One Bad Day (Worm AU fic) [COMPLETE]

[Ack]

"All it takes is one bad day to reduce the sanest man alive to lunacy. That's how far the world is from where I am. Just one bad day."
- Joker, The Killing Joke [written by Alan Moore, illustrated by Brian Bolland]

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, I will make stuff up. If canon then refutes me, 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.

A/N 1: This is an AU; as such, the character Hardcase has the powers of Browbeat.
A/N 2: This fic has depictions of a) suicide by hanging, b) someone being mindwiped into a drooling puddle, c) teenagers kissing, and d) a vaguely-worded inference to teenagers having sex. You have been warned.

Part One: Precursors (below)
Part Two: One Bad Day
Part Three: Opposite and Unequal Reaction
Part Four: Escalating Matters
Part Five: Tripling Down
Part Six: Preconceptions, Deceptions and Preparations
Part Seven: Birds and Rats and Bugs, Oh My!
Part Eight: Taking Out the Trash
Part Nine: Gotta Catch 'Em All
Part Ten: That Escalated Quickly
Part Eleven: Regathering
Part Twelve: Finalising the Collection
Part Thirteen: Make Your Own Luck
Part Fourteen: Penultimate
Part Fifteen: Day's End

 

[Ack]

One Bad Day

Part One: Precursors


PRT HQ, Washington DC
Thursday, December 2, 2010

Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown put the phone on speaker and leaned back. "What is it?"

"Ma'am, we have reports that the Simurgh is on the move."

She sat up so abruptly that, if not for her ability to fly, she would have sent the chair over. "Is it an attack?"

"Uncertain as yet, ma'am. She seems to be holding a steady altitude. But she's moving to a different location."

"Where is that location?"

"It seems to be somewhere over northern New England. Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire. Maybe even Connecticut, Massachusetts, Rhode Island or New York."

"That's a lot of area. With a lot of big cities."

"Yes, ma'am. We're working to get more details."

"Let me know the moment you've got something."

"Yes, ma'am."

<><>​

High above Brockton Bay, the Simurgh let a smile play over her lips. She could not see the present; only the future or the past was clear to her. But to a being with her capabilities, the future was endlessly malleable. Not that what she was about to do was any great challenge to her. The merest of nudges would sent events tumbling like dominoes in the direction that she desired.

She exerted her power; far below, subtle divergences were set in motion.

<><>​

Brockton Bay
Friday Night, December 3, 2010

Lisa looked up at the roof edge. "I think we lost her."

Grue coughed. "Good. How bad is it?"

"Let me get you into the light so I can have a look." With her assistance, he complied. Carefully, she unzipped his jacket and peeled his shirt away from the wounds; one in front, one in back. Under the yellow glare, his skin had the appearance of anthracite, and the blood looked purplish. But even in the poor light, she didn't like how much he was bleeding.

"It's not great," she muttered. "But if we keep pressure on it and get you to an emergency room -"

"No." He grunted with the pain. "Get me home, stitch me up. Emergency rooms have to call the cops for wounds like this, and I'll be helpless."

She tried again. "The boss. He's got to have doctors for this sort of thing. I'll call him."

"Yeah, good idea." She didn't like how faint his voice was getting. "Do it."

Making sure that he had his hands pressed firmly on the pad of cloth over each wound, she wiped the blood from her hands and pulled out her phone. There was no signal; she glanced at Grue, who gave her a nod, so she moved off down the alleyway. Finally, at the exit on to the street, she got some bars.

"Hello?"

"It's me. Shadow Stalker ambushed us. Grue's hurt. We need medical attention."

"Where?"

She gave him the address. "But tell them to hurry. I don't like the way he's bleeding."

"I'll do my best."

Ending the call, she hurried back toward where she'd left Grue. He's going to be okay. He's going to be okay.

He was still there, slumped up against the dumpster where she'd left him. But there was someone in the alley with him now; a cloaked figure that Lisa knew all too well. As Lisa watched, the figure extended an arm toward Grue.

"No!" Lisa scrabbled for her pistol, but the blood crusting on her fingers made her a second too slow. There was the sound of an impact; Brian jerked as the arrow struck him in the middle of the chest. Shadow Stalker turned, just as Lisa brought up the pistol. Lisa fired four shots, as fast as she could. She thought she may have scored with one of them, but Shadow Stalker simply went to her immaterial form, laughter trailing away as she did so.

The vigilante turned Ward leaped upward, almost flying as she jumped from side to side of the alley in her shadow form. She paused at the top, and Lisa saw her go solid once more. Two words drifted back down to her. "You're next." Another mocking laugh, and Shadow Stalker was gone.

Lisa ran to Grue's side. More blood was welling around the arrow in his chest. Kneeling beside him, she unfastened his helmet strap and lifted it off. His eyes were dimming, but he focused on her.

"Lisa …" he whispered.

There were tears in her eyes. She'd never been all that close to Brian, but he had been her team leader, and he'd never been an asshole to her. "Brian. I'm sorry. Shouldn't have left you."

"Not … your fault. Need you … do something … for me."

She gritted her teeth. "I'll take her down, once and for all. She won't get away with this."

His breathing was obviously painful, and he was fading fast. "Not … her. Sister. Aisha." He began to say something else, but got as far as "T-" before he lost the impetus. The breath stopped rasping in his throat.

Uselessly, Lisa checked for a pulse in his throat. There was none. Her power filled in what he had been about to say. Take care of her.

"I'll do that," she promised him. "I'll do that for you." Carefully, she closed his eyes, then kissed him gently on the forehead. Then she set about working the arrow from his chest. She knew that she was making it harder to prove that Shadow Stalker had murdered him, but she wasn't interested in police procedure and trials. I'll find her and shove this into her guts myself.

Getting up, she stumbled from the alleyway.

<><>​

Three blocks away, Sophia Hess muttered curses as she tightened the bandage on to the wound. The bitch had gotten her in the right shoulder. While the bullet had missed bone, it had punched a hole through the deltoid, making it almost impossible to use the arm for anything. Such as shooting a certain smartass bitch right between the eyes.

"You'll get yours," she muttered. But I won't be able to go out on patrol until this heals. Maybe I'll kick Hebert around a little more at school to make up for it. Under her mask, a cruel smile spread across her face. "Yeah, that sounds like fun."

But first, I have to make sure nobody pins this on me.

<><>​

Fifteen minutes later, she was back at the scene. Tattletale was nowhere around, which disappointed Sophia just a little. I'd like to pay her back for this hole in my shoulder.

But there were more important things to take care of. Such as the body with the arrow-holes in it. Cops see this, they'll know who did it. I can't go to juvey.

Rummaging one-handed through the dumpster, she came up with the perfect tool; a length of broomstick, broken off with a jagged point. Poising herself over the body, she slammed the pointed end down into the wound, driving it deep, twisting the wood so as to obliterate all traces of the previous arrow wound. Pulling it out, she repeated with the other one. Then she jammed it back into the first hole, leaving it standing like an obscene flagpole.

Okay, that's the evidence taken care of. Now to pin it on someone else.

It was a little awkward to tear open his shirt one-handed – left-handed at that – but she managed it. He had a magnificent set of abs, she noted. Pity he had to die. Taking another arrow, she dragged it across his flesh, moving outward from where the broomstick jutted upward from the wound that had killed him. The sharp metal parted his skin cleanly, leaving a straight line.

After this, nobody will believe they didn't do it.

<><>​

It was a little before midnight when Vicky spotted the dark-cloaked form leaning over the body. Swiftly, she dropped down into the alleyway. "Hey, what do you think you're doing?"

The cape turned, a little awkwardly. She – it was a teenage girl, maybe Vicky's age – had a bandage on her right shoulder, stained with blood. "Hey, hey, easy. I'm on your side. Shadow Stalker, of the Wards."

Vicky landed lightly on the garbage-strewn ground. "Sorry, didn't recognise you for a moment. What happened here?"

Shadow Stalker nodded to the body. "Saw a bunch of Empire guys attacking this one. I jumped in to help, but one of them shot me." Her left hand, the fingers of the glove blood-stained, reached up to touch her right shoulder. "By the time I got my head together, they'd done this to him and bolted. I was gonna call it in, just as soon as I finished bandaging myself."

"Shit." Vicky shook her head. "That's gotta suck. Is he -"

"No, that's what I was just checking." Shadow Stalker sounded upset; Vicky didn't blame her.

She grimaced as she looked down at him. He lay there next to a dumpster, arms splayed out, eyes closed. Save for the broomstick protruding upward from his chest, he could have been asleep.

Murder always affected her a little bit; someone who had been living, probably a good person, with friends and family. Ended. Finished. He looked like he had been a nice guy. Handsome, certainly.

Even without Shadow Stalker's testimony, it wouldn't have been hard to determine who had done the deed. They had as much as signed their work. Looking down at the swastika that had been carved across the young man's chest, Vicky made a private vow.

I'll find out which one of them did this to you, and make them pay.

<><>​

The Dallon Household
Saturday, December 4, 2010

I turn forty in a few days.

Mark Dallon sat on the sofa, oblivious to Vicky's chatter as she worked out a homework problem with Amy. The TV, unnoticed, played out its artificial dramas in front of him.

What have I really done with my life?

He looked around the living room, but he didn't see it as a record of his accomplishments. Instead, it appeared to him as a litany of failures. Fleur died because I didn't think far enough ahead about the possible dangers of unmasking. The New Wave movement failed because of that.

It should have been a great and glorious legacy. Capes unmasking across the nation, proving that they were human, that they were ready to take on the responsibility of their actions. Instead, because of his short-sightedness, Fleur was dead and Lightstar had quit.

Because of his failures.

And I'll be forty in a few days, and I'll have accomplished what?

The dark thoughts continued to circulate in his head, but he showed no outward sign of them.

Some days, it's barely worth the effort to get out of bed.

<><>​

The Undersiders' Base
Sunday, December 5, 2010

When Lisa saw the caller ID on her phone, she didn't want to answer it. But she saw no way out of it. "Hello?"

"Hello, Tattletale." It was, of course, Coil.

"What's going on?"

"I received your report that Shadow Stalker killed Grue. You have my condolences."

"Yeah, uh, thanks. I'll pass that on to the others."

"You are aware that she successfully disguised the killing as an Empire Eighty-Eight murder, yes?"

"What? No. No, that's not right. She should go down for this."

"Tattletale."

"What?" But she knew already.

"You will not target Shadow Stalker. You will not find out her secret identity. You will have nothing to do with her. Am I clear?"

She found herself getting angry. "But she murdered Grue!"

"And he could have died at the hands of Kaiser or Lung, had the circumstances been different. If you find out who she is, the chances are that you will take rash action that will probably endanger the smooth running of the Undersiders. Killing a Ward would bring all the forces of the Protectorate and PRT down on your heads. Publicly outing her would be almost as bad."

"But I -"

"Will do nothing. That's an order."

There was no arguing with him, she realised.

" … yes, sir."

<><>​

Winslow High
Monday, December 6, 2010

"Watch it, Hebert!"

Taylor didn't have a chance to get out of the way; she was slammed into the locker as Sophia body-checked her, hard. A padlock gouged into her hip painfully, then she turned with her back to the metal, bringing her hands up defensively.

Sophia sneered. "What are you gonna do, Hebert? Fight me? You?" She stood there, flanked by Emma and Madison, supremely confident. The only jarring note was the fact that her right arm was in a sling.

The words came out of Taylor's mouth before she could stop them. "I don't want to fight."

"Wimps never do." Sophia stepped up to her; before Taylor could react, Sophia rammed the heel of her left hand against the taller girl's breastbone, driving her back against the locker again. "And before you get any ideas, Hebert, I can beat your ass just as easily with one arm as with two." Her expression made it clear that she was looking forward to it.

Panicking, Taylor kicked out at Sophia; the black girl easily evaded the attack, then drove her own knee up into Taylor's stomach. Her world going red around the edges, Taylor doubled over, coughing and retching.

<><>​

Emma watched as Sophia grabbed Taylor by the hair. Sophia was just preparing to drive her knee up into Taylor's face when Emma put a hand on her arm. "Maybe you better not."

Sophia turned to look at her. "What? You getting to be a weak sister again, like the wimp here?"

"No." Emma shook her head. "But if you do that, she'll have actual real injuries she can show Blackwell."

Sophia curled her lip. "Clumsy bitch tripped and fell down the stairs."

Emma shook her head. "Dad says visible injuries are bad. They make it a lot harder to disprove a claim."

With a grimace, Sophia let Taylor go; the skinny girl sank to her knees, still unable to breathe properly. "It's your lucky day, bitch. See you in PE class."

As they moved away, Madison piped up. "So Sophia, what happened to your arm anyway?"

Sophia turned to glare at her. "Strained my shoulder. Got a problem with that?"

"No, no problem."

Wow, thought Emma. Sophia's being even more of a hardass than normal.

But so long as it wasn't aimed at her, she didn't have an issue with it.

<><>​

The Dallon Household
Wednesday, December 8, 2010

"Where's your father gotten to?"

Amy looked up from the magazine she was reading. "I'm sorry?"

Carol Dallon's lips tightened slightly. "I said, do you know where your father's gotten to? It's time for him to open his presents, and he's wandered off somewhere. Not to mention Victoria."

"I think she said something to Dean about showing him something in her room," Amy ventured. "But I'm not sure where Dad is. I can go find him if you want."

"Please do," Carol snapped; her tone made it clear that the 'please' was just a courtesy. "And tell Vicky and Dean to get down here as well. These presents aren't going to open themselves, you know."

"Okay." Amy got up, dropping the magazine on the chair. She wandered out of the living room and into the kitchen. Mark Dallon wasn't there. Carol's office was toward the back of the house, but the door was closed; she couldn't think of a reason that he'd be in there, so she turned her sights upward.

Climbing the stairs, she checked the bathroom door; it was open, and nobody was in there. Her parents' bedroom door was closed; she knocked gently, then opened it a crack. He wasn't in there, either. Where is he? She frowned. He wouldn't have gone out on patrol on his own. Oh well, I'll check downstairs again. But while I'm up here …

Distracted by the thought of where Mark might be, she didn't bother knocking on Vicky's bedroom door before she opened it. "Vicky, Dean, Mom says -"

That was as far as she got.

Vicky and Dean were entwined on the bed. Their eyes were closed; the looks on their faces showed what may have been agony, but she was fairly sure it was the opposite. Amy, like any curious teenager, had looked at porn more than once, but even if she hadn't, she would have recognised a sex act when she saw one. Right now, she was seeing more of Vicky than she had in quite some time, and far more of Dean than she ever wanted to see. Her eyes opened wide, burning the image into her brain forever more.

Both Vicky and Dean turned to look at her, their faces identical masks of horror.

Pulling the door closed with a bang, she fled down the corridor. Her face flamed red as she tried to expunge what she'd seen from her brain. Dean and Vicky. Oh, god. I can't handle this right now. Her illicit attraction toward Vicky had been bad enough when she'd thought that Vicky and Dean were just at the hand-holding stage. But now their relationship was obviously much more than that. The knowledge tore her heart in two. Vicky, Vicky, I love you more than he ever could. Can't you see that?

Downstairs she stumbled, past the kitchen, into the back of the house. Carol might have said something as she passed by, but Amy had neither the will nor the wit to answer her right now. I can't think. I need to be alone.

Pushing open the door to Carol's study, she lurched inside. It was cool and dark in here. That was good. She could gather herself, pretend to be a good daughter even while she was dying inside.

The creak alerted her; she finally looked up. In the dimness, she could see the dangling form.

She knew what it was, even as her hand went to the light switch. Frantically, she tried to stop her fingers from flipping the tiny plastic nub, but over it went. Light flared dramatically around Mark Dallon's head and shoulders.

He had used a belt. Tied it to the sturdy light fitting, then just … stepped off the desk.

All of that went through her mind in one searing moment. Looking up at him, silhouetted against the light, she could still see his suffused face, the protruding tongue. She didn't want to, but she reached out. One of his carpet slippers had fallen off. Her hand touched his bare foot.

He was still alive.

Not aware, not conscious. There was barely any brain activity at all. But there was life. He could live, but as a vegetable.

What sort of a life would that be?

I should save him, keep him alive.

Would he thank me for that?

Then the decision was taken from her hands as the last fleeting echo of life fled forever, leaving her with her hand on a corpse. With a thump, she backed up against the door, her shoulders hard against the wood. Then she began to scream.

<><>​

Brockton Bay
Thursday, December 9, 2010

Lisa eyed the teenage girl strutting down the street. Lime-green tights, near-microscopic top and shorts, a purple streak through her hair. That's Aisha, all right. She didn't need her power to figure out that the girl considered herself one tough cookie. This is not gonna be a fun conversation.

Crossing the street ahead of Aisha, she slowed her pace until the younger girl was almost alongside her. Aisha glanced at her once as she passed, then again as Lisa increased speed to stay level with her.

I'll have to get her attention fast, or she'll brush me off. "Aisha? I've got news about your brother."

That certainly got the girl's attention. "What? Who the fuck are you?"

Lisa took a deep breath. "My name's Lisa. I'm a friend of his."

"Well, you can go and tell him to get fucked. He was gonna take me to the Boardwalk on the weekend and he never showed." Aisha looked her up and down. "You his latest? He send you to grovel for him?"

"No, I'm not his girlfriend. I … I was his teammate."

Aisha tilted her head. "Teammate? What, in that martial arts thing he does?"

This is harder than I expected it to be. "Aisha, I've got some bad news for you. About Brian. Why he couldn't make it."

The younger girl stopped, putting her hands on her hips. "Can't wait to hear this one. He better be fuckin' dead, or next time I see him, I'm gonna kick his ass so fuckin' hard …"

Lisa grimaced. The pain and loss were still raw. "Aisha, he is dead. He was murdered on Friday night. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

Abruptly, she found herself sitting on the pavement, half-leaning against a shop-front. What the fuck just happened?

Aisha was just getting up as Lisa began to get her bearings back. The younger girl offered a hand; still a little dazed, Lisa accepted it. Aisha grunted, but managed to heave Lisa to her feet. "Okay then."

"Okay what?" Lisa was still having trouble tracking.

"Okay, now you're gonna tell me who, what, where and how. Brian mighta been an irritating douche, but he was my big brother, and nobody kills my big brother and gets away with it."

Lisa shook her head. "That's not a good idea."

She found herself slammed against the shop-front, with Aisha's fists tangled in the front of her top. Aisha's face, with tears trickling unheeded down her cheeks, was mere inches from hers. "Fuckin' tell me."

"All right. Let's go get something to eat, and I'll tell you."

<><>​

The outdoor cafe was a little upscale from what Aisha was used to eating at, but Lisa was buying so she didn't give a shit. She found a table that was far enough away that nobody else would be able to hear what they were saying, and plunked herself down while Lisa did the ordering.

She didn't think she'd want anything to eat, but the sugar-powdered doughnuts smelled so good that she took a bite from one; before she knew it, she'd polished off two and was reaching for a third. With an effort of will, she pushed it away and turned to Lisa. "Okay. Give. Spill. I wanna know everything. What he was doing, who killed him. Why he was killed."

"Even knowing about what happened is dangerous -" Lisa began.

Aisha wasn't having any of it. "Fuck that. Brian was my brother. You owe me this."

She had to give the blonde some credit for persistence. "The last thing he said to me was to take care of you. If I told you who did it, you'd go after them. And that's likely to get you killed."

"I said fuck that!" Aisha hit the table with her fist. Lisa barely managed to capture her teacup before it would have tipped. "I want fucking details."

Lisa took a deep breath. "Okay. To start with, did you know Brian had powers?"

Aisha blinked. "Fuck. No. He was holding out on me. What sort of powers?"

"Darkness generation. He could generate it, like a cloud. He could see through it, but nobody else could. He was working as a supervillain. Grue, of the Undersiders. Making money to keep you out of your mother's hands." Lisa eyed her. "You never guessed?"

"Fuck. This is all news to me." Aisha shook her head. "I just thought he was good at finding part-time work."

Lisa shrugged slightly. "Depends on what you'd call 'part-time work'."

"Yeah, point. So, how'd he die?"

"You sure you want to know?" Lisa's expression was concerned.

Aisha didn't bother answering; the look she sent across the table was good enough.

Lisa sighed. "Okay, fine. It was Shadow Stalker."

"What, the vigilante?"

"Yeah. Well, no, she's a Ward now." Lisa wouldn't look her in the eye. "She had it in for Brian. She's supposed to be using non-lethal arrows, but she shot him with a real one. It was just a wound, but a bad one. When I was calling for help, she circled back around and murdered him."

<><>​

"Fuck." Aisha smacked the table again; the cutlery rattled. "You know who she really is? Where she lives?"

Lisa shook her head. "No. And I've been told not to find out. My boss doesn't want us getting into a pissing match with the Protectorate."

"No, no, no, fuck that." Aisha was looking more pissed by the second. "We don't just let this fucking bitch murder my brother and walk away."

Lisa began to get worried. Aisha's not about to let this go. If she starts running around shooting her mouth off, she could get me in serious trouble. Worse, Shadow Stalker could find out and decide to target her. "Aisha, I -"

She blinked. What was I saying? She'd been in a fugue, thinking about Brian's death. Talking to myself. It's the first sign of madness.

Plucking a sugar-sprinkled doughnut off the plate, she took a bite, then washed it down with a sip of tea. What was I doing again? But try as she might, she couldn't remember. Oh well, it'll come to me.

Unnoticed, one of the remaining doughnuts disappeared.

<><>​

Brockton Bay Cemetery
Sunday, December 12, 2010

" … a faithful husband and a loving father, who was taken from his family all too soon …"

The priest droned on, but Amy tuned him out. She stood, dressed in black, alongside Vicky and Carol, in her own personal pool of misery and guilt. Carol's air of disapproval was stronger than normal, while Vicky was having trouble keeping her aura in check. Flashes of fear, almost subliminal, came and went, but Amy ignored those. She knew what Vicky was really thinking; it was plain in her eyes.

She thinks I could have saved him.

I really should have. He was the only member of this family who didn't have something I desperately wanted but could not have, or who wasn't making impossible demands of me.

Part of her tried to use logic to overcome her guilt. It was a losing battle. Even if I had saved him, brain death was setting in. He'd never have been more than a drooling hulk.

Unless I fixed his brain.

Brutal honesty cut in then. Could I have? I've never fixed a brain before. I don't know if I could bring someone back from that close to death, make their brain all better.

But I didn't even try. Closing her eyes, she let the hot, stinging tears slip from between the lids. I let him die while I agonised over the choice. Some superhero I am. Some daughter I am.

The guilt was almost more than she could bear.

<><>​

"Ames, I gotta talk to you."

Amy looked around; the small crowd was dispersing to their cars. Some of the capes were walking to the edge of the cemetery then flying off. Carol was being consoled by Lady Photon and Manpower, a little way away. Vicky was the only one near to her; even Dean, in costume as Gallant, was standing off to give them privacy.

I want to talk to you too. I want to tell you how much I love you. But she wouldn't. She couldn't. She knew that. Coward.

"Uh, what about?" she asked dully, but she knew already. Here it comes.

"Was Dad still alive when you found him?"

Oh, shit. It's worse than I thought. For a long, fatal moment, she hesitated.

"He was, wasn't he?" Vicky's voice was full of suspicion. "Did you let him die?"

Amy took a deep breath. "He was almost dead. He slipped away just as I touched him. But -"

"But you could've saved him." Vicky stared at her. "Why didn't you? Didn't you love him?"

Guilt, fed by Vicky's words, wracked her very soul. "I did. I did love him. But if he'd lived – if I'd even managed to save him – he would've been a drooling imbecile. His brain had been starved of oxygen for too long, and -"

"But you could've fixed that, too." There was certainty in her sister's tone.

"I don't know!" Amy hissed the last word. "I've never done that before! I might've failed! He might've come back wrong! There's so many things that can go really badly wrong when you're dealing with the brain!" Her voice didn't get any louder, but it was much more intense; out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dean's head come up. He can feel my emotions. He could probably feel them if he was in Boston.

"But you still could've tried." Vicky was implacable.

Amy wanted to scream, to pull her hair out. Vicky just didn't understand. "I don't do brains for a reason." Gritting her teeth, she told her first lie. "I – I don't really think I could have saved him. He was too far gone."

Vicky stared at her. "Then why didn't you do it earlier?"

Oh, god. Here it comes. But she had to play dumb, not give any indication how often her own mind had been over this territory. "Earlier?"

"You knew he had chronic depression. You could've fixed that, yeah?"

A matter of brain chemistry. Easily. "Vicky, I don't do brains for a reason. I've never done that sort of thing before. And I wasn't going to experiment on my Dad."

Vicky's voice was bitter. "So because of your precious principles, Dad's dead. Gone. Because you don't work with brains." She made it sound so petty.

Please don't go there. But Vicky already had. Amy took a deep breath. I don't want to say this, but you're hurting me too much. "You could have stopped it, too."

Jolted, Vicky stared at her. "What? What do you mean?"

Amy forced herself to meet her sister's eyes. "He listened to you. You could've made him take his meds. And when it happened … Dean was over. Why didn't he pick up on what Dad was about to do, through his emotions?" She knew the answer. They both did. Because you were distracting him with your body.

It wasn't often that she saw Vicky on the back foot. "I -" Involuntarily, her sister glanced around at Carol. "You haven't told Mom, have you?"

"No, I haven't. But I don't know that I shouldn't." She might ban you from seeing Dean. The thought gave her a guilty thrill.

Vicky's eyes widened. "No. Don't. Please don't. I'll do your homework for a month."

One kiss. That's all I ask. Just one kiss. But Amy knew that, given that opening, her demands would never cease. I want you so badly that I don't dare open that can of worms. "Save it. Just don't bug me any more, okay?"

Vicky's look of relief was almost comical. "Sure thing. Subject dropped, over and out. We good?"

Amy managed a wan smile and hugged Vicky. She felt her sister's arms going around her. The contact felt good; too good. Vicky must be letting her aura slip again. The urge to just reach up and kiss her sister was almost overpowering, but she repressed it. It would ruin everything.

"Yeah," she murmured. "We're good."

Liar.

<><>​

Brockton Bay
Monday, December 13, 2010

Taylor swung down off the bus and started on the two-block walk to her house. Oh god, I am so glad that it's only one week till Christmas vacation. She limped a little as she walked, courtesy of bruises acquired from impacts with a wide variety of things; lockers, walls, a door, the floor, desks and so forth. Sophia had been getting particularly vicious of late; however, getting anything done about it was proving to be nigh-impossible.

I just have to tough it out till Christmas. Then I can relax, if only for a few days. And maybe afterward Sophia will find someone else to torment. Deep down, she knew that this was merely wishful thinking, but she refused to let that thought surface. Instead, another one bobbed up.

Maybe I should tell Dad.

She wasn't quite sure what he could do for her. Emma was certain to lie to cover for Sophia and herself, and Mr Barnes had been Dad's friend for years and years. He might even believe Emma over me. This was one of the reasons she had been reluctant to tell him what was going on to this point. Another was the deep-down knowledge that when things got really bad after Mom had died, he had … folded. Given up. Failed her.

But this time might be different. This time, he might actually be able to stand up and help me.

She clung to that thought all the way home. Maybe he can help.

<><>​

Danny moved the papers around on the kitchen table, then wrote a figure in the corner of one. It was a depressingly small figure. Compressing his lips, he wrote down more figures, drew a line under them, and added them up. It was still a depressingly small figure, but a little less grim than before.

The front door clicked open, and Taylor entered. "Hi, Dad," she greeted him.

"Hi, Taylor." He didn't look up.

"Dad, I -" She paused. "What's the matter?"

He pushed his glasses back up his nose to their proper place, then looked at her. She looked serious, as always. "Taylor, come sit down for a moment."

Obediently, she came and pulled out a chair. "Dad, what's up? You're scaring me."

He took a deep breath. "Taylor, you need to know that the Dockworkers are going through some hard times."

Behind her glasses, her eyes widened. "Dad – have you been fired?"

Hastily, he shook his head. "No, thank God. They're always going to need a head of hiring. Even if there's nobody to hire. But there's less money coming in, so we've all had to accept pay cuts. So we're going to have to tighten our belts a little."

"Uh … what does that mean?"

He grimaced. "It means that we can't really afford to do anything special over Christmas, kiddo. And I might have to sell the car. I'm sorry. But with the price of gasoline being what it is …"

But she was already nodding. "Right, right, I got it. Bus only."

"Yeah." He smiled wearily. "Bus only." He paused. "Did you want something?"

"No, it's fine, Dad. Nothing, really."

Standing up, she turned and went out into the entrance hall; a moment later, he heard her climbing the stairs. He shifted his attention back to the papers, trying to squeeze more dollars out of the numbers there.

It was, he suspected, a futile exercise.

<><>​

The Undersiders' Base
Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Just like the last time, when Lisa saw the caller ID on her phone, she didn't want to answer it. He's assigning the team a new leader. But she saw no way out of it. "Hello?"

"Hello, Tattletale."

"It's a bad idea."

He showed no sign of surprise that she had divined the reason that he had called. "Explain."

"It's either too soon or too late. If you'd sent a new leader in immediately after Grue died, he could have helped us through the grieving process. Learned about how we work as a team. Or you could have waited a few more weeks, until we had gotten over the shock."

"The only person who's going through a grieving process is you. Regent and Bitch don't really care. They just need someone to tell them what to do."

"And why can't I be that person? They do what I tell them."

"That's the bad idea that you were referring to earlier. I know how ambitious you are. I simply can't trust you to be in charge of the Undersiders and not turn them to work against me."

"Boss -"

"My mind is made up. Your new leader will be arriving within the week."

"Can you give me anything to go on, so I can let the others know?"

"Just this. Consider his orders to be my orders. If I know you, you've gotten a taste for independence. But if I find that you've been insubordinate to him, I will be displeased. If anything untoward happens to him and I find that you're at fault … expect me to be very displeased."

Lisa swallowed. She wasn't quite sure what Coil being very displeased would result in, and she didn't want to find out the hard way. "Okay. Um. Sure. Can I at least get a name?"

"He goes by the name Hardcase. Don't bother looking on the PHO boards for a file; he doesn't have one yet."

He did know her all too well. "Uh, right. Hardcase."

"Just remember, his orders are my orders. And if anything happens to him …" He didn't need to finish the sentence.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"See that you do."

<><>​

Brockton Bay
Wednesday Night, December 15, 2010

Sophia flexed her shoulder experimentally. It was still a little sore, but it seemed to have healed all right. Nearly two weeks out of commission. Seriously, why couldn't Piggy have talked to Panacea or someone? I could've been out there kicking ass long ago.

Taking a running leap, she turned to shadow and let herself glide to the next building. Returning to solid form, she stuck the landing and ran across the rooftop to the other side. Another leap, another long glide. Oh, yeah. I still got it.

Her Wards phone rang. She ignored it. That'll be Kid Loser calling to bitch about how I ditched him to patrol solo. He can suck it.

Another sound caught her attention; this time it was a burglar alarm. A break-in? Just what I need for a nice warm-up.

<><>​

Aisha glanced back over her shoulder, then quickened her pace slightly. Behind her, the three Empire Eighty-Eight skinheads kept up, even closing the gap slightly. She did her best to make her movements appear panicky. Come on, take the bait …

And then, up ahead, three more turned the corner. She pretended not to see them, hurrying forward. The ones behind kept coming. This is gonna be close.

There. The liquor store shop-front she was looking for. It even had an alcove. She ducked in there, picking up the pry-bar she had left there several hours before.

"You really didn't think you could hide in here, did you?" The guy who seemed to be in charge of the skinheads had a couple of swastika tattoos and several missing teeth.

The original plan had been to act meek and scared, but Aisha had found that she just couldn't do that. So she went with being herself. "Fuck you, asshole," she spat, brandishing the pry-bar. "You can bite me."

"I'll do more than bite you, you little black whore," he grunted, moving forward. "You're gonna fuckin' pay toll. And then you're gonna pay for that little comment."

"You fuckin' wish." She relaxed her control over her power then. It never got old, the way they blinked and looked around, wondering what they were doing. As far as they were concerned, she didn't exist.

Turning, she used the pry-bar to smash the glass of the shopfront door. An alarm went off, the clangour loud in her ears. They were just beginning to react when she placed the bar in the leader's hand, folding his fingers around it. He looked down at the pry-bar, then at the smashed glass.

Sometimes they'd jump one way, sometimes they'd jump another. But these were criminals, used to breaking things and taking things. Certain actions were conditioned reflexes.

Not that Aisha was thinking quite that deeply. She just stepped out of the way and let him make his own mind up. He didn't take long.

"Come on," he shouted over the alarm. "We haven't got long!" Stepping forward, he wedged the pry-bar into the door-jamb and heaved. Metal shrieked and wood splintered; the door came open reluctantly.

Aisha strolled across to the other side of the street. Reaching into her jacket, she pulled out a water-bottle and took a drink. She'd been pulling variations on this stunt over the last five nights since she had stolen the motorcycle; lure thugs to a place where there was an alarm. Set off alarm. Wait.

She had done this over and over again, more times than she wanted to count, and all she got was confused goons, the occasional cop, and Armsmaster once. This was, according to everything she had heard, the area that Shadow Stalker usually worked. Why isn't she here?

With a sigh, she tucked the water-bottle back into her jacket pocket. The Empire assholes were starting to emerge from the store, laden with their ill-gotten gains. Looks like a bust.

Just as she was turning away, she heard the shout of alarm.

Shadow Stalker arrived like an avenging angel. She hit first one goon, then another, never stopping long enough to get hit back. Cans rolled across the pavement, while bottles shattered as they were dropped. The sharp odour of spilled liquor came to Aisha's nose. Shadow Stalker's crossbows were in hand; she shot one goon after another, dropping them to the ground.

Yes! Yes! Fucking yes! Aisha hurried across the street, then paused as she saw one of the thugs producing a pistol. Whoa, fuck. This forget-me crap, or whatever it was, worked like a charm on people, but bullets would still go straight through her, and not in a good way.

She dived for cover behind a telephone pole as several shots rang out. None of them came near her, for which she was profoundly grateful. However, the fighting was still going on, so Shadow Stalker hadn't been hit either, which was kind of sucky.

The vigilante kicked one man, then punched another in the throat. She used the second one for cover and nailed the gunman with another arrow; the skinhead folded like a cheap suit. Seeing her chance, Aisha climbed to her feet and scuttled over to the nearest prone thug. Come on, you've gotta have gun or a knife or something.

With a grunt, she rolled him over, and there it was. Clipped on to his belt, in a scuffed leather sheath, he had a knife with a swastika at the top of the handle. Aisha didn't care; she pulled it free, then headed for the fight.

There were only two skinheads left on their feet, and they were hampered by the fact that Shadow Stalker never stayed solid for more than a second at a time. She was only a teenage girl, Aisha could see that, so she couldn't put them down with a single hit. But she could hit and then evade, something that she was obviously very practised at doing. See if you can dodge someone you can't see coming, bitch.

Unfortunately, Aisha quickly found that interfering in a fight between two grown men and a cape who could go insubstantial was still very hazardous. Nobody knew she was there, but that didn't make it any easier for her. They weren't standing still to trade blows; they were moving, turning, throwing punches and kicks. Shadow Stalker's blows hit, while theirs didn't, but it didn't make Aisha's job any easier. Come on, you chickenshits. At least hold her in one place for two seconds.

But it was not to be. Shadow Stalker kicked one in the groin, then went insubstantial, rolled through her opponent as he folded, then came up with a crossbow aimed at the other. A sharp twang and he went down.

Okay, fine. I'll do it myself. Aisha stepped up to Shadow Stalker, who was walking around, peering at her opponents. One groaned and began to get up; the vigilante kicked him viciously in the face. Aisha couldn't fault her actions; the Empire Eighty-Eight was about on the bottom rung as far as she was concerned, too.

But the bitch had killed Brian, so she had to go down. Closing the distance, Aisha stabbed Shadow Stalker in the back. Or at least, she tried to; the knife hit the back of the vigilante's cloak, then stopped dead. As Shadow Stalker looked around curiously, Aisha swore out loud. The bitch was wearing body armour.

Okay, let's try this again. Shadow Stalker still had no idea that she was being attacked; Aisha swung the knife at her throat. However, just as she did so, Shadow Stalker turned away; the blade slashed across her upper arm instead. Cloth parted and blood flowed.

"The fuck?" Shadow Stalker looked down at the wound; the backswing glanced off the hard material of her mask. "When did any of those fuckers tag me?"

Gathering herself, Aisha lunged forward, the point of her knife aiming at Shadow Stalker's throat. But just as she did so, the vigilante went insubstantial and leaped upward, scaling the side of the building far faster than Aisha could have climbed it.

Oh, for fuck's sake. Aisha darted back to the guy she'd stolen the knife off. Wrenching the sheath from his belt, she shoved the blade into it, then clipped it on to her belt. Looking up, she could still see Shadow Stalker on the edge of the rooftop. She seemed to be bandaging the wound.

I can't lose her this time. Ducking back into the alley, Aisha wheeled out the motorcycle she had stolen earlier in the week. Kicking it over, she kept her eyes focused on the edge of the roof, waiting to see what Shadow Stalker did next.

<><>​

Sophia finished bandaging the slash on her upper arm. Can't believe one of those assholes managed to cut me, without me even noticing. Fuck, this was not a good start to my night. Triumph's gonna be all over my ass for ditching Kid Loser and then getting hurt.

Carefully, she worked the arm back and forth. The bleeding had stopped, but it hurt like a cast-iron bitch, and she was pretty sure that it would slow her down if she got into another fight. With an aggravated sigh, she turned to shadow and leaped from the rooftop. Time to go home and do some stitching. If I'm careful, nobody will notice I've been injured, and I don't have to go off duty again.

<><>​

The only reason that Aisha managed to keep up with her as long as she did was the lack of traffic. There were so few other cars out there that she could ride on the wrong side of the road and run red lights with little in the way of danger. However, doing that and keeping track of Shadow Stalker was not the easiest thing in the world. She hung on to the vigilante's trail for three blocks, then lost her.

"Fuck."

Pulling over to the side of the road, she dug a much-folded map of the city from a saddlebag. Opening it over the fuel tank, she drew two crosses with a stub of pencil; one was the location of the liquor store, and the other was the last point where she had seen Shadow Stalker.

Draw a line through this, and I've got a direction. It's not a location, but it's a start.


End of Part One

 

[Ack]

One Bad Day


Part Two: One Bad Day


Winslow High School
December 22, 2010

"Okay, this is the last day of school," Emma reminded the other two. "If you've got any ideas for how to make Hebert cry, today's the day."

"Still think we should've gone with the locker thing," Madison said. "It woulda been fuckin' awesome."

"We can still do it," Sophia pointed out. "Sneak back into school after it's closed and do what we want. Right now? We make sure that she remembers today."

"Okay, you know how she always disappears around lunchtime?" Madison grinned. "Found out where she goes."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Third floor bathrooms," Madison revealed. "Watched her go in there yesterday with her lunch."

Sophia's smile was vicious. "Fuckin' yes."

The trio quickened their pace along the corridor.

<><>​

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Aisha had tried to keep up with the three girls both normally and using her powers. But while the crowd parted for those three, it didn't for her, whether people knew she was there or not.

It had taken until last night to get another line on Shadow Stalker's home location. Aisha had drawn the second line on the map, then gone and looked over the area where they intersected. There had been no way she could search all the houses, but then she'd had a flash of brilliance.

Only one bus line ran through the area, taking kids to school. Shadow Stalker was a teenager; she had to go to school. She would be taking the bus in the morning.

Aisha had gotten on the bus and ridden it through that area. At stop after stop, she had scrutinised the people getting on. Most were the wrong skin colour or had the wrong hair colour, or something else that didn't fit. But by the time the bus left the area, she had it nailed down to three suspects. She watched those three, seeing how they acted around others. One stood out from the others.

When that girl got off the bus, so did she. At Winslow High School. Now all I have to do is make sure it's really Shadow Stalker. She didn't want to kill the wrong one, after all. If it's not her, I'll go back and try again.

<><>​

The Undersiders' Base

"Hey, Lisa. Hold up."

Lisa turned at the doorway and looked back. Hardcase was sprawled on the couch, jacket open. At the moment, he was six feet tall and sported an impressive set of abs. But he could alter his height as easily as he could change his weight or his facial features. He was also, Lisa was certain, a borderline psychopath.

"What is it? I'm just going out." Regent had already gone out somewhere, and Bitch was walking her dogs. Lisa didn't want to spend another moment with Hardcase's eyes boring into her, undressing her in his mind.

"No. Stay. I want to talk to you."

"Can it wait?"

"No. It can't." He gestured. "Get back here. That's an order."

Which Coil told me I had to follow. Reluctantly, Lisa turned and walked back into the living area. "Okay, so what's up?"

"Siddown." Hardcase patted the sofa beside him. Even more reluctantly, Lisa sat. "Now, when I was hired for this job, the boss warned me that you might be a little bit of a handful. Your power's useful as fuck, but it doesn't help when you're second-guessing me all the time."

You want us to kill people. The Undersiders don't work that way. But she didn't say anything.

"So let's get one thing straight. When we're on a job, you do things my way, every time. You don't second-guess me, and when one of the others looks at you instead of me, you fuckin' tell them to look at me. You got it?"

Slowly, she nodded. "I got it."

"But the trouble is," he went on as if she hadn't spoken, "I don't think you really got it. I don't think you really understand who's in fuckin' charge here. I want to be sure that you're gonna follow every order I give you, any time, any place."

Terror flashed through her as her power filled in what he wasn't saying. Oh, shit. Oh, no. No. Not that. She started to jump up, but he was too fast. His meaty hand wrapped around her forearm. "No -"

"I'm sorry, what the fuck was that?" He pulled her to him. With his free hand, he pulled down his zipper. "Now, I'm gonna let you guess at my first order."

<><>​

Empire Eighty-Eight Territory

"Okay, I'm gonna ask you one more time," Vicky snarled. She was hovering five feet above the pavement, holding the Empire skinhead another two feet in the air by the front of his shirt. "Who killed Brian Laborn?"

"And I'm tellin' you, I don't know no fuckin' Brian Laborn," blustered the thug.

"The guy who got killed three weeks ago, in the alleyway off of Findlater," Vicky shook him, as if to jog his memory. "He had a broomstick shoved through his chest, and a swastika carved around it. Come on, that's a bit obvious even for you guys. What was it? Some kind of initiation? All I need's a name, and you can go back to being gutter scum."

"And for the last fuckin' time, you stupid fuckin' bitch, I got no idea what you're fuckin' talking about." Abruptly, the Empire thug raised his arms, slipping out of the loose jacket. He hit the ground and rolled, then got up and bolted.

Vicky's anger boiled over. Call me a stupid fucking bitch, will you? A dumpster sat nearby; she swooped in and kicked it. The metal dented deeply as it was launched in a ballistic arc toward the guy. It'll just clip him and -

But then, as her eyes widened, the lid came open; even as the corner of the dumpster caught him across the back, the edge of the lid smashed across the back of his skull. He went down, sprawled like a rag doll, as the dumpster flew on, crashing on to its side and skidding several yards.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god." She landed beside him, reaching down to feel for a pulse. There was one, but it was very weak and thready. The back of his skull looked … misshapen. "Oh, shit. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck."

Yanking her phone out, she pressed numbers hastily.

"Vicky? What's up?"

"Ames, I need your help."

There was a long hesitation. "Where are you?"

"I'm at the corner of China and Weston. Come quick. Don't tell anyone where you're going."

"What? What are you doing out of school?"

"I'm investigating that murder. But I need your help."

"Why? What's happened? Are you hurt?"

She could hear the desperation in her own voice. "Just get here fast. Please."

Another long hesitation. "Okay. But this better be good."

"I will so owe you."

"I know."

<><>​

Winslow High School

Taylor sighed as she climbed the stairs to the third floor girls' bathrooms. It was lunchtime, which meant that the day was half over. But already, it had proven to be a very stressful day. Madison and Julia had proven to be both innovative and relentless in World Affairs, with each one ready to draw Mr Gladly's attention if he seemed about to notice what the other was pulling on Taylor.

Prior to that, Physical Education had been a trial, with Sophia taking every opportunity to bump, elbow-jab or trip her. Worse, other boys and girls had gotten into the act every time Mr Johannsen turned his back. It wasn't as if they even knew her, but Sophia was moderately popular and Taylor was not. She felt she had bruises over every inch of her body that was covered by her clothing. Gym clothes at that; Sophia had revived an old favourite and tossed her regular clothes into the shower after PE, soaking them so that she had to wear her sweaty gym clothes to class. When she walked into World Affairs, at least half the class had turned toward her and held their noses.

That hadn't even been the start of it. None of her bullies were in Computers, but they didn't need to be. Her email inbox had been jammed full yet again; insults bordering from the subtle to the blatant ruled the day. As fast as she deleted them, they came in once more, making it impossible for her to use the account for anything. So she had opened yet another one; before the class was half over, three more taunting emails had ended up in it.

I've had enough. Seriously. All I want is for the day to end. To go home and cry. To be caught crying in school would be social suicide, even worse than snitching. It would give the bullies even more ammunition than Emma already had on her.

Pushing open the bathroom door, she avoided three girls as they left, anxiously scanning the crowd already there for familiar faces. There were none that she knew, but then, not knowing them merely meant that they'd have more of a chance to pull a prank before she realised what was going on. Moving to an empty corner, she held her backpack tightly to herself while she waited for a stall to become vacant.

One did, so she ducked in as the other girl exited. Locking the door, she sighed in not-quite-relief as she sat down on the toilet lid. It was going to keep happening after lunch, she knew. This was just a respite. But it was all she had.

Opening the backpack, she took out her bag lunch and a book she'd been meaning to read. Losing herself in the pages of a novel was about the most she could do to escape the constant harassment at school, these days. Taking the pita wrap from the brown paper bag, she began to nibble on it as she opened the book.

Too late, she registered that the noise level outside the stall had dropped dramatically. In fact, the only voices out there were whispers. She blinked. Oh, shit. That's not good.

A moment later, she was proven right by a clunking noise from above her. Looking up, she saw the rectangular end of some kind of plastic bin resting on the top of the partition. Dropping everything, she leaped to her feet and tried to push the door open. It held firm. Someone's holding it shut.

The deluge that descended on her at that moment smelled worse than anything she had ever experienced before. As she gasped and sputtered and tried to wipe it out of her eyes, a second torrent of evil-smelling material washed over her, leaving small objects lodged in her hair and on her glasses. Then darkness descended as something fell over her head, sliding down over her shoulders, pinning her arms to her sides.

She couldn't breathe, couldn't struggle. When she tried to inhale, the noxious smell, along with some of the fluid, went into her mouth and up her nose, and she vomited convulsively, all over herself and the inside of whatever was imprisoning her arms.

Falling to the floor, she jerked and screamed and struggled, trying to free herself. I can't breathe. I can't get free. I'll die in here. She vomited again and again, bringing up everything she had eaten over the last day. Her glasses had fallen off; the stuff was getting in her eyes, stinging them.

There was no way out.

<><>​

Aisha had lost the three girls in the crowd, but she had remembered what the petite one had said. Third floor bathrooms, at lunch time.

So, at lunch time, she had been up on the third floor, in the girls' bathrooms. She hadn't paid much attention when the skinny girl came in, but she was intrigued when Shadow Stalker and the other girls had come in and started clearing the bathroom. While the redhead leaned against the stall door, Shadow Stalker and the petite one each took the top off of a feminine-hygiene bin. Aisha blinked; she thought she knew what was going to happen, but she couldn't believe it.

As the screams and choking sounds arose from the stall a moment later, she believed it all right. The three bullies leaned against the wall, convulsing in laughter. While they were thus occupied, Aisha stepped up to the stall and pulled it open. She was just kneeling down to pull the container off the girl's head – she was so skinny that it had been jammed all the way down to her elbows – something happened. One moment, Aisha was crouching in the mess that included horribly stinking used feminine items, and the next she was sitting in them.

What the fuck was that?

Outside the stall, she could hear concerned voices, asking 'Sophia' if she was all right. Sophia snapped back angrily; from the other sounds, she was also climbing to her feet. Whatever it was, it got her too.

Ignoring the muck now soaking into her tights, Aisha took a good grip on the disposal bin and pulled it free of the skinny girl's head and shoulders. A pair of glasses clattered to the tiles; she picked them up, wiped them as best she could, and put them back on the feebly moving girl's face.

"Okay," she murmured. "I'll just leave you here and -" She was going to finish with 'go get help', but then the girl moved again. Aisha scrambled out of the way as she actually got up.

Fuck, she's tougher than I'll ever be.

<><>​

Taylor wasn't quite sure what was going on, but the bin was off of her head and she had her glasses back on. Her eyes were still stinging, but at least she could see. There was a weird buzzing in the back of her mind, and flashes of light going off at random behind her eyes. She was also pissed as hell.

Clambering to her feet, Taylor pushed open the stall door with one hand. The three bitches were right there; they began to turn toward her, just as she used her other hand to heave the bin at them. It arced through the air, on a direct collision course with Sophia's head. The dark-skinned girl saw it coming, almost too late. And then, as Taylor watched disbelievingly, her form blurred; the bin flew through her, bouncing off of the bench behind, then clattering harmlessly to the floor.

The anger within her grew as she connected the dots. "You're a cape!" she blurted. "You're – you're Shadow Stalker!"

It was all so clear to her now. The school let Sophia get away with everything because she was a cape. Sophia could get into her locker because of her powers. But now the secret was out.

"You're Shadow Stalker," she repeated, anger and glee combining in her voice. "I saw it. I've got you now, you fucking bitch. I've got you. You're fucking going down."

<><>​

The Undersiders' Base

"No!" Tattletale indeed knew exactly what he wanted from her. And it would not stop with what he wanted her to do first. He intended to dominate her as crudely and as totally as men have been dominating women since the dawn of time. His intent was to take her, to use her, to own her.

"Fuckin' yes." His hand was on the back of her neck now, holding her in an inescapable grip. His power was twofold; he could grow or shrink any part of his body, within certain limits, and he could apply a surface-level force field that increased his strength. "Time I'm finished with you, you'll be begging for more."

Her hands scrabbled for anything she could use to escape this fate; half-hidden beneath a pizza box lid, she grasped the arrow she had pulled from Brian's chest. Without even stopping to think about the consequences of her actions, she stabbed it upward between his legs.

He screamed and let her go, grabbing for the injured location. Wrenching the arrow free, she stabbed him again, first in the left arm and then, as he bent over, in the eye. One of his arms caught her, sending her sprawling across the floor, head spinning. Regaining her wits, she pulled herself to her feet, to find him lurching toward her.

"You bitch!" he bellowed. "I'll kill you for that!"

Just as he reached up toward his face, she lunged forward; the heel of her hand slammed against the nock of the arrow, driving it all the way into his brain. He grabbed at her with his left hand and missed, blood spurting from between the fingers of his right hand as he tried to pull the arrow out.

And then, like a tree falling, he crashed to the floor. Blood ran from under his face to pool on the rug.

Pressed back against the wall, she panted, watching as his twitching slowly subsided. With her hand to her mouth, she bit on her knuckle, trying to stop herself from shaking. She wanted to cry; she wanted to throw up. Neither thing happened, but only due to the most stringent effort of will that she had ever enforced upon herself.

In the silence, a phone began to ring.

<><>​

Empire Eighty-Eight Territory

The taxi let Amy out at the correct address. She grabbed the change and jumped out of the vehicle, looking around for Vicky. A moment later, she spotted the familiar blonde hair of her sister, leaning out of an alley, just up the block. Amy hurried in that direction.

"Okay, what's the big rush?" she asked as she reached Vicky.

"There's a guy hurt," Vicky explained in a rush; Amy yelped involuntarily yelped as her sister scooped her up in her arms. "Come on, I think he's dying."

The sides of the alley flashed by, then Vicky was letting her down by the side of a man dressed in the typical garb of an Empire Eighty-Eight goon. He was certainly in a bad way; Amy could tell that without even touching him. She laid a hand on his bare arm, and shuddered.

"Spinal fractures, broken ribs, a badly fractured skull, severe brain damage … I'm not even sure how he's still alive," she reported. "What happened here?"

Vicky's eyes shifted sideways. "I was questioning him …" she began, then trailed off.

Amy could fill in the rest, especially given that there was a dumpster with a large dent in the side, lying upturned further down the alley. "For Christ's sake, Vicky," she chided her sister. "This is getting worse all the time. Ever since Dad died …"

"Yeah, yeah, okay, got it," Vicky interrupted. "But he'll be all right, yeah?"

Amy grimaced. "I dunno. The broken bones are easy. So's the skull fracture. But the brain damage – his brain was deformed by the impact. Even if he survives, much less with his intellect intact, which would hugely surprise me, he'll never walk, talk or see ever again."

Vicky shook her head. "No. No no no. You've gotta fix him. You've gotta fix this."

"No, I don't." Amy stood up from the skinhead's side. "Vicky. This is vastly different from fixing a broken arm or even a ruptured spleen. Both of which you've caused before, because you're not being careful enough. This is the brain. I don't do brains."

"But you can," argued Vicky. "Just this once, Ames. Come on. For me. You said you'd help."

Amy took a deep breath. "You never said that you'd caused massive brain trauma to some skinhead. You know I don't do brains."

"Amy, if this guy dies, or ends up as a vegetable, do you have any idea how much trouble I'll be in?" pleaded Vicky. "Do you really want to do that to me? To Mom? To the team? I'll be tried for negligence, or even manslaughter. And if they heard about the other times, it'd be even worse."

"Vicky." Amy shook her head. "I'm sorry. I can't keep doing this. You need to learn self-control. Every time I bail you out like this, you don't learn anything."

It wasn't that she didn't want to help Vicky. She knew full well that if she did this, she would get a flashing smile and a 'thank you!' then Vicky would go on her merry way. To do this all over again. To earn that smile and the gratitude that came with it was something that she liked. But she was beginning to learn that no matter how much she put herself forward, no matter how many times she saved Vicky from the consequences of her own actions, she wasn't actually going to get what she truly wanted from her sister. I love her, but she just keeps using me.

"Amy, please." Vicky stepped forward and embraced Amy, holding her close. Her aura flared, bombarding Amy's mind with impulses of warm feelings toward Vicky. It wasn't that she needed them; she already had all the warm feelings that she would ever get in that regard. However, in combination with the close proximity, Vicky's body pressing on hers in all the right places, and even her scent, it all combined to form a single intoxicating wave of sensation. In addition, the embrace brought back involuntary memories of catching Vicky in flagrante delicto with Dean, and how seeing the two of them had made her feel at the time.

All of the pain, the hurt, the loss and the anguish came together at once. Amy was adrift; nothing made sense. Her sister, the guiding light of her life, was begging her – begging her – to break one of her most fundamental rules, and she was seriously beginning to consider doing just that.

"Anything you want me to do, just ask. I'll do it for you," Vicky pleaded urgently. "Any favour, any time. It's yours."

Amy couldn't hold out any longer. "Okay, I'll do it," she agreed. Dropping to one knee, she laid her hands on the Empire thug's head. He still lived, but was fading fast. She exerted her power; the man's skull reshaped, and the brain with it. Connections were re-established as she fixed the trauma, bringing his brain back to full functionality. From beginning to end, it took barely ten seconds. It was easy.

Standing up once more, she faced her sister. "Done."

"What, really?"

As if in answer, the man groaned and stirred.

Vicky's eyes widened. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Again, she grabbed Amy in a ferocious hug. Again, her aura flared, even more strongly. And this time, the temptation was far too strong to resist. She said she would do anything I wanted. I want … this.

And Amy kissed her.

<><>​

Winslow High School

"Yeah, right," scoffed Sophia. "That's gonna fly. Not."

Taylor felt the power of the situation she was in. She could also feel a power of a different sort building in the back of her head, feeding on her anger, growing ever stronger. "So you're not gonna object if I march on down to Blackwell's office, tell her you did this, and make her ring the PRT to tell them what you've been doing?"

"Like they'll listen to you," Emma stated flatly. "All we gotta do is tell them it's all bullshit."

Almost, Taylor believed her. Almost. But there was the faintest edge of doubt in Emma's voice. Firmly, she reminded herself that she knew this, that there was no way Sophia could make the PRT shut up about this. "Let's go find out then," she declared. "It's not like I've got anything to lose."

She started for the door, but only made it three steps before Sophia tackled her from behind. They both slammed into the door; Sophia got the better of it, as she went to vapour just before impact. Taylor's glasses were jolted off again, skidding sideways into one of the stalls.

Dazed, Taylor tried to get up, but Sophia knocked her down again with one accurate punch to the face. The roaring in the back of her head was thunderous now; just as Sophia landed on her with both knees, she released it to do its worst.

Bugs poured into the bathrooms from every nook and cranny, every crevice. More flooded in through the open window. They swarmed around Emma and Madison, and attacked Sophia in force. Emma yanked the door open and fled; Madison tried to follow, but at that moment, Sophia slammed Taylor up against the door, blocking egress.

Sophia flickered to fog, then back to solid form, landing a punch that winded Taylor. Another flickering change, another blow. Taylor felt the world wavering around her.

Fuck. She's gonna kill me, and with these bugs, she's gonna call it self defence.

Another solid blow, one that rattled her teeth. The world went out of focus.

<><>​

The Undersiders' Base

Lisa realised that she was sitting on the floor, hugging her knees, as the phone rang on. It wasn't her phone; that had a different ringtone. It must be Hardcase's phone.

Slowly, she pulled herself to her feet. Maybe I can explain what happened -

Her own phone began to ring. She pulled it out and checked caller ID, although she knew who it was going to be. Coil.

There was no way to explain this, she realised, that Coil would accept.

The phone rang on. As it did so, she headed into her room. I have to go, she told herself. I have to run. Get out of here.

Leaving the phone to ring – it would only serve to aid Coil in tracing her – she stuffed a backpack with her most essential items, and dashed out the door. Down the spiral staircase, moving as fast as she could. Just as she got to the entry door itself, she paused. Outside, she had just heard the sound of vehicular brakes, squeaking to a halt.

Fuck. He's here.

There was a back door, she knew. She'd spent some time oiling the hinges and making sure the lock would open. She also had the only key to it. And she had never told anyone about this bolt-hole.

As footsteps approached the main entry door, she dashed through the dimness, dodging around the derelict machinery. There was a creak as the door opened, light splashing through the interior of the building. But she was already behind cover.

The tall skinny silhouette who entered could only have been Coil. Had she her pistol, she may have chanced picking him off. Or perhaps not; the man had a talent for turning bad situations to his advantage.

As he mounted the staircase, she took the chance to sidle the rest of the way, to the carefully-maintained rear exit. He reached the top. She slid the key into the lock. Carefully, slowly, she turned it; the click was muted. There were just seconds left before he discovered the body; opening the door, she slipped out.

The back alley was deserted; she set off at a steady trot, her pack bouncing on her back. Ahead of her stretched an uncertain future. Her only chance of survival involved getting as far away from Coil as possible, and staying there.

<><>​

Empire Eighty-Eight Territory

Vicky's eyes opened wide as Amy's lips melded with hers, but it was far too late. Too late for both Amy and Vicky. Amy had lived with her frustrated desires for far too long; the recent emotional upheavals had only served to sharpen her wants and needs. So even if she had been inclined to moderate her approach at the beginning, her own hormone-driven urges would not have allowed her to do so.

Too late also for Vicky; when she realised what Amy was doing, she tried to protest, to pull away. But Amy, although unable to physically enforce her will on Vicky in this matter, still had resources to draw on. It was ironic that Vicky had just persuaded Amy to use her power on someone's brain for the very first time just moments before; had she not done so, what happened next may have been avoided.

Amy felt the stirrings of denial in Vicky's brain long before, neurologically speaking, her sister began to try to push her away. But her frustrated desires would not accept 'no' for an answer; all she knew was that she wanted what she wanted, and she wanted it now. So when Vicky tried to push her away, Amy's power excised that part of Vicky's mind that had originated the order.

It must be noted that Amy knew nothing of this. All she knew was that Vicky's initial resistance quickly faded, replaced by compliance. She kissed Vicky, and was kissed in return.

It was only when Amy reluctantly separated from Vicky, her mind clearing, that she realised what she had done. Albeit unwittingly, she had rewritten Vicky's brain, removing those parts of her personality which had objected to the forced kiss. All that was left was a shell of a human being, one whose entire being revolved around pleasing Amy. Nothing else remained.

"Oh, god," she whimpered. "Oh, god. Vicky. Please. No."

"What's the matter, Amy?" Vicky's voice was simpler, childlike. "Are you all right?"

"Vicky." Tears flooded Amy's eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, let me make it right."

"Of course you can make it right, Amy." Vicky smiled at her, a bright and happy smile. "You can do anything."

Neither of them took notice of the Empire skinhead stumbling to his feet and fleeing. He wasn't important any more.

Amy put her hands to Vicky's head and concentrated. In every other case of brain damage and amnesia she had ever encountered, the lost information had been somewhere. Even if she didn't deal with brains, she could still see how to fix them.

But in this case, the information truly was gone. Much of Vicky's personality had been erased, as if it had never been. She was, in many ways, a tabula rasa.

Amy had done this. She had done this because she had desired Vicky. Most of all, she had done this because she had broken her cardinal rule. I don't touch brains. Looking at the wreckage of her sister, at the bright and empty smile, she felt her world crumbling around her. Her gorge rose. I did this. Me.

Right at that moment, had a blade been handy, she would have slit her own wrists with a smile.

She shook her head. No. I can't think that way. Vicky needs me. There was vanishingly little self-motivation within that which had been Vicky. If Amy died – or if I give myself up to be Birdcaged – there was every chance that Vicky would sit and stare at the wall until she died of thirst or hunger.

There's only one thing I can do.

"Vicky," she stated firmly. "We're leaving."

"Are we going home?"

"No. We're not going home. We're just going … away for a while. On a holiday."

"I like holidays."

"I know." She would never be able to go home, to face Carol, ever again. Not until she had figured out how to rebuild Vicky's personality from the wreckage into which she had rendered it. However long it took. However stringent the cost was on herself.

I swear to you, Vicky, I will do this. No matter what it takes. You will be yourself again. Even if you hate me for the rest of your life for what I have done to you.

She reached for Vicky's hand. "Come on, let's go."

Trustingly, Vicky allowed her to take it. "Okay."

Together, they walked off down the alleyway.

<><>​

Winslow High School

Sophia was choking her. Taylor was on her knees, fighting to drag the stronger girl's hands from her throat, but to no avail. She only had the vaguest of control over the bugs she had apparently summoned, and not enough were attacking Sophia in ways that would make her let Taylor go.

And then something was pushed into her right hand. Taylor's fading eyesight could not make it out, but the bugs that landed on it gave her the shape. A blade. A knife.

Where it had come from, she didn't know. But right then, she didn't care. Convulsively, she brought the knife up between them, sinking the razor-sharp blade up and under Sophia's ribcage. Sophia's eyes opened wide before she puffed into shadow form, reforming a couple of yards away. A bloodstain appeared across the front of Sophia's top, spreading as if by magic. She pressed her hand to it, then went from her feet to her knees. Bending forward, she coughed; blood sprayed from her lips. She went to shadow form once more, vanishing through the door.

Taylor looked at the knife in her hand. It had a swastika emblazoned on the top of the handle. Convulsively, she let it fall; it clattered to the tiles of the bathroom. Painfully, she climbed to her feet. As she approached Madison, the bugs covering the petite girl swarmed aside. More climbed from her open mouth. Her open eyes had been partially eaten away.

Abruptly, Taylor turned aside and vomited into one of the sinks. She washed her mouth out, washed the clinging muck from her face. With both hands on the sink, she stared into her reflection. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face bruised. But she had more life in her eyes than she'd had over the last six months.

"Well, fuck," she muttered. "I need to get out of here. But where are my glasses?"

With a start, she realised that she was holding them in her right hand. Carefully, she put them on; the world came back into focus. Pulling the bathroom door open, she peered outside. Sophia was lying at the top of the steps, face down.

Okay, she told herself. Okay. Okay. Okay. I've just stabbed a Ward to death. Killed a civilian with bug powers which I didn't know I had. They Birdcage people for less.

"Fuck." Her voice was raspy. "I have to get out of here. I have to get away."

As quickly and quietly as she knew how, she descended the stairs and headed for the nearest fire door. Pushing it open, she stepped into the midday sun.

She didn't know where she was going, or what she was going to do when she got there.

All she knew was that there was no going back.

<><>​

An Abandoned Building in the Docks

Lisa finally managed to work the board away from where it had been nailed over the empty window frame, and climbed through. She pulled it back into place just far enough that it would look undisturbed. Coil will have frozen my accounts. I'm gonna have to start hustling for more cash tomorrow. In the meantime, I've got cans and bottled water. She'd settled for less, in the past.

A small spirit stove provided both light and heat; she tipped the contents of a can into a small bowl and began to heat it.

A noise outside made her look around; silently, she turned the stove down and put a cover on the bowl. Fully aware that the cooking smell would have permeated outside, she silently got to her feet and prowled over to the side of the window. In her hand was a short piece of rebar; anyone coming after her was going to get a nasty surprise.

To her own surprise, the fingers that hooked under the loose board were those of what she judged to be a teenage girl. A few bugs buzzed around her, landing on her upraised arms. The hands stopped pulling on the board.

"May – may I come in, please?" The voice was female, about Lisa's own age. "I won't hurt you. I promise. I just need somewhere to sleep."

Sincerity rang in every syllable. More, there was deep hurt there. Whoever this girl was, she had been carrying pain for a very long time.

Lisa sighed. "Come on in." She helped the girl pull away the board, then gave her a hand to climb in. While taller than Lisa, the newcomer was very skinny. Her clothing and hair were also caked with something horrid. "I'm Lisa. You?"

"Taylor." She seemed to be about to say something more, but then her head came up. "Someone's out there."

Lisa looked around, just as the door, which had been nailed into the doorframe, came loose with a piercing shriek. "Shit. Get ready to run."

A frizzy-haired girl stumbled into the room. "I smell food. Is that food? Oh, god. I am so hungry." Following her was a tall blonde teenager, wearing a very readily identifiable costume.

Lisa stared, her eyes going wide. "Holy shit. Panacea and Glory Girl."

Taylor's reaction was terror; she jerked as if to flee, then slumped. Slowly, she raised her hands. "I can't run any more. I give up."

"No, wait." Lisa put her hand on Taylor's shoulder. "They're not here to arrest you."

"We're not here to arrest anyone." Panacea's face had lines in it that no teenager should. "We just want shelter for the night. And a little of that food, if you can spare it." She turned to the blonde. "Are you hungry, Vicky?"

Glory Girl nodded. "I am hungry, Amy."

Lisa blinked rapidly as her power connected the dots. "Well, holy shit."

Taylor was slower on the uptake. This was not surprising; nearly everyone was slower on the uptake than Lisa. "What?"

Lisa nodded to the other two girls. "They're on the run, too. For something that Amy did to Glory Girl."

"I'm going to fix it." Amy's voice was strained almost to the breaking point. "I have to."

"I can never fix what I did." Taylor's voice was dull.

"Depends." Lisa eyed her shrewdly. "What did you do that was so bad?"

Taylor's eyes dropped to the floor. "I killed Shadow Stalker."

"You did what." Lisa spoke at the same time as Panacea, although her tone was somewhat different.

"She was choking me to death, and I had a knife. So I stabbed her." Taylor's voice was almost inaudible at the end.

"That's self-defence." Amy's voice was firm. "You could have turned yourself in. Gotten a fair hearing."

Taylor shook her head. "No. I couldn't."

"And anyway, it couldn't have happened to a nicer bitch." Lisa smiled at Taylor. "Thanks. You just saved me the trouble of tracking her down and killing her myself."

Taylor looked confused. "What? Why?"

"Because she murdered Grue, right in front of my eyes."

Panacea frowned. "She murdered someone?"

"Sure as hell," Lisa confirmed. "Shot a crossbow arrow right into the middle of his chest. Then she made it look like an Empire Eighty-Eight kill. He was black, you see."

It was Panacea's turn for her eyes to open wide. "Vicky."

"Yes, Amy?"

"Which murder were you investigating?"

"Brian Laborn," Vicky replied at once. "Murdered by the Empire Eighty-Eight. Sharpened broomstick rammed into his chest." She went back to staring at the wall.

Lisa nodded. "That was his name. Brian."

Amy ran her hand over her forehead. "Vicky told me that she ran into Shadow Stalker, who told her that the Empire was responsible."

Lisa snorted. "Like hell. She was just covering up her crime."

Taylor's head came up. "So … she was a murderer?"

"Several times over, if I had to guess," Lisa agreed. "But we'll never be able to prove it."

"Oh." Taylor slumped again.

"But that's okay." Lisa shrugged. "You can hang with me for a while, if you want. Until you figure out what you want to do."

Taylor nodded. "Thanks."

"Uh …" That was Panacea.

Lisa looked that way. "Yeah?"

"Can we … can we hang with you a while, too?"

It had been a while since Lisa had been able to smile, but now she did. "Sure. The more the merrier."


End of Part Two

Part Three

 

[Ack]

One Bad Day

Part Three: Opposite and Unequal Reaction

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



Wednesday Afternoon, December 22, 2010
Sarah Pelham

"Here you go, honey." Neil's rumbling voice brought Sarah out of an uneasy doze. At the same time, the delicious scent of chamomile tea drifted across her nostrils, giving her the impetus to open her eyes. Reaching up, she accepted the cup from him and sipped at it, enjoying the flavour as it spread through her mouth.

"Thanks," she sighed. "This is just what I needed." A moment later, she frowned. "Did I ask you to make this? Because I don't remember doing that." She took another sip anyway, feeling the tension easing from her body. As tough as things were out there on the streets, having Neil to support and care for her made all the difference.

"Nope." He settled on to the sofa beside her, one arm automatically going around behind her neck. Just as automatically, she snuggled into the embrace, making a small contented sound in the back of her throat. "But you looked beat, and I know you like it." Leaning over, he planted a kiss on the top of her head. "You're pushing yourself too hard, honey."

"Holiday madness." It was a common phrase among capes and cops alike. Just as normal crime spiked around Christmas and Easter, so did the incidence of offences either perpetrated by parahumans or to parahumans; quite often, both at the same time. Along with the rest of New Wave, Sarah had been doing her best to help keep the insanity down to a manageable level. She wasn't at all sure they were succeeding. "I mean, the Empire's not just roughing people up these days; they're murdering them. From what Vicky told me, they're even marking their kills. That's a shift toward the disturbing."

Neil grimaced. "I heard. I just hope—"

What he hoped went by the wayside as the landline rang at Sarah's elbow. Plucking the cordless phone off its cradle, she checked the caller ID as she hit the answer button. "Hi, Carol. What's up?"

"Are Vicky and Amy at your house?" asked Carol without preamble. "Because they never came home from school. When I called Arcadia, I was informed that Vicky had cut class after first period, and Amy never attended any classes after lunch. If they're there, send them home at once. I have serious words for them." Her tone was tight and controlled, but Sarah could hear a certain amount of suppressed tension under it. Carol had already lost Mark, and quite understandably didn't like not having her girls where she could see them. If Sarah lost Neil, she knew damn well she'd become a lot more protective of Eric and Crystal, and rightfully so.

"Uh, I haven't seen them, but Neil might know where they are," Sarah said, then turned to her husband. Putting the phone to her chest to cover the microphone, she asked, "Have you seen Amy or Vicky? Carol says they never came home."

He frowned. "Uh, no. Are they out with Eric and Crystal?" His expression became a lot more concerned when she shook her head. "Crap. Are they home?" By 'they', she knew he meant their own two children. She nodded. "Okay, I'll go ask them if they know." With a sigh, he took his arm away from her shoulders, then stood. "Tell her … tell her not to worry. Vicky's as tough as they come, and nobody in their right mind would hurt Amy."

Yeah, but there's any number of people in the city who aren't in their right minds. Sarah took a deep breath and lifted the phone to her ear again. "Neil hasn't seen them either, but he's just gone to ask Eric and Crystal if they know. Have you tried their phones?" She knew quite well that both the Dallon girls—as well as Carol herself, and Sarah and her family—carried cell-phones as a matter of course.

"Yes, I tried their phones." Sarah winced as the unspoken phrase 'you idiot' came across quite clearly. "They're either out of battery, out of range of towers, or switched off." Which was all the more concerning, as the first two were quite difficult to achieve; as a favour to Carol, Armsmaster had worked on the phones and made them much more efficient, both in reception range and in battery life.

"There's probably nothing to worry about," she said soothingly, casting about in her mind for a reasonable explanation. "They've probably just gone to the movies or something. I haven't heard of any major action by any of the gangs today; have you?"

"Well, no," Carol replied, sounding slightly less tense. "Though they should know better than that by now. I've told them and told them. One of them always has to have her phone on, even if it's just on silent, for situations exactly like this."

"Teenagers will teenage," Sarah said soothingly. "They're probably off somewhere having fun. You can yell at them when they get back, you'll feel better, they'll be typically resentful, and everything will be back to normal." She looked around as familiar steps descended the stairs. "Here's Neil now. Let's see what's going on."

The look on his face gave her pause. "I'm not sure what's going on," he said slowly, obviously having caught the tail-end of what she was saying. "There's been something going on on the PHO boards for the last quarter-hour. Eric's trying to catch up with it now, but the mods have locked three threads so far and issued a record number of temp bans on top of that." He shook his head. "It all started with a comment from some Empire guy who says Vicky nearly killed him."

"What? What's going on? What's that about Vicky?" Carol sounded more anxious than ever. "Put me on speaker!"

Sarah pressed the appropriate button and held the phone up between herself and Neil. "He says there's something going on with the PHO boards, and some Empire guy claims Vicky nearly killed him."

Neil opened his mouth to speak, but Carol got in first. "Ridiculous! I want to see his injuries! If he can post to PHO, he can't be that badly hurt."

Sarah didn't voice the obvious. If Vicky had called Amy to leave school and heal the guy, it would make sense. For a certain definition of 'sense', that is. And she had noticed Vicky was letting loose a little more frequently of late.

"No, that's not the thing they're locking threads over," Neil stated carefully. "Carol, I need to ask you something. Are Amy and Vicky an item? Because this guy says that before he ran off, Panacea and Glory Girl were kissing each other like there was no tomorrow."

Sarah's train of thought locked up on all brakes and derailed; there were no survivors. She stared at Neil. "Please tell me you're kidding." His expression, as he stared back at her, was not his 'gotcha' face. It was his 'I have no idea what to do next' face.

"No." Carol sounded like she was hanging on to her last shred of normalcy for dear life. "I refuse to believe that. Vicky is seeing Dean Stansfield. I have no idea which way Amy swings, but Vicky is straight; I'd bet my life on it."

"And even if they have just now decided they're in love, why would they have gone dark?" Sarah interjected. "They're not related, after all. It'll blow over." But even as she said the words, she knew she was wrong. She shuddered at the thought of the shitstorm that had to be tearing apart PHO, especially given that Amy's adopted status wasn't well known. Some people would even be deliberately ignoring it for the sake of pushing the controversy even harder. The chance to smear New Wave with a a teenage lesbian incest scandal would be too tempting for certain interests to pass up.

There was a beep, and Sarah checked the phone. Another call was incoming; caller ID had it as the news desk of the Brockton Bay Bulletin. "Uh, I've got a call incoming from the newspapers."

"I've got three," Carol snapped. "Don't answer them, or if you do, don't give any substantial replies. Everything's fine in the team, no comment. Especially not to the tabloids."

"Got it," Sarah agreed. "I'll let you know if we hear from the girls before you do. Talk to you later." She ended the call, then took a deep breath before she pressed the button to answer the incoming call. No comment. Everything is fine.

<><>​

Carol

"So you're aware that this supposed witness is not only hiding behind the anonymity of the internet, but he's also a self-described member of a criminal-led gang, correct? Not necessarily the most unbiased of people when it comes to making claims about a superhero team. Think about that for just a moment." Carol deliberately paused to give the reporter on the other end of the line time to try to regain some ground.

"But there's still the claim he made …"

"Yes, the claim," she said flatly. "Let's talk about that for a second. Let's suppose just for a second that it's not a total fabrication to smear the good name of New Wave. Which, by the way, the Empire would just love. Let's say it was true. Glory Girl and Panacea are both sixteen, and Panacea is adopted. They've also grown up with each other. So even if it wasn't a simple affectionate kiss—which sisters the world over will give one another—there'd still be nothing illicit or illegal about it. For the record, I don't believe for a moment that it is true, and if you print anything to the contrary without absolute proof, you'll be knowingly assisting a bunch of supervillains in weakening public support for one of the few superhero teams that practises true public accountability. Do you really want that?"

There really was only one answer that he could give. "Well, no, but …"

"... but if you really want to go farther with this, I suggest the following course of action," Carol talked over the top of him. "Find this so-called witness and publish his name and address. I fully intend to sue him for defamation of character, on behalf of Glory Girl and Panacea. If he can't be found, or if he's not willing to face me in court, what does that tell you about his spurious claim?"

A few moments later, she ended the call. Then she threw the phone across the room, bouncing it off of an armchair, which absorbed the force of the impact. She couldn't have gotten away with talking to no reporters; the news crews would start making up their own news at that point. But talking to one reporter from the relatively staid Brockton Bay Chronicle meant that everyone else would swarm around that publication and steal snippets for their own papers. Or at least, that was the plan.

Getting up, she went into the kitchen and took a bottle out of the liquor cabinet. It was a prime aged whiskey she'd gotten Mark for Christmas; the night after his funeral, she'd had one glass from it, in private, and cried herself to sleep. Now, she unscrewed the top and poured herself a glass. She wasn't a drinker by habit but the alcohol slid down her throat with ease, burning pleasantly as it went. It didn't do much to put distance between her and the rest of the world, so she poured another one.

That one went down easily, too.

<><>​

PRT Building
Director Emily Piggot

I need a drink.

It was a thought Emily had had more than once during her tenure as regional Director of PRT ENE. Fortunately for her ruined kidneys, these days it was less of a direct urge and more of a lingering wish. That didn't prevent it from recurring at times like this, when it seemed all the troubles of the world seemed intent on landing on the back of her neck, all at once. For all that Brockton Bay was in the top ten cities in the continental US for cape presence (with a correspondingly high proportion of criminal capes) she'd never had a Ward murdered on her watch before.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out again, she looked up at Armsmaster as he stood on the far side of her desk. "So you've got a witness and a name?" It was heartening that they had so much already. Of course, she would much prefer not have had one of her Wards murdered at all, but the universe was rather good at not letting her have what she wanted. With any luck, if they got this solved fast enough, the Youth Guard might not even get involved at all.

"And a timeline," he confirmed. Taking a miniaturised projector from his belt, he slotted a chip into it and placed it on her desk. "I carried out the interview myself." He stepped back out of the way of the projection as the device came to life, throwing a still picture up on the blank wall of her office. A time/date stamp was visible at the top left corner of the image.

As with all of his inventions, the picture and sound were very impressive for something so small.

The girl on the screen was sixteen or seventeen, with well-styled red hair and definitely above-average looks, for all that she looked like she'd recently been crying. Flanking her as she sat at the table was an older man, also with fading red hair. The familial resemblance was easy to see, but that wasn't what caught Emily's eye. "I know that man," she said suddenly. "I've seen his face before."

"Yes," Armsmaster agreed. "He provided a character witness for Stalker when she was inducted into the Wards. He and his daughter are on record as being in the know about her secret identity, from before she joined the Wards. Playing back the footage now."

The picture jerked into life, as Armsmaster's voice spoke over the top. "This is Armsmaster, conducting preliminary witness interview regarding the murder of Shadow Stalker, on December twenty-second of two thousand ten. Please identify yourselves for the record."

The bulky older man raised his head slightly. In a practised tone, he spoke clearly and firmly. "My name is Alan Barnes. This is my daughter Emma."

There was a moment's pause, then he visibly nudged the girl—Emma—with his elbow. With a start, she spoke up. "Uh, sorry. I thought Dad—uh, my name is Emma Barnes. I'm a student here at Winslow."

"That's all right, Emma." As far as Emily could tell, Armsmaster was working on his people skills. He still wasn't exactly good at it, but at least he was making the effort. "I understand that you're acquainted with the alleged assailant?"

"Yeah." Emma tightened her jaw and looked directly at the camera. At the same time, her hand took hold of her father's, and held it tightly. "We used to be best friends, you know? Back in elementary and middle school. But when we came to Winslow, I made new friends and she never really got over that." There was another nudge from her father's elbow. "What? Oh, yeah. Her name's Taylor Hebert. That's H-E-B-E-R-T. Anyway, she went from being a nice kid, bit quiet, to being one of those weird loner psychos. The type you expect to bring a gun to school or something."

Emily frowned. The girl's delivery was … if anything, a little too polished. Almost as if she'd rehearsed saying her lines. "Pause it," she said, and the picture froze. "Does the Barnes girl have acting experience?"

"She's modelled teenagers' lines for local stores," Armsmaster responded. "Is that what you mean?"

Leaning back in her chair, Emily nodded slowly. "Yes, that sounds about right. Keep it going."

The footage rolled on as Armsmaster's voice came over the top again. "Are you aware of the nature of the wounds we found on Shadow Stalker?"

Emma looked a little puzzled. "I heard she got stabbed. Is that what you mean?"

For the first time, the alignment of the image altered, swaying a little from side to side. Emily guessed that Armsmaster had shaken his head. "Part of the wounding involved a swastika. Was Taylor involved with the Empire in any way?"

That, Emily saw, brought the girl up short. "Uh, not that I know of. But I didn't know everything she did. I knew she didn't like Sophia, but I thought it was because, well, because she was my friend." She seemed to think about her next words. "If she was connected to the Empire, she wasn't big with them. Maybe she was trying to get in by doing that?"

"Pause." Emily waited till the image froze again. "Do you have any evidence that the Hebert girl has Empire ties of any kind?"

"Nothing direct," he admitted. "But the way Stalker was killed was positively brutal. She was stabbed in the chest, puncturing her lung, then three more times in the back while she was trying to get away, then her head was pulled back by the hair and her throat was slashed. Then someone carved a swastika across her back. There's a lot of hatred there. A lot of anger."

Lips pursed, Emily nodded. She'd seen the aftermath of gang slayings before, especially ones motivated by racial tensions. They could get ugly. "Have the forensics people located the knife yet? Prints would be very useful around now. Also, is there any indication that her parents or siblings have Empire ties?"

"She's an only child, and her mother's dead," Armsmaster reported crisply. "The father's actually head of hiring for the Dockworkers Association. No known gang ties, but we're still looking into that. And no, they haven't located the knife. Best approximation is that it's a double-edged leaf-shaped blade about six inches in length. The Empire uses several types of blade that follow this model. Preliminary forensics say that it was either the same knife that did all the wounds, or virtually identical ones."

"Her mother's dead?" Emily's interest was sharpened. "Any chance it's what pushed her into the Empire?" It was entirely possible; the ABB was aggressive enough from time to time to murder people, and of the other two gangs actively recruiting in Winslow, the Merchants were hardly viable to be called a gang. Moreover, their ethos was more about selling drugs and shooting up than taking revenge for a dead mother.

Armsmaster shook his head. When he spoke, his tone was regretful. "Probably not. She was killed a couple of years ago in a single-vehicle accident. The police report stated that she was probably texting and driving. She didn't have anything in her background that might link her to the Empire, though there was an arrest back in her college days that links her to Lustrum's movement."

Emily frowned. A decades-old link to a now-Birdcaged cape with fanatical feminist tendencies didn't offer much of a reason to join a neo-Nazi organisation in the present day. Unless, of course, the tendency to join extremist groups was somehow genetic in nature. There was almost certainly a study about it somewhere. Certain modes of thought, she surmised, might actually make it more likely to join such groups, and such things did run in families …

That was something to consider later, she decided. "So noted. Continue the playback."

"That's something that has yet to be determined," Armsmaster's voice stated. "Please walk me through what happened. When did it start?"

On the makeshift screen, Emma took a deep breath, then licked her lips. "After third period. Sophia and I met up with Madison outside Mr Gladly's classroom to go to lunch together, but Mads said she needed to go to the bathroom. So we went to the third floor one and waited--"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but why did you go up there?" Armsmaster broke in with the question. "Aren't there bathrooms on lower floors?"

"Yeah, but most everyone wants to go to the bathroom at the beginning of lunch break," Emma replied. "We—I mean she—didn't want to have to wait too long."

Emily filed away the slip of the tongue—if it even was one—without comment. It wasn't something she could really call out, and in any case there was something else that had caught her attention.

"So what happened then?" prompted Armsmaster's voice.

"Sophia and me didn't need to go, so we waited outside the bathroom while Madison went in. The next thing, we heard her scream, so we ran in. Taylor was just standing there with a kind of sick grin on her face, and Madison was screaming and thrashing around. She was covered in bugs. When Soph and I burst in, a few came for us, but not as many as there were on poor Mads." Emma clutched her father's hand convulsively. "It was horrible." Turning to her father, she buried her face in his shoulder. He wrapped his free arm around her and held her tightly.

Armsmaster paused the playback. "We pulled up the interview for a few moments until she regained her composure," he explained. "It seemed to have affected her badly."

"I'm not surprised," Emily said dryly. "Though there are a few things that don't seem to be adding up. It could be her memory playing tricks on her, but I'm a little dubious about them."

When Armsmaster spoke next, he sounded puzzled. "I'm not sure what you're talking about. I mean, there are some things about this case that don't make sense to me, but not in that part of the interview."

"I'm going to assume that you know very little about teenage girls." There was no change in Armsmaster's visible expression, but Emily almost smiled at the air of confusion radiating off the man. "There is no way two would wait outside while one went in. Was there a mirror in there?"

"Well, yes, but I don't see the connection." Thus spoke, Emily mused, a man who'd never had to share a bathroom with a teenage girl. Or, for that matter, a woman of virtually any age.

"Run it back a little." She waited till he complied, then pointed. "See? You can see she's been crying, but her makeup is perfect. I'm willing to bet that during the break before you resumed, she went to the bathroom and fixed it all up again."

"So you're saying she would've gone in with Madison. Both of them would have." Armsmaster finally seemed to be getting it.

"Exactly." Again, Emily indicated the face of Emma Barnes, frozen in mid-word. "I'm not saying all teenage girls are so image-conscious but with her looks and her background in modelling, it'd be basically impossible for her not to be. Her not going in there with Madison, especially just before she goes to lunch with all the other students, is within the realms of possibility, but extremely unlikely. So there's that. Also, something else."

"Something else?" Armsmaster's tone seemed to be asking another question: what else did I miss?

"She said the Hebert girl already had her bug powers; specifically, she was attacking Madison with them when they entered." Emily waited for him to get the inference.

"You're saying that because she may have lied with one part of her statement, she lied about that too?" Armsmaster sounded dubious. "You realise, that doesn't necessarily follow."

"No, you're right. It doesn't." Emily heard the satisfaction in her own voice. "But we have the swastika carving, which indicates Empire involvement. The thing is, if she wanted to get into the Empire and she had bug powers, all she'd have to do is present herself complete with powers, and they'd welcome her with open arms. So if she had the bug powers before today … why hasn't this already happened?"

Armsmaster nodded slowly. "So either she hasn't had the bug powers for that long, or someone else carved the swastika. And presumably finished off Shadow Stalker." His lips compressed as he presumably frowned. "I had been wondering how a brand-new cape with no formal training that we know of managed to beat Stalker so comprehensively."

"Exactly." In a fight between Shadow Stalker and a bug controller, even one armed with a knife, she would've bet on the Ward. As much as Emily had disliked the volatile teenager, she was aware that Shadow Stalker had pursued a middling-successful career as a vigilante for some months before being snared by the PRT for her lack of care and attention. "Do you think the Hebert girl had help from the Empire? Or perhaps other powers that Trumped Stalker's?" It was the only thing that made sense, really. "Or even both?"

"Too many anomalous data points to reach any firm conclusions at this time," decided Armsmaster. "There's a little bit more to go with the interview."

"Show me," Emily ordered, settling back into her seat. Belatedly, it occurred to her that the swastika carving may have been carried out to frame the Empire for the killing. She made a mental note to look into that possibility as well. Too many variables.

The footage skipped ahead, showing Emma back in control of her emotions. As Emily had predicted, her makeup was perfect once more.

"So you entered the bathroom," Armsmaster said. "What happened then?"

On screen, Emma licked her lips again. Emily wondered if it was some kind of tell. "I—I wanted to save Madison, but Soph just grabbed me and shoved me out the door. She told me to go, that she'd hold Taylor off." She sniffled and dabbed at the corner of her eye, though Emily was fairly certain there hadn't been any tears there. "It was the most heroic thing I've ever seen."

Already inclined to be dubious, Emily decided to take the dramatics with a large grain of salt. Given that Emma was alive and Sophia was dead, she was willing to accept that Emma left while Sophia stayed. How it had come about was something she did not intend to blindly accept from Emma's testimony.

"What did you do?" Armsmaster's voice was non-judgmental.

"I ran downstairs," Emma supplied. "Went straight to Principal Blackwell's office and raised the alarm." She paused. "Oh, and I think I saw the knife, too. Just as I went out the door, I looked back and I thought I saw something in Taylor's hand. Something shiny."

"Can you describe it for me?" asked Armsmaster, an increase of interest now evident in his tone. "How long was the blade? How was it shaped? Were there any distinguishing markings on it? Any details at all would be very helpful."

The teenage girl hesitated, and Emily made a private bet with herself that no pertinent details would be forthcoming. "I—I didn't see very much," she confessed. "Just a glint, you know? I didn't even realise what it was until I heard that Sophia had been stabbed. Then I knew what it must've been. I think she must've brought the knife to school on purpose. To kill me, or Sophia, or Madison. Or all three of us."

Emily held up her hand, and Armsmaster paused the footage once more. "She never saw the knife," she said flatly. "I would bet a large amount of money that Taylor wasn't holding it when Emma went out the door."

"I'm forced to agree." He sounded a little hurt; she suspected he'd been feeling a certain degree of sympathy toward the redheaded girl. Which, of course, had been Emma's aim all along. The teen was really good at presenting herself as an innocent victim. "But why play that up?"

"To fix in our minds that Taylor had a weapon on her from the beginning, and ignore the fact that she had bug powers." She rubbed her chin. "How many capes with a reliable ranged power also pick up a weapon like a knife to augment that? I'm not being rhetorical here; I really don't know. It just seems to me if you can swarm someone to death with bugs, being able to stab them is a little superfluous."

"Not many that I know of. Still, Stalker was stabbed," he pointed out. "There was a patch of aspirated blood in the middle of the floor that I'm willing to bet she coughed up once she was wounded. And as I said earlier, if our forensics techs are correct, all the wounds were done with either the same weapon or blades that were virtually identical to one another. But if we can't actually put the knife in Taylor's hand, did she even do it? Or did someone else come in and take over? Someone connected to the Empire?"

"Maybe we don't even need the Empire connection," Emily said, recalling her earlier thought. "What if whoever killed her did it for their own reasons, and only carved the swastika to throw investigators off the scent?" Which, if she thought about it, made Taylor a possible suspect once more. She wasn't sure why the girl would've stabbed Stalker, or even how Taylor could have overcome her in a straight fight, but reading between the lines of Emma's description of her, she got the strong indication that Emma disliked Taylor Hebert intensely. Is that why she was in that bathroom?

"But it's got similarities to a murder that happened a few weeks ago," Armsmaster said. "We found Grue of the Undersiders, a young black man, stabbed to death with a broken-off broomstick. They carved a swastika on him as well. The Empire denied responsibility, but Shadow Stalker's report clearly put them on the scene at the time …" His voice trailed off. "That's a really odd coincidence. Two murders, two swastikas when they've never made a practice of doing that before, and Stalker just happens to be involved in both of them."

"She's the victim in this case, don't forget," Emily said flatly. "But I agree; it is odd. If the same people did both, or even if this one's a copycat, it follows that Stalker's killer almost has to be Empire. Maybe they figured out who she was and thought she could identify them, so they came to Winslow to shut her up?"

"Doesn't hold water," Armsmaster replied. "That was nearly three weeks ago. They'd assume they're free and clear by now."

"Unless they're Winslow students, new in the Empire and cocky with it." Emily was having a hard time getting over the double coincidence. "Suppose they came up to the third floor to do whatever; steal from the classrooms, have a smoke somewhere, settle a gang difference. Stalker's been stabbed. She's coughing up blood, so she ghosts out through the wall or door, and they see this. They recognise her as Shadow Stalker and that she's wounded, so they go in for the kill, and mark her the same way they did the other guy. Once the deed's done, they scatter."

Armsmaster paused. "That's a really, really big coincidence," he objected, but she heard the doubt in his voice. "There's still the problem with the knife wounds all being from the same blade. Forensics has a blood-mark inside the bathroom that's consistent with a knife being dropped on the floor."

"From the same type of blade," Emily pointed out. "And what about this; Taylor has the knife and stabs Stalker somehow. Stalker backs off and coughs blood. Taylor drops the knife for whatever reason. Stalker's able to pick up weapons on the way through while she's ghosted; I've read her reports. She does this and ends up outside the bathroom with a bloody knife, but the wound and the passage through the wall weakens her so when the Empire recruits see her, they overpower her, take the knife off her and kill her with it."

"Which would solve the mystery of where the knife went to," Armsmaster conceded. "We've searched every trashcan and dumpster in and around Winslow. There was actually an amazing amount of contraband there, including several knives that fit the type of the one that killed Stalker, but none with any traces of fresh blood on them."

"We'll go with that for a working theory," Emily decided. "Let's see what the rest of the interview has to offer."

The action started again. "What did Principal Blackwell do?" asked Armsmaster's voice.

"She set off the fire alarm and put the school on lockdown," Emma said promptly. "Standard procedure for cape attack. Then she called the police and the PRT and sent me to the school nurse to make sure I was OK. I had a few bug bites, but that was all." Her shiver looked entirely unfeigned. "Seeing all those bugs swarming over poor Madison like that …"

"Can you recall any more details of your encounter with Miss Hebert?" Armsmaster prompted. Emma shook her head. "All right, then. Thank you for your assistance. You've been very brave." A card skated into view across the table; Emily knew for a fact that Armsmaster had a dispenser in the cuff of one of his gauntlets. "Call me at any time of night or day if you think of anything else."

The picture cut off there, and the projector shut down. Armsmaster stowed the device on his belt once more. "After that, I escorted them to their vehicle and went back to see how the forensics techs were doing with the crime scene."

"Anything of note there?" Emily began going over in her mind what she was due to do once Armsmaster left. There was paperwork from Requisitions to look over, and …

"Something odd, yes." The somewhat puzzled tone to his voice brought her attention right back to him. "Inside the bathroom it reeked of bleach. As in, very recently applied bleach. I checked, and they only have cleaners come in once a week, on Saturday. It's a budgetary thing."

"They weren't cleaning up the blood, were they?" Emily felt her ire rising at such a concept. Destroying evidence could and would land someone in jail, if anyone on the faculty was stupid enough to do it.

"No, the blood was still there." Armsmaster shook his head slightly. "It was as if they'd picked one cubicle and scrubbed it to within an inch of its life, for no discernible reason. It wasn't even near where the blood was."

"Do you have photos of the scene?" The question was superfluous; of course Armsmaster had photos.

"I do. Emailing them to your computer now." As the desktop terminal pinged to alert her of the incoming mail, Emily mused that the man was an incurable showoff.

She clicked the mouse on the appropriate icon and opened the folder. Two were of Shadow Stalker's sprawled body at the top of a set of stairs, while the rest portrayed a series of views of a typical high school bathroom. She bypassed the sheet-covered body in the middle of the floor and concentrated on the other details. Grimy mirror, tiled walls and floor, six cubicles … "Wait, the doors open outward?"

"Seems to be the way they were constructed." Armsmaster shrugged slightly. "It's not unknown."

"Sounds ridiculous to me." Emily studied the photos. "Which one had the smell of bleach?" Something nagged at her as she looked them over, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"Second one from the door," Armsmaster said helpfully. "In photo four, it's in the middle of the frame."

"Hm." Emily rubbed her chin. "If they thought it was worth walking past the body of a Ward to clean this one cubicle, I want to know why they cleaned it." She looked up at Armsmaster. "I need you to go back there with the most powerful black light emitter you can build or adapt for the purpose. Bleach is used to clean up biological contamination, and I'm strongly convinced there was some sort of spill there. Maybe more blood, even." Which would definitely change the whole scenario, right there. To what, she wasn't certain. "Hopefully you can find something they didn't clean up, and get a sample."

"Roger that, ma'am." Armsmaster didn't sound thrilled by the prospect. "Anything else?"

She considered the question, then looked over the photos again. That nagging feeling came again, and she tapped a fingernail on the screen. "Those feminine product bins don't look quite right. What's going on with them?" The angle wasn't great, but to her point of view, they looked a little bulkier than they really ought to be.

"I'll ask about that, too." If she knew him, he was making a note as he spoke.

"Good." She leaned back in her chair. "We don't have enough data on what happened when Emma and her friends first entered that bathroom. Did Taylor attack them, or did they attack her? Either way, why? One girl against three, with one of the three being Stalker? It's not great odds. In fact, it's shitty odds."

"We're reasonably certain she has bug powers, and there was a knife involved somewhere there as well," Armsmaster reminded her. "Stalker first got stabbed inside the bathroom, not outside."

"Yes, but still. Masters, by and large, are squishy. This is why Brutes protect them. They just don't tend to step up and go on the attack." Sitting forward, she propped her chin on her hand as she looked over the photos one more time. "We just don't have enough information."

Correctly taking that as a dismissal, Armsmaster moved toward the door, then stopped and turned around. "There's already a BOLO out on the Hebert girl. Are we treating her as a suspect? Approach with caution?"

Emily frowned. "We'll be calling her a person of interest in the case for the moment. If Emma's lying about what happened, maybe Miss Hebert can clear things up." As a person of interest, it wouldn't be hard to get warrants to search the Hebert girl's house and school locker. With any luck, whatever they found there would bring order to the current chaos.

"And if it turns out she snapped, murdered Shadow Stalker, and carved the swastika into her back?" Armsmaster's voice held a note of inquiry.

"Then we throw the book at her, and ask her why she's copying an Empire kill." Emily shook her head. "But I don't think it's going to come to that."

She didn't pay attention when Armsmaster closed the door behind him. Staring at the photos of Shadow Stalker's fallen body, she frowned. Did she attack you or did you attack her? What happened in that bathroom?

After a while, she sagged back into her chair with a sigh. There was something missing; a crucial piece of data that was consistently eluding her. The missing link that would help her make sense of this whole mess.

And she still needed a drink, dammit.

<><>​

The Next Morning
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Taylor

It had been one of the worst nights of my life; not only was I sleeping on concrete with a piece of wood for a pillow, but I kept getting flashbacks to the bathroom, with side thoughts of how Dad was going to be taking this. The word 'badly' just didn't seem to be descriptive enough.

I had murdered a Ward.

I had murdered a Ward.

I had murdered a Ward.

I had murdered a Ward.

It didn't matter that she'd been bullying me, or even that she'd murdered a guy (well, that part did matter, but I was fairly certain that the PRT neither knew nor cared about Brian Laborn's death at Sophia's hands). They'd just care that a bug-controlling parahuman (me, just to be clear) had murdered a teenage girl with her bugs, and stabbed another teenage girl (who also happened to be a Ward) to death. Did they Birdcage people for that? I was pretty sure they did. Bug powers aside, I was fifteen years old and skinny with it. Imposing, I was not. Intimidating, even less so. They didn't have any rules or guards inside the Birdcage. I'd be a plaything. If I was lucky, the women would get hold of me, and even then that was a very loose definition of 'lucky'.

A delicious smell assaulted my nostrils, dragging me bodily out of my restless doze. Opening my eyes revealed blurry forms around me, sitting up and looking around. I did the same, fumbling for my glasses. Once I found them, I looked around for the source of the tantalising odours.

It wasn't hard to find. On the floor directly in front of me was a Fugly Bob's takeout bag. Lisa was just opening another one, and Glory Girl and Panacea had one each. I stretched reflexively, feeling about eighty years old from the cramps and creakiness, then stared at the bags. "Did we order takeout or something?" I asked, feeling more than a little confused. "Because I don't remember that."

"We didn't," Panacea said as she unwrapped a burger. Beside her, Glory Girl had her mouth blissfully stuffed full of fries. "Lisa?"

"I didn't do it," Lisa said, eating a couple of her fries. She raised her head, looking around. "Someone else did it, and I think they're still here."

A wash of fear went through me, and I climbed painfully to my feet. An order from me sent my bugs into high gear, swarming through the building. They found nobody, but that didn't change anything. If someone could get into our hiding place and leave Fugly Bobs bags with us without being spotted, they had to be really good at being sneaky. "If they're here, I can't find them," I said, slowly sitting down again. Then I looked dubiously at my bag. "Maybe we shouldn't eat it. Maybe it's got a sedative or something in it."

Panacea put her hand on her sister's arm. "Sugar, salt, grease and MSG, sure, but no sedatives," she reported. "Maybe they should've included some. She's gonna be hyper for hours now." She looked back over at Lisa. "You're certain they're still around?"

Lisa, caught in the act of taking a large bite out of her burger, waggled her free hand in the air. I reached into my own bag and pulled out a wrapped burger, still warm from the oven. My stomach, which had been silently protesting its lack of food to that point, decided that loud was the way to go. If there'd been windows, they would've rattled. Panacea smirked as I flushed, but she sent a semi-apologetic look my way. "Sorry," she said. "I shouldn't laugh."

Lisa swallowed the bite of burger, then cleared her throat. "I'm about sixty to seventy percent sure there's someone still hanging around. Pretty sure they don't mean us any harm. But there's something I can't figure out." Closing her eyes for a moment, she rubbed at her forehead with forefinger and thumb.

I'd just taken a bite out of my burger (I was hungry, and if I was going to be arrested, I'd rather have a good meal first) when something white flew past my vision. My head turned so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash, but it was just … a paper plane? What the hell was a paper plane doing here? And who threw it?

Even as it spiralled down to the ground—it seemed set up to turn really fast—I sent bugs swarming through the area it had come from. They didn't catch anyone. Nor did they smack into an invisible man, or even a visible one; bug eyesight might've been crap, but it could pick up a human form with ease.

That wasn't to say there was nobody there. My bugs kept hitting a fuzzy space, which confused them and threatened to give me a headache. Worse, the fuzzy space kept moving around in a way that prevented me from getting a fix with my bugs. I really hoped Lisa was right about whoever—or whatever—it was not meaning us harm.

The plane hit the ground with a tiny thud, and Lisa leaned over to pick it up. Unfolding it one-handed—the other hand was still occupied with her burger—she squinted at it. "Yo, peeps," she read, then frowned. "You promise not to gank me if I show my face? Friendly, I promise. I'm totes the awesome person who brung you the Fugly. Peace?"

Lisa read through the note again, then folded it carefully and tucked it into her pocket. Panacea and I stared at her, while Glory Girl seemed to be searching through her bag for more fries. "Well?" I asked.

"Well, what?" Lisa retorted as she got to her feet. "Do I think it's genuine? Yeah. Do I think they're telling the truth? Sure. Do I think they're standing right in front of me?" Her hand lashed out and grabbed something, then pulled it close to her. "You can drop the effect now," she added, and I was pretty sure she wasn't talking to me or Panacea.

One moment I was wondering why she was acting this way, and the next I was staring at a black girl, a year or so younger than myself. She had a purple streak in her hair and wore trashy clothes almost certainly intended to shock and irritate others. In deference to the chill in the air, she also wore a light jacket; Lisa had a firm grip on its collar.

"All right, all right," groused the girl sullenly. "You can let go now." She turned to face the rest of us. "Hi. Hope you like Fugly's."

"Aisha," Lisa said warningly. "What've you been up to? Did you go after Shadow Stalker on your own after I told you not to?"

"Yeah, you told me." The black girl—Aisha—shot Lisa an impudent grin. "But I still fuckin' got her, didn't I?"

I raised a hand tentatively. "Uh, I think it was actually me that got her. Just saying." As I put my hand down, I wondered why I'd even spoken up. It wasn't something I was exactly proud of, after all. Then something else caught up with me. "Wait, you know each other?"

"Yeah, Bri was my big brother," Aisha said. "She was the one who told me about Shadow Stinker killing him." She pulled free of Lisa's grasp—or rather, Lisa let her pull free—and came over to sit next to me. "Remember the knife? Who do you think gave it to you?"

A lot of things made sense all of a sudden. I'd thought things had gone a bit weird at Winslow. "And you made me into a fucking murderer," I told her bitterly. "The PRT's gonna fuckin' Birdcage me for that. A cape who killed two girls, one of them a Ward? My feet won't even touch the ground."

"It probably won't come to that," Lisa assured me. "But you're right. There's people looking for all of us, and we're probably safer sticking together. Except you, Aisha. You should go home. Nobody's after you for anything."

"Nuh uh," Aisha said, shaking her head vigorously. "Mom's a druggie who brings home pervert boyfriends. Dad's got a stick so far up his ass it scratches his tonsils. Bri's the only one who ever made it tolerable. I'm never goin' home again. If I get shit for you guys, can I hang with you?"

Lisa looked over at me, then at Panacea. I shrugged; while I was still a little irritated with Aisha for giving me the knife, I couldn't help but recall Sophia's look of murderous rage. She probably would've killed me, if not for Aisha. "I guess?" I mumbled.

"Couldn't hurt," Panacea agreed in the same mildly dubious tone.

"I guess that settles it," Lisa said. "Looks like you're in."

"Awesome!" Aisha bounced to her feet again. "I always wanted to be in a supervillain team. So what are we gonna do next? I vote we rob a bank. I've never robbed a bank before."

Lisa facepalmed, while I shared a look with Panacea. Oh, boy.

Life on the run was definitely not going to be boring.



End of Part Three

Part Four

 

[Ack]

One Bad Day

Part Four: Escalating Matters

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



Taylor

Lisa covered her eyes with her hand. "No, Aisha." Her voice was almost a groan. "We are not going to be robbing a bank. For a start, I'm the only professional villain here. The last thing I want to do is raise my profile right now, and I'm pretty sure Taylor wants to keep her head down for her own reasons. And of course, even if Panacea was willing to break the law so blatantly, there's a good chance that Glory Girl would eviscerate anyone who threatened her."

I looked at Amy, hoping she'd deny the charge. Sure, Glory Girl was different now, but I wasn't quite sure just how badly she'd been affected. Amy dropped her eyes rather than contest the point, causing my stomach to lurch. "She wouldn't ... would she?" I asked.

"If I tell her not to, no," Amy said quietly. "But I can fix her. I know I can. I just need time to get it right."

"You won't be able to, not like that," Lisa informed her bluntly. "You're thinking you can go by your memories of what she's like, and rebuild her like that? Won't work. All you'll get is a caricature, based on what you think you remember about her. One that you'll be tweaking for the rest of your life. Until she gets enough self-awareness to understand what you've truly done to her, and either kills you or kills herself. Or both."

"I've got to try!" shrieked Amy, clenching her hands in her hair and squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm not a monster! I'm not!"

The wave of fear made me take a step back, and I was pretty sure I was on the edge of it. Lisa must have caught the full force because she doubled up, gagging. When I looked at Victoria, she was hovering in place with her finger pointed at the erstwhile villain. "Don't upset Amy," she said in her childlike tone. "I will be angry if you do."

"It's all right," I said soothingly, moving forward again and holding my open hands up to show I was harmless. "Nobody's upsetting Amy. And I bet Lisa has a plan to make it work. Right, Lisa?" I prayed I was reading the situation correctly. If Lisa didn't have an alternate, she wouldn't have said 'not like that' … I hoped, anyway. I'd already noted her tendency to go overboard in destroying opposing ideas before putting her own up in their place.

It took Amy a few seconds to register what I was saying, then she turned to Lisa. "Is that true? Do you know how to fix this?" The raw hope in her face was almost too much for me to bear; for all of our sakes, I prayed Lisa did actually have a solution.

Fortunately, Vicky caught Amy's change in mood, and the fear aura died away. She drifted back down to the ground, but her eyes never left Lisa.

Lisa hacked and coughed a few times, then spat off to the side. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she straightened up again. "Yeah, of course I've got a plan," she said. "I've even got a backup plan. It's dangerous and difficult as fuck, but that's what you get when you pull this sort of shit. If monumental fuckups were easy to unravel, they wouldn't be monumental fuckups."

I winced at the momentary flare of anger on Amy's face, but the healer seemed to accept the judgemental words in the spirit they were offered. "I'll do it," she declared. "Anything. Just tell me how to fix her."

"Well, here's the thing," Lisa stated baldly. "You don't fix her. Your power isn't set up that way, any more than a pencil with an eraser on the end is good at reconstructing what's been written after the eraser's been over it. We're going to have to go farther afield for this. Ever hear of Toybox?"

I blinked. "Uh, is that a cape?" To me, it sounded like something a Tinker would call himself. Though what a toy-based Tinker had to do with this situation, I had no idea.

"No, it's not." Amy shook her head. For the first time, she seemed to be engaging with Lisa. "It's a bunch of rogue capes, though they are all Tinkers. You think one of them could …" She paused, enlightenment spreading over her face. "Shit, of course. Cranial?"

"Cranial," Lisa confirmed. "Apparently she's the go-to person for memory transfer and personality implantation. Not that I figure there's much in the way of a legitimate market for that sort of thing." She must've been feeling better, because her trademark grin had returned to her face. "However, in Vicky's case, it's just what the doctor ordered."

Amy nodded slowly, but then she grimaced. "Okay, I get that. But after all that, we're still stuck with the problem that my memories of her are probably unreliable. How do we get around that?"

That got her an eye-roll from Lisa. "Seriously, were you even listening when I said it was going to be difficult and dangerous?"

I decided to stick my oar in at this point. "Uh, I thought you were saying that contacting Toybox was going to be the difficult and dangerous bit. Or maybe they'd make us go and do stuff for them before they'd help us."

"Hah, nope." Lisa's grin was back in full force by now. She shook her head. "Finding Toybox is easy, if you have the right contacts, and I've got those. Paying for the service will be a bit harder, but money's easy to come by if you know what you're doing and you're not too fussed about legalities."

"Hah!" I jumped as Aisha faded back into view. Holy shit, Brian had a sister, and she's been standing here all this time, and I didn't know she was there! "I knew we were gonna be robbing a bank! Someone hand me the phone, 'cause I called it!"

Lisa facepalmed, properly this time. "Bank robbery is about the worst way to make money there is," she explained patiently. "But we can burn that bridge when we come to it. No, that's not the difficult or dangerous part."

"So what is it?" Amy had a peculiar expression on her face, as if she wasn't sure that she wanted to know.

Steepling her fingers, Lisa looked at us over them, obviously doing her best to portray a notorious supervillain. Her shit-eating grin didn't hurt the image, either. "We have to kidnap Glory Girl's friends and family, of course."

<><>​

Danny

"Okay, Hebert. Up an' at 'em. Your ride's here."

The words sliced through Danny's uneasy sleep like a hot knife through soft butter. He blinked his eyes open, then rubbed at them to get rid of the crap in the corners. As he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bench, he felt his spine pop in half a dozen places. Either he was getting old, or that was seriously not a good place to sleep. At first glance, he was going with 'both'.

Fumbling around half-blind, he located his glasses on the floor beside the bench, wondering for the first time since he'd woken up exactly why he was sleeping on a hard bench rather than his soft bed. Or who it was that had woken him up with those brisk words. Putting his glasses on, he looked in the direction of the speaker and found his questions were being answered with more questions.

Staring around the interior of the jail cell, he frowned. "What the hell am I doing here?" he asked almost plaintively.

The police officer on the other side of the bars shrugged. "You punched a cop," he said. "That shit tends to get you arrested. But hey, it's your lucky day."

Punched a … what the fuck? "Wait, why … ?" Danny's question trailed off as his treacherous memory started replaying scenes from the previous night in his head. "Ah." And now that he thought about it, his knuckles were kind of sore. Also, he had two sore spots under his shirt. Those were where the taser darts had gone in. He wasn't surprised he had trouble remembering what had happened after that. Or before it, for that matter.

"Yeah, ah," the cop snorted. "But we aren't runnin' a bed and breakfast here, and word's come down from on high that you're to be handed over to the PRT. Who just showed up. So get on your feet and back up to the bars." By way of explanation, he waved a pair of handcuffs. "You might look like a skinny drink of water, but from the way you laid out Bannon last night, I'm taking zero chances with you."

"PRT?" asked Danny, feeling as though he still had some mileage to catch up in this conversation. "What does the PRT want with me?"

"Buddy, I am sincerely fucked if I know," the cop replied. "But it's not my job to ask. It's my job to escort you out there so we can hand you over. So unless you really feel like staying in there and being charged with assaulting a police officer, be a pal and back up to the bars, huh?" He jingled the handcuffs again.

"Right. Yeah." Climbing to his feet, Danny shambled up to the bars. As he did so, he saw a second officer standing off to the side, hand on his taser. It seemed they really weren't taking any chances with him. Resignedly, he turned around and shoved his hands awkwardly through the bars.

"That's the way." A hand roughly grabbed one of his wrists and he felt the cold metal closing over it, then the process was repeated with his other wrist. "Okay, good. Now, we're gonna escort you out there and hand you over. The paperwork's been filed. Give us any trouble and we will tase your sorry ass and drag you out. Got it?"

"Got it," Danny replied numbly.

"Good. Now step forward away from the bars."

Obediently, Danny moved away from the entrance to the cell. He heard it open, and turned around as the two police officers entered the cell. Each of them took hold of one of his arms, and they walked him out of the cell and down the corridor. He didn't try to resist, which was a good thing, because it wouldn't have done him any good.

Waiting for him was a single PRT soldier, accompanied by a superhero. Shorter than him—the only capes in Brockton Bay that weren't were some of the villains—she wore well-cut camouflage fatigues and a flag-patterned scarf across her face, as well as a similarly-themed sash around her waist. The cops around her seemed more concerned by the M-60 she was carrying across her shoulders than by the weapon held by the PRT trooper. He knew who she was, of course; Miss Militia was a household name.

"Here's your boy," announced the officer who was holding his left arm. "One Daniel Hebert, in good condition. Not sure exactly what you want him for, but the paperwork all checks out."

"Thanks, guys," Miss Militia said. "We'll take him from here." She nodded to the PRT soldier, who stepped forward and took hold of Danny's arm. She hadn't answered the implied question, and he suspected it would've stayed unanswered even if the cop had asked it directly.

They went out through the back of the station, where a PRT van waited patiently. The soldier holding his arm never spoke, and Danny wasn't even sure if it was a guy or a girl behind that opaque faceplate, though he suspected the former due to their sheer bulk. He was made to stand and wait while they took his cuffs off. The back of the van was opened and the trooper directed him to climb inside, then followed him in.

If he'd thought they were going to be any less vigilant about him than the police were, he would've been somewhat mistaken. Manacles were locked around his wrists and the chain led down through a ring-bolt on his chair to another one on the floor. So long as he sat back in the reasonably-comfortable seat, he had no problems, but any attempt to get up and escape or attack his guard would end very quickly.

The rear doors (open so that Miss Militia could observe the procedure, he was certain) closed, and a few moments later he heard the passenger-side door open and close as well. The engine started, and the van began to move.

Danny turned his head to look at the guard, seeing only his distorted reflection in the faceplate. "Can I ask you what's going on?"

He didn't really expect an answer so when the guard did speak, he was somewhat surprised. "Sir, my job is to guard you," the hollow disembodied voice replied. "If you attempt to get out of those chains, I will foam you. Do you understand?" The tone was so matter-of-fact that the guy had to have said that exact same thing many times before.

"Oh, uh, sure." Danny subsided. "But can I ask you what's going on?"

"Yes, you can ask questions." Miss Militia's voice came over speakers mounted toward the front of the compartment. "But this vehicle isn't secure, so we're limited in the answers we can give. We'll have more information for you when we get to the PRT building."

"Right. Gotcha." Danny still wasn't sure what was going on, and why the PRT wanted to talk to him about the bullshit charges against Taylor—because really, what other reason did anyone in authority want him for right now?—so he settled back to enjoy the ride. Or at least, not hate it too much.

<><>​

Sarah Pelham

Outside the Dallon Household

Neil knocked again. "She's not answering," he said. The comment was unnecessary; Sarah could easily see that her sister wasn't answering the door. More worryingly, neither of her nieces had answered the door either. Which meant they were either sleeping in after whatever adventures they'd had being out and about, or they were still out and about. The second scenario was the problematic one.

"Fine, I'll use my key," she said, bowing to the inevitable. As she dug it out of her purse, she wondered if Carol had actually taken the girls out somewhere. The garage doors were closed, so she couldn't tell one way or the other. No, she decided as she fitted the key into the lock. The state of mind that Carol had been in, she wouldn't be likely to give Amy a lift anywhere. Or let them out of her sight for at least twenty-four hours.

The lock clicked, and she dropped the keyring back into her purse. Turning the handle, she pushed the door open. As she stepped inside, she sniffed as she smelled a strong odour.

"Whew," Neil said as he followed her inside. "Smells like a distillery in here."

It didn't, quite, but the whiff of alcohol was strong in the still air inside the house. That was when she heard the disjointed snoring, which was quite unlike Carol or either of the kids. Her eyes met Neil's in a silent question, and he shrugged in reply. All right, then. Hoping that Carol hadn't brought some strange guy home, but not sure what else it could be, Sarah drifted into the air and threw a light shield around herself. Probably overreacting but better safe than sorry. Silently, she floated through the doorway into the living room … and stopped dead in mid-air.

"Carol?" she exclaimed in shock, her feet hitting the ground again with a thud.

Neil crowded in past her, then came to a halt as well. "Fuck," he said almost admiringly. "She's plastered."

He wasn't wrong. Carol lay sprawled on the couch, emitting snores that wouldn't have been out of place coming from a malfunctioning rock-crusher. Her hair was a mess, and one arm trailed off the side of the couch, a glass lying on its side a few inches from her fingertips. A large discoloured patch in the carpet next to the glass, along with the residual pooling of amber liquid in the glass itself, told them where the smell was coming from. On the coffee table, a bottle sat with only half an inch or so of matching fluid in the bottom of it.

"Carol doesn't drink," Sarah said automatically, then flushed as the evidence of the scene before her made it plain that yes, Carol had taken at least one drink. "Well, I didn't think she drank."

"Looks like she took it up in a hurry," Neil observed. "Need a hand getting her upstairs?" He frowned as she stared at him in puzzlement. "Well, I figured you'd want to get her cleaned up and into bed, is all. 'Cause she's not gonna be waking up from a bender like that till at least midday."

Sarah sighed. "Good point. I got this." Carefully, she formed a force field between Carol and the couch and lifted her sister into the air. Neil helpfully lifted Carol's dangling arm and draped it over her stomach. Turning, she made her burden waft its way toward the stairs. Literally hovering over Carol, she accompanied her sister upward to the second floor, then stopped. "Do me a favour?" she called over her shoulder.

Neil paused in the act of picking up the dropped glass. "Sure, babe, what do you want?"

"Check on the girls? Just open their bedroom doors and look in? If they're home and still asleep, I don't want to be worrying while I'm dealing with Carol." She kept going, up the stairs and toward the bathroom. Hopefully a shower would wake Carol up. And if not, she needed to sleep it off in her own bed, not on that couch.

"Not a problem," her husband replied from downstairs. "I'll just put this in the sink."

Sarah allowed herself a tiny smile as she navigated her snoring—and yes, drooling—sister in through the bathroom door. Same old Neil. He was always careful about leaving things lying around on the floor, usually because if he stood on anything like that, it broke.

Undressing a sleeping person wasn't exactly the easiest thing in the world, especially as Sarah had to make sure to keep a skin-level force field up at all times. While she didn't think Carol would spontaneously manifest an energy blade and try to kill her, she'd never seen her sister drunk like this ever. So safe was definitely better than sorry.

Eventually, however, she got Carol undressed and into the shower, supported by a rough framework of force fields. Her sister mumbled and moved a little under the pounding spray of hot water, but never truly woke up, even when Sarah washed her face with a wet cloth. Maybe I should use cold water instead. But she didn't want to be cruel to Carol, and there was still going to be a massive hangover to deal with once her sister woke up.

The shower done with, she dressed Carol in pyjamas she had Neil locate and hand in around the door, then floated her off to bed using the same forcefield-stretcher she'd used to get her up the stairs. None of this was physically strenuous, but by the time she pulled the covers over her sister and sat back on the edge of the bed, she felt like she'd been through the wringer. "Gah." Looking around as Neil leaned into the room, she raised her eyebrows interrogatively. "Please tell me the girls are in their rooms."

His grimace told her everything she didn't want to know. "Sorry. No sign of them. Not even a note on the fridge telling her they were going out."

Gusting out a sigh, Sarah stood up. "Okay, this is starting to seriously concern me. Let's go downstairs, then you call Eric and I'll call Crystal, and see if between us we can't get a list of friends they might be staying with."

Neil nodded, his face set in lines of worry. "Should we alert the PRT that they're missing?"

Up until now, Sarah had dismissed the idea, but now she began to seriously consider it. With the PRT, Protectorate and Wards all looking for the two girls, the chances of locating them would go up dramatically. On the other hand … "Let's hold off on that until we've checked with their friends," she decided. "The last thing we want is to spread any sort of rumour that New Wave is coming apart at the seams." After Mark's death, that had become a major concern for the both of them. "But if we can't find them then …" She didn't have to say any more.

Her husband nodded. "Got it."

Together, they went downstairs.

<><>​

Coil

Thomas Calvert was pissed.

In a series of events that he was still working to sort out, one of his catspaw groups—including the very useful Tattletale—had slipped from his grasp. The death of Grue he could have gotten around, and in fact he'd thought Hardcase had things in hand. He'd advised the young man to keep Tattletale on a tight rein because he had no illusions about how she could twist orders to suit herself, given no oversight. The condition—or rather, the state of dress—in which he'd found Hardcase suggested that maybe he should've been a little more circumspect in how he worded his orders, but that was beyond the point.

The point was that his Tattletale had defied his orders and killed his subordinate, who was also her team leader. He'd known she wanted to cut loose from his leadership, but murder was a line she'd never crossed before. She tended to destroy people with words, not weapons. Now she'd done it once, he couldn't trust her not to do it again, and he definitely couldn't trust her not to try to put a bullet in him at some point. She had to die, or appear to die, in such a way that sent a message to the rest of his minions: cross me and this is what happens to you.

Of course, if he could get hold of her on the quiet, her death wasn't totally necessary. He'd been working on a backup plan for a while, just in case he managed to get his hands on another Thinker. It involved copious amounts of addictive drugs, though in order to strike just the right balance (he didn't want the end result to be babbling uselessness or death, after all) he'd need someone with the right skills to keep the subject alive, well and mostly lucid. Lacking another Thinker, and with her field usefulness at an end, Tattletale would make a perfect test subject.

An almost equally irritating aspect was that he now had no real way to maintain his control over Regent or Bitch without revealing himself to them as their mysterious boss. They were far more useful masquerading as part of an independent team than as two disparate capes without Thinker or Shaker support. With the deaths of both Grue and Hardcase and the defection of Tattletale, the reputation of the Undersiders as the untouchable escape artist team was gone forever. In fact, the Undersiders themselves were finished as a team, unless the indolent Regent and the savagely uncaring Bitch could be persuaded to keep up the pretext. Maybe if he ordered Circus to join … but the androgynous cape had already made it clear that she worked alone.

God damn it.

As was his habit, he'd spent the previous night both in his base keeping up with the current situation in Brockton Bay—and trying to find Tattletale!—and getting a restful night's sleep. On rising, he'd dropped the 'base' timeline, split time again, and called in sick with one of his timelines. That timeline had him now in the base again, micro-managing the day-to-day operations in an effort to get a lead on his wayward Thinker. In the other, he was in his office, dealing with the inevitable paperwork that cropped up for a PRT strike team commander.

The entire purpose of the visit had been to observe the interaction between Hardcase and Tattletale. While the new team leader had been boastfully confident about his ability to keep 'his people' in line, Calvert was all too aware that field reports could often differ drastically from the objective reality on the ground, so he'd wanted to drop in unexpectedly—while Regent and Bitch were both out, of course—and see for himself.

He'd seen, all right. Hardcase was dead, with an arrow in his eye—where the hell had the bitch gotten an arrow from?—and Tattletale was in the wind. A cursory search of the base had assured him that the other two capes had not bolted in the same way; all their belongings were still there. The trouble was, what to do with them?

With a sigh, the version of him in the base picked up his landline and selected Circus' number from the directory. A tap of the finger and the phone began to ring.

"Hello?" The tone was cautious. Circus must have recognised his number.

"Circus, are you busy?" It never hurt to pretend to be caring about his subordinates' time.

"A little. Why?" He heard a shuffling noise, then a grunt. However, she'd answered the phone, so it couldn't be too drastic.

It was time to get her attention. "I'd like to double your remittance, for additional duties."

"The money would be nice, but what additional duties?" She hadn't lost the cautious tone. Some people, he decided, were just too paranoid.

Oh, well. In for a penny. "I need someone to step in as leader of the Undersiders, and you're the first person I thought of."

There was a rude noise over the phone. "First person after Hardcase, you mean. Why, what happened to him?"

Well, at least she hadn't heard that much about what was going on. Though how she knew about Hardcase in the first place, he wasn't sure. "He's no longer in the picture. Tattletale murdered him and ran. Without strong leadership, Bitch and Regent are likely to just wander off. I need you to provide that strong leadership."

"Four times." She grunted again. "Final offer."

"Four times … ?" He wasn't quite sure what she meant. Surely she didn't intend …

"Not double my usual. Four times. Those two are trouble for any team leader, and I don't do teams. I want four times the usual pay, or no deal."

He grimaced, but she had him over a barrel and he knew it. "Fine, on one condition."

"No promises." At least she wasn't shooting him down before even hearing it.

"You make it your priority to hunt down Tattletale and deliver her to me, alive. Any other level of injury, I don't care. She just has to be able to hear and speak." And feel, but that was a given. Torture might be only so-so at getting specific information out of people, but it was a wonderful way of breaking them.

"You're going to send her two previous teammates to help hunt her down? You realise that's got the potential to backfire really badly." Her tone was thoughtful rather than dismissive, which was encouraging.

"Bitch only cares about her dogs, and Regent doesn't care about anyone," he pointed out. Still, Circus had a point. "But I'll be doubling their pay for this particular mission, just in case," he decided.

"And a bonus on completion," she added, apparently just to yank his chain. "We want 'em to feel good about it afterward, right?"

He gritted his teeth. Next she'd be demanding the pound of flesh closest to his heart. Still, she was a professional, and her words made sense. "Including yourself, I have no doubt?"

"Naturally." He could almost see the shit-eating grin on her face. "So, we have a deal?"

At some point in the future, he decided, he and Circus were going to have a long talk about why she shouldn't antagonise her boss. There was likely to be a lot of screaming involved. If she was lucky (for a given definition of 'lucky') it would be in a disposable timeline. "We have a deal," he conceded.

"Good," she said brightly. "I'll get right on it."

He put the phone down again and leaned back in his ergonomic chair. It was time to check on the Pitter situation, he decided. Now that Tattletale had essentially volunteered to be his captive Thinker, he needed to push forward on that front faster than ever. Still trying to decide whether he was going to take one or both of her eyes as payback for the trouble she was putting him through, he picked up the phone again.

<><>​

Danny

The interrogation room seemed to be an exact duplicate of the ones he'd seen in cop shows, from the uncomfortable-looking chair behind the bolted-down table to the wide mirror on the opposite wall. He wondered absently if anyone was actually fooled by the one-way glass any more, or if it was just tradition.

The PRT trooper pointed at the chair and he sat down, fully aware that any show of defiance on his part would be remarkably unwise at this point. After all, they'd taken him away from the police, who would've otherwise been charging him with punching that one cop. Which made him wonder what the PRT wanted him for. Is this about Taylor? He couldn't imagine why. As messy as it was, he couldn't imagine the PRT involving themselves in a school stabbing—whoever it was who'd done it. He spread his hands on the table, glad that they'd at least left the cuffs off of him.

The door opened again, and a heavy-set woman wearing a blue business suit entered, carrying a briefcase. The PRT trooper saluted, and she casually returned it. Miss Militia followed her into the room, carrying a folding chair. Unfolded, the chair was placed on the other side of the table and the overweight woman lowered herself into it, placing the briefcase on the floor beside her. Miss Militia moved to the other side of the room to the guard and took up a similar posture. Danny didn't miss the large pistol in the holster at her side, however.

"Mr Hebert, my name is Emily Piggot," the woman opposite him said, her steel-grey eyes fixed on his face. "Do you know who I am?"

"You're the Director of the PRT in Brockton Bay," Danny replied. He hadn't known that all at once, but the salute plus a few half-remembered TV appearances had clued him in. The name had just nailed it down for him. He thought he could see dark roots in her blonde pageboy bob. Underneath the softening effect of the extra weight, he caught a glimpse of a frighteningly intense woman, one who'd never stepped aside for anything. What happened to you? he wondered. "What I don't know is why I'm here, and what you want from me."

"It's about your daughter," Piggot said bluntly. Her eyes never left his face.

"Let me guess: the bullshit murder accusation? Because that's all it is. Total bullshit. Taylor would never hurt anyone." As he spoke, his mind sought out possibilities. Why was the PRT interrogating him over this? Again, he drew a total blank. He considered clamming up and asking for a lawyer, but if he did that, he'd never find out what they really wanted.

"Yes and no," Piggot retorted. "Taylor did stab someone, but she's not the murderer. Someone else is. We're trying to find out who, and why, and what happened."

Danny felt the world waver slightly, but he took a deep breath and forced himself to focus. Okay, so they're not trying to pin the murder on Taylor. Still, it's not good. "What do you need me for?"

"We need Taylor to come in, to tell us her side of things," Piggot explained briefly. "But before that happens, we need to find out some information from you."

"Okay ..." He wasn't sure quite what was going on, but at least they weren't screaming accusations at him. "What do you want to know?"

What Piggot said next came in from left field. "Would it surprise you to know that the victim was black?"

"Why would that make a difference?" Danny shot back. "Black, white, Asian, Hispanic; what's your point?"

Director Piggot never hesitated. "The point is that we're certain the murder was racially motivated, and we're trying to find out if Taylor is involved in anything to do with that."

He placed both hands flat on the table and leaned forward. In his peripheral vision, he saw both Miss Militia and the PRT guard take a step closer, but he didn't care. "She's not. I taught my little girl better than to think like that. No way is she one of those racist assholes. No how, no way, never. You've got a better chance of getting Martin Luther King to join up." Breathing heavily, he subsided back into his chair.

"Understood." Reaching down, Piggot took up the briefcase and put it on the table. The clicks of the latches opening echoed in the room, then she lifted the lid and took out a form. "We're legally not allowed to tell you any more until you sign this." Placing a cheap plastic pen on top of the form, she skated it over to Danny.

He took it and turned it around. Looking at the top of the form, he discovered that it was a non-disclosure agreement with his name and details already filled out. Unfortunately, it didn't tell him what information he was enjoined not to disclose, except that it referred to 'details pertinent to the secret identity of a cape or capes' which could apparently be found in 'Document 3A'.

Do they think Taylor stabbed a cape? It was the only conclusion that made any sense. No wonder they were so anxious to get me away from the cops.

He ran his eye down the NDA, looking for any clauses that might lock him into anything else. Nothing jumped out at him, so he took up the pen and signed it, then leaned back in his chair. "So, how exactly do you think a fifteen year old girl got the better of a cape, knife or no knife?"

"That's what we're trying to find out." Her expression sour, the Director retrieved the NDA. "Sophia Hess was the Ward known as Shadow Stalker. Yesterday, there was an altercation between your daughter and her, as well as two other girls. Shadow Stalker was stabbed repeatedly, then her throat was cut and a swastika carved in her back. Another girl was swarmed by a mass of venomous bugs, and died as a result. The third girl got away and raised the alarm, specifically naming your daughter as the instigator. Taylor escaped in the confusion, and is still at large. Due to a mix-up in communication, the police reached your house before we did, and you were apparently arrested for attacking them."

"I didn't attack them," Danny said defensively. "One of the assholes told me my daughter was going away for murder, so I punched him out."

"I understand he has a fractured jaw," Piggot replied blandly. "For the record, that charge has been dropped, but don't try that here."

Danny nodded. "Okay. Got it. So this Sophia Hess was the Ward called Shadow Stalker. I think I saw her on TV once. And you think Taylor attacked her because she was black?"

"It was a working theory, especially after we saw the swastika," Miss Militia interjected. "So you're absolutely sure that your daughter doesn't have Empire leanings." It wasn't a question.

"One hundred percent," Danny said. "She's got no tattoos that I know of. She hasn't shaved her head. Hell, ask her best friend. Emma Barnes. She'll vouch for Taylor."

"Mr Hebert …" Director Piggot's voice was almost gentle. "Emma Barnes was the third girl. The one who raised the alarm."

What. The. Fuck?

<><>​

Emily Piggot

Danny Hebert's face went utterly slack at that piece of information. Either he'd been unaware of the rift between his daughter and Emma Barnes, or he was the best actor Emily had ever met, bar none. Just as Emily was going to push for further information, her phone rang.

God damn it. Of all the timing. She took the phone from her pocket and checked the number, then stood up. "I have to take this," she said. "We'll resume when I return."

Stepping out of the interrogation room, she pressed the icon to answer the phone. "What is it, Armsmaster?" she asked tersely. "I was in the middle of something important."

"Your hunch paid off, Director," the Tinker replied, sounding as happy as he ever did. "There was definitely something strange going on in this bathroom."

Emily's head came up and she instinctively took a couple of steps down the hall, away from the interrogation room. "Explain." 'Something strange' could mean a lot of things.

"I built the black-light emitter as you suggested. It's a little strong—the paint's bubbled in a few places—but I got readings that suggest something biological got splattered all over that stall. Something they tried really hard to eliminate." He sounded immensely satisfied with himself.

Emily wondered just how powerful a UV emitter had to be to make paint bubble, but shook her head. She had more important things to worry about. "Did you get a sample?"

"Yes. There was a single droplet on the underside of the toilet seat. I missed it on my first two passes, but got it on my third. My portable crime lab analysed it as containing traces of a bactericide, blood, insect remains and a fibrous material. But it's the blood that's interesting."

Armsmaster's portable crime lab took up about two cubic feet of his motorcycle and contained the most miniaturised automated analysis equipment that Piggot had ever seen. She was curious about the bactericide, but it seemed he wanted her to ask about the blood. "How is the blood interesting?"

"Because it's menstrual blood. Different in composition from normal blood. That droplet came from a feminine waste product bin. One that bugs had gotten into."

His conclusion was absolutely inescapable, and triggered a memory of a photo. "Wasn't there something about the bins there …?"

"Yes. I asked about those. It seemed some of the students were using the regular ones for stashing drugs and weapons, so they got in a special model, a little larger, that could be locked. Of course, the locks all went missing in the first two weeks, and they never bothered replacing them."

Emily was somehow not surprised. This was Winslow, after all. "So you're saying that a sanitary bin got emptied into that toilet stall. Was there any trace of it on Miss Clements or Shadow Stalker or Miss Barnes?"

"None that I saw. But again, you're correct. After I figured that out, I checked the toilets on either side for rubber residue on the seats or lids. And I found some. One set matches the tread patterns of the shoes Miss Clements was wearing. I haven't matched the other set."

The visual imagery matched. Two girls standing on the toilet lids, hoisting sanitary bins over the top of the divider, to dump the contents on … "This was an attack on Taylor Hebert."

"Agreed. I checked on the bins throughout the school. They were reluctant to let me, so I had to lean on them a bit, but I found a pair in the teachers' restrooms which hadn't been used at all, and had been scrubbed clean on the outside."

"The school actively tried to cover up the prior attack, and pin it all on the Hebert girl." Emily felt her anger rising. "I'm betting the other set of tread patterns you find matches either Miss Barnes or Shadow Stalker."

"That's my conclusion." Armsmaster didn't sound as angry as Emily was, but he tended to get more absorbed in his work. "I'll be writing it all up in my report, and I'll be checking Shadow Stalker's effects once I return to base."

"Good." This was going to lead to serious legal trouble for Winslow. How much legal trouble depended on what Taylor Hebert had to say for herself once she was brought in, but Emily was sure Blackwell would lose her job over this. "I need to get back to what I was doing. Good work, Armsmaster."

"Thank you, Director." He cut the call off then, about two seconds before she would've done so herself. She headed back toward the interrogation room, mulling over the new information. Would having a sanitary bin dumped over her have caused the Hebert girl to trigger? It seemed at least vaguely plausible, and would explain where the powers had come from.

Still, a knife wasn't powers, so she had to have had it before the whole confrontation. Which indicated at least a certain amount of intent to cause harm. She could've been carrying it to protect herself, but a knife usually worked better as a deterrent than an actual close-in weapon. Unless, of course, she didn't show it to anyone until she was in a clinch, and then she stabbed Shadow Stalker.

Emily pushed open the door and entered the interrogation room. Everyone was where she'd left them; Danny still sitting at the table, with Miss Militia and the guard doing a good impression of bookends at either side of the room. "Now, then," she said as she took a seat once more. "Where were we?"

<><>​

Danny

"Emma Barnes." Danny still had trouble saying the name in that context. "You're saying she said Taylor killed those girls?" It was just not believable.

"Exactly." Piggot leaned forward. "Moreover, she claims that she and your daughter drifted apart after they reached high school. However, I've just received information suggesting that not only were Emma and Taylor on the outs, but Emma and some of her friends may have been victimising Taylor. Had you heard if she'd been having trouble at school with anyone at all?"

Danny shook his head, his mind spinning. "No. Nothing at all." Recalling the reason for the lack of communication, he had the grace to look sheepish. "But we haven't been talking all that much recently. My wife, Taylor's mother, died just a few years ago, and we're still not totally recovered from that."

Piggot's expression softened slightly. "My condolences. I know what it's like to lose someone." It didn't last long. "So, you had no idea that anyone was picking on Taylor? That she may have decided to bring something to school to defend herself with? A knife, for instance?"

"No." Danny shook his head decisively. "Definitely not. What sort of a knife was it, anyway? A kitchen knife?"

"We don't think so." The Director held out her hands about ten inches apart. "From the shape of the wounds, it was a double-edged fighting knife of some sort. Do you have any idea where she might have gotten her hands on one of those?"

This was getting more and more surreal for Danny. "No. I keep telling you. Taylor's not a violent person. If you'd told me she had a kitchen knife, we'd have had something to talk about, because she could've grabbed one on the way to school. But if you're talking about a combat knife, not a chance. Taylor doesn't have that many friends, and none at all who'd be able to get a knife like that for her."

Director Piggot nodded. "Understood. Well, when we bring her in, we can ask her. In the meantime, I need to ask you one more question. And I want you to think carefully about the answer."

"No promises." Danny was being cautious about this. Nothing they'd asked him so far had threatened to pin any crimes on him, which was why he hadn't asked for a lawyer in earnest yet, but that could change.

"That's fair." Piggot leaned forward slightly. "Are you aware your daughter has powers?"

What. The. Fuck?

<><>​

Taylor

"No, wait, what the fuck?" Amy waved her hands back and forth in the classic 'cut off' gesture. "No way. We're not kidnapping her friends and my family." She paused, frowning. "Why do you want to kidnap them? We aren't villains. At least, I'm not. And nor is Vicky."

"I really gotta chime in here," I added. "Kidnapping is not the way to keep ourselves on the down-low. Just saying."

"It's for a good cause," Lisa insisted. "We get everyone together in Cranial's lab, wherever that is. Then she records all their memories of Vicky. The good, the bad, the mediocre, whatever. Everything that they ever saw her do. Then she meshes it all together and uses that to build a gestalt personality. That gets overlaid on Vicky's brain, tying in with what's already there." She made a flourishing gesture with her hand. "Voila."

It made sense. I hadn't even known about Cranial's existence, but Lisa made it sound so simple.

"Yeah," protested Amy. "But kidnapping? That means we have to fight them, and if they all come after us at once, we'll probably lose."

She definitely had a point. "Suppose we don't kidnap them," I suggested. "Why don't we just ask them? I'm sure they'd volunteer to help Vicky get her mind back."

Lisa sighed and looked pointedly at Amy. "Brandish," she said bluntly.

"Well, she might not freak out," Amy said defensively.

Lisa's expression was dubious at best. "Your stepmom has gone even more crazy-bitch since your stepdad died. I give it a seventy-thirty chance that the moment you even hint about what you've done to her prize daughter, she'll come after you with her discount lightsaber. And what if they just refuse to go along with it? I know I'd be justifiably concerned about letting a rogue Tinker rummage around in my head."

"Well, we've got to do something," argued Amy.

"Okay, how about this." Aisha stepped forward. "Why don't we go with the 'ask them nicely' thing and if they don't go along with it, we jump straight to 'kidnap'?"

I shared a glance with Lisa. "That could work … I guess?" I ventured.

"Better than nothing," Lisa agreed, then looked at Amy. "Well?"

Amy tangled both hands in her hair and clenched her eyes shut. "Arrgh," she groaned. "Why does this shit keep happening to me?"

"That's not a no," Lisa observed.

"No, it ain't," Aisha agreed.

"Plan 'kidnapping is plan B' is a go," I said, wondering when my world got so weird.

"Arrgh."



End of Part Four

Part Five

 

[Ack]

One Bad Day

Part Five: Tripling Down



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



Taylor

"No, we can't just walk up to your friends and family and ask them to donate their memories of Vicky," Lisa said patiently. "If Plan B is gonna have a chance of working, we have to set it up before we kick off Plan A. Otherwise, if Plan A fizzles, we're left hanging in the wind."

I listened to her with half an ear while I played with my powers. After I lashed out in the bathroom and killed Madison, I'd done my best to shut that power away from my mind. But now, fed and rested and no longer strung out on panic, I'd decided that if I was gonna go down, I'd go down with style. So I reached out for the power again, and it responded. And with it came a surprise. I could control more than bugs.

"But what if we don't need Plan B?" Amy insisted. "What if they just say yes? That means we won't have to do all this running in circles to get Plan B set up. Everyone agrees, we go to talk to Cranial, and Vicky gets made better." She glanced across the area we were currently hiding out to where Vicky was sitting and humming a simple tune. Vicky looked up and gave Amy a smile and a wave. "As soon as possible," she said, more to herself than to Lisa.

"If we don't need Plan B, we don't need it," I said. "But it's better to have Plan B and not need it than to not have it and need it." It was something that Mom used to say, but definitely appropriate in the circumstances.

Lisa gave me a grateful look. "Exactly. And how much time would we waste if Plan A went sideways and we had to fall back on Plan B, but it wasn't ready to roll?"

I'd used bugs when I killed Madison because they'd been ready to hand and they were incredibly easy to control. A hundred, a thousand, ten thousand, a million, there was no upper limit to how many I could direct at once. But once I started out playing with bugs, I soon became aware of other minds moving around, far more complex than the tiny sparks of the bugs. The more complicated the mind, the harder it would be for me to affect it, but as I attuned myself to my new-found capabilities, I found that I was even able to detect Lisa, Amy and Vicky as shadowy images to my power.

Amy set her jaw stubbornly. "I just don't like the idea of just … well, just planning to abduct my friends and family, like we were criminals. What if they get hurt?"

"That's what having a plan is all about," Lisa reiterated. I could see a stress wrinkle starting to form between her eyes. "We can cover all the eventualities. And if they get hurt, you can fix them." She got up from the box she'd been sitting on. "I'm not gonna lie. The longer we take, the harder the odds are against us on this one. The faster we get them where we need them, one way or the other, the easier it'll be to get to the others." She rubbed her butt. "And we've really got to find a better place to stay. This is just about passable for one night of hiding, but it's got zero modern conveniences. The more we have to sneak out for food, water, going to the bathroom, the more chance we have of being spotted."

"I got an idea," said Aisha. I blinked and tried to hide my start as my brain filled me in on her existence. Again. "Why don't we go to a motel or something and I'll steal the key for one of the rooms? The guy at the front desk will think it's been hired out, and we're golden for a day or so. Then we find another motel, rinse and repeat."

"And one of them will call the cops and give a description, and then Carol and Aunt Sarah and Uncle Neil will be all over our case," Amy said. "It's a bad idea."

"Worse than you think," Lisa retorted. "Coil's tapped into the PRT somehow. If he gets the slightest idea where we are, we're screwed harder than a dollar whore when the Navy's in town. He always guesses right, and he's got mercenaries with serious weaponry. We don't want him on our case."

"Coil?" I asked curiously. "I don't think I've heard of him. What's his thing?"

Lisa shuddered. "He's a tall, skinny drink of water in a skintight outfit, and trust me, once you see him, you'll need brain bleach. He's also the worst type of person to get money or personal power." She gave me a direct look. "You know the type."

I swallowed nervously. If I understood what she was saying correctly, he was meaner than Sophia and more vindictive than Emma. "I think I do. So what's his territory? So we can stay out of it, I mean."

"Oh, he doesn't hold much in the way of territory, actually," Lisa said dismissively. "You're not gonna believe this, but he's actually got this big-ass Bond villain base in the middle of … in the middle of …" Her voice ran down, and she shook her head. "Fuck. Is it that easy? It can't be that easy. Can it?"

"Lisa, are you all right?" I looked at her with some concern. If she was having some sort of brain meltdown, it would severely hamper any plans we were going to make in the future. I had no faith at all in my own plan-making ability. 'Run and hide' do not a long-term plan make.

Slowly, a grin spread across her face. "I'm either all right or totally insane. And I can't tell which. But I just had the best idea. How to solve two of our problems at once."

Her grin seemed a little on the fixed side, so I wasn't making any sort of bets there. "What problems? And how are we going to fix them?" I hoped I wasn't going to regret asking.

"Problem one," Lisa said, her grin never disappearing. "Getting us long-term accommodations. Problem two. Making it so I can get around the city without Coil's goons simply grabbing me. And problem three. Someplace we can put people to keep them on ice if we have to go to Plan B and some get away."

Amy frowned. "Um, please don't tell me that this sudden inspiration is not related to what you were talking about earlier. Because if it is—"

"Holy garlic-flavoured fuckballs!" Aisha burst out and I jumped; more from the sudden exclamation than from the realisation that she existed. "We're gonna steal a supervillain's fucking secret base!"

"Wait, what?" I asked. "That sounds like—"

"A totally epic idea that we should do right now!" Aisha interrupted, her voice crackling with enthusiasm. "I mean, there's all sorts of shit that's been stolen from everyone, but who else has actually fucking stolen the bad guy's base? I mean, seriously?"

"Lisa?" Amy's voice was pleading. "Tell me that Aisha's on the wrong track, and that you're not thinking of going through with this insane plan."

Lisa looked at me and then at Amy. "It's not insane," she said firmly. "It's audacious, sure. Unprecedented, almost certainly. But not insane. You don't think it can be done?"

"Um, no?" I ventured.

Amy was far more forthright. "Fuck and no!" she burst out. "Seriously, we're four people, none of us really on our best game right now, and he's a supervillain with mercenaries! How in the living hell do you think you'll pull this off?"

That was when I saw the one expression on Lisa's face that should've had me running for the hills. A slow, toothy smile. It morphed into a grin that would've made me take a step back if I'd been standing up. Even though she was standing up, she steepled her fingers in front of her like every criminal kingpin in every bad supervillain movie everywhere.

"I'm glad you asked."

<><>​

Danny

"You can't be serious." Danny stared at the Director. "Taylor has powers? How does that even happen?"

"I presume you've heard of trigger events," she replied firmly. "How capes get powers. But I'm guessing you don't know details. Not many people do, at least those who don't work directly with capes."

"I've heard the phrase from time to time," Danny admitted. "Not the details, no." He shook his head. "But how is it that my daughter gets powers on the same day that she's accused of stabbing a Ward to death? Is this a coincidence, or are these two events related?"

Director Piggot leaned back in her chair with her hands clasped in front of her. "It's not impossible that there's a connection between them. However, that raises an entirely different series of questions. You see, trigger events are almost universally linked to situations of extreme distress. And if she'd gone in there intending to do harm to Shadow Stalker, she would've had a certain amount of readiness for the situation. The people who trigger aren't the ones who were mentally prepared for the situation."

Danny frowned, puzzling his way through the implications. "So ... you're saying she was subjected to extreme trauma, then she might have killed Shadow Stalker? She was attacked and she was defending herself?"

"The possibility exists." The Director took a deep breath. "And the longer I speak to you, the more I'm convinced that your daughter's got extenuating circumstances on her side. The trouble is, she's vanished. Clearing her and finding out what really happened—and possibly getting her signed up for the Wards—is going to be a lot harder if we can't talk to her."

Danny spread his hands. "Well, I don't know where she is. I've been in custody since I found out about this whole shitshow."

"I know that." Piggot heaved herself to her feet. "Which is why I'm going to be signing your release form as soon as I get out of here. You're going home, so that if Taylor contacts you, you can contact us. We bring her in, find out exactly what happened from her side, and go from there."

"Um ... I guess?" Danny wasn't certain about all of this, but anything that allowed him to get out of here was a good thing. Nor was he fully on board with dropping a dime on Taylor, but he figured he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

Director Piggot's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Trust me, Mr Hebert. We'll sort this out."

<><>​

Amy

"You want me to make what?" Amy stared at Lisa. "Now I know you're insane. They'll Birdcage me if I do that. Fuck, they'll give me a kill order!" She could feel her heartbeat in her chest as she tried not to hyperventilate. Could I get a heart attack from just being angry and scared? Vicky gave her a concerned look, and she forced a smile on to her face. The last thing she wanted was to have her damaged sister go battering-ram on Lisa right now, even though the blonde's plan was totally bat-shit insane. "It's all right, Vicky. We're just talking."

"All right," Vicky said cheerfully, and went back to staring into space and humming.

Amy lowered her tone, but didn't stop glaring at Lisa. "What the fuck are you thinking?"

Lisa gave her a smirk in return. "I'm thinking that you've never used your powers to their full capacity, and if there was ever a time to start, it's right now. I'm thinking that right now, our backs are to the wall and we're low on other options. I'm thinking that this would be a perfect solution to our immediate problems, and make Operation Make Vicky Whole Again a lot more possible." Amy wasn't quite sure how she managed to slot those capitals in there, but she did. "And I'm thinking that you're only protesting because secretly you really want to cut loose, but you've been conditioned to keep your power in check, and you want me to convince you otherwise."

Amy was reminded of the old saying: Don't let the Thinker talk. Her head was spinning, but Lisa's logic was worming its way into her head. The blonde was right on one count; their backs were up against the wall. Amy was uncomfortably aware that every day of delay made it less likely that they'd be able to fix Vicky properly, and they were starting from zero resources.

"Oh," said Lisa sweetly, "and I'm thinking that if I can take over Coil's finances—and I've got most of his passwords already—we'll have all the cash we'll ever need to pay Cranial. No other crimes needed. Hell, taking over his base won't really be a crime. Stealing from criminal assholes isn't really a crime, right?"

"But you want to murder him," Amy said desperately. "That's a crime." She looked at Taylor and Aisha, who were watching the discussion like it was a tennis match. Where Aisha had gotten the popcorn from, she wasn't sure. "Tell her. Murder is wrong."

Taylor frowned. "Sure it's wrong, but she did kind of point out how Coil's really dangerous, and if we leave him alive, he'll come after us with everything he's got. And how he already wants to murder Lisa, or do even worse to her." She pointed at Vicky. "What do you think he'd do with her, once he got his hands on her? She doesn't know right from wrong, and she'll do anything if she thinks it's what you want."

"And whatever you think Coil might do with Vicky, he'll do ten times worse." Lisa's tone was rock-solid sincere, far removed from her previous banter. "A totally compliant teenage girl who can bend steel in her bare hands? He'd cut off his arm to get her under his control. To get all of us under his control. I'm a villain and I consider him too evil to live."

Amy looked at Vicky, then shuddered. The images that crowded through her mind made her want to puke. Her eyes went to Taylor, then to Lisa, and her shoulders slumped. "Okay," she muttered. "You win." She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "I'm probably gonna regret the fuck out of this, but let's do it. Let's go fuck up a supervillain."

"Woo hoo!" whooped Aisha, making Vicky jump. "Hey, it's okay, Vicks. We're all happy here. You happy, girl?"

Vicky smiled. "I am happy, Most Esteemed Aisha."

Amy glared at Aisha, who cheerfully ignored her. She was going to have to do something about that nickname.

Lisa had that toothy grin back again, the one that sent shivers down Amy's back. "Excellent. Now, what's the most dangerous venom you can make a bug formulate?"

Amy shrugged. "Umm … I never really thought about it?"

Lisa sighed. "Aisha, are you up for a little research trip?"

<><>​

Circus
A Bit Later

I should've held out for five times my usual fee, Circus decided. Every few minutes, she was reminded yet again of why she didn't do teams, and most especially teams with people who weren't hitting on all cylinders. Only the thought of the money kept her from saying 'fuck this shit' and walking away from the Undersiders' more dysfunctional members. She wasn't sure whether it'd been Grue or Tattletale keeping them pointed in the right direction, but whoever it was had to've had the patience of a goddamned saint.

Contrary to her concerns, it hadn't been too hard to convince them that they were working with, or maybe for, her now. All she'd had to do was march on into their base and wave Coil's name around like a flag. Apparently they hadn't known who he was, but a discreet reminder of how much they were being paid had sufficed to quell Regent's doubts. On the other hand, Bitch had needed a really blunt reminder.

Fortunately, getting them to come out with her to track down Tattletale hadn't even been that difficult, once she revealed the fact that they'd get paid a bonus to do it. As a villain, she was fully aware of how much her life choices revolved around how much money she'd get for a job; sometimes, it was depressing how little it took for people to throw over their previous friends and teammates. Which was another point in her book against being part of a team.

Despite being in civvies, Regent—who was surprisingly pretty under the mask—had wanted to bring along his sceptre. Circus had put her foot down and withstood the whining, the arguments, the counter-arguments and the sulking. It was a little weird, though. She was good at figuring out what people were feeling, but even when he was actually pissed off, Regent barely registered as being mildly irritated to her. She'd heard something about him having a flattened emotional response, but this was verging on the ridiculous.

Bitch pointed at the shuttered building ahead of them, where her dog was snuffling around a window frame. "She went in there."

"You're certain about that?" asked Circus. This seemed too easy.

Bitch glared at her. "My fucking dogs tracked her fucking scent to this fucking location. Yes, I'm fucking certain."

"So now we've found her," Regent interrupted, "can we have our bonus yet?"

"We get that bonus when Tattletale is in our hands, on the way back to the boss." Circus was pretty sure she'd made that point already. "Bitch, go around the back of the building and start growing your dogs. Leave me one. Regent, wait out here and stop her if she tries to leave. I'm going in."

Bitch gave her a hard look, but obeyed the order anyway. Circus went up to where the dog had been whining and scratching at the boarding over a window. Reaching into her hammerspace, she pulled out her mask and put it on. Then she produced a pry-bar from the same place—those things were so damn handy—and lodged it behind one of the boards. Bracing herself, she heaved ... then nearly fell over backward as the board popped off with suspicious ease, then hung by the nail on the other end.

Glancing over her shoulder, she looked at Regent, but the pretty-boy was doing a good job at not snickering. Putting the pry-bar away, she pulled the rest of the boards off the window with her bare hands. As soon as the window was free, the dog whined and leaped up to scramble inside. Circus vaulted over the windowsill and followed him inside. She had a knife in each hand as she stalked through the building, but she was pretty sure Tattletale was no longer in residence. The noise she'd made getting in should've been enough to make the runaway Thinker bolt out the back door, right into Bitch's arms. This hadn't happened, so she decided to look around for clues as to where Tattletale might've gone.

The trouble was, she wasn't any sort of detective. Ironically, Tattletale would've been the ideal person to find the clues she was looking for. She just had to hope that the Thinker hadn't covered her tracks with the same level of capability.

It was the dog that found what she was looking for. She was examining scuffs in the dust when she heard it whining and scrabbling at something in the corner, under some trash. Lifting a broken board out of the way, she found paydirt. Four Fugly Bob's bags, crumpled up and shoved out of sight. The dog was pawing at them, obviously trying to get at the lingering smell and taste of grease and salt.

Taking the bags with her, she went outside again. The dog followed her, whining hopefully. Unrolling the bags, she looked in them for clues but only found scraps ... until she located the receipt. Leaning against the building, she sighed. "Okay, guys," she said. "It's a wash. We're pulling back until we can get more backup on this."

"What?" asked Regent. "Why?"

She held up the receipt. "Because four full-sized meals were eaten in here, at the same time. Tattletale isn't about to eat all that at once, so she's got backup from somewhere. And until we find out what that backup consists of, I've got to assume we're outnumbered. So, we're pulling back."

"Fuck," Regent said. "Does that mean no bonus?"

Circus rolled her eyes. I am seriously not being paid enough for this.

<><>​

Taylor

"I don't believe we're actually doing this," I grumbled.

"Doing what?" asked Amy. "Attacking Coil?"

"No." Nor could I believe what I was going to say next. "That's logical, to keep us all safe. The only other people who are looking for us are New Wave, and we want them to come to us." I waved at the motel room we were sitting in. Well, I was sitting in the only chair, while Vicky lay on the bed with Amy. Just to clarify: side by side, not touching each other. "No, what I can't believe is that we're actually using Aisha's plan to stay out of sight. And it's working."

Lisa popped her head out of the small bathroom. Like the rest of us, she was only wearing underwear. "You've had the option to shower and wash your clothes. We have running water here. Are you honestly complaining?"

"Well, no, I'd be an idiot to," I agreed. "And I know it's only temporary. I just hate …" Again, I waved my hand around the room. " … not being sure. Not knowing what's going to happen next. If the cops or the PRT are gonna bust down the door any second." I shook my head. "I really don't know how career criminals do it. I'd go nuts in a day."

"Speaking as an ex-career criminal, I usually made sure to have a good hideout," Lisa informed me with a smirk. "But the good news is, between having Vicky wring the absolute fuck out of them and hanging up with the fan full on them, our clothes should be dry shortly. And then we can go back to not looking like a teen comedy fanservice shot."

"Not a moment too fucking soon," I muttered. I had enough body issues to keep a therapist busy for a week, and that was before I had to take my clothes off in the same room as Glory Girl. My inadequacies had inadequacies.

"Yeah, well, it's not like we can go shopping for skinny jeans right now," Lisa reminded me. "Any sign of Aisha yet? She should be getting back sometime soon."

This was one of the odd benefits of the current situation. I'd let the others know how I was able to control and sense through bugs most easily, but that even small animals would also work at a pinch. If I concentrated, I could look through a bird's eyes and make it go in a particular direction, but it took more of my attention. I could do bugs en masse with no effort at all, but their senses were crap. In any case, for some reason, my range seemed to be fluctuating from one block to two, depending on how antsy (pun intended) I felt. Which meant there were a lot of birds and rats I had out there, looking for Aisha's return.

"Not yet," I said, trying not to feel too concerned. "I've got a bird watching the bus stop, and nobody's got off yet who looks like her." I knew that meant nothing, but still …

Lisa and I looked around at the sound of a motorcycle entering the motel parking lot, then we glanced at each other. "Didn't she say something about owning a motorbike?" I asked.

"She did," Lisa agreed. "No sense in taking chances, though." Picking the small pistol up off the writing desk, she went over to the window and peered out through the drapes.

"Well?" asked Amy. "Is it her or not?"

In answer, Lisa went to the door and unlocked it. A moment later, it burst open, with a bike-helmeted Aisha framed in the doorway. "What up, beeyatches!" she yelled. Kicking the door shut behind her, she strode into the middle of the room like a conquering hero. In her left hand she held several fast-food bags, while in her right she had a rolled-up piece of paper. "Sorry I took so long. After I went to the library—and let me tell you, some of those funny cat videos are fuckin' hilarious—I decided to go and pick up my ride. And then I wanted some munchies. Who's hungry?"

"Me!" said Vicky immediately, levitating off the bed and flying across the room to snatch two of the bags out of Aisha's hand. Heading back to the bed, she flopped on to it and handed one of the bags to Amy. "This one is yours," she said happily. Then she opened her bag and started investigating the contents.

Lisa sighed and massaged her forehead with finger and thumb, a gesture that I'd seen her use before with Aisha. "Did you at least do the research I asked you to do before watching funny cat videos and getting your motorcycle, and going to Fugly Bob's?" she asked. I could hear the strained patience from where I was.

"Oh, sure," Aisha said, tossing me a bag. I caught it out of the air, my mouth already starting to water at the smell of grease and salt emanating from Vicky's and Amy's bags. "Got it right here." She waved the paper at Lisa. "Knew I'd forget all that shit if I didn't write it down, so I took notes."

"Oh, thank you, God," breathed Lisa. I got the impression she didn't necessarily trust Aisha's research dedication. She grabbed the paper and unrolled it, then winced. Looking over her shoulder, I saw where Aisha had scrawled "SECRET PLANS DO NOT LOOK" at the top of the page. "Really?" she asked. "Really?"

"What?" Aisha retorted cheekily. "We're gonna take down a supervillain, we need a secret plan. An' we don't want just any asshole looking at them, do we?"

"There are so many things wrong with that statement, I have no idea where to begin," she said, a look of pain crossing her face. "Okay, let's see what we've got so far." Unrolling the paper further, she began to read Aisha's scribbles. Or at least, I hoped she was able to read it. Aisha's penmanship had far more enthusiasm than accuracy going for it.

I left her to it and opened my fast-food bag. Just as I grabbed my first fries, however, a problem revealed itself to me. "Someone's coming," I said, pointing at the door. "I think it's the manager."

"Because someone rode in loudly on a motorcycle and went straight to our door," Amy pointed out, proving the absolute clarity of hindsight. She scrambled off the bed, leaving her fast-food bag behind.

"Hey, not my fault if he's looking out the window!" Aisha protested. "And I gotta be noticed when I'm riding or some assclown will drive right over the fuckin' top of me!"

I concentrated on the guy coming up to the door. Bugs, I could control all day long. Rats and birds were much more of an effort. People I could sort of influence if I really tried—I'd tried it on Lisa, with her permission—but it was a huge strain, and all I could do was nudge. If they wanted to go somewhere, they went there.

All the same, I pushed my will at his, trying to urge him to change his mind. This room really wasn't that important after all. He had better things to do.

For a long moment, he hesitated, and I thought I'd pulled it off. But then he shrugged and pulled his keys off of his waist. I grimaced as I felt the first stirrings of a headache. Maybe I should've stung him with bugs or something.

We all heard the key enter the lock, and the click as it disengaged. Lisa had her pistol half-raised, and Aisha was digging around in the bag she had slung over her shoulder. As the door swung open, Vicky flashed across the room, grabbed the manager by the front of his shirt and yanked him into the room. Her fist came up, then blurred down in a clubbing blow—

"No!" shouted Amy. "Vicky, don't!"

Her order came just in time; Vicky's fist swerved in mid-strike and smashed into the floor instead. I heard the crack of concrete shattering from halfway across the room. Vicky looked up at Amy from where she was kneeling beside the prone manager. "Why not?" she asked. "He would tell people where we are."

"Yeah, but we can't just kill him," I protested. I was fully aware of the hypocrisy of me supporting the eventual death of Coil, but this guy was basically an innocent. We had to find another way to deal with him. "Can we put him out so we can talk?"

"Okay, sure." Amy stepped forward and knelt beside the wide-eyed manager. Over forty and overweight, he had a large bald patch on his head and a large wet patch on his pants. Almost casually, she touched him on the side of the face and he collapsed, his eyes rolling back in his head. "What are we gonna do with him? Soon as he wakes up, he'll be blabbing to everyone that he saw Glory Girl in her underwear. If anyone listens to his story, it won't be hard to identify me as well. And as soon as that gets out, New Wave will be on our asses."

"Okay, I know you're against fiddling with brains—" Lisa only got so far before Amy stood up abruptly.

"No!" she shouted. "Absolutely not! I am not touching his brain! Bad things happen when I touch peoples' brains!" She pointed at Vicky. "That happens!" There was a slightly hysterical note to her voice which told me she wouldn't be moved on that topic.

"You don't have to," I said, realising what we had to do. "There's ways to cause short-term memory loss with chemicals, right? You don't have to actually use your power on his brain."

Lisa blinked and stared at me. "Holy shit, you're right! If we make him the equivalent of blackout drunk, he'll forget the whole thing!" She turned back to Amy. "Do you have any problem with doing this to him?"

Caught on the spot, Amy grimaced. "I can induce his body to produce a chemical that will stop short-term memory from becoming long-term memory, sure. But I still don't like it."

"We're not exactly spoiled for choice right now," Lisa pointed out. "It's this, let him blab to everyone what he's seen, let Vicky smoosh him, or manually adjust his brain." She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head. "Your choice."

"Fuck it," said Amy, kneeling beside the guy again. "This is probably gonna be the least harmful thing I do all day." She put her hand on the guy's forehead. "Okay, his adrenals are now happily producing Rohypnol. I'll let it go on for … okay, that'll be enough to screw with the last five minutes of memory, once it hits his brain. Adrenals are back to normal, and he's gonna be out to it for the next twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes." Lisa and I looked at each other, then Lisa turned to Amy. "Can't we just … you know, keep him out for a bit longer? I'm kinda used to running water."

"No." Amy folded her arms. "I'm not going to violate this man's rights any more. We're going to leave him on the bed, and we're going to walk out of here in the next twenty minutes."

"Fuck," muttered Lisa. "Where are we going to go now?"

I cleared my throat. "I … might have an idea."

<><>​

Danny

I just want a shower, Danny told himself. And then maybe bed for a few hours. After that ... He had no idea what was going to come 'after that'. By now he was seriously regretting the informal 'no cell phone' policy that Annette's death had brought on the family. Just to be able to call Taylor and find out if she was okay would have been a tremendous relief. Or even talk to her and find out what really happened.

But that wasn't going to be a thing until she showed up, either by contacting him or being brought in by the police. He steadfastly refused to consider any of the less pleasant options. They didn't exist so long as he didn't think about them.

"Is this the house here, sir?"

The PRT soldier doing the driving was wearing civilian gear, as were the other two in the car. They were discreetly armed, but all three had been unfailingly polite to him on the trip over. Which didn't detract from the highly irritating awareness that Piggot had put one over on him; the woman hadn't mentioned sending undercover operatives with him until they were ready to go. Apparently, one of the releases he'd signed had given them the wherewithal to do so in legalese that he hadn't quite deciphered before he signed it. Personally, he blamed Piggot's 'good cop' act and his night of crappy sleep.

Worse, he didn't have any real grounds to deny them access. All the evidence they possessed placed Taylor at the scene of Shadow Stalker's murder, quite possibly with her hand on the knife. A sufficiently vicious prosecutor could easily push the subsequent Empire-based slashing in her direction as well, and Danny's best defence in that case was "I don't think she'd do that". So all he could hope was that if Taylor did show up, they'd be sufficiently gentle in subduing her.

Of course, there was the whole 'murdered a girl with bugs' aspect, which meant that 'sufficiently gentle' probably meant tasering then sedating. Piggot had assured him that there was not a kill order out on his daughter—that required quite a bit more lead time, not to mention a whole slew of heinous crimes—so they weren't simply allowed to shoot her on the spot.

"Yeah, this is it." Danny nodded toward the driveway, where his car was still parked. "Pull in behind mine."

"No, not a great idea." The driver shook his head. "If she comes home and sees this car in the driveway, it might spook her. I'll just park around the corner." Suiting action to word, he pulled the car around the bend and came to a halt behind a beat-up old clunker. There was a motorcycle parked in front of the clunker, which made Danny frown slightly. He was fairly familiar with most of the vehicles that got parked around the neighbourhood, and these two were new to him. Of course, they definitely fitted in, and he was tired, so it was probably nothing.

They got out of the car and walked back the short distance to the house. Danny let them in the side gate, then waved a few flies out of his face. He was aware that he smelled, but surely it wasn't that bad. A bird shrieked discordantly, startling him, then swooped across the back yard and landed on the fence where it perched, watching him with bright eyes.

"Scared the shit out of me," muttered one of the PRT soldiers, making Danny feel a little better. He nodded toward the back door. "Got the key?"

"In my wallet," Danny said. He'd had his personal effects returned to him, so he dug out his wallet and retrieved the key. His eyes automatically went to the fake stone that concealed the spare key. Had it been moved slightly? He couldn't tell. In that moment, he made the decision not to mention it. No sense in letting these bozos know about the spare. Climbing the steps to the back door, he unlocked it and opened it. "You know, I'll be fine at home alone. If Taylor calls, I'll be sure to get in contact." He spoke loudly and firmly, making sure his voice echoed into the house.

"No can do, sir," the PRT soldier said firmly. "We have our orders." Which, of course, superseded anything Danny might want. They'd been polite enough to almost let him forget that, but the truth was always there if he really wanted to see it. He wasn't quite their prisoner, but nor were they strictly his guests. "Uh, hold out here a moment. Stafford, stay with Mr Hebert. Zabrinski, with me."

Danny's first impulse was irritation: really? You have to search my home before you let me walk in? In what universe is Taylor a danger to me? The second was mild embarrassment: shit, I wish I'd had the chance to clean up first. The third was: fuck, I hope Taylor doesn't do anything rash if she is home.

"Is this really necessary?" he asked out loud. "I mean, seriously?"

"Seriously, yes, sir," said the PRT guy. He reached inside his jacket and produced an automatic pistol. As he did so, Danny noticed a device in a pouch at his belt. Danny couldn't be sure, but it looked like a stun-gun to him. "Orders are to clear the house before we allow you entry. Remember, two people are dead."

"But they attacked Taylor," Danny insisted. "Even if she was home, she wouldn't see me as a threat." I can't say the same about you, he thought but did not say.

"All the same, sir, orders. Now wait here with Stafford." The PRT guy entered the house pistol held low, by his side. The one who he'd called Zabrinski followed him in. The door closed behind them, leaving Danny standing on the steps with Stafford.

If the tension hadn't been so high, it would've been boring. Standing on the back stairs of his own house, hoping against hope that Taylor hadn't come home and that he was mistaken about the placement of the rock. The bird was still on the fence, watching him. As he looked over at it, it squawked again.

Stafford ignored the bird as he reached up to press the earpiece he was wearing. "Zabrinski, say again?"

Two more birds landed beside the first, and Danny frowned. They were all looking at him. This wasn't typical bird behaviour, was it? He was sure that Piggot had said Taylor could control bugs, not birds.

Stafford was now tense. "Zabrinski, come in." A pause. "Graham, come in." He took a step away from Danny. "Zabrinski. Graham. Respond immediately or I'm calling in an emergency."

"What?" demanded Danny. "What's happening?"

"Step away from the house, sir," Stafford said, grabbing Danny by the arm.

At that moment, the back door opened; Taylor stood there.

<><>​

Taylor

We'd left the hotel manager snoring on the bed, and gotten dressed again in our still-damp clothing. I didn't care about the dampness; being clean was wonderful. Aisha (of course) had suggested we steal his car. Amy only put up a token resistance to the idea, and I had zero fucks to give any more. It turned out that Lisa could drive. This didn't surprise me at all.

With Aisha trailing behind on her motorcycle, we'd followed my suggestion, which was simple. To go home. Dad should be at work by now, I figured, so we'd be able to sneak in using the spare back door key, and relax for a few hours. When he got in, I figured we'd be able to hide in my room for at least a bit. I honestly didn't know why I hadn't thought of it before.

The sight of Dad's car in the driveway gave me a bad moment, but there were enough bugs in the house to let me ascertain that he wasn't there. Where he was, I had no idea. I hoped he wasn't wandering the streets on foot, looking for me. Whatever; I was safe, and he was a grown man. I had to trust that he wouldn't do anything stupid.

The spare key was still in the fake rock beside the back door, and I let us in that way. Once inside, I heaved a sigh of relief and collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs. Of course, about thirty seconds later I spotted a bunch of guys coming in through the side gate. Some flies gave me the impression that the tallest one might be Dad, and I took control of a nearby bird which gave me a good look at him. I didn't know the guys with him, but they didn't look like anyone I knew. He wasn't in handcuffs, but he didn't seem to be very happy with them either.

I passed this on to Lisa, who immediately worked out the plan of action. It was so useful having someone who could figure out what the enemy was likely to do in any given scenario. I was the ranged Master, so I went with her into the basement. Amy and Vicky went upstairs, while Aisha stayed in the living room (or at least, that was the last place I saw her).

Waiting under the basement steps with Lisa, I could 'feel' the men moving through the house. One guy went upstairs, and I saw him closing with where Amy and Vicky were hiding; in the bathroom, as far as I could tell. I concentrated on him and tried to direct his attention away from them. If I could distract him for even an instant …

The scuffle that followed was too fast for me to follow, but it ended with the intruder on the floor—still alive, for which I was grateful—and Vicky and Amy standing over him. The guy in the living room had wandered into the kitchen and was apparently looking at the basement door. Just as I whispered as much to Lisa, the guy convulsed and fell over.

That was my cue. There was only one guy left, and he was outside with Dad. I took the stairs two at a time as the guy tried to drag Dad down off the back steps. Jumping over the still-twitching guy at the top of the stairs, I opened the back door.

"Get back, Mr Hebert!" shouted the guy, letting go of Dad's arm and reaching into his jacket. I didn't think he was going for a hip flask, but he didn't know what was coming for him either. As the pistol cleared the holster, my birds hit him from behind. He recoiled as they flapped and beat at his face with their wings, screeching and slashing with their claws.

I grabbed Dad and hauled him inside, then stepped aside as Vicky came blazing past me. She yanked the guy with the gun back into the house, then Amy put him out. Dad looked down at the two unconscious agents, then at me.

"Taylor?" his voice was plaintive. "What's going on?"

"Hi, Dad," I said breathlessly. "I can, uh, I can explain?"



End of Part Five

Part Six

 

[Ack]

One Bad Day

Part Six: Preconceptions, Deceptions and Preparations


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

[A/N 2: I will be at Gold Coast Supanova on April 13-14, with Karen Buckeridge, author of Ties That Bind at the Words on Paper (Ink) table (#58) in the Alley. We'll be glad to chat with anyone who shows up.]


Thursday, December 23, 2010
Taylor

Dad looked at me, then at the two PRT soldiers on the floor. Almost mechanically, he reached out and shut the back door. "Two more," he said. "There were two more upstairs."

"Yeah, we got 'em," Amy said. She didn't sound happy, but that was to be expected. I got the impression she'd spent a lot of her life making sure she lived by the rules she'd set herself. Over the last twenty-four hours, she'd basically broken them all, and now she was dancing on the pieces.

"Uh huh." Dad looked at me. "All right, you said you had an explanation. I'd be really interested in hearing it—wait a minute." He stared at Amy and Vicky. "Aren't you Panacea and Glory Girl?" His attention switched to Lisa. "And I don't even know who you are."

"It's all part of the explanation," I said. "Honest." Impulsively, I moved in and hugged him. "It's so good to see you again. I didn't think I was ever going to."

His strong hands patted me on the back. "I know," he said. "I thought the same thing myself." He took me by the shoulders and moved me back until he was looking me in the face. "But if we're going to get through this, you need to tell me everything about what's going on. I can't help you if I'm in the dark about important matters."

Abruptly, I found myself tearing up. I'd been prepared for disappointment or anger or even rejection. The fact that he was stepping up and listening to me was more precious than gold or gems to me at that moment. He cares. He really cares. Not that I'd ever thought he didn't, but his behaviour after Mom died had skated pretty close to that line a few times.

I took a deep breath. "Okay, but first, the PRT's likely to be expecting these guys to call in some time soon. Lisa?"

"We've got between fifteen and thirty minutes, and I might be able to stretch that to a few hours," Lisa said. "Long enough to fill your dad in." She held out her hand to him. "I'm Lisa, by the way. Nice to meet you."

"Danny," he said, automatically shaking her hand. "I'm guessing this is going to be some explanation."

"Oh, you ain't heard the half of it!" Aisha piped up, fading into my awareness yet again. I was actually starting to get used to it now—oh hey, that's Aisha—but from the way Dad jumped, it was going to take him a while to come to terms with it. "Hey. I'm Aisha. Nice place you got here. Pity about the decor." She gestured to the PRT soldiers on the floor.

"Gah!" Dad actually did a double-take, shocked out of his numbed compliance. "Where did you come from?"

"Well, you know," Aisha responded cheekily, "when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much—Ow!" She rubbed her ear and gave Lisa a dirty look. "What was that for?"

"If I have to explain it, you'll never understand," Lisa said with a sigh.

"That's what I said!" Aisha retorted gleefully.

Amy shook her head. "Ignore her," she advised Dad. "We all do. You're taking this pretty well, considering."

"Taylor's my daughter," Dad explained succinctly. "I might get mad at her, I might even let her down from time to time, but I'll never turn my back on her." He turned to me, his expression serious. "I might yell at you afterward, but right now I'm here and I'm listening. What's going on?"

I took a deep breath. "Come into the living room. You're gonna need to sit down for this one."

He followed me through and we sat down on the sofa. I wasn't sure what solution Lisa was going to work out for dealing with the PRT guys, but it would probably involve Amy, who would hate it but give in and do what Lisa wanted in the end. It seemed to be the ongoing pattern in their relationship.

"Okay," said Dad. "They say you stabbed someone inside Winslow. And that you've got powers." He left both statements hanging there, waiting for me to address them.

"Both those are true," I said cautiously. "But there's more to it than that. A lot more."

I saw his shoulders slump fractionally at that. I guess some part of him had wanted the PRT to be lying to him. Unless I missed my guess, he would've accepted my word over theirs, even if I'd denied everything. That meant more to me than any number of verbal assurances.

"I'm listening," he said.

"Okay, you've obviously been talking to the PRT," I pointed out. "Did they say anything about the bullying?"

His gaze on me, already intent, sharpened perceptibly. "They said that Emma and her friends may have been victimising you. Is this what was happening?"

I sighed. "Since I started at Winslow. More or less on a daily basis. Pushing and shoving in the halls, stuff stolen out of my locker, my email inbox filled with hate mail, pushing my books and papers off my desk in class …" I trailed off. Dad was staring at me in dawning horror and anger.

"That … I had no idea. None at all," he said flatly. "And I really should have." His lips were set tightly. "I'm going to presume you asked for help from your other friends, or the teachers …" It was his turn to trail off, probably at the expression on my face. "What?"

"Emma turned the whole school against me." It was a relief to finally be able to tell him. I knew full well that just saying those seven words was pulling the pin on a hand grenade that was liable to go off in Emma's dad's face, but I didn't give a shit about that. Not any more. "I had no friends. Emma and her friends made sure of that. And I still can't tell if the teachers were in on the whole Shadow Stalker thing, or they just didn't care. No matter what I said, nothing changed." My voice was bitter by the time I finished.

"Shadow Stalker." For a moment I was confused as to why he'd seized on to that particular element, but then he went on. "I was told she'd been murdered. But not by you."

I blinked. "No, that's wrong. I killed her. I stabbed her and she died from it." Tilting my head, I showed him the bruising on my throat. "She was strangling me at the time."

"But where did you get the knife from?" He was understandably confused. "Did you bring it to school? How long have you been carrying one?"

"I haven't," I hastened to explain. "I didn't. I …" My voice trailed off. "If I tell you where I got it, you can't tell anyone, okay?" The last thing I wanted was to get Aisha into trouble.

"I gave it to her!" declared Aisha, popping up in front of us. "I took it off of some Nazi gangbanger and brung it to school."

"Jeez, Aisha!" I tried to bring my adrenaline-fuelled heart rate back under control. "Don't do that!"

"Sonofabitch!" Dad was less controlled than me. "Listen, I don't mind you being here. If you're friends of Taylor's, you're welcome in my house. But I'm not as young as I used to be, and adding me to your body count by giving me a heart attack is not the way to go!"

"Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry." Lisa bustled through from the kitchen and grabbed Aisha by the ear. "Come on, you menace. Let Taylor talk to her dad in peace."

Before I had the chance to wonder why Lisa was holding her hand in midair, she twisted her wrist and Aisha faded back into my conscious awareness with a yip of pain. "Ow, hey!" she complained as Lisa implacably led her away toward the kitchen. "I was only trying to explain why Taylor had a knife!"

"And now he knows. So we're going to leave them alone." Lisa gave us a wave from the kitchen door. "Carry on."

Dad ran his hand over his forehead. "Damn," he muttered. "Is it like this all the time?"

"You get used to it," I assured him. "Anyway, yeah, Sophia had beat me up pretty good and she was strangling me, and the next thing I knew I was holding a knife …"

"So you stabbed her." He patted me on the shoulder. "I would've done exactly the same thing." With his hand on my shoulder, he turned me so I was looking directly in his face. "But you didn't kill her. Not with that stab wound."

I was confused. "But … she's dead, right? I stabbed her and she was coughing blood, and I dropped the knife, and ran away. And I just kept running, until I found Lisa. And Vicky and Amy found us."

"You stabbed her, yes." I couldn't believe how calmly Dad was talking about this. "But she made it out of the bathroom, then someone cut her throat and carved a swastika into her back. You didn't do that, did you?"

I blinked a few times. "Well, no. I didn't." I looked at the kitchen doorway. "Wait, Aisha said she killed Sophia, but I figured that was her taking credit because she gave me the knife or something." I'd already gotten used to the idea that Sophia was dead. The knowledge that Aisha had finished her off didn't actually change things all that much.

Now Dad looked confused. "What did she have against Sophia? Was she bullying her, too?"

"No," I said. "Aisha's brother was a minor supervillain. Sophia murdered him in cold blood as Shadow Stalker."

Dad grimaced and looked at the floor. "This goddamn city," he muttered. "A hero tries to kill you and a villain saves you."

"Shadow Stalker was hardly a hero," I said bitterly. "She helped Emma bully me. It might even have been her idea all along. Her and …" I scrunched up my face as I remembered what I'd done. "And Madison."

"Madison?" Dad had obviously caught my tone. "Who's Madison?"

"Emma's other friend." I turned to look at him, reluctant to meet his eyes but knowing I had to. "She's the one I did accidentally murder. With my powers."

He lifted his arm, then settled it around my shoulders. I leaned into him, feeling a certain amount of remorse that I was able to take comfort from his hug. I should've been wracked with guilt over the fact that I'd ended one person's life and tried to do the same with another, but I wasn't.

"Talk to me," he said softly.

I took a deep breath. "I—I was eating lunch in the bathrooms," I said hesitantly. "Emma, Sophia and Madison trapped me in the stall then they tipped a tampon bin over my head and shoved it down over my shoulders. I thought I was going to die." I shrugged, feeling the weight of his arm over my shoulders. "I don't know how I got it off, but the next thing I knew, I could feel all the bugs in the school. I threw the bin at Sophia and saw her go to shadow. So I told her I was going to take the whole thing to Blackwell. That was when Sophia started beating the shit out of me."

"And you used your powers?" asked Dad.

I nodded miserably. "I wanted the bugs to attack Sophia, but she kept flickering in and out, so they couldn't get a grip on her. Emma got out. Madison … didn't."

He didn't say anything to that. I appreciated his silence. It would've been easy for him to give me some platitude about how Sophia had been trying to kill me, so she deserved what she got. Madison had only been guilty of helping bully me. What she'd done had been pretty bad, but it still wasn't worthy of death.

"She must be the one the Director said was swarmed with a mass of venomous bugs," Dad said unexpectedly. "You know, the PRT's pretty well on top of this. From what Director Piggot told me, they don't even want to arrest you for murder. They already know about the bullying, and they want to talk to you about what happened." He gave me a concerned look. "She also said Emma's already doing her best to paint you as the next candidate for the Slaughterhouse Nine. You really need to get the truth out there before things get out of hand. More out of hand."

"I can't." I wished I could tell him otherwise, but it was true.

"If you don't turn yourself in soon, they're not going to have much of a choice except to issue an arrest warrant," he cautioned me. "And then every cop and every hero's going to be on your case. The longer they have to look for you, the less leeway they'll be willing to give you."

He wasn't trying to convince me to do it. I could tell that right away. He was just warning me what was likely to happen if I didn't play ball with the PRT.

"I get that," I told him. "But no matter what they said about any sort of amnesty, there's a chance that if I turn myself in they'll just arrest me straight up. And even if they're playing it straight with me, any deal's likely to involve me going into the Wards in return for them making this go away."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" asked Dad. "I mean, I'm not thrilled about the idea of you being press-ganged into the Wards, but at least you'd have backup and training for your powers …" He saw the look on my face and trailed off. "No?"

"No," I said firmly. "My friends need me now. Amy and Vicky. Lisa and Aisha. We're a team. They're my backup and I'm theirs. And if I went into the Wards, I wouldn't be able to help them do what they've got to do."

"What've they got to do that's so important?" he asked quietly.

I shook my head. "I can't tell you that. All I can say is that it's life and death. And if anyone found out exactly what was going on, we'd have so many superheroes hounding us we'd never get it done."

"Is it anything to do with the two superheroes that are hanging around with your little group?" asked Dad. Well, nobody had ever said he was stupid.

I wasn't a good enough bullshitter to pull the wool over Dad's eyes. No matter which way I tried to play it, he was likely to figure out what I was trying not to say. I only had one real choice in the matter: tell the truth.

"Yes, but please don't ask for any details," I said, trying to convey the urgency of what I was saying with my voice and expression. "This is for us to deal with. It's a cape thing, and not something that heroes can help with."

He sighed. "If it was any other situation, I'd beg you to stay home," he said, his entire posture slumping. "If it was just you, or I didn't know you had powers, I'd probably try to make you stay for your own good. But as dangerous as this is likely to be—and don't try to bullshit me, Taylor, I know it's going to be dangerous—you've got friends backing you up. And I know you. You wouldn't say this is urgent unless it was. But there is one thing I'm not going to let you do."

Shit. I tried to ignore the sinking feeling in my gut. "What's that?" I asked, as neutrally as I could. I'd hoped that home, at least, would be a refuge for a while.

"I'm not going to let you leave me to stand on the sidelines," he said firmly. "I don't know what's going on, so I don't know how I can help. But let me help. Please. I've been a shitty father ever since your mom died. Let me make it up to you now." And maybe, once this is all over, you'll come home safe to me, he didn't have to say.

I took a deep breath. "I can't guarantee anything, but I'll speak to Lisa. If there's anything you can do, she'll know." The sinking feeling had vanished, replaced by a floating sensation in my chest. It felt weird. I hadn't experienced hope in a long time.

<><>​

Coil

Even when he wasn't maximising the chances for his minions to succeed, Calvert found his power to be exceptionally useful. For instance, he could be in the PRT building, being seen and getting paperwork done, while at the same time he could be in his base, checking to make sure everything was running smoothly there. It was amazing how many times he could re-use the same sick day. Flying under the radar made things so much easier.

A notification popped up on one of the screens in his base. A police report, sent his way by one of his moles in the BBPD. He had a standing order that any incidents of an unusual nature be directed toward him. He clicked on it, and leaned forward to peruse it.

The manager of the Dew Drop Inn motel had reported his car stolen. He also said that he'd woken up inside one of his rooms with no idea of how he'd gotten there, and there was a hole smashed in the floor near the door that looked like someone had taken a sledgehammer to the concrete. Security footage of the incident showed a person in biker gear—petite, possibly a teenage girl—showing up on a motorcycle and presumably entering the room in question, shortly afterward being followed by the manager. She had been carrying several fast-food bags in her left hand and what looked like a rolled-up piece of paper in the right, but no sledgehammer. A large moth had chosen to land on the lens of the camera a couple of minutes later; by the time it flew off, there was nothing to be seen.

Calvert read the report over again, frowning. The main point of correspondence was the fast food. Apart from that, there was nothing to conclusively nail down this as involving his Tattletale, but he decided to dig farther into it before abandoning it altogether as a possibility. She wasn't the one in the motorcycle helmet—that one was too short to be Tattletale, and zooming in on her uncovered hand showed that she was black—but there were four bags of fast-food from Fugly Bob's, just like last time. Also, while crashing in a motel room without the permission of the manager wasn't something he could see Tattletale doing, it had to be more comfortable than an abandoned shop-front.

Which meant it was the idea of one of the other three or four people that the fast food was meant for. One of whom was likely a Brute (he discounted the 'sledgehammer' theory immediately, and replaced it with 'fist') and another a Master who could induce memory loss. Given the moth in front of the camera lens, he tentatively assigned some sort of animal control powers to a hypothetical third cape. What the fourth one could do, he had no idea. Perhaps he or she was a teleporter or a phaser like Shadow Stalker, which would have helped them get into the room (given that the report had indicated no signs of forced entry).

Reminded of Shadow Stalker, he began to wonder if it wasn't actually her. The girl had been a vigilante before becoming a member of the Wards, and he'd heard rumours that she wasn't fitting in well there. Also, she was black, like the motorcycle girl. There'd been something going around the previous day that he hadn't paid a lot of attention to due to his preoccupation with Tattletale's betrayal of his trust, but Shadow Stalker's name had come up.

He didn't have unlimited access to the PRT servers from within his base, but his office computer within the building did give him the requisite clearance. He tapped in a basic query, and the answer came up. It wasn't the answer he'd been looking for, but it was certainly informative.

Tattletale's fourth companion wasn't Shadow Stalker, on account of Shadow Stalker being dead. More interestingly, her demise had not happened while she was in costume. She'd been stabbed in the bathrooms at Winslow High—not an uncommon phrase to be found in police reports, he imagined—then her throat had been cut and a swastika carved into her back.

Wait a minute. What was that, again?

Thomas Calvert did not believe in coincidence. Shadow Stalker had killed Grue and carved a swastika into his body to throw off suspicion; that was one thing. It was quite another for her to be brutally murdered and the same emblem to be sliced into her back, three weeks later. He forced himself to consider alternative options. After all, the Empire did maintain a strong presence at the school. There was the off-chance that some of them had cornered her and decided to make an example out of her.

Except that there was more to the report. There'd been another victim in the bathrooms. This one hadn't been stabbed; she'd been swarmed to death by bugs. The photo that came up was moderately gruesome, but he could at least determine that she hadn't been black. Even if the Empire had a cape who could call down a literal plague of Egypt, they wouldn't have inflicted it on a white girl.

This added a lot of credence to his supposition that Tattletale was involved in this particular event. The pieces were starting to fall into place. Grue had a younger sister who he wanted kept out of his mother's hands. Calvert had ordered Tattletale not to go after Shadow Stalker directly, but it seemed she'd sought out the sister anyway and given her the information. The sister had worked out Shadow Stalker's secret identity—one Sophia Hess, it seemed—and confronted her at Winslow.

Even then, it would've gone badly for her, except that someone with bug-controlling powers had gotten involved ... hold on just one second.

Trigger events happened at times of stress. Learning of the loss of a beloved older brother sounded like an appropriate stress trigger to him. If she had the bug powers, it all added up. The Laborn girl could have distracted Shadow Stalker with the bug control, then stabbed her. The other girl was probably a friend of Stalker's who tried to intervene.

He looked farther into the reports, searching for anything that might shoot down his theory. The PRT apparently had an idea of who killed Stalker, but their clearance for the names of living capes was slightly higher than that for dead Wards, so he couldn't gain access to that. As such, much of the interview transcript of the culprit's father—he checked and yes, Brian and Aisha Laborn had a living father—had been redacted to remove any hint of his identity. He allowed himself a slight smile for having worked it out without needing the clearance.

So this was it. Tattletale had manoeuvred Aisha Laborn (now with bug control powers) into murdering Shadow Stalker. To follow up her perfidy, Tattletale had later murdered her team leader and defected from the Undersiders to join forces with Aisha and the mysterious Brute and equally mysterious Master. The motorcycle girl could easily be Aisha, but who were the other two? There were no new villains or rogues in Brockton Bay reported to have those powersets, that he knew of anyway.

Leaning back from his computer, he steepled his fingers in thought. Depending on the parameters of Aisha Laborn's bug control, she could be very useful indeed. In fact, if he could acquire all four of them, he could fold the other three into a new and revitalised Undersiders, and let Circus stand down again. Tattletale, of course, would go into a cell and thence into Mr Pitter's care, once the man had accepted the offer of employment.

It was all about grabbing opportunities when they presented themselves.

<><>​

Danny

Slowly, Danny returned to consciousness. "Oww …" he muttered as his hand automatically went to the pain in the middle of his face, and discovered that his nose was swollen to twice its normal size. Blood was crusted around his nostrils. Exploring his mouth, his tongue found a loose tooth.

"Are you all right, sir?" A hand shook his shoulder and a pair of glasses were pressed into his hands. He put them on, then opened his eyes and looked up at the opaque faceplate of a PRT soldier. "What happened?" asked the trooper.

"I …" He tried to sit up and found himself leaning against the sofa. "Taylor. Taylor was here."

"When you arrived, sir? Taylor was here then? Or did she get here after you got home?" The new speaker was immediately recognisable to him. Miss Militia was very striking, after all.

He put his hand to his nose again. "Ow. The first one. I … I opened the door, and two of your guys went in." He looked around. "Are they all right?"

"They've already regained consciousness, sir." Miss Militia's tone was reassuring. "They've sustained no serious injuries. What happened to them? They can't recall anything after arriving here."

"It all happened so fast." He shook his head, carefully. In the background, he could hear booted feet upstairs, searching every room. He was willing to bet they were even going to search the roof space. And of course they were going to search the basement. They would leave no stone unturned.

"I understand." Miss Militia helped him to his feet so he could sit down on the sofa. "Somebody beat you up pretty good. Do you feel any strong pain anywhere?" Her tone indicated that she couldn't see that happening.

"No." He took a deep breath. "Ribs hurt a bit. Doesn't feel like anything more than bruises anywhere." Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the guard prowl around the room before moving the curtain aside to peer out the window. Pulling it shut once more, he moved past Danny and Miss Militia then turned as if avoiding the empty corner of the room.

"Who beat you up?" asked Miss Militia. "Was it Taylor?"

"Not Taylor, no," Danny said. "She had friends with her. I've never met them before in my life. They knocked your guys out and dragged me into the house. Taylor was pissed that the PRT came here. I tried to tell her that the Wards would be a good idea. She disagreed." He touched his nose tenderly. "One of her friends hits really, really hard. I have no idea how long I was unconscious."

"Damn it," the Protectorate hero muttered. "Do you think she'll be back?"

Danny shrugged. "She stood by while her friends worked me over. Watched the whole thing. Didn't even try to make them stop."

" … okay." Miss Militia stood up. "Can you give us a description of her friends? Any identifying marks? Costumes? Power effects? Anything?"

"They weren't wearing costumes," Danny said slowly. "There were no visible power effects. I wasn't looking too closely at their faces. They were around Taylor's age. A couple of blondes, a couple of brunettes." He gestured at his face. "It was one of the brunettes that did this to me."

"Boys? Girls?" Miss Militia's expression was intent.

"I think they were all girls?" Danny made it into a question. "I know I didn't stand a chance against them. None of your guys did."

Miss Militia grimaced. "Yes. I'm sorry about that. We thought she might come back to the house. We never expected her to bring friends."

"Sure as hell surprised me," Danny noted. "So what happens now?"

"If you want to press charges against Taylor and her friends for this, we can give you a lift to the precinct house so you can fill out the paperwork," she said. "In addition, we're very interested in whatever you can tell us about Taylor's friends. Did they say anything about their plans in your hearing?"

"Um, something about going underground?" he hazarded.

"Well, unless they intend to break into an Endbringer shelter, that's not the best idea in the world," she pointed out. "In fact, that's still not a good idea. I'm going to go with the figurative meaning for the time being."

"Yeah," he agreed. Endbringer shelters were massive affairs; he simply couldn't see Taylor gaining access to one, even with Lisa's help.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She reached up and pressed the bluetooth earpiece she wore. "Go for Miss Militia."

While she was thus occupied, Danny leaned back in the sofa. His head turned very slightly, so he could glance at the empty corner that the guard had veered away from. Absolutely nothing inhabited it, apart from a couple of spiderwebs and a small population of dust bunnies.

"All right then," Miss Militia said. "No sign of the Hebert girl or anyone else nearby? Latest information; two blondes, two brunettes, mid teens."

The answer was apparently not to her liking. Her forehead creased in a frown. "Understood. Widen the search. Miss Militia, out." She pressed the earpiece again then turned to Danny. "We've got to go. Do you want us to call you an ambulance?"

Danny shook his head. "I'll be fine." He waved his hand. "Go."

"All right then." She pressed a card into his hand. "If you see or hear from her at all. Don't antagonise her. Just call us as soon as you can."

"Understood." He watched her walk out, along with the PRT troopers. The last one out closed the back door behind him. Moving stiffly, he got up and walked to the back door and locked it with the key. Then he checked the front door and made sure it was secure as well. A rumble of engine noise indicated the PRT transport starting up and driving off. Another thirty seconds passed. The house creaked as it settled slightly.

He heard the twang of the side gate as it closed. Going into the kitchen, he glanced out the window, then unlocked the back door again. It opened and Lisa, her hair a rich auburn, entered the kitchen. She put her finger to her lips and began to tiptoe about the house. Danny relocked the back door then went back into the living room, retrieved the remote, and turned the TV on. Sitting down on the sofa, he pretended to watch the screen, but his attention kept drifting to the empty corner.

After another few minutes, during which Lisa investigated both the basement and the upper floor, she came back into the living room and dusted her hands off. "Okay, place is clear," she announced. "No listening devices, though they've probably got a tap on your phone."

It was like an optical illusion. One moment there was nobody in the corner, and the next they'd faded into view. Danny wasn't sure if it was invisibility or something else, but he knew that while Aisha had her power up, he had a hard time even recalling her existence.

"Fuckin' finally," the dark-skinned teen said, stepping forward and dragging the sheet she'd been holding off the others. "I gotta take a wicked leak." Dropping the sheet, she bolted up the stairs.

"Whoa, Dad, that looks even worse than when Amy first did it," Taylor said, stepping forward to examine his face. "How's that even possible?"

"I set up the bruising to develop while they were here," the biokinetic explained. She put her hand on Danny's arm, and he felt all the 'evidence' of the beating he was supposed to have endured simply fade away. Within minutes, he was back to normal.

"That doesn't look any better," Taylor said critically.

"Surface discolouration only," Amy assured her. "If they see him in the next couple of days and he doesn't look like he's gone ten rounds with Uncle Neil, they might smell a rat. I had to leave sensitivity in so he'd wince like he was supposed to when they examined him. Same reason I put him out before the other guys woke up. Someone who's actually unconscious reacts differently to someone who's faking."

"So, are they coming back?" asked Taylor, getting down to the meat of the matter.

"Not today, and probably not tomorrow," Lisa decided. "I watched the whole thing happen from down the block. I'm gonna go out on a limb and say they bought it."

"I'm guessing they did," Danny allowed. "Miss Militia got a phone call just before. It sounded like they'd found where you dumped their car."

"Wouldn't have been hard," Lisa said as she flopped on to the sofa. "The thing had a tracking beacon in it. The trick was to drive like I didn't know that. And getting a taxi back here while pretending nothing was wrong was a little tricky."

Danny leaned back on the sofa. "Well, we made it. That should buy you a couple of days. You're welcome to stay here as long as you want, of course, but I'm pretty sure the PRT will be circling around again once all their other leads dry up."

Lisa grinned. "A couple of days should be just about perfect."

<><>​

Director Emily Piggot

"So by the time you got there, she'd been and gone."

Miss Militia, on the far side of the desk, nodded. Emily had made sure her tone wasn't censorious. It wasn't the cape's fault, after all. Unlike some, Miss Militia had an awareness of her duty that matched the flags she wore as part of her costume.

"Yes, ma'am," Miss Militia replied. "Sometime in the last twenty-four hours or so, she's managed to acquire allies, or at least cohorts. Four of them. They subdued the men who went there with Hebert, then she turned on him. Presumably, she thought he'd brought them there willingly. Per his account, they beat him bloody while she watched. Then they stole the vehicle our men went there in. We activated the LoJack as soon as we understood the situation, and located it at the bus depot."

"How many buses had left by the time you got there?" asked Emily, knowing she wasn't going to like the answer.

"Two," Miss Militia replied. "One going north, one going south. We've got passenger lists and we're going over them now, as well as security footage."

Emily sighed. Things could never go smooth. It was a kind of anti-mantra to her. Something she recited to herself when everything seemed to be working out just fine. "Let me know if anything jumps out. Any idea where her associates came from, or why she turned against her father?"

"For the first, I don't know for certain, but there's usually a few capes floating around who haven't gotten our attention yet or found a gang they want to be a part of. She's undeniably powerful. They may have simply encountered one another and decided to form a group of their own. As to why she had her father beaten up …" A movement of the scarf indicated a possible grimace. "… Getting powers is always problematic, psychologically speaking. We both know it can lead to drastic personality shifts, rarely for the good."

Say it like it is. Capes are crazy. But Emily knew she was being unfair. Not all capes suffered from problems. Some did; there were a few that made the rest look positively normal by comparison. The trouble was, these weren't always villains. Shadow Stalker, for example.

"Any indication of her future plans?" Emily didn't want to ask the question, but knew she had to. The choice of becoming a hero, a rogue or a villain would impact enormously on any cape's future career. Taylor's beginnings had not been particularly auspicious, but there were some heroes who had come back from worse. However, being directly involved with the deaths of two people, then having her own father beaten up, did not bode at all well for her prospects. Or her mental state.

"Barely anything." Miss Militia shrugged very slightly. "What little they said in front of Hebert indicated that they intended to fly under the radar for at least a while. Keep their heads down, not make waves." She paused. "His exact phrasing was 'go underground'. I'm pretty sure it's not literal. Unless she intends to take over an Endbringer shelter for her own personal use." To her credit, she managed to say that without sounding ridiculous.

On the face of it, Taylor Hebert going dark wasn't necessarily a bad thing. A cape who was keeping things on the down-low was a cape Emily didn't have to immediately worry about. She did make a mental note to boost security on the Endbringer shelters, just in case. However, it still meant that the girl was out and about, doing God knew what, without adult oversight. With her level of power, that scenario was potentially terrifying. "Understood. Spread the word, though. If she's still in the city, if any unusual events start happening with bugs involved, I want to know soonest. I really don't want to see this girl go into one of the villain gangs; not with the type of power she's capable of calling on."

"Just that she's a bug manipulator, but leaving her identity out of it?"

Miss Militia's question struck to the heart of the matter. The unwritten rules had no legal standing (except where they coincided with actual laws) but there were those who held them in considerable regard. Emily was fully aware that the 'rules' served to keep cape violence at street level to a semi-acceptable level. The more powerful cape gangs paid them lip service, but Emily was fully aware that those same gangs would break the rules in a heartbeat if it suited them to do so.

Sending men back to the house with Danny Hebert had been not quite a breakage of these so-called rules. Taylor had, as Emily had already noted, been instrumental in the deaths of two people, one a Ward. Emily could always state that she'd felt concerned for Hebert's welfare, and point to his subsequent beating as ex post facto justification for her actions. The plainclothes PRT troopers may have precipitated the tantrum that led to the beating, but there was every chance the Hebert girl would've found another reason, even in their absence.

Now, it seemed, she'd cut all ties with her previous life. She was out in the world, with undeniably powerful capabilities and the will to use them. Emily had been willing—was still willing—to cut her a certain amount of slack, given the horrendous manner in which she'd gotten her powers. But there was a limit to her forbearance, and a very definite limit to how far the PRT would allow the Hebert girl to go before issuing an arrest warrant in her name. The moment Taylor Hebert performed a premeditated crime with her powers, the clock would start ticking. And if one more person died of bug bites, the girl would cross the line from 'victim' to 'dangerous criminal'.

"We'll assign her a codename," Emily said at last. "Something that can be applied to a hero or a villain. We don't want to prematurely push her over the edge. I'm thinking 'Swarm'. That name goes out. Her real identity stays under wraps."

Miss Militia nodded. "I'll pass the word on." She turned and left the office, leaving Emily alone with her thoughts.

Christ, I hope this doesn't blow up in our faces.

It was a thought she'd had all too often since taking up the position of Director.

<><>​

Panacea

Amy studied Lisa carefully. This was the first time she'd ever used her powers in a cosmetic fashion (despite endless wheedling from Vicky), and she still wasn't sure how she felt about it. Though to be fair, she wasn't sure how she felt about a lot of what had happened over the last couple of days. "You sure you don't want me to change your hair colour back?"

"Nah," said Lisa. She tossed her hair carelessly. "I kinda like being a redhead. For one thing, Coil won't ever see me coming like this."

"You have a point," Amy agreed. The hair now framing Lisa's face was a little longer than the teenage supervillain's normally messy blonde locks, and fell naturally into a brushed-back style that was quite unlike Lisa's original hair. "Just let me know if you change your mind."

"Sure thing," Lisa agreed blithely. "You need anything else for your mad science laboratory?"

Amy sighed. She really wished Lisa wouldn't refer to it like that. "I'll be fine. Vicky will be there to help me."

"Yes," said Vicky brightly. "I like to help you, Amy."

The first time her sister had spoken in this childlike fashion, Amy had been horrified. Now, each time she got a reminder of her sister's condition, she died a little more inside. I'll get this done, she promised herself. I'll fix Vicky if it kills me. Nobody, and nothing, was going to stand in her way.

Not Coil, not her own family, not the PRT, not the Triumvirate, not anyone.

With a determined step, she started down the stairs into the basement. Once Lisa had deemed them safe for the moment, they'd moved on to the next stage of planning. The single yellow bulb illuminated the old workbench, which they'd cleared and wiped down. Taylor leaned against one end of the bench, arms folded and not apparently doing very much.

Next to her on the bench were several books, sequestered from an old Encyclopedia Americana that Danny had unearthed from somewhere. Aisha's roll of paper rested on top of the books. Beside the books lay dozens of bugs, separated into 'small', 'medium' and 'oh-god-get-it-away-from-me'. Alongside them were several small birds and a few rats. As Amy watched, another rat scrambled up the leg of the workbench, moved to where its comrades lay, and apparently went to sleep.

"That enough?" asked Taylor. "There's more rats and birds out there if you need them." That she could get more bugs was a given; a few dozen orbited her head as she spoke. Amy knew that Taylor was also keeping watch on all approaches with her feathered minions.

"No, this should be enough for now." Amy picked up the roll of paper and unrolled it, absent-mindedly using a couple of rats for paperweights. Then she opened the first book, which happened to be 'E', and turned toward the back. "E … X … P … L … O … ah ha," she murmured, as she found the section she was looking for. Then she picked up a bird and turned back to the book.

"Okay," she said. "Let's see what we can do with this."



End of Part Six

 

[Ack]

One Bad Day

Part Seven: Birds and Rats and Bugs, Oh My!


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


Taylor

"I'm bored," whined Aisha, laying flat on her back and scuffing her heels on the carpet. "When's Amy gonna be finished? She's been down there forever."

Lisa, in the armchair beside the sofa, rolled her eyes. "It's been fifteen minutes. Give her just a little time." She glanced over at me. "How's she getting along?"

I didn't bother wondering how she'd known I was using my power to keep tabs on the birds and rats she was altering. "She's doing different things to different animals. I think she's testing to see what changes they can tolerate. Nothing too drastic so far. No Frankenstein monsters, anyway."

"Now, that I could watch all damn day," Aisha declared. "If I asked real nice, think she'd make me a radioactive death spider?" She made spider-leg movements with her hands from her prone position.

Lisa snorted. "If you start bothering her, she might make you into a radioactive death spider."

Aisha sat up. "You really think she might?"

"No." Lisa shook her head. "And don't ask her to. She's busy."

Sitting on the sofa beside me, Dad cleared his throat. "Girls. Enough. How about we put a movie on?"

"Yeah, good idea," I said hastily, jumping up and heading over to the TV. Kneeling down beside the cabinet, I pulled out a handful of DVDs. "Okay, we've got action, adventure, drama, mystery …." I paused after the last one, glancing over at Lisa. She smirked back at me. Yeah, she'd totally spoil the whole plot five minutes in. Well, she'd do it to all of them, but mysteries would be the worst. "Okay, scratch that last one … horror, a couple of documentaries …."

"Something action-adventury," Aisha said, butt-walking her way over to me. "Guns and explosions and hot guys without any shirts on."

"Because of course you want to ogle hot guys on screen." Lisa rolled her eyes. "How about something that won't shout 'teenagers hiding out in this house'? Like maybe a historical drama? Or even a documentary."

"Boorrr-ing," retorted Aisha. "Hey, Grandma, the retirement home called, they said something about needing to change your bedpan. I want something that blows up a couple of national monuments and includes a car chase, a bike chase or an airplane chase, along with a gunfight. Or a car chase that's also a gunfight. And an explosion that makes the car do a double midair roll and land on its wheels again. And maybe a bad guy with a chainsaw, that's on fire. The chainsaw, not the bad guy. Or maybe both."

I snorted. "So, any action movie made after the year two thousand?" Unfortunately, the shirtless-hot-guy quotient in movies had actually been decreasing in recent years. While I could kind of see the point of political correctness—I lived in a town that had literal Nazis—it was possible to have too much of a good thing. Personally, I wouldn't have objected to a few shirtless guys on screen—it would help distract me from the utter shit-show my life seemed determined to become—but I preferred my eye-candy without having my father right there beside me. He might not be silently judging my life choices at a time like that, but it still felt like he would be.

The incipient argument was cut short when Amy leaned in through the door from the kitchen. "There's a problem," she said.

Immediately, I snapped my attention out to all the rats, birds, bugs, stray cats and dogs being walked in the area. Nobody seemed to be approaching the house. I couldn't detect the ghostly impressions of people inside the boundary line, or even sitting suspiciously inside parked vehicles nearby. Meeting Lisa's eyes, I shook my head minutely.

She relaxed just a little, then spoke to Amy. "What sort of problem?"

"I think I've narrowed it down to a configuration that won't drop dead in five minutes from internal chemical poisoning," the biotinker said, but not without a grimace. Oh, yeah. Her rules. "But I'm not an industrial chemist. I have no idea how powerful a result we're going to get. If it just goes 'pop' and covers them with feathers and bird guts, that'll be mildly disgusting but it really won't get us where we need to go."

Aisha, successfully distracted from the movies, disagreed. "No, seriously, that'd be awesome. Can we do that to Coil? Cover him with bird guts and feathers? I so wanna see that."

"You also want to go skinny-dipping with Ryan Seacrest in the fountain in front of the Bellagio, in Las Vegas," Lisa pointed out. "Just pointing this out, not all your ideas are good ones."

"What?" Aisha stared at her incredulously. "How'd you know that? Are you really psychic?"

"You told us, last night," I said tiredly. "In great detail. Even though we kept asking you not to."

"Oh. Huh. Right." Aisha shrugged. "Oh, well. One day. Anyways, so how are we gonna test these things? Your cellar's pretty strong, yeah? Shouldn't lift the house more than an inch or two off the foundations." She looked positively eager to test the idea out.

"Ahem." Dad said the word rather than actually clearing his throat. Previously, he'd been sitting back and staying out of the conversation, but now he leaned forward. "There will be no explosions in my basement. Is that absolutely clear?"

"Which is why I said there was a problem." Amy gave him a grateful look. "Where can we test them out that's not here?"

"Boat Graveyard, duh." Aisha rolled her eyes. "Everyone who's anyone goes there to crash for a few nights, to hook up, shoot up or smoke up, to test their powers or to blow shit up. Sometimes all at once."

"Bad idea," I said at the exact same time as Lisa. We looked at each other, and I waved for her to keep talking. If she had the same idea as I had, she'd be able to express it better.

"What? No! It's a perfect idea." Aisha looked at us, her expression betrayed. "We get to blow shit up, and nobody gets hurt."

Lisa sighed. "Everyone goes there. Everyone knows that everyone goes there. If anyone was, say, looking out for a new trigger …." She gestured at me, then Aisha. "Or someone on the run from a vindictive supervillain …." She jabbed her thumb at her own chest. "Or even a couple of runaways from an established hero team …." Her hand waved in the general direction of where Amy stood in the doorway with Vicky hovering behind her. "What are the chances that the PRT and Coil and the Empire and the ABB and New Wave, and for all we know the Elite, the Youth Guard, the National Guard, and maybe even the Boy Scouts, aren't already keeping tabs on the area?"

"Youth Guard?" I asked, puzzled. I'd never heard of that organisation before.

"Long story," Amy said, shaking her head with an expression of disgust. "Tell you later." She looked back at Lisa. "Like I said, problem. If we can't test it here and we can't test it at the Boat Graveyard, where do we go?"

Lisa frowned. "Umm …." I could see her irritation that she couldn't automatically pull an answer out of her ass.

Dad cleared his throat, for real this time. "I may have just the place."

<><>​

The Trainyards

Half an Hour Later

"Doesn't the ABB claim this area?" Amy asked dubiously. She glanced from side to side, then pulled the hood of the jacket I'd donated from my wardrobe closer down over her face. Beside her, Vicky wore another one, and Lisa wore a third. Fortunately, I was taller than the other girls, so the clothing was nicely concealing.

"In a manner of speaking, in a manner of speaking," Lisa said soothingly. "They haven't got more than forty members all up, and it's just Lung and Oni Lee for capes. They can't be everywhere at once, and this is a pretty crappy area. Why would they even hang around here?"

"Because sometimes, girlie, you're just shit outta luck?" The voice came from the tallest of a group of three people, two men and a woman, who had just rounded the box-car we'd been walking alongside of. Each of them had an Asian cast to their features, and wore the red and green of the ABB to boot. Startled, I expanded my sensorium again, and looked around as the fourth one showed up behind us. Three of them (including the one to our backs) held knives; the tallest one had a chain.

"Damn it," muttered Dad. "I thought you were keeping watch?"

"I was watching the birds and rats in the box," I muttered back, gesturing at the cardboard carton he was carrying.

"Okay, guys," Lisa said clearly, keeping her hands in plain view. "Best for all concerned if you just turn around and walk away. We go our separate ways, nobody gets hurt."

"Pfft, hah." The guy with the chain moved closer. "Gonna want your phones, your cash, your jewellery … and yeah, what the fuck, take off that hoodie. Lemme see what you got, girlie." He waved the chain toward Amy and Vicky. "You, too."

I didn't know whether to feel insulted or pleased that he hadn't picked me out, so I settled for bringing my swarm to bear. Here in the Trainyards, there were birds, rats and bugs in plenty.

Amy shook her head. "You really, really don't want to go there," she said. Turning her head very slightly toward Vicky, she added, "Broken bones are okay, but don't kill anyone."

I couldn't believe the guy wasn't getting the subtext. He waved the chain menacingly at Amy as he approached. "I'll do what I fuckin' like and who I fuckin' like, girlie. And in about thirty seconds, that's gonna include you. I'd tell you my name, but you won't be able to say it while you're sucking my—"

That was as far as he got before Vicky punched him. He flew back twenty feet and landed hard. At the same time, the other guy collapsed bonelessly for no apparent reason. I figured this meant we were doing this, so I covered the guy behind us in bugs and the woman in front with rats.

"Vicky, they're done!" said Amy sharply, as her sister approached the woman, who was now writhing and screaming on the ground as rats clung and bit and burrowed inside her clothing. The guy behind was in little better straits, as the bugs were stinging and biting him everywhere.

"Aw," Vicky said. "I wanted to hit them some more." She pointed at the guy she'd punched. "Can I hit that one again? He said bad things about you."

"You already fractured his breastbone and broke three ribs," Lisa noted. "Nicely done, Aisha, Taylor."

"Fuckers never knew what hit 'em!" crowed the black girl as she faded back into my awareness and dropped the piece of four by two. "We fuckin' rock, an' we fuckin' roll. Don't we, Vicky?" Stepping up, she offered Vicky a high-five.

"Yes, we do, Most Esteemed Aisha," Vicky agreed. She slapped Aisha's hand. I watched Aisha wince and shake her hand out, and hid a smirk. Saw that coming.

"Well, that was moderately terrifying," Dad muttered as we watched Amy go to each of the perpetrators of the abortive ambush.

I glanced at him. "There was no need to be scared. We had it under control."

"I'm not talking about them," he said. "I'm talking about you and your friends. One minute you were all meek and harmless, and the next the bad guys were down. They never stood a chance, did they?"

"Not really, no." Lisa hefted a small pistol. I'd known she was carrying it—the stint in the motel room had not left many secrets between us—but in all honesty, I'd forgotten it was there. "I had this for backup, and I knew Aisha was nearby."

"Yeah, when those fuckers stepped out, I just found a bit of wood and waited," Aisha said. "Soon as Vicky punched that one guy, I knew it was time to smack some sense into these assholes." She gave me an impressed look. "I didn't know you could do that to two people at once, though."

"I'm really good at multi-tasking, when I do it," I said. "If I had enough small animals to play with, I could do more. Bugs are easier than rats, though."

I let go of the control over the rats, allowing them to scamper off as Amy bent over the woman. They'd only inflicted minor bites and scratches, though that probably meant she had half a dozen diseases now. Hopefully, Amy felt like curing her. The woman had been clearly willing to stand by and allow Lisa and Amy and Vicky to be sexually assaulted by her male counterparts, so I felt remarkably little in the way of compassion for her.

"Okay, that's them done." Amy dusted her hands off. "I've healed their injuries and they'll wake up in about twenty minutes, not sure what's going on. I've tried to make it feel like a drug aftermath. Their memories will be shot to hell, like the motel guy's."

"I got an idea!" announced Aisha gleefully. "Vicky, help me get 'em into the boxcar. I'll make sure they don't tell nobody nothin' about being out here at all."

"You're not going to murder them, are you?" asked Amy. "I mean, they're helpless. That's just wrong."

"Pfft, nope." Aisha snickered as Vicky hefted the first unconscious body into the boxcar. "This'll be a lot funnier."

"What are you doing?" asked Lisa suspiciously, then she seemed to come to a realisation, and she made a definitive cut-off motion with her hand. "Like hell you're going to do that."

"Why not?" asked Aisha cheekily. "Get their gear off and pose them like they've been fucking. When they wake up, they ain't gonna know who was doin' what to who, an' they ain't gonna wanna know."

"No." Lisa shook her head. "Just leave them. No stripping, no posing. We're going, now."

I looked at her curiously. Aisha's plan wasn't something I would've come up with. If she'd asked me to help, that would've been a solid nope. Intellectually speaking, though, I had no issue with her carrying it out. So what was Lisa's problem with it?

Lisa caught my gaze and shook her head again. "Bad experience," she muttered, then grabbed Aisha by the ear when the younger girl went to climb up into the boxcar anyway. "We are leaving. Now."

"Fuck, you're no fun," whined Aisha, but didn't fight her grip. Lisa, I gathered, could actually remember that Aisha was there sometimes, even when nobody else could. This made Aisha wary around her.

Dad nodded. "Lisa's right. Let's not do anything fancy, or stupid." He pointed at the way ahead with his free hand. "Let's go."

<><>​

We walked on for about five minutes, during which time Aisha delved into an apparently endless repertoire of insults toward Lisa. Some were childish and others hilarious, but for the most part I'd heard them before. Dockworkers were not people known to refrain from swearing when the occasion was right.

Dad stopped and put the carton down, then lifted the lid off of it. "Shut up, Aisha. This is as good a place as any," he said. "Taylor, anyone around?"

I'd been spending a lot more attention on the area around us after the encounter with the ABB. Fortunately, there was nobody I could detect in the two-block radius I was currently able to reach. I looked at him and shook my head. "Not a soul."

"Good." He stepped back from the box and produced a digital video camera from his jacket pocket, then swung out the small side-screen. "Ready to record."

"Okay, then." Amy came up to the box and pulled out a bird. Some type of sparrow, I thought, but I really had no idea.

Her touch did something to wake it up, and I immediately took full control over it. "Where should I put it?" I asked.

Dad pointed at an open area about thirty feet from us. "That's a good start."

"Sure." I flew the bird over to the spot, and had it land. "Blow it?"

With the camera held steady, he nodded. "Blow it."

It was a weird feeling. Amy had packed the bird with as much organic explosive as she could, and had supplied a chemical trigger that I could sense and manipulate. I took control of the trigger and activated it.

Nothing happened for a moment. I heard Aisha make a disappointed noise. "Where's the kaboom?" she muttered. "There was supposed to be an earth-shattering kaboom."

"Something's happening," I said, ignoring the cartoon reference. Chemical changes were progressing. Unaware of this, or perhaps just not caring, the bird pecked at the ground in front of it.

And then something hit critical mass. The bird just had time for what I interpreted as an extremely confused expression before it vanished in a sharp crack and a cloud of dust and smoke. Slowly, this cleared, to reveal a scorched area including a shallow crater, and of course shredded feathers floating down over everything. The smell of burned fried chicken was strong in my nostrils.

"Holy shit!" cackled Aisha. "That was awesome!" She seemed to have gotten over her previous snit. "Do it again! Do two at once!"

I glanced at Amy. "A rat next, I think."

"No problem." She took a rodent out of the carton and woke it up, then put it on the ground.

I had it scurry away, then dig itself into the ground where the bird had already blasted away the ground clutter. Once it was out of sight under a small mound of earth, I nodded to Dad. He focused the camera, and I activated the ignition sequence.

The explosion, when it occurred, was a bit more muffled than the last one, and earth fountained into the air. Again, we had the cloud of dust and smoke, and a somewhat deeper crater now.

"Woo!" whooped Aisha. "That was pretty damn cool too!"

Amy cleared her throat. "Those were the basic ones. I wanted to make sure they worked before we tried out the more exotic explosive materials."

We all turned to look at her. "What does that mean?" asked Dad suspiciously. "A bigger bang?"

"Theoretically," Amy conceded. "If they go off. These ones are more experimental." She picked out another bird and rat. "You might want to shield us from the explosion."

"Okay, then." I kept the rat where it was, and had the bird fly off into one of the nearby boxcars. Once it was well out of sight, I triggered the ignition. It felt different, in a way I couldn't explain. "So how long—"

BOOM

Startled, I looked around at where the bird had gone off. The explosion had taken less than half the time of the previous ignition, and both side doors had been blown clean off the boxcar. A huge cloud of smoke and dust was rolling upward and outward, and I thought it might actually be on fire. When the dust cleared, I could tell that the doors weren't the only damage by a long way. It had been opened up like a Christmas present at the hands of an excitable five year old kid. No fire, but it didn't matter. It was done.

" … Fuck," whispered Lisa. "That would obliterate a person."

"Uh huh." The rat was still at my feet. I made it go under a boxcar somewhat farther away than the one that the bird had blown up. Then I held up my finger to warn everyone and set it off.

I wasn't sure if it was the higher compression of the explosion, but this time the entire boxcar was lifted off the ground and thrown on to its side. We all stared in silence; even Aisha was lacking an irreverent quip for the occasion. I looked into the carton; there was one rat and one bird left. I looked at Amy. "Are these ones even stronger?"

She shrugged. "Like I said, if they even go off. Living organic bombs are not a huge field of study anywhere."

"Bombardier beetles," Lisa pointed out. "What could you do with one of those?"

Amy's eyes went distant. "I need to look those up. When we get home."

Dad pointed at the last two booby-trapped creatures. "If we're going to test these, we need to do it soon, then get out of here. Those two explosions will be drawing attention."

"No fucking shit they'll be drawing attention." Aisha finally got her mind back in the game. "I am never gonna look at rats and birds in the same way."

Once Amy woke up the last two, I had the rat crawl under another boxcar. It wasn't as though there was any lack of them. In the meantime, the bird circled overhead. If I could see through its senses, I decided, I may as well observe from above before I blew it up too.

But when I set the rat off, nothing happened, except that I lost my connection to it.

I looked at Amy. "What happened? Why didn't it go off?"

"I don't know," she snapped. "I told you and I told you. They're experimental. I'm using some exotic materials, but I'm having to err on the side of not exploding, for the very good reason that I don't want to be caught in the blast radius. So if that one didn't go off, there's probably a good reason, and I'm not going anywhere near it. Just in case, and I'm spitballing here, the horrifically intense organic acid I was using as a triggering substance ate through its containment and is waiting to dissolve my feet."

"Fuck it," I decided, and swooped the bird in under the same boxcar. Before it even touched down, I set it off.

The explosion was impressive; a fireball blew the boxcar straight up into the air, disintegrating it as it went. We ducked as small bits of debris rained down around us. An honest to goodness mushroom cloud climbed into the air overhead.

"Holy shit!" I yelped, covering my head with my hands. "Was that because there were two of them, or what?"

"I have no fucking idea," Amy retorted, wriggling her little finger in her ear. "Maybe. Probably. Don't do that again, at least not when I'm nearby." She shook her head. "But I'm going to have to rethink the rat version of that. Maybe if I …."

"How about, run now, bioTinker later?" suggested Lisa. "That last bang would've shortened the response time by a significant amount. We do not want to be found wandering around the Trainyards, or anywhere else. Not by Armsmaster, not by Lung. Definitely not by Coil."

She had a point. We bolted away from where the mushroom cloud hung like an accusing finger, pointing down at us. Once we were back at the parking lot, Aisha got on her motorcycle while the rest of us got in the car, and we peeled out of there.

The tension in the car was almost palpable on the ride back to the house. Dad concentrated on driving and following every road rule, I concentrated on making sure that nobody was following us, Lisa was concentrating on … whatever Lisa concentrated on, and Amy leaned back against her seat with her eyes closed, mumbling to herself. Vicky, of course, stared into space and hummed tunelessly. It was still creepy, but I was getting used to it. In a 'not getting used to it at all' kind of way.

<><>​

"Okay," said Dad, once we'd gotten back to the safety of the house. "What did we do wrong?"

I was a little taken aback by the question, but Aisha had an answer right out of the gate. "We shoulda brung more rats and birds," she said at once. "Scion on a pogo stick, did you see that last one? That was all kinds of amazeballs! Amy, you're more badass than if Armsmaster and Alexandria had a kid, an' Danny raised it!"

Amy's eyes widened. Dad's eyes widened farther. I tried not to smirk. "Yeah, we all saw it," I said dryly. "I think they might've been able to see it from the PRT building. It was kind of … obvious. Which was why we had to haul ass out of there." I sighed. "Plus, I forgot to do overwatch and those guys got the drop on us."

"Fortunately, they had no idea who they were fucking with," Lisa observed. "That left them wide open … but it wasn't due to anything we did."

"Actually, it was." Amy spoke up, her voice quiet. "We weren't in costume. If we had been, they wouldn't have engaged us straight away, or they might've even left us alone."

"Or they might have come back with reinforcements, or hung back and called in Lung." Dad put in. "More to the point, if you had costumes on in the car, we might not have even gotten to the Trainyards in the first place. Our aim was to stay under the radar. For the most part, except for the explosions, we managed to do that."

"Hey, Amy, how about birds that keep little spines when the feathers burn away?" suggested Aisha. "That way, when they go all ass-splode, you've got a fuck-ton of shrapnel going every which way."

Amy blinked. "Shit, why didn't I think of that?" She pulled a notepad from her pocket and started scribbling in it. "And I still don't know what happened with that damn rat, or if the bird going off caused a sympathetic explosion, which could be why it was so large."

"I notice you didn't have any exploding bugs," I said to Amy. "Wouldn't that work too well?"

She stopped scribbling. "It might," she allowed. "But only for very specific circumstances, like getting through locked doors. And we've already got a ready-made means to do that." Her gaze cut sideways toward her sister.

"That's true," Vicky said brightly. "I can break open locked doors really easily."

"So if you're not using bugs for that, what are you using them for?" I was curious.

"Venom delivery and spinning webs," she said. From the look on her face, she didn't like the idea of 'venom delivery', but she was dealing with it as a means to an end. "From Aisha's research, there are some horrific venoms out there. So I've got a series of bugs down there that will kill an adult man with one bite, some that'll just knock him out, and some that'll make him totally suggestible but keep him awake. Just to cover all our bases."

"Suggestible, so they'll do whatever we want?" Aisha looked intrigued at the possibilities.

Amy glared at her. "Suggestible, so they'll answer our questions."

"Oh, yeah. I totally knew that." Aisha rolled her eyes, as if the concept of her not knowing that was utterly ludicrous. Then she had to spoil it, because Aisha. "So ordering them to do the conga-line across the road to get into the PRT vans is out? Or, you know, making it so they'll follow my orders all the time?"

"I am not giving you minions." Amy's tone was final. "You're dangerous enough on your own."

"Aisha, enough." I gave Amy a tentative smile. "You're really going above and beyond on this one. I can't even imagine how hard it must be."

"It's all for Vicky." Amy's voice was curt. "I'm going to do whatever I have to, if I'm gonna have a chance at fixing what I broke." She took a deep breath, and just for a moment looked like a teenage girl rather than a hero pushed far beyond her limits. "And … thanks. I appreciate the assistance. From all of you."

I moved up to her. "If this had never happened, we probably never would've met in the normal run of things. But we did. And you've helped me, too. So yeah, thanks goes both ways." I put my arms out; for a moment she looked almost panicked, as though she had no idea how to react. Even when my arms went around her, she was stiff and unyielding, like she didn't want to let her guard down for an instant. I hugged her anyway, then let her go.

"Yeah, okay, right." Her voice was rough; she cleared her throat. "We haven't got time for that crap. I need to make more bird and rat bombs if we're going to hit Coil soon. And I'll need some more bugs, too. How many can you control at once?"

Obvious deflection is deflection. "Oh, as many as you want to give me," I said. "I haven't hit an upper limit on them yet. With birds and rats, it's harder. The more complicated the brain, the more difficult it gets."

"Good." Amy headed for the basement, with Vicky shadowing her as always. I followed on, because it was easier to get Amy's raw material in the right place if I knew where she wanted it. Behind Amy's back, Lisa gave me a nod and a thumb's-up. I hoped that meant I was handling Amy okay.

Not that I liked having to 'handle' her, but it was obvious to everyone (except maybe Aisha, and I suspected she knew more than she pretended to) that the biokinetic was a time bomb. As long as she believed she had a solid chance to help her sister, she was stable and relatively safe to be around. Take away her hope and she might just snap; if that happened, Brockton Bay would reap the consequences. Innocents would die, possibly in the tens of thousands.

As I left the room, Dad fell into quiet conversation with Lisa, while Aisha zeroed in on the DVD collection again. In the back of my mind, I was going over the implications of Amy being able to turn birds, bugs and rats into instruments of destruction. It was kind of a shock to the system to know that Panacea, the healer of New Wave, was able to turn her power to such ends. Of course, I was not in the least bit surprised that she'd kept this sort of thing under wraps. I couldn't see anyone being comfortable with it, especially not the PRT. Personally, I was good with it, but I was also self-aware enough to recognise that this was mainly because it suited my aims.

"Okay," I said to Amy as I descended the stairs. "What kind of birds did you want, and how many? Rats too, right?"

She nodded jerkily. "Ten of each should be a good start." Then she looked at me. "How could you do that?"

"How could I what?" I asked. Her tone had been utterly serious, so I tried to disarm it with casual flippancy. "Control them? It's kind of my power."

"No." She moved closer to me, her eyes fixed on my face. "How could you hug me, knowing what I've done? What I could do to you. How do you know I haven't already done something to you, something that I can never undo?"

I firmly repressed the chill that went down my spine. Did she do something? Would I even know? "Because I trust you to be a good person," I said, forcing myself to believe what I said. The alternative was to back slowly up the stairs, and that would be the worst possible move I could make. Paradoxically, the best way I could see to make her trust me was to show that I trusted her. "Lisa trusted you to make her into a redhead. Dad trusted you to fake the signs of a beating. We're friends, and I'm helping you get Vicky back. There's absolutely no reason for you to hurt me."

"I'm not a good person." Her tone was hopeless. "I'm a monster. You've seen what I can do to people. What I've done. What if I turned one of you into a bomb, like with these rats and birds?"

I had no idea where I was going with this, so I went for a different tack. "I stabbed a superhero in the lung, and I ate a girl alive with bugs." My smile didn't have anything to do with humour. "Trust me, Amy, we're neck-and-neck in the monster stakes. But do you want to know the difference between us and real monsters?"

Her gaze, already locked on to mine, became almost frightening in its intensity. "What?" she whispered.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady the shakes that wanted to come. "We know that what we've done is wrong, and we're trying to make things right. We're not the sum of our actions. We're the sum of our intentions."

She stared at me, as if querying silently if I really believed in what I'd just said. I stared right back. I had to believe it; otherwise, I was as bad as Sophia. Worse; I'd be as bad as Emma.

Something in my expression must have gotten through to her, because she relaxed slightly. "And we intend to kill a supervillain and steal his base." But her tone had the slightest edge of humour to it. "I can't see that being much of an improvement."

"Well, for one thing, he's more of an appropriate target. And for another, the way Lisa talks about him, this is long past time." I grimaced. "I'm not thrilled with the idea of murder either, but if we don't do this, it'll be a crapload harder to help Vicky."

Amy found a chair and slumped into it, her elbows coming to rest on her knees. "And what if, once we've fixed matters, she decides that we've gone too far? If she rejects us because of it?" Her head drooped, frizzy hair hanging down over her face. "What if she hates me because of what we gotta do to fix her?"

I knelt beside her and put my arms around her again. She shuddered in my hold, but didn't try to pull away. "Whatever happens, happens. Would you prefer her loving you like this, or healthy and hating you?"

Slowly, her face pressed into my shoulder, though she didn't hug me back. Her voice was muffled against my shirt. "Healthy."

"Well, then." I tried for a hearty tone, but only managed 'bright'. "That's a hero talking right there, not a monster. And if she does decide she hates you, I'll kick her ass with butterflies until she figures out what an idiot she's being."

She pulled her face away from my shoulder and gave me a 'wtf' expression. "Kick her ass with butterflies?"

I shrugged. The phrase had come to me out of nowhere, but I kind of liked it. "Should get her attention, yeah?"

"Hm. Yeah." It wasn't a laugh. To be honest, it wasn't even really a smile. But she looked and sounded somewhat less grim as she moved her arms to get out of the hug. "Okay, you can let me go now. We need to make more bombs, then we need to plan exactly how we're going to wreck a supervillain's whole year."

I grinned and stood up. "Sounds awesome to me."

<><>​

PRT ENE

Director Piggot's Office

Emily Piggot leaned back in her chair, concealing a wince as her back complained. "Report."

"I'm on site at the Trainyards," Armsmaster replied crisply. "There is evidence of four, I say again four, explosions."

She frowned. "Four? Only three were reported."

"From the crater, the first one was buried, ma'am. The sound would've been muffled. It wasn't very powerful. Perhaps along the lines of a door-buster charge."

Emily was familiar with those, and she was able to visualise it easily. "Understood. And the others?"

"Two were of moderate effect, while the last one was quite powerful." He paused. "There are some odd factors involved here, though."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Of course there are. What kind of odd factors?"

"The residues are … unusual. Definitely not commercial-grade explosives, by any stretch of the imagination. No casings have been found, or detonators, or anything like that, even in the small one. Despite the fact that it was buried, which should have preserved such evidence."

This was just getting better and better by the second. "Are you saying these are Tinker creations? Because that's what it sounds like you're saying."

"Everything we have so far seems to be bearing out that conclusion, Director. Besides, there's yet another factor, which I don't like at all."

Emily's eyebrows rose. Armsmaster was one of the most meticulous men she knew. This could be irritating at times, but when he said something was worrying him, he really meant it. "There's nothing about this situation that I like. What's the specific problem this time?"

"There's a possibility that the explosives are to be delivered by trained animals. We found fragments of feathers around the site of the first explosion, as well as beaks and claws around the other ones. In addition, there are skeletal fragments and teeth that we have yet to get enough DNA from to identify."

"I see." Those two words didn't convey her feelings anywhere near well enough, but screaming obscenities over the phone would do neither one of them any good. "The Docks are ABB territory. Do you think this is an ABB operation? Do they have a Tinker now?" One who builds bombs and trains animals to deliver them. Jesus Christ.

He hesitated before answering. "I … don't think so. We found four ABB members sleeping off what seemed to be a drug session in a boxcar, not far from the site of the explosions. They were confused and disoriented, and knew nothing about any explosives, or Tinkers who might be making bombs for the ABB. Though they also denied going into the Trainyards to indulge their habits, so I'm taking their denial with a grain of salt."

"That's probably a wise move. Though it begs the question as to who actually set those bombs off. How powerful were the other three?"

"Three boxcars were targeted. One was blown apart from the inside, one was tipped over, and the third one was entirely destroyed. I'm still working on the exact composition of the explosives used, but they were definitely exotic in nature."

Emily drew a deep breath. "I see. I await your final report on the matter."

"Yes, ma'am."

She ended the call, then carefully moved her mouse-pad to a point directly in front of her. Closing her eyes, she gently thumped her forehead on the square of soft neoprene.

First Shadow Stalker gets herself killed, then it turns out that she was the bad guy, then the real victim gathers a gang around herself and goes dark. Now this.

The fact that Taylor Hebert controlled bugs, and thus was highly unlikely to have anything to do with a bomb Tinker who also trained animals, was a bright spot in all of this. But not very much of one.

<><>​

Hebert Household

Later

The sheet of butcher's paper had been spread over the whole dining room table, and used to make two separate diagrams. Lisa wielded a Sharpie with skill and precision, drawing in the details of Coil's base and placing various objects as markers as she went.

"Okay, then." She stepped back, capping the pen. "I give you one underground base, current owner Coil. Soon to be ours. Questions?"

Dad rubbed his chin. "Is it just me, or does it kind of look like an Endbringer shelter?"

"Good eye," Lisa said. "I'm pretty sure that the company that built it thought they were building one, but somehow it got lost in the shuffle. I'd be absolutely fascinated to know how he pulled that off."

"So would I," mused Dad. "I've seen equipment misplaced, even forklifts and heavy machinery, but losing an entire underground base with creative accounting … that takes talent." Leaning forward, he tapped his finger on the diagram. "So what's that?"

"That's the parking garage entrance," Lisa said. "It's where his men stash the vehicles after a job, so even if Velocity searched every public and private parking space in the city, there's no sign of them." She tapped the map in three other places. "Ordinary exit, ordinary exit, Coil's secret exit." Her smile became vulpine and her smugness factor multiplied by ten. "He isn't aware I know about that. If he was, I'd be dead."

"Sounds like an absolutely charming guy." Dad's voice was dry. "Well, I'm not the cape in the room. How are you planning on doing this?"

I looked at the exits. "What's the chance of sneaking in through one of the ordinary ways?"

"Moderate to low," she said. "Unless we suborned one of his guys. But we'd have to grab him outside the base."

"What about getting knockout bugs in through the air system, then sneaking in?" asked Amy. "If nobody's awake, it'll be a breeze."

Lisa tilted her hand from side to side. "By now he'll have heard there's a bug-controlling cape in the city. If he doesn't already have bug screens up everywhere already, he will have soon. He's hyper-paranoid like that."

"Ooh, ooh, I know." Aisha stuck her hand up like she was at school. "We wait for him to leave, then walk in and take the place. When he comes back, we've changed the locks."

That caused Lisa to snort with amusement. "Not a bad plan, but with two flaws. One, he'll still be alive. Two, the base has a self-destruct wired into it. Explosives in the walls. I'm almost certain he's got a hardwired offsite trigger system."

"Which he would definitely use, from what you've said." Dad rubbed his chin. "I have one idea, but it bears a few risks." His eye fell on Lisa. "Can you guess the word I'm thinking?"

Lisa grimaced. "Yeah. Crap. I can." She took a deep breath. "Bait."

"Yeah, but would it work, or would he just have his guards shoot Lisa out of hand?" I asked.

"Oh, it would work," sighed Lisa. "He's got a very … hands-on … personality." She nodded to me. "That's your way in."

"But would he see it coming?" I looked pointedly at her. "You just got finished telling us that he's paranoid as hell."

She snorted. "He'd never pull this gambit himself in a million years, so he's not about to see it coming when someone else uses it."

Dad nodded, though his eyes were worried. "Let's hope not."


End of Part Seven

 

[Ack]

One Bad Day
Part Eight: Taking Out the Trash

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


Taylor

"And … done." Amy put the staghorn beetle down on the bench.

I exerted my power on it as it sat there, delving into its inner secrets. There was a certain amount of what I was learning to recognise as explosive within it, but it was shaped weirdly. "Okay, what's this one supposed to do? Take off for the moon?"

Amy looked at me oddly. "No. Why would you think that?" Her eyes went distant for a moment. "Though a rocket booster and some reinforcement could turn a bug into an instant bullet … huh." She picked up a notepad and scribbled in it. "Something for later. This here is what I call a lock-buster, for if Vicky's occupied elsewhere."

Both of us glanced over our shoulders at where Vicky floated gently in the middle of the room, humming to herself. She saw us looking at her and smiled, then went back to humming.

I turned back to the bug. "Lock-buster?" I asked, as much to draw Amy's attention away from her sister as to find out what that meant.

"Oh, uh, it's got a shaped charge in its thorax. Make it crawl over a lock, then set it off. Given the performance of the previous tests, and the stuff I've been able to look up in the encyclopedias, it should blast a quarter-inch hole clear through any normal lock, and maybe even a hardened steel one."

I didn't want to ask the next question, but I knew I had to. "And if I set it off while it was sitting on a person?"

She gave me a well, duh look. "A jet of molten metal will punch a quarter-inch hole into their soft, squishy flesh, spreading out as it goes, with a jet of live steam blowing back out the hole," she informed me blandly. "Followed shortly thereafter by death. Or screaming, bleeding and then death, depending on where exactly the bug was sitting. Molten metal rarely does the human body any favours, and high-velocity molten metal is downright malevolent. The steam generated by the body fluids boiling would be equally unpleasant to biological systems."

I shuddered. "You have a way with words. Also, never tell Aisha that one. You know she'll beg for us to demonstrate it on someone."

"Wasn't planning on it," she agreed. "Lisa's going to figure it out immediately, of course."

There wasn't much Lisa wasn't going to figure out more or less immediately, so I let that one pass. Besides, something she'd said puzzled me. "Molten metal?"

"I introduced some copper into the bug as a liner to the shaped charge." She tapped the encyclopedia. "This says that sort of thing increases the effectiveness immensely."

"Oh. Right." That gave me an idea, and I held up a finger to pause the conversation while I went halfway up the stairs. "Dad, could you come down here a moment?"

"Coming!" He appeared at the top of the steps and descended into the basement to join me and Amy. "What mad science are you two cooking up now, and how can I help?"

"You know a lot more about material sciences than I do." I brought a housefly to land on my fingertip. "What would happen if Amy built a shaped charge into this guy's butt so when he crawled down a gunbarrel, he could put his butt up against the bullet and I could set it off?"

Dad's eyes opened wide. "Shaped charges in bugs?"

Amy nodded, indicating the staghorn beetle. "That's what this guy's got in his thorax. Enough to blow out a door lock, if I've got my calculations right."

"Son of a … uh, gun." Dad shook his head. "Okay, if you wanted to mess up a gun … well, you'd probably need something larger than an ordinary fly. But once you've got that, you set off the charge, which spears right through the slug in the chamber, spreading it out to seal the barrel off, then the round itself tries to go off in the breech. The barrel's sealed, so the breech blows out backward." He raised an eyebrow. "Depending on the make of the weapon, someone loses an eye or maybe a thumb. At the very least, that weapon is not in any kind of condition to be used again without being totally stripped down and remachined."

"I like it." Amy nodded to me. "I'll make some of those, too. And I'll look into the idea of bullet bugs as well."

"Bullet bugs?" Dad looked at her queryingly. "And those are …?"

"An idea Taylor gave me to fit bugs with a high-burst single-use rocket engine. Basically, turn them into unguided kinetic missiles." Amy shrugged. "Bullet bugs."

"I … see." Dad began to theatrically edge toward the stairs. "I think I'll … go upstairs now. Where sanity still prevails."

Aisha's raucous cackling echoed down into the basement. I raised my eyebrows and smirked at him.

"Well, mostly still prevails," he allowed, and made his escape.

<><>​

Coil
Two Days Later
Saturday, Christmas Day, 2010

Thomas Calvert was both intrigued and frustrated.

Intrigued because there appeared to be yet another new cape wandering around his city, just waiting for him to snap them up and explain why working for him was the deal of a lifetime. Though given that this cape seemed to specialise in explosives and (if the PRT files were accurate) training animals to carry them, the softly-softly approach had a great deal going for it. Threatening his Tattletale merely led to ever-increasing levels of snark, but antagonising someone whose retaliation could involve the phrase 'blast radius' didn't strike him as a smart way to play his cards.

He was also frustrated because Tattletale had yet to resurface, with or without the bug controlling Aisha Laborn and the mysterious Brute and Master in tow. He'd had all his feelers out for days now, and there were no reports of anomalous bug swarms, snarky teenage blonde girls, or anyone being made to do things or being punched through walls. The only strange events were the explosions at the Trainyards, performed by the aforementioned bomb Tinker. Who had also managed to drop out of sight.

Maybe they left town. It was a possibility, especially given that the PRT had been investigating bus schedules a day or two previously, but he didn't have the manpower to send people to other cities to look around for his missing Thinker. If she'd left town, he reluctantly had to accept, she was out of his reach.

But if she hadn't, sooner or later she'd pop up again. And this time, she'd never get the chance to leave. With the right drugs to inflict a serious dependence in her, she would beg to be allowed to use her power for him, just so she could get her regular fix.

He leaned back in his chair, pondering. Just as threats would be entirely the wrong tack for the bomb Tinker, so would drugs. If he had someone building bombs for him, he would vastly prefer that they keep their head clear at all times. It was years since he'd been in the military, but the horror stories of people playing with explosives while drunk, high or both tended to stick in the memory.

If you see a bomb tech running, don't ask questions. Just try to keep up.

But that was all right; the money he'd spend on the bomb Tinker could be taken from what he'd save on Tattletale's share. And of course the bomb Tinker would need a dedicated bodyguard …

… one who could be depended on to put a bullet in their head the moment Calvert decided they were surplus to requirements. Because the very last thing he wanted was a dangerous cape like that getting an attack of scruples and deciding he was the enemy.

Thomas Calvert was a man who believed very firmly in pre-emptive retaliation.

He sat forward again and began to go over the latest reports from his various contacts, looking for the slightest trace of his Tattletale. He knew her personality type well; she would eventually convince herself that she could come out into public safely, because she knew beyond a doubt that she was the smartest person in the room.

Well, you're not. I am. And you will learn that eventually. It's just that you'll be too drug-addled to truly appreciate the fact. He was looking forward to the dawning realisation in her eyes when it hit her just how badly she'd been outmanoeuvred. Maybe he'd even pull her dosage down once a month or so, just far enough that she had the ability to recognise once more how screwed she was before he submerged her in chemical bliss once more.

Thomas Calvert firmly believed that he was not a vindictive man. He merely had a strong appreciation for schadenfreude, in all its many forms.

And then an image popped up in his inbox. A fuzzy picture, but not quite fuzzy enough. Taken from a security camera in the bus depot, it showed a teenage girl in profile. She was wearing a baseball cap and an old army surplus jacket and had her head ducked down, but a single lock of blonde hair was hanging down behind her ear. It looked shorter than normal and a little ragged, as though she'd cut it off herself. The face was unmistakeable. Tattletale.

"Gotcha," he breathed. Then he snatched up his phone. Sending a mass text to all his team leaders, as he wasn't quite sure where they were in the city at that second, seemed to be the best idea.

Target T sighted bus depot. Attend immediately. Covert action. Nil public attention. Report soonest. He finished by sending along the image he'd been sent.

By the time he got the message out, three more pictures had dropped into his inbox. One had the telltale lock tucked away, while in the next two she'd put on sunglasses and raised her collar. It made her look a little suspicious, but it also anonymised her look to a point that he wouldn't have known it was her.

Carefully, he scrutinised the pictures for any sign of the Laborn girl, or anyone else who appeared to be sitting near or talking to Tattletale. No one person, let alone three, stayed consistent for all three images, and there were no black people near her at all that she could see.

He did have a second instance sitting at home, who did nothing at all, just in case this was some kind of elaborate trap or sting. After all, he didn't think she'd go to the cops and set up a bust, but teenagers were universally known to do remarkably stupid things to get what they thought they wanted. In that situation, it would be easiest to hold the men back and let the police take her into custody when the expected bust failed to eventuate. Lifting her out of her cell later on would be the easiest thing in the world, for someone with his resources.

A short while later, he got a single message. On site. T located. Moving in.

Now it was up to the fickle gods of chance that oversaw such operations. He knew, intimately, how badly such things could go, from the most trivial of overlooked details all the way to the most horrific of previously-unsuspected data. It was only by the sheerest of flukes, and the fact that he was able to fire his pistol accurately while on a swaying ladder, that he'd survived Nilbog and Ellisburg at all.

Regaining his Tattletale threatened nowhere near that level of insane clusterfuck, for which he was pleased. Either he'd get her back or he wouldn't. Not getting her back would be annoying, but ultimately he could deal with her absence. Just so long as nobody else was able to use her against him. They'd had their difficulties, but she had to know he would react harshly to such a show of disloyalty. Just as she had to have known that running off like she did, after killing Hardcase, would also result in inevitable punishment. He couldn't trust her out in the world anymore. She'd brought the drugs on herself.

He visualised the way the operation would go down. His men would be dressed as US Marshals. They would walk straight in, some fanning out to cover the exits, three closing in on the Wilborn girl. Anyone who tried to question their presence would be shown a very realistic-looking badge. The three men would surround her and give her no chance to escape. She would be cuffed and marched out of the bus depot and loaded into one of the vans, which had had the appropriate insignia applied ahead of time.

To forestall the inevitable attempt to claim that they weren't real US Marshals, one of the men would 'frisk' her and produce a small pistol that she had been 'carrying', if she wasn't already holding one. He estimated the chances of this at seventy-five to eighty percent. Add to that a planted drug stash, and she'd get no sympathy from the crowd. And even if some of them had second thoughts after the fact, once she was in the van she would be in his reach and out of theirs. They'd never see her again. Nobody but he and his men would ever see her again.

There were contingencies to the plan, of course. If she saw them coming and started shooting, one of the men was armed with a shotgun loaded with beanbag rounds. Technically non-lethal, likely to cause broken bones and internal injuries, but survivable. Mr Pitter would be able to nurse her through whatever was done to her. All he really needed was her alive and able to talk, after all.

His musings were broken by a ping from his phone. Target T in custody. No casualties. En route back.

His mouth broadened into a smile under his mask. So far, so good. Now to see if this is a police sting or not. If it was, he would track her to wherever she was going, and pluck her from whatever place she thought was safest. If not, she was already in his grasp.

From here on in, it was just a waiting game.

Twenty-two minutes later, the fake US Marshals van pulled into the undercover carpark. The insignia, applied magnetically, peeled off just as easily. He watched on the security cameras as a Tinker-enhanced security wand was run over every part of her body. They would've done this as well at the outset, but it never hurt to make sure.

The wand never so much as crackled, even on a second pass. One of the men, now divested of his US Marshals jacket, gave the camera a thumb's up. He moved his mouse and clicked the button to open the hidden door. It slid aside, and the men hustled her into the corridor thus revealed. The door slid shut again. He checked all external cameras for police presence. There was nothing.

There was a slim, outside chance that she may have contacted the PRT or even the Protectorate for assistance. An Armsmaster-designed tracker had the chance of getting past his security checks, or a high-flying hero could have been keeping a visual check on the van. He didn't drop the other timeline just yet. But this didn't mean he couldn't go and greet his new pet.

He clicked the button that would send an alert to his phone if police band activity began ramping up near the base, then stood up from his desk. Strapping on his pistol, he exited his office and strode along the walkway toward the entrance where they would be bringing her in. On the other timeline, he sat at home and idly browsed the net, looking at pictures of cats in Santa hats. They would go well as wallpapers until he tired of them.

The door ahead slid open and there she was. They'd divested her of the jacket, the cap and the sunglasses, and added a heavy bag over the head to her ensemble. This had been specifically so that she couldn't talk to them on the way back. The chances of her actually convincing them to let her go were slim at best, but Calvert was a man who didn't believe in taking a chance he didn't have to.

"Uncover her mouth," he ordered. There was the faintest of chances they'd snagged another teenage girl with the same build and similar features, and now was as good a time as any.

Obediently, the man holding her right arm folded the bag upward to just under her nose. She coughed and spat out a stray bit of lint. "Hey, boss," she rasped. "Think you could get these assholes to wash this bag once in awhile? I'm pretty sure I've inhaled dandruff in here from the nineties, and let me tell you, it hasn't aged well."

That was a point in her favour, but he needed to be sure. "How many fingers am I holding up?" A fly buzzed around his head, making him wonder if she didn't have a point about the bag.

She coughed again and cleared her throat. "Three on your right hand," she said in a sing-song Are we really doing this? tone. "And two on your left hand, behind your back."

He brought his hand out from behind his back. That was definitely Tattletale, all right. Only a Thinker could have pulled that last bit of information out of thin air. And the chances against having two blonde Thinkers of identical looks in the same city were nigh-infinite.

Even if it's not Tattletale, I still have a Thinker in my hands.

Leaning forward, he pulled the bag all the way off her head, leaving her hair to dangle down over her face. She shook it back out of the way, showing that she really had used scissors or some other sharp implement to roughly trim it, probably so it would fit under the baseball cap. "Hi," she snarked. "Miss me?"

"Not this time, we didn't," he replied, amused at the death-glare he got in return from those bottle-green eyes. "Come along, pet. We have some talking to do."

"Oh, god," she groaned, rolling her eyes theatrically. "Just shoot me now and get it over with."

"As tempting as that might normally be," he said, "I have other plans for you." Turning on his heel, he strode away. "Bring her."

<><>​

Elsewhere

The rat, festooned with black and red beetles, scurried along an air shaft. Behind it, more rats followed, each one with either a bird or more bugs clinging to its back. Behind them was a screen designed to keep creatures like that out. It wasn't going to work so well with a large hole melted in the centre of it.

The leading rat came to a second screen. It stopped, and a third of the bugs decamped from its back. They lined up, aiming their abdomens at the screen. At an unheard signal, they all let loose at once, spraying an acrid-smelling liquid over the thin metal. White smoke began to coil up from the mesh, then was drawn away down the shaft in the ongoing air current. Silently, a hole opened up in the mesh, the edges sizzling away.

The bugs climbed back on to the rat and it nimbly jumped through the hole, to be faced with a large spinning blade. To a human, this would've been a problematic obstacle. Rats, on the other hand, had thousands of years of avoiding angry humans to draw on, and millions beyond that of keeping out of the way of hungry predators. Choosing its moment carefully, it leaped across the gap.

One by one, the creatures following along also passed through the spinning fan-blade. Now they were in the ventilation piping that drew air from all over the base. Beetles climbed off the first rat, spreading out to attach themselves to others, until each had one. Then the rats split up, scuttling throughout the base.

Awaiting the signal.

<><>​

Brooks

The teenage girl sat in the chair opposite the crime lord. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt featuring Mouse Protector. Even her sneakers had been removed. A single set of handcuffs anchored her to the chair arm. Her hair was messy, as though she'd used her free hand to rake the blonde locks out of the way, which was exactly what she'd done. She'd requested a brush to tidy her hair. The request had been declined.

Brooks, the guard who stood just inside the door, was uneasy, but he couldn't put his finger on why. They'd tracked Tattletale down using a security camera image pinged by one of their guys whose job was to do precisely that. She hadn't tried to run, but that was probably because her Thinker power had advised her that running was pointless. Every step of the way, any potential escape plan had been thought of ahead of time and blocked. Coil was very good at that. So now she sat in the bare room, with just a table between her and the man who paid Brooks his salary.

Again, Brooks tried to analyse why he wasn't totally at ease with the situation. He'd put the cuff on the girl himself. She'd been wanded over several times, and frisked twice. There were no metal items on her, save for the button and zipper on the jeans; the security wand had been calibrated to take that into account. He'd seen people commit mayhem before with ceramic blades and the like, so he'd been sure to check for that too. She had nothing on her that he could find without actually performing a physical strip-search, but unless she'd swallowed something or inserted it into a body cavity (and the wand would detect metal there too) she was all out of options.

So why wasn't she more worried?

He'd seen bravado many times. People went to their deaths without cracking, without showing an ounce of fear. This was not an uncommon thing, in his line of work. But to do that, people had to act differently. Either they shut themselves off from all emotion, or they overlaid the fear with anger or humour. Tattletale was a Thinker. She had to know she wasn't getting out of this of her own accord. The boss was pissed with her and when Coil got pissed with people, nobody mistook it for anything else. But there she was, sitting in that chair, looking around with interest. The very faintest hint of a grin, lurking at the corner of her mouth.

Almost as though she knew something that nobody else knew.

Well, of course she knew things nobody else knew. It was literally her power. But she also had to know what was actually there. What everyone else knew. Her eventual fate. Coil hadn't made much of a secret of it. If it was Brooks being faced with something like that, he would've run. Tried to escape. Maybe even put that little dinky pistol she'd been carrying in his mouth. Because there was no way in hell he'd want to live through something like that.

She wasn't worried. Why wasn't she worried?

<><>​

Coil

"Pet." Calvert spoke for the first time since he'd sat down.

"Woof," Tattletale replied impudently.

That caught him by surprise, and he took a moment to get his equilibrium back. "Excuse me? You're not Bitch."

"You called me 'pet'. Pets don't speak." The girl snickered. "Unless you want me to be a cat. Meow."

She's trying to get under my skin. Calvert felt his hands curling into fists, and knew she was succeeding. Taking a deep breath to relax his muscles, he spread his hands flat on the table. He suspected he knew her strategy now; she couldn't escape, so she intended to force him to murder her so she wouldn't have to live through whatever he had planned for her.

Well, it's not going to work.

"Tattletale," he ground out. She didn't respond to that, except for a slow blink. "You have disappointed me greatly."

"If I was that much of a disappointment, you'd cut your losses and walk away," she pointed out helpfully. "I would've thought you'd be too smart to fall for the sunk cost fallacy."

"But it's not a sunk cost if I have you in my possession," he reminded her. "You will do what I want. There will be no choice in the matter."

"Really." She gave him a look of scepticism. "And what if I decide I have a choice after all?"

Was she really this dense, or was she still trying to make him angry? The latter, he decided. "Every account you own, I own. Your ex-teammates are working for me, under Circus. You're out of options."

She went blank for a moment and he thought he'd broken through her reserve. But then she snorted. "Poor Circus. Hope you're paying extra."

This was wasting time. He cut to the chase. "But I'm willing to extend an olive branch, if you do something for me."

She shifted her weight, pulling one leg up to put the foot on the chair, and wrapped her free arm around it. The arm with the cuff dangled over the side of the chair, out of sight. This was new behaviour for her, and inwardly he smiled. She was becoming rattled, even if she didn't show it overtly. "I'm listening."

"The people you were staying with before you made your run to leave town." He leaned forward slightly. "The bug controller. The Brute. The Master. Get me in touch with them, and I might just be willing to go a little easier on you." She'd still get the drug treatment, but he'd give her a day of lucidity every now and again. If he felt like it.

She chuckled. It was actually a little creepy, not the way she usually laughed. "You want to know where my friends are? Where they are right now?"

Well, he wasn't playing her game. "Yes," he said firmly. "I want to know where they are, right now."

"Right behind you," she said with a straight face. There was so much conviction in her voice that he almost turned around to look. A fly buzzed past his face.

"There's nobody behind me." He glared at her. "If you can't be serious …"

"I'm absolutely serious." She leaned forward and looked him in the eye; or rather, she stared at where she had to know his eyes were. "My friends are in your base. You gave me an ultimatum, now I'm giving one to you. You surrender to me right now, walk out of the base, and surrender yourself to the PRT, and I'll let you live." Turning her head, she addressed Brooks. "That goes for you, too. In fact, if you take him prisoner now, I'll put in a good word for you. Just saying." Raising her hand, she buffed her nails against her jeans leg and then inspected them.

Up until now, Calvert had been running both timelines side by side. He'd waited long enough to know for a fact that there was no police or PRT presence near his base, so he'd dropped the other timeline and let this one run. Now, in one, he pulled his pistol from its holster. In the other, he didn't bother. Leaning forward across the table, he summoned his best command voice. "You have no friends."

<><>​

In the other timeline, he levelled his pistol at her and squeezed the trigger.

Just before it would've gone off, it exploded. Shards of metal blasted into his face and hand, and he fell back with a scream of pain. Brooks' rifle, half-raised, exploded as well. The return air vent dropped to the floor and something small and furry leaped out, scuttled across the room and scrambled up his body, ending up on his head. He grabbed for it with his good hand, but as he tried to pull it free from his costume, something inside it popped, and a horrific burning deluge poured over his face and head.

There was a series of tiny cracks from the far side of the table, and Tattletale stood up, picked up the chair—it was supposed to be bolted to the floor!—and smashed Brooks in the face with it. Then she dropped the chair and pulled the door open. Calvert heard more explosions echoing through the base, just before a bird launched itself from the vent and flew up to land on the table.

The door shut behind her.

The bird exploded.

<><>​

Very carefully, Calvert put the pistol down on the table. "Brooks, put your rifle down," he ordered, enunciating his words clearly. "It's rigged to blow." And there are acid rats and exploding birds in my air vents. What the hell is going on here?

Tattletale raised her other foot onto the chair. Four precise cracks sounded on her side of the table, then a fifth. "Yes, it is," she agreed, getting up from the chair. "My friends have explosives and other nasties seeded all the way through this base." The return air vent popped open and lowered itself to the floor, thin cords stopping it from clattering on the concrete. A veritable swarm of bugs poured out, along with a couple of rats. Most of them landed on Tattletale or swirled around her. Several landed on Calvert and Brooks. Leaning across the table, she picked up the pistol. "Don't move. I've got you covered."

Moving with more exaggerated care than Calvert had, Brooks leaned the rifle against the wall. Next, he lifted his pistol from his holster and placed it on the floor. He still had his fighting knife, Calvert knew.

"Hm," murmured Tattletale, tapping the barrel on the palm of her hand. Calvert couldn't tell how it had been rigged, but whatever it was, she could no more use it than him. "Okay, I hadn't intended to go this early. Brooks, you've got zip cuffs, yeah?"

"Yes," agreed Brooks.

"Good. I don't feel like trying to beat someone like you up, so Coil, go ahead and cuff him. Hands behind the back."

"Of course." Calvert stood up carefully and turned to Brooks. They had to kill Tattletale quickly, so that she couldn't set off any more explosives. "Give me the cuffs, Brooks." He held out his hand.

Brooks was quick off the mark, thank goodness. He pulled one of the plasticuffs from his belt, and at the same time managed to palm the fighting knife. In a totally natural movement, he passed both over to Calvert. Tattletale was still on the far side of the table, so it couldn't be a step-and-stab. Calvert was going to have to throw it. Fortunately, he was good at that.

Tattletale was still fiddling with the pistol, only paying half the attention she needed to. It was pointed in entirely the wrong direction. Moving as fast as he ever had, Calvert transferred the knife to a throwing grip and went to bring it up in an underhand flick—

The loud CRACK echoed through the cell. The last thing that went through Calvert's mind was a .44 calibre Hercules beetle.

<><>​

Brooks

Brooks stared as his boss went down, his masked face a red mess. The blonde girl still stood there, the pistol still aimed at nothing in particular. "What … the fuck?" he mumbled, his ears ringing. "How … how did you do that?"

"I said, I had you covered." Now the girl looked upset. "I didn't want to have to do that, but he forced my hand. And so did you." The pistol turned to point at him. "Now do you believe I have you covered?"

"Jesus Christ, yes." The only thing scarier than facing a professional with a firearm was facing an amateur with a firearm. The former could kill you any time he intended, but the latter might kill you by accident. And 'sorry' was never an adequate response to putting a nine-mil round through someone's breastbone. "I give, I give."

"Your boss pretended to surrender, too." She gestured with the pistol. "Go out there. Tell everyone to put their weapons down in one place and step away from them. I'll know if anyone tries to fuck me around."

He went to the door and opened it. "Okay, you got it." Maybe she couldn't pull that 'phantom gun' shit when she wasn't in line of sight, but he wasn't going to risk it.

A line from The Gambler passed through his mind. "Gotta know when to fold 'em."

Besides, the boss was dead. That paycheck was officially gone.

He just had to do whatever the scary girl said, and maybe he'd be alive to look for work tomorrow.

<><>​

Director Piggot
PRT ENE

"Armsmaster here."

Emily tapped the radio icon. "Talk to me."

"The tip was on the level. We found sixty men, disarmed, kneeling with their hands behind their heads. We also found Coil, deceased. One bullet wound, front to back, through the head."

"Any report of who killed him?"

"Nothing coherent. One of the men claimed it was a girl with a phantom gun. Said it was Tattletale, and that she did it with her mind."

Her response was immediate. "Tattletale's a Thinker, not a Blaster."

"That's my understanding as well, but he was adamant. He also said she had a friend who could do explosives. No other description."

Sitting back in her chair, she ran her palms over her face. "The Tinker in the Trainyards. They've joined forces."

"That's a very strong potential aspect, yes."

"Wasn't Tattletale a member of the Undersiders?" She was sure she'd read something about that.

"Perhaps the gang fragmented after Grue was murdered. It wouldn't be the first time something like that's happened."

Her mind filled in what he'd left out. Murdered by Shadow Stalker. Because of course things couldn't be simple. Stalker had been murdered in turn, apparently by one Taylor Hebert, bug controller. Was there a connection? Probably only incidentally, knowing her luck.

The Hebert girl had gotten the better of three agents who had been sent to escort her father home. She'd then gone to ground after having her father beaten up by whoever she'd joined forces with; by his account, a dark-haired girl had done the deed. Two blondes, two brunettes. None of them people he'd met before. Which ruled out any of her previous acquaintances.

Just for a moment, Emily toyed with the fact that Tattletale was a blonde. Wouldn't it be convenient if she was one of the Hebert girl's new allies? We could fold both cases into one.

Out loud, she answered Armsmaster's observation. "True. Well, keep looking. Once you get Coil's body back to base, give it a thorough autopsy. I want to know everything there is to know about his death, and how a teenage girl got the drop on him."

"Copy that." Armsmaster cut the call, and Emily went back to her musings.

Let's see. If Tattletale was one of the blondes … New Wave says Glory Girl and Panacea haven't surfaced yet, so what if they were the other two? One blonde, one brunette. And Tattletale's working with the Trainyard bomber, so that's the other brunette. By all accounts, Panacea can't fight her way out of a paper bag, so the bomber would have to be the Brute who beat up Danny Hebert.

She snorted, discarding the whole notion. Too many things just didn't fit together. As much as she wished it could be all one case, life just wasn't that simple and neat.

<><>​

Taylor

"Woooooo! Echo! Echo … echo … echo … echo!"

Aisha stood in the centre of the lowest section of the base and spun around on her heels, arms stretched out and yelling at the top of her lungs. Her shout, directed at the concrete ceiling two floors up from her, did echo to a certain extent.

Standing on the walkway above, I sighed and ran my hands through my hair, glad to have it back to its full length. It had been weird to be a blonde, having tips passed to me by Lisa talking to a rat from outside. But we'd pulled it off, and now we were the proud owners of a genuine Bond villain base, slightly used, one previous tenant.

"Everything alright?" asked Amy. "I've never done a full-body job like that before. I was terrified I'd get it wrong." Her look went somewhat further. Why are you still trusting me? she asked silently.

"Everything's just fine," I assured her. "Coil never suspected a thing. And your bullet bug worked perfectly. Even though I wish I'd never had to use it."

"He was a bad guy and he'd killed people," Amy said firmly, as though she was trying to convince herself as much as me. "And we needed a secure place to work from to help Vicky."

"Plus," Lisa reminded us as she emerged from Coil's office, "we needed the money to pay Cranial for the assistance she's going to be giving us. Which we now have. His accounts are open to be plundered, as soon as we're ready to commence."

Amy hugged herself and shivered. "I really don't know if I like this bit. I know it's for Vicky's own good, but …"

Dad, who'd been standing back watching us, came forward and put a hand on her shoulder. "… but you said it yourself, Amy. It's for Vicky's own good. Once it's over and done, I'm sure your relatives will understand why you had to do it."

"Understand, maybe." Amy shook her head. "Forgive me, never. What I did to Vicky was … monstrous. And they'll be correct. I don't deserve to be forgiven. Not by them, and not by Vicky."

"Hey. Hey, hey, hey." I stepped up past Dad and put my hands on her shoulders. She looked at me, her eyes blank, and I put my arms around her. "We're here. We accept you. We forgive you. And we're gonna help make it better."

Amy began to shudder, then she put her face into my shoulder and started to cry. I held her close, rubbing her back with my thumbs, as my own ghosts washed past me. Sophia's face as I plunged the knife into her chest. Madison, screaming and suffocating in the middle of a cloud of bugs. The way Coil went down like a broken doll when the bullet bug punched into his forehead and out the back of his skull. Everyone else who had been hurt by me, or by the consequences of my actions.

Amy's mistake had been tiny, a single fracture in the stone façade she'd built for herself around her feelings. Her power had taken her over and pushed further and harder than she ever would've done willingly. Afterward, she'd repented of the action over and over, but it was too late.

My own sin had been just as hard to step back from and forgive myself for. Had I wanted to defend myself? Sure. But had I intended to kill Shadow Stalker and Madison? Not in a million years. My power may have pushed a little harder than it should have when it came to killing Madison, but it wasn't my power that had stabbed Sophia. It had been me.

Aisha's interference complicated matters to such a degree that I couldn't untangle my actions from hers, but the fact remained that I was at least partially responsible for the death of one human being, and wholly responsible for the deaths of two others. That was a fact I was going to have to accept for the rest of my life. I didn't like it, but that was just too bad.

I couldn't erase my crimes, and by the time I was ready to face up to them, there would be a good chance that Director Piggot would be ready to issue an arrest warrant for me. But there was no way I could give myself up right now. Not when Amy and Vicky still needed help to fix their unique problem.

There was much to do, and little time to do it in. We'd get through it somehow, though. We had to.

Together.


End of Part Eight

 

[Ack]

One Bad Day

Part Nine: Gotta Catch 'Em All

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

Taylor

"All right, people. We are officially in possession of our own secret underground base, and Lisa assures me we have ample funds to pay for Cranial's services. This puts us in position to launch stage two of this operation." I stepped back from the table with the map of Brockton Bay laminated into the top (Coil had left some pretty cool things around his base, not gonna lie) and looked around the room at the others. "So, how are we going to do this?"

The question was partly rhetorical and partly serious. We'd already hashed out the 'ask first, but be prepared to grab' broad-strokes aspect of the plan—Amy reluctantly, Aisha enthusiastically—but now it was time to get into the nitty-gritty. Who to approach first, what approach to use and what form Plan B would take if Plan A went sideways.

The people we needed to gather together consisted of a bunch of non-powered civilians (mainly people from Arcadia High who knew Vicky best, as well as Gallant's family), Gallant himself (because boyfriend, duh), all of New Wave and (of course) Amy. Of all of these, Amy was an automatic volunteer; the next least problematic group were going to be Vicky's friends and acquaintances from Arcadia. It was a blessing and a mercy that Vicky was still able to rattle off names of people she was particularly close to, as well as a couple of her teachers. The idea was that we'd scoop up as many of these as we could reasonably handle, so as to provide as seamless a set of memories of Vicky's actions at school as possible.

I figured we'd also get relatively few hassles from Gallant and his family, for various reasons. For instance, once his emotion reading capability scanned Amy as being utterly serious, he would hopefully fall into line. Unless he decided to be a dick (because teenage boys with authority are always level-headed and smart about it), in which case we'd pivot seamlessly to Plan B. That would make life a whole lot harder all around but if there was anything I'd learned recently, it was that life positively enjoyed taking every opportunity to shit on me as hard as it could.

Once we had the Stansfields in the base (and boy, was that a surprise when Vicky casually revealed who her boyfriend was under the mask, or rather the helmet) we'd have to move faster, because 'a Ward went dark' could easily be seen as 'a Ward was kidnapped', and then we'd have the PRT after us in every way that counted.

And no, there was no way in hell I was going to provide the authorities with anything resembling the real story. That would cause the involvement of the police, the FBI, the PRT, possibly the Protectorate and almost certainly (as Amy had pointed out) Youth Guard, all of which would have their own agendas, and every single one of whom would be convinced they knew better than us how to handle the situation.

There wasn't any kind of best-case situation in that scenario; we all knew that Toybox in general and Cranial in particular would take one look at the shitshow that would then develop, and refuse to even come close to Brockton Bay. It would be bad case and worst case; Vicky being removed from our care by well-meaning idiots would be problematic enough if Amy could keep it together, but what we were all terrified of was the spectre of Amy going off the rails because Vicky had been taken away from her, leaving her unable to fix what she'd done. I suspected everything that had happened to this point would end up being a mere footnote to the apocalyptic chaos that would ensue if she ever truly broke loose with her full power, uncaring of the consequences.

For a very faint leavening of the utter crap that had been dumped on us so far, I was kind of thankful that the PRT had chosen to believe I hadn't specifically targeted Sophia because she was a Ward (as opposed to targeting her because she was trying to kill me while I had a knife in my hand). But we all knew there was only so far that Director Piggot's forbearance was going to hold out before she called in the big guns. And if it came out that we were kidnapping people (especially heroic capes) for any reason, that might be her trigger point.

We just had to hope and pray that we could get all our ducks in a row and delivered to Cranial before that happened. And of course, if the PRT and Protectorate went on high alert, so would New Wave. While there were no other Thinkers in Brockton Bay as good at digging deep and finding facts as Lisa was, we couldn't bet against there being someone out there that we didn't know about.

Lisa cleared her throat. "It all boils down to three options. 'Operation Squishies First' targets all the civilians on the list to begin with, so we don't have to worry about them ducking and covering when we start to go after the harder targets."

Aisha nodded at that one. She'd named the plan and it was dear to her heart. When nobody else showed much in the way of approval, she stuck out her tongue at us.

"Next up," Lisa intoned, ignoring the byplay, "is 'Crack the Walnut', whereby we go for the hardest targets first on the principle that once we've got those in hand, the rest are much easier to deal with."

I was kind of partial to that one, but I wasn't really sold on it. Amy liked it too, mainly because it promised immediate action.

"And last of all." Lisa stopped and looked meaningfully at us all. "We have 'Ask Nicely', where we approach the people who are most likely to say yes first. Once they're on board, they can assist us in convincing the others."

This was the other one I was in favour of. Dad was wholeheartedly behind it, which wasn't much of a surprise, given his union background. Lisa also liked it, which just left Amy and Aisha opposed. There wasn't much point in asking Vicky, because she would favour whatever Amy liked and we all knew it.

Lisa cleared her throat, just a little dramatically. "All in favour of Squishies First?"

"Wait a minute," I said. "Can we vote for more than one?"

"Sure, if nobody has a problem with it," Lisa said with a shrug. She looked at everyone else. "Anyone? No? Okay, then. Squishies First?"

Aisha raised her hand. "Yeah, this is the plan … oh, come on. Nobody? Not even Vicky? C'mon, Vickster, don't leave a sister hangin' here."

"All right, Most Esteemed Aisha," Vicky agreed, and also raised her hand.

Lisa shot Aisha a mild glare, which was matched by one from Amy. The disapproval rolled off the younger girl's impervious ego like a summer shower from a well-waxed car. With a snort of amusement, Lisa kept talking. "Okay, that's two votes for that plan. Votes for Crack the Walnut?"

I put my hand up then, as did Amy. After a moment of hesitation, Vicky joined her sister in approving of the plan.

With a sigh, Lisa facepalmed. "Because of course …" she muttered. "Okay, that's three votes for that one. Last but definitely not least, who's in favour of Ask Nicely?"

Dad and Lisa put their hands up, and I left mine in the air. Finally, smiling happily, Vicky put hers up as well. "Did we win?" she asked. I wasn't quite sure what she thought we'd won, and neither was anyone else.

"Yes, Vicky, we won," Lisa said kindly. "You can put your hand down now."

"Yay!"

Seeing the look of anguish on Amy's face, I went and put my arm around her shoulders. She leaned into me, and I felt the deep shudders that wracked her body. We were doing this as much for her as for Vicky, and I had no idea what her endgame was, once her sister was whole again. But we had to keep it together, and help each other do the same, or all this would've been for nothing.

"So, the end result," Lisa declared. "With two votes for Squishies First, three for Crack the Walnut and four for Ask Nicely, we have our game plan."

"I still think nobody should've been able to vote twice," Aisha grumbled, giving me the stink-eye.

"You should've said something when Lisa asked," Amy reminded her. "The vote stands, and I'll support the result."

"Well, bully for you," Aisha snarked, rolling her eyes.

"Well spoken," Dad said to Amy, causing Aisha to flip them both the bird. "So, who do you think would be the easiest to talk around? Your cousins, or Gallant?"

"Like Eve said to Adam back in the day, that's a hard one." Aisha cackled at her own joke, then pouted when nobody else laughed. "Wow, really? Is it shit-on-Aisha day again already? I thought we had that just the other day."

Lisa sighed and facepalmed again. "Aisha …" she began.

"What?" demanded Aisha. "That was funny!"

Dad nodded. "Sure, for a given definition of 'funny'."

"Bite me," she retorted. "I bet Taylor laughs at your jokes."

"Occasionally," I said. "Or I groan. Just because he's my dad doesn't mean I'm gonna let him off the hook for stupid jokes."

"Getting off-topic here, folks," Lisa said briskly. "Amy, who should we approach first, and how do we break it to them?"

Privately, I flipped a coin in my head. On the one hand, it would be Laserdream and Shielder. On the other, Gallant. There would be benefits and problems either way. For me, I figured she'd favour Vicky's boyfriend.

"… Crystal and Eric, I think," she said after a few moments of intense thought. "We've known each other nearly our whole lives."

Okay, then. I nodded, assimilating her decision. "And how are you going to actually do it? Catch up to them at school or on patrol or what?"

"They don't do patrols without an adult along," she said. "I think I'll wait 'til they're home, then I'll call one of them and get both to meet with me. There's a park not far from their house."

"Good," Lisa decided. "We can set up Plan B there. What's the best way to immobilise them without doing any kind of lasting harm?"

Amy shrugged. "Well, they're not bulletproof, so anything that can deliver a knockout dose of some kind should do it. If they're meeting me, their shields will be down."

"Or I could inject 'em with something," Aisha said boldly. "We get a syringe and get a bug to make lots of knockout stuff. They start getting antsy, I'm standing right behind them. Jab, motherfucker."

"Are you trained to perform injections?" asked Amy.

"Jab, plunge, done," Aisha declared airily, miming the action, then dusted her hands off. "Home and hosed."

Amy sighed. "If you put the needle in at the wrong place, all you'll hit is bone. Or fat deposits, which will slow down the dispersal of a knockout drug. Even epi-pens take time to dispense. Doing it manually takes even longer."

"Chloroform," Aisha tried next. "C'mon. I've seen it a hundred times. You put it on a cloth and hold it over their face, they go crosseyed an' fall over. Can we get that?"

Dad cleared his throat. "Chloroform doesn't work that fast. It takes more than five minutes to totally knock someone out."

"Bugs would take pretty long to knock someone out," argued Aisha.

"Quicker than chloroform. And my knockout touch is instant, which is why we'll be going with that first, and bugs as a backup plan." Amy breathed deeply, crossing her arms so that she was hugging herself. "Trust me, I don't want to do this. But for her sake, we've got to."

We all knew who 'she' was. One look at Vicky's horrifyingly vacant expression as she hovered near her sister, humming to herself, was enough of a reminder of what we were trying to achieve here.

"So when are we going to do this?" I asked.

Amy bit her lip, as though steeling herself for an unpleasant task. "As soon as possible. Tonight."

Lisa nodded in agreement. "Tonight."

<><>​

Later That Night

I lurked in the shadow of a bush, all my senses alert. My other senses were also highly-strung, with every bug in three blocks all looking around for weird stuff happening. Half a dozen night birds and two bats cruised the night sky, watching for people flying stealthily. Another bird and about a thousand bugs stood guard on Dad as he waited a block away in the car with Lisa and Vicky. From what I could tell, Dad was keeping a close eye on his surroundings while Lisa kept Vicky occupied with a silly word game.

"Anything?" asked Lisa in an undertone to the rat currently perched on her shoulder.

I made the rat shake its head; the only people in the park that my critters could detect were me and Amy. I knew Aisha was somewhere nearby, but I couldn't pinpoint her; it was her job to grab Amy and get her clear if things went sideways.

Amy had made the call five minutes previously, and we were still waiting to see how that would turn out. There were enough Amy-upgraded bugs (and other critters) in the immediate vicinity that we'd be able to grab Lady Photon as well if she showed up with them, but anyone beyond that meant we'd have to make a strategic retreat.

Everything hinged on what Shielder and Laserdream did next.

<><>​

Five Minutes Ago

Pelham Household

Eric Pelham (AKA 'Shielder')

"So, have you seen the new fighter mods in Space Opera?" Eric didn't pause as he typed a snarky comment into the PHO boards and hit Enter. "I'm thinking the switchable shields are pretty sick."

"Dude, you're Shielder. Of course you'd think that." Zack, his best friend from Arcadia, let out one of his annoying nasal laughs.

"Hey, not everything's about me and my powers, you know?" Eric tilted his head as his Bluetooth earpiece pinged in his ear. "Shit, can you hang on a second? Got another call."

"Yeah, yeah, go be the important superhero. I see how it is." Zack laughed again, his tone belying his words.

Eric rolled his eyes. "Asshole." He pressed the button to accept the new call. "You've got Shielder."

"Eric, it's me." The voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but he recognised it instantly.

"Amy?" Sitting up from where he'd been lounging in his chair, he pressed the earpiece harder into his ear, to make sure he was hearing correctly. "Amy, is that you? Where have you been? Your folks have been worried sick! Where are you? Are you all right? Is Vicky with you?"

"Keep it down!" Now he could hear the desperation in her voice. "Eric, this is really, really important. You can't tell anyone except Crystal that I called."

"Why? What's going on?" He tried to listen to the background noise, to see if there was the echo of a phone on speaker. It didn't sound like it. Vaguely, he tried to recall the lessons that his parents had tried to drill into him about how to deal with a kidnapping scenario, but could only grasp fragments of what he'd been told. "If you're under threat, say 'Everything's okay'."

"Everything is absolutely not okay, but I'm not under threat," she retorted. "It's Vicky. She's … she's hurt. Not dying, not dying. But she needs … I need you to come meet me. At the park. Right now. Bring Crystal. Don't tell Aunt Sarah or Uncle Neil. Please."

"But why not? Why don't you want them to come with us?" Eric couldn't understand. As a superhero, he was fully aware of his parents' limitations, but anything that needed him and Crystal to deal with would be a lot more easily handled with all of the Pelhams there. "Amy, what's going on? Who hurt Vicky? Has this got anything to do with those rumours—"

"Eric, please!" Her voice broke off into a sob, then she got control of herself again. "I'll tell you everything. Just get Crystal and don't tell Aunt Sarah or Uncle Neil. I just need to talk to you two at first. Come to the park, please."

"Okay, okay," he said. "You want me and Crystal to come to the park?"

"No adults," she pleaded. "Promise me, or I'm walking away from the park right now."

He took a deep breath. "I … I promise?"

"Th … thanks, Eric." She sniffled, but she sounded marginally happier than before. "I appreciate it." Then she ended the call.

For a good ten seconds, Eric sat looking at the phone sitting on his desk. "What the hell?" he asked out loud.

"What the hell what, man?" It was Zack's voice. "You okay?"

Eric blinked. He'd totally forgotten about Zack, waiting on the other line. "Yeah, yeah, it's all copacetic," he said absently, still thinking about the bizarre call. "Listen, I gotta bounce. New Wave business and all that stuff. See you at school tomorrow, yeah?"

"You got it, my dude. Full deets then, mmkay?"

"Absolutely." Eric ended that call then sat with the phone in his hand, running his free hand through his blue-dyed hair.

He knew Amy almost as well as he knew Crystal, from years of being her cousin, and also being her superheroic partner when New Wave went out in force. Where Vicky was flamboyant and adventurous, Amy was stolid and serious. Where the rest of the team's powers lent themselves toward dramatic heroics, hers were as non-flashy as they got. She didn't do over the top shit. If anything, she was a bit too blunt to be totally likeable. Not that Eric would ever say so to her face; he liked her just fine as his cousin.

Which was how he knew a desperate, emotional phone call like that was totally out of character for her. Either she was under threat (though he tended to believe her emphatic denial) or something else really weird was going on. If Vicky was hurt, why didn't Amy want any adults in on this?

Slowly, he got up from his chair. He didn't want to let Amy down, and he'd promised not to involve his parents. Do I tell them anyway? What do I do? Leaving his room, phone still in his hand, he headed down the hall to Crystal's room and knocked on the door. "Hey, sis? You decent?"

Enough time passed that he began to wonder if she had headphones on or something, then she opened the door. "Eric, seriously, I was in the middle of—" Then she saw his expression. "Shit, are you okay? What happened?"

He held up his phone, fully aware that the gesture would be absolutely meaningless to her. "Can I come in for a second? There's something really important I need to talk to you about."

She huffed a sigh and rolled her eyes. "Can it wait? I've got a high-value assignment I've got to get back to."

Glancing up and down the hall—no parents to overhear, thank God—he leaned in and lowered his voice. "Amy called. She needs our help, and she sounded really upset." He waggled his phone for emphasis.

"Amy called?" Her voice rose. "And you haven't told Mom or Dad yet why?"

"Keep it down," he hissed, patting at the air with his other hand. "She made me promise not to bring them in on it yet. Just you."

Her eyes narrowed and she grabbed his arm with both hands. Flying backward, she dragged him into her room, then kicked the door so it swung shut. "Okay," she said, her voice intense. "Tell me everything."

<><>​

Taylor

The Park

Ten Minutes After the Phone Call

One of the night birds spotted them first. Carefully, trying not to move too much, I got up onto my knees. A bat swooped closer, getting a good read on their size and shape, and I nodded to myself. It was Shielder and Laserdream, and their force fields were up.

A firefly alighted on Amy's hand and blinked twice, to signify that it was her cousins, and that they seemed to have come alone. To signify that everything seemed okay, I left its bioluminescent patch green and didn't trigger the biological switch that would've turned it red. I did the same with Lisa, and heard her relaying the information to Dad. I wasn't quite sure where Aisha was, so all I could do was hope she saw the blinking light from the firefly I'd also placed on the back of Amy's hair.

Still, I wasn't going to automatically trust everything I saw. While two birds and a bat trailed the pair of teens in toward the park, I sent the other flying animals spiralling outward, looking for more fliers. Insects rose in a swarm to ensure nobody was sneaking up on us at ground level. And several very special bugs took to the air and went to meet the incoming visitors. As Lisa and I had told Amy, we might not have to go to plan B, but it was a good idea to have my finger on the trigger just in case.

As Shielder and Laserdream came to a hover over the park, it was clear that they were suspicious. I stayed crouched in next to my bush, which turned out to be a good move. Laserdream pointed her finger and a beam of light splashed over the ground below, impressively bright. After a moment, I realised it was one of her laser beams, but spread out into a flashlight effect. I'd never even heard she could do that.

The beam crossed over the bush I was hiding behind, and I didn't move a muscle. Bugs hovered near the New Wave kids, but couldn't get close due to the faintly glowing force fields they were currently generating. The spotlight beam moved on, and I breathed a little easier.

"Amy?" It was Shielder, trying to shout and whisper at the same time. "Are you alright? Where's Vicky?"

"Get down here, you idiots, and turn that stupid light off," Amy hissed in return, gesturing urgently. "Do you want everyone to see what's going on?"

"No, but what is going on?" demanded Laserdream. Thankfully, she ceased to scan the park with her finger-beam, and they both descended toward Amy. My bugs pursued, seeking a chance to settle on them.

Amy had, of her own accord, selected a spot between a slide and a jungle gym that would make it difficult for bulky force fields to reach ground level without bumping into each other. Shielder, reaching the ground first, looked around warily as he deactivated his eponymous shield, then hurried over to Amy. "Say the word," he whispered, "and we'll get you out of here."

As I settled bugs onto him, Amy shook her head at his words. "No!" she insisted in a sharp undertone. "We're not in danger. But I do need to talk to you, right here and right now. And I want you to listen."

Laserdream lowered herself to the ground, but didn't deactivate her field. Clearly more suspicious than her brother, she continued to look around at the edge of the park, a glow lighting the tip of her finger. "So, talk," she said. "Where's Vicky? Where's your sister? You said she's hurt. I thought you could fix anything."

I tensed, wondering if she was suspicious of Amy's motives or still had the idea that this was some kind of hostage scenario. My Amy-bugs continued to spiral around her field, trying to find a way in. This could still be salvaged, so long as Amy managed to stall long enough to get her to drop her field. At least, I hoped so.

Amy dropped to her knees, her head lowered. "I can't fix her, because I don't do brains. I called you here because I need your help." The emotion in her voice was either genuine, or she was an amazing actor.

Whichever it was, her move was an inspired one. "Brains?" exclaimed Shielder, stepping forward to stand next to her. "What happened to her?"

"And what do you mean, you need our help with this?" demanded Laserdream. Finally, she dropped her shield, moving closer to Amy. "What can we do to help?"

That would have been the ideal time to strike, hitting them both with highly potent sedatives produced by Amy's bugs. Dad would be there in about three minutes, and we could have them back to the base in less than fifteen. But Amy didn't give the signal, so I held back, though I did make sure that Laserdream was also tagged with bugs.

"I need your help, because I fucked up," Amy confessed. "Vicky's brain's been screwed up because of something I did. Her personality's been fragmented. I can't put her back together on my own."

Shielder's jaw dropped. "What the hell?"

Laserdream's reaction was more extreme; her shield snapped into being as she shot ten feet straight up. "What do you mean, 'fragmented'? What the fuck did you do to Vicky?" I noted with more than a little alarm that her fingertip had begun to glow again. Every bug that I'd snuck onto Laserdream and Shielder went to high alert. Stingers quivered, almost touching skin.

To give Amy her due, she wasn't giving me the signal to go to plan B quite yet. "It was an accident," she insisted. "I fucked up and I know it, but I've got a plan to fix it. If we tell the adults, they'll just put her in therapy which will do exactly fuck-all to fix her. Fuck, I can't fix her, not on my own." Tears streaming down her face, she raised her hands in entreaty to her cousins. "Please. I can't fix her without you guys. I need all the help I can get with this."

"I'll do it," Shielder said firmly. "I'll help." He knelt beside Amy and put his arm around her. "We're New Wave. We got this."

"Eric, what the fuck?" Laserdream shook her head. "We've gotta tell Mom and Dad and Aunt Carol about this. You've heard all the horror stories about cape kids trying to do stuff they aren't ready for yet. If Amy can't fix whatever she did to Vicky, we need to bring the adults in on this."

"No." Eric shook his head stubbornly. "Crys, look at her! Amy's about as boring as it gets when it comes to stuff like this! If she says the adults can't fix Vicky, then they can't fix her!"

"Sorry, Eric, but this is a terrible idea." Laserdream began to drift higher. "I'm gonna go fetch Mom. She'll know what to do."

"So that's it?" Amy asked her older cousin, her voice still broken from crying. "You're not even going to give me a chance?"

"I gave you a chance when I came out here," Laserdream replied sadly. "But this isn't a Saturday morning cartoon, and you aren't Li'l Militia. Mistakes have consequences and whatever you've done to Vicky, I'm not going to risk her life just to protect you from getting in trouble."

Amy squeezed her eyes shut, but I knew there were tears still leaking out. "I'm sorry," she whispered. It wasn't for Laserdream; it was for me.

"Yeah, I am too—ow! What the—? Ow! Hey!" Laserdream suddenly began flailing inside her force-field bubble as the bugs stung, delivering carefully calculated dosages of knockout venom into her bloodstream. She swiped and slapped at them, but they evaded her hands and swarmed around her face, preventing her from seeing where she was going. "What the hell is this?"

Still, she would've flown away if she could. The knockout dose was very effective, but it would take more than a few seconds to kick in. Which was why I wanted her distracted. Reaching out to the ghostly form I could see with my power, I took control of her body.

Bugs, I could control endless numbers of. Birds and bats, somewhat fewer. People … well, their brains were infinitely larger and more convoluted than bug brains. I could detect them, barely, and if I picked the right moment I could influence their actions. One person at a time, and it wasn't exactly precise.

Between the bugs buzzing in her face and the sedative now flowing through her veins, Laserdream was in no way concentrating on anything. Controlling her was like manipulating a marionette with mislabelled strings in a high wind, but I managed to get her back down to ground level before her shield blinked out and she collapsed in an untidy heap. I felt my control slip away along with her consciousness, and I blinked hard, sweat covering my face. The beginnings of a very nasty headache began to threaten, but I ignored it. I could have a headache later.

"Holy fucking shit!" Shielder stared at where his sister lay sprawled on the soft grass. "That was cool as fuck! How did you do that, Amy?"

I set a firefly blinking repeatedly in front of Dad's face while flying in a circle; bring the car now. The rumble of the engine starting echoed oddly in the bug's hearing as I stood up. "She didn't. I did. Big fan, by the way. Can I get your autograph?" The main thing I was a big fan about was his willingness to help Amy, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Keeping my hands in plain view and doing my best to appear non-threatening, I strolled across the park toward where Amy was checking on Laserdream.

Shielder stared at me. "Uh, Amy, who's that?" Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Who are you? What's going on around here?"

I shrugged. "Basically, what she told you. I'm a friend she met on the way, and we're all working to help her fix Vicky. This is part one of stage two of the plan." I gave him my most disarming smile. "Hi, I'm Taylor."

"Yeah, hi." He didn't look pleased at the new development. "How did you meet Amy, and what did you do to my sister? Is she going to be okay?"

I ticked off points on my fingers, trying to keep the conversation light and unthreatening. If he tried to flee, I could bring him down … at least, I figured it would go that way. But I really, really hoped it wouldn't become necessary. "We were hiding in the same abandoned building. I dosed Laserdream up with a proprietary mix of ketamine and several other chemicals, with the faintest touch of batrachotoxin. And sure, she'll be okay; it'll wear off in a couple of hours." I'd checked with Amy before I ever agreed to zap someone with her bugs. The potential for danger inherent in the bullet bugs had already made me wary of going overboard with them, and I wanted to make sure nobody was going to get hurt.

"So what happens now?" A moment later, Shielder yelped and jumped as Aisha faded into our awareness and slapped him on the ass. "Yow! Hey, where'd you come from?"

"Well, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much …" began Aisha in a sing-song tone, accompanied by her wickedest grin.

I facepalmed.

<><>​

Eric still hadn't tried to bolt by the time Dad pulled up in the car. I put this down to being partially due to loyalty to his cousins, and partially due to curiosity as to what Amy had planned. Neither Amy nor Aisha was as tall as Shielder, and I was taller than them all, so it was up to him and me to get the unconscious Laserdream to the side of the road. We managed it, not without a struggle, just about by the time the car came to a halt.

"Vicky," Amy called. "Can you give us a hand with Crystal, please?"

"Of course, Amy," said Vicky, opening the back door and getting out.

"Hey, Vicky," Shielder greeted her. "You're looking a lot better than I was expec—"

Vicky gave him a wide and vacant smile. "Hello, Eric. You're my cousin."

"Yes, he is." Amy pointed at the back seat of the car. "Can you help us get Crystal in there? She's very tired so she needs to be comfortable."

"Okay, Amy." Still smiling, Vicky gathered up Laserdream with almost insulting ease and put her in the back of the car.

Looking at Shielder's face as Amy was speaking to Vicky, I could tell from the growing horror on his face that he was finally getting the point of what Amy had told him. "Fuuuccck," he mumbled.

"Mm-hmm," I said sympathetically, putting my hand on his shoulder. "Now imagine what it's been like for the last couple of days with her, and why it's so important we fix her before it's too late."

"You said you're going to fix her," Shielder said. "But you haven't said how. Or what me and Crystal can do to help."

"I've been holding off on that until we can get back to base," Amy said. I could tell from the set of her shoulders and the whiteness around her lips that this was getting harder and harder for her all the time, but she was determined to push through until the bitter end.

"One question," said Dad, who hadn't gotten out of the car yet. "This is something that we should've thought about first, but where's everyone going to sit? We've got four passenger seats and six passengers, assuming Aisha's going to be riding her motorbike."

"Hey, I can take a passenger," Aisha offered. "Just sayin'. Dunno how I'd go with two, though."

I knew I was going to make the offer, and tried to stop myself. But my mouth opened and "I'll go with Aisha" came tumbling out. Everyone looked around at me and I grimaced. I mean, how bad can it be? I thought but did not say out loud.

"All-righty!" crowed the young parahuman. "All aboard the Aisha Express!"

"Still got five passengers for four seats," Dad reminded the others.

This posed a real dilemma, which we really should've thought about earlier. The car only had so many seats, and it wasn't as though we had fliers who we trusted both not to turn on us and not get lost. And seating people within the car sounded like the old puzzle with the fox, the goose and the grain.

Lisa climbed out of the back seat to make room for the zonked-out Laserdream. "I'll go in the front seat," she said. "Amy can go in between Vicky and Shielder, and Laserdream can lie across their legs."

"Holy shit, there's more of you?" Shielder looked at the group of us standing around the car, and shook his head. "Geez, Amy, did you go ahead and recruit a team just to deal with this crap?"

Amy shrugged. "I, uh, maybe?"

Shielder looked from her to the rest of us. "Forget it. Let's get back to this 'base' of yours. I wanna see what you can manage to put together in a day or so on your own."

Lisa smirked, a fox-like expression. "Oh, this is so gonna be fun."

<><>​

By the time Aisha and I got back to the base, I was ready to strangle Lisa for her offhand comment. Riding pillion with an unlicensed teenage maniac was about as close as I could get to the official definition of attempted suicide. She rode the wrong way down one-way streets, dodged through the mid-evening traffic with the aplomb of a motorbike racing expert, and managed to get us back to base in less than ten minutes. And somehow with all that, she never so much as scratched the paint on the motorbike.

After the first three corners, I'd bent almost double to push my face into the back of her neck, so I didn't have to see where we were going. It nearly helped.

I wobbled off the bike, trying not to throw up. Next time, I decided, I would walk.

"So hey, we've got two of them," Aisha announced, following me through the passageway into the base proper. "You think that went pretty good? I reckon it did."

"Yeah, well," I mumbled as I tottered into the break room we'd colonised. "Only because we were prepped and ready to roll. If Laserdream had gotten away, New Wave would already be scouring every street lowlife for our names."

I got a bottle of cold water out of the fridge and poured a little of it over my head, the shock of the chilly liquid running down the back of my neck drawing my complete attention. Then I drank from the neck of the bottle; after that stakeout and the motorbike ride, rehydration was important and I couldn't be bothered finding a glass.

Collapsing into a chair, I found the remote and pointed it at the TV in the corner. I was still pretty impressed that Coil had somehow managed to run an antenna to the surface to get a signal, but that didn't stop me from paying attention to the news. Item after item went by, but not one of them was about the confrontation in the park. It appeared, I concluded after some minutes, that we'd gotten away with it.

The car came in a little after that, and everyone climbed out. Even Laserdream was awake now, though somewhat groggy. She and Shielder stared around at the raw concrete interior of the base, eyes wide.

"Holy fuck, you weren't kidding," Shielder said in a hushed tone to Amy. "You really do have a base."

"Okay, I suppose it's kinda impressive," Laserdream said in a tone that fooled nobody at all. "But an underground base doesn't actually help deal with what's happened to Vicky. And I'm still waiting for an explanation for how we can help her but Mom and Dad can't."

"Oh, they'll be helping," Amy said, leaning against a catwalk rail and crossing her arms. "But on our terms, not theirs. We're going to be rebuilding who she used to be, memory by memory."

"But you can't do brains," Laserdream insisted. "At least not without screwing them up, if I'm not much goddamn mistaken." She took a moment, clearly trying to get her brain in gear. "Okay, so how are you going to unfuck this mess?"

Amy took a deep breath and glanced at Dad, then at Lisa. Dad nodded encouragingly. Lisa's response was less enthusiastic, but she also gave Amy a nod. "May as well tell her," she said.

"Right. Yeah." Amy stepped forward and shook her hands out. "Well, the thing is, we took this base from a supervillain, and one of the things he left lying around was lots and lots of money. So Tattletale there—"

"I knew it!" shouted Shielder suddenly. "I've seen you around before. Weren't you with a gang? The Under-something or others? What happened there?"

Lisa grimaced. "You aren't cleared to know that. Amy?"

Amy glared at Shielder, who even had the good grace to blush a little. "Okay, I'll shut up now," he said placatingly. "How are you gonna do it?"

Her voice was firm. "As I was saying, lots and lots of money. Remember Toybox? Tattletale knows how to contact them. They've got a cape called Cranial. Once we contact Toybox and pay Cranial a lot of money, she's going to be using her tech to read off our memories, then create a personality overlay based on those memories. And then that's going to be implanted in Vicky's head. With any kind of luck at all, it'll merge with the remnants of her old personality and bring her all the way back."

Laserdream nodded slowly. "I can actually see that. Bringing in Toybox, holy fucking hell, but yeah, it's a solid plan. So, how many of Vicky's friends and family do you intend to rope in to have their memories read?"

Amy took a deep breath. "Basically all of them. Every single one."

"Well, that definitely explains why you're keeping this on the down-low," observed Laserdream, sounding far less hostile than before. "Because Aunt Carol is going to absolutely flip her shit when she finds out about this."

"Yeah," Amy said hollowly. "I know."



End of Part Nine

 

[Ack]

One Bad Day

Part Ten: That Escalated Quickly

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

"Okay, enough with the doom and gloom," I announced before Amy could hit the downward spiral again. I was actually getting pretty good at spotting the signs. "We have momentum right now, so we need to keep it going. The next person on our list is Gallant."

Neither of the Pelham kids showed any surprise at that revelation, though Laserdream put her hand up. "Not Mom or Dad? They'd both be chill with this, once they knew what was really going on."

"I did think of that," Amy said. "But Dean knows Vicky a lot better, and he can also tell if I'm lying to him. With him on the inside rather than the outside, it becomes a lot easier to convince everyone else to at least give us a hearing."

"By which she means," snarked Aisha, "get them to stand still long enough that we can take them down anyway if they decide to fuck us around." She looked around as Amy and I glared at her. "What? You were all thinking it."

"That's as may be," Dad remarked, keeping his tone free of accusation. "But sometimes diplomacy involves not actually saying out loud what everyone's thinking."

Aisha let out a derisive raspberry. "Do I look like I do diplomacy?"

"No, you don't." Lisa's tone was deadly serious. "And before you start, I know what you're thinking. Danny's being all adult and boring. But he's really not. The rest of us can't turn on a don't-notice-me field and just walk away when things don't go our way. We've got to wear our mistakes."

"Says miss 'I can talk anyone around'," jeered Aisha. "I've seen the shit you can pull."

I saw Lisa visibly choose not to sigh, or do anything else that might cause Aisha to think she was being talked down to. "Yeah, I can pull serious shit. That's totally true. But I need two things for that to work." She tapped her temple. "First, I need some kind of exposure to their life, so I can put together the hints and build a picture to work from. And second, I need them to be listening. I can't reason with someone if they're just intent on punching me in the face."

"Never let the Thinker talk," said Amy unexpectedly. "Aunt Sarah and Uncle Neil drilled that into us over and over again. If we let someone start talking, there was a chance they'd be able to make anything sound reasonable, turn us against the rest of the team. That's why so few heroes do the hero-villain banter like you see on the kids' shows."

"I always wondered about that." I shook my head. "I just put it down to reality not being the same as Saturday morning cartoons. Never realised there was an actual reason behind it."

Shielder lifted his chin. "Mouse Protector does the banter. And cheese puns. So some heroes do it."

Jabbing him gently in the ribs with her elbow, Laserdream rolled her eyes. "Mouse Protector knows what she's doing. Also, you'll note she spends more time talking than listening. Nothing throws a Thinker off more than having to think up a different killer argument because someone made a terrible cheese pun based on the last one."

Lisa nodded. "Can confirm. Anyway, back to the original topic." She returned her attention to Aisha. "You're a valuable member of the team, and we couldn't do what we're doing without you," she said, sincerely enough that I believed her. "But everyone's got their part to play, and every step we take from here on in gets more and more dangerous. I mean, I can see how tempting it is to just grab them without giving them a choice in the matter. And with your power, it would totally be easy."

Aisha wrinkled her nose and gave Lisa a suspicious look. "Yeah, it would be. So why can't I?"

I shared a glance with Amy. Lisa was good at this. Amy had just flat-out said 'never let the Thinker talk', and yet there was Aisha doing exactly that.

"Because every time we go to pick up someone else, the more chance we've got that they'll have a problem with it." Lisa waved at us all. "We're good, and getting better all the time, but if just one person gets away because they were spooked by something going wrong with a grab, Vicky might never get all of herself back … and that's even if everything else goes perfectly."

"Which it won't." Amy and I spoke at the same time. We'd spent enough time around Lisa to spot a cue when we saw one.

Dad cleared his throat in a 'Dad pronouncement' kind of way. "If everything's going better than expected, you're not in possession of all the facts." From the way he said it, it sounded like a quote from somewhere.

Aisha gave us a sour look. "You're all killjoys and I don't like you anymore."

"Do you like me, Most Esteemed Aisha?" asked Vicky plaintively.

Almost immediately, the scowl melted off Aisha's face. "'Course I do, Vicky." She took the blonde's hand in hers. "C'mon, I'll brush your hair for you. It'll look wicked awesome."

Vicky smiled, her mood brightening immediately. "Yay! I like it when my hair is brushed."

As they headed to the area we'd set aside for sleeping arrangements (we were kind of spoiled for choice, given the size of Coil's base) I glanced at Lisa and saw her let out a tiny sigh of relief. "Like herding cats," she muttered under her breath.

"You're doing fine," Dad assured her. "Better than I would, anyway. Union meetings I can handle, but teenagers speak a whole different language."

"… said every adult ever, forgetting that they also used to be teenagers," Amy snarked. Laserdream giggled and Shielder chuckled.

Dad raised a finger. "Ah, but in my day, we were polite and respectful to our elders."

I snorted with amusement. "That's not what Gram told me that one time."

Dramatically, he clutched his hand to his chest. "Curses! Undone!"

Amy rolled her eyes, but cracked a smile. Laserdream and Shielder laughed out loud, while Lisa just shook her head and smirked.

"Okay, then," she said once we'd gotten over Dad's attempt at humour. "Do we go after Gallant in his civilian identity—that is, at home, or out and about with friends—or while he's in costume?"

"And how do we draw him in?" I asked. "We can't use Vicky as bait. No matter how we coached her, there's no telling how she'd act once she doesn't have one of us there. Also, the moment he looks at her, his powers will tell him there's something badly wrong with her, and he'll be on guard."

"Let's look at the pros and cons," Dad decided. "What are the benefits and problems of going after him when he's in costume?"

Amy took that one up. "It would have to be while he was on patrol as a Ward. Two cons I can think of, off the top of my head. First, he's got that armour, so it's a lot harder to hit him with something to disable him if necessary. Second, he'll have a partner with him."

"Pro," Laserdream said. "They aren't on the comms one hundred percent of the time. If they go radio silent for a few minutes, nobody panics."

Lisa nodded, looking serious. I didn't know what she was thinking, but I was most concerned about the potential partner. If it was someone like Clockblocker, also in a full-body costume, it would be almost impossible to disable them both at the same time without actually initiating full-on combat. And asking Vicky to lightly tap them in her current state of mind was just asking for a tragedy.

"Okay, then." Dad had acquired a notepad from somewhere and was writing in it. "So, pros and cons of grabbing him out of costume?"

"Once school starts up again, me or Eric could just walk up to him and say we wanted to talk to him," Laserdream offered. "That's a lot easier than doing it in costume while we're on patrol. That's a pro. Also, the Wards are under orders not to congregate at school too much, so he's unlikely to have anyone else seeing something suspicious."

"His power's on more or less all the time, or so Vicky told me once." Amy's tone was heavy. "You're gonna need to be upbeat. No tension, no readiness to fight. Any of that, and shit will go sideways faster than an outhouse in a tornado."

Shielder—Eric—let out a bark of laughter. "Holy shit, Amy. I love it. Where'd you get that one from?"

"Aisha," Lisa explained briefly. "Okay, cons for grabbing him out of costume." She ticked off her fingers. "There's the unwritten rules about going after capes in their civilian identities …"

Amy rolled her eyes. "As opposed to the actual laws about kidnapping teens, capes or otherwise. But yeah, if we make it loud, we'll have the Protectorate and PRT coming after us with everything. Not to mention everyone the Stansfields can whip into action against us, with their money." She raised her eyebrows in a query. "I'm guessing me and Vicky are kinda the centre of the news, right now?"

Laserdream—Crystal—nodded. "You guess right. Nobody's quite sure where you've gotten to, and the rumours are spreading thick and fast. Someone actually saw you kissing Vicky, so that's out there spawning its own stories as well. Fortunately, not many people believe them."

"They don't need to." Lisa shook her head. "Scandal sells. People will push it onward because they want it to be true. But I think I see what you're getting at. Grabbing Gallant will draw a direct line back to Vicky and make people think that her friends are being targeted."

"Which they are," I chimed in. "Only not in the way they think."

"Won't matter that it's for Vicky's benefit." Amy didn't look or sound happy. "People will react stupidly, because people. We don't just need to get Dean, but we need to get him on side." She nodded to Eric and Crystal. "The more people we can convince that what we need to do is the right thing to do, the better."

Crystal pursed her lips. "Well … I'm personally still not convinced that going to Toybox is the best idea. I mean, they sell to criminals all the time, which makes them criminals. But I do understand that it's a huge problem and that Vicky needs help, and I can't think of a better plan right at this second. I mean, one that doesn't involve dealing with supervillains."

"You need to get rid of those preconceptions," Lisa advised her briskly. "I'm a supervillain. Aisha's not officially one or the other, but she's more likely to shape up as a villain than a hero. Taylor's killed people, stabbed someone who was trying to kill her, and attacked law enforcement with her powers. There's none of us here, except for maybe Taylor's dad, who's actually innocent in all this."

"Aiding and abetting," Dad said promptly.

"And there you go." Lisa gave Crystal a hard stare. "The heroes would likely take her away for therapy, ignoring the fact that she's missing bits they could never recover. Because they automatically think that they know better. Right now, us villains and criminal lowlife types are her best chance at ever getting back to a normal life again."

I carefully didn't look at her or Amy. What she wasn't saying was that if outside interference made it impossible to fix Vicky, Amy's reaction would be … unpredictable. Terrifyingly so. It might range all the way from turning herself in to face the music, to committing suicide, to lashing out at the world around her. Or more than one of the above.

I really, really didn't want to have to gamble on her state of mind if it all went wrong.

"Okay," I said. "So, do we really want to wait until the third? That's over a week away. Or do we do it as soon as possible?"

"I'm not waiting," Amy said immediately. "Vicky can't afford to wait. Every day she's like this, her brain's likely to get more used to being like this, and it'll be harder to fix the damage."

"Well, school would be easier," Lisa said slowly. "But it won't make it impossible. The upsides still outweigh the downsides. Here's how we'll do it …"

I'd once heard a quote about no plan surviving contact with the enemy. Hopefully, this wasn't one of those times.

<><>​

Stansfield Household
Monday, December 27
Gallant

Dean waved his hand at a fly, then went back to reading. Since getting his powers, he'd taken to enjoying a good mystery novel more than he liked watching movies. Looking at people on the screen and not being able to discern their motives tended to be a little disorienting, especially with the wash of emotions from the other moviegoers. But words on paper were sufficiently disconnected from reality that he could build the scene in his head without much problem.

The doorbell went off and he waved at the fly again, more or less at the same moment. How were they getting in, he wondered. Also, why was he the focus of their attention?

"Dean, can you get the door?" his mother called out from the kitchen.

Already distracted from the novel, he slid a bookmark into place and put it down. "Okay, Mom," he called back. Climbing to his feet, he headed through the living room to the entrance hall. Just as he got there, the doorbell rang again. "Coming!" he called out.

He wasn't sure who would be calling unannounced like this. His friends all had cellphones, and would text ahead before showing up on his doorstep. Likewise, his parents hadn't mentioned anyone coming over.

Maybe it's Vicky? She's back from wherever she went, and she wants to surprise me? That would certainly fit with Vicky's impetuous nature, though he'd want to know chapter and verse about where she'd been and why.

With that in mind, already half-convincing himself he was right, he unlocked the door and opened it. His eager gaze found … not Vicky. In fact, two people who weren't Vicky. One was a girl of slightly above average height with rich auburn hair and a knowing smirk; her friend was a couple of years younger, darker skinned, with a purple streak through her hair. Both wore Girl Scout uniforms, and the redhead carried a clipboard. Behind them, a car with a garish iridescent purple paint-job idled at the curb.

That was his first impression. The second impression was that the younger girl was bubbling over with ill-concealed mischief, while her older compatriot had a feeling of purpose about her. Also smugness. Lots of smugness.

Dean had been a member of the Scouts before he got his powers and went into the Wards, and so he'd associated with the distaff side of the organisation from time to time. As such, he had a lot of respect for them, and had no problem assisting them with their fundraising efforts. Though he wasn't precisely sure why the older girl would be feeling so smug, unless it was because they were hitting the jackpot with selling cookies, two days after Christmas.

In any case, it wasn't his business. "Oh, hey," he greeted them. "That time of year again, huh? How's it going?"

"Oh, we're batting a thousand so far." The redhead's smugness actually increased slightly, while her partner's sense of mischief almost went off the charts. "So, did you want to buy anything today?" She tapped the clipboard with her pen.

Dean frowned. His fellow-feeling toward the Girl Scouts notwithstanding, he wasn't really in the mood for thin mints right at that moment. Plus, they'd been doing well before they got to his house, so they didn't need his assistance. "Um, maybe later?"

Something weird happened then. As he turned around to go back into the house, he found himself turning again to look at the redhead. A vague question floated through his head—wasn't there two of them?—before the girl stepped forward. "Are you certain, sir?" Her tone was anything but deferential, and her emotions matched it. "We have an extremely special offer on today."

What is this? he wondered, even as he found his hand reaching out to accept the clipboard that she handed him. He'd been trained in basic self-defence for the Wards, and he was pretty sure he could handle one teenage Girl Scout. If that's what she is. Still, there was no ill intent in her emotional mix, just rock-solid purpose. And if need be, he could smack her down with a sense of crippling insecurity while he called the cops.

Turning the clipboard to look at what was written on it, Dean froze.

Vicky needs your help.

Before he could speak, the redhead began to talk again, her voice pitched low. "This is not a hostage situation. Vicky's hurt, but not in a way the PRT or Protectorate can do anything about. You are one of the few people who can help her. We need your assistance. Will you give it?"

His mind racing, Dean tried to get his thoughts in order. "Who are you?" he managed. "What's going on here? Where's Vicky? What happened to her?"

In response, she leaned forward and used the pen to tap a section of the clipboard a little farther down. He blinked and read what was written there.

• Not important right this second. Call me Lisa.
• Vicky's hurt. We're trying to fix this. Try to keep up.
• In a safe place. Amy's taking care of her.
• Long story.

"I could give you chapter and verse, but your mom will soon be wondering why you haven't come back inside already," 'Lisa' said, her whole manner brimming with certitude. "Everything that's written down there is true."

And his power told him that whatever else she was up to, she wasn't lying about that. It was either all true, or else she was someone else's patsy in some grand scheme or another … and she didn't strike him as being anyone's patsy.

Of course, that was secondary to what she'd just done. "How did you know—"

"Really?" She raised her eyebrows and gave him a level stare. "Are we seriously going to go through this? Figure it out … Gallant."

"You're a Thinker." It was glaringly obvious, once he stopped and thought about it. His secret identity she could probably have learned elsewhere, but there was no way she could've anticipated what he was about to say without using powers.

"Correct." Her bottle-green eyes bored into him. "Now. Glory Girl needs your help. Not right this very instant, but she will need it soon. Or rather, we'll need you to help us help her. Is any of this sinking in, or do I need to go over it again from the top?"

"I want to help, of course, but how—"

"Mistakes were made." She cut his question off before it was properly started. "Shit happened. Me and some friends of mine are working to unfuck the situation, but we're going to need the cooperation of basically everyone who knows her well."

"Why can't the PRT or Protectorate—"

"Because they'll screw it up royally. There's exactly one way to fix this. And no, Panacea can't do it. She's part of the problem."

"Part of the problem? How? She can fix anything." Even as he said it, Dean knew that wasn't exactly true. Brains had always been Panacea's one loophole. Anything else, she could fix. Brains, not so much.

'Lisa' was staring perceptively at him. "More than you think, less than you know. So, we good?"

He stared at her, his Wards training coming to the fore. "You've given me almost nothing and fobbed me off with a bunch of generalisations, and you want me to be satisfied with that? What do you think?"

"I haven't lied to you once," she replied steadily. "Now, you can take it on faith that what I'm saying is all up-front and honest, or—"

"That's the problem," he said, interrupting her. "You're a Thinker. The 'truth' you've told me is so ambiguous that I can't use it to base anything on. Hell, you fooled me into thinking you were a Girl Scout. I can't believe anything you say without independent verification."

She huffed a sigh. "Okay, fine. Tell your mom you're going out. We'll take you to where Vicky is and give you the full story. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Dean paused. Just for a moment, he heard Rory say in the back of his mind, Wait, you got in a car with a bunch of strangers without telling anyone?

"I, uh, I can do that," he said. As soon as he was inside, he'd send a text to Rory and have the Wards home in on his phone signal.

"No." 'Lisa' shook her head. "Weren't you listening? This is not a situation that will be improved by getting more heroes involved. Who were you going to alert? Armsmaster or Triumph? Right, Triumph. Bad idea. He'll get the PRT involved, and that will only have a—" She turned her head to look toward the street. "Oh, shit. You didn't call them? No, you didn't have the time."

"Call who?" Dean followed her line of sight. He didn't immediately recognise the car that pulled up, but the people who got out were another matter altogether, despite the fact that they were in civilian clothing. Sarah Pelham and Carol Dallon; Lady Photon and Brandish. "No, I didn't call them. What are they doing here?"

"Same as me, but from the other side of things." 'Lisa' kept her voice down. "They think you might have an insight for where Vicky is. This was Brandish's idea."

Dean's mind moved quickly. He did have an insight toward Vicky's location; the faux Girl Scout right in front of him. Specifically, she knew where Vicky was. She was definitely a Thinker, but there were no Wards or Protectorate Thinkers in the city, redheaded ones or otherwise. Which made her a villain or a rogue, and he was in no way comfortable knowing that the girl he loved was in the hands of people without heroic intentions in mind. And she still hadn't come clean with him about what had happened to Vicky.

We need more answers than she's willing to give.

'Lisa' dodged backward, even before he reached for her. "Shit—no—don't—you idiot—" Her emotions were swirling into anger and frustration, but he didn't have time to analyse the reasons for this. Vicky's well-being, maybe even her life, was at stake.

He lunged forward and grabbed her arm, trying not to hurt her. 'Gallant' wasn't just his cape name, after all. "Villain alert!" he yelled at the same time, pitching his voice so that the two members of New Wave heard him. "Secure that car!"

Lady Photon, he was pleased to see, was on the ball. Turning to see where he was pointing, she immediately enclosed the car in a glowing force field. Brandish looked from her to the car, then from him to 'Lisa'. Clearly deciding that Lady Photon had matters under control with the car, Brandish approached where he was struggling with the redheaded girl.

'Lisa' was slippery and tenacious, but she was no combat Thinker. It took a little effort, but he finally managed to get her into a compliance hold. Unlike some people, who would keep fighting and hurt themselves, she relaxed and let him maintain the hold with little difficulty.

"You know, this is entirely the wrong way to go about this," she remarked, sounding altogether too calm for someone in her position.

Dean was still working out his answer when Brandish got to them. Close up, it was clear she still wasn't over Flashbang's death. Her makeup went some way toward dispelling the bags under her eyes, but she looked like death warmed over anyway. If he were to make a guess, he figured she'd been having a few bad days of it.

"What's this about?" she asked, and the razor edge in her voice was a match with her roiling emotions. There was not a single hint of lightness in the cloud that metaphorically hung over her head. "Who is this girl?"

"She's a Thinker," panted Dean. "She knows where Vicky is. She says I'm needed to help fix whatever happened to her, but she won't tell me what."

Brandish's eyes, somewhat more bloodshot than the last time Dean had seen them, fixed on Lisa. A glowing blade extended from her hand, as if summoned by magic. The smile on her face was creepy; her voice, even more so. "Oh, I think she will."

'Lisa' twitched, as if trying to pull away from Dean's hold, but reminding herself not to at the last moment. "She's been drinking," she said clearly. "You need to let me go right now, before she decides to torture me in front of you, or even maim or murder me. Because she's totally capable of it."

Dean could see her aura clearly, and each of those statements had the appearance of veracity to it. Of course, she'd managed to misapprehend the truth to his face once already, but it was hard to apply any sort of ambiguity to such definitive statements.

The energy blade drifted close to 'Lisa's face, and she flinched away from it. A couple of strands of red hair drifted to the ground; smoke wafted upward and Dean smelled an acrid odour. "Hey, careful," he said, recalling the girl's words. "All we need to do is ask her questions, then hand her over to the PRT."

"Villains never just answer questions." Brandish's voice was without inflection, but Dean knew that was a lie; her aura was a maelstrom of emotion at that moment. "You have to make them fully aware of what'll happen if they don't answer."

"Touch me again with that blade, and I will make certain that New Wave is ended as a team," 'Lisa' said, her voice almost as steady as Brandish's. Unlike the older woman's aura, hers was saturated with fear. She truly believed that something bad was likely to happen. "I know exactly what to say to get an audience with Director Piggot, and I'll tell her that you convinced Lady Photon to come out here while you're still legally drunk, to Gallant's house, to see if he had any idea where Glory Girl was. All this, flashing your powers around? How soon before the news crews get here, do you think?"

"Won't matter." Brandish looked at 'Lisa' with her head tilted to one side, as if examining a particularly repulsive slime mold. "Sarah and me are already public capes."

"Gallant isn't," 'Lisa' said. "How long before someone puts two and two together, and comes up with 'oh wait, Dean Stansfield is Gallant'? Because why else would the mother and aunt of Glory Girl be visiting his house? And if the Stansfields have to go into protective custody because you can't get through the day without a drink or ten, I'd be most surprised if that doesn't motivate the good Director to re-examine the PRT affiliation with New Wave."

"Shut up," gritted Brandish. "Just shut up, and tell me where the fuck my daughter is." The blade edged closer to 'Lisa's face again.

"Okay, fine," 'Lisa' muttered. "You win. Now."

Now? wondered Dean.

"Now?" asked Brandish. Then the energy blade flickered out and she fell over, convulsing. For an instant, Dean thought he heard a crackling sound.

"What did you do to Carol?" shouted Lady Photon, looking around with concern, even as she maintained the force field around the car. "What's going on?"

"You can let me go, Dean, or you can be tased," 'Lisa' murmured. "Your choice." She raised her voice. "There's one problem with your power, Photon Mom. It doesn't stop other powers from working through it."

"What do you—" Abruptly, Sarah was cut off when a swarm of bugs seemingly coalesced from nowhere and folded around her. Shouting incoherently, trying to brush them off her, she rose into the air. The field she'd had around the car popped out of existence, then she started trying to scrape the blanket of bugs off herself with a multitude of tiny shaped force field projections.

"Are you doing this? How are you doing this?" Dean looked around nervously. On the girl he was still holding captive, the fear was almost all gone, and the smugness was back.

He could hear the smirk in her voice. "Wouldn't you like to know." She paused expectantly. "No? Okay, fine. Do it."

<><>​

Taylor

From the safety of the car, I watched as Dean let Lisa go and stumbled back several paces. "She didn't give him as big a jolt as she gave Brandish," I observed, while I vectored several Amy specials—knockout bugs—toward the semi-conscious cape. Even with her system depressed by alcohol, Carol Dallon wouldn't stay down long from Aisha's taser shot. Or maybe she'd stay down because of the alcohol; I really didn't know how that stuff worked.

"That's good," Dad said from the driver's seat. "It's really good, in fact. She's showing restraint."

"So I should hold off from knocking him out?" I asked.

"Hell no," he said at once. "I've seen his type before. There's no way we can count on him staying quiet once we leave, if we don't take him with us. And from the way Lisa was arguing with him, he's just refusing to accept what she's saying."

"What about the other two?" More knockout bugs had been wriggling their way through the swarming mass around Lady Photon, twenty feet in the air. They began to deliver their toxin in measured doses, seeking drowsiness before unconsciousness. We didn't want her to fall to her death, after all.

"What are you doing?" shouted Dean. "What are you doing to them?" His head jerked around as the bugs stung him, and he slapped at them. Amy had planned for this, and they survived the blow easily.

Carol Dallon started to get up but her bugs were already delivering their soporific payload, and she slumped down again. Lisa had mentioned that she might be a bit irrational with the disappearance of Vicky; I mentally upgraded that to 'fucking nuts'.

"I tried to be reasonable," Lisa told him. "I really did." She stepped back out of the way as he reached for her, then grunted as he unloaded an emotion blast into her from close range. Moving away from him, she leaned against the side of the house as he slumped to the ground. Lady Photon landed in a heap beside her sister, the bugs dispersing from her once they were no longer required.

"Shit, shit, shit," I muttered, trying not to panic. "What do we do now?"

"Focus," Dad said sharply. "Who's seen this, and what are they doing?"

Focus. Right. I breathed deeply. That bought me some clarity, and I was able to tap into the bugs, dogs, birds and (very vaguely) the people around us. For some reason, I could sense people farther away, and with more clarity than normal. I didn't question it.

"Uhhh … Dean's mom heard something but she's not coming to the door just yet," I reported. "Two other people saw it. One's just watching, but the other one's got a phone."

"Okay, we're on the clock." He scanned the back seat, then reached into the glove compartment and pulled out two ski masks. One of these, he handed to me. "We need to get Lady Photon and Gallant into the car as soon as possible."

"Not Brandish?" I was already pulling my ski mask on as I got out of the car.

"Not Brandish," confirmed Lisa as she started to drag Dean toward the vehicle. I went over to give her a hand, while Dad handled Lady Photon.

"Not arguing," I grunted as I took his weight. "But why?" Dean, I decided, could do with losing a few pounds, even if it was all muscle. There was indeed such a thing as too much of a good thing.

"These two are the most likely to come around once we fill them all the way in," Lisa panted. "God, what do they feed this guy? Bricks?"

"What I was thinking." I wriggled one hand free and opened the back door. We'd had enough trouble moving Coil's body, and he'd been a skinny guy. Someone with Gallant's heft was a whole lot harder to deal with. "Okay, so they'll come around." I managed to get his head and shoulders into the car, and we skated him along the seat. "Not her?"

"Not her," Dad agreed, coming up behind us with Lady Photon slung over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. "No matter what we tell her, she won't agree to a damn thing. And once she's awake, she'll attack us. If she sees Amy, she'll try to kill her."

I could unfortunately see that, all too easily. "Can't Amy … you know, tweak her so she won't?"

Lisa and I got Gallant all the way into the car, then stood back so Dad could manhandle (womanhandle?) Lady Photon in beside him. She shook her head. "You know why it's a bad idea to even suggest it to her, right now."

"But she's going to want to kill Amy! Even when we're done and Vicky's back!" It made no sense to me. "Are we just going to let that time bomb keep ticking?"

"Taylor." Lisa put her hands on my shoulders. "We'll talk about that in the car."

"Okay, gotcha." I took a deep breath. "What about you? What did he hit you with?"

"Oh, you saw that." Lisa shook her head. "Crippling doubt and insecurity. Threw me for a loop. I felt like I was back home again, with Dad gaslighting me into making predictions that would raise the company's profit line. But I'm over it now, I think. Mostly, anyway. Hard to judge."

"Good." Dad finally got Lady Photon into the car, and I closed the door for him. "We still need Brandish for the final plan, right?"

"Absolutely," Lisa said. "She might be bugnuts crazy right now, but she still knows Vicky as well as anyone in the family. We'll just have to deal with that when we come to it." I wasn't great at subtext, but I was pretty sure she was talking about kidnapping. She rounded the car to the other side. "We've gotta go. Cops aren't far away."

"Aisha?" I asked.

"Already gone." Lisa opened the rear passenger door. "Joy. I get to ride with Gallant drooling all over me."

"You could've gone with Aisha," I said as I got in on my side.

Lisa shook her head as she shoved Dean into a more or less seated position, and yanked the door shut. "Yeah, no, fuck that. I'd rather walk."

I didn't blame her. After riding pillion with Aisha just once, I felt the same way.

Dad started the car, and we drove off sedately. As soon as we were around the corner and halfway down the street, the bugs I'd had covering the license plates flew in through the open rear window, as did the multitude of tiny iridescent purple bugs that had been covering every inch of the mundane green paint job. I pretended to be reading a map as three cop cars blazed past in the opposite direction.

The PRT would be close behind, almost certainly with the Protectorate in attendance. We really had to be off the street before they came through; the last thing I wanted was to draw Armsmaster's attention for any reason at all. For all I knew, his bike recorded everything. Fortunately, I had the range to see them coming, the iconic motorcycle leading the way. A word to Dad, and we turned down a side street just moments before the cavalcade swept past.

"Okay," I said. "What was that about Amy?"

Lisa sighed. "Right now, Amy's still convinced that adjusting brains is a bad idea. This is a good thing. She needs to keep thinking it's a last-minute emergency measure, not something that can be done at a whim. Because if we bring in her mom to be adjusted, and she starts getting the idea that it's not a bad thing, who knows where she's going to stop? Bad guys? Good guys who think it's a bad idea to brainfuck bad guys? Us, so we're never going to turn against her like her mom did? Yes, Carol Dallon needs to be dealt with. But not that way."

I nodded. "Got it." She was right; I just hadn't thought it all the way through.

We were free and clear for now, but I couldn't guarantee that would last.

<><>​

Director Piggot's Office
PRT ENE

Emily's phone chimed. The caller ID verified that it was Armsmaster calling, so she swiped to answer it.

"Talk to me," she ordered.

"It's as the report stated." The local leader of the Protectorate didn't mince his words. "Cape battle involving Lady Photon, Brandish, at least one unknown cape, and Gallant. They knocked all three out, and took Gallant and Lady Photon."

Emily gritted her teeth. That was about as bad as it could get, short of having Gallant murdered, or outed, on site. "Details on the hostile?"

"Brandish describes her as a teenage girl, average height, red hair. She was described as a Thinker by Gallant when they first arrived, but she reportedly performed a ranged taser effect as well as some sort of chemical knockout, both on Brandish."

Closing her eyes for a moment, Emily pinched the bridge of her nose. I fucking hate grab-bag capes. "Is Brandish showing any ill effects?"

"She's a little groggy, but it's wearing off." Armsmaster paused. "There were witnesses to the fight. None of them seem to have made the conceptual leap that Gallant is a cape, but one reports seeing Lady Photon covered in darkness or maybe bugs. And Brandish has presented with what look like bug bites, possibly where the knockout dose was injected."

"No rats or birds, or explosions?" Part of her wanted the cape from the Trainyards to be involved in this, so she could merge the cases, while the rest of her desperately hoped that she'd never hear about that cape again. Someone who could train a bird or a rat to carry an explosive package … that was the next level of scary.

At that moment, a pigeon alighted on the window ledge outside her office. She eyed it with extreme suspicion, even though it only seemed to be doing pigeon things. A moment later, it crapped on the ledge and flew off again. Nothing exploded. She breathed a little easier.

"… Director?" Armsmaster sounded concerned. "Are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here. Sorry, I was distracted for a moment. So, that was a no?"

"Correct. None of the witnesses saw anything like that." Like her, Armsmaster seemed to be edging between disappointment and relief.

"Understood. So, walk me through it. What happened, and why were Lady Photon and Brandish there in the first place?"

Armsmaster hesitated. "It turns out that the rumours we've been hearing of Glory Girl's disappearance are actually true. Lady Photon and Brandish were visiting Gallant in their civilian identities to see if he could suggest anywhere she might have gotten to. When they got there, Gallant was outside, struggling with the hostile. Current temporary designation: Redflag. He directed them to secure a car that was sitting at the curb."

"Wait, go back. Glory Girl's actually missing? How about Panacea?" Emily was actually shocked a wild rumour like that had actually turned out to be true. She'd assumed that Glory Girl had broken something more expensive than normal, and been grounded by Brandish. The death of Flashbang had hit the family pretty hard, and it was normal for teens to act out in times of stress … wasn't it? She was no expert, and her own teen years were too far behind her to work as a metric.

"She's gone, too. I'm going to assume the disappearances are linked until I get evidence to the contrary. And then there's the story that they were seen kissing."

Emily frowned. She'd also discounted that angle, for the very good reason that people loved to push such stories for the scandal value. "If they've gone and shacked up somewhere … why would Brandish and Lady Photon come out and see Gallant about where they might be? Unless they were hiding their relationship from literally everyone? In my experience, that sort of thing is almost impossible to hide from family."

There was a note of irritation in Armsmaster's voice, apparently directed at himself. "That's something I hadn't considered. I'll make sure to ask Brandish that when I get the chance."

"Also, one other thing." Now that Emily had had time to think, other connections were making themselves known in her mind. "Two, in fact. Wasn't one of your witnesses to the Shadow Stalker thing a redhead as well? And wasn't the cape involved a bug controller?"

"I'll have someone check on the Barnes girl's movements immediately, ma'am. Though, as I recall, she was distinctly hostile toward the Hebert girl. Much of her phrasing was emotionally charged, in a negative fashion. Of course, that could have been a ruse. As for the bug control … that's a good point. It could be that she was Redflag, wearing a wig. Or maybe she was in the car."

"Controlling the bugs, while Redflag used her own powers. That fits." Emily nodded. "Though I'm still dubious about bugs biting people and knocking them out. Did you get a blood sample?"

"Brandish refused, and said she was feeling better." Armsmaster didn't sound pleased. "She's a lawyer. Without one of my own, I doubt I could have legally forced the issue."

"No, your point is valid. Carry on."

It would've been good to find out just how bugs could render a human being unconscious with just a bite or two, but legal rights were legal rights. Armsmaster would've required a court order (at the very least) to ensure compliance in the matter. Hopefully, the next victim (she'd have to be delusional to believe that there wasn't going to be one) would be more cooperative.

"Yes, ma'am."

The call ended, leaving Emily wondering exactly what Taylor Hebert had to do with the abduction of a Ward, especially one with whom she'd had zero recorded contact.

And who the hell is Redflag?

Too many questions, not enough answers.

<><>​

Amy

Waiting was the worst part.

She was able to keep Vicky happy by playing silly little games, though every time she looked into her sister's vacant expression, the tiny knot inside her chest tightened a little more. But they had no reliable way of communicating that they could risk being intercepted, especially by the PRT. So she had to wait, and hope they didn't run into something they couldn't handle.

All they had to do was go to Dean's place, talk to him and maybe bring him back to the base. Bringing him back was the nuclear option, of course. It was basically shoving what she'd done in his face, and forcing him to understand exactly what was at stake.

But even though she hated … not Dean exactly, but the idea of Vicky being with Dean … she paradoxically trusted him. His cape name was no accident. He was a gentleman; he was gallant. Faced with the true state of affairs, he would do the right thing. He would do whatever it took to make Vicky whole again. And that put them firmly on the same side.

The buzzer sounded through the base, making Vicky look around before she went back to the simple tune she was humming. It was the alert for the parking garage entrance. Danny would've dropped the others off before returning home in time for the next PRT drive-by.

And then the buzzer sounded twice more. That was different. Had someone followed them? Amy took a deep breath. Was it even them? Was someone else sneaking into the base?

"Vicky, come with me," she said, hating the fact that she had to give her sister orders now. "Protect me if we see bad men."

"Yes, Amy," Vicky said happily. She followed Amy as they passed through solid armoured doors—Coil had been nothing if not paranoid as fuck—into the entry area for the parking garage.

There, Amy stopped short. Taylor, Lisa and Aisha were back, but they hadn't come back alone. On the floor, Dean lay unconscious beside … "Aunt Sarah?" Amy looked at the other three. "What the fuck?"

Lisa grinned, Aisha smirked, and Taylor shrugged awkwardly. "Uh, we can explain?"

Amy could feel a headache coming on. I wonder if Aunt Sarah has days like this.



End of Part Ten

 

[Ack]

One Bad Day

Part Eleven: Regathering

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


Gallant

Dean groaned as he woke up. He had a mild headache and there was an unpleasant taste in his mouth; in addition, the muscles all the way down the left side of his body were stiff and sore. The last time he'd felt this horrible was the day after his first cape fight in the Wards, but he had trouble remembering who he'd fought this time.

He was just levering his eyelids apart when the memory returned. Girl Scouts? I was fighting Girl Scouts? There'd been two, and then there'd been one, and Brandish and Lady Photon had shown up, and there'd been a bunch of bugs, and Brandish had gotten all creepy at the red-haired Girl Scout, and …

What happened next? It was like he'd been KO'd, but he didn't have any bruises or dizziness to indicate a concussion. A vague memory suggested he might've been tasered, but those things didn't actually knock someone out, especially not for hours.

That was when he realized he wasn't lying in his own bed, at home. Neither, for that matter, was he in the PRT infirmary. The sheet under him was clean, but the mattress was thin and the wall opposite was blank grey concrete. Oh, shit. I've been captured.

"Oh, hey. You're awake."

The familiar voice—Laserdream's here too?—brought his head spinning around to focus on the folding chair at the end of the bed. Vicky's cousin sat there with a paperback in her hand, a smirk on her face as she observed his obvious confusion.

"Wakey wakey, sleepyhead," she said with a smile in her voice to match her expression. "Have you been getting enough rest recently? Amy said you needed to wake up normally, but even after she cleared the knockout stuff from your system, you didn't come to for another half hour."

"Laserdream!" he said in a hushed voice, coming to his feet. Looking up at the ceiling, he scanned for cameras and microphones. A tiny caged dome in one corner confirmed his worst fears. "When did they capture you? What's going on? We've got to get—"

"Jeez. Chill." She rolled her eyes. "We're not prisoners. I'm here to explain what's going on."

"We're not?" For the first time since he'd woken up, he paid attention to his power. She was calm, a little amused, and not at all angry or afraid. "Wait … we're actually not prisoners? What's going on, then? Where are we? Who attacked us … were you attacked?"

She huffed and rolled her eyes again. "Take a breath. Gimme a chance to answer even one question before we move onto the next, okay?" She waited until he nodded before continuing. "So, first things first. We might've been kind of … enthusiastically collected. Kidnapped, even. But it's for a good cause. And no, we're not prisoners." To demonstrate, she got up and pulled on the cell door. It swung open, barely even creaking. "We put you in here in case you came out of it attacking everyone in sight. Mom's in the next cell over."

This was too much for him to take in all at once. "Kidnapped for a good cause?" How's that supposed to work? She's too calm. Has she been Mastered? Is this even Crystal? Does New Wave have Master/Stranger protocols? It might've been nice if Vicky had ever shared them with me. "Uh, you are Laserdream, right? Crystal Pelham?"

"Yes," she replied, putting a certain amount of irritated emphasis on the word. His power registered the answer as truthful. "Now, I know this is a lot to take in, but I'm going to need you to listen to me, because apparently you wouldn't listen to Lisa."

"Lisa …" He frowned. "The redheaded Girl Scout? Did they … did she … come to my house to abduct me?" When he thought back, he had trouble recalling if there were one or two girls involved. "There was a purple car?"

"Well, no, they came to your front door to ask you to come quietly with them," Crystal explained. "It's only when Mom and Aunt Carol barged in that it escalated to abduction. Also, it didn't help that Mom left Aunt Carol to try and force answers out of Lisa. I'm thinking we might need to do an intervention before Carol goes totally off the rails and kills someone. On purpose or by accident. Lisa says she was drunk and waving her energy blades around."

The honest concern in her aura went a long way toward settling Dean's worries. Also, her commentary dovetailed neatly with what he did recall of the confrontation. "The girl, Lisa, said Vicky was hurt but Amy couldn't help her. Something about her being part of the problem."

Crystal sighed. "That's the basic thing, yes. Before we go any further, I'm going to tell you the rest, but I think you need to be sitting down for it."

"Okay, back up a bit," he said, though he did sit down on the bed again. "Didn't you say your mother was in the next cell over? Why isn't she in the cell here, explaining everything to me?"

"Because she's still out to it," Crystal said pragmatically. "We didn't want to be splitting our attention between two upset capes at the same time, so we figured we'd wake you up first, get you up to speed, and then we could all talk Mom down when she loses her shit at us over this."

"I'm not sure that'll be much of a problem," he said. "Lady Photon's always been level-headed and approachable."

"Oh, I have no doubt we'll be able to talk her around." Crystal's voice was gloomy. "But I'm equally certain I'm gonna get grounded so hard I'll need a walking cane by the time she lets me out to go to my senior prom. Just for waking her up second."

"Ooh, ouch." Dean grimaced. "Yeah, I can totally see that." He took a deep breath. "So, can I see Vicky now? What's wrong with her?" It crossed his mind just to get up and try to push his way past her, but he didn't want to hurt her. Not to mention, her force fields were easily strong enough to contain him, even if they were weaker than the ones her mother and brother could generate.

"Okay." Crystal didn't look or sound as though she was looking forward to this next bit. "You know how Amy loved Vicky?"

An alarm bell rang in the back of his head as he took note of the past tense of the word. "I knew they were very close," he said cautiously.

She gave him a disgusted look; her aura mirrored it. "Stop pussyfooting around," she snapped. "Did you know Amy was in love with Vicky? Not sister love. Love love." Because even as dim as boys are, she didn't have to say, I'd be surprised if you didn't.

He hesitated too long before answering, and saw the change in her aura. She knew he'd known. "… yes," he admitted. "And she hated me for being with Vicky." Why he put that bit in he wasn't sure. Perhaps to show Crystal he was actually on the ball?

"Fucking knew it," she muttered. Taking a deep breath, she skewered him with a look that should by rights have been registered as a Blaster power. "And you told nobody about this?"

"Who could I have told?" he asked helplessly. "Amy knew. I knew Vicky didn't love Amy like that, but she still loved her like a sister. Telling her would've maybe pushed her away, and it wasn't my place to do that." He raised his eyebrows. "And I'm pretty sure your aunt wouldn't have been thrilled about it, either."

"Well, no, true," admitted Crystal. "But you could've told Mom or Dad. Mainly Mom. Or you could've spoken to Amy about it. Talked about getting therapy, because repressing that sort of thing is in no way healthy, even when powers aren't involved."

The lurch her aura gave into darkness at the end gave him the clue he needed. "Amy … she did something to Vicky, didn't she? With her powers?"

"Wow, you finally got a clue," she asked bitterly. "Yes, Amy did something to Vicky. Oh, did you know Vicky was going out on her own and beating up gangers, then calling Amy to come fix her messes when she hit them too hard?"

He blinked. This was both a segue he hadn't been expecting and news he wasn't ready for. "No. Um, what's this got to do with Amy hurting Vicky with her powers?"

Crystal sighed. "Because Vicky hit this guy way too hard and fractured his skull, then called Amy. This wasn't the first time, or the second, or even the third. Amy was sick of it, and told Vicky she could wear the consequences if this guy died. Vicky tried to guilt her into it, and said she'd do anything for Amy if she'd just fix the mess."

Dean blinked, a lot of puzzle pieces dropping into place at once. "And this is after she caught me and Vicky together in bed."

Crystal stared at him. "I didn't know that. But it makes a little more sense now, yeah. So, she's got all that, she's still carrying the torch for Vicky, and Vicky makes an open-ended promise like that."

"Oh, shit," whispered Dean. He didn't know exactly how bad it was going to be, but he knew it was going to be bad.

"Yeah, no shit." Crystal's tone was harsh. "So yeah, thanks to that, you get to wear a little bit of this too. Amy did the thing, unfucked the guy's brain—"

"Wait." Dean's brain finally caught up with the conversation. "Amy can't do brains."

Crystal laughed mirthlessly. "Nope. Turns out our little Amy's full of surprises. She can absolutely do brains. She just chooses not to. Because, and get this, it's too easy to go too far. Direct quote from the girl herself."

Dean slumped back on the bed until his back hit the cold concrete wall behind him. "Well, fuck," he said blankly. "I always thought—"

"The same as the rest of us," agreed Crystal. "Boy, were we wrong. Anyway, she did the thing. Then she went to Vicky and basically wanted to steal a kiss. She hasn't actually told us in detail what happened next, but I'm thinking she was kissing Vicky, Vicky got weirded out and tried to stop, but Amy was finally getting what she's wanted all this time. So, when Vicky tried to push her away, Amy reacted instinctively and wiped away everything in Vicky's brain that wanted her to stop." She paused for a beat. "Permanently."

Horror flooded through Dean's brain as he stared at Crystal. Whatever he'd been expecting, this was worse. Ten times worse. A thousand times worse. Vicky being physically injured, he could handle. She was tough; injuries could be overcome. But to have everything that was her just … erased? "Jesus fucking Christ on a Tinkertech pogo stick," he said slowly. "She fucking did that?"

"She did." Crystal got up from the chair and dropped the paperback onto it. "Come on. Now that I've filled you in, I'll take you to see her."

Dean stood as well, with considerable alacrity. "Her? Which 'her'? And what's being done with Amy?"

"Vicky." Crystal glanced back over her shoulder. "And nothing's being done with Amy. She's the one organizing this whole thing. Gathering everyone together."

"What?" Dean felt vaguely outraged. "She basically killed Vicky! Why isn't she being … well, punished?"

"Trust me, nothing we could do to her would match what she's doing to herself." Crystal led the way out of the cell and down a corridor composed of the same blank concrete. Cell doors were visible to the left and right as they passed by. "Besides, they've figured out a plan. It's why we're getting everyone in the same place. Everyone who knows Vicky well."

Dean frowned as he tried to figure out where she was going with that. "So they can … describe her personality to Amy and she can rebuild Vicky from scratch?" That didn't sound like it could go wrong at all.

"Not quite, but very close." Crystal glanced back at him again; this time, her aura showed a strong tinge of respect. "You're just missing the final bit of information. Specifically, the people Amy's working with to fix Vicky." They passed through the final doorway and up a set of stairs.

A bunch of people were gathered in what looked like a common room, or a prison cafeteria; all that was missing were the armed guards on the catwalks overhead. There were still no windows that Dean could see, which made him wonder exactly where they were. "Wait … are we in an Endbringer shelter?"

"Again, very close to the truth," Crystal said. "Tell you later; it's not important right now." She raised her voice. "Guys, he's up and he's been filled in."

"Woo! Sleeping beauty is awake!" A dark-skinned girl with a purple streak through her hair popped up from where she'd apparently been having an animated discussion with Eric Pelham—oh good, he's okay too—and waved. "Come on over, G-man!"

Dean frowned slightly, but his secret identity was less important to him right now than the welfare of one other person. He let his aura sight guide him; most of the people around the table were registering as various shades of determined, but there were two that were far different from the rest. One was a boiling, bubbling black hole of self-loathing and laser-guided purpose, and the other … a pure soul. No hate, resentment or anything other than happiness.

His attention fixated on the last one, and he looked with his eyes to see Vicky's blonde curls as she sat at the table, gazing vacantly into space. He couldn't be sure, but he thought she was humming to herself. Her hand was intertwined with Amy's, and her other hand stroked it gently.

"Vicky." The word was torn out of his throat.

Slowly, the girl wearing Vicky's face turned to look at him. "Yes?" she asked. "Oh, hello, Dean." Then her eyes drifted away from him and she went back to humming softly.

He wasn't sure what hurt more; the fact that she simply dismissed him from consideration, or the sheer blankness in her eyes and face. There was barely anything there that could be called a person anymore.

Guided by Crystal, he reluctantly approached the table and sat down. The movement attracted Vicky's attention for a second, but her aura didn't so much as flare when she noticed him. It was as though he were a mobile piece of wallpaper; to be reacted to when he did something, but thoroughly unimportant otherwise.

By contrast, Amy's aura became even darker and grimmer when her eyes briefly met his. She went to glance away, but stopped. He could tell she was forcing herself to meet his gaze, and that she hated it, but she would not let herself stop. An immense well of anguish and regret overflowed as he watched her aura.

"You did this?" He wasn't sure how he managed to say it without sounding accusatory. Most every part of him wanted to shout and scream at her, to take her throat in his hands and squeeze. But that wasn't who or what he was, so he sat opposite her and spoke civilly, no matter what it cost him inside.

An extra level of pain shot through her aura, showing him that his act wasn't perfect. "Yes," she whispered. "But I'm going to fix it. I have to fix it." Her eyes squeezed shut, so tightly it looked painful, but tears leaked out anyway.

"How?" he asked. "How do you fix something like this?"

"Cranial," said the redhead sitting on the other side of Amy. "She's a rogue working with Toybox." Reaching over the table, she offered her hand, then gave him a smirk. "Hi, we met before, but the introductions were cut short. I'm Lisa, and we're gonna help Amy fix Vicky."

He shook her hand, suddenly matching up the aura of smugness with the encounter on the front doorstep. "You're one of the Girl Scouts!" Then he glanced at the black girl, who was cheerfully listening in on the conversation with zero apparent shame. "You … were there too?"

"That's us!" The black girl gave him a finger-wave. "Figment, but you can call me Aisha." She rolled her eyes. "Boy, were you a hard sell."

"Um." The reality of the situation was starting to come home to Dean. "How long's it been? Since you snatched me and Lady Photon, I mean."

"About two hours." This was the other girl at the table, a tall brunette with curly hair and glasses. "Why?"

"Why?" He stared at her, unsure why she was being so blasé about the whole thing. "Because you kidnapped a Ward! Also, a member of New Wave!" His brain kicked in around then, and he corrected himself. "Another member of New Wave!"

"Chill." Lisa waved away his concern. "They'll never find us here. This place literally doesn't exist on any official plan of the city. My former boss made sure of that. They can look all they like, but all they'll get is pictures of a purple car that doesn't even exist anymore." She gestured to the brunette. "And Taylor here'll be able to give us warning if they do start sniffing around any of the entrances."

Taylor frowned, her aura shifting hues toward 'concern'. "Uh … about that?"

Lisa slowly turned toward her, a frown creeping across her face. "Don't you fucking dare."

"Sorry." Taylor grimaced. "But three people and a few dogs just came into the parking garage. Did you ever get around to changing the codes? Because one of the people has opened the switch box and is punching in a code, right now."

Clenching her eyes together, Lisa ran her hands up into her hair and clenched tight with both hands. "Motherfucker! It's Circus, with Regent and Bitch!"

Dean knew the first name, but not the other two. This did not stop him from figuring out that this was a bad thing. "Uh … they're not on your side?"

"They used to work for my former boss." Lisa gave him a tight smile, but her aura had nothing but aggravation in it. "My dead former boss. I'm guessing Circus is back to get new orders."

"So … tell them he said to go away, and keep doing what they were doing before?" suggested Dean.

"Hah. I'd love to." Lisa rolled her eyes. "The last job they were sent on was to hunt me down."

That … was a problem. A big problem. "Well, fuck. So, what are we gonna do?" He barely noticed the fact that he'd just included himself with everyone else there.

Taylor cracked her knuckles. "Whatever we have to."

<><>​

Regent

"Dunno why we couldn't have come back yesterday," Alec grumbled as they waited for Circus to punch in the last of the code. "And why couldn't I get the code as well?"

Rachel didn't answer, but Circus did. "Because you would've come back yesterday. Your boss didn't see fit to contact me with the news that he had Tattletale. I had to find out the hard way. So he gets to pay me an extra day for babysitting you two."

That actually sounded like a pretty good idea to Alec. "Hey, do we get paid extra for putting up with you?"

Circus chuckled as the door clicked and slid aside. "That's something you should've arranged with him before you came out with me. Personally, I'm getting four times my usual rate. And now that the job I was hired for is done, I'm taking my money and heading for the tall timber." She glanced over at Alec, then at Rachel. "And just between you and me, if I were you, I'd do the same."

"Why?" asked Rachel bluntly. Well, she said everything bluntly. "He pays us on time."

"Because you're just tools to him." Circus started into the corridor thus revealed. "To be thrown away when you've outlived your usefulness. I mean, you two don't make a team. If I wasn't there to ride herd on you, you'd kill each other or walk away inside of six hours."

"Three," corrected Alec.

"One," Rachel put in.

Circus spread her hands. "And thus, my point is made. Unless he can bring in new capes who can keep you under control—and that's not me, just saying—you're basically useless to him. Worse, you know about this base now. That makes you both potential liabilities. If I were you? I wouldn't turn your backs on him. Like, ever."

The colourful cape had a point, Alec conceded. It wasn't like Coil was the first authority figure he'd ever had who was creepy as fuck. The trouble was, cutting loose from Coil would leave him out in the cold again, vulnerable to being grabbed up by whoever his father sent to collect him. "Eh," he said. "Better the asshole I know."

"I can work with people," insisted Bitch. "So long as they don't disrespect me or my dogs."

Circus sighed. "Well, don't say I didn't warn you." She approached a second door; this one was made of steel rather than concrete. The keypad wasn't concealed in a switch box this time, but Circus interposed her body when putting in this code as well. Alec couldn't quite tell what the code was—he didn't have a good enough read on Circus' body yet, especially with all the different tells the grab-bag cape assumed and discarded more or less at will—but he knew it was different to the first one.

The door hissed aside, and Circus stepped through, Alec and Rachel trailing behind. The three dogs, at Rachel's heel, followed along obediently. Alec vaguely wondered who was watching the security panel—in a place like this, there would absolutely have to be a security panel—and why they'd let Rachel bring her dogs inside. He knew he wouldn't have let them in if he was in charge. Oh, well. Sucks to be whoever's gonna get smacked in the head for that oversight. It really, really wasn't his problem.

The corridor beyond was a shorter one, and the keypad on the other end was glowing green rather than red, like the last one had been. "Uh, what's that mean?" he asked.

"Means it's unlocked," Circus said. She glanced back at Alec and Rachel. "Now, stick close to me and let me do the talking, and we might all walk away with the cash we're owed. Got it?"

"Yeah, got it." Alec ran his hand down to his sceptre, ready to pull it out at a moment's notice. Rachel nodded and mumbled something that might've been an affirmative, but her attention was on her dogs. Which were, Alec noticed, a little larger than they'd been before. "We're not here to start a fight. Are we, Rachel?"

She shot him a poisonous look. "I won't start one. But I'll finish it."

"Guess that's the best I'm gonna get," muttered Circus. She pressed the button to open the door; obediently, it hissed aside.

On the other side, as they stepped through, was a bunch of catwalks surrounding a drop to some kind of common area below, with tables and chairs and everything. Overhead, the ceiling was composed of more of the raw concrete that the rest of the base was built out of. But he wasn't paying attention to the architecture. Because there was Tattletale, right there, in front of them. She might've dyed her hair red sometime in the last few days, but that was definitely her. He would've known her nervous system anywhere.

The thing was, she wasn't alone. Across the far side of the huge room, lounging against a doorframe, was a tall brunette with glasses. From where he was, all Alec could tell was that she was kinda skinny and a bit dorkish, but that was about it.

The last person facing them was a black girl wearing what Alec considered the proper style for a girl, along with a purple streak through her hair. Like Lisa, she was standing about ten yards away, but along a different catwalk. She had a secretive grin about her mouth, and her hands were behind her back.

"Oh, hey," said Circus, clearly doing her best to sound unconcerned; Alec could feel the increase in tension from where he was. "Fancy meeting you here, Tattletale. Coil around? We just dropped in to get our payment."

"For trying to hunt me down?" There was an edge to Lisa's voice that made Alec want to roll his eyes. What part of 'just business' did she not understand? "Anyway, Coil's not here. He's been made surplus to requirements."

The implications of that statement made Alec blink twice in quick succession. "Wait, you killed him?" he blurted, in a moment of rare surprise.

"Not me, but yes. He's dead." Her voice was flat and hard. "I'm not inclined to honour any deals he had going on before I took over. You can take Regent and Bitch and leave now. That's the best deal you're going to get."

"No." Circus shook her head, anger leaking through into her voice. "I made a deal in good faith. I tolerated these two, kept them pointing in the right direction. I am owed that money."

"Then feel free to grab a shovel and start digging," called out the black girl impudently. "The bugs might not have eaten all of him yet."

Alec had to admit, she had a sense of humour that ran right alongside his, as muted as it might be. As for the rest of it, this was looking problematic. Lisa didn't look as though she were willing to disburse funds to any of them. His bank account was pretty healthy; but upping stakes and moving to a new town, then dealing with all the expenses of setting up anew, would pretty well drain it.

"Fuck," he muttered, then raised his voice. "Hey, Lise! You hiring? Experienced minion, right here!"

"What the fuck?" Circus stared at him. "What are you even trying to do?"

He shrugged. "Hey, it's one way to get paid."

"Alec," Lisa said politely. "I say this with all due respect and consideration for your difficult position, but you can just fuck off, right now."

Eh. That's fair, I guess.

"Screw this," said Rachel. "We're not getting paid, I'm out of here." She whistled briefly and tapped her leg to get her dogs' attention.

"No!" shouted Circus, her voice echoing from the concrete walls and ceiling. "God fucking damn it, no! I was hired to do a job that I didn't even want to do, and I was promised four times my standard pay for it, and I'm getting that fucking money if I have to hold you by the back of the neck and type in the passcodes with your fucking nose! I've earned that shit!"

"Four times?" Lisa tilted her head to one side. "Damn. That much? He really wanted me back, didn't he?"

"And I've earned every fucking cent of it!" Circus' voice was ragged with anger.

Alec didn't think he'd been that much of a pain to work with … well, maybe he had. A little bit, here and there. If anyone had been a real pain in the ass, it had been Rachel and her dogs.

"Not from me, you haven't." Lisa's tone was final.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Circus was well and truly pissed off now. "You've got access to Coil's funds! Just pay me what I'm owed, and I'll never come near you again!"

Alec had to admit, she'd held it together every time he'd pushed and prodded and tried to find her buttons. Meanwhile, Lisa had located them without even trying. He was honestly kind of jealous.

"Sorry." Lisa wasn't sorry; even Alec could tell that much. "We need that cash. All of it. Paying you would take just too big a bite out of it. Not worth the risk."

"Some of that money is mine!"

"Nope. It was Coil's, and now it's mine." Lisa smiled, showing her teeth and hooding her eyes. "Consider it a fucking-with-me tax."

"I'll show you a fucking-with-me tax!" Abruptly, Circus held a huge sledgehammer, decorated with streamers.

Oh, so we're fighting now? Okay, we're fighting. To be honest, Alec had gotten a little bored with the back-and-forth banter. He'd figured Circus and Lisa were either going to come to blows or make out, though Lisa didn't usually do the 'make out' thing. Still, there was always a first time.

Pulling his sceptre, he looked around for … there was someone he'd been going to tase with it. But the only one he could see who wasn't Lisa was all the way across the room. She hadn't moved, and didn't look like she was going to.

And then, as Circus launched herself forward … she didn't. Her leading leg flexed, pushing her upward and onward, and then basically failed to leave the catwalk in its turn. Losing her grip unceremoniously on the hammer, she performed a glorious pratfall. With a scream of rage she curled around; where the hammer had been, she suddenly held a road flare, which she ignited, then blew a huge burst of flame over the off-yellow cords holding her to the metal grating. They shrivelled and curled away, but before she could regain her feet, there was a crackling sound and a smell like ozone. She convulsed and dropped the road flare as she crumpled to the grating again.

Wait, was that me? I don't think it was me. Alec looked down at the sceptre he still held. No, it hadn't gone anywhere near Circus. Something distinctly weird was going on, and it wasn't his doing.

There was a creak from the catwalk and he looked around, to see that Rachel was growing her dogs after all. He wanted to roll his eyes, but there wasn't time. So much for wanting to get out of here.

While he was still trying to figure out what to do—Lisa and the tall brunette were still just standing there, not doing anything he could disrupt—Rachel shoved past him, the dogs following on. Each of them was just starting to get to the skin-splitting stage and were about chest-high. Not quite big enough to ride, but definitely big enough to fuck someone's day up.

Giving an ear-splitting whistle, Rachel pointed at Lisa. "Brutus! Fetch!" she commanded.

The dogs … did nothing. One sat down and began to lick its butt.

Rachel glared at them, whistled a second time, and pointed. "Angelina! Fetch!" she yelled.

One of the other dogs trotted up to Lisa, licked her hand, then lay down at her feet.

Alec stared in admiration. He'd thought Circus was pissed off, but Rachel's expression was downright apocalyptic. She drew in a deep breath, then subsided to her knees. Slowly, as though she really didn't want to do it but knew she had no choice, she slumped onto her side. Raucous snores arose.

Something twitched at Alec's hand, and he looked down. His sceptre, as yet unused, was no longer in his possession. It wasn't on his belt, and it wasn't in his hand. Neither had it fallen to the ground.

"Well, shit," he said. He raised his hands. "I'd, uh, I'd like to go now, please."

Lisa strolled forward, hands clasped behind her back. The dog trotted past her, already shrinking in size, and sniffed at Rachel. It lay down with its head over her shoulder as Lisa stepped past Circus' somnolent form.

"Yes," she said. "You will."

Alec didn't scare easily, but something in her eyes frightened the hell out of him.

<><>​

Taylor

Half an Hour Later

"Okay," said Lisa briskly. "Circus is in a cell until we can figure out what to do with her …"

"Amy could make her forget where this base is," Aisha suggested brightly.

"No." Amy and Lisa spoke at the same time.

I cleared my throat briefly. "Once we're finished and Vicky's back to normal, we could let Circus have the base. It's gotta be worth more than the pay that Coil owed her, right?"

Aisha made a rude noise with her lips. "Yeah, like a hundred times over. But what's she gonna do with a base? Anyway, I thought this was our base. We took it away from Coil fair and square."

"Taylor's the one who did the hard work," Lisa reminded her. "If anyone's got the most claim over it, it's her."

That was the signal for Aisha to turn to me, puppy-dog eyes at the ready. "Please please can we keep the base? I've never had a genuine supervillain base before. It's even got minion barracks!"

"And no minions to go in them," I reminded her. "We kicked Regent and Bitch out, remember?"

"Right before I changed the codes." Lisa was still grumpy about having forgotten to do that.

Still, even though Circus and the others had gotten in, Lisa had managed to keep them talking while I used spiders to web Circus' foot to the floor. Controlling Bitch's dogs had been a bit harder, but I'd managed that too. Bugs with knockout doses had done the rest after Aisha tased Circus and Bitch. Fortunately, Regent hadn't done much, and any time he'd been about to change that, I'd been able to nudge him back toward what seemed to be his natural state of apathy.

"This is the sort of base a megalomaniac goes with," Lisa said. "Not a normal person."

"Who says I'm normal?" Aisha crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out.

"Well, not any of us, that's for certain." Eric strolled out of the corridor leading to the stairs going down to the cellblock.

"Says the guy who dyes his hair blue," Aisha retorted. "How'd it go with Photon Mom?"

"Lady Photon, please." The hero herself followed her son out. "Or, as I'm out of costume, Sarah will do." She took a deep breath. "They've told me what happened. Amelia, how are you holding up?"

Amy's head jerked around at the sound of her name. "Uh … what?"

"Crystal and Eric explained what's been going on and Dean verified it, dear." Lady Photon's voice was warm and forgiving. "I can't exactly say you're without blame in the matter, but there's a lot of it to go around. Myself included, for not seeing this earlier." She went to where Amy was sitting and helped her up out of her chair. When her arms went around Amy to give her a proper hug, there might have been a tear in my eye.

"And that's why me and your dad decided to bring her along," Lisa said quietly to me. "Amy absolutely needs this."

"You know what sucks?" I asked, keeping my voice low enough that Amy couldn't hear me. "If her own mom was as much of a mother as Mrs. Pelham, maybe we wouldn't be in this at all."

"No maybe about it," Lisa confirmed. She took a deep breath as Lady Photon—I just couldn't bring myself to call her 'Sarah'—let Amy out of the hug. I thought I spotted tears in Amy's eyes too, but I wasn't about to say anything about it.

Next, Mrs. Pelham moved to where Vicky sat, lowering herself to one knee to bring herself down to her niece's level. "Hello, Vicky," she said softly. "How are you today?"

"Hello, Aunt Sarah." Vicky smiled happily. "It's good to see you. Is Uncle Neil here, too?"

"He'll be visiting soon," Mrs. Pelham assured her. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes, Aunt Sarah." Vicky pointed at Aisha. "This is Most Esteemed Aisha. She braids my hair for me. I like having my hair braided."

"Oh, you do, do you?" Mrs. Pelham gave Aisha a warm smile with just the slightest hint of an edge to it. I suspected that was because of the 'Most Esteemed' part. "That's very nice of you. Thank you for taking care of my niece."

"Oh, sure." Aisha gave her a guileless smile, the type she used when she was doing her best to con someone into thinking she was cute and harmless. I could've told her it was never going to work against Mrs. Pelham's mom senses, not after the woman had raised two teenagers. "Vicky's real nice. I'm hoping we get to hang out once this is all done and dusted."

That was also probably going to be a no-show, given the blood on everyone's hands. I'd murdered Madison and Coil, Aisha had killed Shadow Stalker, and even Lisa had ended the guy Coil had put in as her new team leader. But I didn't want to rain on Aisha's parade, so I said nothing. Mrs. Pelham nodded and smiled and made a non-committal noise.

"Okay," declared Lisa as the newest recruit in our little cabal took a seat next to Vicky. "Sarah, do you think you'll have any trouble bringing your husband along?"

"A lot less than we'll have with Carol," Mrs. Pelham said candidly. "Neil's smart. He'll listen to me, and he'll look at the situation, and he'll do the right thing. I'm not entirely sure Carol's listening to anything other than the voices in her head right now. I am worried that once she gets the full facts in hand, she's likely to become homicidal toward Amelia, even if we do save Vicky's personality."

I grimaced. "And we can't just leave her out of the mix, because she's one of the central people in Vicky's life. Like it or not, she's one of the people who knows Vicky the best."

"That information might be skewed though," Dean said, concern colouring his voice. "I mean, if she sees everything Vicky does through rose-tinted glasses, wouldn't that affect the memory recording?"

"I did think of that," Lisa assured him. "When I contacted Cranial, she informed me that every memory someone has of someone else has an emotional component. She's able to strip that out, or add more, as necessary. All we have to do is get a person with memories to her, and she'll do the rest."

"Wait, Cranial?" Dean frowned. "You guys mentioned that name earlier. You said she's a Toybox rogue. How can we even trust her?"

Lisa rolled her eyes. "See, this is why I think the PRT dropped the ball when they named rogues. There's criminal connotations built right into the name. Cranial works for money. Cold, hard, cash. We get everyone lined up and sitting in her chair, or however she copies the memories, and she'll do the rest." She shrugged. "Also, half up front and half when the job's done. So, there's the incentive right there."

Eric leaned forward. "So how do you know it'll really be Vicky again; after we're done, I mean?"

"It will and it won't," Lisa said. "But that's okay, because you aren't the you who walked into this base. You've had experiences that have subtly changed your view of the world. Vicky won't suddenly be a villain, or decide to go Goth, or whatever. She'll be the sum total of all the memories that everyone who goes through the process has of her. And who knows; there might be orphan fragments of personality in her brain right now that will weave right in and make the whole mix stronger. All I can say is, she'll be a whole lot closer to the Vicky you know than any amount of therapy by the PRT would manage."

"And she'll have the full memory of what I did to her," Amy's voice was steady and unwavering. "She's the one who gets to judge me on that. Not you, Aunt Sarah. Not Carol. Not Uncle Neil. And not the goddamn PRT. Vicky herself, once she is herself, is the only one I'm gonna allow to stand in judgement of me on that. And what she says, goes."

"But … won't she still love you?" asked Crystal.

"No." Amy shook her head. "If that's still in there, I'm going to ask Cranial to take it out before Vicky wakes up. She gets to know that she loved me, but not feel it. Feelings are what led to this whole fucked-up mess in the first place. It'll be impartial or not at all."

I glanced at Lisa. Vicky's going to kill her.

She looked back and me and nodded ever so slightly, then shrugged. It's probably what she wants.

As much as I wanted to, I couldn't argue with that. It was fucked up, but what in this whole situation wasn't?

As the discussion roved around the table for how we were going to contact Manpower and bring him into the fold, I let my awareness spread out through the bugs and rats and birds around the facility and outside. It might seem as though we were in the home stretch now, with the finish line almost in sight, but I wasn't going to let myself relax and take my eye off the ball (to mix a metaphor or two).

Now more than ever, Vicky's life and Amy's soul depended on the rest of us.

And I, for one, didn't intend to let either one of them down.


End of Part Eleven

 

[Ack]

One Bad Day

Part Twelve: Finalising the Collection

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

Dallon Household
Manpower

"Carol," Neil Pelham tried yet again. "Seriously. Why aren't we out there, looking for Sarah and the kids?" He glanced at the head of the PRT security detail. "No offence, but what can these guys do that you and I can't, if someone kicks in the door to try to abduct us?"

The agent lifted his chin. "Be awake. Call for backup and hold the line."

"Hold the line." Neil snorted. "You're almost adorable."

"Which is part of the plan," Carol snapped from across the room. Her eyes were still red-rimmed, and Neil wasn't sure she was hitting on all cylinders yet. "We have to stay here, in the house. That way, we're in one place and they can protect us. And in the case of an abduction attempt, they can call in backup and capture the kidnappers."

Neil looked over at Carol, who had a female agent sitting by her. There were three women in the detail, along with the three men assigned to watch over himself. Two of the agents were in the living room, two were upstairs asleep, and the last two were patrolling the house. He still felt he was missing something.

"I get it that you're protecting us," he said to the guy. "But if the PRT's willing to send six people to help us out because we're affiliated with the Protectorate, why haven't you insisted that we come back to the PRT building with you?"

The agent frowned slightly. "They didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" The feeling of having come in halfway through the movie intensified.

There was the hint of an eye-roll, though the guy was clearly too disciplined to let it go all the way. "You're a hard target for abduction, for several reasons. Brandish must have been seen too problematic to take at the time, possibly for the same reason. Whoever it is that's after you doesn't want to murder you, or Brandish might not have survived her run-in with Redflag. So, you're being dangled out here to tempt the kidnappers to try again. We're here to make sure they don't succeed."

Goddamn Piggot! Playing games with our lives like this! "What!?" he demanded, not bothering to keep his voice down. "The Director's using us as bait? Carol, did you know about this?"

"It was my idea," she retorted. "I floated it to Director Piggot and got the okay. If we make ourselves too difficult to get to, they might give up. But if we're here …"

It all made sense now. Piggot had been under intense pressure to keep the Wards safe after the Shadow Stalker debacle—of which Neil was convinced he hadn't heard all the details of either—so she was clearly willing to bend all the rules to get Gallant back any way she had to. But while it made sense, it didn't mean he liked it. Not in the slightest.

"Seriously, what the fuck?" He stood up from the armchair, towering over everyone else there. Normally, he felt slightly embarrassed doing that, but right now he couldn't give a shit. "Carol, we could be out there right now kicking heads and finding out where our kids are, where your sister is, and you're staking everything on a play like this? You realise Director Piggot doesn't give a damn about us, or the rest of New Wave, right? She's just going along with it to use us as the damn sacrificial goat!"

"I went out there!" she shrieked, jumping to her feet and facing him. "I went to the only damn place I could think of to get more information! And I got Sarah abducted!"

He stared at the red around her eyes and bellowed right back at her. "And how sober were you at the time?"

The fury in his voice hung in the air between them, but he recovered first. "Now that you're sober, we'll have each other's backs if we go out there again. Plus, when you went to Gallant's house, you weren't expecting trouble. It'll be a whole different ballgame, this time around."

"No." She shook her head. "We're not doing that. We're sticking to the plan."

He set his jaw stubbornly. "Your plan. Not my plan."

"That's right. My plan. In Sarah's absence, I'm team leader. And if you go out there alone, you're asking to be scooped up, just like Sarah and Gallant were. Yes, I want to be out there looking. But what are two more sets of eyes going to do?"

"Trust me, we have agents sweeping the city as we speak."

The PRT guy couldn't have interjected at a worse time. Neil swung around toward him. "Butt out! I've seen how efficient your sweeps are, and every villain in Brockton Bay's still out there!"

"Neil!" Carol's voice cut across his. "Gallant's disappearance has hit the PRT right where it hurts at the worst possible time. They're doing everything they can to find everyone. Trust me, whoever it turns out to be is looking at Birdcage time."

Neil found it no problem at all to feel zero sympathy for whoever it was that had taken his wife and kids. "I don't care what they do with them, so long as they get our family back safe." Even now, after he'd gone over it so many times in his head, mentioning their absence out loud made a lump grow in his throat.

Carol stepped closer. "And they're doing that. In the meantime, why don't you go and have a shower or something? You know, cool off."

Neil felt the quiet desperation of a strong man made powerless by events outside his control. He wanted to scream at them, but knew it would be both pointless and counterproductive. Instead, he moved restlessly on his feet, not wanting to sit down again. Furniture in the Pelham household was just a little larger, to accommodate his outsized frame, and he was just now beginning to notice the difference.

The agent gave him a querying glance. "Sir?"

"Fine. I'm going to the bathroom. Anyone want to check it for booby-traps first?"

"No, sir." The agent's tone was dry.

He stomped away from them, knowing they'd be nearby, but he wasn't sure if this was to keep him safe or make certain he didn't sneak out anyway. He didn't want to ask; some answers were best left unspoken. Besides, if he did end up leaving to look for Sarah and the kids, he didn't want to give the PRT—or Carol—advance warning.

He headed through the house to the downstairs bathroom and locked himself in. Leaning back against the door, he closed his eyes and let out a gusty sigh. It wasn't that he even needed to use the facilities; he just wanted a moment alone so he could gather his thoughts and plan his way forward.

And then he heard something splashing in the toilet bowl.

Frowning, he took a step forward and looked down to see a rat, paddling around and around in a circle. But that wasn't even the weirdest part. That would be the fact of the tiny harness it was wearing, which allowed it to tow behind it a cell-phone sealed in a plastic bag.

"What the hell?" He hadn't meant to say that out loud, but the words came out anyway.

"Is everything okay in there, sir?" It was one of the PRT agents, right outside the bathroom door.

Immediately, the rat shook its head vigorously, and looked like it was preparing to dive for the drain-hole. Worried it might leave and pissed off that the agents were shadowing him so closely, Neil gave vent to his frustration. "Fuck off! I'm busy!"

"Sorry, sir. Didn't mean to bother you."

But Neil wasn't listening. Leaning down, he reached into the toilet bowl; the rat, apparently divining his purpose, did something that cut the phone free of the harness and dived for the drain-hole. He scooped the sealed bag—it seemed to be just barely buoyant—from the water and stood there, staring at it. Inside the clear plastic was a note, wrapped around the phone.

He glanced once at the door, considering whether or not to let the PRT agents in on this latest development, then shook his head. They've been slightly less use than tits on a bull so far. Let's see what this is all about, first.

Opening the bag, he pulled out the note and unfolded it. The handwriting was Sarah's, he saw immediately.

Hi, huggy-bear …

Tears sprang to his eyes. That was the nickname she only used with him, and only when they were alone. It made her presence almost palpable, and he re-read the three words several times before going to the rest of the note.

First off: I am not a prisoner. I'm not a hostage, either. The kids are here, and we're all safe. Nobody's in danger. We are not being kept against our will.

He stopped, and stared at the wall. After the emotional roller-coaster of the last day, it was hard to take in. Not in danger? Not prisoners? Why haven't they just contacted us, then? Why all the rigmarole with a rat and a phone? And who trains a rat to deliver a phone, anyway?

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he looked down at the note again. Maybe there were answers to his questions there.

Do NOT tell Carol or the PRT about this note or this phone. There is something going on that we're trying to sort out, but it's nothing that the authorities can do anything about and involving them will make it actively worse. Carol can't know either, not until we're ready to bring her in on it. She will absolutely make it worse if she's told at the wrong time.

Honey, I know this all sounds very mysterious, and there's a certain lack of important details. That's deliberate, in case Carol or the PRT find this note. We're giving you twenty minutes from getting this phone to get somewhere you can talk without being overheard, then I'll be calling you to fill you in on the rest of the situation.

If you can't talk, decline the call and we can send texts instead.

Love you, huggy-bear.

Sarah.

PS: Carol, if you find this note, I'm sorry that we couldn't bring you in straight away but you're not exactly rational these days. It's all for a really good cause.

PPS: If it's Director Piggot reading this note: Emily, we both know that you'd do your best to take control of the situation, and that's exactly why I'm not contacting you. Gallant is safe and healthy, and is assisting us of his own free will, and that's all I can tell you.

He re-read the note three times, even turning it over to see if there was anything more, but that was it. Holding it up to the light didn't reveal any pin-holes over significant letters or other secret messages within the message.

His choice now was to either do what the note said or to hand both note and phone over to the PRT immediately. He knew what Carol and the agent in charge would want … but that wasn't what Sarah needed him to do.

If Sarah even wrote the note.

The handwriting, the phrasing, even the pet name … it all shouted Sarah! to him. And he could always go to them after the phone call, if he didn't like what he heard. Taking a deep breath, he nodded to himself.

Yeah. Trust, but verify.

Refolding the note, he slid it into his pocket along with the phone, still in its plastic bag. Then he flushed the toilet noisily and made a show of washing his hands and splashing water on his face. The latter he'd actually needed, though he hadn't realised it until now.

Emerging from the bathroom, Neil gave the agent a sour look. He hadn't forgotten the way he'd been right outside the door before. "I'm going upstairs to lie down," he said bluntly. "Seeing as how there's nothing else constructive I can do around here right now."

"Understood, sir." The agent stood back out of the way as Neil headed for the stairs. Faintly, he heard the guy telling everyone on the radio net what was going on, but he didn't care at the moment.

Nobody followed him upstairs, and the spare bedroom had been checked over several times since he'd more or less moved into the house, so he expected no issues when he closed the door behind him. Still, he didn't want to be disturbed, so he picked up the chest of drawers and placed it up against the door, careful to make no noise.

Satisfied nobody was going to barge in, he kicked off his loafers and lay down on the bed. After a moment, he got up on one elbow and examined the clock/radio until he'd figured out how to turn the radio part on just enough to provide background noise. Then he rolled over to face the wall.

Carefully, he took the phone and note from his pocket again. The bedroom light was off, but there was enough light coming in through the window for him to read it. It was a tangible link to Sarah, and he lost himself in the handwriting while he waited for the twenty minutes to be up.

Please be true.

Please don't be a trick.

<><>​

Taylor
One Block Away

"Ugh." I rubbed my temples. "That took forever."

"We can go now?" asked Aisha, clipping the side engine cover back on the motorbike and picking up the tools she'd strewn artistically around.

"Yeah." I took out my phone. "Just as soon as I make this call. But can we go slower this time?"

Aisha grinned. "No promises."

<><>​

Coil's Old Base
Lady Photon

Lisa's phone rang and she answered it promptly. "Yeah. Okay, he has? He did? He is? Excellent. I'll let her know."

She ended the call and turned to Sarah, her usual secretive smirk now a beaming smile. "You'll be pleased to know that your husband is on the ball. He finally went into the bathroom, about five minutes ago. Taylor says it only took half an hour of nudging. If she gets headaches like I do, we might have to break out the extra-strength Tylenol."

"Well?" asked Sarah, as Lisa paused teasingly. "What did he do? Has he got the phone? Did he read the note?"

Lisa grinned, her snark back in full force. "Yeah, he's got it, and he's read the note. Taylor's power just registered him going upstairs. So, Operation Manpower Ahoy is a go."

Sarah checked the time on the phone she was holding. Fifteen minutes to go.

I hope he paid attention to the instructions. Carol means well, but she'd be like a wrecking ball to our plans right now.

<><>​

Manpower

There wasn't any more than thirty seconds to go by Neil's estimation when he heard a light tap on the bedroom door. "Neil?" It was Carol's voice.

Shit. He debated inwardly what to do. If he didn't say anything or pretended to be asleep, she'd try to open the door anyway. "What?" Reaching over, he turned the radio down.

The latch clicked and he heard the door handle scraping against the back of the chest of drawers as it turned. "I just wanted to say I'm sorr—why isn't the door opening?"

"Because I put a chest of drawers in front of it. What do you want?"

"Why did you do that?"

"Because I didn't want to be disturbed. What do you want?"

He heard her take a breath to compose herself. "I came up here to apologise for yelling at you. Can you let me in so we can talk about it?"

"No." He felt that was a little curt, so he kept talking. "I'm trying to have a nap. Maybe when I wake up, I might feel like it."

"You're still mad at me, aren't you?"

Fuck, I do not need this conversation right now.

"You unilaterally floated this plan with the Director—involving my family—without consulting me. What do you think?"

There was a pause. "Okay, I'll leave you to it. I'm still sorry, and we'll talk later when you're feeling better."

"Yeah, you do that." He turned back to face the wall as her footsteps retreated down the corridor.

The phone in his hand buzzed just as he turned the radio back up again.

He froze, just long enough for it to buzz twice more, then he swiped the green icon and held it to his ear. "Hello?" he whispered. "Sarah?"

"Geez, I thought you were never going to pick up," she answered teasingly. Tears of relief sprang to his eyes as she continued. "Yes, it's me. I'm fine, just like the note said. The kids are fine too. Here, Eric. Say hi to your dad."

The phone was passed to someone else, then he heard his son's voice, cheerful and upbeat. "Hey, Dad. I'm good. Crystal's still Crystal, so that's a problem." There was a distant hey! and Eric blew a raspberry. "Uh, gotta go. Here's Mom. Bye!"

Sarah's voice came back on the line, laughter in her voice. "Me again. So yeah, the kids are all physically healthy, Amy and Vicky included. But Vicky's not actually okay, which is why all the secrecy and running around kidnapping people."

Neil could literally feel the tension leaching out of his body at the sound of his wife's voice. She was alive and well, and clearly in good spirits, and so were the kids. Thank God. Except Vicky, which didn't sound good. He'd never seen anything get through Vicky's shield.

"Gallant?" he asked quietly, having to swallow a couple of times to clear his throat. "Is he part of this, too? Because of Vicky?"

"Very much so," Sarah confirmed. "He's here and he's fine as well. So, here's the thing. Due to a series of catastrophic misjudgements that we don't need to go into right now, Vicky is now partially amnesiac. Basically, she's forgotten most of who she is. Fingers can be pointed and blame apportioned later, but to make a long story extremely short, we're gathering together everyone who knows her, so we can use our accumulated memories of her to rebuild her memories of herself, and bring her back."

Neil blinked, working through a series of deep breaths. Okay. That was … considerably different to what he'd thought was going on. "Who's the red-headed girl?" he asked. "Carol says she had some sort of sneaky Blaster or Shaker attack. And why can't we just put this in the hands of the PRT so they can make it happen without all the under-the-table stuff?"

"Because like I said in the note, they'll take charge and utterly screw up the whole plan that we've put together." Sarah drew in a deep breath. "Carol's not in possession of all the facts; neither do I believe that she's in her right mind at the moment. I love her dearly, but right now I wouldn't put her in charge of a lemonade stand. And as for the girl, she's an accidental ally, one who's as dedicated to fixing Vicky's problem as I am."

As much as Neil hated to say it, Sarah's summation of Carol's mental state was probably closer to reality than he wanted to admit. "What about Amy? I know she says she can't do brains, but maybe if she really tried …"

"She has, and she can't." Sarah paused for a long moment. "If we're going to do this properly, we're going to need you and your memories of Vicky. So, can you break away from your minders and come meet us?"

"Well, yeah …." Then he paused as inspiration struck. "No, no, wait a minute. I just had a better idea."

"What? What better idea? What do you mean?" Sarah sounded uncertain.

"You're gonna need Carol, right?" Of course they were going to need Carol. She would have the most memories of Vicky out of everyone. "And she's gonna be the hardest sell of them all. She'll argue until the sun goes down and still be defending her point when it comes up again. So, I'm gonna stay right where I am. When you come to get her, I'll be your guy on the inside."

There was a long pause on Sarah's end. "That's brilliant. I love it. I love you. Okay, yes, we can definitely do it that way."

He grinned crookedly at the happiness in her tone. "You realise, I'm still going to have to put you over my knee for scaring the crap out of me like that."

Her tone was pure sultry siren. "If we pull this off, you can do whatever you want to me … stud." Then she burst out laughing.

"What?" he demanded, working to keep his voice down. "What's so funny?"

She was still giggling when she answered. "There are six teenagers here, who all just mimed gagging at the same time. I've still got it."

Despite himself, a smirk crossed his lips. "You never lost it, babe."

"Nor did you, huggy-bear. Gonna hang up now. Take care, okay?"

"Always. Love you."

"Love you, too."

The call ended, and he shoved the phone deep into his pocket again and relaxed into the mattress. It was amazing what a difference a five-minute phone call could make in his life. Gone were the anger and fear occasioned by his wife and kids being abducted. There was still the worry about Vicky's well-being, but there was a plan that Sarah was involved with, so it had to be a good one.

He had no idea how they were going to access everyone's memories, but Sarah had sounded confident that they were and he trusted his wife implicitly, so there was clearly some way it was possible. All he had to do was keep his eyes open and make his move at the right time, and hopefully everything would turn out okay.

The trick, he decided, was figuring out how to get Carol away from everyone else.

That was going to be a problem, but he figured he had time to find a solution.

<><>​

Taylor

"Okay, he's in." Sarah smiled broadly as she put the phone down. "And by that, I mean he's on board with what we're doing, but he's going to stay with Carol until the time comes to grab her up. The phrase he used was 'our man on the inside'."

"That's amazing," I said, and meant it. Everyone else had taken a certain amount of talking to before they came around to the idea. Mrs. Pelham had just … told her husband what was going on, and he'd gone right along with it. "How did you convince him so quickly?"

"Thank you, Taylor dear," she said with a beaming smile. "But there's no real secret to it. Neil and I have been married for twenty years. He knows when I'm being serious about something."

"Trust me when I say that's not always the case." Lisa raised her eyebrows briefly. "But I have to say, from what I've seen of your marriage, you've got the real deal there."

"Okay, yeah, great." Amy dropped into the seat next to mine. "Aunt Sarah's great, Uncle Neil's on board, literally nobody in the room is surprised. News at eleven."

"Whoa, whoa, Amy girl. A-game. Amester. Chillax, seriously." Aisha made time-out gestures. "I'm the one whose job it is to make with the dark snark. Don't go trompin' on my deal there. Okay?"

Amy blinked as though trying to decipher Aisha's rapid-fire delivery, then slumped with a defeated sigh. "Right. Sorry. It's just …"

She didn't need to finish what she was saying. I put my arm around her and she rested her head on my shoulder with something approaching a sob. "Hey, it's okay," I said quietly. "We've got this. Did you have that list of Vicky's friends we need to pick up?"

"Mm-hmm." She pulled out a folded sheet of paper and handed it to me. "I was getting Vicky to tell me their names and addresses, and just listening to her …" Her voice broke again. There were definitely tears in her eyes by now.

"Well, we're going to get this sorted, and then she can yell at you all she wants," Lisa declared. "How many names on that list?"

Awkwardly, using one hand—my other arm was still occupied with comforting Amy—I opened the sheet and looked at it. "Seven. Doable tonight?"

"Definitely doable tonight," Lisa agreed. She shuffled through several sheets of paper in front of her, then tapped one with her fingernail. "Okay, so let's change things up. Manpower's resourceful, able to adapt to new circumstances, right?"

"He ought to be," Lady Photon said with a slight smile, buffing her nails on her blouse. "He married me, after all."

"Good." Lisa's tone indicated that she'd expected nothing less. "Message him. Let him know we're coming over now to pick him and Brandish up. Best case, he gets out of there without letting the agents call for help. The more hang time we have before they lock down the area—and once they find out we've grabbed the last two members of New Wave, they will have roadblocks from Downtown clear out to Captain's Hill—the better. We do not want Velocity peering in through the car window before we're halfway back here. Can do?"

Lady Photon nodded, her expression serious now. "Can do."

Lisa looked at me. "Taylor, how's your head?"

"It's fine," I said warily. "Why?" The headache that had closed down after I pushed myself to influence Manpower had eased off, thankfully. I no longer felt like a gorilla was clamping a vise down over my temples. This, I suspected, was not going to be the case for much longer.

She gave me a sympathetic look. "I'm going to need you to be riding in the vehicle that picks up Manpower." There were several such vehicles parked in an underground parking garage. "Anything you can do to dissuade pursuit would be useful."

"I can supply you with birds and rats to disable vehicles and distract them at the right time," Amy said quietly. "You can do birds and rats all day, right?"

"I can, yeah." Birds and rats were a much easier proposition than people.

Lisa nodded. "Okay, so that's the Manpower pickup sorted. Now, once we've got the kids secured, I'll contact Cranial. If her reputation's anything to go by, we'll be set up and ready to roll by four hours after that."

"The sooner the better," Amy warned her, straightening up from my shoulder. "Carol's going to need to be sedated just so she doesn't try to kill me once she finds out what's going on. I don't want to have to keep her under any longer than absolutely necessary." She looked around at the rest of us, then over at Gallant. "Also, the longer we take to finish this off, the higher the chance Director Piggot will decide to bring in the big guns to look for you."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." Gallant—Dean—was actually a pretty nice guy, once I got to know him. He was friendly and self-effacing, and came the closest I'd seen yet to matching his personality to his cape persona. "I still think I could've dropped her a message on the quiet to let her know I hadn't been kidnapped for real."

"Wouldn't have worked," Lisa advised him, then looked over at where Lady Photon and Aisha had each said exactly the same thing. "Okay, you two. I know how I came to that conclusion. How did you guys figure it out?"

"Emily Piggot's an ex-assault trooper," Mrs. Pelham said bluntly. "She's been in the hot seat in the PRT ENE for ten years now, but when push comes to shove, she's military to the core. She doesn't do 'look the other way'. If you contacted her, she would flat-out refuse to take your word that everything's okay, until you came clean to her with everything. Then, because you're a Ward and you're involved, she'd do her best to leverage herself into the control seat, take over, and do what she figures is the right course of action. Which would be first to make sure there's zero backlash to the PRT. Secondly, to ensure that New Wave is beholden to the PRT. And Vicky's welfare would come last in line. Probably therapy to rebuild some kind of personality from what's been left behind. What she wouldn't do is go to a rogue who also deals with villains, especially if it would cost the PRT significant money in the process."

"Wow, huh," Aisha remarked. "I was just gonna say she's a bureaucrat, and they fuck everything up."

Lisa shrugged. "Well, you're not wrong," she conceded, then turned to Lady Photon. "Not a bad analysis. You just left out the bit where the Director hates capes, probably because a cape did her dirty back in the day. So, while she won't deliberately screw Vicky over with cheap therapy, she certainly won't go out of her way to make sure Vicky gets the best of the best, either."

Dean grimaced. "Are you sure you aren't being a bit unfair on her? I mean, sure she's a hardass but she needs to be, with her job."

"I admire your loyalty," Lisa said, sincerely as far as I could tell. "But there comes a time when you need to look at things realistically. And realistically speaking? Vicky's well-being is nowhere near as important to your boss as the PRT's image is. She'll do what looks good, not what's best for Vicky. Look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong."

"I can't." Dean shook his head. "But what if I contacted my family to let them know I'm okay? They could pass it on to the Director."

"Even I can tell that one wouldn't work," I said. "She wouldn't take it seriously unless she was speaking to you directly, and then she'd work at pressuring you to tell her exactly what's going on, or just extracting you from the situation. Because no adult likes to think they couldn't do a better job at being in charge than some kid." I glanced at Mrs. Pelham. "No offence."

"None taken," she said serenely. "I'm not sure what sort of arrangements I could've made if I'd come into this blind, and I still have reservations about dealing with rogue capes, but I can't think of a better way to bring Vicky back to us. You and your friends have done an impressive job so far of arranging matters, so I'm willing to pitch in and make sure your plan works."

I felt Amy relax against me, very slightly. "And that's why I love her," she murmured in my ear.

For my part, I could definitely see why she had the nickname 'Photon Mom'. If anyone possessed the suitable temperament to be the mother of teenagers, it was Mrs. Pelham. "Yeah," I agreed.

"Okay," declared Lisa. "If you want to send that message now, Mrs. Pelham, Taylor can go out with Crystal to pick up your husband. They can take the silver SUV. It's the one that's least like Danny's car. Crystal?"

"Sure," said Laserdream from where she was sitting with Vicky. "Can someone come relieve me here? We're in the middle of a game of pattycake, then I think she'll want her hair braided."

"I can do that," Aisha offered with a grin. "Nobody braids her hair like I do. Do they, Vicky?"

"No, Most Esteemed Aisha," Vicky agreed. "I like how you braid my hair."

Eric, sitting near me, shook his head slightly. "That will never not be weird," he murmured.

It seemed Laserdream was of the same mind. "We'll be done by this time tomorrow, right? We'll have her back?"

"That's the plan." Lisa's voice was confident, but I could see the way she had her fists clenched, the knuckles showing white. The tension was getting to her as well. "We'd better get what sleep we can, and once you two get back, you'd better do the same. We'll be heading out after sundown to do the collections, and then we've got to make sure nothing gets in the way of what Cranial is doing. It's going to be a very long night."

I wished Dad was there for extra support, but we couldn't risk him not being contactable even once if the PRT turned up for a random sweep, so he was at home for the duration. Hopefully, once we had Vicky's situation sorted out, we could then get to work on mine.

Just so long as nothing else goes wrong.

<><>​

Circus

The torsion bar lost its purchase inside the lock, and Circus cursed luridly under her breath as the mechanism snapped back into place. The lock was just a little bigger than she was used to, with extra security mechanisms that made it harder to seat the torsion bar just right and to move the rake properly. She almost suspected Coil of having had the cells designed to make it harder for people who might smuggle in lockpicks and the like.

Did he specifically plan to have me locked in here at some point, or was he just preparing for the possibility?

Sending the picks back to her personal hammerspace, she considered the other items within it. Road flares, not so useful right now; a spare set of clothing, which would come in handy if she could ever get out of here but not until then; a set of throwing knives, which she could absolutely carom through the feeding slot to nail whoever brought her food, though that wouldn't be totally wise if she then couldn't get the keys ...

I've got no real choice.

Taking out the picks again, she inserted them into the lock. If she kept trying, sooner or later she'd get the damn lock open. And then, Tattletale was going to find out why nobody stiffed Circus.

Nobody.

<><>​

The Dallon Household
Ten Minutes Later
Manpower

Careful not to scrape the wall or damage the chest of drawers, Neil picked the heavy piece of furniture up and moved it back to its original position. The phone was back in his pocket, and he'd figured out what he had to do. Carol was going to be utterly pissed with him after the fact; but as the saying went, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.

Ironically, the solution to his problem had been supplied all unaware by Carol herself. Sarah had given her sister a bunch of sleeping pills a few years ago when she was having issues with pushing herself too hard day after day, but to Neil's understanding Carol hadn't been taking them. According to Sarah, they were still sitting in the master bedroom ensuite medicine cabinet, in the original packaging.

Edging the door open, he peeked around the jamb, finding to his relief that nobody was in the corridor. This could change at any moment, so he stepped out and pulled the door closed quietly behind him. As a large man in the superhero game, he'd long since learned how to move quietly; the last thing he wanted was for the bad guys to hear him coming before he could get his hands on them. The floorboards creaked under his weight, but not unreasonably so. Still, by the time he got to the main bedroom door, he was imagining Carol and the PRT agents peering at the ceiling and wondering what he was doing up there.

As he laid his hand on her door handle, he worried for a moment that she might've locked it. This wouldn't stop him for more than a second or so, but breaking the lock would make noise that he couldn't afford. Holding his breath, he turned the handle. It moved smoothly and the door clicked open.

He breathed again.

Pushing the door open, he ducked inside and pulled it shut behind him. Now he was on the clock, in more ways than one. His pickup was on the way; but he also didn't dare get caught in Carol's bedroom. In order for the plan to work, he needed to be in and out before anyone saw him.

Moving through to the ensuite, he flicked the light on and opened the wall cabinet. Minor household medications met his gaze, but no sleeping pills showed themselves. "Come on, come on …" he murmured to himself. "Where are you?"

Shoving a bottle of aspirin and a tube of antiseptic cream aside, he reached deeper into the cabinet. A jar full of Q-tips was in the way, so he nudged that to one side as well. For a moment, he thought his search was in vain, then he spotted the corner of a box that had been pushed all the way to the back.

Stretching his hand over the intervening obstacles, he snagged the lurking box with two fingers and lifted it out. The logo of a popular brand of sleeping pill met his eyes, and he heaved a sigh of relief. Shoving the box into his pocket alongside the phone, he closed the cabinet again and crept back to Carol's bedroom door. Though to him it felt like he'd been in there searching for hours, it could only have been a matter of minutes.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and he jolted into action. Stepping smoothly out through the door, he closed it as quickly as he dared, letting the lock tongue slide back into the slot without a sound. As the noise reached the top of the staircase, he took three long strides to the door of the spare room. Grabbing the door handle, he opened it quickly, then pulled it shut with a distinct c-click.

The PRT team leader came around the corner and nodded to him. "Feeling better, sir?"

"Much," he acknowledged. "Sorry for that display, earlier. That wasn't exactly a good look for the team."

The PRT guy shrugged sympathetically. "We're all under a certain amount of stress, sir. It happens."

"Well, I'm going down to make myself a cup of coffee." Neil tried to make his tone casual. "Would you and your people like some, too?"

"I wouldn't say no to a cup of joe, sir." The agent nodded in appreciation. "We need to be as alert as we can."

"That's true. We do." Firmly quashing any and all qualms of guilt—according to Sarah, the PRT did not have the full story and would absolutely screw things up if they did—he headed downstairs.

Making the coffee was a calming ritual for him. Halfway through, Carol wandered in to see what was happening. "Hey," she said quietly. "I just want to say sorry for … well, you know."

He shrugged, much as the PRT agent had. "Stress happens. Want one? I can bring it out to you."

She paused for a moment, looking at him, and he feared she had seen something in his expression or heard it in his voice. But she tilted her head slightly and smiled. "I'd like that, thanks, Neil. That would be very nice."

After she wandered out again, he took out the packet of sleeping pills. It was still sealed, never opened despite how long ago Sarah had given them to Carol. Opening it quietly was easy; popping the pills out of their plastic-and-aluminum prisons took a little more care.

He didn't bother crushing them with a spoon; squeezing them between finger and thumb did the trick. Stirring the powder into each of the five cups out of the six he was making was easy. One pill went into each, then he frowned and went around the cups putting a second one in. Then a third. Finally, recalling how fit and healthy the PRT agents were, he crushed a fourth one into each cup, hoping the extra sugar he was adding would mask the taste. He couldn't put any more in, as that was the end of the packet and he wasn't about to head upstairs and look for more.

"Coffee's up," he announced, heading out into the living room with a tray holding five in one hand, and his un-dosed cup in the other.

The PRT agents converged on him, each taking a cup. Carol favoured him with a smile as she took the last one, then sipped it and rolled her eyes. "Wow, do you always prefer it this strong? Do you sleep at night ever?"

"I want to be on the ball if they come for us," he said seriously.

After a moment, she nodded in agreement and took another sip. "Well, you're not wrong. And this does have a definite kick to it."

Neil took the tray back to the kitchen, then forced himself to sit in the living room and pretend to watch TV while surreptitiously keeping tabs on his sister-in-law and the PRT agents in the room. It seemed to take forever before Carol started to yawn and stretch, but soon after the agents began to droop a little as well. When the first snore arose, Neil slid the phone from his pocket and sent a single text. Now.

Standing up, he moved over to where Carol was slumped on the sofa beside the female agent. Picking her up, he headed toward the front door. Without pausing in his stride, he opened the door and stepped outside, just as the silver SUV pulled up at the curb.

Crystal leaned across from the driver's side seat and waved through the window, and he smiled.

<><>​

Later That Night
Holland Household

Stella Holland was upstairs doing her homework and wondering where Vicky Dallon was—she was usually the life of the party when they gathered in the cafeteria at lunch, and she hadn't shown up for days—when her mother called from downstairs.

"Stella! There's someone here to see you!"

There was a note of excitement in her mother's voice that she'd rarely heard before, so she closed her books and trotted down the stairs to see what was going on. In the living room, she was surprised to see not Vicky or even Amy, but the other New Wave kids and their mom. She didn't know Crystal or Eric anywhere near as well as she knew Vicky, but she'd met them a couple of times. And of course everyone in Brockton Bay knew Lady Photon.

"Oh, wow, hi," she said, trying to be chill but fully aware she was anything but. "What's up? Is this about Vicky?"

Lady Photon smiled, as though Stella had just passed a test she hadn't known she was taking. "As a matter of fact, it is," she said. "You might have noticed she hasn't been around the last few days?" Pausing, she gave Stella an expectant look.

"Well, yeah." Stella paused, not sure what else to say. "What's going on? Where is she?"

"I'm glad you asked." Lady Photon lowered her voice conspiratorially. "She's been getting ready for an upcoming event, one that she's specifically invited you to attend. It's a cape thing, which is why we couldn't spread it around that it was happening."

"Is it a birthday party? I bet it's a birthday party." Stella had heard chapter and verse about how capes tried to hide their ages, especially among the Wards. She'd never been invited to one of these before. Shit, what am I going to wear?

"Good guess." Lady Photon beamed at her. "Now, I'm really sorry at the short notice, but it's actually tonight." She rolled her eyes almost theatrically. "Blame the organisers for moving up the schedule without telling anyone."

"T-tonight?" Stella stared at her, then turned to her mother. "Mom, can I still go? Please? This is the first cape birthday party I've ever been invited to."

"Hmm ... I don't know." Her mother looked dubious. "Have you finished your homework?"

"Totally," Stella replied, lying through her teeth. She could always do it on the bus into school, in the morning.

Still, her mother didn't look convinced. "When does the party finish? And how many people are coming? Are there going to be chaperones?"

Lady Photon fielded the questions with grace and aplomb. "We'll be done by ten at the latest. And no more than twenty people, all told. Most of these will be capes, showing up for the event. As for chaperones, if you wanted to come along yourself, you're welcome to do so."

"I ... suppose." Suddenly flustered, Stella's mother looked down at herself. "I'm hardly dressed to attend a party."

"It's due to start when everyone is there," Lady Photon explained. "If you wanted to take a little time to get ready, I still need to speak to everyone else on the invitation list, then we can come back and pick you up. Would that be more acceptable?"

Stella didn't dare speak, but she stared at her mother, willing her to say yes. Please, please, please, please ...

Eventually, her mother nodded. "I don't suppose it will do any harm, just this once." She smiled. "It's been awhile since I've been to a birthday party. Are we expected to bring presents?"

"Oh, no, no." Lady Photon shook her head with an answering smile. "Just being there is all the present they'll need. It's a very private affair."

"Oh. That's nice. So, you'll be back to pick us up in ..." Her mother's eyes went introspective for a moment. "... An hour?"

Lady Photon nodded. "An hour would be just fine." She beamed at Stella. "We'll see you then."

Stella watched as they went out through the front door, then took off into the night sky. She turned to her mother. "Thank you thank you thank you!" she enthused. "You're the best mom ever!"

"Well, it's not every day we get invited to a cape birthday party, dear." Her mother raised her eyebrows. "We've got an hour."

"Crap!" Stella turned and dashed up the stairs. Time to see just how fast she could get ready for a party.

<><>​

Laserdream

As they flew away from the house, Crystal turned to her mother. "No offence, Mom, but I am never going to trust another word out of your mouth again."

"Speak for yourself." Eric laughed out loud. "That was the coolest thing I ever saw. You just lied your head off without saying a thing that wasn't true."

Sarah chuckled a little as well. "Children, take a lesson. The best way to get away with lying is to cultivate a reputation for being up-front and straightforward. So, who's next on the list?"

Crystal pulled the folded paper from her pocket and played light from her fingertip over it. "Britney Matheson. I know where she lives."

"Excellent. Take us there."

And away they soared, into the night.

Down below, a block away from the Holland house, Aisha's motorcycle pulled away from the curb and followed along behind.



End of Part Twelve

 

[Ack]

One Bad Day

Part Thirteen: Make Your Own Luck

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


Toybox
Cranial

"… okay, just reminding you, this is going to be a premium-rate job," Lil warned. "Seventy-five percent up front, and I keep fifty percent even if it falls through."

The girl on the other end of the phone call sighed; more in resignation than anything else, Lil judged. "Yeah, got it. Is there any way we can bring that down a little? I can cover it, but any discount's a good discount, you know?"

This was familiar ground for Lil, but she had to go over it every single time. "You could come to me instead of me going to you. That would zero out the travel cost and halve the security outlay. Reducing the number of memory sets I'm going to have to juggle would knock it down some as well. And I always charge more for involving unwilling subjects. My gear is delicate."

"You're just reading from them, not implanting memories. And most of them aren't capes, so there's a lot less chance of damaging your equipment." Tattletale was clearly trying to be persuasive. "And we can't tell them what's up, because—"

"Listen, I don't care about your hero-villain bullshit," Lil said impatiently. "The one who's getting the memory implant, the cape. Is she fully cognizant and aware of what's going to happen, and in full agreement with it?"

"Ah." It seemed Tattletale was finally on the same page. "Well, she's not against it, and it should be relatively easy to get her to sit still for the procedure—"

"Not the same thing." Lil had learned to be blunt, because otherwise people kept thinking they could argue her around. "If you can't cut any of that back, then the price stands. Can you pay?"

This time, the sigh was all resignation. "I'm sending the Number Man the authorisation to verify my ability to pay. He should be contacting you soon."

"Good." Lil banked with the Number Man herself. When it came to money matters, he was the platinum standard. "Once I've got that, I'll contact you back and arrange for my arrival there. Just remember: if there's any interruptions in the memory withdrawal or implantation process, it can easily cause ongoing problems later on. So security has to be rock-solid at your end."

"Wait, I thought you said I was paying for you to arrange security."

Lil rolled her eyes. "My security will be there to protect me and my equipment, and ensure I can duck and run if I have to. Your security will be there to make sure nobody interrupts, and to ensure I don't have to duck and run. Can you arrange that?"

Tattletale muttered something about 'pound of flesh closest to my heart' but didn't protest more strenuously. "Yeah, we got this. Several capes on site with a strong motivation for this to succeed. Good enough?"

"We'll have to see, won't we? I'll call you back once Number Man's contacted me." Lil ended the call then sat back, rubbing her forehead.

It sounded like a weird job. She didn't like weird jobs. They went places she wasn't necessarily comfortable with, there were usually complications of one sort or another, and the clients nearly always managed to avoid passing on details that would've been handy to know before commencement.

But she'd set her prices high for a reason, and she had no actual excuse for turning this one down. Plus, one of the drawcards for Toybox was that they got the job done. This was one of the reasons people kept coming back. And having a bad feeling about something wasn't necessarily a solid reason to drop it sight unseen.

Anyway, that was why she'd demanded extra for security.

Standing up, she headed out of her lab into the common area. Glace was there, watching TV with a hot chocolate in hand. "Hey," her fellow Tinker greeted her. "That job come through?"

Lil nodded. "Yeah. Premium rates, too."

"Woo!" Glace pumped her fist in the air. One-third of all fees got shared with the other members of Toybox; it was in their charter. So a win for one was a win for all. "Nicely done."

"Thanks. Dodge and Pyrotechnical around?"

"In their labs, as far as I know. Let me know how it turns out." Glace went back to watching TV.

"Will do." Lil moved on and poked her head into Dodge's workshop.

The kid was doing something finicky with a circuit-board, so she waited. Eventually, he straightened up from the magnifier, which she took as an opportunity to clear her throat. It was better, in her opinion, to not startle her colleagues while they were messing with things that could bend the very fabric of space-time into a pretzel.

"Oh, hi," he said, glancing around. "What's up?"

"That transport job I told you about the other day. Can we be ready to roll in thirty minutes?" With the amount of work ahead of her, it was going to take a while to get set up at the far end, and she wanted plenty of wiggle room.

His eyes went distant behind his goggles for a moment. "Uh, sure. Just your travel chair?"

"Plus a dozen or so extra memory modules and the processor unit," she said, and grimaced. "It's one of those complicated jobs." She was going to have to work hard to make sure all the modules she needed were in working order and packed safely for the trip to Brockton Bay, but that was why she'd arranged for the wiggle room.

"Wait, how are we carrying the modules?" Dodge looked momentarily worried. "They're fairly heavy, aren't they?"

"And fragile," Lil confirmed. Normally, when people came to her, she had a throne-like affair she sat the subjects down in, with a full sense-dep helmet that came down over the head onto the shoulders. It was only portable in the technical sense, requiring a forklift or pallet-jack to move it from one place to another. It also incorporated enough built-in memory modules to store the full brain-scans of two dozen people. "But I'm going to ask Pyrotechnical to come along as security, so he can maybe give us a hand."

Her 'travel chair' was a lot lighter (and more fragile), but had the supreme advantage of weighing not much more than a standard office chair. The helmet that came with it only covered the top half of the head with an opaque drop-down visor; Glace had jokingly likened it to a hairdresser's drying accessory, so now they called it the Hair Dryer as an in-joke. Its one big drawback was that it held no integral memory modules, but those could easily be carried along and plugged in. However, as Dodge had noted, they were heavy (and fragile).

"Yeah, that'll help," Dodge agreed. He put his thumb to his lips and chewed on the nail for a moment. "With everything we need to take along, the eight-by-eight is too small. We'll go with the sixteen instead. Roller bags for the modules?"

"Mm-hmm," Lil said distractedly. The memory processing unit (there was no way she could merge all those memories into one gestalt without it) was going to be an absolute beast to transport across; it was as heavy as a dozen memory modules all by itself, and a lot bulkier. "Didn't we have a cart of some sort that I can move the processor on?"

"Maybe," Dodge allowed dubiously. By the very nature of his specialty, he rarely needed mechanical assistance to move things from one place to another. "Or you could get Big Rig to throw one together for you."

"That's an idea." Lil nodded in agreement. "I'll get back to you in fifteen." She strolled on to Pyrotechnical's lab. "Hey, remember that job I asked if you could provide security for …?"

<><>​

Circus

"Wait a minute."

She'd lost count of the number of times she'd tried to pick this lock, and failed. Over and over again, she'd been on the very edge of success when something happened, and her efforts undid themselves. But this time she'd heard it: the tiny click of one piece of metal snapping to another.

There was only one thing which could make that specific noise. "Magnets …" she breathed. "Coil, you slimy, tricky, motherfucking asshole." Keys, by definition, were made to fit precisely into the inner space of the lock, allowing no extraneous movement. The lock was designed to actively resist being picked by way of strategically placed magnets. It was the only explanation. Coil's keys also probably had magnets built into them, just to make sure of things; he was tricky like that.

If he wasn't already dead, I'd kill him myself.

She pulled a road flare out of her hammer-space and ignited it, then directed the heat into the lock, concentrating it there as hard as she could. It wouldn't melt the metal—if that was even a possibility, she would've blowtorched the door off its hinges long ago—but magnets didn't like heat, not even a little bit. And once the magnets were no longer magnets, she could pick the damn lock as per normal.

It was going to take a little while, she knew. Road flares didn't generate all that much heat, and she'd still have to wait for the whole thing to cool down afterward before she could start picking it again. But by the time she was finished with this lock, the magnets were going to be fucked, and that was all she needed.

Tattletale, when I get out of here, I'm going to kill you, just because.

<><>​

PRT ENE Director's Office
Director Emily Piggot

Not for the first time, Emily decided it was a good thing that she was incapable of triggering with powers. Because with the sheer seething rage she felt right now, the top half of the PRT building would've been a smoking ruin if she had. Standing as straight as she could, knuckles planted on her desk, she glowered at both Armsmaster and the PRT captain who had brought her the bad news.

"How the fuck could this have happened?" It was only via the most stringent application of self-control that she didn't raise her voice, or start swearing non-stop. God knew, she wanted to do both. "You both agreed it was a good plan. You had four people in that house, apart from Brandish and Manpower! Yet somehow, someone infiltrated the house, drugged everyone, then spirited both New Wave capes out of the house, and our outside surveillance teams didn't see a damn thing. Can someone please explain this egregious fuckup to me in terms I can understand? Because unless you can, the phrases 'extreme negligence' and 'dereliction of duty' are going to be highlighted and underlined in my report on this matter."

Captain Hanson straightened his back an extra couple of degrees, even though he was already at attention. "Ma'am, I have been speaking to my teams, and they were awake and alert the whole time. Robertson says that Manpower offered to make the coffee himself. The only person who could've drugged it was … well, him."

Which opened a whole new can of worms. Emily shook her head. "Why would Manpower deliberately drug the people guarding him?"

"There's a Master involved," Armsmaster said, his voice flat with certainty. "There has to be. Also, I've got some interesting information that's only just come to light. First: the cameras belonging to the surveillance teams were blocked at very specific intervals by moths and other night-time insects. I've analysed the footage and picked out hints that a vehicle drove through that area at that time, but it's impossible to get any sort of make or model, much less an image of the driver. Second: the autopsy on Coil came back. He was shot in the head, alright. But what he was shot with was a bug. Some sort of large beetle, to be exact. There are traces of extraneous biological material throughout the wound that match insect chitin."

Emily stared at him. "A bug. He was shot in the head with a bug." Part of her wanted to call in Master/Stranger screening for him, but she knew he was serious. "So … the bug controller's involved?"

Armsmaster nodded. "Maybe also the bomb Tinker. If they can strap explosives to rats and birds, then they can attach micro-explosive charges to large bugs and turn them into ad hoc bullets."

"Great." So now she was going to have to watch out for bugs as well as rats and birds. "Is there a possibility that the bug was just sitting on Coil's head and someone shot it—and him—with an ordinary gun?"

"Not according to the guard who was in that cell, ma'am," Captain Hanson replied.

"Well … fuck." She massaged her temples. "Okay, fine. Get out of my office. Find Gallant. Find New Wave. Find everyone. Find someone who can fucking make sense of this shitshow." She paused, glaring at them both. "Why are you still here?"

"We're not, ma'am!" Captain Hanson could take a hint. He turned and quick-marched from the office, with Armsmaster not far behind him.

Emily slowly subsided into her chair again.

This fucking city.

This fucking job.

<><>​

Laserdream

"Carefully, now."

Amy watched as Crystal used her force field to place Carol on the bed in what had to have been the mercenarys' infirmary. Carol was still asleep—a single finger-brush from Amy had reinforced that—and her face was much more relaxed, so she actually looked happy for once. Crystal did not plan to be in her immediate vicinity when she woke up; once she realised what was happening, things were likely to get apocalyptic.

"What are we going to do with her after this, Ames?" Crystal asked. It was an extremely valid question. "For that matter, how are we going to stop her from wrecking everything when Cranial tries to get a brain-scan off her? I'm absolutely certain that no amount of persuasion is going to get her to calm down and cooperate."

"I'm definitely not the one to ask about that." Amy frowned down at her mother. "She's the one person with the most viable memories Vicky needs to rebuild her personality. We can't just leave her out of this." She looked around, a look of panic crossing her face. "Shit, who's watching Vicky while everyone's out bringing the girls in?"

"Chill." Crystal put her hand on Amy's shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. "Dad's on duty there. He's handling it. We're all handling it."

"Right." To Crystal's concern, Amy was shaking slightly. "We're handling it. We have to handle it. We all have to handle it. When's Cranial get here, again?"

"Very shortly." That was Lisa, who'd just leaned in through the doorway. "Lady Photon and Shielder are on their way back in with Vicky's friends. Have you got a place to stick them until it's time to do the memory reading?"

"Several," Crystal said. "One problem, though. What do we tell them about tonight that won't drastically erode public confidence in Vicky, and New Wave as a whole?"

Lisa froze. "Shit," she whispered. "Are we going to have to mindwipe them, too?" She paused momentarily, as though going through options. "We're going to have to mindwipe them, too."

"Can we afford it, is the question." Crystal raised an eyebrow in Lisa's general direction. "I heard some of the language coming out of your mouth when you first got her price estimate."

"Uh …" Lisa stared off into the distance, her lips moving soundlessly. "That's a problem. That's a real problem. But if I chip in my own money, we can just about cover seven mindwipes."

"Fourteen," Crystal said. "Each of 'em has a parent coming to chaperone."

"Fuck!" yelled Lisa, so loudly and suddenly that both Crystal and Amy jumped. "We can't do it. The money won't cover it. Unless …" She looked hopefully at Amy.

"Nope." Amy shook her head definitively. "Who knows what'll fucking happen this time? I'm not going near anyone else's brains, ever."

Crystal tried to take Amy's hand, but the frizzy-haired brunette pulled away. "Ames—" Crystal began.

"Don't call me that!" snapped Amy. "Vicky calls me that." She hesitated, breathing deeply. "Just … just leave me alone for a bit. Let me think." Turning, she paced out of the infirmary.

"Well fucking done," Crystal observed, giving Lisa a well-deserved stink-eye. "For a high-powered Thinker, that was an absolutely brilliant effort at shooting yourself in the foot. Did you happen to use a laser sight?"

Lisa returned it, along with two raised middle fingers. "Well, fuck you too. I'm just trying to find solutions here. Can you think of another one?"

"Trying to pressure the one person who could do it clearly wasn't the right move." Crystal indicated Carol's supine form. "And how are we going to get her memories read without letting her wreck the whole show?"

"Maybe she doesn't need to be conscious?" hazarded Lisa. "I'll ask Cranial when she gets here."

"Yeah, you do that." Crystal ran her hand through her hair. "And while you're at it, see if she gives a bulk discount on mindwiping people."

"Words spoken by no superhero ever before today," snarked Lisa, and ducked out of the infirmary.

Her dig may have been spoken in jest, but it touched a nerve. Crystal found herself wondering if there was truth in there somewhere. Would superheroes kidnap people and actively attempt to mindwipe them, to save the good name of another hero?

After tonight, can I even call myself a hero?

She had no idea.

<><>​

Tattletale

By the time Lisa spotted Aisha's bike coming into the underground parking lot, she was nearly ready to tear her own hair out with frustration. Taylor was still hanging on from behind, so Aisha hadn't quite managed to lose her yet. Maybe Taylor can pull some kind of Master bullshit out of her ass to make everyone okay with this shit.

Just as she got up to go and meet them at the garage entrance, the timer on her phone sounded. She was disoriented for a second, but then her memory kicked in. Cranial's here.

All of a sudden, her carefully constructed house of cards was looking more like a trash fire in the making. Getting Vicky back on deck was priority one; that was a guarantee. With the depths Amy was willing to sink to see that done, Lisa didn't want to see what would happen if the teenage biokinetic went all the way over the edge.

Stepping out onto the walkway, she spotted Amy brooding in the distance. "Aisha and Taylor are back!" she called out. "Go and let them in, okay?"

Amy gave a wave that could've meant anything, but at least she turned away in the correct direction. She seemed to get along well with the other girls, so hopefully she wasn't about to be a dick and leave them standing around out there. As for her attitude … well, Lisa had had to deal with worse in the past, so she was willing to let that part slide.

Heading to the stairs, she hurried down to the lower level. One of the walls had acquired a silvery-gray sheen that it didn't normally possess, and an obviously Tinkertech chair was already set up in the open area before it. As she watched, the wall shimmered and an almost cadaverously thin woman stepped through, pulling a couple of wheeled suitcases. She wore a white lab-coat over a black bodysuit with what looked like green brainwave traces here and there on it. A close-fitting helmet made her head look larger than it was, and her eyes were covered by a pair of heavy goggles.

"Hi," panted Lisa. "Good to meet you. Tattletale."

Cranial—because it couldn't be anyone else but her—rested her burdens carefully upright and gave Lisa a polite nod. "Hello. Interesting place you have here. Dodge was concerned when the coordinates you sent through looked like they were below ground level. Endbringer shelter?"

"Repurposed," Lisa confirmed, then looked around as a burly man in a flame-themed costume emerged from the shimmering wall, towing a heavy cart with something the size of a bar fridge on it. From the way the wheels rumbled over the concrete floor, it was somewhat more massive than a fridge. "So, what do you need?"

"Power supply, the more reliable the better," Cranial responded promptly. "Nobody to mess with my stuff while I'm here. And the more time I get to mesh everything together before re-implanting the gestalt, the better."

"Gotcha." Lisa recalled the problem with Carol. "Question. How well does the memory reading process work with someone who's unconscious?"

Cranial's mouth tightened. "It can be done, but if they're in REM sleep, it can throw off the recording. Especially if the subject is dreaming about what you're trying to extract a memory of."

Crap. Okay, figure out a way around that. Next problem. "Uh … I have fourteen people I'd really rather not remember much or any of this. What do you charge for memory erasures of the last few hours?"

"And there it is." Cranial laughed cynically. "Fourteen people? I can do it, but you'll have to render them unconscious immediately after the process so they don't start wondering where they are. Also, I'm charging my special 'last minute extra job' tax on that one."

The sinking feeling in Lisa's gut was like a black hole, sucking in everything around it. "So … no bulk discount then?" A quick exertion of her power told her exactly how much Cranial was going to charge her for the extra. It was more than the money she'd be able to raise, even if she maxed out her credit card.

"No such thing, in this trade." Cranial folded her arms, looking down at Lisa. "So, are we doing the mindwipes as well?"

They were between a rock and a hard place now. Trying to cancel the whole deal would lose half the money she'd pledged for the job, and Vicky's problems would still be unsolved. "No. Just the rest of it. What we agreed on." The words were bitter on her lips. She'd have to sort out the New Wave publicity problem some other way.

Cranial nodded, apparently satisfied with that. "Good. Power supply?"

That, at least, Lisa could deal with. "Over here." She led the way along to an unobtrusive closet and opened the door to reveal a switchboard with several power sockets of varying capability. "We're connected to city power, and we've got three generators ready to kick in if we lose that. The guy who set this place up was paranoid as hell, but he knew his business."

"So I see. Yes, I can definitely work with that." Cranial turned to Lisa. "I should be ready for the first subject in twenty minutes, half an hour at the outside."

Lisa frowned. "Huh. I thought you took something like four hours just to get ready."

"Hardly." Cranial snorted with dry amusement. "That's how long it generally takes me to be done and gone. I don't like travel jobs. That's why—"

"—you charge extra. Got it." Lisa nodded. "Okay, is there anything else you need? A snack? Water?"

"No. I brought my own. I've got it from here, thanks." Cranial gave her another nod, then turned and headed back to where the flame-costumed man was positioning the heavy cart next to the chair.

Lisa sighed, then clenched her fists tightly to try to get over the jitters. So much could still go wrong, but at least Cranial seemed to know what she was doing.

She'd better. This is our best, last hope to avoid Amypocalypse.

<><>​

Panacea

"Aisha and Taylor are back! Go and let them in, okay?"

Amy had nearly told Lisa to go fuck herself right then and there, but decided against it. The once-blonde-now-redhead was working her ass off to help Vicky, so they were on the same side for the moment. Still, the anger had surged when Lisa had silently suggested that she fuck up some other people's brains just to make life easier for New Wave after the fact. She didn't give two flying fucks about New Wave. It was Vicky she cared about: first, last and always.

Muttering under her breath, she stomped along the passageway to the door barring Taylor and Aisha from entering, and slapped the open button. It slid aside, and the pair came in; Taylor walking sedately, and Aisha almost dancing with suppressed energy. And then, a dozen birds flew through the closing doors, and perched on Taylor's arms and shoulders when she stopped walking.

Amy frowned. Not at the birds; that was Taylor's thing, these days. But both the newcomers were carrying tightly packed shopping bags, and Amy was almost certain Lisa hadn't sent them out to buy stuff. "Okay, what's this about?" she asked.

"Dealing with a potential problem," Taylor explained. "While we were out and about, making sure the PRT didn't spot Sarah and Eric picking up the partygoers, Aisha had a brainwave."

"Because I'm a fuckin' genius," Aisha boasted proudly. "Sure, we got all these people providin' their memory stuff for the Vickster to get her brainmeats back in order, but what happens when they all go back to school an' stuff, talkin' about how they all got kidnapped an' made to do this stuff? It'd blow up hotter'n Behemoth's asshole after a handful of Carolina Reapers."

Amy nodded. "Lisa was talking about that." She grimaced. "Wanted me to wipe their minds, after."

"Ah, no, fuck that shit." Aisha shook her head vigorously. "After what's already happened? Stupidest idea ever, an' I know bad decisions. I make 'em all the damn time."

"Thank you," Amy said, feeling somewhat mollified. "So, what's your solution?"

"One second," Taylor said, gesturing down the passageway with a nod of her head. "Lisa's on the way. Don't want to have to explain all this twice."

<><>​

Tattletale

Hustling along the passageway, Lisa registered the shopping bags, but decided to temporarily ignore them. "It's about time. Where've you two been? Sarah and Eric will be back at any time, and we're going to have our hands full after that, keeping Vicky's friends quiet."

Aisha shook her head, beaming all over her face. "Nope. We got all that sorted. Figured you mighta maybe forgot about afterward, so we did a couple of detours along the way."

"Detours?" Lisa wanted to use her power to demystify what Aisha was saying, but she was edging too close to a Thinker headache as it was. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Lisa." Taylor's voice was calm, even as they walked rapidly back toward the main open area of the base. "Chill. Aisha's actually got it figured out. And Sarah and Eric are taking the slow way back, so we've got time to get set up."

"Get set up?" Lisa stared at her, then at the bags, as Taylor lifted one by way of illustration. "Get what set up? What are those, anyway? Why did you waste time going shopping?"

It was clear Aisha was enjoying herself far too much. "So, got a question for you. Suppose there's a bunch of kids and adults who've told they're coming to a party, but in actual fact they've been kidnapped to provide memories so a superhero can get her life back together. What's the best way to make sure they don't start gossiping to everyone all around 'em about it, afterward?"

Amy, who had been slouching along with the rest of them, took the bait before Lisa could. "Okay, how?"

"Well, duh." Aisha gave her a grin about three degrees more smug than Lisa had ever seen in the mirror. "We tell 'em that's exactly what we're doing … but we present it as the party theme."

Lisa blinked as those seven words changed the whole scenario. "Holy shit," she breathed. "Aisha, you're a fucking genius. They'll play along because they think it's just part of the theme."

"Exactly." Taylor hefted one of her bags. "So, can we find a place to get all this set up? I swear, my arms are three inches longer."

Lisa nodded. "Sure. Uh … where'd you get all the party stuff from, anyway?" The bags looked very full.

"Here an' there," Aisha said with a sly grin. "It's amazing what places you'll find open at this time of night."

"Wait," Amy said. "How'd you pay for it all? Please tell me you didn't shoplift all that stuff." Her tone indicated that she would find it highly amusing if such was the case.

"Some of it, yeah," Aisha admitted easily. "The rest of it? We maxed out Lisa's credit card."

"My credit—" Lisa made a grab for her pocket. Her wallet wasn't there. "What the fuck? When did you take that?"

"On the way out the door." Aisha grinned impudently. "Had a notion I might need it."

"Focus!" Taylor snapped, raising her voice. "Party. Setup. Now."

"Right, right." Lisa gave Aisha a glower that promised this wasn't over yet. "This way."

"Woo!" Aisha whooped. "Par-tay in the hizzouse!"

Lisa facepalmed. "Aisha, I will forgive you for the credit card if you never, ever say that again."

As they moved off, Amy fell in alongside Taylor. "Okay, so you've got that problem sorted. We've got a bigger one, though." She raised her voice slightly. "Lisa, what'd Cranial say about Carol?"

"That it would be a whole lot easier if she wasn't asleep." Lisa took one of Aisha's bags from her and started looking through it. "Shit, did you just grab everything on the shelf and shove it in here?"

"Pretty much," Aisha confirmed proudly.

"So yeah," Amy said to Taylor. "Can you or the resident genius there figure out how to get Carol processed through without making the party totally weird?"

Taylor paused for a moment. "Depends. Can you make a very specific bug for me?"

They spoke some more, but Lisa tuned them out. If they were working on a solution, that was good enough for her. Right now, she had a party to set up.

<><>​

Lady Photon
Ten Minutes Later

Sarah and Eric swooped down to where Aisha had told them to go. "And here we are, folks. On the first step of your superhero/supervillain party experience. Are we ready to venture into the unknown?"

The girls and their parents looked around a little dubiously, for which she didn't blame them. This was literally a construction site, with an open trapdoor in the ground providing the sole entrance. Bethany's mother Constance raised her hand. "Are we supposed to be—"

"Heyyyy!" At that moment, Aisha popped her head out of the open trapdoor, shining a flashlight up under her face to throw most of it into eerie shadow. "Whoa, hey, it's the heroes! Get on down here, so we can thwart the dastardly plans of the eeeeevil supervillain Mind-Melter, right under his ugly-ass nose!"

Sarah wasn't sure whether it was her bouncy presentation or the utter campiness of what she was saying, but the girls all crowded toward the entrance. One by one, they climbed down into the dimly lit passageway, Sarah following behind the last one. When she got to the bottom, Vicky's friends were clustered around Aisha, who was handing out domino masks.

"Gotta have your masks, folks. Heroes gotta wear masks, so the villains can't learn who they are." She briefly shone the flashlight in her own face, to show the purple-glitter mask she was wearing. "Come on, mask up, and let's get this par-tay started!"

With all the masks secured in place, they proceeded along the tunnel, with Aisha cheerfully reciting a total line of bullshit about the faux 'Mind-Melter' and his 'reign of terror' over the city. Sarah was ninety-nine percent sure the girl was just making it up off the top of her head, but she was almost as fascinated as the others. Aisha, she decided, had a distinct future as a con artist if she were so inclined.

When they reached the other end, the way was barred by a tall figure, crawling with bugs and speaking in an eerie buzzing monotone. Sarah recognised it as Taylor, but only because she'd met the girl before. In full light, the creepiness factor would've been considerable; where they were, the dim light only allowed for flashes of reflection off of a million crawling carapaces, enhancing it considerably.

"Stop where you are," buzzed the monstrosity before them, holding out a hand dripping with bugs. "I am the Hive Queen Swarmina! Only those loyal to my master, Mind-Melter, may pass! Are you loyal?"

"Of course we're loyal!" Aisha stated boldly. "No heroes here. We're all loyal minions of Mind-Melter, aren't we, guys?" At the same time, she nodded her head in an exaggerated motion.

It only took them a second or so to catch on, then a chorus of, "Yes", "Sure", "Totally", came back from the girls. Sarah was impressed; with each time she got them to do what she said, Aisha was drawing them deeper into the roleplay.

"Very well. You may enter the domain of Mind-Melter." 'Swarmina' stood aside and hit a control, opening a sliding door and allowing them to enter the base proper. More than one shied away from Taylor, who merely stood there and buzzed at them.

"Whoa …" murmured Eric from beside Sarah as they stepped through in their turn. "They've been busy."

His comment was entirely justified. Streamers were strung up everywhere, along with cape-themed festive banners. Hanging from the ceiling was what Sarah tentatively identified as an inflatable disco ball, throwing glittery lights back all over the massive interior space. Tables and chairs had been dragged in from who knew where, with finger foods and bottles of pop set up next to stacks of paper cups and plates.

"Okay then, gather around," said Aisha in a stage whisper as music started playing across the PA system. "This is the deal. Mind-Melter has captured Glory Girl, and is planning to make her into a mindless zombie with his Mind-Melter chair down there." Stepping over to the rail, she pointed down toward where Cranial (Sarah had never met her, but the woman in the lab coat couldn't be anyone else) was setting up her equipment.

"Well, why don't we just destroy the chair then?" asked one of the girls in a smug I've-thought-of-a-solution-you-haven't tone. Sarah disliked her already.

"Because Mind-Melter has a guard," Aisha said, pointing out a guy wearing a flame-themed costume and hefting a bulky-looking rifle. "And we don't want to blow our cover. So, we're going to do something a ton more devious. While Swarmina's watching us—" she pointed to where Taylor had entered through the sliding door, "—we can't do anything, but when she leaves the room, one of you guys goes down there and tells Mind-Melter's minion that you're here to test the chair. While you're in the chair, you concentrate on all your best wishes for Glory Girl. This means that once you've all put your best wishes in there and she gets placed in the chair, instead of being zombified, she'll be made strong enough to defeat Mind-Melter with all your strengths combined. Got it?"

Again, it was the most basic of Saturday morning cartoon plots, but already Sarah could see the girls nodding in agreement. Pretending to be heroes, thwarting a supervillain, and having a party at the same time … it was simple, easy and fun. Plus, of course, the base itself and the Tinkertech chair made for amazing props.

The girls gathered around the tables and got their glasses of pop, Constance sought Sarah out. "Is that … is that chair safe?" she asked quietly, swivelling her eyes sideways to where Cranial was causing lights to run up and down the frame of the chair. "I mean, it's not going to do anything really, is it?"

And that's why overly realistic props are a bad thing. Sarah sighed internally. "It won't do a thing to them. In fact, I'll be going down there myself in about thirty seconds, just to show the kids how it's done." She turned and caught Taylor's eye as the bug-covered girl drifted through the crowd, then gave her a slight nod.

Returning the gesture, Taylor turned and headed out through another doorway. Accordingly, the music changed from the latest teen hit to an old classic; the Mission Impossible theme. Feeling like an idiot but determined to make this work, Sarah mimed sneaking onto the stairway down, pausing at the landing to peer around with exaggerated caution. When she got to the bottom, she darted across the open floor, pulled an entirely unnecessary shoulder-roll (aided considerably by her flight) to applause from those watching above, and arrived at Cranial's chair.

"I am here to test the chair!" she announced, loudly enough for all to hear.

To her credit, Cranial didn't burst out laughing. "Sure," she agreed, with the most wooden acting Sarah had ever seen. "You can 'test' the chair. Go ahead and sit down."

Sarah took her seat, not without a little trepidation. The helmet slid down over her head, and the opaque visor dropped into place. "Should I concentrate on Glory Girl?" she asked quietly.

"No," Cranial said, much more naturally. "Just let your mind drift. I'll take care of the rest."

Let my mind drift, hah. I'd love to see you do that right now. Sarah's brain was darting in a dozen different directions at once, but she took a deep breath and forced calm on herself. Victoria needs me right now, more than ever. I have to do this for her.

And then the visor slid up and Cranial lifted the helmet away. "Okay, done."

"Wait … that's it?" Sarah had expected to be there for minutes on end, not thirty seconds at most.

"Well, yeah. It's a simple scan-and-copy. It's not like I was stitching anything in there." Cranial's tone was matter-of-fact. "You can get up now."

"Right. Uh, thanks." Sarah got up from the chair to more applause from the people lining the rail above.

"Don't thank me, hon. Thank Tattletale. She's the one bankrolling this job."

When this is over, I'm giving Lisa the biggest hug. Sarah made her way back up to the balcony, arriving at the top of the stairs just in time for the triumphant flourish in the music. She nodded to Constance. "And that's how easy it is."

"Whoa ..." That was Bethany, crowding up alongside her mom. "Can I go next? Mom, can I?"

Constance glanced at Sarah, who gave her a reassuring nod. "I suppose you can," she allowed, and Sarah let out a tiny sigh of relief. They could probably get by even if one or two of Vicky's friends refused to donate memories (not that they knew exactly what the chair was about) but the more, the better.

Once Cranial was ready for her next subject, she turned and looked up towards the ongoing party. Again, Taylor (in her guise as 'Swarmina') nonchalantly wandered out of the area, and the music changed to another action-charged piece. Sarah gave Bethany a tiny nudge. "Go," she whispered.

With everyone watching, the teen crept down the stairs and scuttled across to where Cranial waited. Sarah watched curiously, interested in what the process looked like from the outside. Cranial didn't disappoint; lights rippled up and down the frame of the chair, and over the surface of the helmet. But the process seemed even shorter than it had with her. Maybe ten seconds passed before Cranial was raising the visor and ushering Bethany out of the chair.

More spontaneous applause arose as Bethany hurried back across and climbed the stairs to rejoin her peers. They crowded around her, asking what it had been like. Sarah wasn't close enough to hear the answer, and she turned away to see how everything else was going.

Aisha had vanished, most likely to relieve Neil on taking-care-of-Vicky duty, so everything was running smoothly on that front as well. Now, all we need is a solution to the Carol problem …

<><>​

Taylor

Okay, let's see how this goes.

It was weird pretending to pretend to be a villainous minion. Walking slowly through the crowd, covered in bugs, I watched the partygoers edge away from me but smile at the same time; they were miming fear, but knew I wasn't a real villain. However, with the three-sixty-degree awareness the bugs gave me, I could move around without actually looking where I was going.

This was good, because my main attention was on two of the three other bugs that had been perching on a shelf in the infirmary since Amy created them. At my command, they took wing and buzzed over toward where Brandish lay asleep on the bed. Landing side by side on her bare arm, they arched their backs and extruded two long sharp stingers. When the first one plunged its stinger into a vein, Brandish barely twitched. I sent that bug back to the shelf once it was done, then told the second one to inject its payload as well.

After that, I made it rejoin its friends and they all sat there watching Brandish. Their eyesight was terrible, but at least I could make out basic shape and light. On the bed, Carol Dallon stirred; I felt the ghost of her nervous system as she woke up. Her eyes inched open, but she flopped onto her back and didn't move. Staring at the ceiling, blinking every now and again, she wasn't asleep but neither was she exactly awake, courtesy of the strong hypnotic injected by the first bug.

It was never easy for me to affect people, but I could … barely. If they had any strong impulses, they could easily override my commands. It usually took Regent's natural indolence or someone just not caring for me to make them do what I want.

But in the semi-waking state Carol Dallon was in, she was barely experiencing the world, and cared even less. I could use my tenuous hold on her nervous system to sit her up and swing her legs over the side of the bed. It would've been better if she'd been in costume, but I could only work with what I had.

As 'Swarmina' (I suspected I was never going to live that name down) I deliberately turned my back on Cranial and the Tinkertech chair. I wasn't sure how people would react to seeing Carol Dallon in civilian clothing, but Amy was right. Her memories of Vicky were central to the whole situation.

<><>​

Laserdream

Crystal knew Taylor would walk 'offstage' and use a bug to signal Lisa to change the music once Cranial was ready for another subject. Cranial was indeed ready, but 'Swarmina' didn't seem about to make herself scarce, and the music never changed. However, someone was crossing the floor, down below.

When Crystal recognised who it was, she blinked twice before accepting what her eyes were telling her. Holy shit, it's Aunt Carol. Taylor and Amy pulled it off!

She wasn't overly thrilled about having Taylor puppet her aunt, but considering the alternatives, this was what her father usually called 'the least worst option'. "Shhh," she said theatrically. "Brandish has infiltrated the base! Mind-Melter can't possibly win now!"

The crowd fell silent and everyone pushed up to the rail. 'Swarmina' resolutely kept looking in the other direction as Crystal's aunt reached Cranial and spoke the same phrase. She was seated in the chair, and the process began. Crystal found herself digging her nails into her palm. Please, please, please let this work.

It took nearly a minute and a half, and Crystal got the impression some people were holding their breaths, before Cranial raised the visor and removed the helmet. And then, when Aunt Carol got up off the chair, she stumbled. Crystal tried not to gasp out loud.

As Aunt Carol tried to head back the way she'd come, she stumbled again, and shook her head. Crystal had a bad feeling about what that meant. Oh, shit. She's coming out of it.

"Hey, Swarmina!" shouted Eric, drawing all eyes. "Were you hatched from a cocoon, or are you so ugly that bugs just love you?"

"That is not a funny joke," Taylor responded with the monotone buzz. "You are not a nice boy."

As everyone laughed, Crystal vaulted over the rail and flew down to where her aunt was leaning against the wall. Her eyes focused, and there was real intent in them. "Where am I?" hissed Aunt Carol. "What's going on here? Who are these people?"

"It's all good," Crystal said soothingly. "Here, let me—"

"No!" Carol pulled away from her. "I'm staying right here, and I want answers."

Crystal acted on instinct; throwing a bubble around Carol, she took off flying at her best speed. With any luck, Eric's banter with Taylor had gotten everyone's attention, and nobody would think this was too unusual. On the other hand, she'd certainly gotten Aunt Carol's attention.

"Hey!" her aunt shouted, her voice thankfully muffled by the force field. "Let me out of this! Put me down right this moment, young lady!"

"Not until you listen," insisted Crystal. "There's stuff you don't know—"

Just in time, she saw the glowing blade ignite inside the force field bubble and lash out toward her. It could cut through most materials; Eric's field was strong enough to defend against it, but hers wasn't. Stopping on the spot, she let Carol out of the field, then backed up. They were only a short distance from the infirmary …

"Start talking." There was something in Carol's eyes that wasn't entirely sane. "Are you my niece, or just someone who looks like her? Where is my daughter?" The blade crackled softly. Crystal smelled ozone.

"Vicky's going to be just fine—"

Carol stepped closer. "Going to be?" Then she stopped; eyes widening, she reached back over her shoulder. "What have you done?"

"Aunt Carol—" Crystal watched the glowing blade as it waved back and forth across the corridor. With her other hand, Carol scrabbled at her back. Then finally what she hoped was the third bug's knockout dose took hold, and Carol sank to one knee. Her eyes were still blazing, even as her body failed her, and she tried to lash out with the blade. Fortunately, it only travelled about six inches toward Crystal before it winked out and Carol fell on her face.

Crystal breathed heavily, leaning on her knees and hoping she wasn't about to throw up, then looked at the bug that took flight from Carol's back, heading toward the infirmary. Thank fuck Taylor was on the ball. Mom is never gonna believe this.

Calling up her force field again, she scooped her aunt up and headed toward the infirmary. With any luck they'd be done and dusted, and Vicky would be mentally whole, before Carol woke up again.

Let's hope that's the last of the drama. I can't deal with any more of this shit.

<><>​

Circus

The metal around the lock glowed red-hot as she discarded the last of the road flares. She had to admit; the ventilation system in this cell was pretty damn good for something that had ducts measuring about two inches square. Flexible she was, but not that damn flexible.

Now all she had to do was wait until the door cooled down enough, and she'd have the lock picked. And then …

Tattletale, you bitch. I'm coming for you.



End of Part Thirteen

 

[Ack]

One Bad Day

Part Fourteen: Penultimate

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

Cranial

Lil still wasn't one hundred percent sure what was going on here. But then again, she wasn't being paid to worry about that part. Pyrotechnical was standing by to play rear-guard if events went severely tits-up; she could open a doorway into a Dodge space and get everything inside in thirty seconds if she had to, but it would be a very long thirty seconds. However, everything seemed to be running smoothly.

The only hiccup—Brandish going off-script, then being whisked out of sight by Laserdream—had had her tensing and reaching for the remote. Fortunately, nothing had come of it, and she'd allowed herself to relax a little and get back to doing she was being paid for. This is why I hate the weird jobs.

As each memory set came in, it wasn't hard to strip out everything that didn't pertain to Glory Girl, then set it to meshing with what she already had. Lady Photon's and Brandish's had formed the core of this shared memory experience early on. The other kids were adding superficial amounts and filling in a few gaps here and there, but only the New Wavers and one other (she didn't know who the good-looking blond boy was, and didn't care to speculate) added a significant amount.

That didn't mean it was a perfect engram; there were always times when someone was on their own, and determining someone's state of mind or thought processes from what they were doing or saying was an inexact science. However, everyone had holes in their memories from simply forgetting what they'd done on a certain day, and emotions rarely translated into long-term storage unless they were particularly vivid, so what she had would be workable, especially if Glory Girl's memory still had fragments left to attach to.

(She still didn't know exactly what had happened to Glory Girl, and it wasn't something she intended to pry into.)

There were, of course, the two stipulations that Tattletale had insisted on from the beginning. Neither one was a deal-breaker, but the second one was going to be just a tad finicky. Don't let anyone be in love with anyone else had raised her eyebrows, and given her another hint as to what was going on. Though she suspected she'd never get the full picture.

She checked the screen and verified that the latest read (Manpower's, and was she glad the chair was built to take someone his size) had integrated with the rest. Raising her eyes, she gave Tattletale a nod. This in turn triggered a change in the music, and the second-last of the kids (if her count was correct) came 'sneaking' down the stairs.

"I-I'm here to test the chair!" the girl declared. She was wearing a bright red domino mask and looked nervous as hell. Not that Lil blamed her; stage props were one thing, but actual Tinker tech had a certain look and feel to it, especially close up.

"Sure, go ahead," she responded, readying the 'Hair Dryer'. "Just sit right here. It won't hurt a bit."

Obediently, the girl sat down, and Lil lowered the helmet over her head. The opaque visor—it helped to let the mind wander if there was no visual input—slid into place, and the girl let out a startled cry. "I can't see anything!"

Didn't she see the same thing happen with everyone else? "That's how it's supposed to be," Lil said quietly. "Just relax and let your mind wander."

"You're-you're not going to hypnotise me and make me cluck like a chicken, are you?"

"No," Lil said shortly. She was tempted to add, That's my other brain transfer machine, but decided to leave well enough alone. "Relax. Let your mind wander."

Finally, the girl calmed down enough to get a good read from her—seven seconds, not bad—and Lil raised the visor and lifted the helmet off. It took the girl a few seconds to react. "It's done? I can go?"

"It's done," Lil assured her. "You can go back up and join your friends now."

"Oh, good." The kid got up and scuttled back across the floor, to applause from the watchers.

One to go, then we can really get this show on the road. Lil went through the motions to strip out the extraneous information, then overlaid it onto the rest. As she'd expected, ninety-five percent of it integrated with pre-existing memories, with just a few new viewpoints. The rest slipped into place without any problems on the ever-growing amalgam, and she looked up to Tattletale.

When the music changed this time, it was Panacea who came out of a side corridor; wearing street clothes, certainly, but there was no mistaking her for anyone else. Also, there was no mistaking the stress she was under. The girl had circles under her eyes that belonged to someone thirty years older and going through mid-life crisis.

She didn't even bother pretending to sneak, even as those watching from above appeared to hold their breaths. Unlike Brandish, there was no uncertainty; Panacea was driven and determined. Moving with purpose, she seated herself on the chair and allowed the helmet to be lowered over her head.

"Please tell me you can fix all this," she mumbled as the visor went down.

"Do my best, hon. That's why you called in the experts. Now, try to relax and let your mind wander. This might take a little while."

"Okay." But from the white-knuckled grip Panacea had on the chair arms, relaxing was the last thing she intended to do.

Lil sighed and started the read. She was here to do a job. Let's get it done and dusted.

<><>​

Tattletale

"Is it just me, or is Panacea taking longer than everyone else?" asked Bethany. She wasn't wrong; it had been more than a minute, and Amy was still under the helmet.

"She's making extra sure that Glory Girl gets all the encouragement she needs," Lisa responded automatically. "When Glory Girl gets under there, she'll be reminded of all the good times they've spent together." In a way, it wasn't even a lie. Vicky was going to be reminded of things, only not in the way Bethany thought.

I'll be a whole lot happier once this whole dog and pony show is over. The party guests couldn't simply be shooed out once they'd donated their memories. If they weren't allowed to stay and celebrate their 'victory' with the re-memoried Glory Girl, far too many questions would be asked. Still, everything seemed to be going relatively smoothly. So why am I on edge? What am I missing?

Crystal eased through the guests and tapped her on the shoulder. One look at the New Wave girl's face sent Lisa's paranoia into orbit. Shit. Shit. Fuck.

'What?' she mouthed silently.

'Office,' Crystal mimed back. That meant Coil's office, which Lisa had appropriated as the ad hoc control room for the whole complex. Whatever was going on, she'd find out about it there.

It only took her about thirty seconds to get there while moving casually enough not to draw notice, but it felt like thirty years. Whatever it is, please God let it be fixable.

When she got there, Taylor was sitting at Coil's desk, staring intently at one of the screens. How she'd gotten into the office without being noted by the guests was simple; when the bugs that were her Swarmina guise went away, she was just another teenage girl in a domino mask. However, right now, her fists were clenched so tightly that her knuckles were white in the glow of the screens.

"Circus got out," Taylor said bluntly, without looking up. "I've been trying to tag her with bugs, but she's a lot more aware of her environment right now. And she keeps doing her fire-breath thing with a lighter. I've lost three swarms, so far."

"Shit." Lisa eyed the screen, and noticed that a lot of the sub-screens were blank. "Has she been knocking out the cameras, too?"

"Yeah." Taylor's jaw was tight. "I'm pretty sure we can't catch her unawares like we did the first time. Should we maybe open the outer doors and let her go?"

"No." Lisa said the word before her brain had properly processed the question. "She won't go. She's after revenge. Specifically, on me. I'm the one she was hunting. She believes she's owed."

"And we can't just pay her?" Taylor already knew the answer to that one, but Lisa knew she had to ask it anyway.

"Nope. Between shelling out for Vicky's brain fix and this party, I'm in hock up to the eyebrows. I figure I could maybe afford a soda right now, if you were willing to spot me a quarter." It wasn't quite that bad, but Lisa knew damn well Circus wouldn't accept anything less than seventy-five percent of what she figured she was owed, and there was nothing like that in the kitty.

"So, what do we do? Send New Wave after her?" Taylor sounded hopeful at that idea.

"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking." Lisa ran her hands through her hair. "I've got Sarah watching Brandish, so I'm thinking Eric and Neil. Let Dean and Crystal run interference in the party while they're all watching Panacea in the chair."

"Oh, she just finished," Taylor reported. "Cranial's doing a lot of work right now, but she doesn't look too worried. At least, not as far as I can tell."

"She's the one thing that's got to go right," Lisa agreed.

"Yeah." Taylor gnawed on a thumbnail for a second. "What about Vicky? Who's watching her?"

"Aisha." Lisa rolled her eyes. "She might be as irritating as hell, but she's really stepping up."

"No argument here. I'll stay here and let you know if Circus shows up on camera again."

"Got it." Lisa slipped out of the office. Goddamn it. It was all going so smoothly, too.

<><>​

Cranial

With the Panacea read complete and integrated with the gestalt as a whole, the finicky part of the job began. Each memory of Glory Girl seen from the outside now had to be inverted, so that it could be experienced from the inside. This meant the visuals had to be switched around, and the faces of those with her placed in the appropriate locations within the emerging memory patch.

It wasn't always possible to do this, but it wasn't a real problem. Where she didn't have an up-to-date face, she slotted one in from earlier or later, whichever worked better. And if Glory Girl ended up thinking Bethany had acquired that nice blouse a month earlier than she really did, it wouldn't be the end of the world. Memory played tricks like that sometimes, even when one's brain hadn't gone through a hard reset.

Emotions were trickier, but she had a good baseline for that as well. Glory Girl loved her mother and mourned her father, held slightly more distant familial views of her aunt and uncle and cousins, enjoyed the company of her friends, and had a very close relationship with someone who looked remarkably like the young man from upstairs. That was all well and good, and she was able to program those emotions in with relative ease.

Panacea … was more problematic. Going through her memories clued Lil in on what had started this whole debacle. She was a tangled mass of neuroses which included abandonment issues, unconscious hatred for her foster mother—wait, foster mother?

Okay, so Panacea had been adopted, but how? Lil ran back through the recorded memory. When she came to the relevant part, she blinked hard. Holy fuck, New Wave adopted Marquis' kid? How is that not common knowledge?

Deep breaths, deep breaths. Not my problem. Okay, she doesn't even know that she hates Brandish, but she does. She's also strongly in love with Glory Girl, who from her interactions has no idea of this. Had no idea. This was what Tattletale had been talking about, it had to be. After the mindwipe, the entire rudimentary personality Glory Girl had been left with was based around loving Panacea.

Okay, Glory Girl will see Panacea strictly as her sister, and nothing else.

Except that if I leave the memory of the mindwipe intact, which Tattletale says Panacea wants, Glory Girl is likely to go after Panacea and try to murder her.

Is Panacea trying to commit suicide by cape? Because pissing off Glory Girl seems to be a remarkably efficient way to do it, if the nearly-dead gangsters are any indication.

Did I mention that I hate weird jobs? I hate weird jobs.

But her price had been agreed to and the money was there, so it was time to woman up and get it done.

<><>​

Shielder

The radio earpiece crackled slightly, then Taylor's voice came through. "Ready to open door 12-A. Be careful; I don't have cameras on the other side of it."

"Great," muttered Eric. A moment's concentration created a force-field bubble next to the sliding door, so that if Circus was indeed waiting in ambush on the other side, nothing would get through. "Okay, open it up."

"That force field will stop a thrown knife, right?" asked Tattletale, standing next to him in the bubble. "Circus is really good with those."

"I can tank Aunt Carol's energy blades, so yeah. It'll stop a thrown knife." Eric cleared his throat, not wanting to sound too boastful. "How laser-proof is Circus?"

"She's not." The door began to slide open. Tattletale peered through, then let out a slight huff; whether of relief or disappointment, Eric wasn't sure. "But she's insanely good at dodging, and she has all sorts of crazy things in her personal pocket dimension."

There was nobody on the other side. Eric let the bubble bulge through, then he and Tattletale entered the next section. Here and there he could see blackened spots up on the ceiling where he suspected security cameras had been mounted. "She's been busy," he observed. "How'd she manage that?"

"Minor pyrokinetic," Lisa reminded him. "All she needs is a source of flame, like a Zippo or a road flare, and she can make it into a burst of fire. Also, if she's holding a knife, assume she can stab you from any angle. She can bounce those things."

"Knives, I can handle," Manpower asserted. "Fire breath isn't so much fun."

"Transmitted heat?" asked Tattletale, though her tone suggested she knew the answer already.

"Transmitted heat," he confirmed. "Fire can't touch me directly, but it's still hot when it's half an inch away from my skin."

The door slid shut behind them and the keypad turned red again. They moved on through the base, remaining within Eric's bubble, although this slowed them down more than a little. More and more scorched security cameras showed up, though some were untouched. Eric waved at those before they moved on again.

Each room they encountered, they opened and checked within, to ensure Circus wasn't lurking there. On the third such room, there was nobody inside, but the light switch didn't work. Still, a quick sweep of an attenuated laser beam around the interior of the room showed it was empty of all but cleaning supplies.

They were about to move along when Tattletale said, "Wait, go back."

"Why?" asked Eric. "Did you see something?"

"That's the only room we've seen where the light wasn't working," she said. "There's something she doesn't want us to see in that room."

Neil shrugged. "Sometimes lights just fail." But he didn't object when they went back anyway.

This time, Lisa studied the entire room carefully, including the light fitting. It had been scorched, in the same manner as the security cameras. Turning, she pointed at the air vent cover. "That's been removed and replaced. It's what she didn't want us to see. She's in the air ducts."

Neil studied the air duct cover carefully. It wasn't much more than a foot across. "Are you sure? That's not a metal air duct, that's concrete. If anyone gets stuck, there's no rescue coming."

"I bet I could fit down it," Eric claimed. Not that he wanted to, but he totally figured he could.

"Well, you're not going to find out." Neil's tone was very much 'Dad has spoken'. "Do we have a map of the air ducts?"

Tattletale scratched the back of her neck. "Almost certainly, somewhere on the computer system. I'll have to look for it."

Eric had to know. "Okay, so if this Coil guy was as paranoid as you keep telling us, why would he have air ducts in his base that a person can crawl through?"

"It was because he was so paranoid," Tattletale explained. "He always hired big, muscular guys. Out of everyone in his crew, he was the only one skinny enough to use them to get around."

"Huh." Eric hoped he would never get that paranoid. It sounded like a miserable way to live.

"Damn right." Tattletale keyed her radio. "Problem. She's gotten into the air ducts. We need to figure out where she is, and how to flush her out. Coming back in."

"Well, shit. Ready to open 12-A on your signal."

<><>​

Circus

There were only a few good things about this decision.

First, she didn't have to worry about dragging her gear along, because it was all inside her hammerspace. If she needed her Zippo to see where she was going, she could get it out with minimum fuss.

Second, whoever had set up these air ducts had ensured that there were no impossibly tight turns or even sharp edges inside. Also, for some unknown reason, there was the occasional metal plate with letters or numbers etched into it. If I knew more about the layout of this base, I might actually be able to make use of that.

Third, of course, was the fact that it was cast out of concrete, which didn't have the propensity of metal air ducting of being horribly noisy to move through and likely to collapse under the weight of a medium-sized rat.

Neither did it possess the usual accoutrements of the average supervillain base air ducts, as noted in popular fiction, such as electrified mesh or razor-edged high-speed fans. All of which led her to wonder if Coil had intended for these air ducts to be traversable. And if so, by whom?

Wait. This is Coil we're talking about. This is a guy who probably built an escape tunnel on his escape tunnel. Of course he set it up so he could vanish into the air ducts.

Great. Mystery solved. Now, if only I knew where I was, and how to get to Tattletale.

<><>​

Tattletale

As soon as Lisa got back to where the party was going on, Crystal homed in on her like a guided missile. Lisa took one look at her expression, then stepped in close. "What's happened? Have you found Circus?"

"No." Crystal took a deep breath. "Cranial's been trying to get my attention, but I have no idea what she wants, and I don't want to go down there."

"Shit." With the way things were going, Lisa flashed to the worst possible interpretation. The memory recordings went wrong. She needs to do them all over again. Or she can't do it at all. Jesus, how am I going to explain this to Amy?

With this running through her head, she moved over to the rail and gestured to get the guard's attention. He turned and said something to Cranial, who seemed to brighten up under her concealing helmet. Her next gesture was something Lisa's power was easily able to decipher.

Ready to roll. Bring on Glory Girl.

She nodded and gave Cranial a discreet thumb's up before keying her radio mic. "Tango to Alpha. We're good to go. I say again, we're good to go."

There was a pause, then an answer came through. "Yo, this is Most Esteemed Alpha. I'll be bringing my girl, the Vickster, through right now. Roger dodger, over and out, rubber duckie."

With a silent prayer of thanks that Aisha had no desire to join the military in any capacity—her discipline issues aside, just her butchering of radio etiquette would probably cause aneurysms in anyone trying to train her—Lisa made the 'all okay' gesture to Cranial. Turning, she headed back toward the office where Taylor was still manning the control centre.

If anyone had suggested to me a month ago that I'd find myself in command of my very own underground base, overseeing the memory reintegration of a superhero while trying to deal with a supervillain lurking in the air ducts … I would've probably asked what they were smoking.

But that was the way her life seemed to be going these days.

<><>​

Taylor

"Anything?" asked Lisa, the moment she was inside the office and the door was closed behind her. "I thought there were barriers in the air ducts that stopped people from getting around."

Taylor shook her head and leaned back in the admittedly very comfortable chair that Coil had bequeathed to the office. Closing her eyes for a moment to rest them, she sighed in aggravation. "I thought so too, until I looked more closely. There's barriers between the base and the outside air, sure. The last thing Coil wanted was people sneaking in or out. Secure areas like the cells or the armoury have tiny air ducts, like four inches across. But through the main areas of the base? Just big enough to fit a skinny person."

"Like you, or Coil, or Circus, yeah." Lisa growled under her breath. "Even dead, that asshole's paranoia is coming back to bite us. Have you found a map yet?"

"Yeah, but I don't know if it's accurate." Taylor sat forward again and hit a few keys. A diagram of the base came up on the screen, with an overlay of lines connecting the various rooms. "This might be the actual version, or it might be the one Coil had made to fool people with, while the real one is hidden in an anonymous file somewhere."

"Goddamn it." Lisa leaned in close, studying it. She didn't want to waste a use of her power quite yet; as it was, with all the demands on her, she was hovering on the edge of a migraine. "It could be. Looks real enough. But he'd make sure even the fake one looked real."

"Okay, so we flush her out and map the air ducts at the same time." Taylor glanced up at the air vent in the office. She'd shoved a filing cabinet in front of it, to make it harder for anyone trying to push it out from inside. "I don't have any special-issue rats left, but maybe Amy can—"

"Nun-uh." Lisa shook her head. "Amy's not in a good headspace to make anything to order right now. She's likely to somehow make it into a fuel-air explosive, or a nerve gas dispenser. Something we absolutely do not want in this base right now, or ever."

"Right. So we go with what we've got." Taylor grimaced. "She's really good at spotting bugs, and frying them before they can KO her."

"Okay, rats it is." Lisa ran her hands through her hair, further disarranging it. "Once you locate her, do you think you can maybe keep her busy until we're done with Vicky, and the innocents are out of here?"

"Gonna have to, aren't I?" This was getting more complicated by the second.

"And don't attack her. The last thing we want is screaming coming from the ducts and scaring the guests."

Taylor groaned and rolled her eyes. "Yes, boss."

Lisa patted her on the shoulder. "Attagirl."

<><>​

Aisha

"Okay, let's go, Vickster." Aisha took a deep breath. She'd built a great rapport with Vicky so far, but all she needed now was for her charge to decide that she wanted to play patty-cake instead of coming along quietly. "Time for a new game. You want to play a cool new game?"

"I like playing games," Vicky said brightly. "Games are fun. Will Amy be playing this game with us?"

"Amy's already playing the game." It was even true, for a given definition of 'true'. "It's your turn now. I think you'll win, don't you?"

Vicky looked hesitant. "I don't want to beat Amy and make her sad."

"Oh, no, no." Aisha thought fast. "You're on Amy's side. If you do really well, you'll both win."

Vicky perked up. "Then I'll play and win, and make Amy happy."

"That's my girl." Aisha gave her a hug. "Let's go wow them all."

Hand in hand, she led Vicky out into the lower area, where Cranial was prepping the chair for Vicky. Lisa had seen them coming, and the music changed to something with a dramatic beat, as befitted the climax of the show. The nominal guests of the party had all been downstairs and sat in the chair, and now it was time for the big payoff. The girls lined the rail and clapped as she came into view.

"Oh, look, it's my friends!" Vicky waved excitedly and levitated into the air. "I'll go and say hi to them."

"No, no, not yet!" Aisha gave her a gentle downward tug. "If—if you go up there, you forfeit the game and Amy loses!"

"Oh." Vicky pouted, but she came back down to earth. "That's a stupid game."

"It's the game we're playing. Now come over here. You see that chair?"

Vicky tilted her head. "It's a silly looking chair."

"Oh, yeah. It's a stupid looking chair, alright." Aisha didn't actually think so. As far as she was concerned, it belonged in some mad Tinker's basement somewhere … which wasn't too far removed from the current situation, to be honest. "But this is the game. You have to sit in it and let that lady put that helmet on your head, and close your eyes and sit still for as long as you can. If you sit longer than everyone else, you and Amy win the game. Okay?"

Vicky nodded enthusiastically. "Okay!"

"Excellent. Here, I'll just take your tiara off." Otherwise, it would definitely interfere with the helmet.

Vicky balked. "But I want to keep my tiara on. I'm Glory Girl. I always wear my tiara."

Lowering her voice, Aisha leaned in close to Vicky. "Do you want the other girls to beat you and Amy? Because they'll totally be mean to her about it."

"No, I don't want that." Reaching up, Vicky removed the tiara from her freshly brushed hair. "Can you take care of it for me, Most Esteemed Aisha?"

Aisha nodded and took it, trying not to let the tears show in her eyes. This was probably the last time she was ever going to see the simple, happy Vicky who liked to have her hair brushed and braided, and to play patty-cake. "I can totes do that for you, Vickster. Now, go and win that game for Amy." She couldn't say any more through the lump in her throat.

Beaming, Vicky strode up to the chair and seated herself. She closed her eyes and held perfectly still as the helmet was lowered over her head, and the visor dropped into place. Stepping away, Cranial leaned over her equipment and started pressing buttons and turning dials.

Aisha couldn't watch anymore. Turning away, she saw the row of girls avidly observing to see what happened next. Some nodded to her, in a 'we're in this together' sort of way. She gave them a weak thumb's up in return.

God, I hope this works.

<><>​

Taylor

"God, I hope this works." Taylor watched as Eric used his force field to lift the filing cabinet away from where she'd shoved it up against the air vent. She had eight rats resting on her shoulders and arms—all she could gather at short notice—plus a small swarm of bugs.

"It better." Eric pulled the vent cover off—Taylor had already checked with her bugs to ensure that Circus wasn't lurking within knife-throwing range inside the duct—and set it aside. "Clear."

Putting her hand up on the edge of the air duct, Taylor made the rats run up her arm and vanish into the darkness. The bugs flew with them, scouting ahead. Each time the group hit an intersection, they split their numbers and kept exploring.

As Eric put the vent cover back on and shoved the cabinet back into place, Taylor sat down at the computer and called up the diagram she'd found. Lisa had already expressed a strong suspicion that what was on the computer didn't match reality, and Taylor tended to agree with her. Coil had been a paranoid sonovabitch to the end, and this was probably no exception.

Come on … where are you … where are you …

<><>​

Cranial

"Son of a bitch," muttered Lil as she ran her preliminary scan to see what sort of substrate she'd be stitching the memory patch into. She'd done individual grab-and-repair jobs before, usually involving cases of amnesia due to head trauma. That was simplicity itself compared to what was going on here.

Only the barest tag-ends of some memories were left behind, and she could see the unmistakeable signs of where someone had overlaid a new personality, then taken it away again. Whoever had done it (given what she knew already, she suspected Panacea) hadn't bothered or known to remove the memories of having had that new personality graft, however briefly. Seriously. Fucking amateurs. At least she took it away before it did too much damage.

Using all the finesse of which she was capable, she set to work sanitising the area, scraping away the damage until everything was ready for the new patch. Leaving anything underneath where it could grow and fester was merely a recipe for disaster; weeks or months or years later, brand new mental problems could surface, undoing all the work she was performing now. And I really don't want to be responsible for a powerhouse like this going off the deep end.

Finally, it was ready. She'd identified the points in her constructed gestalt where the lone fragments of memory could attach to. Once it was in place, she'd set Glory Girl to living through her reconstructed life. Not at a one-to-one ratio, of course. Nobody had the time to wait through something like that. But just as someone within a dream could live through subjective years in mere seconds, she could speed up Glory Girl's experienced time, going barely slow enough to patch any holes that cropped up.

And—fingers crossed—once Glory Girl came out the far end, she would've reformed her original personality (or something very close to it) by way of her re-lived life experiences. Unfortunately, this was the tricky bit. If something utterly life-changing had happened to her away from all the recorded memories, it wouldn't happen this time around. And Lil couldn't throw in a correction for something she knew nothing about.

But she could only work with the material she'd been given. Tattletale knew that, which was why she'd been paid the majority of the money up front.

Carefully, step by step, Lil commenced the memory implant process.

<><>​

Panacea

Lurking in the shadows of a corridor entrance, Amy clenched her fist and gnawed at her knuckles. "Please let it work," she whispered. "Please let it work."

She had no idea what she would do if it didn't. All of her efforts had gone into getting to this point. She knew she wouldn't have even gotten this far if it weren't for Lisa and Taylor and Aisha. As it was, disaster had threatened on half a dozen occasions, only to be averted by the slimmest of margins. Without them, Vicky would still be a brain-wiped doll, with no chance of ever getting her life back and no way forward.

And if it went wrong now, after all this effort, all this money, had gone into it … she clenched her fists even tighter. The single bright spot in all this was the chance that her mistake could be rectified, that Vicky could be restored. If that light of hope was to be extinguished, if the darkness tarnishing her soul was to take over everything … she didn't know if she would ever come out the other side.

"Hey." It was Lisa's voice, behind her. A light hand fell on her shoulder. "Hey, Amy. It's going to be alright. Vicky'll be the same old pain in the ass once this is over and done. You'll see. Cranial came with the highest of recommendations."

"But what if it isn't alright?" Amy asked, her voice harsh with self-recrimination. "There's no way she's ever dealt with shit as bad as what I did to Vicky. I tried to fix her, but all I did was make it worse, so I had to fix that, and what if I made it so bad even Cranial can't do anything because of my fuckups?"

"And what if you didn't?" Lisa's hand slid across Amy's shoulders. "What if what you did is basically what she fixes on a Tuesday? She deals in memories. It's what she does. Trust me, I looked into her pretty damn hard before I contacted her. And you've known Vicky since forever, right? Your memories, turned around, are gonna be what fixes her. You'll see. I mean, your mom, your aunt, your uncle, whatsisface …"

Amy snorted with amusement despite herself. She could see what Lisa was trying to do, but it was still working after a fashion. "Dean. His name is Dean. And he's her boyfriend. I'll never try to get in the way of that. Maybe I should leave altogether, go somewhere else."

Self-exile sounded better and better all the time, now that she came to think of it. Once Vicky was herself again (Aisha had referred to it exactly once as restoring a save game file, before Lisa had smacked her across the top of the head) then it would be better for all concerned if she cut ties and left them to have their happy life.

Because she knew damn well Vicky wouldn't want her around. She'd emphasised to Cranial that she didn't want any remnant of the love she'd foisted on Vicky to be left behind. Once Vicky was cured, and if she chose to spare Amy's life for the horrendous sin that had been perpetrated on her …

"Don't even go there," Lisa murmured. "If Cranial does her job right, and I know she will, Vicky will know exactly how desperately hard you've been trying to get her back up to speed. Not only is she not going to punch your head off your shoulders, but she's also not going to want to chase you away. I mean, all this wouldn't be happening if it wasn't for you."

"Damn right," retorted Amy. "I'm the one who fucked Vicky over in the first place. If I hadn't let my stupid selfish wants take over, we wouldn't be in this position."

"Not stupid and not selfish," Lisa countered. "I'm pretty well ace myself, but from my understanding what you want and need isn't exactly something you can pick and choose. Sure, you're gay. Big deal. If I were a guy, I'm pretty certain I'd be drooling over Vicky every chance I got. Because holy shit, does she have it going for her."

Lisa's deadpan delivery had Amy turning and giving her a suspicious stare. "Are you mocking me?"

"Not in the slightest." Lisa's expression never shifted. "Just saying, it takes all kinds. But as for you, I'm wondering if your mistake didn't come from another source. That is, it wasn't totally your fault."

Amy blinked. "I'm not sure I follow."

"Okay, let's see. When you've been making up the birds and rats and bugs for Taylor, has it made you feel better?"

This line of questioning didn't actually improve Amy's level of confusion. "Well, yeah, actually. It was like I was doing something right, to help Vicky."

"Mm-hmm." Lisa rapped on Amy's skull with her knuckles. "That's where your problem is, then. In there."

"So, me. I'm the problem." Amy stared at her defiantly. "That's what I've been saying all along."

"Nope. Your corona pollentia. Your gemma." Lisa raised an eyebrow. "Your powers, dumbass."

Amy gritted her teeth at Lisa's patronising tone. "I know what the corona pollentia and the gemma do. Probably better than you do. What about my powers?"

"Well, for starters, have you ever heard of capes who tried to hang up the mask but just couldn't help getting back into the game?" Lisa tilted her head. "No? I have. They want to retire, but their powers just … come out. And they get forced back into it. It's not a hugely common thing, but I've also heard of people trying to defend reckless power use by saying their powers just activated all by themselves. Usually a power that they're trying to never use, like ever."

"What are you trying to say?" Amy shook her head as she stared at Lisa. "You can't be saying what that sounds like … can you?"

"I don't know." Lisa shrugged, apparently attempting unconcern. "Funny thing with my power. If I use it too much, I get headaches. A really strenuous bout will have me laid up with a migraine for a day or more. Classic Thinker headache, yeah? But if I try to never use my power, if I repress it altogether or restrict what I use it for, it kicks in anyway, usually giving me information that will push me toward bad decisions. Almost like …" She trailed off, gesturing for Amy to finish the thought.

"Almost like it's punishing you for not using it?"

Lisa snorted. "Maybe. Or maybe it just wants to be used in new and interesting ways, and doesn't have a hassle with how interesting things get."

"Okay, yeah, your power's got issues. Understood." Amy shook her head. "But my power doesn't ever go wrong like …" She paused, a terrible realisation flooding through her. Go wrong like that. "Oh. Oh, shit."

"Mm-hmm." Lisa didn't say anything else, just stood there looking at her with a sympathetic expression on her face.

"No." Amy shook her head, trying to feel justified with the strength of the denial. "No, I've healed hundreds of people, flawlessly. Thousands. Maybe tens of thousands?" She didn't know. Somewhere along the way, she'd lost count. "Sometimes I've wanted to screw something up, just so I could take a step back, but I never have."

"Yeah, you've healed people." Lisa tilted her head for emphasis. "All you ever do is heal people. You don't go out and create new and interesting plants, or animals. Building explosive birds was the most fun you'd had in forever, wasn't it? Because it let you use your power in a totally new way, and it rewarded you with a dopamine hit. And it's making you feel crappy about healing."

"It felt great," Amy agreed. "I didn't know why. My power … why? Healing people is a good thing to do."

"I have no idea," Lisa confessed. "When I ask my power about this sort of thing, it goes, 'what thing?'. But it's happening. If you know where to look, you can totally see people being manipulated by their powers, even in small ways. And if I had to guess … I'd say it wants variety."

"Well, shit." Amy slumped against the wall. "My power thinks I'm boring."

"Could be worse." Lisa grinned suddenly. "If your power thinks you're boring, what if all of Leet's accidents aren't because he's a shitty Tinker?"

Amy's eyes opened wide. The scrawnier half of Uber and Leet had a well-deserved reputation for Tinker tech that fell apart, malfunctioned in some pretty impressive ways, or just plain refused to work at exactly the wrong time. "If that's deliberate … what's it trying to do? Kill him?"

"Either that, or it's doing its best to get his attention before he accidentally kills himself." Lisa shrugged, very obviously discarding the topic. "So let's suppose you've been essentially feeding your power a diet of unsweetened tapioca for the last few years, and all it wants is some spice in its diet. And in a moment of weakness, it takes your unconscious desires and makes them real. You know why you couldn't fix it?"

The conclusion was obvious, especially given how Lisa had framed it. "My power didn't want me to. It wants me to go on and do more."

"Bingo." Lisa waved at the base around them. "And look at what you've done so far."

"So, why do I still feel like shit?" Even now, Amy could feel the miles-deep abyss calling to her, inviting her to submerge herself in the depths of angst once more.

Lisa waved out toward the open area, where Cranial was working on her gadgetry, with Vicky sitting in the chair. "What's happening out there?"

"They're fixing my mistake … oh. Oh, crap."

"Mm-hmm." Lisa nodded in Amy's direction. "Your power doesn't think it was a mistake. Its modification of Vicky is being reversed, as much as possible. We're changing things back to the way they were. No more abominations of biology." She laced her fingers in front of her. "Back to a steady diet of unsweetened tapioca."

"So what do I do?" asked Amy desperately. "How do I stop it doing this again? I can't just start modifying brains. That goes against everything I believe in."

Lisa shrugged. "Then don't. Do something else. Make glow-in-the-dark squirrels or airborne jellyfish. Pets to order, with as many legs, eyes and other appendages as your clients want. Hell, you could make an absolute killing as a transhumanist plastic surgeon. So long as it's not just plain vanilla healing anymore."

"I can't." The realisation hit Amy like a freight train. "Carol would—"

"Then leave New Wave." Lisa's tone was firm. "You were already considering it. Go ahead and just do it. No matter how this pans out, your relationship with them is never going to be the same again." She rapped Amy's forehead, right between her eyes. "Your happiness is more important."

"You mean it?" Amy looked searchingly at Lisa. "You're not just saying that?"

Lisa snorted. "I would lie to a great many people about a great many things, but right here and right now, I'm telling the unvarnished truth. Hell, you can move in here with me and Taylor and Aisha, if you want. It's not like we don't have the room."

It was a huge leap, but Amy felt she had no other choice in the matter. "Okay. So long as Vicky turns out okay, I think I'll take you up on that." As she said the words, she felt the burden on her begin to lift.

"Good to hear it." Lisa put her arm around Amy's shoulders. "So, there's this other little problem we've got …"

<><>​

Circus

Coil, you sneaky bastard.

She'd nearly gone past it, feeling her way in the dark, but her elbow had brushed a panel that swung inward. Backing up slightly, she nudged it all the way open and flicked her Zippo to reveal a tiny cubby-hole. With a little contortion, she managed to wriggle inside, where a light switch allowed her to see what she'd stumbled upon.

Barely ten feet by ten, it was a bunker within a bunker; food, water, weapons, a camp bed, a chemical toilet. Plus, a screen that allowed her to tap into the security cameras.

She could see everything that was going on, and they had no idea where she was.

And best of all, as she flicked through, she could see one particular face, plain as day.

There you are.



End of Part Fourteen

 

[Ack]

One Bad Day

Part Fifteen: Day's End

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


Taylor

Just as Lisa sidled into the office, Taylor swore and ripped another sheet off the pad to lay alongside the others. This allowed her to extend the air duct onward with the assistance of a ruler. In the back of her mind, she kept pace with the skittering rodents and their accompanying bugs.

"How goes the search?" Lisa seemed pleased with herself.

"We were right." Taylor made another ruled line on the paper. "The official map isn't quite accurate. Oh, it looks good, if you don't pay too much attention to exact distances, but I'm pretty sure not all those angles are ninety degrees. And there are offshoots that could be missed if you're not paying attention."

"And you haven't located Circus yet." It wasn't a question on Lisa's part.

"Not yet," Taylor confirmed, "but I haven't found any more open air vents yet, and no more cameras have gone down. Better yet, even with the extra ductwork, I haven't had to leave any holes in the sweep, so she either has to kill the bugs and rats or get seen by them. Either way, I locate her."

"Excellent." Lisa slapped Taylor on the shoulder, but lightly. "When you do find her, let me know. I spoke to Amy, and she's on board with making more specialty critters to hunt her out. We were thinking of fireproof, knifeproof rats."

"Make sure they can't breed," Taylor cautioned. "If they leave my control radius, we do not want things like that getting out and causing trouble."

"More trouble than exploding pigeons?" retorted Lisa with a smirk. "Don't worry. I'll tell her."

With a final fingertip wave, she slipped out of the office again. Taylor growled another curse and filled in a little more of the air duct map.

"Where are you?" she muttered.

<><>​

Circus

Coil had been lavish in supplying his little redoubt. The stored water was welcome after the breakout from the cell and the arduous crawl through the air ducting. Even more welcome were the protein bars; she'd spotted a crate of MREs, but decided she wasn't that hungry yet.

Gnawing on a protein bar and sipping from a square bottle of water, she sat cross-legged on the rubber matting and flicked through the selection of security feeds available to her on the small screen mounted on the low desk. There wasn't much to see in the area of the base she'd come from; not even the New Wave capes were back there right now. What's with that, anyway? What are they doing, chumming around with that skank Tattletale?

She shelved the question for another time, such as 'never'. The answers she wanted had more to do with how to get her hands on Tattletale, and how to extract her rightfully earned goddamn pay from that slippery little bitch. If Tattletale had access to Coil's money, and everything she'd ever heard about the supposedly psychic Thinker said that was a very strong fucking possibility, then the only obstacle standing in the way of getting her money was her unwillingness to threaten Tattletale's well-being.

Of course, it wasn't as simple as that, or she would've slithered out through the nearest air duct, put her hands around Tattletale's throat, and squeezed until she got what was owed to her. New Wave was on site, along with a couple of capes she'd never heard of before (at least, she assumed they were capes), and then there were the Toybox Tinkers down in the lower section, operating that weird chair. She knew enough to recognise Cranial and Pyrotechnical when she saw them, but she had no idea what they were doing here, or why Tattletale had seen fit to throw a fucking party in a goddamn supervillain base. Maybe the chair gave them some kind of Tinkertech high?

Did Tattletale blow my fucking money on a fucking party accessory?

She wasn't quite sure what the black girl with the purple streak in her hair was supposed to be able to do, but the tall skinny one with the black curly hair was definitely the Master who'd been setting swarms of bugs on her. She had a bone to pick with that one too; making spiders web her foot to the grating had not been cool. But Tattletale was her main target, and everything else was secondary.

The question is, do I wait for the party to finish and for everyone else to leave, or just come out now and kick Tattletale's ass until she ponies up the money I'm owed?

Nah, fuck that. If she leaves along with the normies, then I'm back to square one.

Let's fucking do this.

<><>​

Cranial

With the engram completed, it still took two tries for Lil to anchor it to Glory Girl's tattered personality matrix. On the second attempt, she took extra care and double-checked all her readouts, then held her breath as she ran through the process, one step at a time. Finally, she was able to confirm that it was properly seated.

Next came the final stage in the process: running Glory Girl through a high-speed version of her life (that is, high-speed from the outside) to seal the engram into place, paper over any holes (because there would be holes) and generate an actual personality at the far end. While Lil had a certain amount of control over the process, she could only work with what she'd been given. Fortunately, Tattletale had managed to assemble a considerable amount of experiential data with which to assemble and adjust her very first entire-life engram, so she was confident she could pull it off.

Mostly.

This was the stage where if anything went wrong, it would have to be fixed or circumvented as they went. There was no question of stopping it and then restarting; the discontinuity that would inevitably occur would invalidate the entire process. And if she stopped it because something had gone sideways and tried to restart from scratch, the necessary removal of previously implanted memories would risk actual damage to Glory Girl's already-abused neural structure. Any kind of second attempt would be highly ill-advised.

Lil had never done something this ambitious before, but she'd gone over the specs for her equipment before agreeing to it. She could handle it. She would handle it. Glory Girl would be a hero again, and Toybox's rep would get another boost from people in the know.

Setting her teeth into her lower lip, she started the run-through. Glory Girl's eyes flickered back and forth as though she were asleep and dreaming, which was a good sign. Lil had generic memories queued for any holes that might crop up; with luck, they wouldn't even have to slow down as she slapped on the patch. Fortunately, she had plenty of images of Flashbang, both in costume and out. For anything else, she'd improvise on the fly.

As Victoria Dallon's early years whipped by, she narrowed her eyes and kept a careful watch for emerging problems. This wasn't just about the money anymore. Her pride was on the line.

<><>​

Taylor

"Oh, what the fuck?" Taylor stared at her map of the air ducting as her rats milled around in the far corner from where they'd begun. They had traced every single air duct and even thrown their little bodies against each vent cover in turn to make sure said covers were securely screwed in place. They were all solid as a rock, except for the one that Circus had used to gain entry to the network. "How did she get past me?"

That Circus hadn't just turned around and left the same way she'd come in was patently obvious. People like Circus didn't just give up. Besides, that would've involved either squirming backwards with no way to see where she was going, or somehow turning around, something that Taylor felt would be nigh-impossible for anyone but a trained contortionist.

In any case, if Circus had done that, it would make her less of a problem. Taylor had to assume she was still dangerous, still on the board somehow. But what did she do? How did she pull that off? It's not like she can turn intangible like Sophia could, or invisible.

She paused. Waiiit a minute.

<><>​

Tattletale

The party was going well, and so (Lisa hoped) was Cranial's work to restore Vicky to a recognisable semblance of her former self. She'd been leaning on her power a little too much, so she was reluctant to tap it now, but the Tinker appeared calm and unflustered as she worked on the screens attached to the chair. Even Vicky sat calmly under the oversized helmet, not even bothering to fidget.

Aisha had joined the party, her upbeat personality doing a great job at keeping the festivities going. In the meantime, Eric and Crystal had were also circulating while Manpower and Lady Photon were watching the unconscious Brandish. What they were going to do about Brandish, Lisa wasn't entirely sure yet. Excising this particular event from her memory would be prohibitively expensive, and Cranial probably didn't want her anywhere near the chair anyway.

Which brought her around to the last two players in the current little drama: Circus and Taylor. Circus being the problem, and Taylor being the potential solution.

Easing away from the rest of the group as Aisha did a manic (and somehow on-point) impression of Armsmaster trying to deal with hypothetical super-powered graffiti artists, Lisa snuck away into the office once more. It was her job to make sure everything was going well, she told herself. She wasn't micromanaging.

"How's it going?" she asked, once the door slid shut behind her.

"Problematic." Taylor didn't look up from the map she'd made. "I searched the air ducts that she could've gone through, from one end to the other. She's not there. Or she's figured out a way to hide."

Lisa blinked. "That's not good. That's not good at all. Please tell me you figured out a solution."

"Yeah." Taylor grinned. "Smell."

It took a second for Lisa to get it. "Oh. Rats can track by scent?"

"How do you think they can find where people hide their food?" asked Taylor rhetorically. "Damn right they can track by scent. They just don't normally track humans. But I sent them back to where she got into the air duct system, and they're on her trail right now. No matter what bullshit tactic she used to hide from them, they'll be able to find her."

"So, we've got her?" Lisa really, really wanted that to be true.

"Not yet." Taylor waggled her hand in the air. "But we're closing in on her, me and my beady-eyed minions."

Lisa shuddered, imagining trying to crawl through an air duct while a bunch of rats scuttled up behind her. It was only just preferable to being under Coil's thumb, and even that was kind of debatable. Still, it wasn't happening to her. Circus was another matter altogether. She wished the rats all the luck in finding the irritating cape.

If she'd just cut her losses from the beginning, we wouldn't be doing this.

<><>​

Taylor

"Okay, this is weird." Taylor held up her hand just as Lisa was about to leave the office again.

"Weird good or weird bad?" Lisa did an about-face and stared at Taylor. "I can't handle many more unpleasant surprises today, just saying."

Taylor concentrated, trying to figure out what her rats had found. "There's some kind of … swinging panel in the wall of the air duct. I didn't see it before because I wasn't looking for it. But the rats smelled where she stopped and crawled into it."

"The fuck?" Lisa indicated the carefully drawn map of the air duct system. "You mean there's more to that shit?"

"Maybe." Taylor bit her lip. "The panel's pretty heavy. If I send a rat in there, it might be a one-way trip."

Lisa rolled her eyes. "So, send it in there. We need to know where she went to."

"Okay, then." Taylor had the rat push all the way through. It tried to hold onto the concrete and climb down, but the surface was too smooth, and it lost its grip. Fortunately, it only fell a short distance, as best Taylor could gauge, then landed on rubber matting. Being a rat, it bounced.

As it scuttled around, using its whiskers for guidance and sniffing everything it encountered, Taylor sketched out the layout of the space it had found itself in. She labelled each new section with her best guess at what it contained; protein bars, water bottles, a small desk with a computer screen … Fuck.

Lisa took one look at her face. "What? What is it?"

"Guns. She's got guns and ammo."

"Well, shit."

<><>​

Circus

Okay, this is as good a place as any. She peered out through the grille at where the teen girls were enthusiastically partying under the tolerant gaze of (she presumed) their respective mothers. For some obscure reason, everyone was wearing a domino mask, even the publicly known heroes Laserdream and Shielder, who were also partying hearty.

The presence of the heroes served to damp down her immediate impulse to just jump in there and grab Tattletale. I'm going to have to be smart about this. There had to be a way to get her money and get away afterward, without being lasered to a crisp or beaten to a pulp.

Looking at the laughing crowd, gathered around the girl who was currently doing a standup routine of some kind, she grimaced. All those people could be problematic; once she revealed herself, they were likely to run around and cause more havoc, making it hard for her to keep an eye on where all the capes were. How to turn that from a problem into an asset …

A solution presented itself. Not one she usually went with; in fact, she preferred to stay as far away from bystanders as possible, but this situation just was not a normal one.

Fuck it, hostage it is.

<><>​

Laserdream

As Aisha reached the climax of her improv Armsmaster skit, Crystal was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes. How such a petite girl managed to pull off the 'Robomaster' growl so expertly she had no idea, but it was perfect.

The first inkling she had of a problem was when Aisha cut off halfway through a line of dialogue and stared at—no, past—her, eyes widening. And then, from behind her, the girl she knew as Bethany screamed.

She turned fast, a laser already powering up in her right hand while her left generated a force shield. Off to the side, she registered Eric doing the same, as they'd practised. But the situation was already problematic; there stood Circus, holding Bethany around the neck with a knife in one hand and a pistol in the other. The villain looked a little the worse for wear, and had a glint in her eye that suggested she was no longer quite sane anymore.

"Okay, everyone, calm the fuck down." Despite the phrasing, Circus didn't look or sound like she was taking her own advice. "Nobody freaks and does something stupid, nobody gets hurt." She gestured with the pistol. "Everyone who's not a cape, get over here, right now."

"Wh-what?" quavered a woman, probably Bethany's mother; Crystal didn't know for certain. "Why? Please don't hurt my daughter."

"Not gonna hurt her, unless she does something stupid, you do something stupid, or someone else does something stupid." Circus bit the words off tightly. "Now, I don't feel like getting my face lasered off, so get over here before I do something regrettable to your kid." She gestured again with the pistol, keeping the knife close to some very important blood vessels in Bethany's throat. "Same goes for everyone else here who's not a cape. Get over here. The more of you who are between me and the New Wave laser folk, the less chance someone dies through friendly fire. Got it?"

Bethany's mother was the first to do what she was told, moving over to stand next to her daughter. One by one, the others followed her lead, looking around as though silently asking whether this was part of the 'cape experience' they'd been promised, or whether things had just gone drastically wrong.

"Circus …" Crystal spoke carefully, trying to hit the right note so she didn't set off the unstable villain. "You might want to think this all the way through. There's many ways this doesn't end well, and if you start hurting civilians, it will go bad for you very quickly indeed."

"Well, lucky for the civilians I'm not here to hurt them, then." Circus' eyes flicked from one point to another, then down at where Cranial was working with her chair on the next level. "What's that all about, anyway? Actually, fuck it, I just don't care. Every member of New Wave who can throw a laser or put up a force field, I want you on the other side of that door." Her pistol barrel indicated one of the heavy sliding doors at the far end of the room.

"If you think we're going to leave you alone with the hostages—" began Eric hotly.

"—you're absolutely right," Crystal cut him off. "Come on. We'll go." Carefully, she didn't look at where Aisha had been … or had she? Even after having known the quirky girl for several days, it was still difficult to actually remember her existence on occasion.

Gallant was another matter altogether. Out of costume, he was just another teenage boy in a domino mask. His armour might have given him a fighting chance against Circus, but as it was, his emotion blasts might or might not send her over the edge. At the moment, he was part of the crowd around Circus, but Crystal knew he had to be assessing the chances of doing something when he got the chance.

"What about me?" Amy chose this moment to speak up. "You know me. Everyone knows me. Take me as a hostage instead of everyone else. Nobody's going to do anything when my life is on the line." She rolled her eyes. "If I get hurt, I might have to miss out on healing someone, and wouldn't that be a fucking shame."

"You know what?" Circus tilted her head. "Normally I might've taken you up on that, but right now I'm reading levels of 'fuck-this' from you that I don't really trust." As she spoke, the pistol vanished from her hand, to be replaced by a set of handcuffs. She tossed them overhand toward Amy, to land with a clatter at the healer's feet. "Cuff yourself to the handrail there, just to make sure you don't try pulling off some stupid kind of sacrifice play that doesn't accomplish anything except getting people killed."

Amy glared at her, but grudgingly bent over and took up the cuffs. "Why don't you just fuck off?" she demanded as she clicked the metal into place on the rail. "There's nothing for you here."

"And that's where you're wrong." Circus was hidden behind her human shield, but Crystal could hear the smugness in her voice. "I'm fucking owed. Coil had millions when he was ganked, and I want what he owed me. Give me that, and I'm gone."

"Okay, sure." Crystal didn't know how legitimate the claim was, but she'd sat in on hostage-negotiation seminars. Gotta keep her happy until we can take her down. "You'll get your money."

"Yeah, as if you've got any say in that." Circus's tone went straight back to 'cynical' faster than an Empire thug thinking up a new slur. "I told you New Wave assholes, through that door. Now, or Panacea gets some business. Got me?" The pistol waved in the air for a second. "And take Glory Girl with you too. Don't think I didn't recognise her in that stupid fucking chair."

"No." Cranial's voice cut across the murmurs of fear echoing in the chamber. "Glory Girl is not to be moved. This is a very delicate part of the procedure. She doesn't leave this chair until I say so."

"And if she says Glory Girl doesn't move, I say Glory Girl doesn't move." Pyrotechnical hadn't spoken in Crystal's hearing up until this point, but the chk-hmmmmmm from the heavy rifle-like weapon he carried backed up his words with a certain amount of weight.

Circus must have heard it too, because she didn't bother arguing. "Ooookay, then. Not sure what's going on down there, but so long as you keep yourselves to yourselves, I honestly do not give two-thirds of a flying fuck. Now, New Wavies, time to wavie goodbye, or I am going to stab someone. Three … two …one …"

"Okay, we're going, we're going." Hastily, Crystal grabbed Eric by the arm. "Come on, let's go, like the nice lady says." Lifting into the air, she flew toward the exit, dragging him along with her.

As they flew, his force field enclosed them, then a second one inside the first. This was a trick he'd learned early on; how to create a soundproof barrier. "You can't just leave them alone with her!" he protested.

"We can't stay," she countered. "Anyway, we're the visible capes. Aisha and Lisa and Taylor and Dean are right there, and Mom and Dad are downstairs with Aunt Carol, so if shit goes sideways they can come up and kick her ass. Once we're out of sight, she'll relax, maybe let down her guard or something."

"Jeez, I hope you're right about this." But he didn't resist her pull anymore. Together, they flew to the door; he dropped the shields and she slapped the button to open it. It rumbled open and they stepped through.

<><>​

Aisha

Come on ... come on …

Being able to make people forget she was there was all well and good, but the unwilling bunch of human shields Circus had gathered around herself meant that Aisha couldn't get to her. She was totes willing to stabbify the party-crasher until the beeyatch fell over—nobody threatens my friends!—but as she'd learned previously, it helped a shit-ton if they didn't actually move around. Or have people standing around them who didn't know Aisha was there and trying to help.

Wrapping her hand around the swastika-topped knife she'd used to kill Shadow Stinker, Aisha left it in its sheath as she prowled around the outside of the crowd, looking for a way through. No sense in accidentally stabbing one of the hostages, after all. Some of them were actually pretty cool, once they got into the party spirit. Also, Lisa would probably yell at her.

"Okay, no need to hurt anyone." Lisa stuck her head out of the office. "Come on in, and we'll discuss your recompense."

"About fucking time. Everyone, head for that doorway. Don't go in. I'm pretty sure the room isn't big enough for us all." Circus waved her pistol forward, like a baton or something.

This was Aisha's chance. Darting around the perimeter of the crowd, she ducked in through the open doorway into the office. Taking up a position in a vacant corner, she poised herself, ready to pull her knife and stick it into anywhere on Circus she could reach.

Circus came in next, and hit the button to close and lock the door, watching Lisa and Taylor carefully. Then she looked around the room; for a moment, Aisha tensed, wondering if Circus could see her anyway, but the villain's eyes skated right over her. Finally, Circus pointed at the air vent, which had a filing cabinet pushed up against it. "Get that open."

Aisha could understand why she was doing it—if things went to shit, it was always good to have a bolt-hole—but the only place for the cabinet to go was the corner Aisha had chosen to lurk in. Grumbling to herself, she shifted locations while Lisa and Taylor applied their shoulders to the cabinet and scraped it aside. It was short work for Lisa to unscrew the grille and set it aside. "That better?"

"Much." Circus nodded in approval. "Now, as for my money …" She flipped a knife in the air and caught it again. Aisha pulled her own knife and started stalking her, but every time she thought she had a proper stab lined up, Circus would move. It was very irritating.

"Okay. The money." Lisa leaned over the keyboard and typed in a command, and the screen changed. "I'm going to lay it out for you. Total honesty up front. Okay?"

Circus glowered at her, not ceasing the restless pacing. "That doesn't sound like 'I've got your money right here'. In fact, it's starting to sound like an excuse. I'm not doing excuses right now."

"The immediate problem," Lisa began again, "is that once the PRT discovered that Coil was Calvert, they froze a lot of his assets. I managed to recover some—in fact, I recovered quite a bit—but nowhere near his total holdings. However, I can put what money I have into generating a lot more. Enough to pay you off. All you need is patience."

"No." Circus pointed at the figures on the screen. "That, right there, is enough to cover what I'm owed, plus ten percent asshole tax. I'll be taking that."

Lisa didn't look at the screen. "I'm afraid you're mistaken. That money right there? That's already spoken for. It's going to Toybox. I can get more—like I said, with time and effort, I can definitely generate enough to pay you off—but that's not mine to give you."

The pistol had vanished somewhere—Aisha really wanted to know how Circus pulled that shit—but the knife was still in her hand. Moving like a striking snake, Circus grabbed Taylor around the neck and held the knife up under her jaw, the very tip pricking her skin. Aisha froze, watching the tiniest droplet of blood well around the point of the blade. If I stabbed her now, she'd kill Taylor before I could stop her.

"I didn't say you're giving it to me." The villain's tone could've been used to jump-start a new ice age. "I said I was taking it. You can tell Toybox you're generating the money for them. That money right there is mine, and I'm taking it, or your skinny friend here develops a sudden and fatal case of laryngitis."

She is not hurting Taylor. No fucking way am I letting that happen. Aisha was fond of the tall gawky girl, especially since they'd worked together to put an end to Shadow Stalker. Taylor didn't have that many friends, and Aisha was pleased to be one of them.

"You kill me, you'll never get your money." Taylor's voice was muffled, mainly because she was only moving her lips, not the rest of her mouth.

"She's right." Lisa spoke firmly. "And besides, she's not the one you're pissed at. You've never even met her before. I'm the one you've got a bone to pick with."

Aisha realised exactly what Lisa had in mind, and started moving carefully, while sliding her knife back into its sheath. Lisa was trying to goad Circus into taking her hostage, and thus take the heat off Taylor. And at the same time, she was banking on Aisha being in the room and being able to take advantage of the knife being moved between the two of them.

"That's true." Circus shoved Taylor away and made a grab for Lisa. "She can—"

She'd moved before Aisha was properly ready, but this would be her best chance. Launching herself forward, she tackled Circus away from both Lisa and Taylor, grabbing for the villain's knife hand. Taken off balance, Circus let out a loud whoof as they hit the wall, but she was still lucid enough to roll to the side and throw Aisha off.

"Okay, what the fuck was—" As Circus went to scramble to her feet, Lisa and Taylor tackled her, both wrestling for the knife. Circus produced the pistol in her other hand, and Aisha darted in to grab it, preventing Circus from pointing it at anyone. Screaming incoherently, Circus pulled the trigger anyway, deafening her; the bullet shattered the light, leaving the computer screen to illuminate the room.

Aisha wanted to pull her blade and stab the bitch, but both her hands were taken up with keeping the pistol pointed away from everyone (including her) because Circus was fucking strong. So, she did the next best thing, and bit Circus on the thumb as hard as she could. Circus flailed, and the pistol went flying across the room.

They wrestled across the floor, Aisha concentrating on making sure Circus couldn't grab anything out of her bullshit pocket dimension with that hand, while Taylor and Lisa kept her from stabbing them with the other hand. If anyone had told her before this point that it would be almost impossible for three teenage girls to keep one adult woman in check, she would've scoffed mightily. Three on one? There was no way anyone could beat that.

Circus, it turned out, could beat that. She was almost inhumanly agile, stronger than any two of them put together, and she was really good at fighting. She twisted, kicked, thrashed and applied moves Aisha never would've thought of—and she fought dirty. Although she should've still been imperceptible, Aisha found herself flung off the dogpile and skidding across the floor.

Before she could throw herself back into the fray, Circus used the now-free hand to apply some leverage. First Lisa and then Taylor ended up piling against the far wall, then Circus pulled some judo bullshit flip that got her to her feet. She'd lost the knife during the melee, but that didn't seem to bother her, as she pulled out a fucking machine-pistol from thin air.

"Okay, then," she snarled, the words barely audible to Aisha through the ringing in her ears. "That's it. I'm done with you assholes." She pulled back something on the gun, making an ominous clack-clack noise. "Sayonara, motherfuckers."

She raised the weapon, sighting down the barrel toward Lisa. Her intent was obvious: kill her main target first, then spray the rest of the room. Just because she couldn't perceive Aisha didn't mean the bullets wouldn't kill her just the same.

"W-wait," Taylor croaked. "Something you've … you've forgotten."

"The fuck you talking about?" demanded Circus.

Aisha saw Taylor grin. "I don't just control bugs."

And that was when the seven rats erupted from the open air duct, directly behind Circus. The first she knew of them was when they clawed all over her head, going for her eyes. It would've taken a will of steel to keep the machine pistol aimed while this happened, something Circus apparently lacked.

Letting out a shriek that threatened to deafen Aisha all over again, she let go the machine-pistol, allowing it to clatter to the ground, while she grabbed for the rats assaulting her. Aisha took the opportunity to go for the previously discarded pistol, while Lisa dived for the gun Circus had just dropped. Circus wasn't entirely unaware of what was going on around her, though, as evidenced by the neat snap-kick that sent Lisa tumbling backward again.

And then, just as Circus threw the last rat away from her, and Aisha was figuring out which way around the pistol was supposed to point, the sliding door into the office opened with a grinding screech. A slender figure was silhouetted in the doorway. "Hi. Miss me?"

Pulling yet another fucking gun out of nowhere, Circus swung it straight-armed toward the newcomer. Glory Girl caught it in her hand and crushed it with a simple metallic crunch. Then she stepped forward and back-handed the villain into the wall; Circus hit hard, bounced off, then collapsed bonelessly to the floor.

Dusting her hands off, Vicky looked around with satisfaction. "Okay, so I know most of what's going on around here, but I'm not totally sure why Amy's handcuffed to the rail out there and Circus is in here fighting you two … oh, you three. Hi, Aisha. Would someone care to fill me in?"

<><>​

Two Hours Later

Taylor

After a quick explanation, Vicky had gone out and joined the party. Taylor, cloaking herself in a hastily gathered swarm, went out also as Swarmina, and was duly 'defeated' to cheers from the guests and their mothers. Once Aisha came out as well and passed off the Circus incident as a last-ditch effort by the fictitious Mind-Melter to foil the intended rescue attempt, Bethany and her mother looked somewhat mollified.

It was funny, Taylor mused, how rapidly they'd modified their own memories, given the new 'information', to the point that they thought they'd been in no danger at all. Bethany was actually proud she'd been picked as the hostage, and her friends were quick to boast about how they'd seen through it the whole time.

The party had wound down a little while after that, and the Pelham fliers volunteered to return their guests to their homes; the girls had left chatting excitedly how cool the whole experience had been. Vicky had suggested that she could ferry Dean home, but Lisa had nixed that idea. It was best, she decided, that he be dropped at the PRT building (after everyone else) so that he could declare himself officially unkidnapped.

Which left Taylor, Amy, Aisha, Vicky, Lisa and Mr Pelham sitting around a table in the base commissary. The story had been told in its entirety, with Aisha interjecting now and again, as was her habit. Amy sat at the opposite end of the table to Vicky—by choice, not by chance—with her head down and shoulders hunched, as though expecting to be physically attacked at any moment.

"So, I gotta ask," Aisha said, irrepressible as ever. "What's it feel like? Do you feel like you in there?"

Vicky tilted her head as she considered the question. "Well, yes. Who else would I feel like?" She grinned at Aisha. "Cranial did a really good job. Everything she implanted feels genuine, and even though I know intellectually that most of them aren't memories I personally experienced, I honestly can't tell between the ones from elsewhere and the few that I'm pretty sure are original issue."

Amy lifted her head. "Why?" she asked, so quietly she almost went unheard.

It took Vicky a moment or so to look around. "Why what? Why haven't I done what you so clearly want me to do, and killed you for what you did to me?"

Mr Pelham started half out of his seat at that. "Amy! Vicky! What—"

Vicky waved him down. "It's all good. Yeah, Ames really did a number on me, and I've got every right to be pissed at her. And yeah, I am. But I'm more angry at myself for not seeing what was right in front of me, what was going through her mind. What happened that day was more than a little my fault, and I need to take responsibility for my own actions. And my failures to act."

Amy jumped up. "You can't just forgive me for what—"

"Forgive? No." Vicky shook her head. "Not exactly, anyway. If I'm to understand what Lisa says, it was at least partially your power's fault, playing on your attraction to me. And also my power, making you fall in love with me, when it didn't do that to anyone else. So yes, there's plenty of blame to be had, and it can be spread far and wide."

"No!" The anguish in Amy's voice rang from the concrete ceiling. "I did this! I did it! Me! I fucked your brain up! Why aren't you punishing me?"

Vicky looked at her with sorrow and empathy. "Because there's nothing I can do that will hurt you one-tenth as much as the pain you've been putting yourself through. And because you willingly put yourself through that hell just to make sure that I'd be okay, in the end." She took a deep breath. "But if we can't guarantee it will never happen again—and we can't—then it's best we not be on the same team anymore."

"What, you're leaving New Wave?" Mr Pelham looked shocked.

"No, you can't, not on my account!" Amy shook her head violently. "I—I was going to leave anyway. I don't—I can't be on the same team as Carol, either. Not anymore. Not after today."

"Me, too." Vicky looked at her uncle apologetically. "Same person, different reasons. I'm thinking I might join the Wards." She paused. "Uh—unless you were already going there, Amy?"

"No." Amy glanced at Lisa. "I got another offer. Lisa, Taylor and Aisha were going to be forming a team right here, and they said I could stay if I wanted."

"I'll be needing to go into the PRT building too," Taylor noted. "Probably the first thing tomorrow, so they can tell me I'm not in trouble. Lisa?"

Lisa nodded. "You should still have time by then. Just don't tell them anything about … well, anything."

Taylor snorted. "Yeah, I think I got that one already."

Amy roused herself again. "What about Circus and Carol?"

Mr Pelham looked at her curiously. "Circus goes to the PRT, and Carol goes back to her house. Why?"

"I think she's saying, they're likely to start shouting about what happened tonight," Aisha chimed in helpfully. "Brandish is gonna have all sorts of fun stories to tell about being held against her will, an' drugged by bugs an' stuff. And I can tell Circus will draw 'em a map to this place, on the off-chance it'll fuck Lisa over once an' for all."

"Ah," said Vicky, realisation settling in on her features. "Yeah. Mom would totally do that. And I can believe that of Circus, too." She looked at Amy. "You're saying we should do something about that? Maybe call Cranial back?"

"Hahaha, nope." Lisa shook her head definitively. "We absolutely can't afford her rates, right now. And she charges through the nose when it comes to having unwilling capes in her chair."

Amy's features were creased in something approaching pain. "This sort of shit is what started this whole mess. If—if I do something about this … have I still got a place here?"

Taylor tilted her head curiously. "When you say 'do something about this' … what did you have in mind?" Please don't say kill them … please don't say kill them …

"I won't remove any memories." Amy glared at the rest of the table, as though daring them to gainsay her. "But I can dull them. Like they've just come off a twelve-hour bender. Blank the short-term memory, fuzz the more recent long-term. Just enough that nobody can pin anything on this place, or on anyone here. If I do that, can I stay?"

"Absolutely." From the relief with which Lisa uttered the word, she might well have been thinking the same as Taylor. For damn sure, nobody wanted to go up against Amy in a serious conflict.

"Good." Amy nodded. "Then after that, no more goddamn brains. Like, ever."

Taylor raised a finger, then leaned back as Amy swung the glare her way. "Uh … are you still okay to do different types of rats and birds and bugs for me?"

The expression that crossed Amy's face as she relaxed could almost have been mistaken for a smile. "Well, yeah. Those I can do, all day long."

"Cool." Aisha grinned at Vicky. "So, we still buds?"

Vicky leaned back in her seat and regarded the younger girl. "I remember you braiding my hair and playing patty-cake with me. You never lost patience with me, and you were always happy to see me." She smiled and held out her fist for a bump. "We'll always be buds. Though I'm never going to be calling you Most Esteemed Aisha again, just to be clear."

Aisha hunched her shoulder and ducked her head in what almost looked like embarrassment. "Seemed like a fun idea at the time, is all," she mumbled.

"I'm sure it did." Vicky snaked her arm around Aisha's neck and applied a light noogie. "And this is me saying thanks."

As Aisha flailed and protested—but not too strenuously—Mr Pelham shook his head slowly. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Sarah should be back soon, my bed is calling to me, and we've still got to get Carol home." Standing up, he stretched mightily. "It's been a very long day."

"You've still got the PRT to deal with as well, don't forget." Lisa raised an eyebrow. "What are you going to do there? Fake amnesia?"

Mr Pelham smiled tightly. "Gallant and I have already spoken about this, and gotten our story straight. Sarah will back us up along with Vicky and Amy, and Carol won't have the foggiest idea of what actually happened. Emily will fuss and snort, but we're not actually under PRT direction, so she can go whistle in the wind if she tries to press us for details."

"Oh, man." Aisha grinned. "Now I want pics of her face."

Amy stood up as well, and sighed. "Well, let's get this over with."

"Ames?" Vicky was standing, but she didn't move to join them. "For what it's worth?"

"Yeah?" Amy half-turned her head to glance back.

"Thanks. And I'm sorry it happened this way."

"Yeah," Amy said. "Me too."

<><>​

Toybox Base

Cranial

Lil finished putting the last of her equipment away, then sagged into a chair and let out a heartfelt sigh. "Well, that was a clusterfuck of epic proportions."

"Oh, hey." Glace leaned around the door. "The rest of the money just came through. Oh, and Pyro's in the commons, telling everyone what the job was like. It wasn't that wild, was it? A real underground supervillain base, a party with pretend villains, with actual villains crawling out of the air ducts? I mean, really?"

Lil looked up at her. "Let me just put it this way. When a weird job comes up and I'm tempted to take it?"

"Yeah?"

"Remind me about this job."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Lil closed her eyes. "I hate the weird jobs."

<><>​

Gallant

Dean stood in Deputy Director Renick's office with Armsmaster on one side of him and Triumph on the other. None of the three looked happy, either outwardly or via their emotional auras. Not that he could blame them.

"So, let me see if I've got this straight," Renick said, both his tone and his aura indicating his struggle to cope with what he was saying. "You were kidnapped eighteen hours ago by a red-headed girl, along with Lady Photon, and now you're saying it wasn't a villain attack at all?"

"That's correct, sir." Dean tried to keep his tone firm and forthright. "It was some kind of … I suppose you could call it a scavenger hunt. Capes I'd never heard of before. Once it was done, we just … left. The Pelhams, the Dallons, me … everyone. Nobody stopped us. No criminal intent, no theft, nobody got hurt." He shrugged. "I'd almost think someone like Uber and Leet were behind it, only I didn't see anyone like either of them there."

Renick sighed and took off his glasses to polish the lenses with a cloth. "Talking about the Dallons … is there any truth to the scurrilous rumours that are going around about Glory Girl and Panacea?"

Dean snorted. "What, that they're actually a couple? No, sir. And I should know. Glory Girl and I are still definitely going steady. In fact, I spoke to her tonight and she expressed interest in leaving New Wave and joining the Wards."

That took all three by surprise. "What, really?" asked Triumph. "Are you sure?"

Dean nodded. "Absolutely. She asked me to pass that on to you, and that she'd be in tomorrow to put in her formal application."

"Well, that's bad news for New Wave but good news for us, I suppose." Renick put his glasses back on. "So, that's all it really was? Some misguided cape version of a scavenger hunt? Do you think you could identify the cape responsible if you saw her again?"

Dean smiled, fully aware that Lisa would be a blonde again by the end of the night. "Absolutely, sir. I'd know that red hair anywhere."

<><>​

PRT Building, the Next Day

Taylor

Danny sat with Taylor in a conference room, vending machine snacks in front of both of them. Taylor had tried eating her sandwich, but had only managed a few bites. "What's taking so long?" she asked in a low tone.

He'd already polished off his sandwich and half-emptied his can of soda; she envied his calm. "Well, for one thing, they're probably making sure the recording devices are up and running. Also, they seemed a little frazzled downstairs, so we're probably not their highest priority right now. And there's likely a little bit of a power play going on here. Seeing if we blurt out anything while we're alone that'll give them a lever to work on us."

At that moment, the door handle clicked, and a costumed hero strode in, carrying a Manila folder. "Sorry for keeping you waiting," he said, heading for the end of the table. From his mainly-red costume and visor, Taylor pegged him as Assault. "We've been running in circles this morning. New recruit needing to be interviewed, stuff like that. I'm sure you're no stranger to that, Mr Hebert."

Taylor was pretty sure she knew which recruit he was talking about, but didn't comment. Danny, on the other hand, nodded. "You've actually looked into who I am." He didn't sound surprised.

Assault quirked a corner of his mouth in a grin as he opened the folder. "We did that back when Taylor first triggered with powers. Kind of standard procedure when we've actually got information on a cape's identity. Not that we do anything with it, but it helps to know who we're going to be dealing with if the cape decides to join the PRT or Protectorate."

"So does that mean you try to find out who capes are if you haven't got a name for them straight away?" asked Taylor, raising her eyebrows.

"Not as a matter of course." Assault's tone was serious. "But you'd be astonished how many capes have public triggers. We keep their secrets for them if we can; we want as many heroes out there as possible, of course."

Danny snorted. "Are you quoting from a recruiting pamphlet? Because that's what it sounds like."

Reaching out to the folder, Assault deliberately moved a recruiting brochure under the folder. "Noo ..."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't really thinking of joining." Taylor shrugged. "Just to put that out there."

"Fair enough," Assault acknowledged. "Any particular reason why?"

She'd given her next statement some thought. "Prior commitments. I will be joining a team. Just not the Wards."

"New Wave?" he suggested.

Taylor shared a glance with her father; they'd both suspected this would come up, and had decided that feigning ignorance about the current situation with New Wave was the best policy. She turned back to Assault. "No. A new team in town. We're in the process of forming it."

"Well, far be it from me to hold you back." He turned a page in the folder, apparently thinking. "Just don't go taking on Lung or Kaiser on your first night out. The Empire and the ABB are the top dogs in the Brockton Bay underworld for a reason, and they don't fight fair."

"I'm totally down with that," she agreed. If she ran into Lung or Kaiser, the last thing she had in mind was a fair fight. "Was there anything else?"

"Yeah." He leaned forward with his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers. "If you didn't mind, could you give me a run-down of your powers?"

This was where it could get tricky. "I control small creatures. Bugs, rats, birds, things like that. The bigger they get, the harder it is to control them, and the fewer I can control."

He sat up in his chair. "Really? So, how big a creature can you control?"

She chuckled. "If you're thinking 'human Master', not really. I need something smaller, with a much less complicated brain, before I can be sure of control." No sense in giving the PRT any ammunition.

"Ah." He sounded slightly relieved. "So … how many bugs at a time can you control?"

She shrugged lightly. "Everything in a one or two block radius, maybe? When it comes to birds and rats and things, I can't control as many as I can with bugs."

"And this is what happened to Ms Clements?"

Taylor grimaced and nodded. "I'd just got my powers, and I was feeling really, really threatened just about then. Are … are you going to be arresting me for that?"

He shook his head reassuringly. "We've already been over all the evidence, and I'm authorised to tell you that we're satisfied you were actually under threat. There may be a legal hearing, but that'll just be a matter of crossing the t's and dotting the i's. Between trigger trauma and the perceived need for self-defence, it shouldn't be a problem."

"Thanks." She hadn't even known about trigger events until Lisa had filled her in on them. "I don't want to say it's been keeping me up at night, but it kinda has."

"Yeah, I know how that goes. Now, is it just control, or does your power do other things?" He was watching her intently now.

"Oh, I can sense through their senses." She chuckled self-consciously. "Bugs have crap senses. Birds are better."

"I have no doubt." He grinned disarmingly. "Nothing else? Making them take off like rockets, or explode, or produce knockout venom?"

"Uh, no?" She blinked, miming incomprehension. "I can't make them do anything they can't naturally do. Though I have made a bunch of rats dance the Can-Can." Aisha had laughed herself sick, watching this.

That seemed to take him aback slightly. "I'm going to have to get footage of that. Another day. Moving on. This team of yours. Is there a redheaded girl on it? Or a Tinker, or a ranged Blaster, maybe? Any of the above?"

"No." Taylor shook her head firmly. "No Tinkers, no Blasters. Also, I only know one redhead, and she's one of the survivors of my trigger event. I'm pretty sure she's the one who called you guys on me, back when it happened."

"Ah, right. I think I remember her." Assault's lips thinned. "She lied her head off during the interview with Armsmaster, trying to make you look as bad as possible. So that was your trigger event right then in that bathroom, huh?"

"Well, I didn't have powers before, and I did after, so that's what I figure." She grimaced. "I'm pretty sure a container of sanitary products was involved. I was certain I was going to die."

"Ugh." Assault didn't seem to be faking his distaste, but this didn't stop him from dropping the next bombshell. "So, when you were facing Shadow Stalker, where did you get the knife from?"

"I honestly had no idea at the time," she said candidly. "I didn't have it and then I did. I'm still not certain, but I'm thinking that maybe Sophia put it in my hand so if she killed me she could claim self-defence. But I wasn't as far gone as she thought. I stabbed her and she backed off, so I dropped it and ran."

Assault nodded slowly, checking another page in the folder. "So, do you have any idea who killed her outside the bathrooms, and carved a swastika into her back?"

Taylor put her hands up. "All I know is, it wasn't me. I don't do swastikas and I don't run with the Empire."

Danny stirred and cleared his throat. "Just as a point of note here. If Taylor was an Empire sympathiser, do you honestly think she'd be forming a new team instead of just joining the current membership? More to the point, do you think I'd be so unworried about all this if my daughter was Empire? Two words: Hell and No."

"Okay, okay, I believe you. But I've just gotta ask the questions, so we can say we did. Don't shoot the messenger." Assault sighed. "So, one last question and we can put this to bed. Have you associated at all with Gallant or any of the New Wave capes in the last few days?"

Taylor blinked a couple of times, then shook her head. "Well, no. If I had, I would've gotten his autograph. Why, has something happened?" She hated lying, but she'd found that if she put that emotion into a bunch of bugs or rodents, they could act out the tells while she kept her face at 'politely attentive'.

"Nope, nothing of note." Assault closed the folder and stood up. "Thanks for coming in and speaking to us. I look forward to seeing where your cape career goes."

"Thanks." Taylor pushed her chair back and stood up as well. "Uh … before you go … could you …" Tentatively, she pulled out a notepad.

Assault actually laughed out loud. "Absolutely. Anything for a fan." Taking the pad, he scribbled a bold signature on the first blank page. "Nice meeting you, Taylor."

"It was very cool meeting you too." She shook his hand, then stepped aside so Danny could as well.

They exited the conference room and headed along to the elevator, then she and Danny rode down to the lobby. Barely anyone paid them any notice, which Taylor appreciated as they crossed the lobby and exited via the heavy sliding doors.

Outside, it was a brand-new day, and she intended to seize it. By the throat, if necessary.

<><>​

Far overhead, the Simurgh turned her sightless eyes—and her course—to another part of the world. The story she'd nudged into being and watched with interest had played out to a conclusion both inevitable and amusing, but it was done with for the moment.

It was time to see what was going on elsewhere in Earth Bet.



End of One Bad Day

[A/N 1: Thank you for reading. This story was always going to be about solving the immediate problems of the main characters. It ends here, with Lisa, Taylor, Amy and Aisha forming a new team in Coil's old base, Circus in custody and a mentally rejuvenated Vicky joining the Wards.]

[A/N 2: And yes, this was indeed the Simurgh doing the equivalent of watching daytime TV.]

[A/N 3: I have no plans for a sequel at the moment. Sorry.]