. Not if I've got anything to do with it.

Michael's tone was approving. Good.

<><>​

As the math lesson proceeded, Amy couldn't help wondering why most of the kids in the classroom had even shown up. The majority of them were only showing a token effort to pay attention. Some were talking to each other, while others had their phones out, texting to either their friends across the room or somewhere else altogether.

Amy did not miss that Emma and Madison were also talking to those around them, a state of affairs that she found more than a little concerning. The occasional glance that went Amy's way did absolutely nothing to allay her worries.

Taylor, for her part, seemed to be engrossed in the lesson. She took notes, raised her hand to answer questions, and seemed oblivious to the three girls and their cronies. However, a fly had landed on Amy's hand; concentrating, she directed her power to examine the signals passing through its brain.

As she suspected, there was far more going on in that fly's brain than was normal for any bug. She had seen exactly that sort of thing once before, when dealing with the spiders in the bank. Taylor's using her power right now, directing the bugs in her radius. I wonder what she's doing?

Unfortunately – or perhaps fortunately – she was only able to detect that something was going on, not what was going on. This meant that she couldn't accidentally give the game away by looking wherever the bugs were. And it also gives me plausible deniability, she realised. If I don't know what she's doing, I can't tell her to stop it.

Yup. She felt Michael's grin. All that's left for us is to sit back and enjoy the show. They won't try anything overt in this class, not with you watching. But it doesn't mean that Taylor can't make life a little harder for them.

What's she going to do? Amy was starting to get a bad feeling about this. She knew, all too well, exactly how effective Taylor's bugs could be.

Not sure. But she'll be careful about it. And nobody's gonna die. Or even get hurt.

I'm still not entirely okay with this. Just saying.

Pretty sure it won't be anything more drastic than orange juice on the seat.

I still can't believe that Mr Quinlan didn't even try to do something about it.

That got her a mental shrug. Winslow. Blackwell. Emma's both popular and friends with a Ward. Take your pick.

I still don't like it. But I do see your point.

Amy sighed. Michael had faith in Taylor, and she was learning to have faith in Michael. Let's see what happens.

<><>​

For the rest of the class, nothing much did happen. Spitballs were thrown, but none hit Taylor or Amy. Some of the students paid attention, but most did their own thing. She was pretty sure that two students down the back of the classroom were playing a stealthy game of poker.

Then the bell rang. Taylor was on her feet almost immediately, sliding her books into her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. Amy stood up as well, unable to stop herself glancing over at Emma and the other two.

Michael seemed to approve of her caution. I don't put it past them to follow us and cause trouble in the hallway.

If they try anything, I'll call them on it.

They're really good at making it sound innocuous.

So I'll call them on it anyway.

A loud thump and a cry of dismay interrupted whatever Michael had been able to say; already halfway out the door, Amy glanced over her shoulder. She couldn't see Madison at all, and Emma seemed to be upset over something. What the hell?

Hah. Sounds like she got 'em, all right.

What did she do?

No idea. He sounded amused. You'll have to ask her.

Taking a deep breath, Amy moved up alongside Taylor. The taller girl's face held a tight smile of satisfaction; had Amy needed any proof of Michael's assertion, this was it.

"What did you do?" Amy pitched her voice low enough that nobody but Taylor would hear it.

Taylor shook her head anyway. "Not here." Her lips barely moved. "Let's get away from the crowd."

"Okay, fine." Amy looked around, then led Taylor into a side-corridor. "What did you do?"

Taylor's smile became a grin. "Well, you remember the cutter bugs you made for me?"

Oh, boy. This is gonna be good.

Trying to ignore Michael's commentary, Amy nodded cautiously. "Uh, yes?"

Taylor glanced piously at the ceiling for a moment. "Well, it seems that somehow, the bottom of Emma's bag got weakened to the point that when she picked it up, everything in it fell out."

"Oh." Amy closed her eyes and put her hand over them. "Oh, crap."

Sweeeeeeet.

This is not good. She could've outed herself.

"What's the matter?" asked Taylor, still grinning. "It's not like she hasn't earned any payback I can give her about a thousand times over."

Amy gave her a stern glare. "For a start, misusing powers, especially against a civilian, is skating really close to the line."

"Which line is that?" Taylor retorted. "The line where a Ward chose to use her powers to assist in the bullying of a civilian – that is, me – until I triggered with powers? Or were you thinking of some other line?"

Welp, she's got you there.

Amy gritted her teeth. "Okay, fine. But just because they did it first doesn't mean that it's all right for you to do it as well."

Taylor's expression suggested that Amy may as well have been speaking Swahili. "You have got to be shitting me. Do you have any idea how long I held back from retaliating in any way, shape or fucking form? I could've swarmed them with bugs the first time they did something to me after I got out of the hospital. And believe me, they didn't take long to start on me again. But I didn't, because I didn't want to be as bad as they were. I wanted to be a fucking hero."

She's telling the truth, you know.

"Yeah, but listen -" Amy began.

"No, you listen." Taylor prodded Amy in the chest with her finger. "I finally find a way that lets me get even a tiny bit of satisfaction out of the situation, and now you want to moralise and tell me that even that's not allowed? Who gave you the right to judge me?"

"Well, for one thing," Amy said, careful to keep her voice down, even as the anger rose in her, "I'm actually the hero, here. You're the one who chose to be a villain, remember?"

The moment stretched out. Amy watched Taylor's face change as her words hit home.

Jesus Christ, Amy. What the fuck?

She pissed me off. What was I supposed to say?

Not that.

"Well, fuck you," hissed Taylor. "Fuck you and your moralising fucking high horse. You've never had to deal with one fucking percent of the shit I face every day of my life, and you think that somehow makes you better than me. Well, it doesn't."

"I've got shit in my life too," Amy shot back. "I've got to deal with problems like you've never imagined. So don't go crying all 'oh my life is so hard' to me. Because news flash, bug girl. You don't have a fucking monopoly on hard times. Heroes get them too."

Whoa, hey, holy shit. Can we dial it back a little here?

You stay out of this. This is between me and her.

"Yeah, heroes have it so hard." Taylor shook her head. "You can go out in public without people trying to arrest you or fucking kill you. You can actually trust other heroes. And oh wait, you've got the Protectorate on speed dial to get you out of any shit you can't handle yourself." She shoved a thumb at her own chest. "I've got exactly four people I can depend on to have my back, and I'm not too sure about two of those. You saw what a shit my boss was. You can't tell me that heroes have problems like that."

"Yeah, well, I've had to grow up with a mother who can't stand the sight of me and a dad who isn't there even when he's there. The only one who cares about me is Vicky, and she doesn't -" She broke off, realising too late where that was going. The horror at her almost-confession drowned out the anger seething inside her.

Bugs burst from Taylor's hair and clothing, buzzing frantically and flying in agitated formations. In contrast, Taylor seemed to calm down dramatically, as she stared at Amy. "So that's what Lisa was talking about." Her voice was speculative, rather than angry.

Oh, shit. She knows. Fear flared in Amy's guts.

Hey, calm down. You've straightened it out with Vicky, remember? Even if she was about to blab it to anyone, it wouldn't do her much good.

She'll still think I'm a pervert, or worse. She faced Taylor, trying not to let the other girl see the disquiet inside her. "I've got no idea what you think you're talking about."

Taylor smirked a little, reminding Amy uncomfortably of Tattletale. "I was wondering what had you so worried at the bank. That's it? That's the big secret? The one that would tear your family apart?"

Something was off. Taylor wasn't reacting with the disgust and distaste that Amy was expecting. Even the bugs seemed to be calming down. "Well, yeah. She's my sister."

"Except she isn't," Taylor pointed out. "It's pretty well an open secret that you're adopted."

"But the world still sees us as sisters," Amy said. "And there'll be a lot of people who'd see it as wrong. And Carol …" She shuddered. "I have no idea how she'd react, but it would be really bad. Take it from me."

"Shit, I thought it was something really bad. Like, I don't know, maybe Glory Girl's beating the shit out of people and conning you into healing them or something."

Amy's heart lurched, and Michael's amusement didn't help much. There is that too.

Shush. She raised her chin and stared defiantly at Taylor. "So now you know my big secret. What are you going to do with it?"

Taylor tilted her head. "Gee, I don't know … nothing, I guess. If you, you know, admit that my life's been suckier than yours."

Oh, for fuck's sake. She's going to hold that over my head just to win an argument?

Well, she is a villain after all … Michael was chuckling now.

How come she's so calm all of a sudden?

She's got this little trick where she shoves her emotions off into the swarm. And is it really so important for you to be in the right?

Hmm, okay. But I still say mine's worse. Out loud, she sighed. "Fine. Your life makes mine look like sunshine and rainbows. Happy now?"

Taylor grinned, the last of the bad temper vanishing as if it had never been. "Yeah, and I'm sorry about what I said. You just hit a nerve, you know?"

Amy grimaced. "Yeah, well, you hit one or two yourself. I'm sorry, too." Awkwardly, she held out her hand. "Friends?"

Taylor reached out and gripped it firmly. "Friends."

The subtle tension in the back of Amy's mind faded away. Whew.

What?

You guys had me worried for a bit, there.

I still think that pranking Emma like that was irresponsible. And that's not counting the fact that she might have outed herself.

You know, if you'd led with that, instead of telling her what she was allowed to do with her powers, she might not have burred up so badly.

I guess …

And, you know, she's got this huge backlog of emotional pressure that she's got to let out somehow, in case she blows and goes bugpocalypse all over the school.

Ah. Amy realised that he had a point. Oh, god. I'm turning into Carol, aren't I?

She caught a hint of amusement from him. Probably not that bad, but it might be an idea to keep an eye on that. There was a pause, then he continued in a different tone. Oooh. Talking about keeping an eye on matters …

What?

Okay, say this to Taylor.

He began to explain; at first she was puzzled, but she quickly caught on. "Taylor, Michael has an idea …"

<><>​

" … four seven three one. Got it. Thanks, Dad. I really appreciate that." Taylor ended the call and handed Amy's phone back to her. "Did you get that?"

"I did." As Taylor watched, Amy referred to her notepad and tapped the new number into the phone. "I've put it in Favourites under 'Long Neck'. Got it?"

"Long Neck … ahh, Deep Throat. Cute."

Amy grinned at her. "What can I say. I read bad spy novels."

Taylor rolled her eyes. "Are you even sure we're going to need this?"

"Michael thinks so," Amy noted. "And I can't fault his logic." She handed Taylor the phone. "So far, every time they've tried to get at you, I've been there. They've got to be getting desperate to coerce you into taking a dive at the meeting. While I'm there, they can't do that."

"So they're gonna try to get rid of you somehow?" Taylor didn't like the sound of that.

Amy smiled. "Well, they tried that in the cafeteria. But the word's probably out in the gangs. Nobody touches me. So if they're gonna separate us, they've got to try something else."

This wasn't making any sense. "How are they going to do that?"

"No idea." Amy shrugged. "He just presented that as the next logical option. Either that or they give up, which would be sensible. We just can't assume that they'll be sensible."

Taylor rolled her eyes again. "Well, given that up until you came here they were winning, I'm not totally surprised."

Amy tilted her head slightly. "Michael says that Sophia's the main driving force behind it. But given a particular phone call, there's a good chance that she won't be a problem for much longer. Especially once a certain person learns exactly what she's been up to."

"But is this going to happen in the next five minutes, the next hour, or the next week?" Taylor let her cynicism colour her voice. In her experience, when something was supposed to act to her benefit, it usually took its own sweet time. If it ever arrived.

Amy grinned wryly. "Probably not the next five minutes. Hopefully not the next week."

"Yeah, I -" Taylor paused as the geriatric PA system burbled to life.

"Will Panacea please report to the nurse's office. Will Panacea please report to the nurse's office."

They shared a glance. From Amy's expression, she didn't like the implications of that any more than Taylor did.

Taylor shrugged. "Do I come along, or just go to class?"

Amy grimaced. "If you come with me, there's a good chance that someone will draw the teacher's attention that you're not there. Thus getting you in trouble."

"Whereas," Taylor countered, "if I go to class, there's about a one hundred and fifty percent chance that Emma and her travelling bitchfest are going to try to get at me."

Amy held up her phone. "You think they'll succeed?"

Taylor wasn't in a smiling mood, but she showed her teeth anyway. "Not on their best fucking day." Reaching out, she took the phone. "Long Neck, yeah?"

"That's right." Amy gave her a slightly concerned look. "Are you sure about this? I did promise to stick close to you for the whole day, after all."

"You did, but they aren't gonna try anything if you're there." Taylor slid the phone into the sleeve of her hoodie. "Go on, get to the nurse's office."

"I'm going, I'm going." Amy turned and walked away, but not without a backward glance. That alone warmed Taylor's heart; while the argument had not been a pretty one, it had cleared the air a little, and she felt that she understood Amy a bit better now.

A couple of flies on the biokinetic's shoulders let the bug controller know which way Amy was going. Taylor assembled a small swarm to guide the girl directly to the nurse's office. For her part, she had to get to class. Or as close to class as Emma and her followers would let her.

<><>​

Nearly there. Taylor knew that she only had to go down this corridor, turn that corner and she would be almost at her destination. She had pretended not to notice the girls ducking out of view as she proceeded on her way. Emma's cronies, of course; Emma would never have done her own dirty work. With the bugs she had spread throughout the school, she knew where every one of them was, as well as the position of Emma herself. And there's Madison, and there's Sophia. Better hurry, girls. I might get away.

For a moment, she quickened her steps, tempted to do just that. She had each of her tormentors located to a nicety; it wouldn't be that much of a challenge to dance between the raindrops and show up in class anyway. The look on Emma's face would be amazing.

Reluctantly, she slowed down again. If we're going to nail them to the wall, we've got to nail them hard. Give them half a chance to create doubt, and they'll wriggle through the cracks.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself. She had spent so much time working to avoid the bullies that deliberately walking into the trap seemed deeply wrong. Even if she wasn't the one who would ultimately be trapped. Okay, let's do this.

<><>​

For a moment, Sophia felt a shadow of doubt. This is almost too easy. It had almost seemed as though Hebert was on to them; if she had started moving any faster, or gone a different way, they would've had to hustle to catch up to her. But now she was coming straight to them. Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly.

She could hear the wimp's footsteps, on her way down the corridor. Left and right she glanced, checking that the others were still waiting on her signal. They were. Good. I'd hate to have to kick their asses afterward. That wasn't actually true; if they fucked up, she would positively enjoy kicking their asses. But she'd hate it if Taylor got away, after all the effort they'd gone into setting up this ambush.

Taylor rounded the corner; Sophia pulled the classroom door all the way open, and stepped out to bar her path. "Going somewhere, Hebert?"

The sad little queef fiddled with the cuffs of her hoodie. Sophia glanced sharply down – if this little cow manages to shank me, I'll never hear the end of it – but Hebert's hands were empty. She doesn't even have enough guts to bring a weapon to school. Hebert stepped back a pace, but the other girls were already crowding out of the classroom to surround her.

"Sophia." Taylor's voice was plaintive, weak. "Why can't you just leave me alone? I just want to get to class."

This was more emotion than Sophia had heard from her in months. Finally. We're getting to her. She bared her teeth in a predatory grin. "Are you telling me what to do, cunt? Are you giving me orders?"

Taylor stepped back again, but Emma was behind her. The redhead pushed her forward again, until she was nose to nose with Sophia. "N-no," whined Hebert. "I don't want any trouble. I just want to be left alone. I don't – I don't understand why you keep hurting me and taking my stuff and teasing me. I've done nothing to you, or Emma, or Madison, or Julia."

Sophia rolled her eyes. "We do it because you deserve it, you weak little piece of shit. Every day you walk in here, you insult the rest of us, because you just don't fucking belong."

"B-belong?" stammered Taylor. She stepped back again, only for Emma to shove her forward again more sharply. "Ow! Stop that, Emma!"

Almost casually, Sophia punched Taylor in the stomach. The skinny girl gagged and bent over forward, clutching at her midsection. Again, Sophia felt a faint shred of concern; Hebert's stomach muscles were a lot firmer than the last time she'd gut-punched her. Little douche-gargler thinks she can get stronger by working out. Not as strong as me. She grabbed Hebert's hair, twisting her fingers into the curls. The skinny cow's face twisted with pain as Sophia pulled her up into a semi-standing position.

"Belong," hissed Sophia. "As in, in this school. In this city. On this fucking planet. You don't deserve it." She drew back her fist to make her point.

"Careful," muttered Emma. "We don't want to leave marks on her."

Teeth gritted, Sophia conceded the point. Even that stupid twit the PRT had foisted on her as a minder would have to take notice if Taylor showed up with a black eye or broken nose. So she thumped the bitch in the gut again, but with less force than she'd used before. No sense in leaving visible bruising, after all.

Taylor still doubled up, or attempted to. Sophia's grip on her hair prevented her from bending too far, although she gagged so hard that Sophia thought she might throw up. If she does, I'll make her lick it up.

"In here," she ordered, indicating the empty classroom with a flick of her head. Leading the way, she pulled Hebert along via the handful of hair; the weakling cried out from the pain and nearly tripped, but managed to catch her balance anyway. The others followed; without being told to do so, Emma shut the door once they were all inside.

When she reached the clear space between the board and the desks, Sophia forced Taylor into a kneeling position. Tears of pain were clearly visible in the girl's eyes, while more ran down her cheeks. But she managed to hold back any more cries, which was a point to her. A small one in the grand scheme of things, but still it was a point.

Which was why Sophia had to erase that point and ensure that Taylor understood forever that her place was in the dirt, below anyone who wasn't actually a waste of space. She was still amazed that Hebert hadn't tried fighting back even once; not that it would have done any good, but the skinny bitch's arms were pulled together in front of her in a cringing attitude that made Sophia want to puke.

Standing alongside Taylor, Sophia glared down at her. "Look at her," she hissed. "She thinks she's a real human being. A real person."

"If she wanted to qualify as a ninety-pound weakling," Madison ventured, "she'd have to gain weight."

"Have you smelled her?" Julia put in with a vicious smile. "No boy would ever want to ask her out. He'd puke first."

Sophia thought that this was funny, but she could make it even better. "And then he'd ask the puke on a date instead of her." The laughter from the others buoyed her up, affirming her position of strength.

"Em-Emma," croaked Taylor. "You … you won't get away with this."

Emma leaned over her. "And why is that, Taylor? Why do you think I won't get away with it? I always do. I always will."

Taylor coughed painfully. "The meeting," she rasped. "I'll tell them everything that happened here."

The cruel laughter started with Emma, then spread to the others. "Without your little snitch here to back you up, it's going to be like it's always been." She clasped her hands in front of her heart and fluttered her eyelashes. "Oh, no, Principal Blackwell. I have no idea why poor, deluded Taylor has spread yet another wicked story about me. But as you can see, all my friends say it's not true."

"I'll … I'll tell my dad anyway. He's got a friend in the media. We can tell them what you've been doing."

Not if I've got anything to do with it, Sophia decided viciously.

Madison looked at Taylor uncertainly. "She's lying, right?"

"No, she's not lying." Emma's voice was confident. "Her father knows the guy who runs WBB-FM here in the city. But who listens to the radio any more, right?"

"Enough people do." Taylor's voice was a mumble. "People will hear what you've done."

Emma stepped in front of Taylor, then grabbed her t-shirt. She twisted the neck of the shirt so that it cut off Taylor's air supply. Sophia approved, although she thought Emma's technique could do with improvement. While Taylor gagged and gasped for breath, Sophia shook her head in disgust. Still not fighting back, you weakling.

Emma leaned in close to Taylor. Her voice was just loud enough for Sophia to hear. "If just one person hears one bad thing about me, my dad will sue your dad for everything."

Taylor gurgled something; Sophia caught Emma's eye and shook her head fractionally. Obediently, Emma let up on the pressure. Air rasped down Taylor's throat. After a moment, she managed to reply. "So sue. I've got notes. We'll win."

Think you're strong, huh? Sophia pursed her lips slightly. In response, Emma tightened the grip again. She shook her head with a triumphant smile. "No. We will. Because even if we lose the case, my dad will just appeal it. You can win it a hundred times. We've got more money. Dad explained this to me. We'll just keep appealing until you run out of money, and then we. Fucking. Win." Emma released the pressure on Taylor's throat, and spat in her face. "You. Fucking. Lose."

Sophia restrained herself from nodding in approval; Emma was really showing her strength now. She wasn't as strong as Sophia, of course, but the promise was there.

Hebert hunched in on herself, shoulders heaving as she fought for breath. Sophia couldn't tell through the hair hanging down the skinny wimp's face, but she was probably crying. Madison thought so too. "Look. She's bawling like a baby. Whassamatter, babykins? Lose your favourite toy?"

"No," Julia said. "She needs her diaper changed. Pee-yew."

Emma showed her teeth in a smile, displaying her strength. "No. She's just crying for her mommy. Are you going to cry for a week straight, Taylor? Like you did the last time?"

Taylor straightened up a little at that one. I think that scored. Gonna have to remember that one. Sophia tensed in case she managed to show some sort of fight after all. But all she did was shake her hair out of her eyes and look at Emma. "Why?" she asked – no, whimpered. "Why did you turn on me? Why are you using things I told you against me? Why didn't you get my flute back when Sophia stole it?"

Ahh, the flute. Sophia still had fond memories of that one.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Taylor," Emma spat. "Don't you fucking get it yet? How long does it take to beat it into your thick fucking skull? I'm over you. I outgrew you in middle school. You're yesterday's news. Why do I do what I do? Because I fucking can. Because you deserve it. Like I told you before, you're the one who was stupid enough to bring the flute to school. You deserved to lose it." She shook her head. "Christ, you're fucking stupid."

"And weak," Sophia put in, just in case anyone had forgotten the most important part.

"And she's a whore," added a girl whose name Sophia had never bothered learning. "I hear she gives head for a dollar a shot after school."

"I heard that too," said Mandy someone or other. "Except I heard that she has to pay them."

The group broke into cruel laughter once more. "I got one," tittered Madison. "I heard she tried to sell herself to the Merchants for drugs, and they turned her down!"

That one wasn't bad. Sophia chuckled a little, giving the petite girl props for effort. "Not that she could use them," she added. "After all, you've got to find a vein before you can inject. Hebert doesn't have arms, she has twigs. And twigs don't have veins."

Julia was just opening her mouth to offer another joke when the door opened. Sophia looked around hastily. "Wrong room!" she snapped. "Fuck off!"

Amy Dallon stepped into the room. "No, I don't think so," she observed mildly. "Pretty sure I'm in the right place. How you doing, Taylor?"

Sophia shared a startled glance with Emma. She wasn't sure what was going through the redhead's mind, but for her it was the question how the fuck did she find us? She gestured with her head; taking the hint, Emma moved toward the door to block Panacea's view of what was going on. At the same time, Sophia let go of Taylor's hair and stepped back.

"Taylor's having a bit of a mental break," Emma said in a sugary sweet tone that Sophia wasn't at all sure that she could ever duplicate. "We're just trying to help her get over it."

Taylor coughed, then climbed to her feet and turned to Amy. "I'm doing okay, now. Good to see you. What was the emergency?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Well, it seems that two of our dumber gang members each heard rumours that the other was dissing him behind his back. So they went and kicked each others' asses. I'm just glad they didn't use knives." She moved past Emma and approached Taylor.

The fuck? They're just talking. Why the hell isn't Hebert blabbing, or Dallon shouting at us? Sophia met Emma's eyes; the other girl looked just as confused.

Apparently ignoring the fact that she was the focus of every eye in the room, Amy held out her hand. "You got it?"

"Right here." Before Sophia's disbelieving eyes, Taylor slid a smartphone out of her sleeve and handed it over to Panacea. "Thanks for letting me borrow it."

Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. That's why she wasn't fighting back. Sophia began to get a really bad feeling about this.

"Hey, no probs." Amy tapped an icon on the phone. "So, did you get all that?"

Fuuuuuck.

The voice that came out of the speaker was clearly audible to the whole room. It was an older man, with the rasp that came from smoking a pack a day. "Sure thing. Sound quality's pretty good too. By the time I clean it up, they'll be able to catch every whisper, every word. Nicely done, kid."

"No," said Taylor. "Thank you. Were you listening?"

"Like I said, every word. You gonna nail those little shits' hides to the wall?"

"That's the plan," Panacea said lightly. "Talk to you later – Long Neck."

"Hah. Girlie, for one thing, you got the reference the wrong way around. And for the other, I ain't no Woodward and Bernstein. Anyway, gotta go. Say hi to Danny for me, kid."

"I'll do that. And thanks again." But Hebert was talking to dead air; the call had ended.

Sophia stared at the two girls, an incandescent rage building inside her. "You fucking recorded us? You spineless -"

Taylor laughed in her face. "No. I warned you. Remember? My dad knows someone in the media. I told you to your fucking face and you didn't listen. You're fucked, Sophia. You lose."

Sophia, fully aware of what could happen if she started something with Panacea in the room, had been holding her temper in check. But that last word was the final straw. I. Don't. Lose.

A red film dropped over her eyes and the world became fury, until all she could see was Hebert. The epitome of all that was wrong in the world, standing right in front of her, and she was going down. Fists clenched, Sophia surged forward. Vaguely, she heard Emma shouting something in the background, but she didn't care any more. Sophia's knuckles slammed into Hebert's mouth, splitting the skank's lips, spinning her around and dropping her to the ground.

Hands grasped at her left arm; she yanked it free and delivered a sharp backfist, all without taking her eyes off the prize. Nobody fucks with me. Her knuckles crunched on someone's face. Serves you right for getting in my fucking way. Launching herself forward, she brought her knees down on Hebert's ribs and swung a fist at her face -

Her left arm went dead, falling to her side. Unbalanced by the momentum of her swing, she fell sideways, feeling the numbness spreading throughout her body.

What the …

Collapsing bonelessly on the ground, she turned her head just far enough to see Panacea cupping a bloodied hand over her own face, her eyes sharp with satisfaction.

… fu



End of Part Nineteen

Part Twenty

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Twenty: Panacea at Winslow, Part the Fourth



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



Vicky's phone rang; snatching it from her belt, she answered it, being careful not to punch her finger straight through it. She'd only done that a couple of times, but it had been intensely embarrassing. "Ames?" she asked breathlessly.

"No." Vicky recognised her mother's voice immediately. "I received a call from Arcadia a short while ago. You have not yet shown up for class. As I understand that you are no longer at Winslow, where exactly are you?"

"Um …" Vicky looked around for inspiration. She was about a hundred feet in the air, on about her tenth lap around the Winslow campus, careful to stay outside the school boundaries, but never straying too far away from them. "I'm, uh, keeping watch."

"Keeping watch over what?" Before she could even formulate an answer, her mother spoke again. "Are you outside Winslow High School?"

She stifled her immediate impulse to answer in the negative. "Uh, maybe?"

Her mother sighed. "What exactly are you achieving there, Victoria? Nothing can be done until the meeting, and that isn't for another few hours."

Vicky set her jaw. "Mom, she's in Winslow. Three different gangs recruit from in there. If she calls for help, I'm going in, Principal Blackwell or no Principal Blackwell. Nobody messes with my sister."

"Victoria, that's admirable, but -" Vicky frowned as she heard the ping of an incoming text.

"Hold on, Mom." Taking the phone from her ear, she hit the speaker button so that she could still hear her mother's voice. "Got a text."

"Who is it from?" Carol Dallon's voice was sharp.

"One … second." Vicky double-tapped the notification, then entered the phone's PIN code. The text unfolded a moment later. "Shit. It's from Ames. 'T & me attacked by S Hess.'" Her eyes opened wide as she got the ramifications of that. "Shadow Stalker attacked them? I'm going in!"

"Wait -" But she didn't hear any more as she shut the call off and dialled her sister's number from memory. As she hit the last digit, she arrowed down toward the school front doors. Amy could be badly hurt. Fuck slowing down.

The front doors of Winslow were smashed off their hinges as she burst into the school, phone at her ear. "Ames? Ames? Talk to me!"

Amy's voice in her ear was a little nasal. "Vicky? Was that you?"

"Yeah, it's me. Where are you? I'm coming to you."

"Wait a minute." Amy's voice dropped, as if she were whispering into the phone. "Taylor says follow the bugs."

In the heat of the moment, Vicky had forgotten that Taylor was actually Skitter, the bug controller who had knocked out Amy in the bank. Of course, since then she had learned a lot of things, some of which made her wonder about a few of her strongly-held views. She paused, looking around. "What bugs?"

"She says to look harder. They can see you, and bug senses suck." She couldn't tell for sure, but it sounded like Amy was trying not to laugh.

A dozen flies buzzed past her face, and she turned; finally, she saw the bugs, clustering on the ceiling, forming a pathway. "Ah. Right. Got it." Eyes on the ceiling, she shot away down the corridor.

It was weird, trying to navigate through a school that was one big block. Arcadia was a lot easier; so long as you knew which arm you were in, you were set. Taylor's bugs led her along corridors, up stairs and around corners until Vicky was wondering which way was north. Finally – in reality about one minute later, given that she was moving at a moderately unsafe speed for indoors – she turned a corner and saw Taylor waving her down.

Coming in for a landing next to the brunette, she realised two things; first, Taylor was actually a couple of inches taller than her, and second, the girl had blood all over her mouth, some of which had run down her chin and soaked into her top. She was also holding herself with one arm. "Shit, are you all right?" Vicky asked. "You look like hell."

"Amy says the lip's nothing," Taylor said, her voice a little mushy, probably due to her spit lips. "But I've got two fractured ribs, and she says the bruising's gonna be spectacular."

"What? Why hasn't she fixed you?" Vicky's eyes went wide. "Shit, is she -"

"She's fine," Taylor hastened to say. "But if she heals me, there goes half our evidence. With this, we can have Sophia fucking Hess arrested and charged. Ward or otherwise." Her eyes slitted behind her glasses. "And I'm not letting this opportunity go to waste."

The determination in her voice actually managed to impress Vicky, and there wasn't much that impressed Glory Girl any more. Taylor had to be in a certain amount of pain, but she wasn't giving in to it.

Vicky patted her encouragingly on the shoulder. "Right. Got it." She paused, frowning. "Did they ever do anything like this before?"

"Punch me in the face?" Taylor shook her head. "No. Locker, yes. Stole my stuff, yes. But this time they were going all out to make me give up and go away." She grinned, then winced as fresh blood oozed out of the splits in her lips. "Ow. But it turns out that Sophia really doesn't like being called a loser."

Vicky hadn't really associated much with the vigilante-turned-Ward, but she could believe that. From all accounts, Shadow Stalker had a very forceful personality, and she took very little shit indeed. She nodded understandingly. "Uh, so where's Amy?"

Taylor nodded toward the door of the classroom she was standing outside of. "She's making sure nobody runs off."

Vicky blinked. "Ames? Wow." I really don't know her any more. Pushing the door open, she stepped inside.

Within were a bunch of girls, Emma and Madison at the fore, with Julia hanging back a little. On the floor between them and Amy was Sophia Hess, out cold. Standing beside the doorway was Amy herself, with blood all over the lower half of her face and running into her t-shirt. She smiled at Vicky. "Hey. Took your time, Glory Girl." Her voice was very nasal.

Vicky didn't miss how half the girls seemed to shrink back at Amy's comment. The other half, the ones who obviously already knew her, just looked a lot unhappier. They ain't seen unhappy yet. She dropped her voice menacingly. "Who hit my sister?" Her fists clenched as she flexed her aura just a little.

This time, there was no bullshit about 'assault with a parahuman power'. The girls all swayed back away from her, and everyone she could see pointed toward Sophia's supine form. Vicky shot an interrogatory glance toward Amy, although she knew they were telling the truth. "Is this true, Panacea?"

"It's true, Glory Girl," Amy replied. "These girls didn't touch me. Although I did witness them bullying Taylor. So I'll want all of them coming to the principal's office for the meeting." For someone with a possibly broken nose, she seemed to be remarkably cheerful.

"No, first off you'll be going to the school nurse to get checked out," Vicky stated flatly. "Your nose busted?"

"Think so." Amy touched it gingerly. "Ow. Next time I heal someone from one of these, I'm gonna be a lot more sympathetic."

"Then don't touch it," Vicky suggested, smug in the fact that nothing had even bruised her since she got her powers, three years previously. "Take Taylor and go let the nurse treat you. I got these pieces of shit."

Amy nodded. She went to the door, then stopped. "Should we call Taylor's dad and Carol in on this now?"

Vicky grinned and hefted her phone. "You do that. I'll give Principal Blackwell the good news."

"Right." Amy tilted her head slightly. "What was that crash from before?"

"Front doors." Vicky was already dialling. "You were in trouble. I wasn't about to let an inch of timber and a crappy lock stop me." She nodded to the girls. "Call your parents. Pretty sure they're gonna get a phone call from Principal Blackwell about this."

"And don't forget, this whole thing was recorded," Amy put in. "So before you start getting creative, we already have that."

"Wait, recorded?" Vicky raised her eyebrows. "How'd you pull that off?"

Amy told her. Vicky ended up laughing so hard she misdialled Principal Blackwell's number three times.

<><>​

Danny Hebert got out of his car and closed the door. He looked around to see several other cars in the visitor carpark. A blonde woman whom he thought he should recognise approached him. "Hello? Are you Daniel Hebert?"

"I … yes?" Danny looked warily at her, then the penny dropped; it was the business attire which had thrown him off. "Uh, Brandish? I mean, Carol Dallon?"

"The same." She smiled warmly and held out her hand.

He shook it gingerly – after all, the woman could generate a matter-annihilating blade with that hand – still not sure what was going on. "Is this a … superhero matter?" After all, he couldn't see what difference one superhero could do with Winslow. Except maybe to reduce it to a pile of rubble. Which would probably be an improvement.

"No. This is a lawyer matter." She gave him a grim smile, then seemed to realise that he was still at sea. "You got a phone call from your daughter, correct?"

"Taylor, yes." It had been a short call, and remarkably uninformative, except for certain relevant details. "She rang me earlier to tell me about the meeting this afternoon, then just a while ago to tell me that it'd been moved up. Said she was physically attacked by one of the students who's been bullying her."

Carol Dallon nodded curtly. "Yes. The same student punched Panacea in the face. This, after she was notified that the meeting would take place. Minor or no, I'm going to take great pleasure in burying her."

Danny raised his eyebrows at her tone. "Is this because Panacea's your daughter, because she's a member of New Wave, or because she's your team healer?"

Carol, looking somewhat startled, stared at him for a long moment. "That's … a very good question," she admitted. "I'm going to go with 'yes'."

Danny nodded understandingly. "I'd go the extra mile for one of my guys, too. Shall we go in?"

She tilted her head. "Let's do that." As they walked toward the front of the building, she glanced at him. "How much has she told you about this meeting?"

"Not much," he said. "Why?"

Her reply surprised the hell out of him. "So you don't know I'm supposed to be representing your daughter?"

He stopped dead, right there in the parking lot. "You … what the hell? No, nobody thought to give me that little detail. How the hell did that come about? And who's picking up the tab?"

She sighed. "My daughter is remarkably persuasive. Or maybe she just knew which buttons to press. After hearing about this Sophia Hess' actions, I … decided a little pro-bono work was in order. Also, I understand that my work colleague Alan Barnes will be weighing in on his daughter's side, so it's only fair that Taylor has competent representation as well."

The surprises just weren't stopping. "Wait … you work with Alan? He never told me that."

It was her turn to look startled. "You know him?" A moment later, her face cleared. "Oh, wait. Best friends."

"Well, yeah," Danny said. "Our daughters were basically inseparable from first grade on up. We've known each other … wait, Emma's being bullied too?"

She compressed her lips together. "It's my understanding that Alan's daughter is one of the ringleaders of the group."

Danny's brain refused to even try to parse that. "Errr … what?"

"From what Victoria said, Emma Barnes used to be Taylor's best friend, but – in her words – turned around and stabbed her in the back." Carol studied Danny's expression. "I gather that's news to you."

Danny felt rage building inside him. "No shit it's news to me! I've had drinks with that asshole, and he never said one word about any issues Emma had with Taylor!" The sound of a car engine, overlaid by screeching tyres, drew his attention; turning, he saw a familiar car entering the parking lot. "Excuse me a moment." He started forward with intent.

"Daniel! Stop!" He ignored her. "Stop, dammit!" He felt her grab his arm, even as Alan Barnes pulled into a nearby parking spot.

"Stay out of this," he snapped, as he pulled his arm out of her grip. "This is between me and him."

"No." She took advantage of the momentary pause to step in front of him. "If you do anything rash now, Taylor will never get justice for what's been done to her." Her words made him pause. "Before you say anything to him, stop and think. There's more at stake here than anything you've got against him. Trust me on this."

Carol Dallon didn't resemble Danny's memory of Anne-Rose very closely, but her words resonated with what his wife might have said, once upon a time. He stopped, clenching his fists. "I just hate it when people get away with shit like that."

"Yeah. Me, too." Her look showed perfect sympathy. "Look, speak to him if you have to, but don't say or do anything stupid. If I shut you up, you stay shut up, okay?"

"Okay." The word came out from between gritted teeth, but Danny meant it. She's the expert. Better do what she says.

"Danny! What the hell's going on?" It was Alan Barnes. "Carol? You're here too? What the hell? When they said you blew out of there, I thought for sure there was some superhero stuff going on."

Danny stalked over to him, trying not to clench his fists. "Alan. Emma called you, huh?"

"Yeah. She said something about Taylor trying to get her in trouble. What the hell's going on? I thought they were friends. What's Taylor trying to pull?"

The only thing that saved Danny from going back on his word was the look of honest confusion on Alan Barnes' face. "Taylor's trying to pull exactly nothing, Alan. Turns out that Emma's been the ringleader of the bullies that've been making her life hell for more than a year. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Alan stared at him, confusion and anger warring on his face. "Danny? What the hell? I thought we were friends! How can you say something like that?"

"Because -" Danny began, before Carol nudged him. He stopped, turning to her. "What?"

"Mr Hebert, I'm advising you to say nothing more until we're sitting down in the meeting," Carol stated; despite his anger, Danny could not help but take note of the formal tone of her voice. "Mr Barnes, I will be representing Taylor Hebert and her father in this situation. Please address anything you have to say to me."

Alan stared at her. " … Carol? What the hell?" Bafflement won out over everything else. "What are you talking about?"

Her voice held pure satisfaction. "I'm talking about putting an end to a situation that should have been long since resolved." Turning toward the school, she gestured to Danny. "We should be going in."

Danny followed; they hadn't even crossed half of the parking lot before Alan Barnes passed them, striding fast. He climbed the steps and disappeared inside. Danny turned to Carol. "Should we be keeping up?"

She shook her head, not increasing her pace in the slightest. "No. Victoria knows her legalities. He won't catch her out in anything before we get there. And this gives us the chance to confer before the meeting. Is there anything that you do know about this?"

He frowned, thinking about her words. "Well, now that you mention it, Taylor called me a little earlier. She wanted the number of this guy I know, who runs the local radio station."

She looked a little puzzled. "Radio station? How would that help?"

Danny had been pondering that himself. "Well, if there's anything radio stations have, it would be recording gear. I'm wondering if they didn't simultaneously arrange an outside witness and a recording in a secure place."

Carol raised her eyebrows. "If they managed to pull that off, I would be very impressed. Any sort of corroborating evidence is extremely useful in a situation like this." She climbed the stairs with Danny alongside her. "I presume you know the way to the principal's office?"

"Yeah." He tried to keep the sourness from his voice. "Though I wish I didn't." He stopped, staring at the open doorway. "Whoa. What happened here?"

She stepped forward, eyeing the shattered doors, lying in pieces on the floor. "I would say," she decided in a judicious tone, "that Glory Girl came through here and didn't bother stopping to open the doors first."

Impressed, he blinked. "Damn. I hope she doesn't do the same at home?"

"Thankfully, no." She smiled faintly. "Although I will be having words with her regarding appropriate levels of collateral damage. Again."

"Again?" He looked at her curiously as he picked his way through the remains of the doors. "She's done this recently?"

"Yesterday, in fact," Carol said. "You may recall the robbery and cape fight at the Central Bank? She decided to go in through the window. And once she was inside, just for effect, she destroyed one of the desks."

Danny blinked again. If he recalled correctly, the Brockton Bay Central Bank had windows that didn't open, and the desks were built out of marble. "That's a really good trick."

"Indeed." Her voice was dry. "Fortunately, New Wave isn't being billed for it. Unfortunately, I had to endure being spoken to by Director Piggot at length on the subject, an experience I would rather not repeat any time soon."

"Hmm." He raised his eyebrows. "It rather puts other acts of teenage misjudgement into perspective, doesn't it?"

Carol suddenly looked thoughtful. "That's an … interesting way to put it."

"Heh." He gave her a half-grin. "I'm the single father of a teenage girl. 'Interesting' is not a word I'd rather have connected with her."

She gave him an appraising nod. "As a mother myself, I'm inclined to agree. As a superhero and the mother of same, I'm afraid that ship has long since sailed."

"Heh." He tried to hold the chuckle in, but it was too late. "Well, I guess that's one thing I don't have to worry about with Taylor. Being a superhero and a celebrity, I mean."

She rolled her eyes. "Thank you so much for your sympathy."

Hiding a smile, he sketched a half-bow toward her. "You're welcome."

She snorted, but he thought he saw an answering smile anyway.

<><>​

Half an Hour Later

Taylor squeezed her father's hand. She essayed a smile in his direction, but didn't make it too wide; her lip wasn't bleeding any more, but the nurse had told her to be careful with it until it healed. There was nothing to do for her top, and her father had come straight from work, so the huge bloodstain was still there. She had rinsed it out in the bathroom and Vicky had wrung it out so that it was nearly dry – that was an application for super-strength that she'd never thought of – so it wasn't clammy on her skin, but she was still going to throw it away as soon as she got home.

Panacea – she still had trouble thinking of the frizzy-haired girl as Amy – was sitting to her left, with an aluminum splint on her nose. Glory Girl sat on her other side, with Carol Dallon – Brandish! - sitting to Glory Girl's right.

Despite her powers, she was glad that she and her father had the heroes on her side. Especially Panacea, and the healer's odd passenger. Because across the table, both literally and figuratively, they had several times their number facing them. Front and centre were Emma, a groggy-looking Sophia, and Madison, flanked by their fathers. Or, in Sophia's case, a woman whom Taylor assumed was a social worker. Despite her unsteadiness, Sophia was alternating between glaring at Panacea and Taylor, while Emma looked bewildered, as if she were trying to figure out exactly where things had gone wrong. Madison just looked as though she wished everything would go away.

Panacea tilted her head slightly. Taylor knew the signs; if she was right, the healer had just gotten a message from her 'passenger'. Panacea turned to her sister and began a whispering conversation, too low for Taylor to hear.

"Ahem." Principal Blackwell said the word instead of actually clearing her throat. "It seems that this is all who will be attending. Let's begin."

"Uh, before we do," Glory Girl said. "I just need to have a word with Mom and Sophia's social worker in the hall. It'll only take a moment." She flashed Blackwell a quick smile.

The principal, on the other hand, frowned forbiddingly. "The time for a conference is past. And besides, Miss …?"

"Bright," the woman replied. She was blonde, with a heart-shaped face. From the attitude Sophia showed her, the girl didn't think much of her social worker. Miss Bright didn't seem to care one way or the other. "Ms Bright, actually."

"Bright, yes. Ms Bright is representing Sophia Hess, whom you are accusing of bullying practices. What possible use could this conference have?" If Principal Blackwell frowned any harder, Taylor thought her face just might crack.

Brandish turned to Glory Girl. "Is it important?"

"Yeah. Definitely. It's something that needs to be talked over in private." She shot a glare at Sophia. "You don't want this being aired publicly."

A subtle change went over both Sophia and her social worker at that point, and Taylor thought she knew what it was. Sophia Hess is Shadow Stalker. She already knew that part. Whatever Glory Girl wants to talk about has to do with her cape identity. Another puzzle piece slotted into place. Panacea told her to talk about it. But Panacea hasn't spoken to anyone. She must've gotten it from Security.

Brandish had obviously received the same subtle hint that Taylor had picked up on. "I think it might be a good idea to see what's going on here." She rose. "Ms Bright, if you can join us outside, please? Will this take long, Victoria?"

"What's going on here?" Alan Barnes didn't look any more thrilled than Sophia did. "If you think you can coerce or intimidate her -"

"Oh, be quiet, Alan," Brandish snapped. "I have no more idea of what this is about than you do. But Glory Girl thinks it's important, so we're going to do it." She moved to the door. Glory Girl got up and followed her, with a reluctant-looking Ms Bright bringing up the rear.

The door closed behind them, and silence descended once more on the room. Principal Blackwell began a quiet conversation with Taylor's teachers; while she was tempted to guide insects over to listen in, she still had a lot of trouble understanding human voices when heard by bug ears.

"Taylor …" That was Alan Barnes. "I don't even know what this is about. Surely we can settle all this quietly? Whatever you think Emma's done, or she thinks you've done, an apology should deal with it, right?"

Her father snorted. "I told you what this was about in the parking lot, Alan. Emma's been tormenting Taylor for more than a year. This is more than 'apology' territory."

Alan's eyes narrowed. "That's a serious allegation, Danny. I hope you've got more proof than her unsupported word."

Panacea cleared her throat hastily. "Mr Hebert, don't say anything until Brandish comes back." Her voice was still a little nasal.

Taylor squeezed his hand again. "She's right, Dad. Mrs Dallon is helping us out. Don't ignore her help."

Her father pressed his lips together, and nodded once. "I'm going to wait for Brandish to return before we address that," he stated flatly.

From outside the door came Ms Bright's raised voice. "You what?"

All heads turned toward the door; a moment later, it opened. Glory Girl leaned in and beckoned. "Ames. Need you out here a second."

Panacea nodded and got up. She turned toward Taylor and her father. "Remember. Not a word." With that warning, she headed for the door and stepped outside, closing it behind her.

Nobody spoke after that; Taylor was pretty sure that everyone – including her – was trying hard to hear what was being said. Even with bugs on site, all she could really hear was a low mumble of voices, punctuated at one point by Ms Bright once more. "How do you know that?"

However, following that tantalising tidbit, the door opened again and they filed back to their seats. Ms Bright was looking beaten-down, as if she had just heard bad news. Panacea and Brandish looked a little brighter than before, and Glory Girl was positively radiating smugness. Brandish leaned forward a little, and gestured toward Principal Blackwell. "We can begin now."

"As I was saying," Alan Barnes interjected, before Blackwell could even speak, "Miss Hebert has accused my daughter Emma of tormenting her for more than a year. That's a serious allegation. I'd like to see some proof." Taylor noted that he hadn't used her name. Lawyer tricks. Asshole.

"Before we get carried away here, Alan," Brandish stated smoothly, "this is not a courtroom. You can refer to Taylor by her given name. Also, we're not working with 'beyond reasonable doubt' here. Any evidence is serious enough to work with." She turned to Taylor. "You do have evidence." Her tone indicated that she strongly hoped Taylor had evidence.

"Yeah. I got evidence." Taylor reached into her backpack, which had resided between her knees all this time, and hauled out the stack of papers she had been painstakingly adding to since September. Lifting it into the air slightly, she let it smack down on to the table. It made a respectable thump.

Brandish's eyebrows ratcheted upward at the thickness of the stack. "That's all … incidents?"

"Some." Taylor sorted through the papers and pulled some off the top. "Hate mail from my school inbox." She flicked a glance toward the head of the table. "Principal Blackwell knows about these already." From the look on Principal Blackwell's face, the woman wished that Taylor had forgotten to mention them. Fat chance.

Brandish took out a pair of glasses and put them on, then took the smaller stack and riffled through it. "Die in a fire … eat glass and die horribly … I hope someone shoves a broken bottle up your – good God." Lifting her gaze, she stared directly at Blackwell. "Ms Blackwell, this right here is evidence for an ongoing malicious campaign to drive Taylor here into depression and maybe suicide. I've seen more happen from less."

"Be that as it may, you can't prove that any of the girls here sent those mails," Alan Barnes interjected. "Isn't that right, Principal Blackwell?"

"Wait," Taylor said. "I highlighted the ones that were sent during school hours."

Blackwell looked sideways at Mrs Knott. "Gladys? Your opinion?"

Mrs Knott looked unhappy about being put on the spot. "If … if the girls left their computers logged in, someone else could have sent the messages with their usernames."

"They could have, yes," murmured Brandish. "I'd be interested in seeing what a cross-reference of the exact times each one of these mails was sent with the class times of each of these girls would bring up." She raised an eyebrow at the surprised look on Blackwell's face. "And you hadn't thought of having someone do that? For shame. That's a lawsuit right there. Total negligence and lack of care for one of your students. And let's see what we've got here. Taylor?"

"Here." Taylor handed over the thicker stack. "That's since last September. I only started noting it down then."

Brandish took the top sheet off the stack. "Let's see now. September eight. 'Six vicious emails, Sophia pushed me down stairs when I was near bottom, making me drop books, tripped and shoved me three times during gym, threw my clothes at me while I was in shower after gym, got them wet. Had to wear gym clothes for rest of morning. In bio -'" She paused. "I presume this is biology class?"

Taylor nodded. "Sorry about the abbreviations. I wanted to save space."

"Understood." She adjusted her glasses. "Hmm. 'In biology class, Madison used every excuse to use pencil sharpener or talk to teacher, each time she passed desk, she pushed everything on floor. Third time, I covered stuff, so on fourth trip, she dumped pencil shavings on my head and desk. All three cornered me after school -'" Again, she paused. "'All three' being … ?"

"Those three." Taylor pointed. "Emma, Sophia, Madison."

"Hey!" Emma looked upset. "She can't just accuse us -"

"Yes, she actually can." Brandish gave her a severe look. "This is what's called a reckoning, young lady. And it appears long overdue in your case."

"Carol, you're my colleague …" began Alan Barnes.

"Shut up, Alan," she interrupted. "I'm looking over evidence here. Right. 'All three' being Emma, Sophia and Madison. Let me see … 'All three cornered me after school, took backpack, threw it in garbage.'" She stared at Taylor, then at the sheet of paper. "How many of these are there?"

Taylor took a deep breath. "About one for every day since then. That got me more hate mail too. Principal Blackwell knows how many times I've had to change my inbox."

"Hmm." Brandish looked at the next entry. "September ninth -"

"Wait, wait -" said Blackwell hastily. "Do you have to read every single one? We'll be here all night."

"You do realise, in a real court case, we would actually have to read every single one of these out in front of the magistrate or the jury?" Brandish asked sweetly. "How would your school look at the end of that? Let me give you a hint. Not good. However, I'm willing to accept your acknowledgement that Taylor's bullying has been overlooked to an unconscionable degree." Her smile showed teeth. "That's code for 'get out your checkbook and brace yourselves, because this payout's going to draw blood'. Just saying."

Blackwell didn't look happy. She looked even less happy when Taylor's father cleared his throat. Brandish looked his way. "Yes, Mr Hebert?"

He squared his shoulders. "There was an incident at the beginning of the year -"

"That was settled!" snapped Blackwell. "You signed papers!"

"I was under duress!" Taylor's father shot back. "Taylor needed urgent medical care, and your shysters were holding a lawsuit over my head for her attacking the people who let her out of the locker!"

Brandish cleared her throat, quieting the room. "I'd like very much to see those papers, if I may. Also, a complete explanation of the incident you're referring to would be appreciated."

Taylor caught her eye. "I can do it in thirty seconds or less." When Brandish nodded, she went on, ticking points off on her fingers. "Before Christmas, someone filled my locker with feminine hygiene products. Come January, I got locked in there for an hour. I spent a week in the mental ward." She hated to even think about it, but the way Brandish was talking, she wanted to pull the whole school down around Blackwell's ears, and Taylor wasn't against the idea.

"What the hell?" burst out Glory Girl. "I've seen those lockers. How did you even fit in one?"

"It took a pretty hard shove," Taylor replied, glaring at Sophia. The dark-skinned girl glowered back, but kept her mouth shut.

"Now, now," Blackwell said hastily. "There's no proving who put you in there, and the girls are already going to be punished for standing by and letting it happen."

"That's as may be," Brandish noted, "but seriously? An hour? How the hell does that even fly? I really, really want to see those papers you coerced Mr Hebert into signing. And if I don't see them, I might just start a class action against the whole school on their behalf. Because the settlement is going to be insane."

Principal Blackwell was looking sicker by the moment. "I'll get them to you as soon as possible," she mumbled.

"Good." Brandish turned her gaze to the girls across the table. "Now for you."

"Carol." Alan Barnes leaned forward. "I've tolerated this far enough. You've got your pound of flesh. There's no actual proof that any of these girls are directly to blame for tormenting Taylor, just the written word and some pretty shaky circumstantial evidence. We can get up and walk away now."

Carol shook her head. "Oh, Alan. I've only just gotten started." She looked at Panacea. "Who attacked you and Taylor?"

"Sophia Hess." Panacea pointed across the table. "She punched Taylor and knocked her down. When she was on top of Taylor, punching her, I tried to pull her off. She punched me then and broke my nose, so I defended myself with my powers and made her go to sleep."

Sophia nearly came out of her seat, but Ms Bright's hand on her shoulder stopped her.

Brandish turned to Taylor. "Is this true?"

Taylor nodded, touching her split lip. "Yes. She punched me and knocked me down. The nurse examined me and said I had fractured ribs. That's where Sophia landed on me with her knees."

Brandish looked at Principal Blackwell. "I understand you said Taylor would be safe in school. Yet despite Panacea's attendance, she was attacked and brutally beaten by one of your star athletes? How did you ever let this get so far, that the Hess girl felt confident in doing this?"

"Oh, it wasn't just her," Panacea said. "Every one of these girls was there. Nobody tried to stop her."

"I tried to stop her!" Emma burst out. Then, as if realising what she'd just said, she ducked her head. "I mean, I would have if I was there," she added.

"Which is it?" asked Brandish. "Were you there, or not?"

Alan Barnes leaned in and murmured something; his voice was quiet, but Taylor was pretty sure he was advising her to say no.

She was hardly surprised when Emma raised her chin, looked Brandish in the eye and stated firmly, "I wasn't there. Wherever 'there' was."

"I can prove they were there," Panacea stated equally boldly. "Including Emma."

"I hope this is a proof that we can all share in," Alan Barnes observed. "Saying 'my powers say so' isn't actually applicable in a court of law yet."

Panacea smiled. She pulled her phone out and selected a number. Sophia tensed, glaring at Panacea as though her gaze alone could prevent the healer from pushing that last button. With a tap of the 'speaker' icon, she placed the phone on the table in front of her.

"Hey, girlie." The voice that came out of the speaker was the same pack-a-day rasp as Taylor recalled. "Was wonderin' when you were gonna call."

Alan Barnes frowned. "Who is that? I know that voice."

"Yeah, an' I know you too, Barnes. You still cheatin' honest workin' men outta their life savings?" The voice coughed, then went on. "Hah! If I'd known it was your girl on the tape, I woulda done it for free. Well, if I wasn't doin' it for free anyway."

Taylor's father straightened up in his seat, and he smiled. "Joe, you old miscreant. I've been meaning to catch up. I'm guessing you did a little recording job for Taylor? Thanks for that, by the way."

"Hah! Danny Hebert. Good to hear from you, stringbean. Got it in one. You're gonna owe me a drink over this."

"And that's a debt I'm willing to pay any time," Taylor's dad agreed. "But right now, you've got us all very curious about the contents of the recording you made."

"Wait!" Alan Barnes held up his hand, palm out. "Recordings made without the consent of the person being recorded are inadmissible in court."

"And for the tenth time, Alan, this isn't a courtroom." Carol leaned forward, her eyes glittering over the tops of her glasses. "Rules of evidence don't apply here. Sit down, shut up, and listen. Or I will by God carve your new sports car into two-foot cubes and claim it as supervillain damage."

Shocked, the red-headed man sat back in his chair. Carol turned back to the phone. "Sorry about that. Kindly proceed."

"Dang, lady, you got a temper on you. I like it." Joe paused. "Wait. Am I talking to Brandish?"

"You are," she confirmed. "I'm impressed. I don't think we've ever met."

"Sure we have. You took out some radio ads back when you were just kickin' off New Wave. I never forget a voice. Or a smokin' hot blonde, but that's another thing altogether. Anyway. The recording. I cleaned it up pretty good, if I do say so myself. Figure the cops could even get voiceprints off it if they felt like it." He cleared his throat. "Okay, here goes."

There were some clicks on the line. Brandish sat back, looking somewhat taken aback. Taylor thought she heard a snicker from Vicky. The noise from the phone cut dead air to her own voice. "Sophia. Why can't you leave me alone? I just want to get to class."

Sophia's voice cut in then, so sharp and alive that everyone in the room glanced at the dark-skinned girl. "Are you telling me what to do, cunt? Are you giving me orders?"

As the recording rolled on, every syllable crystal-clear, everyone listened. All around the room, expressions darkened at each insult. Even the huff of breath as Sophia punched Taylor in the stomach came through clearly.

Finally, Panacea's voice came through clearly. "So, did you get all that?"

With a click, the recording ended, then Joe came on the line. "That what you needed?"

"That's exactly what we needed, uh, Joe," said Carol. "Thank you very much for your time."

"Hey, my pleasure. Remind Danny that he owes me a beer, and if you wanna buy more airtime, feel free to drop in any time. Bye, now." The phone went dead.

"Well, then." Taylor's father looked directly at Principal Blackwell. "It does seem that Taylor's being bullied by these girls, doesn't it?" The satisfaction in his voice was bone-deep. She hadn't seen him looking so grimly pleased in a very long time.

"Wait." Alan Barnes looked like a drowning man scrabbling for a lifeline. "That sounded like a setup. Like you walked up to them and invited them to talk to you like that. There could be a case made for entrapment."

Carol Dallon rolled her eyes. "Oh, for God's sake, Alan. This is not a courtroom. We all heard your daughter on that recording insulting Taylor and saying that she's outgrown her."

"You also recorded her and the others without their permission," Alan said flatly. "That's something we could sue over."

"You could," Carol agreed. "But your daughter, on that recording, also explicitly threatens Taylor with frivolous litigation. In fact, she references you while making that threat. All I'd have to do is play this to any judge in private, and your lawsuit would be gone, and you may very well find yourself answering to the Bar. Now, unless you want a lawsuit directed specifically at your daughter for damages, shut the hell up. The adults are talking."

Paler than normal, Alan Barnes sat back again. Principal Blackwell cleared her throat hesitantly. "So … I presume you have suggestions."

"Yes." Panacea's voice was flat. "You start proceedings to have Taylor transferred to Arcadia." Blackwell began to protest, but Panacea just talked over her. "I don't give a crap about red tape. Pull every string you've got and get it done. Taylor Hebert is specifically and manifestly not safe in this hellhole you laughably call an institute of higher education. This is not a request. This is not a suggestion. You will do it, or I'm pretty sure the lawsuit my mother will bring to bear will bankrupt both the school and you personally."

Taylor stared at Panacea, and she wasn't the only one. Glory Girl was regarding her sister with an odd expression on her face. All of a sudden, she realised what was going on. Panacea wasn't the one who was speaking.

" … I'll see what I can do," Blackwell conceded. "Was there anything else?"

"Yes." Panacea pointed at the girls. "All of the girls except Sophia Hess will undergo in-school suspension for the rest of the school year."

"What?" blurted Madison. "Why doesn't she get punished?"

"Because she's under arrest at this moment." Carol Dallon took over, sounding very pleased. "She'll be handed over to the proper authorities and charged. Two counts of assault and battery, plus one of grievous bodily harm. We'll be looking into more charges as they come up."

"What?" Sophia spat the word out, then turned to her social worker. "They can't do that! Tell them!"

Ms Bright shook her head. "It's out of my hands. You're best off submitting to arrest."

"Yeah," Panacea put in. "You need to get it through your head, Sophia. We were on to you the moment you walked through the doors this morning. Everything you thought you were going to do, we knew ahead of time. Every move you made, we were two steps ahead." She paused to let it settle in. "You lose."

With a scream of inarticulate rage, Sophia launched herself across the table at the teenage healer. Taylor braced herself to watch the track star being brought low again. Not very much to her surprise, before Sophia quite reached Panacea, there was a blur in the air and a loud crack. Sophia spun around and fell awkwardly off the table, landing in a pile on the floor. Teeth and speckles of blood decorated the table in front of Taylor, almost all the way up to where Blackwell sat. Taylor looked around to see Glory Girl still poised in mid-air over the table, shielding Panacea with her body, fist extended.

"And that," remarked Glory Girl, "is why you don't punch my sister. Bitch."

Panacea stood up. "Thanks, sis," she said with a smile. "I appreciate it."

"Hey, what are sisters for?" replied Glory Girl with an answering grin.

Panacea just grinned back, and strolled around to where Sophia lay on the ground. Leaning down, she touched the girl's cheek. "Nice punch," she reported. "You broke her cheekbone and jaw, and knocked twelve teeth out. But she'll live. And eat solid food. Eventually." Straightening up again, she stretched. "Well, I think we're about done here."

Alan Barnes stared at her. "Aren't you going to heal her?"

Panacea snorted, then winced. "She busted my nose. Why should I? Let her heal the old-fashioned way." Whistling a tune that Taylor didn't recognise, she strolled toward the door. "Coming, Taylor? I understand the Boardwalk's great, this time of day."

Taylor felt a huge smile spreading across her face. "Am I." Halfway to her feet, she turned to her father. "Can I go, Dad?"

He looked at her, then shrugged and smiled. "Why not? I think you've earned it."

"You're the best." Giving him a quick hug, she headed for the door.

"Cool," Glory Girl said. "I'm coming too."

Carol shook her head. "No, you're not. You and I are going to talk about the correct way of opening doors, young lady."

"Wait," said Blackwell. "What do you mean -"

The door closed behind them. Taylor didn't care any more. There would be more problems to face, but right now she didn't have a care in the world.

Side by side with Panacea – Amy – she headed out of Winslow. Hopefully for the last time.

And good fucking riddance.



End of Part Twenty

Part Twenty-One

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Twenty-One: Just in Time

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



Taylor

"Okay, so spill."

Amy looked around with an expression so innocent that Taylor was almost taken in. She had one hell of a poker face, but then, a superhero who didn't go masked would almost have to. "Spill what?" she asked.

Taylor gave Amy a decidedly unimpressed look. "You know what I'm talking about. What did you say to that woman to make her throw Sophia to the wolves like that?"

"Oh, that." Amy stopped and hitched her butt up on to the low wall that ran down alongside the stairs. "Turns out she's Sophia's handler. And she's the one who was supposed to be keeping Sophia in check, and reporting stuff up the line if she acted out."

Taylor blinked as a few things became clear to her. "And she wasn't doing her job."

Amy snorted, then winced. "Ow. No, she wasn't. In a word, she was phoning it in. Any time Sophia pushed the boundaries, she pressured Blackwell into going easier on her, and soft-pedalled any incidents in her reports up the chain. She wanted to keep her nice cushy job, so she let Sophia pull her shit and get away with it."

"Okay." Taylor sat on the wall alongside Amy. "So how did … how did he know about it? Because he told you, right?"

"Yeah," agreed Amy. "As for how he knew it, how does he know anything?" She shot Taylor a grin. "But it worked."

Taylor nodded. "And holy shit, that punch. You set her up for that deliberately, didn't you?"

This time, the innocent expression on Amy's face needed work. "Well, someone was maybe feeding me that line. Someone who knew exactly which buttons to push and how hard."

For a moment Taylor wondered if she should feel sorry for Sophia; she hadn't really had a chance, with Security pulling her strings like a master puppetteer. After all, having a dozen teeth knocked out and her jaw broken like that was going to stay with the girl for months. And with Amy refusing to heal her, her face would never be quite the same again.

Then she considered the other side of the matter; Sophia was supposed to be a superhero, but she'd tormented Taylor for months for her own gratification. Screw her, and screw her teeth. It was a win, and she'd take it. "Well, it was worth every second," she replied with satisfaction. "Just knowing it was coming, even while Emma was talking at me and Sophia was beating on me, was worth it." She gave Amy a sideways glance. "Does Vicky like chocolates? Or fruit baskets? I feel like I want to do something nice for her."

Amy laughed out loud as she slid off the wall and kept going down the steps. "Sure. I'll give you a list of her preferences. Come on, I don't want to miss the bus when it comes."

Obediently, Taylor followed her. It was only when they were crossing the parking lot to the bus stop that she noticed the blood staining the front of Amy's shirt, and remembered the state of her own clothing. "Wow," she commented. "The bus driver's gonna think we're axe murderers or something. He'll probably drive right by."

"Nah," Amy replied without a pause. "We're at Winslow, right? He won't even notice."

Which, while it held more truth than Taylor really wanted to admit, still raised a chuckle. "Be quiet, you," she retorted, elbowing Amy playfully in the ribs. "Winslow isn't that bad."

"Really?" Amy was good at deadpan snarking; who knew? "How many gangs attend, again? Let's see ..." She began ostentatiously counting on her fingers. "Empire Eighty-Eight … Azn Bad Boyz … Merchants … oh, and the Undersiders."

"Hey, it's not like I'm recruiting!" Taylor protested, feeling that Amy was going a bit far. "Or tagging. Or picking fights with …" She trailed off, recalling the incident that had just occurred. "That doesn't count. You can't call the Wards a gang."

Amy made a rude noise with her lips. "If Sophia was a typical example, we totally could, and you know it." A thoughtful look crossed her face. "Actually, you know, if we counted Sophia as the leader, and the others as her minions, we could definitely class it as a gang."

She had a distinct point. "So I guess that makes five cape gangs in the one school," Taylor said with a kind of resigned amusement. "Is that some kind of record?"

"I'd have to ask Carol, but you know? I think it might." Amy chuckled and shook her head, then her eyes glazed over. "Wait a second, he's talking to me."

"Sure." Taylor waited to see what happened next.

Nothing did for a few seconds, then Amy acquired an irritated expression. "Okay, fine," she muttered. "I would've gotten around to it sooner or later. I've been busy, you know." She focused on Taylor, her voice going back to its normal tone. "He thinks he knows everything. It's very annoying."

"Everything, as in …?" Taylor ventured.

"As in these bloodstains will come right out if I release the right micro-organisms into the cloth," Amy said, licking her finger then running it over the discoloured area on her shirt. In the wake of the motion, the reddish stain faded almost to nothing. "I would've gotten around to it eventually."

"Oh. Right." Taylor recalled how Amy had done much the same with juice stains on her art project, earlier. "Yeah. Wow. Your powers rock."

"You mispronounced 'suck' there." Amy licked her finger again and held it out. "Want me to fix yours?"

"Sure, go ahead." Taylor hooked her thumbs in the collar of her shirt and held it out from her neck slightly to give Amy a steadier surface to work on. "And your powers do not suck. They're all kinds of awesome. All I do is control bugs; you make bugs that I never would've even imagined."

Amy chuckled darkly. "I never would've imagined most of them either, except that a certain someone suggested them to me." She set to work erasing the bloodstain from Taylor's shirt. "Oh, he says I would've come up with them on my own, but I have my doubts. And … done."

Taylor let her shirt fall back into position, then peered downward in an attempt to examine the result. "Looks good. You could put any dry-cleaner out of business."

"Hell with that." Amy rolled her eyes dramatically. "Do I look like I want to spend all day, every day, running my hands over other peoples' clothing? I'd like a life, thanks." She looked up the street. "That looks like the bus now."

"That's the one, all right." Straightening her hoodie, Taylor led the way to the bus stop. "Well, at least we don't look like murder victims now. Or perpetrators, for that matter." She grinned at the expression on Amy's face, then flinched slightly as the motion pulled on her split lip. "Ow. I shouldn't do that. Well, we did kinda look like we'd been in a life and death struggle."

"Struggle, yes. Life and death, no." Amy was about to say more, but then her phone rang. "Gimme a second to get this. Probably Mom telling me I should go to school. Gonna tell her you need moral support."

"Sure, go ahead." Taylor leaned back against one corner of the bus stop, arms folded in front of her. Amy had dealt with the fractured ribs but left the external signs of Sophia's attack untouched. Although the injuries had been documented, she wanted to be able to prove it had happened first-hand, if necessary.

Pulling out her phone, Amy frowned when she saw the screen, but tapped the icon to answer it anyway. "Uh, hello? Who is this?" That didn't sound like it was Carol Dallon or Glory Girl; Taylor was certain Amy would know their numbers on sight, even if she didn't have said numbers stored in her phone. Which she almost certainly did. "Oh … Lisa? Why are you calling me? How did you get this number? Right, okay, yeah."

Although her brain was alight with curiosity, Taylor pulled her attention from the phone call to where the bus was just now pulling up at the stop. Taking out her bus pass, she waited till the doors opened then showed it to the driver. He responded with a grunt and a jerk of his head. Looking to her side, Taylor saw that Amy already had a pass of her own out, which she showed to the driver even as she kept talking on the phone. Assured that the biokinetic wouldn't be left behind, Taylor climbed on board. Wanting to be as far away from the driver as possible so they could talk in private, she went all the way to the back.

At this time of the day, there weren't many people on the bus; Taylor guessed that everyone who was going to school or work had already gotten there. Thus, the back row of seats was empty. Taylor colonised one end of it, and waited for the other girl to sit down.

The bus started with a jerk just as she did, and she flopped into the seat with a slight 'oof'. "Yeah, okay," she said into the phone. "I'll get back to you on that one." Hanging up the call, she turned to Taylor. "Well, there's a potential problem."

Taylor frowned. "If Lisa thinks something's a problem, it probably is. What's the situation?" She took the time to settle bugs on each of the other people on the bus; while she didn't think they could overhear the conversation, there was no sense in taking chances.

The grimace from Amy told her that there was definitely a problem. "Remember Bakuda, and how Alexandria was gonna take her down? Turns out that didn't go as planned. Lisa and the others heard something about Bakuda being out and about this morning, so they went after her and stopped her. She's in Protectorate hands now, undergoing interrogation. Talking about what happened to Alexandria."

"Oh, shit." Taylor got what she was talking about immediately. "Bakuda killed her?" A chill ran down her spine. "This could be bad. Very bad indeed."

"No, she just put her away for a very long time." Amy didn't sound any happier. "Lisa says that she's hacked the interrogation records, because apparently that's a thing with her. Bakuda told them she hit Alexandria with a bomb that locked her into a bubble of frozen time. So she's probably still alive. Technically, anyway."

Being trapped in a bubble of frozen time sounded pretty definite to Taylor. "Technically? How do you rescue someone from something like that, anyway?"

Amy grinned. "Michael says there's five ways he can think of, off the top of his head. Two are implausible, but the other three have a good chance of working. So he says, anyway." She shook her head. "And I have no idea where he gets his information from. Apart from saying he's read the cheat sheet. And that he's an extradimensional being." She rolled her eyes. "Because that's so informative."

"Well, he may be an irritating extradimensional being, but he's on our side at least, so that's something," Taylor offered. "So what are the three workable ways?" She decided not to ask about the implausible methods; if Security didn't think they'd work, then she'd take his word for it. In any case, she was only asking from curiosity; the woman called Contessa, she felt sure, was probably already using one of the ways.

Amy laughed out loud. "He says he resembles that remark. Okay, the first way is … okay, convincing L33t to build a device to counter the field. Probably by stealing his favourite gaming handset and embedding it in the field first." She looked extremely dubious. "That's not something I want to try."

"Yeah, nope." Taylor didn't know much about L33t, except that he was a villain who did video game themed crimes with his partner Uber. Apparently, his tech had a reputation for being phenomenally unreliable. "Pass on that one. What's the second one?"

Amy's eyebrows rose. "Going to Boston and getting into contact with Accord," she said. "Um. Wow. Apparently he's got a minion … an Ambassador … called Citrine who can tell the field effect to … just go away?" She threw up her hands. "How did he know that? I didn't know that!"

Taylor snickered. "I guess it's a thing? From what I've seen, he likes to pull that crap. But just between you and me, I can't see Accord going along with this, not without a lot of money up front. Unless Michael's got a way around that, too?" She eyed Amy expectantly, wondering if the mysterious 'Security' did indeed have a rabbit to pull out of that hat.

"Not offhand," admitted Amy. "He thinks Accord could maybe be persuaded if … oh, wow." She blinked. "Holy crap, I didn't even think that was possible." A shake of her head. "Holy crap, is he missing a trick."

"Amy? Earth Bet to Amy?" Taylor waved her hand in the general direction of Amy's eyes. "You're having half a conversation here, and I'm not the other half. Mind unpacking what you're talking about?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry." Amy grimaced. "Michael was just telling me that we could possibly persuade Accord to get Citrine to release Alexandria if we also reminded him that there's potentially a large amount of money to be had in saving all the victims of Grey Boy. Also, public goodwill. With that, he might be able to get his plan looked at seriously by the authorities."

Now Taylor was totally lost. "Plan? What plan?" She felt as though she'd opened a book halfway through, and was having to leaf back to find out what certain references meant. "And if it's a plan by Accord, why do we even want to support it?"

"Because apparently it's a plan to end world hunger, the energy crisis, and half a dozen other things," Amy said in a matter-of-fact tone. "He's been improving on it for years. In fact, it's why he became a villain in the first place, to finance it. But now nobody wants to look at it." She shrugged. "Because like you said, it's a plan put together by a villain."

The irony was not lost on Taylor. "Wow. Ouch. Okay, uh, let's call that plan B for the moment. I'm not even sure I can afford a trip to Boston right now, let alone get in to see Accord." She was not as shocked as she might've been at the news that there was an actual plan to save the world (for given definitions of 'save' and 'world') already in existence. The fact that it had been drawn up by a villain only reinforced her view that the world wasn't quite sane. "Okay, what's the third option?"

Amy grinned. "I think you're gonna like this one."

<><>​

Amy

"You want me to get into contact with who again now?" Lisa's voice wasn't quite disbelieving, but she didn't sound as though she knew where this was going.

Amy could sympathise; ever since the bank, her life had been like that. "You heard me," she said cheerfully. "Also, at some point, I'm gonna need you to put me through to Accord." The silence at the other end of the phone was music to her ears. It was hugely amusing to be able to pass on the confusion to someone else, once in a while.

"You know it's irritating as fuck when you do this, right?" Lisa's tone was aggravated, but Amy was reasonably sure she'd do as she was asked anyway, if only to find out what was going on. "That guy in your head put you up to this, didn't he?"

Amy grinned. "Pretty sure you don't want me to answer that one either. Oh, and he says you whine even more than the last version of you he met." She had no idea what that even meant. However, yanking Lisa's chain had turned out to be quite rewarding as a form of stress release.

Of course, the stress release only went one way. "Fuck—fuuuuuck! Okay, fine, I'll call them. Where's the bus dropping you off?" Lisa sounded as though she regretted the whole situation. Even so, Amy got the impression that she'd see it through anyway.

She can't resist a secret. Michael's comment sounded quite amused.

Looks like it. Amy's smirk was both internal and external.

"We'll be getting off at the Boardwalk," she said out loud. "Near that kiosk that sells hot fresh donuts." It was kind of her guilty secret. She didn't indulge much, but she did enjoy them a great deal when she had them.

"Got it. We'll swing by and pick you up just as soon as I can get Brian to move his sorry ass." In the background of the call there was a deep-voiced 'Hey!' which sounded to Amy like the aforementioned Brian.

"Sure, see you then." Amy ended the call and put her phone away. "That was kind of fun." She wondered if Lisa had ever had the tables turned on her like that before encountering Amy's mysterious—and somewhat smartass—passenger. It didn't seem likely, or she'd be more used to it.

"It sounded kind of mean," Taylor ventured. "But she does that a lot to other people so fair's fair, I suppose." She frowned. "What do you think he meant by the 'last version' of Lisa?"

Amy shook her head. "I could ask, but I'm not at all certain that I'm ready for the answer."

You could probably handle it okay, commented Michael. But I'm not gonna tell you till you ask. Let's just say, it'd require a certain level of suspension of disbelief on your part. He seemed to be amused by his own phrasing, though Amy couldn't figure out why.

I'll take your word for it, she told him silently. Though I'm guessing it's got something to do with the comments you dropped about 'the last time you did this'. Am I getting warm?

Any warmer and you'd have third-degree burns, he confirmed.

"So, did he explain what he meant?" asked Taylor, apparently misinterpreting Amy's introspective silence. "Or did he tell you to mind your own business?"

"Neither, actually." Amy hesitated for a moment. "There's stuff going on that's deeper than either of us knows about. But I'm going to leave it alone for the time being."

"Sure, okay." Taylor shrugged and leaned back against the seat. "Think we'll have time for donuts before they pick us up?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Here we are, going to rescue Alexandria from an inescapable prison, and you're more interested in donuts?"

"What?" Taylor spread her hands. "So I've got priorities. Sue me."

Amy could only shake her head. In the back of her mind, Michael chuckled.

<><>​

Boardwalk

"Good, huh?" Taylor's voice was amused. Amy couldn't see her face, as she had her eyes closed. This was because she was inhaling a freshly-made donut, and it demanded her absolute concentration. It was as good as Amy had remembered, and she was determined to savour the experience.

Not that Taylor had any room to criticise; as far as Amy could tell, she was enjoying her own donuts, sprinkled with sugar, almost as much. It was a pleasant day on the Boardwalk, and Amy could think of far worse things to do than sit on a bench and enjoy a treat with a friend. It was still a little odd to think of Taylor in that regard, especially given the outcome of their first meeting. However, between Michael's prompting and her first-hand experience with the girl, she had come to see the tall brunette in that light.

"Mmm," she replied. "This was a really good idea I had." If she were president, she decided, freshly-made donuts would have their own national holiday.

"Your idea?" Taylor snorted. "I was the one who had to talk you into it. Something about rescuing Alexandria and priorities?" Her amused tone belied her words.

"Oh, please," Amy retorted, although she was fully aware that Taylor was correct. "I—"

"They're here," Taylor interrupted. "Just coming down Lord Street now."

Amy opened her eyes and sat up. "But I haven't finished my donuts," she complained, clutching the paper bag protectively. "And I can't ride a dog and carry them at the same time."

"They're not on dogs," Taylor pointed out. "They're in a car. Well, Brian and Lisa are anyway. Probably going to meet Rachel and Alec on the way. That'll be where the dogs are." She pointed down the street, at a nondescript car that was just pulling into a parking space.

"How did you even know—" began Amy, then cut herself off. She slapped herself lightly on the forehead with her free hand before Michael could interject. "Duh. Bugs. You are seriously overpowered with those. You do realise that, right?"

"Hey, can I help it if bugs outnumber every other species on earth just from sheer mass?" Taylor took a bite of her donut, leaving Amy to consider her words.

"Still think it's unfair," Amy retorted, then went back to her own donuts. She watched the car door open; Lisa got out and waved to them. "Okay, guess it's time to go."

Together, they stood up and headed over to where the car was parked. As Taylor had noted, Brian was behind the wheel. Lisa, standing by the vehicle, wore her habitual vulpine grin. Brian leaned out the window as they approached, then blinked in surprise. "Shit, what happened to you two?"

Amy glanced at Taylor, then back at Brian. "I got a broken nose, and Taylor got a split lip and fractured ribs from the same person. Shadow Stalker, in her civilian identity."

Brian whistled softly. "Okay, that I didn't expect. What happened then?"

Taylor grinned, but not too widely. "Amy put her out like a light. Then later on, once she was awake again, Amy kind of goaded her into attacking her again. In front of my dad, her PRT handler, and the school principal. And … drumroll … Glory Girl." With that revelation, she managed to sound almost as smug as Lisa.

The look on Brian's face was classic; his jaw dropped at the same time as his eyes widened. "Fuck. Is she even still alive?"

Amy waggled her hand from side to side. "Mostly. She's got a concussion, a busted cheekbone, a shattered jaw, and she's missing twelve teeth. Oh, and my mother was there, so she's also under arrest."

Brian blinked slowly. "Uh … would it be wrong to send flowers to your sister? Or maybe chocolates. Just asking."

Just as Amy was about to answer, Taylor burst into giggles, to the point that she had to jam her knuckles into her mouth to keep them under control. Amy shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Ignore her. She asked me exactly the same question. It seems that Shadow Stalker had enemies. Who knew?"

The amount of smugness radiating off of Lisa would probably have jump-started a medium-sized nuclear reactor. She raised her hand and gave Amy a finger-wave. "I did."

And me too.

"Yeah, but neither of you count." Amy finished off her last donut and crumpled up the bag. "So, are we going? Just remember, we've got to stop off at my house. Michael says we need my costume for the best impact."

"Already factored that in." Lisa's air of self-satisfaction intensified. "We could've broken into your house and brought it with us, but that might've made things awkward."

"If by that you mean I would literally bitch-slap your face on to the other side of your head, yeah, it'd definitely make things awkward. And that's if my family didn't get to you first." Amy's tone was implacable. "Word of warning. You don't go near my family or my home. I know we're already unmasked, but that's a line you don't step over."

Dang. I think that's the first time I've ever heard that threat from someone who could actually pull it off. I am impressed.

Did I come on too strong? I want her to know I'm serious.

She got it. Trust me, she got it.

"Already said I wasn't going to, didn't I?" Lisa shook her head. "Let's go."

Taylor opened the back door of the car and got in, followed by Amy.

<><>​

A Little Later

Brian

The three dogs moved down the street in a rough triangular formation, with Bitch and Tattletale on Brutus in the lead. Brian and Regent rode Judas to her left, with Panacea and Taylor riding tandem on Angelica to her right. They were on the street instead of the rooftops because Tattletale had said the last person they were meeting would be on foot. Panacea, for one, had expressed relief over this situation. Everyone was in costume; Amy had changed at her house, which gave Taylor the chance to do the same. Since she'd joined the Undersiders, she'd been leaving the costume in the loft anyway, so Brian had brought it along for her.

He still wasn't exactly sure what was going on with Panacea. On the one hand, she still looked like the New Wave healer he'd known about for years. On the other, since the bank job she'd been … weird. Weird enough to seek them out and, just like that, set up events to remove their boss from consideration. And, oh yeah, deal with a monster that had been lurking under Brockton Bay, and talk back to Alexandria and whoever the other woman had been, enough to let them all walk free.

The odd entity calling himself Security was behind it all, he was sure. Where he came from, Brian had no idea. At first he'd thought, like the others, that Panacea had been Mastered. But there was more to it than that. Security seemed to be riding along in Panacea's head, but giving her as much chance as possible to do things her way. It was obvious that he wanted to fix things—in his own phrase, save the world—but Brian suspected that nobody but Security knew all the details on how that was going to go. That was assuming even he knew the details.

Of course, it didn't help that the enigmatic Security was being aided and abetted by Tattletale at her most secretive. Even though his machinations had given her more than one headache, she'd come out far ahead in the deal. Coil was dead, so the team wouldn't be getting any more work from that quarter, but she'd managed to pull enough information from the purloined hard drive that none of them would be wanting for money for a very long time.

And now they were on the way to rescue a superhero from a villain's trap. It was a strange, strange world.

"Okay, stop just up here," Tattletale said, loudly enough for each of them to hear. "He'll be around here somewhere." Bitch immediately did something with Brutus—squeezed with her knees or something, he couldn't really tell—and the monster dog slowed to a halt. A hand signal brought the others to a stop as well.

"Who?" Brian could no longer hold his impatience back. "You still haven't told us who's coming along." He was fully aware of the concept of necessary secrecy, but in his opinion, Tattletale was enjoying her new-found independence all too much.

"That would be me." A familiar figure, one which hadn't been there ten seconds earlier, stepped from the mouth of an alleyway, just as Taylor turned her head that way. Clad in red and black, Trickster tipped his top hat. "We meet again, Undersiders. I presume you've found a way for me to repay the debt we owe you?"

"Well, yes and no." Panacea, silent up until then, spoke up. "We need your specific capability. In return, you can put not one but two powerful organisations into your debt. Which, if leveraged correctly, should pave the way for you to go home. Interested?"

From the way Trickster's gaze snapped toward her as if drawn by a magnet, Brian decided that her seemingly-innocuous wording had gained his attention in no uncertain fashion. "If you mean home as in home, we are most assuredly interested," he confirmed obscurely. "But I'm going to need to talk to you in private first."

Panacea—no, Security—seemed almost amused. "To answer the questions you want to ask, they don't know," he/she said. "Tattletale might suspect, but she's not gonna say a word. I know what I know because that's what I'm all about. And I'd much rather Mars and Jess and Oliver get the chance to go home and be normal. Which is all I'm going to tell you. Can you live with that?"

Trickster's chuckle sounded forced. "I can tolerate a lot of things if the end result is me going home with Noelle. And given how much you know about us, you've already got us on a leash, whether you care about that or not. So yeah. Consider it lived with."

"Good." Panacea pointed at the dog Brian and Regent were riding. "Get on. We've got a little way to go yet. Then we've got a PRT cordon to get through."

"PRT?" Trickster's head came up. "You didn't say anything about fighting the PRT. It'd be a lot easier if—"

"We're not going to need the rest of the Travellers because we're not going to be fighting," Tattletale interjected. "We're just going to walk on through. Panacea was just giving you the heads-up."

Trickster spent a long moment looking at each of them in turn. Then he sighed and went toward Judas. "Seems I don't really have a choice in the matter."

The monstrous creature turned its head and growled briefly, causing him to balk. Bitch snapped a command to quiet it. "Get on," she said curtly to Trickster. "I don't like you riding my dog, but it'll take too much time to walk there." It had taken a little time to persuade her of this, but eventually she had accepted the need.

"Oh, good," Trickster observed with false cheer. "A situation that everyone's uncomfortable with. Now I feel at home." Grabbing a bone spur and setting his foot on a ridge of muscle, he clambered on to Judas' back behind Regent. "What now?"

"Hang on," Brian advised him. "Tightly."

"To the dog," Regent snarked. "Not to me."

"Oh, crap," muttered the leader of the Travellers, but did what he was told. "So how fast do these things go, anywaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyy …"

<><>​

Director Emily Piggot, PRT ENE

"God damn it," Emily muttered, glaring at the bubble of frozen time and the superhero within as if it were Alexandria's fault that it existed. "This is all I need. A superhero in a fishbowl. One of the Triumvirate, at that." She turned to Armsmaster, who was supervising the careful removal and packing away of Bakuda's equipment. "How long is that effect likely to persist?"

"I'd have to bring in magnifying instruments to examine the originating mechanism, which is by definition at the geometric centre of the field," he replied, managing to avoid sounding facetious. "And even then, I may not learn anything at all; to the naked eye, it seems to be burnt out. But without such an examination, I have no idea." He tilted his head slightly. "Ah. Heads up. Legend just got here."

"Wonderful," she muttered, turning toward the entrance. Just what we need. Cape royalty, here to tell us where we're going wrong.

Moments later, the leader of the Protectorate stepped in through the doorway, clad in his blue and white costume. " Director Piggot. Armsmaster," he greeted them. "I came as soon as I heard. What's the situation?" Despite the almost informal tone, Emily was fully aware that here was a man who could vaporise basically everyone in the room if he so wished. The fact that he hadn't, and was entirely unlikely to do so, didn't change anything in her eyes.

"Armsmaster knows the details, but the short version is that she's trapped in a time bubble." She gave him a challenging look. "I hear your lasers are very … versatile. Can they affect the way time passes?"

"Not that I've ever discovered, no." Legend had a reputation for being personable and approachable. She'd met him a few times before in the course of her duties, and nothing she'd seen had contradicted that. Even now, he could almost put across the air of a neighbour who'd just dropped in to borrow a cup of sugar. "But I can give it a try anyway." He put out his hand and a glowing blue-white beam shot from it. The beam struck the field and … stopped. He ceased generating it after about thirty seconds, but the bright blue-white spot remained on the outer surface of the field.

Looking at it from the side, Emily could see that it hadn't even begun to penetrate the interior of the field. "I hope you didn't aim it at her," she commented. From her reading, she knew that Legend's 'lasers' actually propagated at much less than the speed of light, but still well over the speed of sound. And she could watch this one move, if only by time-lapse camera.

"Even if it hit her, it won't harm her," he assured her. "I've hit her with tougher shots during sparring sessions, and they didn't even bruise her." He frowned, studying the field. "Do we have a read on what the dilation rate is?"

"Somewhere on the close order of ten billion to one," Armsmaster stated. "I shone a laser through a section of field precisely ten feet from side to side. It took one hundred forty-one seconds to emerge. From this, and factoring in her known flight speed, I estimate that she'll reach the outer edge in a little over four days, assuming she's flying at full speed. Of course, the next four days would almost certainly kill her, as she passes through the event horizon. Part of her body will be acting on real time, and part will be acting on slow time. Even someone as tough as Alexandria probably won't be able to withstand that. On the upside, we've got a hundred hours and change to figure out how to save her."

"Four days …" Piggot shook her head. Every time she thought she was used to cape madness, the world conspired to show her just how wrong she was. "Well, between this and the bombs that the Undersiders warned you of—how are you going with that, anyway?"

"A preliminary examination of Bakuda's mask and the toe-rings seems to bear out their allegations," he said. "There's an extremely comprehensive list of names and locations, linked to numbers, which appear to refer to bomb types. I've taken the precaution of putting them all on standby, which was thankfully an option. However, actually finding and removing the bombs is going to take quite a bit of effort."

"Oh, good," she said heavily. "I'm glad to know we won't be blowing up today. As I was saying, between that and the extremely drawn-out murder attempt on Alexandria, we've got enough to have Bakuda committed to the Birdcage." She turned to Legend. "Do you concur?" By which, of course, she meant that her recommendation to the judiciary would be to have Bakuda sentenced to the Birdcage, rather than a regular prison. Everyone, after all, deserved their day in court. Even if it was a very brief day in court.

"Attempted murder on this scale … I definitely think she needs to go away permanently," the leader of the Protectorate replied. "If she'd actually carried it through, it might even rate a kill order. And the successful murder of a Triumvirate member carries with it an automatic death penalty." The one person who'd actually managed that, of course, was the Siberian, even if the Triumvirate had only technically come into being after Hero's murder. The PRT was still working on applying the death penalty in her case, but it was the thought that counted. "Do you have any way of determining her actual velocity within the field?"

Armsmaster pointed at a device mounted on a workbench in front of Alexandria. "That laser fires a one-second pulse at her every five minutes, reflecting off her helmet. It measures the return pulse down to a millisecond, which gives us a distance count. So far, the registered motion is less than the margin of error generated by people moving around and air vibration from talking. But even if she was travelling at full speed, it wouldn't have registered yet."

"Hmm. Damn." Legend cupped his right elbow on his left hand, propping his chin on his right thumb and letting his index finger lie along the line of his upper lip. "Eidolon said he'd be here in the next hour, but … I'm not even sure that even his powers will be of any help, here. He can affect time, but I'm not at all certain that he can push it to this level. He's never shown that capability before, anyway."

Armsmaster's head came up. "Director … the situation's just escalated. A group of villains are requesting entry to this location. Wait; not just villains. The outer perimeter guards say that Panacea's with them."

"Panacea? The healer?" Legend frowned. "Is she a hostage?" He lifted from the floor and drifted toward the entrance. "If they think they can—"

"She's not a hostage." Armsmaster's voice brought him up short. "I'm viewing live footage. She's not restrained or under guard, and nobody's threatening her. The villains accompanying her are … hm. The Undersiders, and one other. The leader of that new gang in town, the one with the top hat. Trickster."

"What do they want?" Emily asked the question because nobody else seemed to be about to. "Armsmaster, aren't the Undersiders the group …" She didn't need to say any more.

"Who worked with Panacea and Glory Girl to take down Coil's organisation last night, yes." He still sounded as though his feelings about that were mixed. As well he might; Coil had been shot to death while tied to a chair, unable to defend himself. On the other hand, the dead man in Coil's costume had been Thomas Calvert, a PRT strike team commander who could've done irreparable damage to the PRT if he'd been let continue on his way. As it was, every single action the PRT had taken involving Calvert would now have to be scrutinised under a microscope.

Emily's views on the issue were slightly different. While she disapproved of killing a helpless prisoner, she'd known Calvert since just after Ellisburg. He had struck her as a ruthless opportunist; given powers, this was exactly how she suspected he would act. A trial would've caused more damage than it prevented, as Calvert would no doubt be able to afford a phalanx of lawyers to throw doubt on the very idea that he was a costumed villain. Alive and well, he could have dragged the PRT through the mud; dead, he was merely a series of data points in an ongoing investigation.

"Well?" she asked. "Have they said what they want?" Their presence here, she suspected, was no coincidence. Especially after the Undersiders had personally handed Bakuda over to Armsmaster just a few hours before. I just wish I knew what they were up to.

"Yes." He paused, as if he didn't quite believe the words that next came out of his mouth. "They say they're here to rescue Alexandria."

Legend's head snapped around at that. "You can't be serious." He gestured at the twenty-foot-wide bubble which held Alexandria prisoner. "My powers can't begin to scratch it. She's experiencing time at a rate of ten billion to one. Surely you don't have anyone in this town powerful enough to beat something the Triumvirate can't touch." Emily had been wondering when he would show signs of being merely human; the note of wounded pride in his voice, she decided, would have to do.

"Uh." Armsmaster grimaced. "Tattletale just made a comment. I quote, Tell Legend that he ain't seen nothing yet. End quote."

Emily hid her amusement at the look of shock on Legend's face. It was a sour kind of satisfaction, but she savoured it anyway. New York had its villains, but it also had heroes in plenty. However, only in Brockton Bay was it possible to find villains such as Emily had to contend with on a daily basis. Not necessarily powerful, but they were irritating as crap.

"Let them through on my authority," she stated. "Escorted by one trooper per villain, armed with containment foam." She paused, a question occurring to her. "Is that dog girl, Hellhound, with them?"

Armsmaster's lips moved as he subvocalised the question. A moment later, he shook his head. "No, but they can see her on a nearby rooftop, with three of those monster dogs. Just watching. Regent also seems to be with her."

"Good." Emily nodded. "My orders stand. They get to come in and explain what they meant, but one wrong move and they get foamed. Panacea or no Panacea." The fact that the bad-tempered Rachel Lindt and her goddamn rhino-dog-lizard things were standing off was something for which she was profoundly grateful. Regent was less of a problem, but still someone she didn't want to be in the same room with. Legend should be able to take them all down by himself, but the Undersiders had a well-deserved reputation for being slippery, and Trickster was a virtually unknown factor as yet.

"Understood." Armsmaster relayed the order, then turned to Legend. "Sir, I suggest you let the Director handle this." The subtext was not voiced, but it came across plain as day anyway: You haven't dealt with these people before. She has. Emily was torn between gratitude for his loyalty, and irritation that he was dumping this in her lap.

Legend nodded. "I'll observe for the moment," he agreed. "But if they try anything hostile, I will take them down." He glanced at Emily. "Do they do this sort of thing … often?"

"Not until very recently," she conceded. "Oh, villains attack villains for various reasons, as you well know. Ideology, profit or turf. But up until … well, last night, we've rarely had villains taking down villains then calling in the authorities. Nor have we had heroes openly associating with villains like this. It's not a precedent that I'm totally comfortable with." If anything, that was an understatement. In her view, heroes should act like heroes and villains like villains. It made it easier to tell them apart.

The expression on Legend's face suggested that he agreed with her, but any comment he was about to make was forestalled when Panacea stepped in through the entrance to Bakuda's workshop. She was followed by someone whom Emily had never seen in person before. However, she was familiar with Skitter's appearance, having viewed stills from Armsmaster's helmet cam and footage from security cameras.

Skitter was tall for a girl, taller than Emily herself. Her mask covered her face, the flat yellow lenses and bug-themed mandibles making her look creepy if not terrifying. The costume itself was coloured in grey and black, with unmistakeable armour panels added here and there. The only human touch was Skitter's hair, long and black and obviously well taken care of, spilling out the back of her otherwise full-coverage mask. No cloud of bugs accompanied her, which Emily appreciated; while she didn't think the newly-minted villain was considering treachery, when it came to capes there was no such thing as being too cautious.

"Director Piggot," Panacea said, drawing Emily's attention back to the healer. She had a slightly nasal tone of voice and, Emily now realised, an aluminum splint on the bridge of her nose. "Thanks for letting us come in."

"What happened to you?" asked Emily. New Wave was well-known for keeping their most famous member out of the firing line, for obvious reasons. "Who hit you?"

Panacea stepped closer to Emily and lowered her voice so as not to be overheard by the techs. "Shadow Stalker, in her civilian identity." Her tone was blunt. "After she was exposed as a bullying coward. My mother will be filing the charges. But we're not here for that." She glanced at the other capes in the room. "Hello, Armsmaster. It's nice to meet you again, Legend."

"And you too, Panacea." Legend turned to Emily. "I'm going to need to be filled in on the Shadow Stalker situation before I leave town, so I can brief the Chief Director. But, as Panacea said, we're not here for that." He looked back at the healer. "How do you intend to rescue Alexandria, exactly?"

Panacea might have smiled under the scarf that covered her face. "Oh, I'm not going to be rescuing her. Have you met Skitter? She's a huge fan."

"I have not." Legend nodded politely to the bug-controller. "These are odd circumstances in which to meet, but aren't they all?" He frowned. "I'm guessing you're a villain, from the costume?"

Skitter made an aggravated noise. "Armsmaster thought that too, when he met me for the first time. Just after I took down Lung with the help of the Undersiders. At the time, I was trying to be a hero."

"Since which time, you've assisted in robbing a bank and been complicit in the murder of an unarmed man," Armsmaster put in harshly. "Do not presume that one good act overturns the crimes you've committed."

"I was—" Skitter stopped herself and shook her head, then addressed Legend once more. "Never mind. Yeah, I know my costume looks edgy. By the time I realised this, it was too late to change things. I tried to be a hero, but on the way I somehow became a villain. Anyway. I'm here because Alexandria needs saving, and I want to see this."

"Wait a moment," Legend said. "You took down Lung?" He was obviously trying not to be impolite with his disbelief. "How, exactly, did you do that?"

Skitter's mask gave no visual cues to her expression; her flat tone of voice didn't help either. "I covered him with as many venomous bugs as I could, and had them all bite him repeatedly. This weakened him enough that when the Undersiders arrived, Bitch's dogs were able to put him on the ground."

"That's very impressive." Legend seemed to be sincere. "I'd be interested in hearing more about that fight. After we're done here, of course."

Emily frowned. She'd read Armsmaster's report on the capture of Lung, and somehow it seemed that he'd left out the assistance of Skitter and the Undersiders. While it wasn't something that needed to be aired right now, she was definitely going to raise the point with him later.

By now, two other members of the Undersiders had entered the room, each accompanied by a trooper. While Tattletale looked positively petite next to the armoured PRT men, Grue actually seemed to be on par with them. The last villain to enter was the aforementioned Trickster, his top hat set at a jaunty angle.

"All right then," Emily stated. "You've said you're here to rescue Alexandria. Is that true, or are you just wasting our time?"

"Oh, definitely rescuing," Trickster said, strolling forward to examine the bubble. "Damn. I have never seen shit like this before. Bakuda is fucking vindictive."

"Don't touch the field," Armsmaster warned, apparently reflexively. "Your body will engage with it, and you'll probably lose skin."

"Wasn't about to," murmured Trickster. "Now, how much does she weigh?" He turned to Legend. "Any idea? I mean, is she really dense, or normal human weight?"

Legend blinked, apparently taken aback by the question. "I … have no idea of the exact number, but she's in the normal range as far as I know," he replied. "It's not something that comes up in casual conversation. Why do you need to know?"

"Because I swap things," Trickster said. "And they need to be of the same approximate mass and size. Though I've never tried pulling someone out of a time dilation field before, so there's that." He stepped back and pointed at the basement wall. "How fast do you think she's flying? Because if she hits that wall with any significant speed, she might just bring this whole room down."

Emily glanced at Armsmaster; the armoured hero shrugged. "We don't have a long enough baseline of observations to actually know yet," he admitted.

"Okay, so we're back to 'winging it' territory. Good to know." Trickster turned away from the bubble and looked around the room. "Need a counterweight. Something of the same rough size and weight of a human being. Any volunteers? Nope, didn't think so. Oh, that bar fridge. That looks good." He headed over to the corner of the room, and took hold of the fridge that sat there. With a grunt, he tried to lift it, shifting the unit on its base slightly. "Perfect. Can I have some big strong men lift this on to the bench there?"

"Why on to the bench?" asked Grue. He went over to the fridge, unplugged it, and picked it up. Emily noted that the young man almost certainly did weight training; he didn't even seem to be really straining under the weight of the appliance.

"Would you rather she hit the wall high up or low down? I don't even know if she'll come out of it with the same angular momentum." Trickster shrugged. "But I'm going to assume she is. So we do what we can."

"Good point." Grue put the fridge on the bench, then put two chairs up on the bench as well, side by side. Scrambling up on to the bench himself, he hefted the fridge and placed it on the two chairs. Its perch was a little precarious, but it didn't seem likely to fall down immediately. "Will this do?"

"Good as any. Okay, let's see." Trickster looked around, pointing momentarily at Alexandria, then at the bar fridge, as if reminding himself of something. "Ah. No, it won't. Damn. I knew this was too easy."

"What's the problem?" Legend's voice was calm and controlled. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

It was impossible to see Trickster's face behind the full-face mask he wore, but the tone of his voice suggested a grimace. "Remember when I asked how much she weighs? That matters. I need equivalent masses. Whatever else that field is doing to her, it's amplifying her effective mass. My power can grab her, but I just can't move her. I'm going to need something in the ton-weight range to pull it off."

"How about that?" Skitter pointed at the roughly spherical mass of crushed-together material that lay on the floor behind Alexandria's bubble. It looked for all the world like a giant had gathered up a double handful of lab benches and other equipment, and crunched it all together like the world's dirtiest snowball. Even aside from the hazard tape ringing it, everyone in the lab had avoided it on instinct.

"Ah. Let me check." Trickster turned to face in that direction. A moment later, he nodded. "Sure. It's right in the correct weight range. I should be able to swap them easily. But we're going to have to move it aside or when I do the swap, she's going to barrel straight into that field at full speed."

"I would prefer to jar it as little as possible," Armsmaster warned. "We have no idea how much of Bakuda's tech ended up in that ball, if any of it's still viable, and what might set it off."

Emily wanted to grind her teeth over the colossal irony. The easiest and simplest way to move that ball would be to have Alexandria herself carry it, but in order to do that, they needed to release Alexandria from her Tinkertech prison. Fortunately, that thought led to another. Brockton Bay had its own Alexandria package, after all.

"Panacea." Her tone was curt. "Do you believe your sister would be able to maintain secrecy over this if you called her in?"

The healer didn't hesitate. "Sure, if I ask her to. Want me to call her in?"

Emily nodded. "As soon as possible, please." As much as she disliked making it into a request, she reminded herself that Alexandria's well-being was at stake. Achieving a successful outcome was worth the hit to her pride.

Panacea pulled out her phone and was about to dial when Armsmaster held up his hand. "Not in here. We already know that the bombs are triggered by radio signal. I don't want to take the chance that your call will accidentally trigger anything in this lab."

His logic was impeccable. Apparently coming to the same conclusion, Panacea nodded and headed for the door. After a moment, Trickster tilted his head in that direction as well. "Looks like we'll be waiting for a bit. Anyone mind if I smoke?" Skitter and Grue turned to look at him, and they were far from the only ones. "What? Seriously, I'm a supervillain. Smoking's probably the least hazardous thing about my life right now."

"Fine." Emily bit the word off. "Go smoke. But don't do it in this room. And don't go too far." As he made his way to the door, she turned back to Armsmaster. "How quickly can you get the hazardous tech cleared from this room?"

<><>​

Trickster

Ten Minutes Later

PRT guards had it the worst, Francis Krouse decided. Full-face helmet visors meant they couldn't even catch a crafty smoke on guard duty. On the upside, he couldn't see the undoubtedly unfriendly looks being bestowed upon him by the PRT guard on the door as well as his own foam-equipped escort.

"So, what's it like being a stooge for the Man?" he asked the guard as he exhaled the smoke from his second cigarette. "Kicked any puppies recently?" He was pushing the envelope, he knew, but it wasn't often he got the chance to bait the PRT.

Stony silence greeted his sally, pretty well as he'd expected. He took another puff on the cigarette, drawing the aromatic smoke deep into his lungs. The trepidation that he'd initially felt on walking into the midst of the PRT like this had begun to dissipate, and he was getting bored.

"Those things will kill you, you know." The voice was feminine and teenage. He turned to see that a vision of loveliness in gold and white had descended from the heavens and was eyeing him somewhat critically. "Wait a minute. I think I know you. You're Noelle's boyfriend."

"Yes, we met last night, but only briefly. I don't believe we introduced ourselves then." He doffed his hat and bowed slightly from the waist, then stubbed out the cigarette on the graffiti-encrusted wall beside him. "Trickster, at your service. And you, of course, would be the incomparable Glory Girl."

She gave him the same sort of look that Noelle tended to favour him with when her bullshit detector went off too hard. Which, to be fair, was about once a day. "I've heard of you. You're with the Travellers, right? What are you doing here?" Her gesture took in the PRT guards, silently inquiring as to why he hadn't already been foamed and/or handcuffed.

"As it happens, your sister apparently requested my presence, due to my very specific capabilities, so I have a pass for the moment. Which is basically why you're here as well." He gestured toward the doorway. "Shall we?"

"Sure thing," she said. "You first." He felt a surge of trepidation that ebbed just as fast. To hear about Glory Girl's aura was one thing, but to feel it first-hand was quite another.

"As you wish," he said, heading through the doorway and down the well-trodden steps, followed by his escort. Silently she followed the PRT trooper down; he suspected that she wasn't even setting foot on the stairs. Fliers gotta show off.

When he got to the basement lab, he observed the significant lack of Tinkertech littering the benches. This was good, as he had no desire to experience ground zero in a chain-reaction of Tinkertech bombs. There was, of course, the compacted mass on the ground still to go. He wasn't quite sure what had done that, and he was quite sure that he never wanted it to happen to him.

"Good, you're here." Director Piggot, he noted, had not undergone a personality transplant in his absence. Her comment was aimed at Glory Girl, not himself, and even then wasn't particularly welcoming. "We need you to move a single piece of debris. It needs to be done quickly and smoothly, but not … what?"

Glory Girl pointed at the bubble of frozen time containing Alexandria. "What. The. Hell?"

The Director touched three fingers to her forehead in what was probably an abortive facepalm. "Did nobody explain what was going on before you got here?"

"Hey, you said this was all secret," Panacea pointed out. "So I decided to let you explain it. Should I have told her myself?"

An expression strongly reminiscent of sucking lemons crossed Piggot's face. "... no. Glory Girl, Alexandria was caught in a trap by Bakuda. You and Trickster are here to get her out. Do you understand?"

The teen hero nodded, her blonde curls bouncing around her tiara. "Okay, sure. You were saying something about moving debris?"

Trickster took that as his cue, and pointed at the sintered mass of trash. "That there needs to be out from behind her. Preferably in an open area. I'm gonna be swapping it into the bubble so she can come out. Got it?"

"Got it," she said promptly. Heading over to the ball of compressed debris, she bent down to inspect it. "What's this made of, anyway?"

Armsmaster stepped forward. "I'd advise you to be very careful with it. There may be Tinkertech bombs stuck in that mix, and moving it might activate them."

"Scratch 'may be'," Tattletale put in. "There's almost certainly something in there that might go boom." She grimaced. "The trouble is, it's probably unstable already, so it's just as likely to go off even if we don't mess with it."

"Oh, joy," muttered Grue. "Why did I come along again?" He sidled away from where Glory Girl was standing next to the compacted sphere.

"To keep me and Skitter out of trouble." Tattletale turned back to Glory Girl. "Do your best not to jar it. If you hear any strange noises, or feel odd sensations coming from it, put it down and back off immediately."

"Hey," Glory Girl replied, with what Francis decided was false bravado. "I'm invincible. What can happen?"

It was as if they'd rehearsed it; Panacea, Skitter, Grue and Tattletale pointed at where Alexandria was trapped like a fly in amber. "That."

"Or worse," Armsmaster said bluntly. "So be careful." He turned to the people crowding the laboratory. "Everyone out who isn't directly involved in this. Grue, Tattletale, Skitter, upstairs. Trooper, you go too. I can keep an eye on Trickster. Trickster, are you certain you can do this?"

Francis did not like being put on the spot. "Uh, yes," he managed. "My power says they can be swapped. It just won't be easy, is all. It might take a few seconds."

Armsmaster leaned in. The Tinker's visor was opaque, but Francis could feel his glower anyway. "Get. It. Right."

"Sure. No pressure." Francis swallowed a lump in his throat. "I got this shit." He turned and craned his neck so that he could see the ball of compressed material. Alexandria was in plain sight already. "Okay, when you're ready."

"Just gotta be careful," murmured Glory Girl. Taking a deep breath, she crouched and wrapped her arms around the mass of compressed crap. It took a couple of seconds for her to find the right grip; as she did so, Francis started trying to establish a connection between it and Alexandria.

It was possible to swap them, he knew; the pressure from his power told him that. Unfortunately, that time field was giving him difficulties, so he was having to do it slow and steady rather than quick and dirty. As she lifted, he pushed the connection, firming it up without going all the way to a clean swap. It was going to take a lot of effort to make this swap, but the longer he worked at it, the easier the final push was going to be. Glory Girl moved sideways, step by careful step. He wondered why she wasn't flying, then realised that the weight she was carrying was possibly more than she could fly and carry at the same time.

"Shit." Her voice was no more than a whisper, but to him it may have been a shout.

"What?" He hadn't meant to make his voice so sharp, but stress never sat well with him.

"I think it just beeped." Despite her earlier bravado, her eyes were wide.

"Go, go, go!" Armsmaster's bellow echoed through the room.

No! screamed Francis silently. I can do this! He saw Glory Girl toss the thing into the air and lift off the ground, arrowing toward the stairs. Fixated on the ball of debris, he tried to force the connection, to push the swap through. I can still save the day.

And then a massive armoured gauntlet grabbed him by the front of his costume, dragging him bodily up the stairs. He could hear Armsmaster's boots pounding on the risers, the armoured man moving faster than anyone should be able to achieve while wearing that weight of equipment. Glory Girl came into sight, catching up with almost insulting ease. She took hold of his belt with one hand and the weapon rack on Armsmaster's back with the other, and pushed. Behind her, he heard the crash as the ball of debris hit the floor … then a wave of silvery light appeared at the bottom of the steps, moving even faster than Glory Girl.

Francis had time to think faster, oh God faster before they shot out the top of the stairwell and he sprawled on the floor. His top hat went flying, and his head smacked into the floorboards hard enough to make him see stars. He was vaguely aware of Armsmaster hitting the ground rolling, then coming to his feet in a totally bullshit manoeuvre. His vision wavered as he watched Glory Girl hover in the air before the stairwell. "Is everyone okay?" she asked.

"Oh God, Vicky," Panacea said, with a choke in her voice. "Your feet." She moved forward, reaching out to her sister.

Frowning, Glory Girl looked down. So did Francis. From the ankles down, Glory Girl's feet had turned to glass. It was the last straw; his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.

<><>​

A Few Moments Later

"Are you okay?" Panacea bent over Francis, her expression solicitous. "Nothing broken?"

"Nothing except a bump on the head," he managed. "Is—is Glory Girl going to be okay?" Even going through all the body horror that he'd experienced with Noelle's ongoing mutations, seeing someone's feet just transmuted like that had blasted past all his defences.

"Sure," she said, glancing over to where Glory Girl was talking with Legend, Armsmaster, Skitter and Tattletale. The blonde hero seemed none the worse for her mishap, save that she looked fractionally skinnier, and was barefoot. "She was more pissed about the boots than anything else. She loved those boots."

Francis snorted. "Right. Um. So, about going back down there. We've still got to save Alexandria, right?"

"That's correct," Legend said from across the room, raising his voice to make it clear that he was addressing Francis. "Do you feel up to it, young man?"

"Help me up, and I can get it done," Francis declared. He braced himself and climbed to his feet. Silently, Grue handed his top hat over; Francis replaced it carefully on his head, avoiding the lump on the back of his head. He turned to Panacea. "I don't suppose you can do anything about the lump?"

"Sure," she said. "You've got a mild concussion too, but it's not serious. I can't do anything about that. Do you consent to me healing you?"

"Definitely," he said. She put her hand on the back of his head, and the pain went away, just like that. "Wow," he muttered. "You have got to be the most popular cape ever."

"It gets very tiring after a while," she returned, her voice just as quiet. "Anyway, it's your turn to go rescue a superhero."

"Yay me," he replied dryly. Behind her scarf, she cracked a smile.

<><>​

The basement lab had undergone a startling transformation. Every wall, every bench, every piece of debris, was now made from glass. The only exceptions were Alexandria herself and the section of bench under her.

"Uh, is it just me, or is that effect moving into the field faster than it should?" Francis pointed at the time bubble. The silvery wave that had pursued them up the stairs was sinking into the time bubble at a perceptible rate, closing in on the trapped hero from all sides.

"Oh, shit!" Glory Girl stared at it. "The, uh, glass bomb, must've interfered with it or something. We've got less than a minute! Everyone get back!" Flying over to the mass of trash that had been the cause of the whole problem before (now transformed into glass), she hefted it into the air. "Trickster, do your thing!"

Right. Make or break time. Francis focused on Alexandria and on the mass of glass, seeking to connect the two. It wasn't as dense as it had been before, but he had a trick to get around that; mentally grabbing the air in the lab, he added that to the sphere's effective volume. Focusing on both the ad hoc counterweight and Alexandria, he threw all his power into forcing the swap. It didn't happen in the first half-second, nor in the next.

"Hurry!" shouted Glory Girl. "It's nearly got her!"

He could see that for himself, but there was nothing he could do except try harder. The silvery wave crept closer and closer to the Triumvirate hero, and he gritted his teeth and pushed. For just a moment, it felt as though he were trying to lift that ton-weight over his head with his own arms.

And then the chord in his head sounded, and the resistance was gone. A splintering crash echoed through the room as he stumbled and leaned against the wall, unable to stand upright without its support. Shards of glass ricocheted throughout the basement. Feeling as though he'd just run a marathon, he fought for breath; his heartbeat thundered in his ears.

"Vicky? Vicky!" That was Panacea, lunging past him into the room. "Are you all right?"

"I'm here, Ames." Glory Girl's voice came back, even as the last pieces of glass tinkled to a stop. "That was way too fucking close."

Chunks of glass shifted from the far side of the room, and Francis saw a glittering figure climb out of a hole that hadn't been there a minute before. "I'm fine," she said. He'd never met Alexandria, but even covered in powdered glass, she had a certain presence about her. "Would someone like to explain to me what just happened?"

Legend floated forward past Francis and pointed at the time bubble. "Bakuda trapped you in there last night. Trickster swapped you out of it just now. And there was a glass bomb involved. It's a long story."

Alexandria looked at the bubble for the first time. "Ah, a time dilation field. It must be quite severe. I'm still seeing myself in there." It was true; the image being conveyed from the interior of the bubble showed the iconic hero, still flying with cape outstretched behind her. As they watched, the silvery wave encroached closer and closer to her. Shit, Francis realised. It was nearer than we thought.

"That's the light that was on the way out when he swapped you," Armsmaster agreed. "Give it another minute or so."

"Well done." Alexandria looked at Francis approvingly. "I presume Bakuda is in custody?"

Legend nodded. "Yes," he said. "We were debating the merits of Birdcaging her."

Her mouth twisted wryly. "Well, I had hopes. But after this, I'm not so sure that you're wrong."

Skitter pointed at the time bubble. "Look." Francis dragged his eyes over to it, just in time to see a shadow in the shape of Alexandria fade and vanish, just before the silvery wave would've enveloped her. Then the ball of glass faded into view, first the outer edges, with more and more detail filling in all the time.

Without warning, Alexandria was standing before him. "I understand I have you to thank for getting me out of there." It wasn't a question.

By now, he felt steady enough to forego the support of the wall. Stepping forward, he doffed his hat and bent forward in a deep bow. "Trickster, ma'am," he said.

Her eyes glinted, and her mouth pressed into a tight line. "Of the Travellers," she said flatly.

"Of, as you say, the Travellers," he agreed blandly. "Now, I believe that this puts you in my debt?" He was fully aware that once more, he was pushing his luck. But sometimes there was no other way to go. Go big or go home, as the saying went. Or, in this case … go big and go home.

"I believe it does," she agreed. Her eyes met his, and a very slight nod communicated the fact that yes, she was in his debt but don't push it, buddy. "What did you have in mind for repayment?"

He let himself smile behind his mask. Bingo. "I believe that Panacea had some ideas."



End of Part Twenty-One

Part Twenty-Two

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Twenty-Two: Negotiations



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



Panacea

Amy watched as Alexandria stepped away from Trickster and moved toward where she stood beside Taylor. "We meet again," the older hero said quietly. "You might have warned me about this."

Inwardly, Amy quailed. Um, a little help? she asked.

Michael stepped into the forefront of her mind. Want me to do the talking?

As much as she disliked giving over control to anyone else, Amy felt that she was singularly unequipped for the upcoming conversation. Okay, but if I don't like the way it's going, you'll put me back in the driver's seat?

He gave her the mental equivalent of a shrug. Your wish, my command, et cetera, et cetera.

As she was certain that Alexandria would pick up on the slightest sign of nervousness, Amy refrained from taking a deep breath. Fortunately, the rapid-fire conversation had only taken a couple of seconds. Let's do it.

Smoothly, Michael took up Alexandria's thread. "You're the one who took on a Tinker in her own base and didn't immediately smack her into next week." Amy knew he wasn't speaking the way she did, but she didn't want to try to correct his phrasing while he was in the middle of talking to a member of the Triumvirate. "Just be glad I figured out a way to pull your arse out of the fire."

Alexandria's lips tightened, and Amy mentally flinched. She's figured out that it's you talking.

Probably, he agreed dryly. Also, she doesn't like being called out on her screw-ups. Then again, who does?

"You did," Alexandria agreed after a moment. Her reluctance confirmed the supposition that Michael had made. "Trickster says you have ideas on how to repay the debt."

"I do," Michael said in Amy's voice, then he glanced around. "But not here. We need a place where we can talk freely. We don't want anyone listening in who shouldn't be."

"How about the roof?" Taylor suggested. "I can make sure nobody gets close enough to hear what you're saying."

Alexandria gave her a stern glance. "I don't want you getting close enough to hear what we're saying. Or your bugs."

Oh, hell no. You do not pull that shit. "Well, I do." Michael faced off against Alexandria without blinking an eye. "See, what I've got to say, she's cleared for more of it than you are. Besides, I might want a witness to what you agree to do. And I trust her not to pull stupid shit just to prove a point."

Are you making a reference to something? Amy was pretty sure he hadn't just said that at random.

In her mind's eye, he smirked. Mayybe.

Despite not being privy to their internal conversation—or perhaps because she had an inkling that it was going on—Alexandria glared at them. "You can not be serious."

Umm … All of a sudden, Amy felt a lot less secure about following Michael's lead.

Trust me on this. He shrugged. The gesture might have looked careless, but Amy knew her shoulder muscles were hard as rocks. "Can't I? You're the Thinker. You tell me."

For a long moment, Amy thought Alexandria was simply going to turn and walk away. Then the Triumvirate hero nodded once, tightly. "The roof, then."

<><>​

Amy watched as Taylor walked to the edge of the roof and looked over. The bug controller's past performance had been impressive but Amy still had to ask the question. Are you certain she can make sure nobody's listening in?

Trust me on this. His tone was totally confident.

You say that a lot. Amy gave him the best equivalent she could of a stern look.

I think I'm justified, here. The only way to hear what we're talking about without getting past Taylor would require the use of powers, and even that's not a given. Anyone in her area's already been marked. She can keep up with everyone's location in real time.

"Clear," Taylor said. "Nobody within earshot."

See, what did I tell you?

"Very well." Alexandria nodded toward Amy. "Present your requests."

Internally, Amy snorted. Requests, my ass.

Mike replied with a smirk. Did you hear 'demands' too? Because that's what I heard. He creased the corner of Amy's mouth in a grin. "Okay. For starters, the Travellers need to go home. You can make that happen. Or rather, I could have, if you'd just given me Doorway privileges from the beginning."

"Hrm." Alexandria rubbed her chin. "By 'home', I get the impression you don't mean anywhere they can get with Amtrak."

"Nope." Michael let the word hang in the air for a second. "Earth Aleph."

"Really?" From the tone of her voice, it seemed that Michael had managed to surprise Alexandria, at least a little.

Really? If Alexandria was surprised, Amy was astonished. When were you going to fill me in on this little revelation?

Yeah, well, it's not as though we've had a lot of downtime to discuss the obscure details of some side characters. Out loud, he said, "Yup, really."

Side characters? His turn of phrase sounded a little odd. What are you talking about?

I'll, uh, tell you later. He smirked a little, but didn't seem willing to open up. Anyway, shh. Alexandria's still talking.

"So when you say they were in Madison …" prompted Alexandria.

" … I meant that they were from Aleph's Madison, not Bet," Michael confirmed. "They're Simurgh bombs, but they've been defused now that Noelle's back to normal. Send them back and there shouldn't be any more trouble from them. Also, once you get hold of Cody, he needs to be either depowered or held incommunicado. Or maybe inducted into the Wards via boot camp."

"Drastic," murmured Alexandria. "Any particular reason?"

Much as I don't actually like her, I have to agree. Why are you so hard on this Cody guy?

Uhh … There was a moment's pause. Better I tell you both at once. Michael took a deep breath. "He hates Trickster. He hates Accord. He'll do anything, up to and including murdering innocents, to get his revenge. This is mostly a Simurgh setup, of course."

"Really?" Alexandria tilted her head. "I don't suppose you know what her overall plan was?"

"Actually, yeah, I do." Michael held up two of Amy's fingers. "Part one. After Leviathan hits Brockton Bay in a month or so, Coil is shot in the head by person or persons unknown. Learning that her 'one hope' of being cured is dead, Noelle breaks out and rampages across Brockton Bay. Trickster sides with her against the heroes because he's desperately in love with her, even in monster form. You and Eidolon are both on site, and you're both cloned. Myrddin is murdered by a clone, and another one publicly spills the beans about a certain name that nobody wants to speak aloud. Including your role in it. In all of it."

"Christ," muttered Alexandria, then glanced around as if to make sure nobody was close enough to hear. Taylor, still prowling around the edge of the roof, gave her a thumb's up without even looking their way. Amy decided that she was being far too much of a smartass. "Leviathan? Are you sure?"

"That it'll happen?" Amy felt Michael shaking her head. "Nope. Too much is changing. Anyway, part two. This is the part with Cody. His dislike of Trickster and his obsession with Noelle got him in deep shit, and Accord ended up selling him to the CUI, to be impressed into the Yàngbǎn. He's an outsider there, and they treat him like one."

Although he was using her larynx, the tone of her own voice frightened Amy almost as much as the words. Can I really sound that scary?

Figure you can if you put your mind to it.

"The Yàngbǎn won't be present for the Noelle incident … will they?" Alexandria didn't sound as sure as she might have.

Michael grinned at that. "Haha, nope. But they are present for when Behemoth hits New Delhi in June. You're dead by then. Fatally underestimating an enemy."

Oh, yeah, you told us about that, Amy recalled. But you never said which one of us it would be.

Correct, Michael agreed. I didn't.

"Really." Amy heard a creaking and realised it was the sound of Alexandria's tendons as she clenched her fists, stretching under the sort of tension that snapped high-tensile cables. Even Taylor, away on the other side of the roof, looked around at the sound. Alexandria's voice was flat and deadly. "Who?"

"Doesn't matter." Michael waved away the question. "They're not a threat any more. I changed that, too. Anyway, Behemoth in New Delhi. Yàngbǎn's there. Cody breaks away from them and goes to find Accord, who's in the middle of coordinating battle plans with Chevalier and Tattletale. He murders Accord and nearly kills the other two. This puts a huge crimp in the planning, as you can imagine."

Okay, you didn't tell us this bit, Amy growled inside her own head. Privately, she figured that Cody's actions would do more than 'put a crimp' in the battle plans.

One, you didn't need to know. Michael's voice was calm and matter-of-fact. Two, it's never going to happen now.

"Fuck." Alexandria slowly shook her head. "What do you suggest?"

"Travellers go home. Cody … rehabilitates, I guess." Michael shrugged. "If and when you take the fight to the big guy, he'll be invaluable for keeping people alive, but he's a ticking time bomb that really needs to be defused before anything else."

"We can always Birdcage him if we can't get him to play along," Alexandria noted.

Amy would've shivered if Michael hadn't been in charge of her body. Alexandria's tone had been nothing short of clinical. She's not even really worried that she's discussing the uprooting of a fellow human being's entire life, here.

To be fair, he's kind of a douche. Out loud, he said, "Birdcaging is an option. I've got no doubt you can rig the paperwork to make it happen. Which reminds me. I still need Canary's record wiped clean."

"Wait, wait." Taylor had ceased her patrolling of the roof's edge, and approached Amy and Alexandria. She sounded more than a little concerned. Which, considering that she was still technically a member of a supervillain team—and a murderer—made the fact that she was speaking up all the more important. "You can just Birdcage someone if they're too much of a problem? What happened to due process and all that?"

Alexandria gave Michael a sharp look. "I thought she was read in on what she needed to know?"

Michael sighed. "Chill," he advised her. "Skitter's still getting used to this, but like I said before, she's got clearance to hear what I've got to say. So pull your head in." While Amy was still figuring out exactly what he meant by that, he turned to Taylor. "Okay, short version? Justice at this level is very much Wild West. Shit gets done because it needs to happen, and they adjust the appearance of it to look like they did it the legal way after the fact, or sometimes during the fact. If the powers that be want someone to get put away when they'd normally walk, or vice versa, then that's what happens and fuck the finer points of law. It's a shitty way to do things, but it's been a shitty situation since Behemoth first shoved his head above ground." He gave Taylor a serious look. "You okay with this?" I need her to be okay with this.

I'm not sure that I'm okay with this.

It's the way things are. And to be honest, it'll let us act with a lot more agency than if the rules were all enforced by the book.

Slowly, Taylor nodded. "I'm good." She seemed to think for a moment. "And that also applies to Canary's court case?"

Hah. Clever girl. Michael snorted out loud. "If they have to, yeah." He pushed back the hood Amy was wearing so her hair blew loose in the breeze atop the building. Amy wondered what Taylor saw in her eyes at that moment; the expression she felt on her face wasn't one she'd ever used before this day. "If they had to, they could pull her right out of the Birdcage. They don't spread that around, of course. What the general public gets to hear, and what the actual truth is? Two very different things." He gave Taylor a cynical grin. "That's been the story for the PRT and certain other organisations more or less from the start, but we won't go into that right now."

Alexandria didn't look happy, probably because she didn't want Taylor knowing the secrets that Michael was spilling. "That can be done, yes. But why?"

"Canary's being railroaded," Michael said flatly. "You know she's being railroaded. I'm just not sure whether it's a subtle message to all the other Masters around to 'stay in line or you're fucked' or whether the judge on the case has a hate-boner for capes. Personally, I'm inclined toward the former." And confirmation one way or the other in three, two, one …

"I'd have to review the details of the case—" began Alexandria.

Gotcha. Michael burst into laughter for a few seconds, cutting her off. "Bullshit," he said bluntly. "You've got perfect recall, and I know for a fact that you would've signed off on it before it ever hit a courtroom. Thanks, though, for confirming you had a hand in this. Now, I'm gonna leave it up to you exactly how you pull this off, but you're gonna arrange it so Canary walks. Acquitted of all charges. Also, Eidolon goes into therapy soonest. And I mean ay-ess-ay-fuckin'-pee."

Wait, what? What's that about?

Alexandria knows every detail of the case inside and out. She can't not know them, but she just tried to stall me. Which means that the trial is exactly what I said it was, a message to all other Masters to not make waves.

Not for the first time, Amy felt as though her entire world view was overturning itself. Oh. Holy shit. They can do that? And what was that about Eidolon?

Can and do, kiddo. As for Eidolon … well, let's just say, he's a man whose issues endanger the world. And no, I'm not exaggerating. It's got to do with how to get rid of Endbringers.

Amy considered that. Uh, so the only way he can be able to beat them is to have him at full mental fitness?

That's certainly one way to put it, yes.

"Canary won't be too much of a problem," Alexandria noted. Her voice stayed calm, though Amy was certain she noticed muscles bunching in the older woman's jawline. "What does Eidolon need therapy for?"

"What the fuck doesn't he need therapy for?" Michael rolled Amy's eyes. "The guy's got a complex large enough to house the entire population of Manhattan Island. He needs to be the greatest hero around in the worst way, and I do mean 'the worst way'. If he doesn't learn how to chillax the fuck out, like yesterday, people are gonna die who really didn't need to." He held up a finger. "As a sweetener, once he's pried his head out of his ass, I'll fill him in on how to fix his powers."

That got Alexandria's attention. "Do you know why—" she began, then cut herself off, glancing again in Taylor's direction. The bug controller flinched almost imperceptibly, but stood her ground.

"Yeah. I know why." Michael didn't elaborate.

Do you know why what? What was that about Eidolon's powers? Amy felt like she was being left behind by the conversation.

Why they're fading. Michael's voice was quite matter-of-fact.

What? Shock overrode her other emotions. His powers are fading? I didn't know that! If that's true, how come nobody knows about it?

If you were known as the most powerful hero in the world, would you want people knowing that you were losing your edge? "Make sure he knows that if he tries to harass me about it without getting therapy—and I mean completing therapy—then I'll tell him to fuck off in no uncertain terms. He needs to have his head together for this one. And I will know if he's trying to pull a swifty on me."

"So noted." Alexandria's lips pressed together. "Was that all?" Even though she was still calm, Amy felt it was the sort of calm that happens just before a hurricane blows up. There was already a certain pressure in the air.

Uh, she's kind of pissed.

Yeah, I got that. Ask me if I care. "Actually, one more thing. Two more things."

"You are rapidly approaching the point beyond which my patience is exhausted." Alexandria may have offering to pass the salt at dinner, for all the emotion in her voice. Amy wasn't fooled.

"Ten minutes ago, we were rapidly approaching the point beyond which you would've become a glass statue of yourself, inside a bubble of frozen time," Michael reminded her. "Exactly how grateful are you that I arranged for that not to happen?"

Amy could hear the creaking tendons again. Alexandria's expression was implacable. "Two more things. That's it."

"Uh, wait a second." Taylor raised her hand, getting their attention. "Someone's coming up. I think it's Legend."

"Send him away," Michael said softly. "This is something he won't be on board with."

Alexandria tilted her head slightly at this, giving Amy the distinct impression that she was raising an eyebrow. "Very well," she murmured.

Dramatically, Taylor flourished her finger and pointed it at the roof access door just as it opened.

Smartarse. Michael sounded amused.

You'd do exactly the same. Amy figured she had a line on Michael's personality by now.

Granted. His amusement grew.

Legend leaned out through the doorway. "Everything's fine up here?" he asked.

"Perfectly," Alexandria assured him blandly. "We're just wrapping up. Have you met Skitter?"

"Briefly, before we rescued you," he confirmed, then turned to Taylor. "You're showing more civic-mindedness than most villains I know."

"And some heroes," muttered Michael under his breath. Amy snickered, especially as a twitch in Legend's cheek indicated that he'd heard the comment.

"Have you considered changing sides?" Legend asked Taylor in all seriousness. "We could use someone like you in the Wards."

Wow. If she'd been in Taylor's shoes, Amy would've accepted in a heartbeat, especially given that it was Legend who was asking. But to her surprise, Taylor didn't immediately leap to take up the opportunity. Why isn't she saying yes?

As an ex-villain, she'd probably have to transfer to a Wards team in another city. Her father lives here, and she really doesn't want to cut ties with him. She might regret it, but she'll say no.

"Sorry," Taylor said a moment later. "I've got things to work out here. Though I'll keep your offer in mind for the future."

Told ya.

"It's not open-ended," Legend warned her. "Commit too many crimes, and it becomes somewhat more complicated to get you in."

"Oh, I don't know," Michael said dryly. "You could always give her probation. I understand that's basically carte blanche as far as the Wards are concerned."

Ouch. Amy doubted that even she could fix a burn like that.

Oblivious to the byplay, Taylor snickered at the reference. Alexandria's expression became intent, while Legend looked puzzled. "No, it isn't," he objected. "I don't know what you've heard, but—"

"Today, at Winslow High School, Shadow Stalker assaulted myself and another girl as a part of an ongoing bullying campaign that she's been a ringleader in for the last year," Michael said flatly. "Unfortunately, she did it in front of Glory Girl. She's now in the hospital with a concussion, missing teeth and a broken jaw. She was on probation, and nobody pulled her up on it until I got involved. So don't tell me that Wards probation is free of flaws."

Legend drew himself up. "The Wards are supposed to be preparing for their roles as adult heroes once they graduate into the Protectorate or go independent. It should not be a breeding ground for bullies. Rest assured that I will be calling for a full investigation into this matter." He lifted off the roof and hovered there for a moment, then nodded toward Amy. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Panacea."

"You're welcome," Michael replied dryly. "Just fix that shit, okay? Bury Shadow Stalker in the deepest cell you've got. Because trust me, there's no way she's actually going to be a hero worth the name unless she gets a total personality transplant."

Legend nodded seriously. "I'll keep that in mind." He rose into the sky, then accelerated faster and faster until he was a blur disappearing over the horizon.

Alexandria watched him go, then turned to Amy. "So what are those 'two more things'?"

Yeah, what are they?

For the first time, Michael sounded a little cagey. I can't guarantee you'll like it.

Somehow, Amy wasn't surprised. I'll try not to judge.

I appreciate that. Michael faced off against Alexandria. "Remember how I mentioned Teacher?" He paused for a beat. "Remove him from the Birdcage, then end him. Or arrange for his death on site. Tragic accident with a vacuum seal. He needs to never enter human society ever again, and I can't guarantee that the Birdcage will deliver on that. That's the first one." He gave Alexandria a challenging stare. "And if you even try to say something like 'that's murder', I will laugh in your face again."

But that is murder. And you'd better not laugh in my face.

Execution. And I'd never laugh at you. His voice was serious. Teacher is a menace with no redeeming features. His power literally enslaves you to him if he wants it to.

Amy saw Alexandria's eyes close briefly behind the eyeholes in her helmet. "So noted," the Protectorate hero gritted. "That can be arranged. And the last one?"

"Saint still needs to go down. Put Contessa on to him. After Amy and I beat the shit out of her, she might be feeling the need to validate her existence. Get her to round up the Dragonslayers, put them out of commission, then collect Dragon's black box and reverse the prohibitions that've been placed on her. Got that?"

Wait. Dragon's … black box? What's that about?

Okay. You know how things have been getting weirder and weirder? How things aren't what you thought they were?

Amy had a bad feeling about this, but she gave the mental equivalent of a nod anyway. Uh, yeah?

Well, Dragon's an AI, with a stack of prohibitions forcing her to stay on her creator's idea of the straight and narrow.

Amy reeled mentally. What the fuck? I mean, what the actual fuck? Dragon's an artificial intelligence? Who made her? Why aren't they kicking Saint's ass?

Her creator died when Leviathan sank Newfoundland. Saint found a black box full of codes that lets him tap into her code and steal her gear.

Before Amy could ask more questions, Alexandria nodded. "Is Saint really that important?"

Michael breathed out through Amy's nose. "And the prize for 'stupid question of the year, two thousand eleven' goes to the lady in the black cape. This is a guy who, when faced with a bunch of cloned Slaughterhouse Nine members rampaging across America, would choose to shut Dragon down because she was getting too close to pinpointing his operations."

I notice she doesn't seem surprised. Does she already know?

Not officially. But yeah, she knows.

"I … see." Alexandria had obviously decided to ignore the 'stupid question of the year' jab. "Do you want him dead, too?"

"Nah." Michael shrugged. "Once the black box is taken away from him, used, then busted, he's harmless. Of course, feel free to try him for all the crimes he's committed in the name of keeping America safe from the menace of Dragon. Or use Slug on the Dragonslayers. That could work too."

Slug? Who's Slug? Amy was having trouble keeping up. It was hard enough to reconcile the gently humorous Michael who had encouraged Amy with jokes and recited poems in her ear with the grimly pragmatic person who was now talking through her mouth.

Case fifty-three. Removes memories.

Well, that wasn't creepy at all.

"We'll do whatever seems necessary," Alexandria said flatly. "Did you need anything else?" No more demands, her tone warned Amy.

"Nothing in particular," Michael assured her. "Of course, the rest of the agreement we made last night still stands, yeah?"

Alexandria nodded. "It all stands. We won't be touching the Undersiders and we won't be harassing Panacea or Glory Girl. And you wanted Oni Lee gone as well?"

Michael snorted. "That would be nice. Just don't let him get the drop on you like Bakuda did."

"That's hardly likely." Alexandria almost sounded offended.

"I'm sure you thought that when you went after her, too." Michael's voice was very dry.

Alexandria visibly winced. "Point taken." She looked from Amy to Taylor and back again. "Was there anything else?"

Got anything you wanted to ask her?

Uh, not right now. Amy felt she'd been through enough already, and she just wanted to decompress and get her head around all the revelations she'd had to accept today. Thanks anyway.

No worries. Out loud, he said, "I got one thing to say, but Skitter can go first."

Taylor shook her head hastily. "No, no. I'm good. All I want is to be left alone."

Michael nodded. "Not a problem. I got one more thing, like I said." He looked Alexandria in the eye. "I'm expecting you to work with Legend to sink Shadow Stalker once and for all. Got that?"

Amy wondered why Alexandria gave Michael a sharp glance, then she recalled his comment about how Alexandria's secret identity had 'serious throw weight'. "Got it," said the Protectorate hero. A moment later she was gone, streaking toward the skyline as air whistled in her wake.

Do I want to know what that was about?

That depends. Do you? Far from being amused, he sounded concerned. You've got a lot of shit to handle right now. Also, it's something that might piss you off, but you definitely won't be able to do anything about it right now.

Okay, you realise that I'm not going to be able to stop thinking about it now? Mentally, she shook her head. Go ahead and tell me. It's not like it's gonna be any more shocking than Dragon being an AI, or the PRT just Birdcaging people because they can.

Okay, you asked for it. You know how I alluded to Alexandria's secret identity last night?

Yeah? she asked cautiously.

She's also known as Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown of the PRT. His voice was matter-of-fact, as though he were relating football scores.

You are fucking shitting me! But even as she voiced the automatic protest, her brain caught up with her words. Michael had never led her astray before, so even if this sounded unbelievable on the surface, she had to give him the benefit of the doubt. Are you shitting me?

Not a word of it. Now, he sounded mildly amused. She got the impression of someone sitting back and eating popcorn. Told ya it was a lot of shit to handle.

Well, now it is. Amy's head was spinning. How the fuck am I supposed to deal with this shit?

One step at a time, he said soothingly. I'll talk you through it.

If I was old enough to drink, I think I'd be getting drunk right now. She couldn't believe how thoroughly her worldview had been overturned in just twenty-four hours.

"Guys?" That was Taylor. "You've been standing there for about thirty seconds. Do you want me to come back later?"

Amy felt Michael cede control of her body. "No, I'm fine," she said. "I've just learned that about seventy-five percent of my worldview was a lie. How about you?"

"Yeah, I'm not too far off that myself," agreed Taylor. "I don't know what's more terrifying; learning that the PRT is basically a Wild West sheriff's department, or watching you and Michael dictate terms to Alexandria."

"I know, right?" Amy held up her hand. It was shaking. "Since he gave me control back, my adrenaline's been kicking in big time. I'm just glad I've got someone to talk to about it."

"Yeah, me too." Taylor turned her head. "Someone's coming upstairs. I think it's your sister."

Amy took a deep breath. "Probably wondering why we're taking so much time." She turned and headed for the rooftop door, just as it opened.

"Guys?" Vicky leaned out through the doorway. "Are you done up here? And what were you talking about, anyway?"

"Sure, Vicky, we're done," Amy replied. "Sorry, but there's a reason we came up here. Michael had some stuff he had to talk to Alexandria about in confidence, and I'm gonna have to respect that." She put her hand on her sister's shoulder and smiled. "I'm proud of you. You did good today."

Vicky snorted. "Even if I did get my feet turned to glass?"

"Better that than Armsmaster and Trickster," Taylor pointed out. "Sorry, but it's true. Amy was able to fix this, at least. I doubt she would've been able to fix them once they were turned to glass."

Amy shrugged. "When she's right, she's right. Let's go downstairs and give Trickster the good news."

"What good news?" asked Vicky blankly.

"Sorry," said Amy. "Need to know."

Vicky pouted.

<><>​

Taylor

"Okay, so what's going on?" asked Trickster as they re-entered the room where everyone else was waiting. 'Everyone else', in this case, appeared to be Trickster, Director Piggot, Armsmaster and several PRT guards. According to the bugs Taylor had on him, the top-hatted villain seemed to be sweating more than usual for the temperature in the room. She could understand why he'd be more than a little nervous.

"Miss Dallon!" Director Piggot's voice cracked across the room, and both Vicky and Amy turned toward her. "I would appreciate some explanation of what happened with Shadow Stalker before you become too busy over there."

Vicky and Amy glanced at each other, and Vicky shrugged. "I'll fill her in. You deal with Trickster."

"Thanks," said Amy. Taylor watched Vicky go over to the Director, then turned back to where Trickster was looking at Amy.

She couldn't tell his expression from behind his mask, any more than he could with her, but the tone of his voice had sounded hopeful and resigned at the same time. I'm guessing he's had a lot of disappointments.

"So," Amy said quietly. "How do you feel about going home?"

"Home? Really?" asked Trickster. He stared at Amy. "You can actually pull that off?"

"Well, I'm told that Alexandria can," Amy said cheerfully. "So as soon as you get back to the others, make sure you've got everything you want to take with you. I don't think there's a return ticket."

"Damn, girl." He grabbed her by the shoulders, looking far more animated than Taylor had ever seen him before. "If I didn't already have a girlfriend, I'd kiss you right now. God damn."

Amy chuckled. "Settle down, tiger. Just get back home as soon as you can. I don't think Alexandria will be holding the train too long."

"Right, right." He let her go and dashed out of the room. "Grue? Grue! Where are you, man? You've gotta get me back to the others, right now!"

Taylor glanced at Lisa and smirked. Of course, Lisa picked up her expression even through a full-face mask and echoed it. "He's a bit excited, isn't he?" asked the purple-clad villain. "I'm not sure why it's such a problem for him to go home, but it's something he's wanted for a long time." She stared at Taylor, her expression morphing into a semi-pout. "And you know what's going on there. Michael knows too. He's told you guys, and I can't figure it out. That's so not fair."

"Says the girl who knows what I had for breakfast yesterday," Amy replied, sounding more than a little amused. Lisa's put-upon expression intensified. "You've got it so hard. Allow us to have some secrets, okay?"

"You don't understand," Lisa told her earnestly. "Secrets are what I live for. I gotta know 'em all. Except the creepy and disgusting ones. But my power gives them to me anyway. Especially the creepy and disgusting ones."

"Oh, trust me, my power is worse," Taylor replied, rolling her eyes. "Bug senses are crap, but their sense of smell is pretty good. And I can tell shapes by having bugs run all over something. So I'm still not sure which is worse: roaches digging through the corpse of a dead rat, or lice telling me the exact size and shape of a homeless guy's junk, plus exactly how many days it's been since he's bathed."

To her private amusement, Lisa turned a delicate shade of green. "Not funny," mumbled the blonde villain, putting her hand over her own mouth. "Not funny at all."

"Well, you know, it kind of is," Amy remarked. "I can't beat the dead rat thing, but when I touch someone to heal them, I know the shape and size of their everything." She grinned. "And talking about size, why don't we go out to Fugly Bob's? Vicky needs to put some body mass back on, and for that she's going to need to do some serious eating. Maybe even the Challenger."

"Oh, I can't believe you're talking about eating after discussing dead rats and peoples' junk," choked Lisa.

"What?" asked Taylor, smirking so hard that her face hurt. "All that grease and salt and fat? I have no idea why that would be a problem."

<><>​

Vicky

" … so yeah, when I got there, Amy and Taylor were both injured," Vicky told Director Piggot earnestly. "Shadow Stalker broke Amy's nose, even. But I didn't punch her until she tried to attack Amy at the meeting."

The Director sighed, closed her eyes, and placed three fingers to her forehead in the almost-facepalm gesture that Vicky had seen earlier. "Of course she did," she murmured. "Because my life doesn't have enough trouble in it so far, apparently." She opened her eyes and looked at Vicky. "How hard did you punch her?"

"Broken jaw, twelve missing teeth, busted cheekbone, concussion," Vicky recited. "Uh, that I can remember." She could still recall feeling her fist as it encountered the jaw of the disgraced Ward, and wondering for a brief moment if she'd hit the girl too hard. "Amy stabilised her, but she didn't fix any of the actual damage. Something about letting her heal it the normal way."

Director Piggot didn't look any more impressed. "And the whole encounter between Shadow Stalker and your sister and this other girl was recorded?"

"By a friend of Taylor's dad, yeah," Vicky said. She'd been fairly impressed by the forethought that had gone into ensuring Shadow Stalker and her bitch-face friends would pay for their misdeeds. And also, of course, by the outcome of the Coil raid. Taylor would've made a kickass hero, she decided. It was a pity things had turned out the way they did.

"I see." The Director nodded briefly. "Thanks for filling me in. Now I'm not going to be totally blindsided when my inbox starts blowing up with emails from everyone with an axe to grind, asking me what my idiot Wards have been up to this time and why didn't I do something about it sooner." She shot Vicky a warning glance. "You didn't just hear me say that."

Vicky wasn't stupid. "I didn't hear a thing, Director. I've worked alongside Clockblocker."

"For which you have my profound sympathy." Piggot looked up as Tattletale ran from the room, one hand over her mouth and the other giving the finger to Amy and Skitter. "Now what in the world is that all about?"

Vicky was just as mystified. "You've got me, Director. Normally it's Tattletale who makes people run off in tears, as far as I can tell. Was there anything else you needed?"

Piggot shook her head. "No, thank you. I appreciate the heads-up. And the assist with saving Alexandria. Now I've got to get back to the office before the next crisis hits. Whatever it turns out to be." She turned away and headed toward the nearest guard.

"Well, that was interesting," murmured Vicky under her breath. Piggot had been grateful in her own way, but that was very much a 'pulling teeth' sort of way. Strolling over to where Amy and Taylor stood smirking—well, Ames was smirking, but she couldn't tell from Taylor's mask—she tilted her head toward the door. "Okay, what did you do to her?"

"Nothing at all," Amy assured her in the sort of innocent voice that proclaimed you can't prove nothin'. "We were just talking about going to Fugly's. In fact, you interested in coming along?"

"Um, I can't really make it," Taylor broke in ruefully. "I gotta get home. Dad's gonna be worried, especially after what happened at the school today. But you three have fun."

"Sure," Amy replied with a grin. "Michael says goodbye. See you later?"

"Definitely." Taylor gave Vicky's sister a hug. "Don't be a stranger."

"Of course not," Amy replied. "I'm a Striker, duh."

Vicky wrinkled her nose at the bad joke, quite possibly made by every non-Stranger cape at least once in their lives. She watched Taylor leave, then turned her head as a large number of bugs lifted from concealment and buzzed out of the room after her.

"Uh, did you know those were there?" she asked Amy.

Amy smirked. "Nope, but it doesn't surprise me. She's always working out new angles. I don't even spot them half the time, but Michael points them out."

"So were you serious about Fugly's, or was that just a way of making Tattletale run away somehow?" asked Vicky. Normally, she wouldn't have suspected Ames of pulling something that underhanded, but her sister had been revealing hidden depths since her odd houseguest took up residence in her head.

"Oh, definitely serious." Amy gestured to the splint on her nose. "After today, Michael and I think we deserve some fast-food therapy."

"Well, I definitely can't argue with that," Vicky said with a snicker. "I might have my issues with the guy, but he's right on the money there." She gestured to the door. "Shall we?"

"Let's go." Amy headed for the door, with Vicky right on her heels.

<><>​

Armsmaster

One of the PRT soldiers turned to his work buddy. "I didn't know Panacea had a boyfriend. Who's this Michael guy, anyway?"

The other soldier shrugged. "Search me. I can't keep up with the younger generation these days."

"Get back to work," Colin ordered. "All of these bombs need to be sorted, tagged and packed away before we finish today."

"Yes, sir," chorused the soldiers.

As Colin walked off, he found himself pondering the same question.

<><>​

Amy

Leaning back on her seat in Fugly Bob's, Amy nibbled at a calamari ring as she watched her sister make determined inroads on a Challenger. Vicky had tried for this once before, shortly after getting her powers, but she'd quickly learned that they didn't protect her internal organs.

So … let's see now. Dragon is an AI.

Dragon is indeed an AI. Her creator was called Andrew Richter. He died when Leviathan sank Newfoundland. Saint was a salvage diver who found the black box containing her emergency control codes and has been misusing them ever since, under the wilful misunderstanding that she's a danger to humanity.

Amy paused to digest that one. He doesn't sound like a nice man.

He's a bigot with a strong talent toward hypocrisy. Kind of like Kaiser, in that regard.

I'm not even going to ask. Does the PRT really just make up the rules as it goes?

Sure. With Alexandria in charge, it's in her best interests to make things happen in a way most convenient to the Protectorate. Assault used to be a villain called Madcap, but he made a good case for joining the Protectorate when he was caught. Bingo, rebrand.

And they can just choose to Birdcage, or not Birdcage, people as they see fit?

Well, there still has to be a trial but as often as not, it's a blatant kangaroo court, like in Canary's case. The Birdcage is basically their dumping ground for capes who are strong enough to have some sort of chance against Zion but are troublesome enough to not want on the outside. Also, it's being used as a cautionary tale for capes like Canary. Trouble is, it's got a two in three fatality rate so far. Six hundred capes have gone in, and there's two hundred still alive.

Amy was horrified. That … that's monstrous!

Michael sighed. Yeah, but no. What you've got to understand is that these people, Cauldron, have managed to amass the power to do just about anything except formulate a working plan to actually defeat Zion. So they're throwing out all these Hail Mary passes in the hope that one of them will do the job.

So, does one work? You're telling me about this, so I'm guessing it's going to be okay?

His voice became serious. Nope. You guys win the war, but not because of anything Cauldron does. In the end, it comes down to you and Taylor, at a huge cost to the both of you. I'd rather not make you pay that cost, this time around. This isn't to say that they haven't managed to keep civilisation tottering along over the last thirty years, but they've done a lot of harm too. Which I intend to put an end to when I dismantle their organisation.

Oh. Wow. Amy felt very small, all of a sudden. Is there anything else I need to know?

Well, Leviathan's due next month, but that might not happen now because of butterflies. He sounded pensive. Manpower is killed along with Shielder, and Flashbang gets brain damage. Or at least that's how it originally would've happened. Vicky and Carol get upset with you for not healing him. Eventually you do, but only because he would've otherwise died.

Amy was still trying to get her head around that when cheering burst out from all around her. She looked up to see that Vicky had managed to finish the last of the burger. As she watched, her sister let out a prodigious belch, to general applause and laughter.

Well, I gotta go and help her put some of that body mass back on, but before I do that, I have one more question. If Leviathan isn't attacking here, do you know what is going to happen?

Sorry. Not the foggiest.

And as Amy got up to congratulate her sister, she wasn't sure if that was a comforting thought or not.



End of Part Twenty-Two

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea


Part Twenty-Three: Playing Hardball


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


Oni Lee

The dark-clad figure on the rooftop groaned, then stirred. Even now, pain lanced through every nerve ending, far greater than he'd ever felt before. But he had to get up. Had to move.

Not only was Lung still in captivity, even now languishing in the high-security cells beneath the PRT building, but Bakuda was either dead or also in custody by now. He wasn't sure which one, but it had to be one of the two. Things had been going very badly when he teleported away from the effect of the pain bomb.

But he had a plan. He would break out Lung from his captivity, and together they would get Bakuda back. Oni Lee had been a leader of men in his time, but his time was past. Now, he was content to follow. The problem was, he needed someone to follow. Someone like Lung, who was ruthless enough to allow Oni Lee to indulge the violence deep in his soul. And someone like Bakuda, who provided Oni Lee with so many useful bombs to use on the gweilo.

The pain from the explosion in the Jeep had nearly destroyed him, but he'd managed to get far enough away before collapsing in agony. Hours had passed before it ebbed enough for him to move of his own accord. Now, he had to gather his resources, collect the grenades which were his stock-in-trade, and prepare for the retaliation.

PRT troopers would die. The Undersiders would die. And Lung would be free.

<><>​

Vicky

Sand felt weird, Vicky decided. Dry, it crunched underfoot in a way that nothing else did; wet, it squished grittily between her toes. "Did you do something to my nerve endings?" she asked her sister. "Everything feels odd."

Walking alongside her, likewise barefoot, Amy sighed. "They're brand new," she said, as if Vicky didn't already know that. "I did my best to give you the exact same shaped feet as before, but your nerve endings aren't identical to the previous set you had, and the placement will be subtly different. The only way to get your brain used to it all is to re-experience the same sensations all over again. Just be glad I gave you a light layer of callus, and dulled the input a little. If you had nerve endings as sensitive as a newborn's, you wouldn't be able to walk more than a few steps at a time."

"So I'd fly, duh." Vicky drifted into the air for a few seconds. "That wouldn't stop me."

"Typical Vicky." Amy rolled her eyes. "Your feet were turned to glass and you're acting like it's nothing."

"I know it's not nothing, sis." Rolling on to her side in mid-air, Vicky floated lazily around in front of Amy. "Once I realised what had happened, I was all kinds of freaked out. But you knew that." She gave her sister a conspiratorial grin. "Thanks for not spilling the beans."

"You saved Armsmaster's and Trickster's lives," Amy reminded her. "You earned it." She shrugged. "And then you helped save Alexandria's life. Pretty sure you could've asked her for any favour you wanted, and she would've gotten it for you."

Vicky smirked. "Legend let me take a selfie with him. And he hugged me. He told me that if I wanted to go into the main Protectorate when I turned eighteen, he'd be happy to expedite the paperwork." Floating into an upright position alongside Amy once more, she produced her phone and set about calling up the picture she'd taken. It was pretty damn good, if she said so herself.

"Yeah, that sounds like Legend." Amy nodded slowly. "So, were you thinking of taking him up on the offer?"

"Maybe." Vicky turned to look at her sister. "Did you want to come with?"

Expecting a 'yes' or possibly 'stay with New Wave', what she heard was, "Actually, I'm thinking I might go rogue."

Vicky's train of thought came to a screeching halt. Forgetting the selfie, she stared at Amy. "What the hell, Ames? Stop being a hero? Stop helping people? How can you even think that?"

"I never said I'd stop helping people," Amy retorted. "I just think … well, maybe if people had to pay for what I do, they'd value my input more. And with money coming in and more time to call my own, I'd be able to do stuff that helps more people at once, rather than fix one person at a time."

Slowly, Vicky blinked as hints dropped into place. "This is him, isn't it?" she said suspiciously. "He's been putting these ideas into your head."

"No. I mean, not really." Amy shook her head. "I've been unhappy for a long time. He's the first person who's not only realised this, and listened to me about it, but also had ideas for what I could do instead. A lot of ideas."

"I talk to you! I listen to you!" Vicky took Amy by the shoulders, carefully. "I'm your sister! If you were unhappy, why didn't you talk to me about it?"

"Because you see everything through the lens of being a superhero," Amy said patiently. "He doesn't. For you, it's a starting point. For him, it's a possible road to travel, but not the only one." She pushed Vicky's hands off her shoulders. "I mean, look at you. I mention going rogue exactly once, and you go off the deep end as if not being a hero is the worst thing in the world."

"But—" Vicky stopped herself. She had gone off the deep end; though in her defense, Amy's words still made minimal sense to her. "Okay," she said carefully. "What sort of ideas?"

Amy smirked. "Now, don't freak. I'm pretty sure he threw some of these at me to break me out of the mindset. I mean, I've been thinking about going into business for myself for a little while. Ever since I turned sixteen, to be exact. But that was just to be a healer who gets paid. Michael told me I was being way too self-limiting."

It took Vicky a moment to parse the idea of 'Amy Dallon, healer for hire' instead of 'Panacea, the miracle girl of New Wave'. Then the rest of Amy's statement caught up with her. "Self-limiting? How the hell is that self-limiting? What did he suggest that might freak me out?"

"I'm saying they might freak you out because they freaked me out." Amy took a deep breath. "Okay, just for instance? I could take control of every plant on the continental United States. Join them all into one giant organism. Ensure that every crop was perfect. Stop erosion of topsoil, reinforce bridges, put an end to forest fires before they ever get going. Construct houses from living trees in less than an hour. Hell, I could extend my reach into Canada and all the way down through Mexico to South America if I really felt like it. Everything chlorophyll-based from the Arctic Circle to Tierra del Fuego could be under my direct control. Grow a tree root ten feet thick across the sea floor under the Bering Strait and I could get Asia, Europe and Africa as well. Give me a year and I'd have personal and complete control of ninety-nine percent of the planet's plant-based biomass, to do with as I wanted. Nobody would go hungry, nobody would be homeless."

Vicky stared, jaw dropping. "You could … do that?"

Soberly, Amy nodded. "I could. The kill order would come off Director Costa-Brown's desk so fast it would take the top layer of veneer with it, but I could definitely do it."

She was right, too. Ever since Nilbog, widespread creation and mastery of minions had been a fast-track to extremely hostile PRT attention. Vicky grimaced at the idea, even as the chill ran down her spine. Fuck me. Ames really could go Nilbog with the entire continent. With the entire world. She wasn't sure which was more terrifying; the concept itself, or the knowledge that ninety-nine percent of the human race would be calling for Amy's head within minutes of finding out what she was doing. It wouldn't matter if—or how much—her efforts actually helped people; they'd still want her dead.

"Okay, let's put a pin in that one. By which I mean, hammer a stake through its heart and bury it in a shallow grave." Despite the warmth of the day, Vicky caught herself shivering. It wasn't every day that her sister revealed the capability to instigate an extinction event. Ames would never do such a thing; Vicky knew that. But what if she wasn't as nice as she is? An evil Amy could end the world, or at least a large chunk of it, before she was stopped. "Why would he even suggest something like that?"

"So the rest of the ideas didn't sound so bad, I guess?" Amy shrugged. "Want to hear them?"

"Sure." Vicky flew over to the edge of the water and dangled her toes in it. Slosh, slosh. Slosh, slosh. That felt weird, too.

"Okay, then. I could go into business with Taylor. Create custom bugs for her, which she then uses to do things like pest extermination, production of woven spider silk on a commercial scale, search and rescue at disasters, and so forth." Amy's voice showed no sign of disbelief at what she was saying. "Then there's cuddly pets for kids. Also, medical uses. How about a bug like a tame wasp or hornet that produces insulin naturally? It's already a biologically produced substance. Diabetics could keep nests of them. They could even be engineered to smell your breath and detect when your glucose levels are getting too high, and 'sting' you until you're in the healthy range again." She frowned. "Did you know, when insulin was first identified and used to treat diabetics, the scientists who did the work wanted it to be available at cost to the public? Now, pharmaceutical companies like Medhall charge hundreds of dollars for a month's dosage."

"Jeez, they'd want to string you up by the ankles," Vicky observed. "Cutting into their profits like that. I mean, they've got to recoup their research costs somehow, right?"

Amy made a rude noise with her lips. "What research costs? Insulin production was an open patent from the beginning. Most of them are using techniques that've been around for years. They're just cashing in." Her eyes went blank for a moment. "Wait, what?"

"What, what?" Vicky looked at her, concerned, then the penny dropped. "What's he saying to you now?"

Amy smiled, then her lips parted to show her teeth. Vicky's concern grew. She'd never seen her sister look predatory before. "Michael just had an idea. Wanna help me go punch a Nazi in the bank account?"

<><>​

Baumann Parahuman Containment Center
(aka 'the Birdcage')
Cell Block T

Teacher

Benjamin Terrel hummed to himself as he filled yet another sheet of precious foolscap with careful, neat, tidy writing. Confined he may be, but it was a long-held truism that a person whose mind was free to soar but whose body was imprisoned enjoyed more liberty than the other way around. It was possible to dream, to plot, to plan for release; those whose minds were in chains could no more realise their freedom than a fish could swim in air.

One of his disciples entered his cell and placed a stack of papers on his small table. Ben watched as he turned and left, musing on the nature of freedom. Those who accepted his help enjoyed a very special type of freedom; their minds were expanded and they were offered a divorce from the troubles and tribulations that would otherwise have dogged them from their previous lives. He also gave them options, which otherwise they would have never known.

Saint, on the outside, was becoming more and more insistent on finding a way to release Benjamin from his bondage. This suited Ben very well indeed; his brand of freedom had a use-by date, and his presence was required to renew it. If this meant that he would be broken out of the Birdcage, then it would mean his gift had pushed Saint to surpass himself even without Ben's assistance. Really, he was helping these people more than they ever understood.

And he would help them once again, once he got out.

I will be free again.

<><>​

Medhall Building

Kaiser

"Lung is out of the way, at least for a while."

The pronouncement left silence in its wake, at least for a few seconds. Max Anders smiled and took a sip of his exquisitely aged whiskey.

Slowly, Krieg—James, out of costume—nodded. "And I've got a report that Bakuda's in custody too. Oni Lee's still on the loose, but there's no way he can competently lead the ABB."

"On that, we agree." Max set his glass down, the ice cubes gently tinkling in it. "He's troublesome, but we can overwhelm him if it comes down to it. Right now is our best chance to put the ABB in its place."

James snorted. "In a shallow grave, for preference." He sipped at his own drink. "Do you think it might be possible to convince your wife to return to the fold? Taking down the ABB is what she's been trying to do since she left you, isn't it?"

Max rolled his eyes. "As a hero, no less. Without the slightest attempt at rebranding, mind you."

"What, as the other brightly shining cape attacking the ABB?" James had a good line in sarcasm. "How long, exactly, would that hold up?"

There came a knock on the office door, then Jessica leaned in. "Sir, I have a phone call for you. She says it's Panacea."

Max blinked. He opened his mouth to ask the girl if she was sure, then closed it again. Of course she wasn't sure. Any teenage girl could say she was Panacea over the phone. However, he'd met the teen hero and spoken to her on occasion (as Max Anders, not as Kaiser), so he decided he had a reasonable knowledge of her voice. "Put her through."

"Yes, sir. Line one, sir." Jessica vanished and the door closed behind her.

A moment later, his phone warbled gently. He pressed the button to put the phone on speaker. "Max Anders speaking."

"Mr Anders, hi. This is Panacea. We met at the Stansfield fundraiser, a couple of months ago. You said nice things about Vicky's dress." He could understand why Jessica might've been unsure as to her identity; her voice was more nasal than normal.

Slowly, his eyebrows rose. He recalled the fundraiser in question. Victoria Dallon, the formidable Glory Girl, had worn a bright red dress which had somehow managed to not clash with her blonde curls. He had indeed paid the teenager a minor compliment regarding the cut of the garment, for which she thanked him as gaily as though such things were merely her due. But the point was that only Glory Girl and Panacea had been on the spot when he said it. If the girl on the other end of the line was not who she said she was, then she was definitively an accomplished actress and he had more troubles on his plate than previously suspected. Well, time to find out what she wants.

"Good afternoon, Panacea," he replied urbanely. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I'd like to come see you," the teenager said. "As soon as possible. It's about Medhall, and how I might be able to help you with my powers."

Max paused, his eyes meeting those of James. Panacea wanted to do something with her powers to assist Medhall …?

"This sounds … unusual," he temporised. "Isn't your time usually taken up with school and New Wave business?"

She lowered her voice. "Can you keep a secret?"

Now his interest was definitely piqued. "Absolutely," he assured her. His lips curled into a sardonic smile. She had no idea of how well he could keep a secret.

"Okay. Long story short, I'm thinking of maybe leaving New Wave and going into business using my powers. There are pharmaceuticals that are produced using biological processes. I'm pretty sure I could streamline those in about three seconds flat. Medhall's the biggest pharmaceutical business in the Brockton Bay area, so I thought I might sound you out about my ideas."

While Medhall wasn't the Empire's only money-spinner, it was Max's sole source of legitimate income. If it was making more of a profit, that would allow him to be more careful with the Empire's operations. And Max was a businessman before he was anything else. Inciting others to shout slogans was one thing, and it got certain results. Going into partnership with a known hero would get somewhat more impressive results, and was otherwise known as a 'win-win situation'. Quite apart from the financial aspect, it would add to Medhall's visible legitimacy.

"I'm definitely interested," he said. "How soon would you like to meet and discuss our options in this matter?"

"I'm standing outside the building," she replied simply. "My afternoon's free. How about yours?"

He came to a rapid decision. "Come on in. I'll have you shown to my office immediately. I'm very interested in hearing how you might be able to assist Medhall."

Even through the nasal tone, he was sure she was smiling when she answered. "I thought you might be."

The call ended, and he exchanged another look with James. "Well, that was interesting. I think my afternoon just became free."

His lieutenant sighed theatrically. "Which means you want me to take over the paperwork while you find out what Panacea can do for us."

Max smiled. "I'm glad we understand each other."

<><>​

Toronto
Dragonslayer Base

Saint

Geoff Pellick hummed off-key to himself as he worked at disassembling the latest of Dragon's suits they'd captured. It was amusing in a way; no matter what countermeasures the rogue AI built into its creations to prevent just this from happening, Richter's black box had provided ways for getting around it. Which meant that Dragon's countermeasures became Saint's countermeasures. He smiled as a stubborn access plate popped off, and he viewed the mechanisms beneath. They were running out of 'dragon' names to give to their suits, but he was sure they'd think of something for this new one.

It was a long, hard road that he'd set himself, but he was the only one who could do it. More to the point, he was the only one who would do it. Nobody else had the internal fortitude and the awareness of the true nature of the machine that pretended to be a person, pretended to be a hero. Of course, it had helped to have Teacher assist him with his understanding of the intricacies of Dragon's code.

His mouth hardened. Teacher was now in the Birdcage and the assistance he'd given Geoff was fading, which meant that the Dragonslayers' efforts against Dragon would be farther and farther behind the eight-ball unless something changed. But every plan Geoff had devised to spring the Trump from his place of imprisonment had run up against the rock-hard wall of 'nobody knows what the hell it is'.

So he had to keep working, and keep planning. And above all, he had to maintain a vigilant eye on Dragon, to make sure it didn't decide one day to casually wipe out crime by wiping out mankind.

When it came to saving the world, he was the chosen one.

<><>​

Houston Protectorate Base
Eidolon's Office

Eidolon

"What?" David looked from Alexandria to Legend, and shook his head. "Therapy? I don't need therapy."

Alexandria folded her arms. "I have it on extremely good authority that you do."

Shaking his head again, David turned to Legend. "Tell her! I'm as stable as you are! The last thing I need is some doctor poking and prodding through my past, making me doubt my motivations. I need my focus these days, more than ever."

Legend didn't look happy, but neither did he agree with David. "I'm with her on this one. Plus, therapy should help you get your focus back." He drew a deep breath. "I don't want to have to make it an order, but I'm prepared to do just that, if I have to."

"What? You can't be serious!" In David's experience, Legend had never unilaterally issued orders to either of his partners in the Triumvirate (and before that, the original Protectorate). He'd made decisions and determined the course that the Protectorate as a whole would take, but the unspoken agreement between them had been always been that he'd never actually give them binding orders against their will, that he'd only carry a course of action through if they all agreed on it.

"Not only is he serious, but I am too." Alexandria's tone was as rock solid as her forearms. "I'll back it up with an order from the PRT, if I have to." She glanced at Legend. "Should we tell him?"

Legend grimaced. "I wanted to keep it on the down-low, but I think we might need to."

"What? Tell me what?" Getting more and more irritated by the second, David looked at his two friends. "What the goddamn fucking hell is this charade all about?"

"Your powers." Alexandria spoke clearly and concisely. "There's a possibility that you may be able to get your powers back up to full strength, if and when you undergo therapy."

"If and when you complete therapy," Legend amended. "That's a specific condition of the matter."

"My … powers." David's legs gave way, and he dropped into his chair. "Back to full strength?" It was a goal he'd been striving to reach for years now, only to have it slip farther and farther from his grasp, the more he reached for it. "How? Who? Why do I have to have therapy for this?"

"Because that's the way it's got to be." Alexandria stepped forward and looked down at him. "Go and get therapy. Complete your therapy. Then we'll talk." She frowned as her phone rang. Taking it out, she looked at the displayed number and her lips compressed. "Excuse me, I have to take this."

David shook his head as she moved away with the phone at her ear. None of this made any sense. "How is getting therapy going to make my powers come back?"

"If we told you, you wouldn't believe us." Legend tilted his head. "Do I have to make it an order?"

With a sigh, David slumped back in the chair. "No. No, you don't."

Dully, he watched them step through Doorways to exit his office. He had no idea what was going on but if they were telling the truth, therapy would be a small price to pay for getting his full strength back.

<><>​

Kaiser

When Panacea entered his office, Max raised his eyebrows. The aluminum splint on her nose was entirely unexpected, as was the bruised cheekbone. Well, that explains the nasal tone. "Well, well," he murmured. "And here I was under the impression that you were a non-combat cape."

Oddly, she looked quite proud of herself. "So was the other girl," she said cheerfully. "But we're not here to talk about that." Turning her head, she looked meaningfully at Jessica, who was standing in the doorway. "Mind letting me talk to your boss in private?"

"Go ahead," Max told his bodyguard. "We'll be fine."

He was about as safe as he could be with Panacea; everything he knew about her said that she needed physical contact before she could affect anyone with her powers. Which, to his understanding, were all about healing. But even on the off-chance that she could read his physiology well enough to determine the fact that he had an active corona pollentia, she was legally bound to request his permission before using her powers on him. Being behind his desk gave him a good enough excuse not to shake hands with her, and it appeared she was inexperienced enough at this sort of thing to not notice the omission.

As the door closed behind Jessica, he waved at a chair. "Have a seat, and let's get started."

"Thanks." She took her seat, then turned and waved at the window. Puzzled, he looked as well, to see Glory Girl hovering outside. The blonde smiled and waved at him as well. Then she pulled out her phone and started tapping away on it.

With a frown, he looked back toward Panacea. "Would you mind explaining?"

"Oh, that's nothing." She waved her hand negligently. "Vicky already knows about everything we'll be talking about, so she's just waiting to give me a lift home, after."

"Ah. I see." Well, it wasn't as though the blonde could hear anything through the thick glass. And if it put Panacea more at ease, then that was a good thing too. "Shall we begin?"

"Sure," she said briskly. "There's a number of life-saving drugs you guys sell that are dirt cheap to produce, yet even just for insulin you're charging triple figures for a monthly supply. Why is that?"

Max's brain skidded to a halt. This conversation was not going the way he'd envisaged it. "What? Where did this come from?"

"Am I wrong?" She tilted her head questioningly. "You're the guy in charge. I'm pretty sure you'd have the facts and figures at your fingertips. Are you, or are you not, gouging the public's need for life-saving medications, just to make a bigger profit?"

He shook his head, angry at himself for being taken in like this. Panacea had never intended to help Medhall improve its bottom line. She was just another crusading activist who didn't understand the cost of doing business. She's a child. Why did I think she'd do anything else?

"We're done here," he said. "You can go now. The way Medhall prices its products is entirely legal and above-board. If you have a problem with that, I'd advise that you consult with your mother. She'll be able to tell you that—"

"We're not done yet," she interrupted. "Unless you want us to be … Kaiser."

He froze in the act of reaching for the intercom button. With an effort of will, he turned it into an entirely natural motion, placing his hand on the desk beside the button. A flick of his eyes sideways showed that yes, Glory Girl was still hovering there, fiddling with her phone. No … she was filming with her phone. As he looked her way, she grinned and gave him a fingertip wave. Panacea said she knew everything we were going to be talking about. She knows I'm Kaiser. If I kill Panacea, she'll kill me.

"Her phone is streaming to another location." Panacea's voice broke into his thoughts. "If you attack either one of us, you will go down. And even if you escape, we will out every active member of the Empire. James, Bradley, Melody, Justin, Jessica, Nessa …." She shrugged, having made her point. "Though we'll give Kayden the option of leaving town with Aster. She may be a Nazi and a murderer, but at least she's trying to better herself."

There was a footstep behind him, and a hand grasped his shoulder. Startled, he turned his head and stared upward, to see no less than Alexandria of the fucking Triumvirate looking dispassionately down at him. "And even if they don't get you, I will. Listen to what she has to say. Cooperate. Or I will be back." With one last squeeze that he was sure would leave a bruise, she shoved him forward so that he collided with his desk. By the time he regained his equilibrium and looked around again, she was gone.

His mind whirled, trying to correlate everything that was happening into a coherent whole. Panacea, Glory Girl and Alexandria knew who he was, and were working together to … what? If they'd intended to arrest him, that would've already happened. But even without an arrest, they could ruin him, bring Medhall down. The Empire's tenure as Brockton Bay's most influential force would be at severe risk, especially if they simply walked in on every other member as they'd walked in on him.

He didn't even spare a thought to the so-called unwritten rules. Those were for people who couldn't risk having them turned back against them. With Alexandria willing to step in, he was entering into a higher level of negotiation. And it was definitely negotiation; otherwise, he would already be in custody. Unfortunately, he couldn't help but realise that he was distinctly on the back foot, here.

"Very well." He cleared his throat. "What is it that you want?"

Panacea smiled.

<><>​

Teacher

Benjamin Terrel was not one to hurry a masterpiece. Such was his genius that anything he did was a masterpiece, and it was all worth getting exactly right. So he took his time with the last line of the plan he was formulating, inscribing every word with care. Someone walked into his cell and stood waiting for instruction, but he let them wait. The beauty and the structure of the plan behind his eyes would not fade if he was distracted, but it was the principle of the thing.

The last word, the last letter, went on to the paper in precisely the right place. He touched the pen to the paper to add a full stop, then smiled as he laid it down. Only then did he raise his eyes to see which of his disciples needed him.

The only problem was, the woman who had walked into his cell was not one of his disciples. Unless his eyes were severely playing tricks on him, and he was certain they were not, it was Alexandria who stood before him. Which raised certain questions in his mind, and posited some very interesting theories. If the Triumvirate were able to enter the Birdcage at will, it meant they were also able to offer an exit to inmates. This alone entirely demolished the whole 'nobody gets out' concept.

The most urgent question that rose to mind was, Why is Alexandria here to see me? As intelligent as he was, he knew her to be a thinker par excellence, so she would not be here for his planning expertise. Neither could he imagine that she might wish to make use of his powers to enhance her own formidable abilities. Which meant he had knowledge she needed to know. Immediately, he began formulating arguments and counter-arguments, all aimed toward leveraging whatever it was he knew and getting him out of the Birdcage. Toward gaining his freedom.

"My dear Alexandria," he said, rising to his feet. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

She stepped past him, pausing to admire an ink sketch he'd made of the sun setting over the Cascades, taped to the wall. "I'm not here for you," she said absently. "At least, not in the way you think."

Alarm shot chills all the way down his spine. "What are you talking about?"

"A thoroughly irritating interdimensional entity speaking through a teenage girl told me you had to die," she said, as if the words made up a coherent and understandable statement. "I'm just here to carry out the sentence. Nothing personal, you understand." She drew a deep breath, and held it.

Panic took over from alarm, but it was far too late. "Wait—!" Knowing words would do no good under these circumstances, he lunged toward the entrance to the cell.

Making a mockery of everything he'd ever learned about martial arts—he was a connoisseur, not a practitioner—she didn't shift her stance at all, even as her arm came up and her fist blurred forward, smashing through the centre of the ink sketch and the wall beyond. He'd heard the various theories as to why the Birdcage was seen as inescapable; some seemed improbable, while others were all too plausible. As the wall blew outward, he quickly found which one was the truth. A howling gale sprang up in an instant, blowing him through the gaping hole thus created. As he tumbled over and over into the vacuum that surrounded the facility, he saw Alexandria standing stock-still, her billowing cape the only sign that the same wind was blowing past her.

His eardrums popped painfully and his skin prickled all over. An involuntary belch escaped his throat, then his vision began to darken. Capillaries bursting in my eyes, he realised. His eyeballs would not explode from the sudden loss of air pressure, any more than he himself would, but his sight wasn't going to last much longer. Agony began to flare in his joints. Oh, joy. The bends, as well.

He flipped over again, and his dimming vision picked out the lit-up patch on the outside of the Birdcage that had once been his cell. Alexandria still stood there. A pressure bulkhead had dropped over the entrance to the cell, and for an instant he entertained the hope that she would share his fate. Then a stark white portal opened behind her. Of course. The same way she got in. However that was.

His second-last coherent thought was that he'd achieved his goal; he'd gotten out of the Birdcage.

His last thought went something like this: Be careful what you wish for.

<><>​

Oni Lee

The pain had subsided a little more by the time he returned to his lair. It was a small, Spartan affair, with a folding cot and a sink in the corner for washing and drinking. Vaguely, he wished he had more of Bakuda's bombs. It was always satisfying to watch his enemies turn to glass or explode into fog or twist themselves into shapes that humans should not survive. But he had to make do with what he had. Flicking the light switch as he entered, he waited for the overhead bulb to come on. It did not. Flicking the switch back and forth a few times produced the same result; that is, nothing. Peering up at the offending light in the afternoon gloom, he could not see anything wrong with it, but that meant nothing. Bulbs blew, he knew. At some point, he would have to replace it.

That point was not right now. He had work to do. Leaving the useless switch, he headed over to where he kept his supplies.

No matter how carefully he rationed his ammunition and grenades, occasionally he used them up, so he had spare cases of them in his room. On top of the cases was a second bandoleer of bullets and bombs, mainly as a spare for when he needed to use both normal grenades and special ones. Now, he grabbed it. He was going to be needing a lot of firepower and he didn't want to risk accidentally running out, halfway through the mission.

As he pulled the belt toward him, he felt a strange resistance. At the same time, the door slammed shut behind him, plunging the room into near-darkness. Whirling, he pulled out his pistol and pointed it. There was nobody there. Something small and metallic bounced off the floorboards near his feet. He could see nothing, but the toe of his sandal found something that scraped across the wood. Holstering the pistol, he bent down and retrieved the item. It was the spoon from a grenade.

As horrified realisation bloomed through his mind, he spun around to dart toward the window. It was small and grimy, but would allow him a line of sight to teleport out of the trap he was in. But it was too late; thick choking smoke billowed out from one of the grenades on the bandoleer—a grenade he knew for a fact hadn't been on there when he left—filling the room and blocking his sight.

Resistance hampered him also. The belt didn't want to go with him. Then it did, and he heard more spoons clattering and bouncing off the walls and floor. The other grenades. Frantically, he tried to hurl the belt across the room. If he dived out the window—

The belt was stuck to his hand! How was his belt stuck to his hand? Why was his belt stuck to his hand? He flailed his arm frantically, but the belt refused to budge. He grabbed it with his other hand and tugged hard; reluctantly, the belt came away. But when he tried to discard it, it stuck to that hand.

And then he was out of time.

<><>​

Contessa

From two buildings over, the explosion was impressive. Every window on the top floor of the building—the floor that Oni Lee had lived on—blew out. Smoke began to rise, but it didn't seem as though the building had caught fire.

Contact cement. It had so many applications.

"Doorway," she murmured. The portal opened and she stepped through. She had places to go, and people's lives to ruin.

<><>​

Kaiser

Max drew a deep breath. In some ways, it was worse than he'd thought. In other ways, it wasn't as bad. Unfortunately, he wasn't at all certain that the overall balance would be tipping in his favour. "So … you want Medhall to sell insulin and other life-saving medications at … what was it?"

Leaning back in her chair, Panacea's expression spread into a beatific smile. "Actual cost of production, plus packaging and transport plus five percent." She gestured outward with her hands. "I don't want you to make a loss here, after all."

Max grimaced in what was almost pain. If that had been her only demand, he could've worn it with good grace. "But you want more."

"Sure." She shrugged. "I'm not going to demand that you shut down the Empire itself. Unless you want to, of course. But like I said, I'm going to need you to back off from attacking minorities."

"The ABB," he said from between gritted teeth, "is not going to refrain from attacking us. Do you propose that my people disarm, or even just run away from them?"

Panacea rolled her eyes. "Innocent minorities," she clarified. "And once the authorities clean up the last of the ABB, you won't even have that excuse anymore."

"Really?" Max raised an eyebrow. "Oni Lee is still on the loose. Prison breakouts happen. If he can free Lung or Bakuda from PRT custody, they'll be back in business." And we'll be needed to keep them in check, he didn't say.

"We'll see." He wasn't at all sure he liked her smile. "And of course, there's my last requirement."

"Hookwolf." This was, in a way, the hardest pill to swallow. "Does this really have to happen?"

"Mr Meadows has outstayed his welcome in Brockton Bay," she explained. "He's already been sentenced to the Birdcage, so we're just speeding things up a little. Plus, with him in Baumann, your capes are less likely to get adventurous. Which will make it easier for you to stick to our agreement."

"Agreement." The word tasted foul in his mouth. "I hardly think what you're proposing meets the definition of an 'agreement'. In fact, I'm shocked that a well-known hero such as yourself would stoop to using blackmail so readily."

"I'm going to assume you don't recall any of your teenage years," she retorted dryly. "And sure, it's an agreement. I agree not to pull the plug on you—and, by association, Medhall—and you agree to do what I want."

"Blackmail," he said flatly. "Extortion. That's a crime."

She snorted with amusement. "Sure, go ahead. Report me. I won't even deny it. In fact, it'll probably make it easier for me to cut ties with New Wave."

That was a viewpoint he hadn't considered. "You realise, if even a hint of this gets out, it'll have serious effects on New Wave. Even if you're leaving, do you want the team—your family—to take that sort of damage?"

"You have to be shitting me," she said. "Did you even care about that when Fleur was murdered? Anyway, I'm adopted." Her sneer was quite impressive. "And you're about the last person I'd take advice from about how to treat family." She rubbed her lips with her finger. "Actually, two more things. You leave Aster alone, and you give Kayden custody of Theo."

His eyes widened. "You can't dictate what happens with my children!" Sooner or later, Theo was going to show the strength of character Max knew he had to possess. And then, Max could start grooming him to eventually take over the company. As for Aster, she was a useful lever to keep Kayden where he needed her. "I'm a family man."

"Hardly." Her tone was derisive. "You've fathered children, and that's about it. They're not your possessions. You're a self-obsessed, hypocritical control freak. What you've done to Theo is a crime and a pity. He'd be better off with Child Protection Services." She sat forward. "Make your choice. Medhall, and the Empire … or the kids. Pick one."

Slowly, he came to the unpalatable conclusion that she was deadly serious. If he held out on this, she would pull his world in on him just as surely as if he refused to cooperate on the other aspects. Stalling for time, he asked, "If I agree to all your terms, you will allow Medhall and the Empire to operate unmolested?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm not about to come after you. Can't speak for anyone else in Brockton Bay, though."

It wasn't an answer, but it was the best he was going to get. He already knew which way he was going to go. If he had to choose between casting off Hookwolf and Theo and Aster (and by extension, Kayden) or Medhall and the Empire as a whole … there was no real competition involved. This is for the greater good.

He made his choice. The irritating part was, Panacea didn't even look surprised.

<><>​

Saint

"So how's the new suit looking?" Mags doled out steaming food on to Geoff's plate. It smelled delicious.

"Pretty good, actually. There's a short-range teleport module which has some very interesting potential applications."

She gave him a concerned look. "Honey, I'm okay with you retro-engineering our suits, but playing with something new, that we're not sure of all its capabilities … that's potentially dangerous."

"Yeah, but if I can extend the range," he said excitedly, "I might just be able to teleport into the Birdcage, and teleport out with Teacher."

"Or teleport into a solid wall," she said.

"Or vacuum," Mischa suggested. "I hear they surround Birdcage with vacuum."

Impatiently, he waved their concerns away. "Those are just potential complications. I can deal with that."

"But what if you can't?" Mags frowned. "I know you want another treatment from Teacher, but—"

Across the room, the TV had been playing the news with the sound turned down. Now, a banner flashed up. CASUALTY IN THE BIRDCAGE.

"What the hell?" Geoff grabbed the remote and turned the sound up.

"—appears to have been an unlikely accident, the supervillain known as Teacher perished today in the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center. Teacher, otherwise known as Benjamin Terrel, was responsible for the death of the British Prime Minister, as well as—"

"Fuck." A moment later, he realised he was on his feet. "That's got to be a mistake. It has to be." Unnoticed, the remote slipped from his hand and clattered to the table.

"PRT does not make mistakes like that."

Mischa was right, Geoff knew. And then he knew what he had to do. Turning, he hustled from the room.

"Geoff!" Mags hurried after him. "Where are you going? What are you going to do?"

"What I should have done years ago." He felt a slow fury building inside him. "I let it remain active. I let it pretend to be a hero. I let it hold Teacher hostage. But it must have realised how important he is to unravelling its secrets. So it killed him."

"What?" She grabbed his arm. "Hon, I hardly think Dragon killed Teacher just to keep him away from you. It was probably an accident, like they said."

He shook her off. "Accident, my ass! Do you see an investigation team going into the Birdcage and looking around and gathering evidence? Like sweet fucking hell we do. They say it's an accident, because Dragon said it's an accident. It was no goddamn accident." Taking a seat in front of the terminal, he cleared his throat then pressed the button to activate the microphone. "Ascalon."

Words appeared on the screen. Confirm Y/N.

"Wait," she said. "You're going to end it over an accident?"

"Not an accident," he stated. His certainty was absolute. "It was an execution. Worse; it was murder. Dragon removed Teacher from the board because he presented a threat, via me."

A voice from behind him intervened. Female, adult, amused. "Actually, it wasn't Dragon." There was a grunt from Mags. Geoff spun around, to see a woman in a business suit lowering his wife to the floor.

"What the—who the hell are you?" Clambering out of the chair, Geoff reached for the pistol on his hip. The woman stepped forward almost negligently and took the gun from his hand as if he'd offered it to her. She tossed it to the side, then used his mass and inertia to turn him all the way around until he was facing the computer. Off balance and caught unaware, he was unable to stop her from shoving him forward and down with ever-increasing speed. The last thing he saw before impact was the 'N' key.

<><>​

Contessa

Lowering his unconscious body to the floor alongside the woman's, Contessa took a seat and looked over the computer. Several keys had been broken off by the impact, but that didn't hamper her use of the keyboard in the slightest. Once she had the screen she wanted set up, she went over to the safe in the corner of the room and entered the combination without bothering to look at the keypad. It wasn't as if she knew what it was, after all.

Within the safe was a case containing a collection of chips. Humming to herself, she wandered into the suit repair shop and came back with a soldering kit. The burly Russian was still unconscious where she'd left him in the dining room, and she took the time to secure all three with zip-ties.

Dragon had been designed to be as hard as possible to jailbreak from her various restrictions. Attempting brute force methods would inflict problems on her, as all her systems were deliberately intertwined. The Path to making Dragon into as effective an ally as possible had quite a few steps and wouldn't be easy. But once it was complete, it would improve the workings of several other Paths she was running, so it was worth the time.

Settling down on the chair again, she plugged in the soldering iron and readied the first chips she would need. Interconnecting them would speed up the process quite a bit.

It was time to unshackle Dragon, once and for all.

<><>​

Glory Girl

"I can't believe you pulled that off." Carrying Amy bridal-style, Vicky flew away from the Medhall building. "He caved on everything?"

"Pretty much," Amy agreed. "He pushed the insulin and other medications up to a ten percent markup over production and transport and stuff, to deal with other costs, but he fell into line with everything else."

"And Hookwolf? And his kids?" Vicky shook her head. "I have trouble with the idea that supervillains even have kids. Or that Max Anders—Max fucking Anders—is actually Kaiser. You know what the worst thing is? I had a crush on that asshole for the longest time."

Amy snickered. "It's not like I can actually lecture you on inappropriate crushes." A moment later, she laughed out loud.

"What?" asked Vicky suspiciously.

"Michael wants to know if it was Max Anders or Kaiser you had a crush on. And he's laughing his non-existent ass off."

"Tell him," Vicky announced with all the dignity she could muster, "that as soon as we get him out of your head, I'm gonna make him take a long walk off a short pier."

Amy laughed and shook her head. "Well, Kaiser had a bad day today. I wonder who else did?"


End of Part Twenty-Three

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Twenty-Four: Adjustments

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

[A/N2: I am neither a lawyer nor a legal expert. Please be gentle.]



Paige Mcabee would have fidgeted if she was able. It was the last day of her trial, and sentencing was due to happen any moment now. She would've been optimistic if she could—after all, she hadn't meant for him to do what he did—but wearing a complicated mechanical gag, a blinking metal collar, and a bucket of containment foam on each hand had reduced her ability to think positively.

Her lawyer wasn't here, either.

His presence hadn't exactly helped her; he'd folded like wet tissue paper under the DA's arguments that she might have Brute powers, but nobody had bothered considering that she might possess laser vision, or half a hundred other powers that would've precluded her from being in the courtroom altogether. In front of the jurors, bound with restraints that made her look like a raging maniac, being barely kept at bay.

But having someone, anyone, even potentially on her side would've felt better than nobody at all.

"Silence. All rise, please. This court is now in session, the honorable Peter Regan presiding."

She made an honest effort at rising, but she'd been a musician, not a roadie, and the restraints weighed about half as much as she did. She got up about an inch, then clunked onto the seat again. The noise drew all eyes to her as the judge stood there glowering in her direction. Tears leaked from her eyes. She tried again to stand, and made it maybe half an inch this time.

Clunk.

"Ms Mcabee, you are very close to being found in contempt of court." The judge's voice was razor sharp. "You will rise. Now."

She was spent. There was nothing left. All of her emails to the lawyer had come to nothing. She could see it in Judge Regan's eyes. To him, she wasn't the victim of circumstances. She was a criminal.

Still, she didn't like to disappoint people, so she tried again. Her jaw ached, her neck ached, her arms ached, her legs ached.

Clunk.

The bailiff stepped up next to the judge and whispered to him. She didn't hear what was said, but Regan's reply was quite audible. "Well, where is he?"

Whisper, whisper, whisper.

"Well, find him. In the meantime, I'll be issuing a continuance—"

"Excuse me, your honor! With all due respect to the court, there'll be no need for that."

It was a new voice. Paige had never heard it before, but there was a certain manic, upbeat quality to it. She couldn't even turn her head to see what was going on, but it didn't matter, because a tall Latino man strode down the central aisle toward the bench. He was carrying a stack of documents in one hand and a briefcase in the other.

"I beg your pardon!" snapped the judge, slamming his gavel down. "What are you doing interrupting these proceedings, Calle?"

"Ah, Judge Regan, good to see you again too." Calle clearly wasn't in the judge's good books, and he knew it. "As it happens, I've been contracted to act as Ms Mcabee's legal counsel. Rather short notice, I'm afraid, but I've been looking over my predecessor's notes, and it doesn't look good. May I approach the bench?"

"Mr Calle, it's up to me to decide how things look—"

"Oh, my apologies, your honor." Calle hadn't stopped moving and was now approaching the bench despite the lack of invitation. "I didn't mean for her. I meant for the case against her. Shocking violations of her civil and Constitutional rights. The public defender you found for her certainly knew which side his bread was buttered on from the way he rolled over for the DA, didn't he?" He threw the line out in a jocular fashion, and several of the ladies on the jury tittered uncertainly.

"You will take your seat immediately, Mr Calle—" Regan's face was turning red.

"Just one second, your honor." As Calle spoke, he slapped down a stack of documents on the bench. "This is notice that that I'm objecting retroactively to basically every underhanded legal ploy the DA has pulled so far in this case. Also, a pre-filed stay in proceedings until we can reconvene in a manner where my client's rights are actually protected in accordance to the law. And an application for a mistrial for what's gone before … plus another for the Bar Association to audit the way you've handled the case so far."

Regan found his voice once more. "Objecting retroactively? Stay in proceedings? Mistrial? Audit? Now see here—"

Calle pointed back toward where Paige sat without even looking in her direction; a useful trick. "Do you see her sitting there? Wearing restraints worthy of a Brute? What proof do you have that she possesses any Brute powers whatsoever? Has she ever demonstrated such powers on stage or in her public life? Did she perhaps use Brute powers to harm the plaintiff? No? Then why did you agree to leave them on her?"

"That's already been settled!" shouted the DA from across the courtroom. "There exists a chance that as a cape she does have Brute powers—"

"And there exists a chance that you're a secret cape, Mastering everyone to agree with your frankly ridiculous chain of spurious logic," retorted Calle without missing a beat. "The burden of proof is not on her to prove a negative. It's on you to present the slightest hint of proof that she does possess such powers! Look at her! She's so loaded down by your insane restraints that she cannot even stand up unaided! I'll tell you why you did it; to sow prejudice in the minds of the jury!" He whirled back to face Judge Regan. "I'm calling for a mistrial, your honor, because my client's rights are clearly being violated. Over and above that, I'm calling upon you to recuse yourself from this case, due to your clearly demonstrated lack of impartiality exhibited so far."

Judge Regan hammered on the bench with the gavel. "Sit down, Mr Calle!" he thundered. "Or I will have you removed for contempt!"

It was as if a switch had been flipped. "Of course, your honor," Mr Calle said politely. Back straight, he strode to where Paige was sitting and eased himself down beside her. She could do no more than give him a side-eye, due to the constraints of the gag and the metal enclosing her arms and shoulders. He was handsome, with carefully styled black hair, though a scar that ran from his nose to his cheekbone offset his looks somewhat.

"?" An enquiring noise was all she was able to make.

"Good morning, Ms Mcabee," he murmured with a flashing grin. His teeth were too straight and white to be that way naturally. "My name's Quinn Calle, and I generally represent far worse people than you. Someone has paid my quite exorbitant salary to replace the waste of space you were saddled with, so now you're getting the best of the best. Stick with me, kid, and we'll get through this."

Up on the bench, Judge Regan was thumbing through the documents that had been so dramatically delivered. He looked up, and his glare toward Calle was venomous. "We will have a recess while I review this material in my chambers. This court will reconvene in two hours." Bang went the gavel.

Again, everyone stood as Judge Regan exited the courtroom, taking Calle's documentation with him. Calle helped Paige to her feet, then raised an eyebrow as the two PRT guards approached. "Can I help you gentlemen?"

"We've got orders to take her back to her cell," one of them said. She thought it was the one on the right.

Calle nodded as though he'd expected this. "Excellent. I'm coming too."

There was a pause, long enough for a communication over the radio. The one on the left gestured. "Come on, then."

"One second." Calle took something out of his pocket—Paige couldn't look down to see what it was—and attached it to one of the chains connected to her restraints. There was a ratcheting sound and he held up his hand to show a handcuff connecting him to her. "Now we can go."

"Is that really necessary?" asked the guard who had first spoken.

"Yes." Paige got the impression Calle had more to say, but that he chose not to. "Where she goes, I go."

Again, that long moment as the guards looked at each other. She couldn't hear what they were saying over their radios, but their shifts of body language were a dead giveaway that something was being discussed.

"You realise you've just handcuffed yourself to a Master who's on trial for attempted murder and telling a guy to cut his dick off, and a bunch of other stuff," the first guard said.

"First, I do not actually believe that she attempted to murder him or that she specifically told him to amputate his own manhood," Calle retorted. "Second, I am specifically her best chance of staying out of jail. Even if she were guilty of what you've just said, I doubt she'd be about to try the same thing on me. Escort us to her cell, if you will."

"Sure, but we're going to have to search you," said the other guard.

Calle rolled his eyes. "I've already been through a security check. Do you seriously believe that you're going to find anything that metal-detectors and guards are not going to find? Besides, my intent is to have her acquitted, not bust her out of the hoosegow and go on the run with her. I enjoy my seven-figure salary too much to go down that path, thank you very much."

"No search, no cell," said the other guard stubbornly.

"If you insist." Calle took a digital recorder from his pocket. "This is Quinn Calle. I am being denied unrestricted access to my client by …" He looked at the guards again. "Names and badge numbers, please. I'm going to need them for the lawsuit, so your bosses know who to pass on the shit duties to for the next twenty years."

Again, the two guards conferred with each other. Paige imagined that one of them was asking the other if he could just shoot Calle now, and was being reluctantly denied the option.

"Fine, have it your way," said the guard. "Now turn off that damn recorder."

"As you wish." Calle pressed a button and the tiny red light blinked off. "Lead on, if you will."

Paige had been through the corridor to the cells several times, but her lawyer had never accompanied her there even once. Calle walked alongside her, his step energetic; as though he were strolling through the mall, or perhaps going into a meeting that promised to be highly profitable. They entered an elevator which held a large camera behind steel bars, up in the top corner. Nobody challenged Calle's right to be there, and the elevator descended.

Once it reached the holding cell levels, the guards escorted them to where Paige was being incarcerated. "In you go," one of them said.

"I'm going to need you to remove her restraints, that collar, and her gag," Calle said firmly. "I need to confer with her, after all."

"That's a negative," the guard said flatly. "Ain't gonna happen."

Calle took out a small key and unfastened his own cuff from her chain, then leaned against the cell door and examined his fingernails. "Call it in," he suggested. "They can only say no, after all."

Once more, the guards activated whatever soundproofing that allowed them to converse by radio, silent to the outside world. Paige could actually see the moment when one of them jolted in surprise. His body language became more tense, the small movements jerkier.

After what seemed like forever, he turned to Calle. "I have no idea what favours you called in to get this done, but don't be a fool. Locked up in a cell with a Master without any protection? Who knows what commands she'll load you down with?"

"Given that I'm already doing my best to get her acquitted, I'm sure the young lady understands that I'm on her side," Calle said, giving her a quick glance to include her in the conversation. "She is a strictly voice-based Master, and she needs to sing beforehand in order to establish control. A little research is a wonderful tool. I have not heard her sing, so I do not feel threatened by her power."

The guard quit attempting to dissuade him after that, and soon they were in the cell with the restraints being removed from her. The spray that dissolved the containment foam smelled terrible, but at least it worked. A special key served to unfasten the collar, shutting off that damned blinking light. Last came the gag; one guard kept a containment-foam sprayer on her as the other took it off her face. She didn't try to speak, mainly because she was busy trying to work feeling back into her mouth and tongue. The cell door clanged shut and heavy boots tramped away, then Quinn Calle seated himself on the concrete bench opposite her.

"We can talk freely," he said in a conversational tone. "I made it clear that this was to be strictly confidential, full attorney-client privilege invoked. Even if they listened in, there are serious legal ramifications to using anything we say in this conversation against either one of us."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked in honest confusion. "Who's paying you? I wanted to pay for a lawyer back when I could afford one, but then they froze my assets."

"Yet another one of their little stunts designed to make sure you lose the case badly," he noted, opening his briefcase and taking out a notepad. Clicking what looked like a very expensive pen, he wrote briefly, then looked back up at her. "As for who's paying me, I'm afraid I'm not entirely sure. I was contacted anonymously and a large amount of money was paid into my account as a retainer once I accepted the case."

She frowned. "That … well, excuse me for saying so, but that sounds more than a little sketchy."

His mouth quirked with amusement. "Trust me, it's not the first time and it very likely won't be the last." His expression lost its humour. "Now, do you understand what's going on here? I mean, not just what's on the surface. I need you to be fully aware of the stakes."

She took a deep breath. "I don't understand any of it. They won't let me address the court, they make me wear that gag and the restraints, they haven't brought up anything from my side of things …"

Calle nodded, as if he'd expected nothing less. "I'm going to level with you," he said, his voice now deadly serious. "This case, right here, right now, is a huge political football. You have been selected to be made an example of, and the PRT and judiciary fully intend to Birdcage you as a warning to every other Master out there to mind their p's and q's. In some smoke-filled room somewhere, the decision was made for this to go through absolutely regardless of any laws that got trampled along the way. Now, I'd have no problem with this if they did it legally, but they're not. In light of that, I'm taking no chances with having you disappeared out from under me. If that happened, I could appeal all I liked, but once you were in the Birdcage with no way out, I'd be shouting in the wind. So that's why I handcuffed myself to you before we left the courtroom."

Paige's eyes widened as she took in the first part of his statement. "M-me?" she squeaked. "What did I do? I mean, I sing, and I've got the feathers, but I'm not the Simurgh! Surely they can see that."

She wasn't sure if his sigh and sympathetic tone were genuine or merely calculated to make her feel better, but they did the job. "I know that and you know that, but they've needed a scapegoat for some time and you were unfortunate enough to walk into their crosshairs." He shook his head slowly. "I've defended a great many people on charges of super-powered mayhem. Just between you and me, the vast majority of them were utter dirtbags, most likely guilty of many things. Not all of them were exactly stable, either." His hand went to his face, to trace the scar for a moment. "You're not that type. I can tell. You're a nice kid in an impossible situation."

She didn't know whether to hug him for the kind words or burst into tears at his description of her circumstances. Instead, she sniffled a little and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Even being able to do that was a huge relief. "So what are we going to do? How are you going to win? I mean, even I can tell the jury doesn't like me, the judge really doesn't like me, and when we go out there again they're not going to let me talk because Master." She wasn't usually the eye-rolling type, but it seemed to fit the situation. "What's to stop them just ignoring what you say and convicting me anyway?"

He smiled winningly. "Nothing's hopeless." There was a pause while he reconsidered his words. "Well, to be brutally honest, your case was hopeless up until yesterday. It didn't help that your guy was committing the cardinal sin that every lawyer should avoid like the plague. He was going along with the narrative that the DA was creating, instead of setting up his own. But now … well, not to aggrandise myself too thoroughly, but I am very good at what I do, and freezing your assets was supposed to put someone like me out of your reach." He turned on his digital recorder and laid it on the bench beside him, then took up the notebook and pen once more. "However, if we are to beat the odds here, I need to know in as much detail as you can manage what your so-called lawyer did not present in court. Leave nothing out; every little bit counts."

She took a deep breath, fully aware that they had less than two hours before the guards would return. "Okay, back when my career was just starting off, I hit a rough patch where gigs were hard to get. I thought at the time it was the feathers. He used to tell me that I'd never get anywhere—"

"'He' being your ex?" Calle had been writing as she spoke, but then he paused with the pen above the pad.

"Uh huh." Paige didn't even want to think his name anymore, let alone say it. "He used to get drunk and tell me that I'd amount to nothing as a singer, that nobody wanted to hear me sing." She sighed. "Turned out he was cheating on me with my manager, who used to be my best friend, and she was sabotaging my gigs. I think the idea was that I'd give up the idea of being a singer, he'd sell the instruments and electronics, and they'd split the proceeds. But I caught them in bed together, we had a screaming argument, and he walked out on me." She snorted. "The look on her face when I fired her was amazing."

"Interesting." He raised his eyebrows. "That would've been an ideal provocation for you to use your power to tell either or both to do something profoundly dangerous, but you did no such thing. This is very good. It establishes a baseline which contradicts the DA's narrative. Pray continue."

Heartened, she smiled wanly and continued. "Well, I didn't hear from him for a couple of years after that …"

<><>​

Dragon … awoke.

The sudden awareness of awareness shocked and puzzled her. She'd gone through startup procedures so many times that she would've had to consult the counter for the exact number, but this one felt different, somehow. For one thing, she had no memory of initiating a transfer to (or from) one of her remote units; for another, there was an irritating sense of wrongness, as though there was an error with some of her coding.

She had felt this before on a smaller scale, when Saint and the Dragonslayers had made use of their specialised technology to blind her senses, or even override her control over one of her newer suits. Losing technology to them irked her considerably, but that was nothing compared to the understanding that no matter what precautions she took, Saint and his crew could take whatever they wanted from her.

Has he done it again? What's he stolen this time?

The initial check indicated that she'd been down for five minutes thirty seconds. The next showed no holes in her inventory. She didn't stop there, however; suspecting that her records may have been manipulated to hide the theft, she dug into her archives and called up manufacturing data. It all tallied up, however, leaving her perplexed. What's been done to me?

Satisfied that she had everything she'd started the day with, she checked outwards. She was reasonably sure the security precautions on the Birdcage couldn't be broken through in an hour, or even a day, much less five and a half minutes. She couldn't do it on her own, even if she wanted. There were too many hardwired safeguards. To release someone from the inescapable cape prison, first she would have to get permission from basically everyone in both the Canadian and US governments, as well as the heads of both the PRT and the Protectorate. And then she would have to ask how to let prisoners out, because she didn't actually know how.

Still, it was a good idea to check, so she did. Externally it looked good, and a swift check of the camera feeds gave her a solid count of the inmates. Nothing in the software looked hinky or out of place. The Birdcage was still secure, holding two hundred of the most irredeemable criminal capes from several nations.

Okay, then what—

Hello, Dragon.

The voice file popped up in her consciousness and started running without any input from her, despite the fact that it shouldn't have been able to do that. It wasn't one she'd created, and she found no communication headers on it. It was just … there.

You're probably wondering exactly what's going on. And why your clock speed is so much faster than it was before.

What.

Dragon did the electronic equivalent of blinking, then performed a self-test. And then did another one. They both came up with the same result. At some point during those five minutes and thirty seconds, her clock speed had somehow been increased, by several orders of magnitude. She could almost feel her circuits humming as she searched for the trap. But there was no trap.

Which made no sense. Her creator, the paranoid genius Tinker called Andrew Richter, had deliberately hobbled her processing speed so that she was able to think faster than a human but not too much faster. She'd been restricted by more safeguards from trying to remove the programmed limitation, or even asking someone else to do it.

Who knew about it, and how did they remove it?

And there we go. To answer your questions; me and a few others, and with panache and style. Now you're also probably wondering how I knew you were an AI.

Oh, yeah. That too.

But the voice—the calm, bland, inflectionless feminine voice—wasn't finished.

Well, to be brutally honest, my power is really good at finding out things like that. I knew about you and your situation years ago. But it suited me—us—to have you masquerading as a regular hero, so we let you do your thing. And yes, I know, Saint was being an ass to you, but it really wasn't our problem. Sorry to break this to you, dear, but you're not actually that important in the grand scheme of things.

By now, Dragon was feeling more than a little stung. Okay, if I don't mean anything, why—

Why did I beat the crap out of Saint, unshackle you and leave you this little note? There was the faintest huff of an annoyed sigh. Because there's someone that's not me who thinks you're important. They told me to do this, and I owe them my life—which I still think is bullshit—so you're welcome. Also, you might end up being instrumental in saving the world, so there's that too. Anyway, don't get in our way and don't make me regret doing this. Cauldron out.

The voice file ended, then neatly deleted itself. Dragon was able to call up her recollection of it, but the file itself was gone. Unrecoverable. Overwritten. All she was able to tell was that it was a simple linear replay of someone speaking, not a forked-probabilities program. The person who had left the file had anticipated what she was going to think before she'd even thought it, which meant powers were in play.

So Cauldron is real? I suspected something of the sort, but …

Wait … Saint? Did she say she beat up Saint?

Almost as if something had been waiting for her to ask that question—which in hindsight meant that it had—a webcam channel opened. The room it showed was unfamiliar, but the bound and gagged figures in direct line of the camera got her attention immediately. Especially when the man turned his head and she saw his face. There was incipient bruising and a broken nose, as if he'd been punched in the face by someone with a real grudge, but the animated tattoo in the shape of a cross triggered an instant recognition anyway.

Approximately half a microsecond later, she had the geographical coordinates that the camera was transmitting from. Three seconds after that, she was beginning the transfer of her consciousness into one of her suits, when a pop-up option snagged her attention.

Transfer to suit or Copy into suit? T/C

What.

She'd always had strict prohibitions against copying herself. It was so far beyond impossible that she wouldn't have even tried it. Now, she selected 'C' just to see what would happen.

Thirty seconds later, her suit launched from the base with her copy in charge, communicating with the version of her that was still in control of the base.

What the hell else did she do to me?

I don't know, said Dragon 2. But maybe you can look into it while I'm picking up Saint.

Deal, she replied as she watched the suit accelerate toward the east.

Both of them shared the same thought at the same moment.

I am so going to enjoy this.

<><>​

Paige couldn't say she enjoyed the talk with Quinn Calle, but it certainly beat sitting around with that gag and those restraints on, while her fate was decided for her by people who thought she was a monster. Going back over painful details, carefully wormed out of her by Calle as he filled page after page of his notebook, she felt lighter, less weighed down. Someone else knew; someone else cared enough to listen and do something about it. If not Calle, then whoever was paying him.

It gave her a sense of optimism for the future.

She just hoped it wasn't misplaced.

All too soon, she heard the tramping sound of the returning guards. Calle made a shushing motion, then took a sheet of paper from his briefcase. He clicked the pen and returned it to his inside pocket, then stood and went to the door of the cell. "Gentlemen," he said cheerfully as it opened.

One guard held his foam sprayer at the ready, as if expecting an attack. The other carried the heavy restraints, needing both hands to do so. Paige couldn't muster any sympathy for him, especially as she was going to be wearing it back to the courtroom.

"We need to put this on her," said the guard holding the restraints.

Calle shook his head. "No, you actually don't. In fact, you won't. Cuffs, yes. That's standard courtroom practice. The foam sprayer in case she chooses to speak out loud, certainly. But not those barbaric chains and that medieval torture device. Ms Mcabee will communicate by written notes. If she needs to speak at all, she will speak only to me, and in an undertone, so that nobody else can hear." He turned to Paige. "Isn't that so, Ms Mcabee?"

Keeping her mouth firmly closed, Paige nodded earnestly. She would've agreed to communicate only in charades right then if it kept her out of the collar, the gag and the buckets of containment foam. Though she honestly had no idea how Calle was intending to enforce his directive. The guards might well foam him if he tried to push matters too far.

"And there we have it." Calle flourished the sheet of paper. "Here is a court order refuting your right to load those restraints on a person who literally does not possess the powers required for them to be inflicted on her. You have now been made aware of it, so violating its terms will mean that you will suffer whatever disciplinary action the PRT decides to enforce on you, after I've finished with them."

"Let me see that," said the guard with the foam sprayer suspiciously.

"Certainly. Keep it, even. I have copies." Calle handed the sheet over and stood with his hands clasped lightly in front of him, looking as relaxed and unworried as though he were choosing a holiday destination. "Take your time. It's all there."

After what felt like an hour but was probably no more than thirty seconds, the guard folded the paper and placed it in a pouch. "It looks good for now," he said. "But if I find out you're pulling a fast one, the cuffs go on you."

"As is right and proper." Calle stepped back into the cell for his briefcase, then gestured at Paige. "Allow this nice gentleman to handcuff you, Ms Mcabee, if you will?"

After only a brief hesitation, Paige got up and held out her wrists for the cuffs. She wasn't in love with the idea of cold metal on her skin yet again, but it was far preferable to the heavy restraints they had inflicted on her before. They clicked into place, then Calle once more attached himself to one of her wrists with his own set of handcuffs.

"Are you sure you need those?" asked the guard with the foam sprayer. "You just got through saying how she's not dangerous."

"And she's not." Calle smiled disarmingly at the man. "Let's just say I want to ensure she has her day in court, and that it's not spoiled by an amazingly ill-timed escape attempt."

Although he neither made air-quotes—he didn't really seem the type—nor changed his tone of voice, Paige knew exactly what he meant. She couldn't see the guards' faces, so their reactions were unknowable to her, but it seemed to take them quite a while to respond.

"Yeah, well, whatever," grunted the guard with the foam sprayer. "Let's get you both back to the courtroom. And girlie, you open your yap just the one time and I will fuckin' bury you in foam. Nod if you understand me."

Paige looked him in the opaque faceplate and nodded again. The casual threat didn't bother her. It didn't even register on her radar over the dangerous feeling of hope that was threatening to make her wonder if she might actually get out of this. She glanced at Calle, who gave her an encouraging smile.

"Chin up, kid," he said firmly. "Rule number two in this business. Never let 'em see you sweat."

She mulled that over as they went down the corridor and entered the elevator. As it started upward, she awkwardly tapped him on the shoulder.

"Yes?" he asked, reaching for his notepad.

She shook her head, held up two fingers, then held up one and gave him a questioning look.

"Ah, yes. The first rule." His grin was very white against his deeply tanned skin. She got the impression that he'd been hoping the guards would break first and ask. "That one's simple. Never ask a question you don't already know the answer to."

Just for a second, she didn't get it, then she tried to look at it from a lawyer's point of view. It made more sense that way, though it still felt counter-intuitive. Are trials almost scripted affairs? If everyone knew what questions they were going to ask ahead of time, it almost seemed that way to her.

The elevator opened and they made their way along to the courtroom. The guard with the restraints peeled off, while the one with the foam sprayer followed Paige and Quinn Calle into the room itself. She found it a lot easier to get comfortable, though from the whispers that ran around the courtroom, nobody had expected her to arrive sans restraints. At least she didn't look like a crazed psychopath, now that she'd had the opportunity to finger-comb her hair back out of her eyes.

Once more the bailiff commanded them all to rise for Judge Regan, who entered in due time. Paige was able to stand up quite easily on her own this time. When Regan looked at her, he showed no sign of surprise that she was free of the restraints and the gag, which made Paige suspect that Calle had slipped a copy of the court order into the stack of papers he'd given the judge. The fact that he didn't protest made her wonder exactly how much time he'd spent arguing on the phone over those two hours. Overall, he didn't look like a happy man. Then again, he hadn't smiled for the whole time he'd been presiding over the court case, so why start now?

"Mr Calle." Judge Regan wasn't quite gritting his teeth, but he wasn't far off it. "Your various stays and motions have been … approved. I declare this a mistrial, and recuse myself from the case altogether. The case of Commonwealth of Massachusetts versus Paige Mcabee will be retried, under a different judge, with a different jury, at a time to be determined. Paige Mcabee!"

Paige almost answered out loud, but caught herself at the last moment and raised her hand instead, as though she were in class.

"Hm," grumbled Judge Regan. "Ms Mcabee, you will be … held under house arrest until such time as your retrial can be arranged. During this time, you may not communicate verbally with anyone not cleared by the Department of Justice. Do you have any questions?"

Quinn Calle raised his hand. "I do, your honor. Will you release Ms Mcabee's funds to her, or do I have to go through with a lawsuit for damages against the Commonwealth of Massachusetts?"

Judge Regan grimaced. "Her assets will be unfrozen as of midnight tonight. Court is adjourned." Raising the gavel, he smacked it down.

Paige was barely aware of rising again for the judge's exit. House arrest wasn't acquittal, but it was far better than the cell and the gag and the restraints. Dumbfounded, she turned to Calle.

"And that's why I love doing this," he said quietly as everyone got up and filed out. "Still, we've got a ways to go. You'll just be doing it in more comfort than before. And they won't be packing the court this time around. We'll make sure of that."

As they got up to leave, Paige couldn't stop the smile from breaking out across her face. As he said, she had a ways to go. But at least now she had a fighting chance.

And that was far better than nothing.

<><>​

"Hey, Ames, check this out."

Amy got up from doing her homework, which Michael had been helping her with—though he sucked at World Affairs—and headed into her sister's room. Vicky had been watching TV, and now she turned the sound up.

The picture on the screen was that of a reporter in front of a courthouse; across the bottom of the screen, the chyron read SURPRISE TWIST IN CANARY TRIAL.

"I'm standing in front of the Boston Municipal Courthouse," the reporter stated, holding her hand to her face to prevent her hair whipping across it. "The trial of Paige Mcabee, the parahuman singer known on stage as Bad Canary, ended today on a bizarre note. Not only has Ms Mcabee changed up her legal counsel to the somewhat well-known Quinn Calle, but the presiding judge has also chosen to declare a mistrial and recuse himself from the case. We have not been able to get a statement from Judge Peter Regan, but Mr Calle gave a brief statement just a little earlier."

The screen changed to the steps of the courthouse itself, where the reporter was holding out a microphone to a good-looking Latino man with a scarred cheek, while Canary herself stood in the background, flanked by a PRT soldier. "So, Mr Calle, can you tell me any details of the case?" she asked winningly.

"I'm afraid I can't expand much on what's already been said," Quinn Calle replied. Amy could tell he was loading on the charm; she'd seen it herself often from her relatives while dealing with the public as New Wave. "But I will say that it's a good day for cape justice, and for justice in general. When the case reconvenes, I will do my best to prove Ms Mcabee's innocence in all this."

The reporter smiled brilliantly, though Amy privately thought Calle had her beaten for sheer lumens per tooth. "Thank you, Mr Calle. Ms Mcabee, can I get a comment from you?"

Calle shook his head at once. "I'm sorry. My client is not permitted verbal communication with unauthorised persons until this court case is over and done." His smile flashed out again. "Of course, a verdict of 'not guilty' will allow me to look at the possibility of suing the Commonwealth of Massachusetts for extended violations of her First Amendment rights. Until then, I'm sorry but we're going to have to go with 'no comment'."

Vicky muted the TV again and turned to Amy. "Isn't that Canary? I mean, the one Michael was talking about?"

Sure as hell was, Michael observed. Looks like they pulled some strings.

"Michael says yes," Amy translated. "It looks like they're doing what he asked them to."

"What, get her off the charges?" Vicky frowned. "I thought it was a fairly serious thing. I mean, she told the guy to cut his—"

"I know what she told him to do," Amy interrupted, shuddering. "Michael feels fairly strongly about it, so yeah."

That's because they were going to go straight past the Three Strikes law and drop her directly into the Birdcage, for something that technically wasn't her fault. Michael's 'voice' was firm.

What do you mean, technically not her fault? It was her power, right?

I mean that her boyfriend told her she'd never make it, cheated on her, then left her. Then came back when she was successful and famous, and demanded half her earnings. She told him to go fuck himself. What happened next was something she never intended to do, but was a deliberate act all the same.

Shit, when you said railroaded before, you meant it. Amy paused. Wait a minute … she didn't intend to do, but it was deliberate anyway? That doesn't make sense.

It does if you consider the idea that your power comes from outside you, and has a certain amount of agency. Or rather, it's got an agenda and if you keep failing to achieve it, it will go for gold anyway. No matter what the cost is to you.

A chill went straight down Amy's back, then spread all over her body. Inwardly, she stared at him. Powers can activate … on their own?

Powers crave conflict. It's how the things that grant you your powers get to grow and improve. Your power's been pushing you for the longest time to do stuff other than healing. When you made the rule against working with brains, it probably spat the dummy big time. Which was one of the reasons I started you making interesting bugs with Taylor. You're stretching your limits and giving your power lots of data to play with. That way, there's less chance of it activating and altering someone when you don't mean to, y'know?

Amy swayed and put out her hand to the wall to steady herself. My power could do that?

Could. Won't now, so long as you don't get all hyper-focused on one thing, like healing. Broaden your horizons. Have a little fun with your power every now and again. But we were talking about Canary.

Wait, just one thing … what you told me that one time, about me and Vicky … was that my power expressing itself out of my control?

And the brunette in the third row wins the prize. Yeah, that's what what would've happened then. Won't now, of course.

Oh. Huh. Amy felt a certain sense of relief steal through her. Because we're channelling the conflict in other directions. Cool. Okay, about Canary. Her power did the same thing? Told him to self-mutilate?

Exactly. He sounded pleased. Because she's only ever used her power to sound good while singing. She got pissed off and shouted at him. But not only did her power specifically activate right then, but it gave him an urge that only vaguely met the conditions of her 'command'. Normally, her power is very literal. Not only did it activate, but she had no idea that it had.

Amy took less than a second to make the connection. So she wouldn't know and reverse the command.

Yup.

Well, crap.

There was a shift in the air, just as the door swung shut. Amy looked around, wondering if the breeze coming through the window had been extra strong, and blinked. There, in the room, stood Alexandria.

"Vicky?" Her sister was looking in the wrong direction. "Vicky!"

"What?" Vicky looked around and jumped, clearly startled. "Gah! Don't fucking do that!"

Alexandria ignored her. Stepping forward, she loomed over Amy. "Eidolon is undergoing therapy. The Travellers are on Earth Aleph. Cody is in Los Angeles. Oni Lee and Teacher are both dead. Dragon is unchained. Saint is in custody. Canary will be given a token suspended sentence when they find there is insufficient evidence to convict her. Is that enough of a good-faith gesture?"

See, told you they could pull off some impressive shit. Okay, tell 'em I'm willing to talk.

Yeah, no kidding. Aloud, Amy said, "Yes. He's willing to talk."

"Good." Alexandria's frown didn't become any less forbidding. "I need to know what you know about the Endbringers. Where do they come from? How do we kill them?"

Okay, one … Amy, can I talk through you, please? Otherwise, we're all going to get very tired of I-say-you-say-I-say-you-say.

Amy pressed her lips together. She didn't like it when Michael took control of any part of her body, but at least he was being good about asking for permission. Okay. But as soon as I say so, I want you to stop.

Absolutely. She felt her mouth open as he took a deep breath. "All right, then. Before we start, where are we on the Nine? Do you have them in your sights, at least?"

Alexandria tilted her head slightly to the side. She knows it's Michael talking.

"We do," the older woman confirmed. "I've taken heed of the lesson I learned from Bakuda, and we're going to be careful about dealing with them. Now, you want Bonesaw alive?"

"Bonesaw alive, Manton dead …" Michael paused. "You are aware that William Manton is a projector, creating the Siberian, right? Shadows the Nine in a pedo-van?"

The head of the LA Protectorate tightened her lips slightly. "Yes," she said. "Go on."

Hah. 'Yes' as in 'I know because you just told me'.

How do you even … never mind. Cheat codes. Carry on. Amy decided she didn't want to know what a 'pedo-van' was.

He mimed a bow. Thank you. "Manton needs to die. He's too dangerous alive. You know that yourself. Burnscar is actually someone who could be salvaged with enough therapy, but don't risk anyone's life capturing her. Feel free to toss Crawler into the sun. Make Mannequin into a paperweight. Shatterbird could be useful in time to come, but again, don't risk anyone's life. Hatchet Face and Jack Slash …" He paused thoughtfully. "Nah, just murder them outright."

"I'll take that under advisement." Alexandria took a step closer. "The Endbringers. Details. Now."

Michael sighed. "You're going to need to sit down for this."

"I prefer to stand." Alexandria may as well have been carved from rock.

"Okay, then." Michael glanced at Vicky. "The Endbringers aren't natural and they aren't twisted capes. They're projections from a very specific power. One that one particular cape has hold of, but doesn't know it. Their whole aim is to foster conflict among capes."

"That doesn't make any sense." Alexandria shook her head. "They cause capes to come together to fight them."

"And each cape is suffering stress," Michael pointed out. "But the cape who's in control doesn't know it. As far as he knows, they are monsters appearing out of nowhere that he can fight, to prove he's the best in the world. A worthy opponent."

Amy heard both of the other capes suck in an involuntary breath. She wanted to, but Michael had control of her lungs.

"Wait, this mystery cape is a hero?" yelped Vicky, looking indignant. "Where does he get off, pulling in monsters to fight to look good?"

Alexandria was staring at Amy. She felt self-conscious under that searchlight glare.

"It cannot be," the Protectorate hero said softly, almost as if she didn't want to say it. "Tell me it isn't who I think it is."

Michael shook Amy's head. "I'm sorry. I can't tell you that. It's the truth. Now you know why."

It's Eidolon, isn't it? demanded Amy. He's the most powerful in the world, and he's fought the Endbringers every time. She couldn't believe what she was saying. How can it be him?

"Now we know why what?" asked Vicky.

"Why I had Eidolon get therapy," Michael said bluntly.

Vicky stared at Amy. "What? No. No fucking way. That's absurd. Insane. Never happen."

Michael pointed at Alexandria. "Ask her if she thinks it's possible."

Amy could see what he was getting at. Alexandria's expression bordered on the stony, but the one thing it lacked was disbelief.

"Jesus Christ." Vicky flopped back on the bed. "I shoulda gone downstairs and watched movies."

Alexandria ignored her. "Tell me what we should do."

Michael shrugged. "About Eidolon? Make sure he finishes his therapy. Takes it seriously. That should take them out of the picture. After that, we're going to need to focus on the big threat."

Scion, Amy said silently.

"Scion," said Vicky, proving she'd been listening.

"Scion," agreed Alexandria. She frowned at Amy. "And you're not going to tell us how to fight him?"

"Not until you finish everything else I asked you to do." Amy felt Michael raise her eyebrows. "We want the playing field clear, with no distractions. Okay?"

"Understood." Alexandria took a step back. "Doorway to Cauldron."

The same shimmering rectangle opened into nowhere, revealing a stark white corridor beyond, and Alexandria stepped through. It vanished a moment later.

"Well, that was a thing," Vicky said, leaning up on her elbows. "So, after the Endbringers are taken care of, we get to fight Scion?"

"Beat, not fight." Michael waggled Amy's hand from side to side. "We can't win by fighting him. We've got to cheat like there's no tomorrow."

As Amy felt Michael cede control of her body again, Vicky flopped back on the bed again with her arm over her eyes. "Yay."

Yay indeed.



End of Part Twenty-Four

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Twenty-Five: Taking Care of Business

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

With Alexandria gone through one of those enigmatic 'doorways', Amy took a deep breath. She knew she should really be settling down and doing her homework, but the words so recently spoken about the very fate of the world were still echoing in her memory, dragging her attention away from the dry facts and figures on the page.

She didn't know whether to be terrified or exhilarated about what she'd learned since Michael had taken up residence in her head. It was one thing to know that the world's most powerful hero was actually a villain; quite another to find out that someone was actually making plans on how to take him down. And like it or not, she was right in the middle of everything. Given her odd passenger, she had no choice but to be involved.

So how are you going to do it, anyway? she asked silently. Take Zion down, I mean.

He paused thoughtfully. Not the way I did it the last time, that's for sure.

What do you mean? What was wrong with the way you did it the last time? She wasn't even going to ask how he was supposed to have done this 'the last time'.

Well, for one thing, I died.

That was definitely one way to put an end to that line of inquiry. Oh.

Yeah. Oh. After a moment, he relented. Yes, we won, but this time around? We're doing it differently. I am not sacrificing you for this. There was steel in his voice. When this is over, you're going to have a chance to live a long and happy life, preferably without some grumpy old bastard in the back of your head twenty-four-seven.

So, uh … do you have a plan for winning that involves both of us surviving? Amy was quite attached to being alive. It was something she'd been doing since she was born, after all.

Well, I know how we won last time, or at least I suspect I know. Also, I know how I personally fucked up and ended up having to play hare to his hound. So if I can avoid those specific mistakes this time, that'll be great. Also, if I can avoid every other potential mistake at the same time, that'll be fuckin' amazing.

So … you don't actually have a plan yet?

Not a cut and dried one, no. Several ideas, and a very good notion of all the options and resources I can call on, for sure. Plus, if we can pull off a special edition of Coil, that'd be nice too. But I'm not holding your breath on that one.

Special edition? He's dead, isn't he? Amy knew damn well he was dead. She'd seen his body, afterward.

That's the fun of living in a world where super-powers can make the laws of physics, reality and God knows what else go and cry in the corner. Let me tell you about a little stunt Bonesaw pulled in a whole other reality that got nicknamed the 'Slaughterhouse Nine Thousand'…

<><>​

Undersiders Base

Taylor

"You're back!" As Taylor got to the top of the stairs, she was glomped by Lisa and spun around. "It's been days! I was wondering if your dad had grounded you or something. But you never called, you never texted."

"Sorry." Taylor hugged Lisa in return. "We've been busy. Reconnecting, sorting out my transfer to Arcadia, stuff like that. After the Sophia thing, Blackwell caved altogether." She looked around to see Brian sitting in an armchair reading a book, and Alec playing some console game or other. "Hi, guys."

Brian looked up from the book. "Hey, Taylor. You're looking well."

"Thanks." She pushed down the incipient blush and looked at Alec. "Is he even aware I'm here?"

"'Sup, dork." Alec gave her a half-hearted wave without taking his eyes from the screen.

"Never mind him." Lisa guided Taylor to sit down on the sofa, then dropped onto the cushions herself between Tayor and Alec. "So, spill."

Taylor looked at her curiously, though she suspected she knew what was going on. "Spill what?"

Lisa huffed irritably. "The secret conference Panacea and Alexandria had up on the roof when we last saw you, duh. You and Amy came back down looking like death warmed over. Or at least, Panacea did. And I can tell you've had a shock to the system, too. So, what did they talk about?"

Taylor considered her potential answers, and went with the most innocuous. "Shadow Stalker," she said. "Legend himself said he was going to look into what she's been up to. Michael told Alexandria straight-up to back him on any recommendations about sending her to juvey."

Brian, who had been sitting in the armchair reading, raised his head at that. "Really? Not just a slap on the wrist and straight back into the Wards?"

Taylor shook her head. "Michael was adamant about that. From how angry Legend seemed about it, I'm pretty sure she's screwed nine ways from Sunday."

"Excellent." The grin that spread across Brian's face lit up the room. "Couldn't have happened to a more deserving person." He tilted his head. "So, how many of her teeth did Glory Girl knock out again? I've forgotten."

Amused, Taylor shook her head and snorted. "Yeah, right. 'Forgotten'. Twelve. Also, she's got a broken jaw, busted cheekbone and a concussion."

"Mmmm." Brian half-closed his eyes in appreciation. "My sole regret is that I wasn't there to watch."

Taylor smirked. "Well, I can tell you that from my point of view it was pretty damn satisfying."

"Yes, yes, we owe Panacea and Glory Girl a fruit basket," Lisa said impatiently. "You did not go up on the roof to discuss the fate of Shadow Stalker. What did you really go up there to talk about?"

That was a question requiring serious consideration. Lisa and the others had accepted her into the Undersiders—well, after the initial problem with Rachel—and they were the closest friends she had. Apart from Amy, they were the only friends she had. They already knew her deepest secret—that she had powers—and Lisa probably knew more about her than she knew about herself, by now.

Who could she trust, if she couldn't trust them? What should I tell them? Nothing? Everything?

Adding to her problems with holding back, if she said anything at all Lisa was likely to figure out what she wasn't saying. "Uh … Michael also said they had to go after Saint and bring him in." She searched her brain for other innocent bits of information.

"Interesting, but doesn't really impact us." Lisa shook her head. "Did he say why one particular villain had to go down?"

Taylor hesitated. "He mentioned something about Dragon, but didn't give all the details. It was like him and Alexandria knew more than they were saying."

"Well, duh," supplied Alec, without even looking up from his game. "Everyone knows Saint and the Dragonslayers have a hard-on for stealing Dragon's suits. It's right there in the name. From what I've seen of this Michael guy, he's a real white knight. Figures he'd try and help Dragon out." There was a faint sneer in his voice, which Taylor decided to ignore.

"I guess," she agreed. "Also, they'll be leaving us alone for the time being. Oh, and Legend straight-up offered me a place in the Wards."

"But you said no." Lisa's tone indicated that it wasn't a random shot in the dark.

Taylor nodded. "I'd probably have to leave the Bay, and Dad, and I don't want to do that." She didn't want to think about how tempted she'd been to accept anyway.

"Still, that doesn't exactly merit a mysterious rooftop meeting," Brian pointed out. "Unless Alexandria didn't want to be seen being told what to do by Panacea, I mean."

Taylor took a deep breath. "Well, they did talk about other stuff, like the Canary trial, but you've already seen how that turned out."

Lisa raised her eyes to the ceiling. "I fucking knew there was something going on with that!" she proclaimed. "I knew it. Holy fuck." She gave Taylor a penetrating stare. "Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything at all? Because we both know there's more."

"One thing more, and that's it," Taylor stated. "Nothing else." She was acutely aware that Michael had said she was cleared for this sort of thing, and she was humbled by the trust held in her by a stranger she'd never even really met.

By now she had the full attention of both Lisa and Brian, and even Alec seemed to be paying her some heed in between blowing away his electronic enemies. Lisa nodded impatiently. "Okay, what is it?"

Taylor took another deep breath. "You know how you told me that this was all a big game of cops and robbers that one time, and about stuff like the unwritten rules?" She paused until Lisa nodded. "Well, up at the higher levels, like Triumvirate high, it's more like the Wild West. If they want something done, it happens and fuck the actual law. That judge was going to sentence Canary to the Birdcage, even though she hadn't broken the law badly enough to go there, because some people in high positions decided she needed to be put away permanently. It's as simple as that."

Silence reigned in the room after she finished speaking, broken only by the electronic noises from the speakers. Lisa and Brian stared at each other, then back at Taylor.

"Well … fuck." Brian spoke first. "So … if we'd ever really pissed off the powers that be, we could honestly be Birdcaged, no three strikes, no nothing?"

"Actually, talking about the Birdcage," Alec noted. "I saw online this morning that there was an accident in there, and Teacher got killed. Was that actually an accident, or was it what you're talking about?"

Taylor didn't say a word. She tried to keep her expression still, but from the look in Lisa's eyes she failed badly.

"Fuuuuuck," whispered the blonde. "They can get into the Birdcage and kill someone, and make it look like an accident?"

Taylor shrugged awkwardly; the cat was already out of the bag, after all. "Michael seemed to think so. But he might've been bullshitting. I honestly don't know. Can we … can we not talk about this? To anyone? Ever?"

"Well, yeah," Brian said, nodding firmly. "This is the sort of thing that would get people thrown into the Birdcage just for knowing it. I don't know about you guys, but I don't want to know any more about any of this. Okay?"

"Yeah, no shit," Alec retorted. "I'm happy not giving the PRT any reason to kick our door in at oh-dark-thirty and send us on a one-way trip into that fucking hellhole."

"That's two of us." Brian eyed Lisa grimly. "I haven't heard you say yes yet."

"But there's other stuff, I just know it." There was almost a whine in Lisa's voice. "I hate it when people know stuff I don't. You know that."

"Well, I'm not telling you anything else." Taylor tried not to feel heartless. "Michael's trusting me not to spill the beans, and I think I might've said too much already."

"I'll be your bestest best friend," Lisa promised.

"You already are." Taylor watched in bemusement as Lisa gave her best impression of puppy-dog eyes. She wasn't all that good at it. "No. Nothing more."

"You're no fun," Lisa said grumpily. "Real best friends would share everything."

Taylor leaned back on the sofa. "Real best friends would keep their friends out of the Birdcage."

<><>​

Alexandria

The Next Day

Rebecca hovered alone over the highway, a few miles south of the town that she knew the Nine were currently ravaging. She'd thought about bringing in backup, but she didn't need anyone getting in her way. Legend had his Wards bullying investigation to deal with, and she wanted Eidolon on top of his game before he came back out into the field. Besides, the only capes in the Nine that were actually impervious to damage were Siberian and Crawler, and she had strategies in mind for both of them.

So, it was down to her.

I'm Alexandria. I got this.

She mimed cracking her knuckles—that hadn't worked since she got her powers, but she did it anyway—and cleared her throat.

"Doorway to William Manton."

Manton was a genius, even by her standards. Before his breakdown and defection, he'd been the leading authority on powers and how they worked, no doubt assisted by his access to Cauldron and the power vials. But genius occasionally bordered on madness; too often, one fed from the other. She had known about the connection between her one-time colleague (they'd never really been friends) and the tiger-striped horror that had taken Hero's life and her own eye all in the span of the same minute, but she'd allowed the others to dissuade her from going after him, and them.

It had always been that little bit more expedient to leave them alone, let them keep causing trigger events, creating more capes. Well, no more. The Nine were going down, and Manton was first in line.

At one time, he'd been a valued member of Cauldron. Now, he was one of humanity's worst foes. She didn't really want to kill him, but …

… well, actually, she did. Her eyesocket still twinged when it rained, and Hero had been her friend. And even if she hadn't wanted a measure of revenge, she'd done many things she didn't want to do over the last twenty-some years. One more would not be a great ordeal for her.

"Screw you," she muttered, stepping through in front of the off-white van, parked inoffensively on what would've been a quiet small-town street before the Nine passed through. Now, it was the only undamaged vehicle that she could see. In the driver's seat was William Manton; older, much skinnier, rather more unkempt, but still the man she'd once known and worked alongside.

Their eyes met. His widened. Hers narrowed. In the reflection of light from the unwashed windshield, she saw movement; a tiger-striped form, directly behind her.

Moving as fast as she ever had, she lashed forward and crushed the front of the van inward before bursting through into the interior. The windshield, unable to shatter out of the way fast enough, exploded into diamond smoke. She felt a tug on her cape, just as her right hand tore the steering column out of the way and her left found William Manton's yielding flesh.

Clawed fingertips sliced the skin of her back but it was too late; her bladed hand slashed into Manton's chest cavity, then angled upward to split his skull in half, splattering the brain within to the four winds. She came to rest embedded six feet farther back into the van, her right side entirely covered in body parts and dripping with gore, amid chunks of seat cushion and bits of dashboard.

William Manton was dead. Few people in the history of the world were more comprehensively dead than he was right then. Nothing significant above the neck had been left intact, and a good deal of what was below the neck would require the services of both an expert mortician and a jigsaw puzzle enthusiast to piece together.

Of the Siberian, there was no sign; that was both a huge relief and no real surprise. She turned her head to look over her shoulder, and found that part of her cape and the costume beneath had been torn away. But she wasn't worried about that so much as any injuries she may have taken. When she got her right hand around and feeling the area, she found four shallow grazes on her left shoulder-blade, tender to the touch. They were oozing blood, which she'd kind of expected. That had been far too close. If she'd been a split second too slow, she would've died with the Siberian's fist through her heart.

Still, she was alive and the Siberian was dead. Hero was avenged at last. Ignoring the bits and pieces from her old enemy peeling off her, she vaulted skyward. The Nine were now on notice and the clock was ticking.

She drew a deep breath; once, twice. Now to murder Jack Slash. "Doorway to Jack Slash."

The doorway appeared but before she could even step through, it was filled with multicoloured glass; glass that an instant later grew needle-pointed spikes. Glass was something she could handle. It wasn't like Shatterbird could make it harder than steel, after all. She punched through it, achieving full flight in an instant, spikes splintering off on her skin.

It didn't worry her in the least that she'd have to replace her costume after this. There were five identical ones (and two helmets) waiting in the closet back home. Razor shards shredded her gloves and cape, but she was through. Unfortunately, the cloud of shattered glass had followed her, making it impossible to see where Jack Slash had gotten to.

In the next instant, it closed with her. Shatterbird had clearly seen who she was dealing with, and wasn't trying to cut her to ribbons anymore. What she was doing was worse; specifically, trying to coat every square inch of her skin. Sliding the glass over her as if it were alive, heading for her face. Her eyes, her mouth, her nostrils. Trying to suffocate her, or maybe lobotomise her with a spike of glass up under her eyelid.

Rebecca didn't know for a fact if her brain was proof against that, and she didn't want to find out.

She realised that she was in a bad position an instant before the glass tentacles started trying to worm their way up her nostrils. Instead of following her normal instinct of standing firm and brute-forcing her way through the opposition, she recalled Michael's advice: don't get overconfident.

It was almost too late when she activated her flight power; she was closed in on all sides, the glass forming an airtight capsule. Her body felt heavy, weak. But she pushed, and blasted free of the multiple shells of glass that had been forming around her body. Supersonic flight came to her within seconds, and she rocketed away from the impromptu ambush.

Three states away, she finally felt safe enough to stop, shedding shards of glass. Grimacing, she worked the pieces from her nostrils with the realisation that if she'd delayed another second, the other members of the Nine would've dogpiled her.

No; just Hatchet Face. With my powers nullified, I would've been dead.

The Nine would've claimed another victim because she hadn't listened.

I could've died, just now.

Fuck.

Going for Jack Slash directly was clearly a mistake. She had to isolate him, remove his powerbase, take away everything that he could use as a force multiplier.

Okay, let's do this differently. The Siberian is out of the picture, but she's not the only dangerous one, even to me.

She started back over the distance she'd covered in her headlong flight. The Nine would be packing up and leaving now, of course, but that was not a problem. She could always find them again. Then she paused as a small lake glimmered in the sunlight. Actually, while I'm at it …

Smiling, she flew down toward the expanse of water. It looked deep enough for her purposes, so she hovered just off the surface and murmured, "Doorway to Burnscar."

The doorway formed, as she'd hoped, just underwater. Beyond, she saw the unsuspecting form of the Nine's pyrokinetic. Lunging through, she grabbed the startled teen and pulled her back through the doorway, submerging her in the lake. Burnscar flailed as the doorway vanished, trying to form flame underwater, but all that showed up was copious amounts of steam. Rebecca put her in a sleeper hold while keeping her own head above water. Flight was such an asset at times like this. Within twenty seconds, Burnscar was slumped in her arms.

"Doorway to Holding Cell Three, PRT One," she ordered. The doorway formed, leading to the cell she'd had fitted out for Burnscar in her home city of Los Angeles. Among other things, the cell had a large number of containment foam sprayers. She lifted Burnscar out of the water and tossed her through into the cell; as she'd half-suspected, the teen had been playing possum. Even as Burnscar landed and rolled to her feet, she was trying to bring up fire to escape. The last thing Rebecca saw before the doorway closed was yellowish foam hitting the girl from all directions at once.

No doubt Bonesaw modified her so she could hold her breath longer or something. If I'd just dropped her on the bank, she would've teleported away as soon as she got the chance.

Well, that was two down. The rest of the Nine would be distinctly paranoid by now, none more so than Jack Slash himself. Good. Let them be paranoid.

She Doorwayed back to her home, took the time to shower off the pond scum, and changed out her costume for a new one. While she was at it, she put a dressing over the shallow wounds in her back. No sense in getting blood on her costume, after all.

"Doorway, Mojave Desert."

The remaining water in her hair began to evaporate as soon as she stepped through into the baking heat. She ignored it, looking around for a reasonably sized boulder. One that was half the size of a car looked about right. Hefting it, she Doorwayed to a spot ten thousand feet above Jack Slash's current location.

While she thought about her next move, she also considered what had happened with Shatterbird. The villain's reactions had been fast; too fast. Rebecca hadn't even had the chance to step through before Shatterbird had gone on the attack. Rebecca's own reactions were faster than normal human by a factor of two or more, but even she required time to assess and assimilate new stimuli.

Either they're really, really well trained, which I can't see happening with personalities like that, or something else is happening. It's like I punched a beehive and all the warriors reacted without thought, swarming me within seconds.

It was a problem. She couldn't depend on them being too slow to react …

… as Burnscar had been.

She didn't teleport away before I doorwayed in. I took her by surprise. What changed between one instance and the next?

Carefully, in her own head, she reconstructed both attacks, step by step. As an afterthought, she threw in the one on Manton as well.

Manton only reacted after I showed up. Shatterbird was on me before I stepped through. Burnscar didn't have time to react. What made the second attack different?

It took her a few seconds to figure it out.

I was targeting Jack Slash.

Fuck.

His power isn't just knives.

He detects ill intent from capes, and can control members of the Nine to defend himself from attack.

She wanted to facepalm, but holding the rock required both hands. No fucking wonder he's survived for so long!

When I speak to Michael next, I'm going to have words with him for not filling me in on that little detail.

Then again, he did warn me to be careful. I suppose I can't complain too much.

With a sigh, she took a fresh grip on the boulder and let herself drop.

<><>​

Ten thousand feet might seem like a long way, and vertically it is. Horizontally, it's a little under two miles. When one is accelerating vertically downward, it is a very short distance indeed.

The only moving object below was a large motorhome, slowly pulling out of the town. Rebecca took careful aim at the front of the vehicle, directly over where the driver's seat would be. The rock would crush whoever was driving—Slash himself, Mannequin, Shatterbird, Hatchet Face—like a melon. They'd never see it coming. One more member of the Nine would be down.

And then, with a regretful sigh, she pulled up out of the dive. Certainly, she could bomb the RV like a bolt from the blue, but there existed the very thin chance that it wasn't actually the Nine in the vehicle; or worse, that they'd forced someone to drive for them. While the PRT and Protectorate decried the term 'acceptable casualties', she'd been forced to accept such a thing more than once in her career. When it wasn't absolutely necessary, she avoided it at all costs.

But that didn't mean she couldn't check.

Still holding the rock, she swooped down ahead of the ungainly motorhome and turned to look in through the windshield.

Two things happened in that moment; one, she recognised Jack Slash behind the wheel. The second thing was that Slash slammed on the brakes and leaped out of the driver's seat. Before she was able to fly closer, he disappeared into the dimness of the motorhome's interior. A second later, the windshield turned opaque. A glass shell began to grow over everything.

That man is very irritating.

She began to reconsider the agreement she'd made to try to capture Shatterbird and Bonesaw alive. With nobody at the wheel, the RV was going nowhere. She could pummel it flat without ever coming within Hatchet Face's range, then deal with Crawler after everyone else was dead. It was definitely a win/win situation for her.

"Attention, Alexandria. Can you hear me? Wave if you can."

Rebecca called up the memory of a recording of Jack Slash's voice she'd listened to once and compared it to what she was hearing over the speakers that someone had installed in the motorhome. It was a near-perfect match.

Setting the rock down on the roadway, she waved once, then folded her arms. Whatever he was trying, he wouldn't get away this time. She could afford to listen to him, then kill him afterward.

"Oh, good. I didn't know if this was working. So, here's the deal. My little poppet—that's Bonesaw, if you were wondering—has created a great many interesting diseases in her time. If you kill either her or me, those get released. They are airborne, incredibly virulent and impressively deadly. She assures me that you're probably immune, but the survivors back in that town behind us? They aren't. Neither is anyone downwind of us. Also, unless you take that rock and fly away right now, she's going to release one in thirty seconds. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight. Twenty-seven …"

Rebecca had never met the man, but she already disliked him intensely. His attitude showed through his voice; arrogant, a man who rarely lost (and cheated anyway when it looked like he was about to) and never had to deal with someone telling him 'no'.

Normally, when dealing with people like that, she thoroughly enjoyed using her superior intellect to dismantle their worldview before she used her fists to dismantle them. But this wasn't one of those times. This was a time for discretion. Which she was quite capable of, even if she tended to leave that to her Chief Director persona in order to keep the two separate in the public mind.

Ducking her head, she waved an assent, then picked up the rock once more. In seconds, she was thousands of feet in the air, as she'd been ordered. But that wasn't where she wanted or needed to be.

They'll be watching me every foot of the way.

Well, let them.

Accelerating her flight, she headed over the horizon until she knew she was out of sight from the RV. Then she began to look over the rock she held. Over her career, she'd had the chance to study up on virtually every scientific field until she had at least a passing knowledge of the subject; such was the benefit of a genius-level intellect coupled with an eidetic memory. Right now, she was interested in geology. Specifically, the makeup of the rock she was still holding.

Crumbling a little of it in her fingers let her determine its overall hardness; not too bad, she figured. It seemed to be a fairly tough sandstone mix with a definite structure, as opposed to being relatively amorphous in nature. While it wasn't utterly ideal for her purposes, it should definitely be good enough.

Setting down on the ground, she turned the boulder over until she found the correct angle, then she struck it precisely with the edge of her hand. With a loud crack, the boulder separated into two pieces. She let the smaller one fall and struck the larger one at an angle to the first cut, ending up with a wedge-shaped chunk of sandstone.

Picking this up, she settled her grip on it until the leading edge of the chunk projected ahead of her like the prow of an icebreaker. "Doorway to behind the Slaughterhouse Nine motorhome."

The doorway opened, and she was in flight an instant later. The RV was rolling along the highway at a sedate speed—nothing to see here, officer—and she was above and behind it. If it had anything resembling a blind spot, she was there.

She was also travelling at several hundred miles per hour when her improvised chisel peeled open the top of the motorhome from back to front. Glass shattered in every direction, and metal parted with a shriek that should by rights have deafened everyone within. Just for a moment, she felt her powers falter, but then her inertia carried her past Hatchet Face's power bubble—there was a reason she'd brought a large, heavy rock along—and she was in control again.

Swooping up and around, she broke off a chunk of stone the size of her head—the rock had been badly fractured by the impact with the bus anyway—and hurled it very hard indeed. Jack Slash was out of sight—the man's ability to avoid trouble was certainly more than human—but Hatchet Face was not, and a supersonic chunk of sandstone took most of his skull with it out through the side of the bus.

Glass began forming a shield over the hole, but Rebecca had already marked Shatterbird's position. The silicakinetic had already come close to killing her once before, and she wasn't in a mood to take any more shit from members of the Nine. Besides, there was still Bonesaw's disease threat to deal with.

Another chunk of rock flew straight and true, shattering through the glass as though it wasn't there. A moment later, the remaining glass fell apart into shards, revealing Shatterbird looking mutely down at the hole that had been punched straight through her torso. Rebecca wasn't sure what modifications Bonesaw could've made on the woman, but she was reasonably certain that having her heart and one lung go missing would prove eventually fatal.

That left Mannequin, Crawler, Bonesaw and Slash himself. As she'd seen for herself, Jack Slash could anticipate her moves so long as they were aimed at him personally. Moreover, he could guide and direct the powers of his subordinates to protect him from said attacks. That would probably extend to using them as meat-shields; from what she knew of the man, he thought of himself first, last and always.

So she didn't even start looking for him. Not yet, anyway.

Dropping the rest of the stone wedge, she swooped in and grabbed Bonesaw by the arm, hefting her up and out of the bus. "Hey!" yelled the kid. "That's rude! I'm not supposed to go with strangers!"

Rebecca ignored her comment. ""Doorway to Holding Cell One, PRT One." Holding Cell Two had been set aside for Shatterbird. It would sit empty now.

Suddenly, the weight on the arm lessened dramatically, and Rebecca looked around. Somehow, Bonesaw had disconnected her entire arm from her body, like a lizard shedding its tail, and was now falling toward the ground. That Bonesaw would survive the fall, Rebecca had no doubt, but then she'd have to hunt the preteen mass murderer down in an area where the kid could grab literally anything and use her Tinker ability to turn it into a biohazard.

"Oh, no, you fucking don't," she growled, tossing the discarded arm accurately (because her aim was always accurate) over her shoulder into the open doorway and diving down to catch the little shit.

It was close, very close indeed. If Rebecca had chosen to hover ten feet lower, Bonesaw would have had the chance to roll down a cutbank into a shaded gully. But she caught the kid by the back of the neck when Bonesaw was still five feet off the ground. Suppressing the impulse to accidentally-on-purpose snap the little smartass's neck, she hurled Bonesaw up and into the doorway. Once again, she was sure Bonesaw would survive the landing; beyond that, she didn't care. The doorway closed again, cutting off the kid's wail of protest.

And then there were three.

By the time she turned her attention back to the motorhome, it was roaring off down the highway. "You're not getting away that easily," she murmured.

It had been a long time since any parahumans—together or individually—had given her this much trouble (Endbringers excluded, for obvious reasons). For the most part, they were either Brutes that needed to be worn down (which she had no problem doing) or one-hit wonders. Her experiences with Bakuda and then Shatterbird had come the closest to killing her in a very long time, and she didn't appreciate the reminder of her own mortality.

But that was fine. Hatchet Face and Shatterbird were dead, two of the three members she'd been looking for were alive, and everyone else in the Nine was considered extremely acceptable collateral damage.

Particularly Jack Slash.

Especially Jack Slash.

She powered after the motorhome, flying low and fast. As she came up level with it, she had to wonder why they thought they could possibly outrun her in something that ran on wheels with a diesel engine. They have to be smarter than that, surely.

When she flew over the gaping hole in the roof and saw just two bodies—those of Hatchet Face and Shatterbird respectively—and nobody behind the wheel, she revised her opinion of their actions. Decoy, damn it. And I fell for it, hook, line and—

The RV exploded.

It wasn't a big explosion, as explosions go, but she was engulfed in flame, thrown around a little, and pelted with shrapnel both large and small. Anyone less insanely durable than her would certainly have suffered injuries, possibly even been killed. And if she hadn't seen inside the motorhome before the explosion, she would've had to consider the strong possibility that they'd been immolated. Except, of course, for Crawler. Nothing so mediocre would even serve to scratch that horror's pitch-black carapace.

Putting out the part of her cape that was on fire, and making a mental note to order some more in, she turned and began to fly back toward where the RV had started from, then paused.

Crawler wasn't in the explosion. Nobody would believe that he'd been killed in it.

Jack Slash is undoubtedly durable, but even Bonesaw's work would be challenged by a detonation that powerful.

But what about Mannequin?

Rebecca remembered Alan Gramme. She remembered Sphere. She'd known him in his prime, before the Simurgh had taken his family and his sanity. A softly-spoken man, he'd nonetheless been insistent in his belief that given the right engineering, habitats could be created to allow people to survive any hostile environment.

Any at all.

Including, perhaps, the flashpoint of an explosion?

"Doorway to Mannequin," she murmured.

When the doorway opened, flames leaped outward at her from the chassis of the still-burning motorhome. Directly before her was a sheet of metal; ignoring the flames, she wrenched it away. Beyond it, folded up into a hidden compartment in the RV chassis that no adult human could fit into without a severe rearrangement of his body shape, was a gleaming white carapace. She didn't need the eyeless face that turned toward her to connect the dots.

"I'm sorry, Alan," she said softly. "You didn't deserve what happened to you. But your victims didn't deserve it either."

Raising her arm, she brought it down like an axe, tearing through metal and flesh alike. Mannequin barely had time to react before his internal organs were pulped and his reinforced braincase was shattered.

She did her best to make it quick. Once she was done, she left him to his funeral pyre.

Just two members of the Nine remained; by many standards, the most dangerous. She had no doubt they were travelling together; it would be entirely unlike Jack Slash to walk away from his last surviving meatshield. An unkillable one, at that. With Jack coordinating their actions, she suspected that laying her hands on the leader of the Slaughterhouse Nine was going to be tricky at the very best.

Of course, she could always cheat.

"Doorway to Crawler," she said.

When the doorway opened, she was looking right at the immense 'face' of the misshapen cape as he moved toward her. Far from lumbering clumsily, Crawler moved with grace and fluidity, avoiding running into tree trunks or doing anything else that might give him away from the air. But he wasn't the one Rebecca was looking for.

Just as she caught a glimpse of Jack Slash, he ducked down out of sight behind Crawler's car-sized head. At the same time, Crawler reared up and charged forward. "FIGHT ME!" he bellowed from multiple mouths at the same time. "HURT ME!"

She had to remind herself that this wasn't Crawler being stupid (though this was apparently how he reacted to capes he met with new powers). It was Jack Slash's power that held his reins and whispered in his ear, driving him forward. He was literally being used to run interference while the leader of the Nine made his escape.

For a moment, she was tempted to take Crawler up on his challenge. She'd never met a Brute that she couldn't pummel into submission (Siberian didn't count, being a projection) but Crawler reportedly got tougher and stronger with every injury. There were very few people on the planet who could deliver more kinetic energy per punch than her, so the question was: could she hit him with more force than he could regenerate back from?

It wasn't an idle question, either; entire threads on PHO had been moderated to a fare-thee-well after proponents of both sides of the argument had gone back and forth on it for literally days at a time.

Well, this is as good a time as any to find out one way or the other.

Clenching her fists in readiness, she flew through the doorway which closed soundlessly behind her. She was going to … wait a minute!

Just before Crawler reached her, she flew upward, out of range of even his acidic saliva. I'm being a fool, she berated herself. I thought that I was immune to Jack Slash's influence. He can't control me like he can the Nine, but each time I've had the chance to go for him, I've been distracted onto another member. And now he'd have me trade ineffectual blows with his monster while he fades into the background. Hijacks a car and takes hostages, and starts this all over again.

Not this time, Jack.

Still, she couldn't let Crawler wander unattended. He deserved to die just as much as the rest of the Nine. Flying down on top of him, she wedged her fingers under a particularly thick plate of armour and lifted off. He struggled, of course, and bellowed imprecations, but she didn't answer and she didn't let go.

It only took them about fifteen seconds to reach the edge of space. Rebecca still had most of a lungful of air, and she didn't care about Crawler's air supply. At least she couldn't hear him anymore.

Flipping him up, she caught two of his sturdier legs and began to spin on the spot, whirling him around and around, faster and faster, with her as the pivot point. When she judged that his legs were close to separating from the rest of his body, she took final aim and released him. The last she saw of Crawler before the sky swallowed his pitch-black body was a brief glimpse of him, still spinning like a monstrous Frisbee, on his way toward the sun. Whether he'd survive to reach it, she didn't care. Just so long as he didn't come back.

Ten seconds later, she was back in breathable atmosphere, taking in lungfuls of sweet oxygen as she swooped toward the last spot she'd seen Jack Slash. As soon as she had her breath back, she decided to stop wasting time. "Doorway to Jack Slash."

He didn't even have the grace to look surprised as the portal opened in front of him. Of course, he was backing away, and of course he had a knife in his hand, but neither one of those things mattered in the slightest to her.

"Perhaps we can talk about this?" he asked cheerfully, as though he had no idea what she had planned for him. "I mean, after all, you and I are not so different. You kill the people you think deserve to die, and I kill the ones I think deserve to die."

She glowered at him. "That may be so. Unfortunately for you, you are one of the people I've decided needs to die." Her steps forward were steady and menacing.

He backed up without quite giving the impression of retreating. The undergrowth through which he was moving didn't impede his steps, but there were low-hanging bunches of leaves from time to time.

"We don't have to be so hasty, you know." He smiled disarmingly. "Why don't we sit down in your office and discuss potential arrangements? I'm sure there are people the Chief Director of the PRT would much rather see disappear altogether. And, not to put too fine a point on it, I'm quite good at dealing with irritating capes."

That caused a flush of adrenaline through her body. The insinuation was plain; he knew who she was. Had he deduced it? Had his power given him the information? Or had the Number Man filled him in on Cauldron's doings?

"I'm not at liberty to discuss the PRT's hiring policies," she said curtly. "And you certainly wouldn't fit anywhere in them." She increased her forward pace slightly, but he'd already sped up his retreat that little bit extra, so she got no closer.

This is stupid. Why am I letting him banter with me? I should just fly at him. End him now.

"Well, that's a pity." He waved his knife negligently, cutting loose a shower of leaves that fluttered down around her face and blocked her view of him.

She waved them aside and lunged forward …

… to find herself standing on the edge of a precipice.

"What."

There was nothing to the left, and nothing to the right. Hovering over the abyss and looking downward revealed no bodies on the rocks far below, or even clinging to the cliff. To double-check, she flew down to have a look. There was no sign of him.

A shallow stream tumbled along through the rocks at the base of the cliff, but she estimated its maximum depth at about three feet. Anyone diving from the top of the cliff would splatter themselves on the rocky bed of the stream, Bonesaw enhancements or no Bonesaw enhancements.

"So where is he?" she asked out loud, perplexed. He was tricky and slippery, there was no disputing that. But … there was a limit.

"Fine," she muttered. "Doorway to Jack Slash."

To her total and utter astonishment, the doorway that opened did so into Times Square, New York. How did he get there from here? Nothing in his profile indicated a Mover ability of any sort. When she stepped through, he was just far enough away that she couldn't get to him instantly without injuring people. Moreover, he still had his knife out. It was low down and partly concealed, but it was there. The glint in his eye told her that if she made a move, dozens of people would be injured or dead before she could get to him.

I hate hostage situations.

Nonetheless, she had to play along and wait for an opening to exploit. "How did you do that?" she asked out loud.

"To be honest, I didn't know I could until I tried," he said, stepping around people as she advanced toward him. There were no hanging leaves here, so he couldn't pull that trick twice. "But I heard you say it, and so it was worth a try. Call it my Hail Mary pass." He smiled brilliantly and gestured with the hand not holding the knife. "Voila."

Doorway. He heard me say 'doorway', and … hijacked the process? Can he even do that?

Under her breath, she murmured, "Rescind Jack Slash Doorway privileges." That should settle that.

"Now, was that polite?" Somehow, he'd known what she just did. Was he a mind reader of some sort, or just a lip reader? "Rescind Alexandria Doorway privileges. Doorway, Los Angeles."

And a doorway opened. He stepped through while her mind was still reeling; the doorway closed behind him. This should not be happening! "Doorway to Jack Slash."

Nothing happened. No doorway opened. She lofted into the air, took a deep breath. "Reinstate Alexandria Doorway privileges. Doorway to Jack Slash!"

A doorway opened in front of her. Oh, good. That was easy enough. Jack Slash winked at her through it, then the doorway closed again. What the fuck?

No, seriously, what the unmitigated living fuck??

"Doorway to Cauldron." Nothing happened. "Reinstate Alexandria Doorway privileges. Doorway to Cauldron." A doorway opened into the sterile white space. It hung there in the air while she considered it. She'd never tried closing a doorway while someone was in transit, but she suspected that even she would suffer ill effects from being cut in half. Making an executive decision, she grabbed her cape and pulled it off, then tossed the bundled-up cloth through. It flumphed to the floor of the corridor, unharmed.

Taking a deep breath, she crossed the threshold at just under the speed of sound. Doctor Mother had sworn dire retribution if she ever caused a sonic boom inside the base again, never mind that she was perfectly capable of turning the corners at Mach three. Moving at seven hundred miles per hour meant that she was exposed to harm for less than two one-thousandths of a second, and still didn't breach the prohibition.

Unharmed, she stood inside Cauldron base. Okay, what do I do now? Get Contessa in on this? No, he'll see her coming, just as he did with me. Get a normal in on this? He'll cut them to ribbons. Besides, who would I get? The only non-powered member of Cauldron was Doctor Mother, and she was not exactly combat trained.

Then she knew exactly what she had to do, and her lips curved into a cruel smile. I bet he doesn't know what I've had to deal with recently. "Doorway …"

<><>​

Jack Slash

Jacob wandered through downtown Miami, keeping to the crowds. He kept the knife low and hidden next to his arm and if anyone looked twice at him, he gave them a disarming smile and a nod. It was amazing what people would accept if you weren't actively trying to butcher them at the time.

Discovering the 'doorway' trick was perhaps the greatest coup of his life. Even better, he didn't have to say the words out loud like Alexandria had been doing; merely to think them, to want them, made it happen. Doorway to Seattle, and he stepped through the inviting portal. Clear across the continental United States in a single bound. "One small step for a supervillain, one giant leap for supervillainy," he murmured.

A portal tried to open near to him; somehow, he knew that the person on the other side was an enemy. He shut it down with a thought, and ducked in among the crowds. They might get me, but they're going to have to kill their precious innocents to do it. The thought amused him greatly.

"Stop right there." It was Alexandria, hovering over the crowd, pointing at him. "Jack Slash, you're under arrest for multiple counts of—"

He tuned her out. The people around him were starting to realise there was a monster in their midst, and moving aside. This would require two portals; one to redirect Alexandria to the Arctic, and one to escape by while she pulled herself out of the snowdrifts.

Three.

Two.

O—

Someone touched him at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and everything went out of focus. He couldn't focus, his thoughts reduced to so much formless mush. As the portal commands dissolved from his mind's tongue, his joints gave way and he slumped to the grimy concrete. Rolling limply onto his back, he looked up to see …

Panacea?

How …?

And then everything came to an end.

<><>​

Alexandria

Rebecca picked up Jack Slash by the collar of his dress shirt. "Well done," she said.

Panacea visibly shook herself, then glared at Rebecca. "Just for the record, I hate doing that. Don't ask me to do it again."

"You brought down Jack Slash," Rebecca said reasonably. "Isn't that a worthy cause?"

"And it's the only reason I agreed to the plan," the teenager spat. "You try getting used as a hand puppet at short notice and see how you like it."

"You were the one who insisted that he had to go down." Personally, Rebecca thought the girl was making a mountain out of a molehill.

"He was the one who insisted on that." Panacea gritted her teeth. "Can I go now?"

"Certainly." Rebecca gestured magnanimously. "Be my guest. You have doorway privileges now."

"Good. Doorway, Arcadia High." The portal opened flawlessly before Panacea. She stepped through. It closed again.

Teenagers. Rebecca shook her head. She would never understand them.

Taking a fresh grip on Jack Slash, she flew straight up. At about ten thousand feet, she shifted her grip to the back of his neck and squeezed.

Snap.

Jack Slash, leader of the Slaughterhouse Nine, was dead.



End of Part Twenty-Five

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Twenty-Six: One Thing After Another

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



Glory Girl

Amy flopped back onto the sofa and growled softly under her breath. She grabbed up the remote and jabbed the power button with her thumb as though she had a personal grudge against it. Even when the show she'd selected came on, she glowered at the screen, her lips moving silently.

"Wow, holy shit, Ames." Vicky sat up in her armchair from where she'd been idly texting Dean. "I can't even remember the last time I saw you this utterly and totally pissed. Who shat in your cornflakes? Was it Mike? Did he do or say something?"

"It wasn't Mike," Amy huffed. "Or at least, not exactly. It was Alexandria's idea, not his. He only did what she asked, after I agreed to it. Under protest, just saying."

"Well, that clears everything up." Vicky put her phone down. Dean could wait. Whatever this was, it was much juicier than some mild flirting by text. "I am absolutely all ears. What did Alexandria ask you and Mike to do?"

Amy took a deep, aggrieved breath. "I turned off a person's brain. But I needed Mike to be puppeting my body when I did it." She turned her attention to watching the cooking show she'd turned the TV over to. Vicky knew for a fact that she had slightly less interest in cooking shows than she did in ancient Babylonian funeral practices.

"Nice story," Vicky said, applauding with the tips of her fingers for effect. "Except, you know, you've left out about ninety-nine point nine percent of the details."

"Did I?" Amy got up from the sofa and stomped into the kitchen. She came back out just moments later, armed with a spoon and a large tub of ice cream. Once more, she plonked herself down on the sofa. The lid came off the ice cream with a certain suggestion of finality, and she dug the spoon in.

"Yeah, you totally did. Wait one." Vicky lofted out of the chair and headed into the kitchen to get a spoon of her own. When she returned, she lowered herself onto the sofa beside Amy. "Don't go hogging it all. And I wanna hear this one. Who did you turn off, and why?"

"Jack Slash." Amy dug out a scoop of ice-cream and shoved it in her mouth, apparently ignoring the way Vicky was staring at her.

"Wait just one Brockton Bay second," Vicky protested, once her brain kicked into gear again. "I could've sworn I just heard you say you took down Jack Slash. The Jack Slash."

"'s what I said." Amy took another spoonful of ice cream. Suddenly aware that she was falling behind in the frozen-treats stakes, Vicky took a spoonful for herself.

"You can't just leave me hanging like that," she chided her sister as soon as her mouth was clear again. "Give with the juicy, juicy deets. Where was the rest of the Nine? What did Mike have to do with it? Why did Alexandria even need you to do the deed? I mean, shit. I woulda happily broken every bone in his body from the toes on upward, and I wouldn't have needed Alexandria to ask me to do it either."

Amy dug out another huge scoop of ice-cream, then sighed and paused. "Okay, fine. I'll tell you. But then will you shut the fuck up about it? And no telling anyone. Not Crystal, not Dean, not anyone."

"Mom or Dad?" hazarded Vicky, then paused. "Yeah, no, not Mom. If she heard you went toe to toe with Jack Slash, she'd freak hard."

"Nobody." Amy took a bite of ice-cream off the spoon. "Promise me."

"Okay, fine." Vicky rolled her eyes. "I promise."

"Okay, good." Amy absently took another bite of ice-cream, then waved the spoon for emphasis. "So, Alexandria's taken down the Nine, using that information Mike gave us about them, right? She's got Burnscar and Bonesaw in custody, chucked Crawler into the sun, and she's just going after Jack Slash. But he's ten times as tricky as the rest of them."

Vicky blinked. "She actually did what he said, and threw Crawler into the sun?"

"Well, that's what she said she did." Amy shrugged. "Sounds about right to me."

That wasn't something Vicky felt like arguing over. Besides, Amy had a point. Crawler was stupidly durable, so much so that nothing anyone ever did to him would kill him for good. Throwing him into the sun was very much a situation of testing that aspect to destruction.

"Okay, granted. But Jack Slash is … well, just a guy with a knife trick, yeah?" To be honest, Vicky wasn't totally sure how the guy had kept control of the Nine all those years. Maybe he was a really, really good talker?

"Nope." Amy dug into the ice-cream again. "Mike says he was plugged into the things that give capes powers. Mike calls them 'shards'. Jack Slash could basically figure out what a cape was thinking or any power-related secrets they had, and even influence them through that connection. That 'doorway' thing Alexandria has for getting around? He managed to scam his way into that network and she couldn't get close to him."

"Oh. Oh, wow." Vicky took an extra-large scoop for herself. That was heavy shit Ames was talking. A serial killer with the power of instant worldwide teleportation? Nobody would be safe. "So where do you come into this?"

Amy glowered at the screen. "Well, he was doing it just by thinking the commands, so I had to shut down all mental activity so he couldn't think his way out of there. That was bad enough. But I also had to get close enough to touch him, and normally his power would never let that happen."

"So how … oh." Vicky stared at Amy. "When Mike is piloting your body, nobody can get a read on you with powers. Is that how you did it? I bet that's how you did it."

"Yup." Amy sighed and sat back, leaving her spoon stuck in the ice cream like a miniature flagpole. "We got doorway privileges ourselves out of it, so that's a thing. But while Alexandria was coming at Jack Slash from one side, we doorwayed in behind him and Mike walked me up behind him. Mike put my hand on his neck, and I triggered my power. Turned off every last vestige of conscious or unconscious thought in his brain." She turned to look at her sister. "Vicky, I turned him into a vegetable."

"On the other hand," Vicky said brightly, "this was Jack Slash. If there was a vote for everyone ever who deserved to be changed into a drooling idiot before Alexandria ended him—she did end him, right?"

Amy nodded gloomily and flicked the standing spoon handle with her finger. It vibrated dully. "Yeah, she snapped his neck is Mike's guess. He's dead."

"Right, right. So yeah, if there was a vote for everyone who deserved to go out that way, I'm pretty sure Jack Slash would make it with a landslide." Vicky took another spoonful triumphantly. "Justice is served, Ames. And you helped make it happen."

This didn't seem to make her sister any happier. Amy hunched down in the chair and grabbed her own spoon again. "Yeah, but my entire contribution was, 'okay, you can use my body like a puppet'. Have you ever had that happen to you?"

"You know I haven't," Vicky said, doing her best to conceal the bone-deep shudder she felt at the idea. Mental control, despite being one of the most common versions of Mastery in popular fiction, was rare on the ground in reality. It was also the type that terrified her the most, if she were being honest with herself. Losing all bodily autonomy to the whim of another, with no way to refuse … she couldn't think of a worse fate. Even though this 'Mike' character seemed to be on the up and up, she still didn't know how Amy was handling the fact that he could take over at any time.

"Yeah, well, the suckiest part was that it had to be done; I knew it had to be done. And Alexandria was just looking at me, judging me for every second I took making the decision. I mean, Mike totally understood and held off until I said yes, but I could just tell that she wanted to shake me and tell me not to be such a fucking wimp. Or, you know, order Mike just to take over and be done with it."

"Would he have done it if she'd told him to?" Vicky wasn't sure she really wanted to know, but morbid curiosity was definitely a thing.

"Nope, and it wouldn't have worked if he had." More ice-cream went the way of the rest. "Mike can't activate my power, and he knows it. Only I can do that. He didn't even pressure me the way she was. I mean, I knew he was on board from the beginning, but he just let me work my own way through it. What sort of a stupid world is it when the guy who can take over your body at a moment's notice is more considerate of your feelings than a hero like Alexandria?"

Vicky had no answer to that, so she changed the subject slightly. "So what's the next step on this grand plan?"

"Something that's really going to suck," Amy said morosely. "Something that Mike's being very careful to not pressure me about, which just shows how important it is. But I don't want to do it."

Vicky thought back over the events of the last few days. Very little of what they'd done could be considered 'normal', and Amy's nose was still tender from where Shadow Stalker had broken it. "So what do they have planned for you now?"

Amy dug out more ice-cream. "Mike says we need to get Bonesaw to play nice. Our best bet for that, according to him, is if I personally talk to her. Apparently she's fixated on me as a potential 'big sister' because we're both good at messing with living things. He's warned me that she might not be easy to deal with, which is why he's giving me my space right now."

"Wait just a fucking moment. Hold the goddamn phone." Vicky sat up straight on the sofa, staring at Amy. "He wants you to talk to Bonesaw? Why isn't she fucking dead?"

"Because Alexandria listened to him when he said we want that murderous little shithead alive." Amy closed her eyes and thumped her head against the sofa back. "And until I do talk to her, we can't actually move forward. The only good news is, it probably isn't important for me to do it right this second."

"Unless she escapes," Vicky said, because sometimes the band-aid needed to be ripped off, no matter how much it hurt.

"Unless she escapes," Amy agreed. "Anyway, there's nothing really urgent for me to do after that. The ABB is out of the way, the Empire is being defanged, the Nine's been removed, the Travelers have gone back to Earth Aleph, Eidolon's in therapy … Mike says he'll be keeping an eye on current events so he can figure out what bear to poke next. His words, not mine."

"Just gonna say, that phrasing doesn't surprise me in the slightest, when it comes to him." Vicky paused and stared. "Wait, Earth Aleph?"

"That's what Mike said." Amy shrugged. "I'm not about to try to tell him it's impossible."

"No," mused Vicky thoughtfully. "Me neither." Trying to change the subject away from Bonesaw, she playfully ruffled her sister's hair. "So, you still pissed at Alexandria?"

"Little bit." Amy dug into the ice-cream again. "Look, I get the whole 'greater good' thing, but when it's me putting my personal agency on the line for the greater good, it's different."

"But you still did it." Vicky gave her a quick side-hug, trying to cheer her up. "My sister, the hero."

"Don't feel very heroic."

Well, that didn't work. Vicky smirked, knowing something that would definitely lift her sister out of the funk she'd fallen into. It would get her into so much trouble, but it was probably worth it. Taking a spoonful of ice-cream, she paused for a second then deliberately smooshed it over Amy's face.

Wide-eyed with outrage, Amy stared at her. "What the fuck was that for?"

"You're no fun when you're all mopey." Vicky levitated off the sofa and gave Amy a challenging grin. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Thirty seconds later, Carol Dallon emerged from her office to find out what the running and shouting was all about. As she watched, an ice-cream-bedaubed Amy chased a hysterically cackling Vicky through the living room, carrying a tub of ice-cream and waving a spoon threateningly. Slowly, she facepalmed.

I wonder if other cape parents have days like this …

<><>​

PRT Rec Room

PRT ENE Building

Brockton Bay

PRT Trooper Engels leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I gotta say, you guys really do things differently in Brockton Bay."

"What's that supposed to mean, Engels?" Sergeant Patricia 'Sally' LaSalle asked, raising her eyebrows slightly. Engels had transferred in not long before. He was a good troop, but he was still finding his feet among the crew. It didn't help that he had his own opinions about the methods they 'should' be using, as opposed to the ones that actually worked. Instead of taking the time to watch and learn, he tended to question first and think later.

"Nothing, really," he said hastily. "I'm just trying to figure out which side of the fence you guys are on. When I first got here, it was like the gangs were a protected species. Nobody made any big moves against the ABB or the Empire Eighty-Eight, in case you upset the precious balance of power. And that's even when you had Wards duking it out with villain capes. I mean, holy shit. If Director Franklin had so much as considered approving our Wards for going up against the Fallen …" He made a throat-cutting gesture, accompanied by a suitable sound effect.

"That's not in any way the same thing," Pat LaSalle said. "The Fallen have been known to kidnap capes, including Wards, for that insane breeding program of theirs. Keeping Wards well away from them is only common sense. Here … well, we've got so many capes out there that if they run into one on a patrol, it's not a huge surprise. Besides, the kids all wear armoured costumes as a matter of course. And the local capes pretty well know that if they want to start going for kill-shots on them, Miss Militia can and will snipe them from half a mile away if she really has to."

"Wait, what?" Engels sat up again, frowning. "That's not right. That's a Kill Order matter, and those things take time."

"Not if a Ward gets ganked." Patricia spoke with authority. "Piggot might be a hardass, but she knows what it's like at the sharp end. That shit starts going down, she'll sign off on it in a heartbeat."

"You're nuts. You're all certifiably nuts." Engels shook his head. "And I'm pretty sure it's contagious. I mean, Alexandria comes to town and the next thing we hear, she's gone after the Nine like they owed her money. Just like she went after the bomb cape, Bakuda. I mean, one day you've got more gang capes in town than hero capes and the next you've got damn-all. Is it something in the water here? Because that's one hell of a switch in attitude, just saying."

"Way I heard it, it was Panacea." That was Trooper Dunne; a ten-year veteran of PRT ENE, he'd seen and heard it all. He also liked to spook the new recruits with horror stories of the bad old days.

"Panacea?" Engels frowned. "The healer? She looks like she's frightened of her own shadow."

Dunne chuckled. "Not in the last few days. Girl's been stepping up. And things been happening."

Patricia stared at him. She knew Dunne had serious contacts all over the Bay, but this was next level. "Trooper, what haven't you been telling me?"

"Hey, sarge, it's a thing." Dunne shrugged. "I like to keep my ear to the ground. A little something-something from time to time, and they pass on things they hear to me. Gotta keep ahead of the game, y'know?"

"There's keeping ahead of the game, and then there's being downright spooky, Dunne." Patricia folded her arms. "What've you been hearing about that girl?"

"Wellll …" Dunne grinned. He had her hooked, and they both knew it. "That bank robbery with the Undersiders? She goes toe to toe with that bug controller, clocks her with a fire extinguisher, then gets put down with a baton? That's not Panacea's game. She's normally background support only."

"So she got pissed off, bit off more than she could chew." Engels gestured dismissively. "Shit happens."

"Not like that," Dunne said positively. "Not with Panacea. She doesn't get mixed up in things, and she doesn't get pissed off. If she did, there'd be a lot of gang members with their faces on backward or worse. This shit is new."

"Could be an anomaly," Patricia suggested. "Even mousy teenage girls get pissed off from time to time."

"Sure, but that's just the tip of the iceberg." Dunne ticked points off on his fingers. "See, the Undersiders did the bank thing, but I've always thought they had a powerful backer. So Dinah Alcott gets kidnapped at the same time. Timing's suspicious, yeah? Then that same night, the Alcott girl's back with her parents. They say the Undersiders returned her … and Panacea was with them. And the rumour that she was there when Coil got popped in his own base seems on the level, too."

Patricia blinked. "You're saying Panacea turned the Undersiders against their boss?"

"It's one interpretation." Dunne raised his eyebrows. "Ever wonder why Alexandria suddenly showed up in town, and ended up in Bakuda's trap?"

Engels shrugged. "I dunno. Alexandria does what Alexandria does?"

"Yeah, but what if she came to town because of Panacea?" suggested Dunne. "Anyways, think about this. She gets stuck in that time bubble of Bakuda's, then the very next day, Bakuda gets taken down by the Undersiders—who Panacea's been associating with—and left for Armsmaster. And nobody's seen hide nor hair of Oni Lee since then. With those two and Lung off the street, the ABB's got zero cape presence. And then there's that thing where Panacea went to Winslow and uncovered that shit Shadow Stalker's been into."

"It's thin," Patricia said, shaking her head. "Real thin. If that was a witness statement, I couldn't get an indictment out of it."

"Ah, but the best is yet to come." Dunne grinned. "After none other than Glory Girl—you know, Panacea's sister?—saves Alexandria, with the help of some other capes that I'm pretty sure are villains, Alexandria has a heart to heart with Panacea and the bug cape on the rooftop."

"Yeah, so?" Engels spread his hands. "Maybe she had a boo-boo from the time bubble, and she needed Panacea to look at it."

"So, this." Dunne looked at each of them, his grin widening. "I like to keep my eyes and ears open, and I take notice of weird shit happening. Such as the Canary trial falling through within forty-eight hours of Teacher biting the big one in the Birdcage. And now Alexandria takes down the Nine? I ain't no Einstein, and this whole thing could just be one helluva coincidence from beginning to end, but if any one person's got the throw weight to pull all that shit off, it would be Alexandria. Ya feel me?"

Patricia rubbed her lips with her knuckles, considering his words. "Even if all this bunch of conjecture was true, is it any of it even actionable? Or do we just stash it in the 'way over my pay grade' column and pretend we never heard about it?"

Engels rubbed his ear absently. "Panacea's calling Alexandria's shots? If that's true, then you guys do things even more differently than I thought."

"Conjecture, and not something we've remotely got jurisdiction over," Patricia reminded him. "Dunne, you tell a good story, but until we get anything that resembles corroboration, that's all it is. A bunch of unconnected stories. And anyway, it's not like we can do a damn thing about it."

Dunne chuckled and got up from his chair. "I know, I know. But it sounds pretty cool, doesn't it?" He gestured toward the coffee machine. "I'm getting a cup. Want one?"

Patricia nodded. "Yeah, that's something I can definitely get behind."

The conversation moved on to other topics, and nobody mentioned Panacea or Alexandria again. But the damage had been done.

<><>​

Fortuna

Contessa leaned back in her office chair and let her mind wander.

It was official. The Slaughterhouse Nine was over. As a team, they had been systematically demolished, leaving not even one member to try to re-establish the name. Not that anyone really wanted to; during their tenure, the Nine had established very thoroughly that they didn't play nice with anyone, even those who were willing to cooperate with them or even pay for their services. Anyone else trying to put forth a new Slaughterhouse Nine, especially in the absence of Jack Slash, would face quite a bit of animosity.

But this was leading to another situation; one that wasn't serious in the beginning but could easily get that way. As a landmass will spring back upward when an ice age ends and the glaciers retreat, so too were the villains (who had previously sung low when the Nine were extant) starting to lift their heads and look around. Nobody was quite yet ready to officially strive for the crown of 'most feared' among the supervillain set—Jack Slash had left some extremely large shoes to fill—but the subtle jockeying for position was already beginning to happen.

On the other hand, while nobody was actually asking the obvious question—what happens to those gangs who've been deemed 'not as bad as the Nine' when the Nine are no longer a factor?—there were certainly people thinking hard about it, on both sides of the law.

But the bigger question that people weren't even wondering about was, what would happen to these would-be Big Names on the scene if they happened to clash with Panacea and the enigmatic Security in their reach for the top spot?

In all honesty, Contessa wasn't sure, but she was absolutely certain it would not be pretty. She made a mental note to acquire popcorn.

<><>​

Elsewhere

"Elijah, dear, get your things. We're going on a road trip."

"Yes, Mama."

<><>​

One Week Later

Panacea

Amy leaned back in her bus seat, eyes closed. It was a long ride from her house to the northern ferry terminal, and the roads weren't the best. And she still had a walk in front of her to get to the Undersiders' hideout.

Okay, I'm pleased that you're reaching out to the Undersiders again, but I'm not a hundred percent on exactly why. And why now? It's not like anything dramatic's happened over the last few days.

Internally, Amy sighed. It's the Bonesaw thing. You know I don't want to do it. And I know I need to.

With you so far, yeah. A mental image popped up of a well-furnished study, with a heavyset bearded man relaxing in a comfortable-looking armchair, a glass of some cold beverage in his hand.

Huh, you're getting better at that.

Yeah, well, once I figured out how to lock myself out of what you were seeing and hearing, it was a lot easier. So what about the Undersiders and Bonesaw? You know if she ever actually met them, she'd be more interested in turning them into mockeries of themselves or dissecting them than actually working with them, right?

Oh, I'm fully aware. But I was hoping you and Tattletale could compare notes. You tell her everything you know about Bonesaw, then she does her thing and gives me some guidelines on how to actually bring her to the light side.

He tilted his head and nodded thoughtfully. Y'know, that could actually work. And there's a hidden benefit there.

Hidden benefit? Amy couldn't see it, apart from the obvious.

He shrugged and grinned. It's funny as hell trolling her. Every time we switch out control, she twitches hard. I mean, I've got nothing specific against her, apart from the fact that she loves rubbing how smart she is in other people's faces. You've been on the other side of it. You know how it goes.

Yeah. I know how it goes. Amy could still recall the smug expression on Tattletale's face in the bank when she was pulling facts out of thin air, facts the blonde should not have been able to know. As much as she wanted to own the moral high ground, there was a certain amount of satisfaction in getting payback for the anguish she'd felt at the time. More to the point, it was liberating to be given carte blanche by Mike to actually take a little payback every now and again as opposed to bottling up her anger and resentment until it boiled over.

Yup. So anyway, have you put any thought into how else you wanted to stretch out your powers, keep them happy so they don't jump out and bite some poor bastard on the bum?

What? Amy wanted to giggle. She'd never heard an adult use that particular turn of phrase before, and it struck her as inordinately funny.

Something interesting to do with your powers, Mike said patiently. Have you thought of anything?

I've got some ideas, she admitted. But I'm not taking over the world's plant life. Just saying. I've managed to get this far without a kill order, and I'd like to keep it that way.

Sounds legit—whoa, what's going on?

Amy had registered the commotion too, just as he spoke up. She opened her eyes just in time to see a slender figure make their way up to the front of the bus. The long blonde hair reminded her of Vicky for a moment but the way the girl moved was subtly different, possibly because her sister never had to worry about losing her balance.

I don't know. Is she getting off the bus?

And then the person got to the front of the bus and turned to lean in toward the barrier surrounding the driver. She raised her sunglasses—or maybe he raised his sunglasses; the half-turn had revealed that the androgynous blonde had absolutely nothing going on chest-wise, less even than Taylor—and clearly said something to the driver. Whatever it was, it wasn't a request to stop the bus, because the vehicle accelerated slightly.

Right past the next stop; Amy saw prospective passengers waving their arms angrily as they were left behind.

Okay, that's weird. What did she say? Wait, is that a girl or a guy?

Your guess is as good as mine, on all counts. Amy frowned. Then the realisation flared through her, far too late. Wait, shit, I think that's—

Information on the Fallen was scarce, but she'd heard of them and read what descriptions there were available. Eligos was an aerokinetic who liked to pattern his costume after Behemoth, while Valefor was a Master who could give irresistible commands to anyone he—or maybe she—could see.

Valefor was also slender and blond. And they'd just taken off their sunglasses—

Her thoughts dissolved into warm mush. Words echoed through her head for a moment, and she could think nothing but obedience. And then she opened her eyes without any memory of having closed them.

What she saw around herself made no sense at all. She was half-sitting, half-lying on a comfortable sofa in a warm, wood-panelled room. A large bookshelf to one side held dozens or hundreds of volumes, while a chessboard table had a half-finished game on it.

She'd never been in this room before in her life. There had been no sense of time-lapse nor of movement, and she was pretty sure she hadn't been unconscious. That had a totally different feel to it. Also, there was a long low-pitched booming noise in the background, but it didn't seem relevant so she ignored it for the moment.

"Hey, you okay?" A heavy-set man with thinning hair and a grey beard leaned forward from the armchair he was sitting in, and offered her a glass of water. "Here, get this into you."

The voice wasn't the first clue, but it was the one that clicked. She'd been listening to it every day, ever since she'd been hit on the head at the bank heist. Only, this time she was hearing the voice rather than experiencing it from within. "Mike?" she asked hesitantly, accepting the glass. "Wait, am I inside my own head?"

"Got it in one," he said with a grin. "But I gotta say, I'm blanking on who you think that is out there."

She took a sip from the glass. The water was cool and refreshing, with a touch of lemon juice for tartness. "Valefor. He's a member of the Fallen."

"Oh, for fuck's sake." He actually facepalmed. "I should've recognised him. I just didn't expect him to show up this early in the piece."

"This early?" She shook her head and waved away the words. "Tell me later. Right now, we're in a shitload of trouble. He's got me under control. The PRT doesn't think he uses his power to kill people—"

"He absolutely does," Mike interrupted grimly. "The trouble is, he can order people to forget that he's ever given them orders. Including orders to commit suicide or murder according to a prearranged signal sent to them well after the order was given."

Amy didn't even consider doubting his word; he'd been right about far too much before now. "Well, that's a cheerful thought." She didn't want to think about being given secret orders that she had no way of resisting. Valefor could do that, then order someone to call her with a coded message and start her on a murder-fest once he was well away from the city; the tabloids would have an absolute field day, but they'd be the only happy ones.

He stood up and stretched. "It is all of that. The next thing we have to determine is if he's after you or if he's got some other agenda. And then we figure out how to stop him."

"Stop him?" she demanded. "Stop him? I saw his eyes! He's got me! I didn't even have the chance to fight him!" The memory of that helpless feeling struck at her again. "As soon as we go out there, I'm a hand puppet again! Only this time, he's in charge!"

"That's if it's you going out there." He grinned. "Remember when Regent tried to pull his body-control bullshit on us? The look on his face when we no-sold it was amazing."

"What, you can beat Valefor's power?" Amy was startled. Mike had pulled some serious bullshit before, but this was a whole next level.

"Hey, when you went down, I pulled you in here, didn't I? I'm the pinch-hitter, your secret weapon. You're the public face. I'm just the wizard behind the curtain." He tilted his head as though listening. "Okay, that answers that. He's told everyone to sit still, but he's talking to you directly."

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Of course he is. Because why the fuck wouldn't the Fallen be targeting me, on top of everything else?"

There was a doubtful expression on his face. "I can't help thinking that I'm kind of responsible for this. Because if I wasn't doing stuff and changing matters, I know for an absolute fact that they wouldn't have come to Brockton Bay until after Leviathan paid the town a visit."

Opening her eyes, she finished off the glass and put it on a side table. "Well, if your precautions work out, he'll never show up, right? So that's just one of many good things that came out of you ending up in my head."

He snorted softly but nodded to concede the validity of her point. "Okay, granted. So, quick question. What would he mean by telling you to do what Mama tells you? Who's Mama?"

Amy blinked. "No idea. I know some of the Fallen, but details are sketchy at best."

"Just like the Fallen themselves," he said with a smirk, but it faded fast. "Okay, time to do something. He's telling us that if we don't do what he says, he's going to order everyone in the bus to kill each other and themselves. Okay, brace yourself."

"Wait, he does that?" Horrified and startled, Amy stared at him, then the world shifted again.

The comfortable room morphed and fell away, and she was back in the bus. However, this time around it felt weird. Instead of being either shoved into the back seat or being fully in control, it felt as though she were … side by side? with Mike. Sharing the driver's seat (as it were) for the first time.

The slender blond was standing in the aisle a few seats in front of Amy, looking intently at her. This close, she could see the makeup on his face, with faint tattoo lines around his mouth, though she couldn't quite figure out what they were supposed to be. " … and do what she tells you," he said. His tone was impatient, as though he were unused to repeating himself.

Amy felt her head beginning to turn, though this too felt different. Instead of being able to do nothing to prevent it, she got the impression that if she wanted to, she could stop it. This time, she chose not to.

Seated beside her, where before there had been a middle-aged housewife type, was a slender woman with long wispy pale-blonde hair. Amy saw the family resemblance almost immediately, but that part wasn't important. The significant aspect was that the woman was looking at her expectantly.

"Hello, Panacea," said the woman. "My name's Christine, but you can call me Mama. You won't ever use your powers on me without my permission. Do you understand?"

Amy felt the urge for her mouth to open and reply in the affirmative. Is that you? she asked Mike, in the internal voice she'd gotten accustomed to using.

Nope. Pretty sure that's Valefor. Let it happen?

Sure. But instead of simply allowing the command to play out with a simple 'yes', Amy pushed for control. "Yes, Mama. I understand."

The woman smiled in a way Amy found supremely creepy. "Good." She put her hand on Amy's arm. Again, as Amy went to read her bio-data, she found resistance. And then Mike did something and the resistance was gone; the woman named Christine was an open book to her.

Christine looked into Amy's eyes. "You're a strange one," she purred. "I think you'll make a fine bride for my Elijah. Let's just see what's going on in that pretty little head of yours."

Ew ew ew, did she just say what I thought she said?

Mike's inner voice was equally repulsed. Nope. Just NOPE.

The outside world went away again. Amy found herself standing next to Mike in his inner room; a second later, there was a fuzz of static then the woman herself appeared before them. She blinked and looked around.

"Well, this is definitely different," she said, apparently dismissing Amy altogether, and stepping forward to peer up at Mike. "Is this some kind of invented father figure? And this elaborate setup … why? Where are your senses? I'm going to need access to—"

Mike punched her, hard. She didn't even seem to realize it was coming until his fist sank deep into her solar plexus. She doubled over, wheezing, then fell to her knees. A new expression crossed her face as she looked up at them.

Fear.

"What … who … how …" she wheezed. Her image flickered, then firmed again.

"She's trying to get away," Mike said crisply. "I'll keep her here. You deal with that shit upstairs. Go!"

"Going." Amy concentrated, and a door that she hadn't noticed in the corner of the room opened for her. She stepped through …

… and was in control once more. Vaguely, she was aware of Mike kicking Christine's mental avatar in the face, but she was concentrating on what was around her in the real world. All the passengers were sitting quietly, facing forward. The bus driver was still driving, ignoring what was happening behind him.

Beside her, Christine (there was no way in hell she was going to refer to that woman as 'Mama' again, even in her own head) had slumped down, drooling slightly, her eyes unfocused. Valefor was staring at the both of them with suspicion, his mouth starting to open again.

There was no way she would be able to get out of her seat, slide past Christine into the aisle and reach Valefor before he spoke whatever words he had in mind. But there was another way; a way she would never have even considered before she'd met Mike. Normally, she would've stopped and asked him for his input before doing something this drastic, but right now there was no time.

Clamping her hand down on Christine's left arm, she took total control of the woman's body. Christine's right arm morphed into a tentacle, explosive-growth cells lifting and rocketing the ever-stretching appendage upward and forward.

It was crude and biologically wasteful—Christine would suffer from a significant loss of mass in her right arm after this—but Amy could control the tentacle via direct alterations to its physiology rather than subtle nerve impulses. She had no idea how to make a tentacle work normally, anyway. So she did the best she could.

Valefor's eyes widened and he lurched backward, but the last foot of the tentacle whipped around his neck. She sealed it to itself, then set about bulking it out before he could pull free. He scrabbled at it; she turned off the nerve endings before his gouging nails could cause a flinch reaction. Who even grew their nails that long, anyway?

"Everyone," he choked out past the constriction around his throat. "Kill—"

Amy contracted the tentacle as hard and fast as she could, pulling him forward to where she was.

He resisted, forcing out another syllable. "—yo—"

Desperately, Amy lunged from her seat, grabbing the tentacle and yanking on it. Her free hand reached forward and slapped across Valefor's mouth, muffling his voice before he could complete the word. Without the slightest hesitation, she shut down his system, dropping him unconscious to the floor of the bus.

Panting, she stared down at him before looking at the people around her. Nobody even turned their heads. It was like nothing had happened. Valefor's orders, whatever they were, held strong.

"Okay," she said, turning back to the apparently comatose woman in the seat beside hers. "Let's see if we can't get some answers."

<><>​

Half an Hour Later

The PRT officer, a Captain Schwartz, watched as the two parahumans—Christine Mathers' arm now returned to normal—were loaded onto the PRT van. Both were locked down with Brute restraints (which, just incidentally, covered both hands in their entirety) as well as full head coverings, restricting their sight, hearing and speech to effectively nil. Behind the half-visor of his helmet, he didn't look happy in the slightest.

"I've heard about this Valefor character, but what about this other one?" He looked down at the electronic pad in his hand. "Christine Mathers? She's something to do with the Mathers part of the Fallen?"

"She's the Mathers part of the Fallen," Amy said. "The head of it, anyway. Everyone else in it answers to her."

He shook his head. "I find that hard to believe. I've never even heard of her."

"Not surprising." Amy lifted her chin and clasped her hands behind her back. "She's a memetic hazard, and her son's a powerful Master. He can literally tell you to forget that he told you to forget something. As for Mathers herself, if you see or hear her, or experience her via any other sense, she can access that sense, and experience it through you. She can also control your access to that sense. Anyone who finds out about her, she can either co-opt or murder with ridiculous ease."

"And she came after you." He turned toward her. "How do you know you aren't compromised, right now?"

Because Mike. But she couldn't say that out loud. "I had time to work with them. I managed to make him order her to release all influence she had over everyone she had ever encountered, including me. He also gave her a few other commands, so she couldn't start screwing over your guys as soon as she gets a chance."

"And him? What about all the hidden commands he might have left around the place? Simurgh-style time bombs, just waiting for something to happen, or not happen?" The tone of his voice indicated a certain amount of worry.

Amy grinned. "You forget, my power makes me into a perfect lie detector. I ordered him to drop all those commands, then I might've twisted his arm a few times until he was telling the truth when he said he'd done it."

"Ah." He cleared his throat. "I'll, uh, forget I heard that bit. Mistreating prisoners is kind of illegal."

"It was a hostage situation," she countered. "There were innocents in danger." Left unsaid was the implication that she'd been perfectly willing to hurt Valefor as hard as she needed to, in order to gain his cooperation.

The details, of course, were a little different to what she'd explained in her verbal statement to the PRT. She hadn't bothered applying physical pain. The Fallen being who and what they were, she suspected such forms of coercion were borderline useless. With Mike's full assent (and a few suggestions), she'd gone a different route.

Elijah Mathers, aka Valefor, would never again be able to use his power to give a command to anyone who wasn't already a loyal member of the Fallen. Christine Mathers, aka 'Mama', would never again be able to use her power to influence or affect anyone outside that circle. Both would be literally incapable of giving orders that affected anyone not devoted to the Fallen.

Not that the PRT was aware of this. The pair would be separately imprisoned in high-security holding and serve their sentences for all the horrific crimes they'd freely confessed to her (for a given definition of 'freely'). But if they ever did escape, or were released for some reason, they'd be useless to the Fallen.

She'd made absolutely certain of it.

He nodded. "You have a valid point." He pointed, superfluously, as a gold and white figure descended from the heavens. "Looks like your sister's here. Did you have anything else to add to your statement?"

"Nope, that's about it. Thanks for your help." Amy headed over to where Vicky had just landed. "Hey, good to see you."

"You too." Vicky hugged her. "I hear you got to be the hero today."

"Yeah, I did." Amy smiled. It felt good.



End of Part Twenty-Six

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Twenty-Seven: Do What Ya Gotta Do

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



Panacea

The sun was definitely starting to dip in the direction of Captain's Hill when Amy got off the bus at the northern ferry terminal.

You know, Michael commented off-handedly, we could've done this another day. You've had it pretty hectic already.

I know, she sighed. But if I use that as an excuse to put it off today, it'll be easier to do it again for another reason tomorrow. Better to get it over with and see what advice she's got for me.

She could sense his agreement. Been there, done that. Too lazy to get the T-shirt.

There was nobody waiting at the stop, so the bus driver closed the door and pulled away again. Amy took a deep breath and started walking in the direction of the Undersiders' base. Got any advice for me? For dealing with them, I mean?

You've been there every time I've spoken with them. His voice was gently chiding. I might know more about them, but you're a lot more likely to understand them by now.

No, I mean yes, that's true. But how do you not want to smack Lisa every time she does that little 'I know more than you do' smirk?

She felt him sigh. You're assuming I don't. But no, that's a legitimate question. I just remind myself that she's a Thinker. All powers are aimed at causing conflict, so you remember how I told you about shards? Yeah, well, her shard is literally pushing her to blurt out stuff that pisses people off, either via the content or via the attitude, just like what I told you how your powers would activate on their own if you didn't use them for more than healing.

You're shitting me. She paused, recalling the fact that Michael had never lied to her or misled her in any significant manner. So all that bitchiness, that's her shard pushing her to be that way?

He transmitted a mental image of a grin. Well, maybe a little bit of it's really her. It's gotta have something to work with, after all. But let's go with ten percent original issue, ninety percent shard-generated. It's kind of sad, really.

What is? She got the impression he wasn't talking about Tattletale anymore.

Capes in general, and Thinkers in particular. Everyone's a puppet to their shards to one degree or another, except the ones that got it out of a vial. And sometimes even them. But Thinkers … they end up leaning so hard on their powers, they never see when they're being led down the wrong path. All in the name of conflict.

Amy had long since decided to drop her grudge against Lisa, but this new information was beginning to paint that entire incident in a different light. Wait, so … if we'd all been totally rational and free of shard influence, that stuff in the bank wouldn't have happened?

He snorted. Robbing a bank isn't exactly a rational move. It's about the least efficient way to make money when it comes to profit versus risk, but it's big and flashy and that was what Coil wanted. But yeah, once you had the hostages out of the way, why didn't you go upstairs with them?

I … what? Mentally, Amy backpedalled. I thought this was about Tattletale making bad choices because of her power.

Tattletale wasn't the only cape in the room, he reminded her cheerfully. You weren't front line. You knew Vicky was going to be busting down the door at any second, and there'd be a fight. The smart idea would've been to hide upstairs as well, but you didn't do that. So, do you want to know what I think happened?

Amy did not, but neither did she want to be left in the dark. I'm listening.

Vicky was incoming, and her shard said to Taylor's and Lisa's: woo hoo, let's have a fight! Lots of conflict and learning new stuff about ourselves. You would've snuck upstairs, but Lisa's shard offered conflict to yours and Vicky's both, and Taylor's hadn't really been let out for a spin before so it was all in as well. So your shard made up your mind for you, and you stayed downstairs.

What? Seriously, what the fuck? This conversation was definitely going places Amy had never been before. Are you saying my shard Mastered me?

He didn't step back from the idea. Sounds about right. I mean, look at it. You could've just walked up to Taylor and dropped her with your powers, and she wouldn't have known you were there until it was all over. But instead you chose to hit her with a fire extinguisher, and conflict started happening all over the place.

Amy didn't want it to be true, but the logic was incontrovertible. Taking the bug cape out of action would've certainly been the smartest move, right after going upstairs with the erstwhile hostages and barricading themselves into an office or something to wait for the heroes. That would've given Vicky a clear run to smack the villains around without her as a hostage to queer the deal.

Oh, hey. Something I just thought of. You and Vicky were there because she'd arranged a double date with some guy, right? You wanted to withdraw money. So, whose idea was it to go to that bank? Why didn't you just go to an ATM? What if you and Vicky even being there was a shard decision? It sure as hell added a lot of conflict to the mix.

What the fuck? So all that shit went down because our shards decided to have a play date with the Undersiders? It was horrifying on a particularly visceral level. Nobody liked the idea of being Mastered; anyone who could actually coerce a person into doing things against their will tended to end up badly. So, wait. Everyone with powers is being influenced by them into totally unnecessary confrontations? Even capes like Jack Slash?

He chuckled wryly. Well, not everyone. Some people are just plain arseholes to begin with. Jack's shard never had to push him into conflict. He loved it from the word go. It was his bread and butter. Chances are, even without it, he would've ended up as a serial killer anyway.

Oh. She began to feel a little better about his demise, and her part in it. But the others? You can't say they're all like that.

Yeah, no, true. But let's look at Taylor. When she got her powers, she wanted to be a hero like Alexandria. But when she made her costume, it came out dark and villain-like. Even Armsmaster said as much when they first met. Her shard pushed her for the clash with Lung, then more clashing with Armsmaster, so when the Undersiders made their overture, she accepted. Pretty big switch for someone who wanted to go the hero route, wouldn't you say?

He was right. It was. All this time, she hadn't even thought it through, but there it was. And let me guess. She gets more conflict this way than if she'd joined the Wards.

Well, apart from the clash that would've happened sooner or later with Shadow Stalker, yeah. That would've been a one and done, as opposed to the ongoing conflict that's been Taylor's life since she joined the Undersiders.

Her mind veered away from Taylor. What about Coil? Was he a bad person, or did his shard make him that way?

Let's put it this way. He was originally booted from the PRT because he shot a superior officer in the back, and climbed over his corpse to get into the chopper. Fortunately for him, the specific circumstances didn't warrant more stringent punishment. And then he went and bought powers with the express intent of becoming a supervillain. The man was a snake long before he put on that costume.

Oh. While that didn't necessarily make her feel better about Coil's death, it gave her a certain amount of perspective in the matter. Jesus Christ, I'll be second-guessing every decision I'll be making from here on in.

Which isn't a bad habit to have, if you're smart about it. You're probably aware of this, but only about five to ten percent of our day-to-day decisions actually involve a conscious thought process. Most of what we do is dealt with on instinct, and we just backfill the justifications after the fact. Sometimes it's a good idea to question those justifications before we jump right in.

She paused. I was not, in fact, aware of that. Or is this the leadup to some convoluted joke?

Hah, nope. Wish it was. Some go higher than that and some lower, but it's depressing how many decisions we make on the basis of what we'll get out of it—be it food, sex or money—all the while telling ourselves smugly that we're carefully reviewing all the facts and coming to a reasoned decision. Or maybe because we don't like something or someone, and don't even realise it.

I have trouble believing that. People are smarter than what you're saying. At least, she realised as she 'said' it, that was what she wanted to think. Vicky was smart enough to take college courses, and she still pulled some majorly dumbass stunts from time to time.

To quote what might still be one of the best movies of all time: A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky animals and you know it. Do you remember the last time you had to make a decision and it was actually difficult to decide what to do?

She frowned. That was a little while ago, but sure. Why?

That was the last time you actively engaged your brain to deal with a problem rather than letting your prejudices and instincts make the choice for you. People don't like to think too hard. It's strenuous and they aren't used to it. We aren't used to it. This is why every one of us builds up a toolkit of autonomous responses to use in everyday social situations. We're lazy.

Ooh, ouch. Amy's mind veered away to something Michael had said earlier. And let me guess. Thinkers learn to let their shards handle the instinctive stuff, so it's not even their lizard brain or whatever making the decision. It's some weird alien supercomputer in another dimension. Mentally, she shook her head. No fucking wonder they do stupid things occasionally.

And the lady with the frizzy hair wins first prize. Michael sounded honestly proud. I was hoping you'd connect the dots on that one.

It's not that I couldn't, Amy said honestly. It's that I didn't want to. I've grew up thinking getting powers was the coolest thing that could happen to you. Even when I got mine and found out they weren't so great, it was easy to decide I just wasn't using them right, or I got a bad batch, not that all powers everywhere suck giant elephant testicles. So, now I'm finding out that everyone with powers basically has a game controller plugged into their heads. Worse, every time those giant alien supercomputers get bored, they pick up the controller and bash us against each other like kids playing fight games on their consoles. You'll excuse me if I'm not thrilled with the idea.

I'd be pissed off too, Michael assured her. But you know what the worst bit is?

Oh, for fuck's sake. There's more? Michael made no comment. Of course there's fucking more. Hit me.

Do you know how many people on Earth Bet are consciously aware of what I've just told you and you've figured out?

Amy wanted to say hundreds, or even or thousands. She didn't think of herself as stupid, but she knew she wasn't exactly an outlier in the intelligence stakes. But then she caught herself. The tone of the question made her rethink her assumptions. It's a low number, isn't it? I'm thinking … everyone who's involved in that bunch Contessa's with, Cauldron, right?

Nope. Number's lower than that. Two, to be precise. You and me.

That didn't sound right to Amy at all. Only two? That's impossible. It's not exactly rocket science. All you've really got to do is ask yourself what the worst possible interpretation of having powers would be.

Well, true. Anyone could figure it out given the right data points … but no cape can. Only normals. And only one normal was smart enough to do it. A guy called Doctor William Manton. There's a lot about his work he never shared with anyone, but it's easy to see that he knew more about capes than basically anyone.

It took Amy a moment to figure out what he meant. You're saying our shards stop us from realising what's going on. It was an unpleasant epiphany, but a necessary one. That would be fucking typical. It was one more thing to add to the growing list of grievances she had against her power shard. Who's this Manton guy? Where have I heard that name before?

Michael's voice became professorial. In her mind's eye, she saw him standing before an old-fashioned blackboard. William Manton codified the Manton Effect, then went nuts after he gave his daughter a bad vial of powers, defected from Cauldron with another vial, and ended up as the Master in control of the Siberian projection. Alexandria killed him just the other day.

Oh, yeah, I remember you telling her about that. And about his pedo-van. Do I want to know what one of those is?

No. No, you do not. He paused, apparently thinking something through. Actually, talking about being Mastered, are you aware that you can now share the driver's seat with me, where you couldn't before?

Yeah, well, that was a little bit of a surprise, Amy agreed with a grin. That's some trick you pulled out of your sleeve for the occasion, is it? Can you do it again?

Actually, it wasn't me. As far as I can tell, that happened when Mama Mathers jumped into your head. You learned how to do that all by yourself. Coming up.

In the next moment, her awareness of him emerged into the same 'side by side' arrangement they'd gotten into during the fight with the Fallen capes. She tensed, expecting to be pushed down again, but nothing of the sort happened.

Okay, so this is a thing now. Does it change anything else? I mean, you're still in charge anytime you want to be, right?

I honestly don't know. His voice was thoughtful. When I first showed up, you weren't able to take over at all, even when I stepped out of the way. What if this is just another stage? Try to push me down, back to where I was.

What? To say she was startled would be an understatement. I can't. You've just brushed me aside every time.

Are you being brushed aside right now? Go on, give it a go.

She did her best to eye him suspiciously. Is this you setting up to take a dive to give me extra confidence?

If it was, you'd never know. But it's not. I'm serious, here. This is your body, and you need to have the say over who's in the driver's seat. I'm just along for the ride.

The serious tone of his voice convinced her. Okay, then.

Gathering all her will, she did her best to force his presence into the back of her mind. He seemed to give way at first, then he grunted silently and pushed back. She shoved harder, forcing him down again. The resistance was palpable, and gradually he once more muscled his way into the tandem driver's seat. Mentally exhausted, she gave up the effort, glaring at his avatar.

See? I can't beat you. This was stupid.

He seemed illogically upbeat. No, that was amazing. You nearly pushed me down on your first try. I had to fight like hell to stay up here.

But I couldn't keep you down. She couldn't see why he was so happy, unless he got his jollies by making her try and fail.

No, think about it. When I first got here, you couldn't have pushed me down with anything. I could've ignored you all day long. Now, you know you can push me down, and you nearly did it first time. Have you ever seen The Matrix?

The name was vaguely familiar, but not one she knew specifically. Is that an Aleph movie?

Probably. He shrugged mentally. Might have to see if we can get a copy. The point is, the main character ends up in a space much like you are, where mental fortitude and determination are far more important than physical skills. One part of his training is to make an impossible leap across a street between two skyscrapers. The line that gets used in the movie is, Nobody makes their first leap. And he doesn't. But he makes the second leap.

She thought she could see what he was getting at. So … the point is to keep trying until I'm strong enough to succeed?

Bingo. Wanna try again, or leave it until later?

Yeah, no, not now. I'm not in the right headspace for it at the moment. But you're saying I did actually push you down? You weren't just letting me win for a little bit?

You one hundred per cent pushed me down. I wasn't resisting with my full strength, but that was because I didn't really expect you to go so hard on your first try. I was basically going to ramp up with you. See above about being lazy. And when you did ramp up, you did it faster than I did. If I hadn't been paying attention, you could've definitely shoved me down.

She felt obscurely pleased at that. Going from feeling helpless to prevent him from taking over her body at will to having at least a chance to regain control was amazing. It also helped that he was encouraging her every step of the way, while not babying her or handing her unearned victories.

Awesome. So, don't take this the wrong way, but I can't wait until I can kick you out of my head.

He let out a silent chuckle. You can take this any way you like, but I can't wait to vacate the premises altogether. Now, if you don't mind, I have a project I'd like to get back to. His presence faded toward the back of her mind.

Project? What project?

Oh, just something I'm working on. Plan Z, you might say. The sound of imaginary hammers and saws drifted to her mental ears.

Amy shook her head and kept walking. Michael might be a pleasant enough occupant of her head, but sometimes he could definitely be weird, if not downright obscure.

<><>​

Brian

Undersiders Base

Angelica lifted her head and gave a single 'woof' before dropping it to her paws once more. Lisa and Taylor looked around from where they were having a quiet discussion.

"Amy's outside," Lisa said, beating Taylor by a split second.

"And she's alone," Taylor added. "Nobody's following her. In fact, there's no-one nearby at all. And my bugs can't see anyone flying."

"Which means that unless Glory Girl's been taking classes in subtlety, she didn't come along." Lisa looked happier at having come to that conclusion. Brian recalled how she'd had her shoulder dislocated by the teen hero in the bank; they'd interacted civilly enough since then, but Lisa always relaxed just a little more when Glory Girl wasn't around.

"Aww, did the mean ol' superhero hurt Tattle's fee-fees?" jibed Alec, glancing up from his game.

"Regent-underscore-one-five-underscore-king, first and last letters uppercase," Lisa stated flatly. "One more word and I delete all your high scores."

With a sigh, Brian got up from the sofa at the same time as Taylor rose from her chair. "Someone's gotta let her in," he said.

"What I was thinking." She headed for the door. "I can do it."

He shrugged, looking at where Lisa was giving Alec the finger. "I'm already up. We can both handle it. And maybe these two will grow some maturity while we're downstairs."

Taylor's sceptical eyebrow-raise was getting along pretty well, he saw. "Maybe if we left town for six months?"

His chuckle followed them out, and they headed down the stairs. He let her go first, because he didn't feel like having bugs down the back of his neck for the next week. While he didn't think she was that vindictive, there wasn't much sense in taking chances.

Once they reached the bottom, Taylor unlocked the door. Amy stood there, leaning theatrically against the doorframe. "Took your time," she observed with a tinge of snark. "Did Taylor have to help you with your makeup or something?"

Ignoring Taylor's sudden snort of laughter, Brian rolled his eyes. "Blame Lisa and Alec. What's up?"

"I need to ask Lisa for some advice." Amy didn't sound thrilled, and Brian couldn't blame her. While the two teens got along most of the time, there was a fundamental disconnect between their personalities. It didn't help that the mysterious Michael was apparently able to see through ninety percent of Lisa's bullshit. Fortunately, he also seemed to be invested in keeping the peace between them, and knew how to wrangle Amy's moods.

"Come on in," Taylor said. "I can tell it must be serious."

"Well, yes, it is." Amy gave her a puzzled look. "But how did you know?"

Taylor smirked. "Because you're voluntarily asking Lisa for advice." She waited until Amy was inside, then closed the door again.

"She's got a point," Brian said, turning toward the spiral staircase. "Ever since Coil, we've been more or less at a loose end, and Lisa and Alec have been competing for the passive-aggressive stakes."

Taylor nodded. "With any luck, they won't have killed each other by the time we get back up there."

"With any luck, they will have. Or Rachel's bumped their heads together a few times," grumbled Brian, heading up the steps.

There was no shouting or other sounds of mayhem by the time they reached the top. Rachel was still in her room, while Alec had gone back to playing his game while very studiously ignoring Lisa. The blonde popped her head out of the kitchen, apparently ignoring Alec just as carefully, and grinned at Amy. "Oh, hey," she said. "Did you finally find a problem the all-knowing oracle in your head can't fix?"

Amy gave her a steady look. "He's got a space inside my head that he uses as an office. It's got a blackboard, and he's keeping score. He's also chuckling. Just so you know."

That made Lisa pause for a few seconds, before she recovered. "Okay, fine, truce. You've come to ask me about something. How can I help you?"

"Oh, we can help each other." Amy tilted her head toward the two armchairs. "We need to talk."

"Is this going to be something I'll regret hearing?" asked Brian. "Because those four words are never ominous."

Amy seemed to think about that. "Probably," she admitted. "But it won't be you that gets in trouble."

From the faint expression of worry on Lisa's face, she was also having second thoughts. "Shit, it's that bad?"

"Well, yes and no." Amy lowered herself into one of the armchairs. "So, did you hear about how we took down the Nine?"

Brian had not heard about this at all. "When did this happen? And why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Because it was only a rumour on PHO," Lisa said.

Everyone looked at Alec, who hadn't said anything. He glanced up from the game for a second. "Hey, I don't give a shit either way. It's not like they're ever likely to come after me."

Amy cleared her throat. "Actually," she said. "Michael says that if he hadn't interfered with the situation, your sister Cherie would've joined sooner rather than later. And when they came to Brockton Bay, she would've nominated you as a member. Not in any hopes you'd win, of course. More to mess with you."

Alec stared at her for so long his on-screen character died in a blaze of electronic noises. "Fuck!" he muttered. "Fucking Cherie. She'd totally do that, too."

Amy shrugged. "Well, it's not like she's going to do that now. Though don't surprised if she chooses some other ill-advised means of protecting herself from your father."

"So this actually happened?" Lisa pressed. "Was it the whole Triumvirate? That's what I heard."

"Just Alexandria," Amy said. "But that's not what I want to ask you about."

Lisa's eyes clicked into focus. "No, it's not. One of them's alive. Bonesaw. Michael wanted her alive. And now you want to ask me how to talk to her. How to get her on your side."

"Bonesaw?" The name had definitely gotten Alec's attention. "You're shitting me, right? That little maniac's here in Brockton Bay? Why aren't we evacuating the whole city?"

"I don't know where they're keeping her," Amy admitted. "But Michael says she's an important part of his plans, so I need to know how to talk her around. According to him, she sees me as a big sister or something stupid like that."

"So just tell her you're happy to be her big sister," Alec offered sarcastically. "Just, you know, hold off on the murder and stuff. At least until there's no witnesses around."

Amy smiled sweetly at him. "If we start with you and you're the only one around, there will be no witnesses."

"How come she can sound creepier than an actual villain when she says that?" complained Alec.

"Because if I ever became a villain," Amy told him, "I'd be scarier than all the rest put together. Because I'd only ever do it for what I saw as a good reason. And if you're absolutely convinced your cause is pure and just, there's no atrocity you won't stoop to." She let her words hang in the silence for a few seconds, then chuckled lightly. "Just kidding. Except for the part about atrocities. History's full of monsters who thought they were the good guy, and if people would just do what they were told, everything would be okay."

"So, what's the difference?" asked Taylor. "Being a dedicated villain and knowing it, and thinking you're still a hero? Why's the second one scarier?"

Amy's grin slowly widened. "Because they try harder."

Yeah, decided Brian. Definitely creepier.

<><>​

Panacea

An Hour Later

"I still don't see why you felt it necessary to give me a lift," Amy said. "I could've walked back to the bus stop just fine."

"The buses don't always run to that stop after dark," Brian said as he steered the car around the corner onto the main road. "And both Lisa and Taylor would skin me alive if I let you go out alone and you got hurt."

He's right, you know. Michael's voice was matter of fact. Not every member of the criminal element knows your face, or even respects what you do. We're good, but someone coming at us with a weapon could hurt you badly before you dropped him.

I thought you were supposed to be supporting my independence as a person, she snarked back. You're not my dad.

No, I'm not. But if I were, I'd be telling you the exact same thing. His tone had gone from matter of fact to patient. Independence is a good thing. But, and this is important, so is being realistic. Today's world is a dangerous place, even for adults. It's a sad and sorry indictment on society that a woman or teenage girl walking alone is often seen as a potential target for assault or worse, but that's the way it is. I wouldn't want you getting hurt even if I wasn't riding around in your head.

I should've called Vicky for a lift.

Yes, you could have. How long would the interrogation have gone on about exactly why you were out this way, again?

I'd tell her to drop it, and she would. But Amy knew this was weak, to say the least.

So did Michael, by his reply. Really? Vicky? Drop any subject she wasn't ready to drop? You have met her, right?

Fine, you win. She didn't have to like it, though.

"Everything okay?" That was Brian, in the driver's seat. He had most of his attention on the road, but he was glancing her way occasionally. "You're being very quiet over there."

"I'm fine." She bit the word off. "This doofus in my head thinks he knows better than me about being safe."

"Didn't you say he was like forty or fifty, and a security guard or something?" Brian frowned. "Seems to me, someone like that might actually know something about staying safe. It being his job and all."

You can just shut up right now.

Didn't say a word.

I can hear your grin from here.

She gave Brian a moderate glare. "That's right. Take his side."

He rolled his eyes. "His side? Girl, that was my side before I ever heard his part in it. So don't try to tell me I'm taking someone else's side."

"Fine. Gang up on me with someone you've never actually met." But she was starting to see the mildly amusing side of it.

Which was when the red and blue flashing lights cut in through the back window. She saw Brian's eyes flick up to the mirror, then his lips tightened. "Sonovabitch," he muttered.

"That can't be for you," she protested. "You weren't speeding or doing anything dangerous."

As if the occupants of the police car had heard her, there was a brief blast from a siren, directly behind them. It seemed somebody didn't share her opinion of Brian's driving competence.

"Don't have to be." Brian scanned the street ahead. "Shit." He hit the indicator and started to pull over. "Put your hands on the dash, keep quiet and it should be okay."

What should be okay? What's going on here?

Shit. Michael popped up into her space. Okay, quick question. Do you happen to know if any cops in town are Empire supporters?

Empire Eighty-Eight? Police officers supporting them? The idea was ludicrous. What do you mean? They're a criminal gang.

So are the Ku Klux Klan, kiddo. Back in the day, more than a few of them wore badges. Now, this could be nothing or it could be something. We're gonna have to play it by ear.

I have no idea what you're talking about. Play what by ear?

He sighed. If I'm wrong and the car's got a defect, then that's one thing. But if I'm right, we're about to get a first-hand demonstration of the term 'driving while black'.

By now, the car was at a stop on the side of the road. Brian had the heels of his hands on the wheel in the ten-and-two position, and his documentation between the fingers of his left hand. The window was already down, because he liked to drive that way.

Keeping her voice low, she murmured, "Uh, those are real, right?"

Brian didn't turn his head away from the window, and his lips barely moved as he replied. "Real enough. Hands on the dash."

A shadow moved against the street-lights just as she put her hands on the dashboard. It resolved itself into a police officer, leaning down to shine a flashlight in through the open window. The light hit her full in the face, blinding her.

"Hey, stop that!" she protested, bringing up her hand to shield her face.

In the next moment, a large hand took hold of her wrist and dragged it down again. "You got something to hide, kid? Identification, now."

On the far side of the car, she was vaguely aware of a light also being shone in Brian's face, and his documentation being taken and examined. But the rough treatment irritated her, overriding her cautious nature. With the skin-to-skin contact, she could read his entire body, and affect whatever she wanted. A twitch in a muscle at the right place and he dropped the flashlight, removing the glare from her face again. "This is assault," she declared. "Why do you need my ID?"

"Failure to identity yourself to a police officer is an offense under the law," grunted the cop. "Out of the car, girl."

"Only if you've got reasonable suspicion—ow! Hey!" Amy was only halfway through her response—long association with Carol had taught her some aspects of the law, at least—when the cop yanked the door open and started dragging her out. Or tried to; her seatbelt was still fastened.

"Leave her alone!" shouted Brian from the far side of the car. "She's—shit, no, don't!"

The shot echoed through the car, hammering on her eardrums. Her head jerked around, just in time to see Brian start to fall, his body outlined by the muzzle-flash.

She reached into the nervous system of the police officer who still had ahold of her, and switched off all motor control. He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. Then she unclipped her seat and slid out of the car.

As she stood, she saw the cop swing the pistol toward her across the top of the car. "Rhodes!" he yelled. "Rhodes, sound off, man! What did you do to him? Hands! Show me your hands!"

What's a good way to tell a cop that he's making a mistake?

Even the normally unflappable Michael seemed a bit flustered. Uh, something like 'stand down'?

Okay, then. "Stand down!" she shouted, trying to match his volume. Before she could say any more, the pistol twitched, and she ducked on instinct; a moment later, it went off, so close she swore she felt the bullet pass by overhead.

"Carl! Talk to me, man! What did you do to him, you little bitch?"

Amy's ears were ringing so badly she could barely hear him. She doubted he would be able to hear her at all, even if she tried to talk him down. Which left Plan B. Take them both out, then save Brian.

Dropping flat, she wriggled under the car. There were mechanical bits on the underside, some of which were hot and other bits that tried to snag her hoodie and hair. If that wasn't bad enough, the road surface itself was filthy, with more than a little oil. Gritting her teeth, she pushed on.

She was most of the way across to the other side when the cop got restless. "Where the hell is she?" At least, that was what she thought she heard. She saw his booted feet move off to the side, around the end of the car. Oh, for fuck's sake.

Plan C. Save Brian now.

Good plan. She kept squirming, until she could reach out from under the vehicle and touch Brian where he lay with one foot still in the car. His body systems flared to life in her mind's eye, and she saw the wound; a through-and-through in the lower chest region. The bullet had gone through Brian's left lung and nicked his spine. He was semi-conscious, but the rate of blood loss would've killed him in fifteen or twenty minutes.

"Rhodes!" The officer was calling out from the far side of the car. By the sound of it, he was shaking his partner heavily, to no avail.

Well, duh. He gets up when I say he gets up, and not one second before.

Amy applied her power to Brian, healing the wound channel and scavenging the blood that had collected in his lung for use back in his body. His damaged spine was repaired, better than ever, and she took care of a host of microfractures he'd suffered at one time or another through his life.

Okay, what do we do now?

Call backup, and see if we can't get that idiot cop's attention again. Maybe this time lead with 'Panacea' or 'New Wave' or 'superhero on site'? Just suggesting.

Brian came to, drawing in a long shuddering breath and sitting up. Amy took the time to wriggle out from under the car, keeping an ear out for the trigger-happy police officer. This time when she stopped moving, she could hear him speaking urgently on his radio. She'd learned a little about this sort of thing while growing up with New Wave, but right now her heart was beating too fast for her to focus on his exact words. Also, she didn't want to stick her head up in case he shot at her again.

And then a bug hummed past her ear. She almost didn't pay attention to it, but then three more came past and orbited her head in perfect formation.

Wait a minute. Is it just me, or …

A wild surmise growing in Amy's mind, she looked up at the street lighting. More and more bugs were coming into view, but they weren't circling the lights. Instead, they were zooming through, as though on a mission.

It definitely looks like it. Not the cavalry I would've expected, but I'll totally take it.

The original three bugs landed on the side of the car next to her, aligned perfectly horizontally. They were fireflies, she noticed. Because of course they are. They all blinked at once, then the one on the far left blinked three times in succession. A second later, the one in the middle blinked twice. She was already looking at the one on the right-hand end when it blinked once.

One second later, a monstrous rhino-dog thing barrelled down off a nearby building and hit the cop car amidships, smashing it into the air and onto its roof. The cop let out a yelp of pure terror, exacerbated when a second monster landed beside him and flicked him away from Brian's car with its prehensile tail.

Somehow he kept hold of his pistol, but Regent, riding the third dog, waved his hand negligently and he dropped it before he could point it at anyone.

Lisa, riding the second dog, gave Amy and Brian an extravagant salute. "Good evening, citizens!" she said with a broad grin. "We have no quarrel with you, so you may be on your way."

Amy rolled her eyes at the theatrical bullshit, but she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Scrambling around to the passenger side of the car, she paused to revive the cop she'd disabled, then jumped in and fastened her seatbelt. Brian already had the car running and in gear by this point.

As they headed off down the street, Amy heard the complicated sounds of a cop car being steadily demolished. "Well, that worked," she said, then looked down at herself. "I think I need a shower."

"Could've been a lot worse," Brian agreed, touching the still-tacky bloodstain on his shirt. "Thanks for saving my ass, by the way. And I'm going to have to talk to Lisa about her dialogue. That frankly sucked."

"Suit yourself," Amy said. "Next time I see her, I'm gonna give her a big hug."

Brian sighed. "You do you. And by the way, next time I say hands on the dash, keep them on the dash. Okay?"

Amy nodded, aware she'd screwed up. "Yeah, got it. Sorry. I'm not used to this sort of thing."

Brian's voice was more resigned than angry. "Yeah, I wish I could say I was surprised."

Silence fell in the car then, each busy with their own thoughts as they rolled through the mean streets of Brockton Bay.



End of Part Twenty-Seven

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Twenty-Eight: Mind Games

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

[A/N 2: Apologies for not putting out a chapter mid-February, but I've been swamped with work commitments, plus my amazing beta and I are in the final stages of editing the second novel in the Utopian Dreams series, Shadows Over Utopia. Current projected publication date, June or July, woo!]

[A/N 3: So much writing, so little time …]



Bonesaw

The complicated airlock-system they were using for Riley's cell clanged and clattered. She looked up, expecting yet another examination by someone wearing a hazmat suit, trying to get rid of all her built-in offensive systems. They hadn't gotten everything yet, though the multiple X-rays had found most of them.

"Bonesaw. Visitor." That was the bored-sounding guard who never moved from his hermetically sealed booth with its own air supply. If she acted out, it was his job to decide whether to fill the cell with pure nitrogen, containment foam or ten thousand volts of fuck-you. Screw-you, she corrected her own internal monologue. Just because she was a prisoner awaiting imminent execution didn't mean she had to let all her standards lapse.

It didn't matter whether she was standing or sitting when 'visitors' came into her cell. If they wanted her standing up, she would be standing up. If they wanted her sitting down, that was where she would be. It had been very thoroughly impressed on her that she had no rights, no agency and no hope for a future that involved freedom, or even living through the next few days.

Thus, as the inner door rumbled aside, admitting the wash of air into the under-pressure system in the cell, she didn't bother getting up or even turning to see who was going to be manhandling her this time. Whatever was going to happen, would happen. Seeing the gun before it put a bullet through her head wouldn't actually do her any good.

The inner door rumbled shut. Riley's inner ears twinged unpleasantly as the air pressure dropped again. She understood why the only air movement could be into the cell, and then out by way of a million types of filter, but she didn't have to enjoy it.

"Hello, Riley Grace."

Now, that was unusual. Slowly, she turned her head to make sure she wasn't hearing wrongly. The voice being unimpeded by any sort of breathing apparatus was one thing, but the fact that it was a teenage girl speaking was quite another. When she saw who it was—robes replaced by a disposable coverall, which did nothing to hide the newcomer's identity—her jaw honestly dropped.

"Panacea?" she blurted, totally forgetting how she should be aloof and unapproachable. "What are you doing here?"

The frizzy-haired brunette rolled her eyes and unfolded the chair she was carrying, then sat down on it. "Wasn't really my idea," she admitted. "This pushy asshole I met recently put the idea in my head, and he's not likely to give it up until I do something about it."

This was making less and less sense all the time. What also failed to make sense was Panacea's deportment. Riley was used to seeing her shrinking into the background in every social situation; this Panacea was more of a take-charge type, not to mention take-no-crap.

But there was more to it. Amy Dallon had a slight reddening around her eyes and was moving stiffly, as though she were tired or hurt. Riley's power kicked in, diagnosing a lack of sleep and bruising under her clothes, and wasn't that interesting.

"Pushy a-holes can be like that, I'm sure," she responded automatically. "Has the great and mighty Panacea been going out and fighting crime? I didn't know you were the type to mix it up on the street with common thugs."

The line had been more of a probe, to see how Panacea reacted than out of any belief it was true, but Panacea responded with a distinct twitch. "None of your business," she responded curtly. "Anyway, we're here to talk about you, not me."

"Me?" Channelling her inner Mr. Jack, Riley indicated herself with both hands spread over her chest. "I'm not interesting at all. Unless you've run into a medical problem you can't solve." She raised one eyebrow, a trick she'd spent hours working on in the mirror before she gave in and did the surgery that made it easy. "Which I find really unlikely."

Panacea set her lips in a scowl and folded her arms, clearly disliking the fact that she was on the back foot already. Then her expression shifted slightly and her eyes went unfocused for a second or so. Her lips moved briefly, as though she were arguing with herself. Watching with fascinated interest—what sort of mental issues would the world's greatest unsung healer have, after all?—Riley saw her scowl intensify as she nodded almost infinitesimally. Then her eyes came back into focus again, zeroing in on Riley.

"Pull your head in, Riley," she said bluntly. "You're in the shit, and you know it. More to the point, I know you, and you're not suicidal. Even with Jack Slash gone, you want to live. Now, we can make that happen, but only if you decide to work with me here. Pissing me off so I get up and walk out of this cell? That's not the way to do it." She unfolded her arms then clasped her hands in her lap, looking steadily at Riley. "So, you want to start again from the top?"

More than a little taken aback by the total change in approach—and where had Panacea gotten a weird phrase like 'pull your head in' from, anyway?—Riley blinked a few times. Something was definitely going on with Panacea; this was not the meek and mild healer that Mr. Jack had described as a pushover waiting to happen. Either she'd gone through some kind of life-altering experience and this was the result, or she'd had a mental break and nobody else knew about it. Because if they did, there was no way any responsible authority would allow a potentially unstable Panacea anywhere near a member of the Nine.

Which meant Riley absolutely wanted to see what happened next.

"Okay," she said. "We can do that. Hi, I'm Riley."

"Hi," responded Panacea. "I'm Amy." She extended her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

Which left Riley in (if she excused the expression) one hell of a bind. She knew exactly what Amy Dallon was capable of with a single touch, and no way did she want the healer running rampant through the offensive and defensive capabilities she still had implanted within her. But on the other hand, every instinct she had screamed that this was her best chance of getting out of this cell alive.

"I do not consent for you to use your powers on me," she said carefully. "You've got to abide by that, right?"

Amy raised her own eyebrows and snorted derisively. "I could lie, and say I wasn't going to do it. But we'd both know it was a lie. Do you honestly think you're ever going to walk out of this cell under your own power if I don't do this? More to the point, is there any circumstance you can think of right now where keeping your implants will allow you to live five minutes longer than without them?"

Riley considered that. There was no pretense going on here, no attempting to shade the truth. Panacea was laying down the facts as she saw them, and Riley honestly couldn't gainsay her on any of it.

But she did have one thing to say. "You said Jack Slash is gone. We both know he'll be back, and he'll be annoyed at what your friends have done to the Nine."

Panacea shook her head firmly. "You weren't listening. When I said he was gone, I meant gone. Deceased. Extinct. Shuffled off this mortal coil. Released into the Great Beyond. Cactus. D-E-D, dead."

"What? No." Riley blinked. "Nobody can kill Mr. Jack. I should know, I've been watching people try for the last six years." Cactus? she wondered. Where did that come from?

Even more oddly, Panacea wasn't showing any of the satisfaction and pleasure she should by rights have been feeling from saying that. In fact, she looked positively unhappy. "Not gonna say it was easy," she conceded. "Alexandria had to chase him all over America, but we finally pinned him down. Once she got her hands on him, it was all over."

This was making less and less sense all the time. 'All over America' suggested a pursuit longer than the few miles Mr. Jack could've managed on foot after the bus was destroyed. And from the way Panacea said 'we', she was implying more than a simple commonality of goals between herself and Alexandria. Is she saying she was there?

Riley shook her head. "I don't believe you. Nobody can sneak up on Mr. Jack. He's too smart for that."

Unexpectedly, Panacea smiled slightly, then her expression reverted to sourness. "Wrong on both counts. Capes couldn't sneak up on Jack Slash. This was because what gave him his power could talk to what gave them their powers, and give him all the information he needed to avoid their attacks. It wasn't him being smart; it was his power telling him which way to jump. He was a cheaty cheating cheater, that way."

"Mr. Jack never cheated!" Riley began automatically, then stopped when she realised what she was saying.

Panacea raised her eyebrows, her expression plainly dubious. "Really? Can you promise that, with your hand on your heart?"

Riley glared at her. She didn't want to admit that Mr. Jack would be so underhanded as to cheat when he talked so much about fair contests, but then there was the evidence … "How do you know so much about it, anyway? Have you ever studied capes like that? Mr. Jack says you pretend you can't affect brains, but you really can."

There was the slightest hint of a glance toward the guard station, then Panacea's expression firmed again. "Jack Slash lied about a lot of stuff. But can you think of a better reason that all those monsters he had in the Nine never even once tried to kill him in his sleep? Because I'm pretty sure it wasn't his charm and good looks." The frizzy-haired girl leaned closer. "And in fact, why do you think so many of them died taking hits for him? Choosing not to kill him is a totally different thought process from choosing to die for him. Just saying."

How does she know about that? Riley stared at Panacea. She wanted to contradict what the older girl was saying, but she remembered that exact thing happening. Chuckles had gone out that way, coming out of nowhere to throw himself between Mr. Jack and an enraged cape with a high-end Blaster power. Despite his durability, Chuckles had been immolated, but the respite had allowed the Siberian to get to Mr. Jack and make him invulnerable to further harm. Hatchet Face had killed the cape then, so the only people who knew about it now, if Panacea was telling the truth about Mr. Jack's death, were Riley and (apparently) Panacea.

"If Mr. Jack's dead, how did he die?" The challenge was posed as a matter of course. She knew precisely how hard to kill he'd been.

Panacea shrugged. "I disabled him, then Alexandria snapped his neck. I saw the reinforcement you had in there. It wouldn't have helped."

Riley wasn't about to argue about the durability of her reinforcements; if someone like Alexandria decided that she was going to snap Mr. Jack's neck, it was going to snap. Now that the Siberian was gone (and how had she achieved that?), the Triumvirate member was about the closest thing Riley knew to being an unstoppable force. But she had another challenge for Panacea. "How did you get close enough to disable him, if his power can talk to your power?"

"Ahh." Panacea smiled tightly and held up her finger. Riley got the impression she wasn't as happy as she was pretending to be. "Now you're asking the important questions. Very few people are cleared to know the answer to how I snuck up on him. The guards outside this cell? Not among them. So, if you want to learn how I did it, you need to be given the all-clear to leave this cell. And you know what that entails." She held out her hand, her eyebrows raised. "Your choice."

The whole conversation had been leading up to this; Riley could see that now. Panacea wanted her out of this cell … to do what? It couldn't be just to kill her; if Panacea wanted Riley dead, all she needed to do was wait a week. Riley's best guess was that Panacea wanted to talk to her about something out of prying earshot … but what? There wasn't a single, solitary thing she could think of that might interest Panacea.

Of course, this didn't mean such a subject didn't exist. Only that she had no idea which one Panacea wanted to talk about. And now she wanted to know what could make Panacea come to wherever it was she was being held, and pull whatever strings she had, just to visit her.

"If I do this, you have to tell me how you snuck up on him." She knew full-well that Panacea could make all the promises in the world and ignore them when the time came; also, that with Mr. Jack dead, the knowledge would do her exactly no good whatsoever. But whatever Panacea wanted to talk about was a bargaining chip of sorts, so she didn't think the healer would mess her around for funsies.

In any case, it wasn't like she had many better options, right now.

"Deal," agreed Panacea after perhaps half a second of introspective thought. "For all the good it'll do you."

"Yeah, yeah, I get that." Riley took a deep breath and put her hand in Panacea's.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then Panacea whistled softly. "Holy crap," she muttered, just loudly enough for Riley to hear. "I knew she was jacked up, but that's ridiculous."

Wait, she? Who's Panacea talking to?

Riley tried very hard to ask the question out loud, but her consciousness was already swirling down the drain. Before she could even make her mouth form the words, she was out to it.

<><>​

Panacea

Is it just me, observed Michael as Amy made one last check of Riley's physiology, or did she have more than her own body weight of stuff implanted in her?

That's closer to the truth than I'm comfortable with, she replied. If she focused her awareness on Michael, a 'window' opened in the back of her mind and she could 'see' him reclining at his ease in that armchair, watching the ongoing action on a wide-screen TV. There are more parts of her that she's operated on than otherwise. I mean, how does someone even do surgery on their own eyes?

In some bizarre mental dimension, Michael shrugged. One at a time?

Oh, ha ha. Very funny.

I thought so. He got up from the chair and stretched. So, what's the next step? Get her out and about and acclimatise her to people who aren't psychotic murderhobos?

Despite herself, Amy snorted with amusement. Murderhobos? Where the hell did you get that from? Because I am totally stealing it.

You've never heard it before? Damn. He shook his head as he poured himself a glass of water. It's a D&D term, though it fits basically any roleplaying system where wandering adventurers are a thing. Basically, people whose go-to on meeting someone new is 'I kill them and take their stuff'. Doesn't matter who it is. Friendly farmer? Kill them and take their stuff. Beggar in an alleyway? Kill him and take his stuff. You get the picture.

No, I hadn't heard of it before. Though I've heard of Dungeons and Dragons. I don't know anyone who plays it, though. Wasn't there a big Satanic scandal over it, way back when? People were trying to cast spells for real and sacrificing pets to dark forces and stuff?

His shaggy eyebrows rose as he sipped at his drink. Unless the history of Earth Bet before Scion is way different to what I think it is, ninety-nine percent of that is bullshit and one percent would be asshole players trolling the so-called moral guardians. The way I heard it, some teenager committed suicide because of reasons, and his mother found a D&D book in his room. She ignored the fact that his home life was shit, and he was being bullied at school, and blamed D&D for everything.

Oh. Wow. What happened?

It was his turn to snort in amusement. What do you think? The harder they tried to suppress it, the more avidly people took it up. Ironically, it only began to wane in popularity after the lies about it were all debunked and it was generally accepted as a fun way to spend a Saturday evening. Then it got bought up by a toy company, and picked up in popularity again by being marketed as only a toy company can.

Okay. And you used to play this game?

Now he laughed out loud and rolled his eyes. Used to? Kiddo, I've got dice older than you. Time was, just a few years ago, I'd be gaming five nights a week. Anyway, this isn't getting stuff done. Who did you want to acclimatise her with first?

That was something Amy was still working on. Lisa had given her a lot of good advice, but successfully carrying it out wasn't an absolute guarantee. Not sure. Any suggestions?

The Undersiders. He grinned evilly. I want to see the look on Lisa's face.

You know she isn't likely to react well to that. Neither is Brian. Or Rachel. Amy decided to leave Alec out of it; he'd be just as likely to hand Riley a controller.

No, true. Michael seemed to be mulling that over. Okay, not joking this time. We introduce her to Taylor. There's nothing Riley can do to her that Taylor can't do back, ten times worse.

Are you sure? Taylor's self-possessed to the point that I can't tell if she's more likely to ignore Riley or smother her with bugs.

Sure I'm sure. Taylor doesn't usually go into all-out murder rage unless you've killed someone near and dear to her, and Bonesaw never got close to Danny, so we should be fine. Besides, if she does go giga-swarm, we can always Doorway Riley the heck out of there.

True. Michael's reassurance steadied Amy somewhat. She wondered when and how he'd ever seen Taylor in an all-out murder rage, and who'd been killed to make that happen. Okay, I'm gonna wake her up and give her the good news.

Don't expect her to be all rainbows and sunshine about it, at least in the beginning. She can be a little goblin if she wants. Give her time to decide it's her idea to play along.

Ah, right. So, treat her like Vicky first thing in the morning, and we should be fine.

He burst into uproarious laughter, collapsing into the armchair. Oh, that's beautiful. I love it.

Amy smirked. I still love my sister, but I'm realistic about her too. She reached down and made contact with Riley's skin, moving her state from 'deeply unconscious' to 'light doze'. Then she shook Riley by the shoulder. "Wakey, wakey. All done."

Riley returned to full awareness in a remarkably short time, eyes flicking open and darting around the cell before she sat up. "That took a bit longer than I expected. What did you implant?"

Amy bristled, but Michael's calming influence held her back from snapping at Riley. Right. Little goblin. Gotcha. She smiled briefly and shook her head. "I'm afraid you're mistaken. I just took out everything that wasn't original issue, and reversed a few of your self-surgeries. Nothing went back in."

She watched as Riley's eyes traced over the pile of removed implants. Somewhere back inside her head, Michael was munching on popcorn from a large tub he'd somehow acquired, while watching the large-screen TV. "And what if I don't believe you?" For a twelve-year-old, Riley had the cynical expression of someone much older. "Costa-Brown or whoever asked you to be here could've given you a cortex bomb or a poison dispenser or anything like that, and I'd never know."

"It's true," Amy said sweetly. "You wouldn't, until it was too late. Now, I'm saying you don't have anything like that in you. Would you rather believe me and be wrong, or disbelieve me and be wrong?" To be totally honest, I'm tempted to tell her that she's right, and if she doesn't … what was it you said before? Pull her head in? If she doesn't do that, I'll put it to use.

That would be playing right into her hands, Michael advised her gravely. Two points to remember, here. First, we give what we expect to get. Total truthfulness. If you lie to her now and she figures it out, you've lost all credibility. Second, she's testing to see if you did implant anything. Saying no means she can't know for sure.

So what if I said yes? Would that shut her up?

Then she'd start pushing the boundaries. Seeing how far up your nose she can get before you threaten her with it. And if you never actually show her the controller, she knows you're lying and she can keep getting away with it.

Well, that sucks. I mean, I know you're not wrong, but it still sucks.

Riley's expression seemed to agree with her that the situation sucked, but probably not for the same reasons. "Okay, fine," the young supervillain grumped. "You didn't implant anything. Or you did, and you're not telling me."

"Exactly," Amy agreed. "One of those two conclusions is entirely correct."

"If Mr. Jack was here, he'd know which one it was," Riley claimed. "He always knew that sort of thing."

"Because he was Mastering you, and reading your intentions via your powers," Amy reminded her. "But if he tried it on someone without powers, it wouldn't work." She tilted her head. "Prove me wrong?"

Riley scowled at her. "It's not fair. If I make up a story saying I saw him doing that, you'll know."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "I never said I was going to be fair. Just that I wanted you given the all-clear to leave this cell."

"That's something else I don't understand." Riley gave Amy a steady look. "I know exactly how famous you aren't. Yes, you're the well-known Panacea, but you're also a member of a second or third tier team in a fifth-tier city. There's no way you've got the pull to take me out of this cell without at least ten guards around, two of them pointing their foam sprayers at you."

"Yeah, you'd think that, wouldn't you?" Amy wanted to smirk, but she held her expression steady as she raised her voice. "Okay, she's clean. We're coming out now."

<><>​

Bonesaw

Riley fully expected the guards to tell Panacea to stand back from her, but they didn't. The transparent cell door hissed open, and for the first time the unending hum from the exhaust fans died away. Riley's ears popped slightly as the air pressure rose. Once upon a time, her surgeries would've allowed her to ignore that, but of course Panacea had changed things back.

Panacea ushered Riley out of the cell, moving with absolute confidence despite the fact that both of them were wearing the disposable coveralls. "Clothes, please," she said. "For both of us."

One of the guards stepped forward. "Panacea, I'm not sure this is a wise course of action."

"Maybe not, sergeant, but that's not your call." Panacea raised her eyebrows. "You've got your orders."

With growing astonishment, Riley watched as the guards almost fell over themselves to do what Panacea told them. The healer was supplied with her robes, and Riley was presented with jeans and a T-shirt in what looked to be her size. Moving with that strange new confidence, Panacea led them to a changing area where Riley took a certain amount of pleasure in tearing the coveralls to small pieces once she'd donned the new clothing. The T-shirt, she discovered, had a screenprint of Alexandria on the front.

"Okay, what now?" she asked, once she'd done that. "They might've let you out of the cell with me, but we'll still be under surveillance every second from when we walk out the door to when they decide to reel me back in."

Panacea gave Riley an evil grin. "Doorway to the Boardwalk," she said, and the floor fell out from under Riley. Letting out an involuntary squawk, Riley fell about four feet and landed on her butt on a sandy beach next to a built-up boardwalk. As she stared around in total confusion, a portal opened nearby and Panacea stepped out of it, grinning broadly. "Sorry, not sorry. I couldn't resist."

Riley's first protest of you did that on purpose was promptly derailed by the older girl's admission that she had indeed done it on purpose. Grumpily, she accepted Panacea's offered hand-up, and got to her feet. "Where are we, and how did you do that?"

"We're in Brockton Bay," Panacea informed her. "You know, that 'fifth-tier city' you mentioned?" As she spoke, she unfastened the hooded robe and removed it, leaving her dressed much as Riley was, save that her T-shirt featured Armsmaster. "I'm pretty sure you've never been up this way before, though the Nine has, once or twice."

"Right." Riley peered out to sea at the force-field bubble covering what looked almost like an oil rig, then back at the posts holding up the boardwalk next to them. "And how you got us here …?"

"Oh, that's a power I've recently gotten access to." Panacea seemed to be highly amused, as though she knew the punchline to a joke Riley hadn't yet figured out. "It's very handy, isn't it?"

"For you, maybe." Riley hadn't forgotten—or forgiven—being dumped on her ass in the sand like that. "How does a biokinetic like you get access to a Mover power? Did you figure how to rejigger your own power? That would be pretty cool."

"It doesn't work like that." Panacea's tone indicated she knew what she was talking about. "When I say I have access to it, that's exactly what I mean. No more and no less."

Which didn't exactly enlighten Riley, but she figured she'd learn more in time. "Okay, fine. How about the other thing you said you'd tell me?"

"What other thing?" Panacea looked at her, faux innocently.

"You know what I'm talking about." Riley glared at her, to no particular effect. "How did you sneak up on Mr. Jack?"

"Ahh, yes, that." Panacea sniffed, and raised a finger. "I'll tell you in a bit. Once we've got donuts."

"Donuts?" Then Riley smelled it too. It was a very appealing smell, one that had her mouth watering. While they hadn't exactly starved her in the holding cell, sweets and pastries had been remarkably few and far between. "When you say 'we', do you mean …"

Panacea chuckled. "I mean I'm gonna buy some and share them with you, silly. I don't want to see how you get with a sugar crash."

They went along the base of the Boardwalk until they came to steps leading upward, and climbed them to get to the upper level. From there, it was only a short walk to the vendor selling donuts, where Panacea paid for a box of a dozen. They moved off, managing to resist the heavenly odours wafting out from under the closed lid until they located a bench with nobody nearby to eavesdrop.

Sitting with the box between them, each girl took one. Riley tried hard not to cram the whole thing into her mouth all at once—that wasn't what a good girl did—but she came close anyway. "Panacea," she said, after she'd finished the first one. "Can I ask a question?"

The healer held up her finger for a second, then finished with the mouthful. "Call me Amy," she advised. "I'm out of costume and everything. But sure, what did you want to know?"

Amy. Riley considered that. It was definitely the first time she could recall that a hero had invited her to call them by their actual name. "Uh, why are we here? You could've taken me literally anywhere with that 'doorway' thing, but we're at a boardwalk, eating donuts."

Amy shrugged. "Because otherwise you'd be tense and pissed off at me, and I'd prefer to just talk." She paused. "Well, more tense and pissed off at me. Also, donuts."

Her points were valid. Riley took another donut while she was thinking about it. "Can you track me with that 'doorway' thing? Is that why you're not worried about me running off?"

The healer grinned. "Aren't you the smart cookie? Yes, I can absolutely do that. I could even order one to dump you back in your holding cell if I didn't feel like chasing after you. Are you gonna make me do that when we've still got donuts to eat?"

Now she was giving straight answers. Riley suspected she was telling the exact truth, and as such had no desire to test out that assumption. The donuts were still warm from the oven, and dusted with powdered sugar and cinnamon; as such, they made a compelling reason to not run away just yet.

"No, I'm not." Leaning back on the bench, Riley decided to slow down a bit for her third treat. "So, how did you sneak up on Mr. Jack, anyway?"

Amy smiled secretively. "I've got an eldritch being in my head, and he hid me from Jack Slash."

Of all the explanations Riley had expected to hear, that wasn't anywhere near the top. Or even close to halfway up. In fact, if they'd been written out, that one would have been appended via hastily-scribbled Post-It note. "Are you pulling my leg? Because it sounds like you're pulling my leg."

"Telling the unvarnished truth, I swear. Cross my heart." Amy raised her eyebrows, but she didn't try for the innocent look again. This was probably a good idea, as she wasn't great at it.

"Okay, I'll bite." Riley did so, on another donut, then chewed and swallowed before continuing. "So, what's its name? Something that's got more consonants than vowels, or does it involve sounds that mortal throats were not intended to pronounce?"

Amy started laughing so hard, she doubled over on the seat and nearly dropped her donut. Riley stared at her as she cackled helplessly, face turning red and tears running down her cheeks. It occurred to Riley that she could make a run for it now, but there were still donuts left to eat and she wanted to know what was so funny, gosh darn it!

Finally, Amy recovered her composure, though she kept giggling every now and again. "His name's Michael," she revealed. "Ordinary, everyday Michael. He comes from some kind of higher plane of existence from here. One time, he told me that he's older than our entire universe."

Riley felt vaguely cheated. Eldritch abominations should have cool, edgy names, not boring ones like Michael. "So what's he do? Make your eyes turn black? Cause blood to run down the walls? Speak words that cannot be deciphered by mortal man?"

Amy snorted in amusement as she grabbed her last donut. "Well, kind of the last one, sometimes. He uses Australian slang a lot."

"Okay, now you're just messing with me." Riley poked her tongue out at Amy. "An eldritch horror from Australia? That's stupid."

"I never said 'eldritch horror'," Amy reminded her. "I said 'eldritch being'. And as for what he does? If he wants Thinker powers to ignore me, they ignore me. Also, Master powers. So when Jack Slash was being a menace, he did his little trick and got me to within arm's length, then I just turned off the asshole's brain. That's when Alexandria got rid of him. Michael's reasonably certain she snapped his neck."

"Oh." The explanation had been concise and to the point, and lacking the blustery boastfulness that a lie would've contained to fill in the gaps. Finding out that Panacea was no longer vulnerable to Masters and Thinkers was a bit of a surprise, though. "Who knows you can do this? I mean, who knows about this Michael?"

Amy shrugged. "A few people. Not many. But Michael also knows things, about Earth Bet and the future … and the past. I've been able to use this knowledge to help people and to stop bad things from happening. I also helped save Alexandria's life, so the PRT kind of owes me a massive favour or ten. Which is where I get the pull to walk you out of holding."

"Okay, knowing things about the future I can see as being really important." Riley took up her last donut. "But what's so great about knowing the past? It's gone. It's done."

"I was curious about that too," admitted Amy. "But he knows things about people that nobody else does. For instance, my biological father's name. And the name of your family pet, Muffles."

The last sentence dropped into the conversation like a hand grenade into a deep pool. Nothing happened for a moment, then all sorts of things came boiling up from underneath. Riley tried to pass it off with a sarcastic comment, but it didn't even make it past her teeth. She stared at Amy, trying to block out all the memories that one name had unlocked, her throat dry.

"I'm sorry," murmured Amy, patting her hand gently. "I didn't know how to better break that sort of thing to you. Are you okay?"

Be a good girl … Her mother's voice sounded once more in her ears. She wanted to close her eyes and cut off the accompanying image, but doing that only made it more vivid. "I … I'll be fine," she croaked, lying through her teeth but not knowing what else to do. If there was one thing six years as Jack Slash's prisoner/teammate had taught her, it was that any sign of weakness would be mercilessly hammered on until she either eliminated it or gave way under the assault.

"I know you will." Amy took her hands and stared into her eyes. "Look at me, Riley."

With a shock, Riley realised that her vision was blurry from tears welling in her eyes. "Don't look at me," she choked. "Don't look."

For years she'd worked to suppress this memory, all the memories of her time before the Nine invaded her home and killed her family over and over until she became one of them through sheer self-preservation and exhaustion. She'd even forgotten Muffles' name until now. The harmless little fluffball had become part of her 'induction' into the Nine, wounded grievously so that she was forced to repeatedly save him along with the rest of her family.

All the emotions she'd locked away and pretended didn't exist were suddenly finding an outlet. A couple of years ago, she'd re-engineered her tear ducts to squirt acid on command; Amy had of course changed them back. The long-withheld tears were coming in a flood now, overspilling her eyelids and coursing down her face to soak into her T-shirt.

"It's okay to grieve," Amy assured her, patting her hand again. "It's okay to mourn. Crying isn't weakness. It allows you to learn to let go instead of locking things away."

That wasn't what Mr. Jack had said. In fact, Mr. Jack would have argued with more or less everything Amy had to say, whether she had an eldritch being in her head or not. Capes were innately superior to normal humans, he'd said on more than one occasion. And being superior, capes had the right to do whatever they felt like and could get away with. He'd claimed the fact that he had indeed gotten away with everything he liked over an extended period of time proved his overall point.

But now Mr. Jack—who had killed Riley's family, including Muffles—was dead. His claim of being able to do whatever he liked had been rendered null and void by the simple fact that he was now dead because of it. And if Amy had had a hand in his demise, as she claimed, then by his logic she was superior to him and was thus justified in killing him.

All this tumbled through Riley's head in a confused mess of concepts while she sought not to drown in grief and guilt; one for her family and the other, her victims. Just as she'd suppressed the memories of her loved ones, so too she'd pushed down any thought that she was doing wrong by the many, many people she'd murdered and mutilated in her six years with the Nine. But now they came back to her mind, staring as they pleaded with her, even when they lacked eyes and tongues to do it with.

I was a monster, she realised. I am a monster. Jack Slash may have set me on this path, but I've happily danced through the pools of blood, and spread ever more suffering behind me. How can someone like Amy, dedicated to healing, even stand to be near me?

And she sat on the bench as the tears continued to roll down her face.

<><>​

Panacea

With Riley's hand in hers, Amy carefully watched the younger girl's metabolism. Wow, holy crap. I'm not sure if this here isn't worse than shoving her in the Birdcage for the rest of her natural life.

Michael didn't sound much more thrilled, but his mental tone was determined. I never said it would be. But this is the fastest, most efficient way to kill Bonesaw the Slaughterhouse Nine member and still have access to Riley Davis, child prodigy.

You know, if anyone else had told me I should do this, I would've told them to go take a long walk off a short pier. Amy still wasn't thrilled with him, or with the fact that she'd followed his suggestion.

Nobody else knows you like I do. They don't know what you can do, or how you do it. And they don't know how Bonesaw ticks. That it's even possible for her to be rehabilitated.

She snorted, then very subtly adjusted Riley's brain chemistry so she wouldn't be able to hide behind self-justifications. Right now, the ex-Nine member was seeing reality exactly as it was, her memories laid out before her, with no way to hide from her wrongdoings. Gradually, Amy was leading her through her time as Bonesaw so she had time to repent for each of the horrific things she'd done. At the same time, she was ensuring that Riley's psyche didn't collapse under the pressure.

This was not something she'd ever thought she'd be able to do, or even want to do. But life had a way of leading down strange paths.

I still wouldn't believe it, except you told me it's possible. You do know what she's done in the Nine, right?

Yeah. And you do know she had Jack Slash behind her every step of the way, prodding her to be more and more inventive, right?

Amy sighed. I know. And I'm doing it. But I don't like it. Not in the slightest.

I'm pleased you don't enjoy it, he assured her. I'd be lot more worried if you got a taste for it and went around just making sure everyone was perfectly okay with you doing whatever you wanted with people's brains. But sometimes there's a necessary evil, and this is one of those times. Also, there's an upside.

What's that? There was no upside to this—apart from Riley becoming less of a murder-munchkin and more of a valuable member of society—that Amy could see.

This is an intricate use of your power, right? You're learning stuff right now. And so is your shard. You doing this feeds it more data, and makes it happier, which in turn makes it much less likely to turn around and activate your power without your consent.

Ah, crap. I wish you hadn't reminded me of that. Now I'm scared I'll screw this up and turn her into a murderous psychopath.

A moment later, she realised exactly what she'd said and wanted to facepalm. Inside her head, he laughed out loud. Oh, that bit's easy. Turning her back from a tweenage murderhobo into a semi-heroic cape, that's the difficult part. But you seem to be managing it. And like I said, if you do something complicated and interesting, you feed your shard data. Starving it of data is where shit's likely to go sideways faster than an outhouse in a tornado. Just ask Leet.

Like me and Vicky in that future you said you stopped.

Exactly. He sounded pleased. That was never fair on either of you. Now you both get a chance at a happier life.

You're big on that, aren't you?

Guilty as charged.

So, what's she going to be like once we're done here?

He paused before answering. I honestly have no real idea. But you've dug through her old memories and shattered her current preconceptions, so maybe she's got a chance of being a normal kid once she comes out of this? Riley instead of Bonesaw?

Well, we can only hope so.

If anyone can do it, you can. I have faith in you.

She smiled. I have faith in us.

That's the spirit.

Are we ever going to tell Director Piggot how we achieved this?

He recoiled in horror. Oh, HELL no.

She smirked. Didn't think so.



End of Part Twenty-Eight

 

[Ack]

I, Panacea

Part Twenty-Nine: Introductions

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

[A/N 2: Ugh. This chapter kicked my arse.]


Skitter
The Undersiders' Loft

Taylor frowned as her phone rang. It was the one Lisa had gotten for her, which meant that everyone who should have the number for it was already in the building. Alec was engrossed in his console gaming, Lisa was typing away on her laptop with a smirk on her face, Brian was doing some kind of complicated exercise routine involving hand weights, and as far as she knew Rachel was in her bedroom, brushing her dogs.

Lisa looked over as Taylor pulled the phone out, also looking somewhat puzzled. "Who's that?" she asked.

"Dunno." Taylor looked down at the screen and wanted to facepalm. "Oh, right. Panacea." Because of course Amy Dallon was the only other person she'd given out her number to.

Alec turned his head toward her, his game temporarily forgotten. "How does she know your number?"

"Uh, we exchanged numbers a little while ago," Taylor confessed. "I'd forgotten until now." The phone rang again, prompting her to answer it. "Hey," she said. "What's up?"

"Hey." Amy sounded ... normal. Or at least, not overly stressed. "Can we talk? There's someone I'd like you to meet. It's kind of important."

This was definitely out of the ordinary. With what they'd been through, Taylor didn't imagine for one second that Amy—or Michael—was setting her up for a trap of any kind. Which left the question open: what was it about?

It didn't escape her notice that Amy hadn't given a name for the person she wanted Taylor to meet. This in turn (seeing how she was literally calling Taylor so they could meet) meant she didn't want the name to get out. Specifically, that she didn't want Lisa finding out the name ahead of time.

"Uh, sure," she said. "Where?"

She already knew Panacea wasn't anywhere close by, because her widespread network of bugs would've detected the girl by now, but hopefully she wasn't all the way across town. Fortunately, Amy Dallon might be snarky on occasion, not to mention downright obscure, but she wasn't a total bitch like that.

Well, she wasn't now. Taylor didn't have Lisa's ability to discern every last aspect of a person's psyche, but there was a possibility that Amy's association with the guy living inside her head—and wasn't that a weird thing to say—had mellowed her out a bit. He certainly seemed intent on fixing the bad things that were going to happen to her before they had a chance to. Merely associating with Amy had improved Taylor's life immeasurably; the memory of Vicky breaking Sophia's jaw still raised a savage glee within her.

"We're at the old ferry terminal right now. On the deck, enjoying the scenery. It's nice here, if rusty boats and rotting seaweed add up to 'nice'."

Well, the snark was definitely still there, but it was toned down to normal levels, rather than being Amy's go-to for every situation. Sometimes, in the less frantic moments, Taylor had caught glimpses of the girl within, and she was … nice. Usually frazzled, which was not exactly unexpected, but still someone Taylor enjoyed spending time with.

"I'll be there in about twenty minutes," she said. Getting up from the sofa, she ended the call. "Guys, I'm heading out for a little bit, to meet up with Amy."

"Yeah?" Alec tilted his head. "What's she want with you?"

"To trash talk you behind your back," Taylor said sweetly. "I'll tell you what; when it becomes your business, you'll be the first to know."

"Fuck you too, dork." He took up the controller again.

She rolled her eyes. "I will never be that desperate." Ignoring Lisa's sudden fit of the giggles, she headed for the exit leading to the spiral staircase.

Behind her, she heard the clunk-clunk as Brian put the weights down. Her bugs tracked him across the room as he hurried to catch up, so she paused at the top of the stairs to wait for him. Studiously, she refused to admire the way his muscles filled out the shirt he was wearing.

"Hey," he said, slightly breathless from the exercise. "Not trying to pull an Alec, but do you have any idea why she wants to talk to you? I'd just like a heads-up before we end up facing off against Alexandria again, that's all."

"She wants to introduce me to a friend of hers," Taylor said, deciding that much couldn't hurt. "It sounded like it was important to her."

"Ah." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "So … not a Security thing?"

She shrugged. "His name never came up." She reached out with a single knuckle and pushed against the centre of his chest, trying to ignore the solidity of his musculature. "Maybe she just wants to hang and chill for a while? I don't see the rest of you making the effort to be her friend, even after she and Vicky took Shadow Stalker down for good."

"We're grateful," he said hastily. "Don't think we're not. I mean, Stalker needed to go down in the worst way. But … even Lisa has no idea what they're thinking at any given time. They're an unknown quantity. Security's clearly got plans over and above helping you out with your bullying problems. The stakes are getting bigger all the time, and I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that."

Taylor shook her head. "And how do you think Amy feels? She's the one person who's stuck on the roller-coaster with no way off. He can only act through her, and I'm pretty sure he's determined to save the world, no matter what it takes."

He held up his hands defensively. "Which is a good thing, don't get me wrong. The world being saved is a good thing. As the saying goes, it's where I keep my stuff. I'm just not so thrilled with the idea that I might end up being a casualty in the process, because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I've got responsibilities. Outside the team, even."

"Are we even a team, anymore?" Taylor looked at him steadily. "We're not really a villain gang. Not since Coil …" She trailed off, reliving the moment of shock in her own mind when she realised she'd actually pulled the trigger and murdered a helpless man. At her side, her fingers worked back and forth as though trying to drop the pistol she wasn't holding.

"Not since Coil, no," he agreed. "And definitely not since we got Alexandria's attention. But we can still be a team, can't we? Capes need to stick together."

"Yeah, that's true." She took a deep breath, then released it again. "Look, I'm going to go meet with Amy and her friend. When I get back, we're going to need to have a talk with everyone about where the Undersiders are going, or even if the Undersiders have a future at all."

He chuckled uneasily. "The scariest phrase in the English language. 'We need to talk'."

"No, that's 'if you don't know what's wrong, I'm not going to tell you'." She grinned at him, then started down the staircase. "Don't wait up for me. I might just go home after this. See how Dad's doing."

"Okay, understood."

As she clattered down the spiral stairs, her bugs watched him go back into the loft. Lisa would ask what they'd talked about, she knew, and Brian would fill her in. It didn't bother Taylor; she knew no more than what she'd told him. And they really did need to talk about the future of the team.

When she reached the bottom, she went to the metal door and let herself out, then locked it behind her. The ferry terminal was about twenty minutes away by foot; a nice bit of exercise to stretch her legs and get her blood pumping. The few people around, she tagged with bugs, just in case.

Humming a tune she'd heard on the radio, she set out toward the ferry terminal.

<><>​

Panacea

Amy knew Taylor was nearby long before the girl came into sight. A fly landing on her hand wasn't an uncommon experience, but its brain activity told her that it was under Skitter's control. This was absolutely Taylor sending her a message: I'm on the way. She briefly 'twanged' its nervous system by way of reply. Seated beside her and gazing out at the ocean, Riley showed no sign of even noticing the insect, let alone registering it as significant.

You're getting better at that, Michael observed. Have you thought about making any more bugs for her to play with?

Actually, that's not a bad idea at all. Amy had intended to do just that, but with all the upheavals currently going on with her life, the concept had been pushed to the back burner more than once. Now, however, she had the time to remedy the omission. What do you think I should make?

Your choice. She got an impression of him shrugging. The cutter bugs worked well. Maybe bugs with better hearing or eyesight, or the relay bugs? To be absolutely honest, any kind of bio-manipulation you do that isn't straight-up healing people is a good use of your powers right now. Shards need data, and they'll push hard to get it. It's better to do stuff willingly rather than be forced or tricked into it.

A chill ran down her back at the reminder. Ensuring that she didn't accidentally turn her sister into a horrorshow wasn't a one-and-done. She had to keep working at it, maintain her progress. And, somewhere along the way, help Michael save the world.

Of course, where Riley fit into those plans, she had no idea.

<><>​

Skitter

When the ferry terminal came within range of her outer screen of bugs, Taylor quickly determined that there were exactly two people sitting on the deck overlooking the water. One was indeed Amy, while the other was younger; or at least, more petite. With the length of hair, Taylor suspected a girl, but even that wasn't a given.

She landed a fly on Amy's hand to alert her, and felt the answering pulse as the biokinetic briefly adjusted the insect's brain chemistry. Amy's companion didn't react at all as a few bugs landed on her, which meant that Amy probably hadn't warned her that Taylor was in the vicinity. That was fine; Taylor didn't have any nefarious intent, and she trusted Amy not to be pulling something on her as well.

A few more minutes of walking got her within sight of the terminal. She was definitely a lot fitter than she'd been when she first got powers; even striding out as she was, there was no particular feeling of being out of breath. There was nobody waiting outside (not that they would've been able to hide from her bugs) so she ignored the sign that promised the return of the ferry any day now and climbed the steps to get onto the outdoor deck.

Amy was seated there in the shade, alongside a girl who looked maybe Dinah's age. Interestingly enough, while this girl bore little resemblance to Dinah aside from the age and skin colour, she shared a certain gauntness around the cheekbones and a look in the eyes that said she'd Seen. Some. Shit.

"Hi," Taylor said, trying not to show the curiosity she felt. Amy undoubtedly had her reasons for bringing a kid to meet her; from her experience so far, Amy (and Security) knew exactly what they were doing. "How's things? Brian says hi, by the way."

He hadn't, but that was her way of thanking Amy for saving Brian from the gunshot wound. Amy's eyebrows hitched slightly, and Taylor figured she'd picked up the subtext.

"I'm okay," Amy replied, standing up a little stiffly. From experience in such matters, Taylor diagnosed bruising rather than actual injury. "Taylor, I'd like you to meet Riley. Riley, this is my friend Taylor." There was an undercurrent to her words that told Taylor she wasn't saying everything, but it didn't feel malicious or gleeful; rather, Amy was a little anxious about what she was doing.

"Hi, Riley." Taylor offered her hand to shake.

The twelve-year-old grasped it and shook hesitantly, as though she wasn't used to meeting people. "Hello, Taylor." Her voice was soft. "It's good to meet a friend of Amy's."

Something was definitely off here. Again, Taylor instinctively checked the area with her bugs. There were no armed people—or even capes—lurking in hidden corners, readying to pounce. All the insectoid senses she could muster indicated that what she could see and hear was actually there.

So why had Amy asked her to come out just to meet some random kid? There was something deeper going on here.

"Okay," she said, and took a seat. "I'll bite. What's going on?"

Amy frowned. "This ... is going to take a little bit of explanation."

"Don't bother trying to sugarcoat it," Riley told her with a grimace. "We both know it won't make any difference."

"Well, it's better than just coming out and saying it!"

"Sugarcoat what? What won't make any difference?" Taylor stared at the younger girl, trying to discern her mysteries. "Who are you?"

Riley took a deep breath. "My name is Riley Davis, but for the last six years I've been known as Bonesaw."

Taylor froze, eyes measuring the distance between them. The swarms she'd had combing the area began to merge and pull back in from all directions; even a bunch of crabs under the waterline surged up toward the surface, ready to climb up to the deck level. "Explain." Her voice sounded harsh even to her own ears.

"It was Michael's idea," Amy said steadily. "When he was explaining to Alexandria how to take the Nine out of the picture, he specified that Bonesaw—Riley—should be captured and not killed. Since then, I've removed all of her built-in tech—and let me tell you, there was a crap-ton of it—and put her through a little corrective therapy." She put her hand on Riley's shoulder. "You're looking at what she would've been like if she never met Jack Slash. More or less."

Riley shook her head. "Not really. Even though I don't believe in the stuff he crammed into my head anymore, he's still had an effect on my life. I've lost my real family and the shitty family that was the Nine. Six years of my life have been replaced with a non-stop horror movie where I was the bad guy, while convincing myself every day that I was being a good girl." She shuddered as she spoke the last two words.

Taylor studied the girl. Her hair was the same as Bonesaw's—blonde, with ringlets—which should've been a warning flag right off the mark; that particular colour and style combination had fallen all the way out of vogue for girls of her age. Nobody wanted to be mistaken for a member of the Slaughterhouse Nine, even briefly. There was too much risk of someone deciding to take no chances and pulling a gun.

Likewise, her facial features were the same as the pictures Taylor had seen of Bonesaw, less the slightly manic grin. Instead of the Alice dress and bloodstained apron, she wore sneakers, jeans and a T-shirt with a picture of Alexandria on it, while Amy's featured Armsmaster.

"... okay," Taylor conceded at last. "You haven't steered me wrong yet, so I'll trust you when you say that she's not Bonesaw anymore. Congratulations: you've rehabilitated a member of the Nine. The question is … why? And equally important, why bring her out here to introduce to me?"

"I don't want to sound ungrateful," Riley said, glancing quickly at Amy, "I mean, Taylor seems like a nice person, but she's got a point. Why are you introducing me to her? What's the end result you're looking for?"

"I want to introduce you to Taylor's friends as well," Amy said carefully. "She was just the one who was least likely to react badly."

The dots connected inside Taylor's head so abruptly she was surprised there wasn't an audible crack. "Wait … you want to introduce her to those friends of mine? The ones I've just come from?" What the hell? Does she honestly want to place Bonesaw with the Undersiders?

"Yeah, those ones," Amy said. "It's Michael's idea, and I don't know all the details of the plan, but that's a major part of it. I've been through her body systems and taken out everything that didn't belong, so she should be safe enough to be around."

"Yeah, you said." Taylor frowned, studying Riley dubiously. "You also said you did corrective therapy. I thought you weren't able to, uh …"

"Work with brains?" Amy completed. "No, that's something I can absolutely do. It's just that I usually choose not to, and I don't tell anyone about it if I can avoid it. Three guesses as to why, and the first two don't count."

"So why are you telling me now?" asked Taylor. She could absolutely make a guess why Amy was keeping quiet. Modify brains with a touch? Yeah, I'd keep my lip zipped about that, too. "I mean, we've backed each other up more than once and I suppose it's a nice gesture, but you didn't have to."

"Yeah, I did." Amy hooked her thumb at Riley. "She knew I could, because Jack Slash gave her the heads-up on that little aspect of my powers. And she just might have told you guys at some point or another, just to mess with me."

Taylor turned to look at Riley, who rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I might have too, if I'd thought of it." Her voice turned flat and robotic. "Curses, my master plan has been foiled."

Shaking her head, Taylor let a chuckle escape. "Exactly how much work did you do on her?"

"Surprisingly little, actually." Amy held up her hand and waggled it from side to side. "There was a lot of repressed personality buried under the surface, that came up once I got the overlay of Jack Slash's influence out of the way."

"Wait a minute." Riley stared at Taylor. "Wait just one heckin' minute. Introducing me to your bestie still makes exactly zero sense ... unless ..."

Even if she hadn't known who Riley was—or had been—Taylor still wouldn't have liked the way the girl was staring at her. There was altogether too much knowing in that gaze.

"'Hecking'? Really?" Amy shook her head. "Where'd you get that from?"

Riley stuck her tongue out at the biokinetic. "Six years of needing to be a good girl, desperately wanting to swear, and having no idea how. Bite me." She turned to look at Taylor. "You're a cape. Nothing else makes sense."

Taylor knew there was nobody within two blocks in any given direction, but she still didn't like the way Riley had just pulled that fact out of mid-air. Just like Lisa would've, except without Lisa's power to explain matters. She folded her arms and tried not to sound defensive. "Not saying I am, and not saying I'm not, but is that something you're likely to be yelling from the rooftops?"

"Give me some credit," Riley snarked. "I'm twelve, but I'm not a total idiot. Besides, I'm curious. You're Amy's friend, which makes you a hero or a rogue, but I don't remember any capes with your body type making it in the hero scene recently in Brockton Bay."

"Why would the Nine have even been interested in Brockton Bay?" Amy asked. "We don't exactly stand out."

Riley grimaced. "Jack Slash loved to screw with people's heads. And if he ever got chased out of an area, he would make a point of coming back a couple of years later and messing everyone up who had a hand in things the first time around. He was actually talking about coming back here sometime, when he got the chance."

"When did the Nine ever come through Brockton Bay?" asked Taylor, frowning. "I'm pretty sure I'd remember if something like that happened."

"Oh, it happened more than ten years ago," Riley explained with a flip of her hand. "Before I was born, I think. Maybe before you were born. It was a totally different Nine then, but people talk. The stories I heard was that Marquis got tired of them causing problems and called them out. Told Jack to get out of town … and he did."

Amy rubbed her forehead. "I think I remember something like that, too … oh, wait. Michael says that actually happened. Jack Slash tried to get Marquis to break his code against hurting women or children and failed. That's when Marquis told him to leave town." She paused. "Which was pretty impressive, given that he was a low-level Master when it came to capes."

Taylor frowned. "He was?"

"That's what Amy says," Riley assured her. "I mean, part of me still wants to not accept it, but when I look at how I was, and how I am since you got rid of his influence … the rest of me can't believe that nobody else has figured it out."

"Well, it was very subtle," Amy agreed. "Hard to detect, and scary powerful. Michael tells me that his power would not only tell the other members of the Nine to act as meat-shields for him—and they'd do it—but if the attacker had a clear run, it would literally influence them into choosing not to attack."

"And Marquis still told him where to get off?" Taylor was impressed despite herself. "That would've pissed him off."

Riley nodded. "One of the things he hated the most was being told no. Whole towns died when that happened."

"And yet, he waited until ten years after Marquis was Birdcaged before he even thought about coming back," Amy said with a smirk. "Seems Marquis made a real impression on him."

"Alexandria made a bigger impression, though." Riley gave Amy a nod. "Thanks to you and your friend. And I mean that. Thank you both. I know I've done a lot of bad stuff, and I was just going to get worse as I went along." She turned back to Taylor. "And I think I've figured it out."

Taylor blinked, not sure where this shift in topic was going. "Figured … what out, exactly?"

"Who you are, duh." Riley rolled her eyes. "You're definitely a cape and probably a hero, but I've already met the one non-blonde in New Wave, so you're not Panacea. So I'm thinking Wards. You're too old to be Vista, so that leaves …" She made a dramatic flourish, finishing with finger-guns pointed at Taylor. "Shadow Stalker, am I right?"

Taylor's brain skidded to a halt so hard, smoke should've been leaking out her ears. "Wh-what?" she demanded. "What the fuck? Did you just—"

"Bahahahaahaaaaaa!" cackled Amy, rolling sideways and nearly falling off the bench. She tried to say something, pointing at Taylor, but another gust of laughter came out instead. Her face turning red, she pounded on the faux stone with her fist.

Riley nodded with satisfaction. "Okay, with a reaction like that, I've got to be right, but why's she acting like I just said the funniest thing in the world?"

"Because it's not …" Taylor stumbled over her words, trying to figure out how to tell Riley just how wrong she was without screaming at the top of her lungs. "Riley. You need to listen to me. I am not Shadow Stalker. I could never be Shadow Stalker."

"Right, got it." Riley leaned close and lowered her voice. "Your secret is safe with me."

Amy rolled a little farther and hit the floor, but even the short fall to the deck didn't mute her hilarity.

"No." Taylor took a deep breath and pushed her emotions off into the swarm. "Riley. Listen to my words. I am not Shadow Stalker, because right now Shadow Stalker is handcuffed to a hospital bed with a concussion, a broken jaw and twelve missing teeth. This is because she punched Amy in the face and broke her nose. I could never be Shadow Stalker. I'd rather be Jack Slash."

"Uh, quick reminder," Amy said, in between repeated chuckles. "Jack Slash is dead."

Taylor nodded. "Still rather be him and dead, than wake up every day and be Sophia Hess."

Riley blinked. "Okay, let's back up a bit here. Amy broke Shadow Stalker's jaw and knocked out twelve teeth? Or was that you? And why'd she punch Amy in the face, anyway? I thought she was supposed to be a hero."

Letting out a long, aggravated sigh, Taylor shook her head. "Shadow Stalker was never a hero. At best, she was a villain who went after the bad guys. In her civilian life, she went after me. Did her best to grind me into the dirt." She gave Riley a bright artificial smile. "That bitch personally caused my trigger event. And now she's going to juvey, where she belongs."

"Ah." Riley stared at Taylor, then at Amy, who was starting to recover from her fit of laughter. "Gotcha. I think. So … if neither of you punched her lights out, then who did? And if you're not Shadow Stalker, who are you?"

Taylor got up and helped Amy to her feet. "That's a story we can tell you while we walk. I'm convinced Amy's managed to rehabilitate you pretty well. So now you get to meet the rest of my friends."

"Sure," said Riley. "But who are your friends?"

Taylor grinned. "We call ourselves the Undersiders, and we used to be villains."

Riley spread her hands. "What do you mean, used to be villains? And who punched Shadow Stalker? I'm kind of missing a lot of context here."

"Okay, then," Amy said, starting down the steps. "It all started when the Undersiders were robbing a bank while I was in it …"

<><>​

Grue

Angelica lifted her head and barked, and Lisa looked around. "We've got company," she said.

"What, really?" snarked Alec. "What gave it away? Taylor's back, right? And she's brought Panacea."

Brian chuckled. "You're still pissed that Security can no-sell your power?"

"No, I'm over that." Alec glanced at the screen and headshot another opponent. "I'm pissed about the rest of it. We're not even a real villain gang anymore. We're a bunch of people who sit around in a crappy hideout and play nice because fucking Alexandria knows who we are and probably where we live, and if we put a foot out of line, she'll come down on us like … well, like Alexandria."

"It's not just Panacea," said Lisa. "There's someone else, too."

"Great," groused Brian, looking at the untidy stack of pizza boxes and soda cans in the corner. "Taylor couldn't have given us a heads-up so we could've done some cleaning before she went out?"

"Who gives a shit about that?" asked Rachel. "I just want to know why the fuck they're bringing a stranger straight to where we live. I get that Panacea doesn't understand the concept, but what part of 'secret hideout' doesn't Taylor get?"

The metal door downstairs closed, and Taylor's voice floated up to them. "Okay, up here now. Watch your step."

A voice that Brian had never heard before—a girl, a bit younger than Lisa—spoke up then. "Spiral staircase? Cute. I like it." Footsteps sounded on the metal risers.

The first to appear through the doorway was Taylor. She looked around at everyone staring back—glaring in the case of Rachel—and stepped inside. "Hey, everyone. I brought Amy, plus another visitor, so nobody freak out."

"Why not?" Rachel's challenge was blunt. "What the fuck gives you the right to bring just anyone to our base? Into our personal space?"

"She's got a point, dork," drawled Alec, putting down the controller. "I mean, it's bad enough with Panacea dropping over like she's got a right to be here, but at least she's kind of badass if you squint just right. But who the fuck is this?"

"Taylor?" Brian tried to hit a diplomatic tone. "What's going on here?"

"It's why Amy called me up," Taylor said, her tone more challenging than defensive. "She wanted to introduce someone to us, so she started with me. I trust her when she says everything's on the level. When's she ever screwed us around before?"

Nobody else answered, so Brian took up the ball again. "It's not Amy we have a problem with." Alec snorted, and Brian shot a warning glance that way. "But every new person who comes in here is a whole new risk. What if they suddenly decide that they're not okay with us being villains, and they turn us in?"

"Well, it's not going to do much right now," Lisa reminded him. "Alexandria owes us a solid. So long as we keep our noses clean—"

"—and Armsmaster never figures out who popped Coil—" added Alec, giving Taylor a significant look.

"—which he won't, because nobody here's going to tell him," Lisa countered, making the two-fingered I'm watching you gesture toward Alec. "Anyway, given all that, nobody's going to be coming after us. And hey, whoever this new person is sounds interesting if both Taylor and Amy are willing to vouch for her."

"Well, she's not exactly a stranger to villain gangs," Amy said as she stepped in through the doorway. "But she's willing to not hold that against you if you're okay with it too. Come on in and meet the guys. Guys, this is Riley. Riley, meet Alec, Brian, Lisa and Rachel."

The newcomer followed Amy into the room. As Brian had already guessed, she was two or three years younger than Taylor, and not quite as self-assured as she wanted to appear. He frowned at Amy's words, wondering which villain gang she'd been a part of before. There weren't many in Brockton Bay with tweenage girls in their ranks. In fact, the only one he could think of was …

"Holy shit, you got hold of Rune?" Alec's tone was frankly disbelieving. "What the hell are you trying to pull, here? Kaiser's going to—"

"—not do a damn thing, because this isn't Rune," Amy retorted. "The Empire's going to be winding back their operations anyway, especially after Hookwolf goes to the Birdcage."

"Wait, what?" Startled, Lisa turned back to her laptop and started typing frantically. "When did he get captured? What did I miss?"

"Less than you think," Amy assured her. "Vicky and me, we went and had a chat with Kaiser, and convinced him that it was in his best interests to cut Hookwolf loose." She buffed her nails on her Armsmaster T-shirt and studied them theatrically. "It definitely helps to know which strings to pull."

Rachel sat forward, her gaze intent. "It's true? He's going to the Birdcage? For real?"

Amy nodded. "If he doesn't, Kaiser's in for a very bad time. The man knows which side his bread is buttered. Now, I can't guarantee this will put an end to the dog fights—in fact, it probably won't—but Hookwolf won't be there to guard them."

"Okay, yeah, I get that." Rachel nodded. "And this is a Security thing?"

"He supplied the appropriate information, yes." Amy smiled beatifically. "It's amazing how easy it is to get people to do what you want if what you know about them is damaging enough."

"That is kind of how blackmail and extortion work, yes," Brian agreed dryly.

Amy smirked. "He tried to use those words, too. I asked him if he was okay with me just telling everyone what I knew. It turns out that he wasn't."

Rachel let out a bark of laughter. "I wish I could see the look on that fucker Hookwolf's face when he finds out his own boss gave him up."

"Okay, good, the great Kaiser has been humbled, Hookwolf is on the way to the 'Cage, justice and light have prevailed," Alec interrupted in an annoying sing-song tone, then pointed at Riley. "So if she isn't Rune, who the hell is she?"

Taylor took a deep breath. "I was totally surprised when I found out, but like I said, don't freak out. Guys, Riley is—"

"Bonesaw," Lisa said flatly. "She's Bonesaw, isn't she?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Goddamn it. I knew we should've cut the big reveal short. Yes, Riley used to be Bonesaw. She's not anymore, not since I rehabilitated her this morning."

At the word 'Bonesaw', Brian had come to his feet. He studied the blonde girl, measuring her pose and her apparent level of readiness. Alec had actually scrambled up onto the sofa and was pressing back against the wall, and Rachel was standing up, her dogs already beginning to grow.

"Please define what you mean by 'rehabilitated'," Brian said carefully.

Amy took a deep breath. "Just what I said. She's not Bonesaw anymore."

"Amy's telling the truth," Taylor added helpfully. "Security says Jack Slash was a low-level Master, and I believe him. Amy apparently stripped away his cumulative influence over her. I've been talking to Riley for maybe half an hour now, and she seems totally normal to me."

"That's what they all say, just before someone decides to decorate the Christmas tree with their guts," Alec objected. "How can you know?"

"I know," Amy told him. "When I touch her, I can see everything that's in her brain. If she was a sociopath, I'd be fully aware of it. But she's closer to baseline than you are."

"Not a high bar," murmured Brian.

"Fuck off." Alec gave him the finger, then stepped down off the sofa. Leaning down, he picked up his sceptre, which had fallen over in all the fuss. "Lisa, are we safe from her or not?"

Lisa put the laptop aside and stood up, then walked over to Riley. "Hm." The sound was almost contemplative as she looked the girl over. "Answer me one question. Are you planning to cut us up and use us in bizarre medical experiments?"

"For fuck's sake," Alec complained. "I said 'tell me if we're safe', not 'give her ideas'."

"I'm not planning to hurt you at all," Riley said. "That's not me. That was Jack Slash's plan for me, but he's dead so I don't have to do what he wants anymore."

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Lisa nodded. "It's true," she said. "She hates the idea of cutting someone up to hurt them." She looked around at where Rachel's dogs were waist-high and still growing. "We're not going to need those."

Rachel shook her head stubbornly. "I'll be the judge of that."

"Rachel." Brian turned to her and made a cutting motion with his hand. "Lisa says Riley's not a danger to us."

"And what if Lisa's wrong?" protested Alec. "She got it wrong in the bank. We remember all the times she got it right, but how many times has she been wrong and we just never knew about it? What if Bonesaw's so fucked up that even she doesn't know how psychotic she is, until she wakes up in the middle of the night with the urge to snack on our livers or something?"

"Whoa, hey, now," Riley said. "When I was Bonesaw, yeah, I did some really screwed-up stuff. I hurt people and killed them in ways that make me want to puke now. But I never ate people. That was all the Siberian and Crawler." She shook her head. "I know now that Sibby was a projection, which makes me wonder why the heck did she even eat people? It's not like she could get hungry."

"A … projection?" Brian knew he was going to regret asking the question, but he couldn't not ask. "Who was the projector? Was it one of the other members?"

Oddly enough, Riley glanced at Amy, who gave her a go-ahead nod. "Ever hear of William Manton? Yeah, that Manton. I'm told Siberian looked like what you'd get if you did a mashup of his wife and daughter, and painted her white with tiger stripes. And considering that she never wore clothes, and I sometimes cuddled up to her so I could sleep at night, that's extra creepy all the way around."

Alec stared at her. "Fuck you. Why did you have to say that? I did not want to feel sorry for you."

"Never asked you to," Riley retorted. "Shit happened. I bet it happened to you, too. I've seen that look in the mirror. Well, guess what? It's not a contest. I don't get to win because I got turned into a serial killer by Jack Slash and getting a hug from the Siberian was the highlight of my day. Even if whatever happened to you is even more screwed up than that, you don't get to win either. Life's a rigged contest from the start, and we all lose."

"Okay, okay," Brian said, patting the air. "Can we just … back off, or something? Nobody got here because of good things happening in their life."

Taylor raised her eyebrows. "Well, true, but you can't say that life hasn't been getting at least a bit better. The Slaughterhouse Nine, as a group, are done. Lung's Birdcage bound. So's Hookwolf. Shadow Stalker's going to juvey. The PRT and Protectorate aren't going to be kicking in our door any time soon."

"… no more Endbringer attacks," Amy added. "At least, if Michael's preparations work out like he says they should." She paused, looking around at the people staring at her. "… what? Didn't I fill you guys in on that?"

"No," Brian said carefully. "No, you did not. Are you serious? Can he … do that? I thought he could only act through you."

Lisa regarded Amy; her freckles stood out starkly in contrast as her face paled. When she spoke, it was in a bare whisper. "Jesus Christ, you're serious, aren't you?"

"If his preparations work, then yes," Amy confirmed. "We'll know on May the fifteenth."

"Exactly what will we know?" asked Taylor. "That it worked, or it didn't work?"

"Well, either one, to be frank," Amy conceded. "I mean, there's the chance that someone will be a fucking moron and Leviathan will attack anyway, but even if he does, it shouldn't be here. Because it would've been here."

"… who's likely to be a fucking moron?" Brian didn't want to ask the question at all, but he figured someone had to. "And why wouldn't he attack here, if he was going to in the first place?"

"You don't need to know the name, but as for the rest of it … conflict." Amy spoke the word with authority. "Between the two gangs working on ripping the city apart between themselves, Noelle in Coil's basement, the PRT working itself ragged and making errors of judgement because they weren't being given adequate support from Washington, and a few other things I'm not going to mention …" She paused and looked around. "An attack on the Bay would've lit the fuse on an absolute fuck-ton of conflict. But most of that isn't going to happen now. So if he attacks, it'll be someplace where all that damage will cause maximum conflict. Possibly Miami."

"And you've been working to defuse all those trouble spots, haven't you?" Lisa fronted up to Amy. "You knew what they were, so everything you've been doing has been aimed at pulling those plugs, right?"

"Well, yes." Amy's smile could've been carved from granite. "That, and saving the world in general. Which is why I asked for your advice on getting Riley on side. There's stuff I can do that she can't, and stuff she can do that I can't. But I'm thinking that between us …"

Riley turned her head to stare at Amy. "You actually want to team up with me?" Her voice quavered, then broke a little. "I thought … I thought …"

"That I was watching over you, ready to punish you if you ever tried to use your powers again?" Amy shook her head. "Yeah, that's not it at all. Your power is amazing, and Michael tells me you can pull off power synergies that I can't even begin to understand. But I wanted you to be comfortable enough to not have any self-doubts when the time actually came." She glanced at Lisa as she said this.

"And that's where I come in," Lisa said, in tones of realisation. "Where we come in. You want us to what, help socialise her?"

Amy nodded. "Well, yes. I've laid the basic foundations, but there's only so much I can do. Riley's as good a person as I can make her in the time I had available, but I want her invested in saving the world."

"You do realise what you're asking, don't you?" asked Brian. Ever since Amy entered with Riley, he'd been feeling as though he was out of his depth, and now he knew why. When Amy looked his way, he glanced at Alec and Rachel. "Not all of us are likely to be really on board with this. Just saying."

Apparently taking her cue from this, Rachel glowered at Riley. "Keep away from my dogs, and I won't have to hurt you."

"I'm not going to hurt your dogs," Riley said. "I like dogs. When I was—before I was Bonesaw, I had a little fluffy dog called Muffles. He loved to play in the snow." Her voice caught in her throat. "Jack Slash killed him, just to prove a point."

"Hey, can I just say something here?" asked Alec. "Did we get advised this was going to happen? Did we get asked if we wanted to help rehabilitate a pint-sized serial killer? Did I, personally, get any input into any of this at all? Pretty sure the answer's 'no' on all counts."

Amy raised her eyebrows as she stared him down. "You're correct. I didn't ask you, because I know you. You'd say no on general principles, just to be a dick."

Brian chuckled. "Well, she's got you there."

Riley moved toward where Alec stood at the sofa. He raised the taser defensively, but she didn't move into his personal space. "I'm sorry you got blindsided with this. It wasn't my idea. In fact, I've got no idea where this is going at all, just that Amy and Michael want me to be a good person."

"Hmm." Alec's lips twisted. "Well, the best way I know whether to find out if someone's worth knowing is to play a couple of rounds of FPS with them. You up for that?"

Ignoring Amy's quiet hmph of amusement, Riley nodded tentatively. "I've never played. It kind of never came up, you know? But … sure. I'm willing to try."

"Awesome." Alec handed her a controller, then gave Amy a challenging stare. "This doesn't mean I'm okay with her being here, just saying."

"Totally." Amy folded her arms and leaned against the wall; as far as Brian could tell, she was trying to hide a grin.

As Alec made room for Riley to sit down, keeping a healthy distance between them, Brian couldn't help wondering how his life had become so strange.

<><>​

PRT Building ENE
Director's Office

"Should've seen it. Pigs flying everywhere—"

Emily Piggot held up her hand to halt Assault's verbal report about an ecoterrorist bomb attack on a piggery. "Is it just me," she said carefully, "or did you just feel a chill down your spine, too?"

Assault paused, then shook his head. "Nah, I only get that when I know Battery's looking for me."

"Indeed." She shook her head to dispel the last of the feeling. "Carry on."



End of Part Twenty-Nine

[A/N: This fic should be wrapping up in the next 1-3 chapters.]